#pay me RENT IN BRAIN CELLS

[roanniom]

always thinking about a sweeeeet and giggly high make out sesh with eddie or steve or both really lolololol nothing about it is rushed it’s just relaxed and maybe a lil messy

Oh.

Oh god.

Smoke

Steddie x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, drug use, two men & one woman, over the clothes touching, fingering, making out, teasing (Eddie is a taunting menace here wow)

The three of you are hanging out in Harrington’s apartment. It’s a super chill night. There’s nowhere you need to be. Nobody expects anything of the three of you anyway, let’s be honest.

Eddie’s brought the good shit. You’d begged him over the phone earlier and he’d threatened to make you pay for you it so you’d whined and threw Steve under the bus, volunteering him to pay for it. Both of you knew no money would be passed between anyone that might, only joints.

And that’s how you find yourself lounging on the couch between the two of them, taking a hit that pulls deep into your lungs. You exhale toward the ceiling, feeling floaty until Eddie shifts to lay his had on your chest looking up at you, weighing you down.

“Alright that’s enough, my turn princess.” He reaches up with weak grabby fingers but you lift the joint up into the air above you, out of his reach.

“Harrington literally just handed it to me. Calm your tits,” you argue, rolling your eyes. Eddie moves his head a bit side to side, squashing his cheek against your chest.

“I’d rather calm yours,” he mutters, giving you a blinding grin and flinching when you pinch him with your free hand. To your right Steve flips through the channels on the tv, paying no mind to the physical contact going on between you and Eddie.

“Ugh, there’s nothing good on.”

You don’t hear him though. Your brain has become consumed by the minutiae of Eddie’s lip shape. By their wet look when he licks them. By the curve at the corners as he watches you watch him.

“Gonna pass it or not, Princess? Don’t hold out on me here,” he mumbles quietly. You bring the joint back down to your lips and inhale deeply, making Eddie roll his eyes and huff in frustration. However, you grab his face suddenly, wrenching him up to you and bullying his mouth open to exhale the heady smoke directly into his lungs.

Eddie accepts the smoke greedily, moaning as his hands clench around your wrists. The sound causes Steve to look over, his eyes going wide.

“What the fuck, guys! Don’t make out while I’m right fucking here!”

You pull away, letting go of your grip on Eddie and allowing him to drop so the back of his head rests in your lap. He stares up at you, dazed.

“We weren’t making out, dumbass. I was shotgunning him a smoke,” you say dismissively. You twiddle with the joint between your fingers and try to ignore the way Steve is staring at you accusatorily and Eddie is staring at you with awe.

“Look, I pay rent here. If anyone’s getting liplocked in this apartment it’s me,” Steve grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

Your brain feels light and airy from the weed and to be honest, all of your decision making brain cells have tapped out for the night anyway, so you shrug and take another drag from the joint. Eddie’s eyes go wide from where he lays in your lap staring up at you as you lean over and pull Steve aggressively to you by his collar and force your way into his mouth to exhale into him his own hit.

“Holy…fuck…” Eddie breathes from beneath the two of you.

When you’ve finally released all of the smoke, you go to pull back, but Steve’s hand comes to grip the back of your neck, keeping you fused to him. You gasp a necessary breath against his lips and his tongue takes the opportunity to plunge in.

Kissing Steve is enthusiastic but still somehow…gentle. Though he holds you to him, he’s still cradling you. His tongue massages yours and tastes like vodka and spearmint and you’re enjoying it when suddenly you’re pulled apart by Eddie abruptly sitting up.

“I’m literally right fucking here,” he says gruffly, brows knitted together in frustration. Steve runs a distracted hand through his hair and chuckles breathlessly.

“That’s what I said.”

“Did you…?” You trail off when Eddie’s eyes drop from accusatory to hopeful. He’s nodding immediately and leaning in, so you soon find your hand fisting his shirt and his tongue in your mouth.

This is a different experience than the kiss with Steve. Eddie’s all rough edges and eagerness. His tongue tastes of beer and cigarettes but sweet, somehow, and his big hands wrap around your waist, pulling you to him.

Before you know it, however, you’re being broken apart, disoriented and gasping for a second time tonight. You turn and look at Steve, whose hand his clamped hard on your shoulder. His eyes darting between you and Eddie. Your heart rate kicks up and you expect him to pull you back in, but instead he reaches his free hand to grab the front of Eddie’s shirt, pulling the long haired man over you so that their lips crash together.

You gasp as you watch them go at one another. It’s rough and primal and so much more aggressive than how either of them handle you and you can’t take your eyes away. Your stomach flips and lower down heat settles in your core, making you whimper. They finally break apart at the sound, the two of them looking to you with heaving chests and parted, kiss swollen lips.

“I…fuck…” is all you manage to whisper, face screwed up with want. You lift both of your hands, one reaching towards each of them, but then you drop them back in your lap limply, throwing your head back against the back of the couch. “That was just so hot…”

“Yeah Princess?” Eddie asks with a smirk. He grabs your hand and strokes the pulse point at your wrist with his thumb. “You liked that?”

You nod weakly and croon when he leans forward to kiss your neck.

Steve meanwhile is silent, panting beside you with a faraway look in his eye, like he’s grappling with what he just did. You grab his hand and make him look at you. His eyes shift from your face to Eddie sucking a mark into the skin of your neck. He looks so conflicted you tug him back to you for a kiss, which seems to quiet his mind as he immediately kisses you back.

The stimulation is positively overwhelming and you down realize you’re shifting in your seat until Eddie places a hand on your lower belly, grounding you back down against the couch.

“Someone’s getting a little turned on, huh?” he asks into your ear before nipping at your lobe. You pull back from Steve’s kiss to roll your eyes at Eddie’s teasing.

“I always get turned on when I’m high,” you argue. Steve begins kissing the other side of your neck and your eyelids flutter. Eddie pulls away from you to chuckle. His hand on your belly starts rubbing back and forth…and sliding lower.

“That true, Princess? We get high together pretty often. You always turned on around us?” he asks. Tauntingly. You go to respond with something snarky but his hand moves down to cup your heat through the fabric of your sweatpants and your lips part in a breathy inhale that makes him look too smug.

Before you can tell him to wipe the look off his face, Eddie surges forward to capture your lips again. Steve continues kissing his way down your neck, tugging the neckline of your shirt over to expose your collarbone so he can ravage that skin too. You feel Eddie’s hand leave your lap but barely notice due to the distraction of his mouth.

You don’t come to again until you hear Steve moan against your shoulder. You pull away from Eddie and look down to realize that Eddie had reached over you during your kiss and placed a hand over Steve’s crotch, palming the other man’s cock in his jeans. You swallow audibly and Eddie chuckles.

“Want me to touch you like this, sweetheart?” he asks. Your lip trembles and you want to shake your head. The three of you are friends, this is crazy. But you find yourself nodding and Eddie nods condescendingly along with you. “Yeah? Good thing I’ve got two hands.”

Eddie takes his free hand and drops it to your lap, making you immediately hiss when he cups your pussy again, this time delivering intentional rubs to the hood that hides your clit. You drop your head back against the couch and settle back, noticing hazily in your peripherals that Steve’s done the same thing, and take in the feeling of Eddie touching you in this salacious way.

“Feels good, huh Stevie?” Eddie asks when Steve shifts, lifting his hips into Eddie’s touch.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” Steve huffs. It’s something he’s said a million times in response to Eddie’s flirtatious teasing, something he’s never really fed into or indulged.

Until now.

Eddie chuckles heartily.

“Maybe that argument holds more weight when you aren’t hard as a rock under my hand, Stevie.”

You loll your head to the side and watch Eddie’s hand working against Steve’s straining zipper.

“You’re hard, Steve?” You ask quietly. Stupidly, in fact, because you can see his outline under Eddie’s moving hand. But your brain isn’t exactly working under these circumstances. Steve’s head turns to take you in, too, his gaze dropping to Eddie’s hand on your lap, moving up to your heaving breasts, and then finally back to your face.

“Yeah. You wet?”

“Why don’t you check for yourself?” Eddie asks. He pulls away from both of you and you both gasp in disappointment. Eddie tsks and reaches for a fresh joint, the last one since burnt out in the ashtray. He moves to sit across from you and Steve on an armchair, lighting up and taking a drag. “Go ahead. Touch her, Stevie.”

Steve stares at Eddie for a good long while. Taking in the way the curly hair man settled into the chair, legs spread wide in a position of total ease. The end of his joint blazing in front of smirking lips while his own erection struggled to tent his own jeans.

You glance between both of them and are caught off guard when Steve grabs the side of your neck to pull you into a hungry kiss. You kiss him back and gasp when his hand finds the waistband of your sweatpants. It’s quick to slide under the fabric, bypassing your underwear entirely to slide a finger through your folds.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes against your lips. He turns to Eddie. “She’s soaked.”

Eddie releases two streams of smoke out of his nose and smirks.

“Yeah she is,” he says cockily, settling down even lower in the chair. “The real question is, sweetheart - who got you all hot and bothered? Me or Harrington?”

Steve’s head snaps over to look at you and you feel heat settle in every crevice of your body to be under the scrutiny of both men. You shrug.

“When I’m high I get -,”

“‘You get turned on’ blah blah,” Eddie taunts, waving the joint through the air. “You said that. And I believe you, Princess. You’re a freak and I know it.” He winks and your stomach flips again. “But seriously. What’s got you all wet and ready?”

Your eyelids flutter at that statement. Ready. Your mind has only been going second by second, not moving fast enough to think ahead. But the promise of something more to be ‘ready’ for has you clenching around Steve’s finger.

“Oh god, she just got tighter when you said that, Steve says, almost in a whine. He swirls his thumb around your clit and your hips buck upwards. Eddie laughs.

“You not telling the truth cuz you’re embarrassed sweetheart?” Eddie asks. He leans forward and puts the joint down on the ashtray, only to lean back completely at his leisure. “If you want both of us to fuck you, all you have to do is ask.”

Steve retracts his hand from your sweatpants and swallows audibly. You’re both staring at Eddie now, silence filling the room. This is wrong. It’s so wrong. But your heart is beating in your pussy and your blood is slogging through your veins and there’s cotton between your ears and when you turn to look at Steve his eyes are glazed over and equally hungry as Eddie’s as the slide over to survey you too. All the hesitation is gone from his face. So yours slips away too.

You turn back to look at Eddie and he’s got his hand on his lap, dragging back and forth over his hard on. You lick your lips, an action he doesn’t miss and which makes his grin widen.

“Yeah,” you finally say. You look at Steve and then back at Eddie. “I want you both to fuck me.”

#issa’s writing night #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #steddie x fem!reader #steddie smut #Steddie x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader

[starcrossedxwriter]

Wicked Fantasies Part 11.1 (MBJ x OC)

A/N: Ummm so welcome backkk! This is 11.1 because there's a second part to this chapter (I know... my self control keeps getting worse lolol) But I hope you enjoy!

TW: grief

“I’m never fucking drinking again,” Raven moaned to herself as she stumbled out of the comforts of bed. She felt like hell, if hell had a truck run over its head a few dozen times. 

Raven generally considered herself an early riser but nothing could pull her out of bed that morning after what was, objectively, the dumbest night of her life. Part of her wished she had had one or two more drinks so she could have officially transitioned into the ‘blackout drunk’ phase. So that she would, at least, be spared the embarrassing memories. But no, every horrible moment of the night from dancing wildly at the bar to Michael saving her was etched into the crevices of her brain with shocking clarity. 

Now, it was after noon and Raven still found herself wanting to be curled under her blanket asleep so she could escape her embarrassment. 

A knock at the door pulled her out of her wallowing self pity. She did not make an attempt to move, expecting Tiffany to answer. However, when the voice of their landlord rang out and her knocking persisted, she quickly slid on her robe to open the door. She decided Mrs. Winters would have to get over the fact that she looked like death reincarnated. 

“Rough night, dear?” 

Raven grimaced for a moment, she did indeed look as terrible as she felt. 

“Something like that,” Raven offered a tight smile, her body slumping against the door. “W-what can I do for you, Mrs. Winters?” 

“Oh I’m just letting everyone know that we had a pipe burst on the floor above. We’ll have folks in and out and you might hear some noise and stuff. But if you see any leaking into your unit, give me a ring?” 

“Of course. Will do. Thanks, have a good one,” Raven tried her best to politely shoo the woman away. However, she lingered. 

“Oh I meant to tell you, that boyfriend of yours is just such a good egg. So kind and polite. Admittedly I haven’t met many famous people,” she laughed. “But you just don’t expect them to have such good manners, you know?” 

Raven stopped. “My boyfriend?? Sorry… When was he here?” 

“He stopped by this morning. Gave me a check for your rent for the rest of your lease. Oh and asked where your mailbox was, said he wanted to drop something in it.” 

Raven was worried her jaw might come completely unhinged as the woman spoke. 

He did what?? 

“Are you alright, dear??” 

“Y-Yea, yea. Just… a bit of a surprise. Thank you.” 

And with that, Raven immediately closed the door, not listening to the elderly woman’s reply. 

“This nigga… I hate him,” she muttered to herself as she slumped against her door. 

Every cell in her body knew that was not true. But she also knew that everything she had told him last night was still accurate. She was too tired to forgive him and not just him… anyone ever again. The world has used up all of her second chances and she did not have it in her heart to be disappointed by him again. The narrative in her brain was so set in stone, she did not think anything he could say or do would make her believe anything else. She could not even make herself go retrieve the note that was apparently waiting for her in her mailbox. 

“Such a coward,” she grumbled as she flopped back into bed. 

She stared at her phone for several minutes, her text thread with Michael open. She wondered what she could even say? Thank you?

She knew any conversations demanding she pay him back or he rescind the money would be moot. Even if she had the mental fortitude to argue with him right now, she would still lose. But she could not just accept it without trying to push back. 

She typed and erased and typed and erased before lamely landing on: 

Raven: You can’t pay my entire rent. I can’t accept that. 

Raven: I don’t want that.

Michael: Yea you can. Told you… gonna show up every day tryin’ to fix us. You just gotta let me.

Raven: Money isn’t gonna fix this, Michael. 

Michael: I know. But it can fix the tangible things I fucked up for you

Michael: So let me fix that for you. 

Raven paused, as a warm sensation filled her, a warmth she had not felt in over a month now. The warmth of being cared for. She had never had someone take care of her without wanting something in return, except Michael. Even when their relationship was built on transactions, he still took care of her without needing or asking for something from her. The book deal, her rent were just the tangible examples of how he had stepped up to right the wrongs he could and she could not deny that those actions meant something, softened something inside her. 

He was doing exactly what he promised he would do the night before. He was fixing what could be, he was showing with his actions that she meant something to him. And yet, that blockade that stopped that belief from taking root was still there, still prohibiting her from believing these actions were anything more than a skilled manipulation. 

He would draw her back in, he would not change, and when he got ready, he would hurt her again. That’s what everyone in her life did. 

Raven: It doesn’t change anything

Michael: I know… didn’t expect it to.

She tossed her phone to the side and grabbed her pillow, screaming into it as her frustration got the better of her. The complex web of conflicting feelings with Michael B. Jordan trapped at its center only continued to grow. She wanted him to let her go, to stop caring and trying and going out of his way for her because that fit into the narrative nailed to the cross of her brain, it would confirm her beliefs and fears. 

But instead he continued to do the things that made her fall in love with him the first time, things that only reignited the dimmed but still existent flame that was her love for him. And she knew she would never get over him if she kept letting that happen, kept letting him in. 

So she did not even respond. Instead, she just closed the thread and tossed her phone to the side. 

“Let him go, Rae,” she demanded to herself. “You don’t deserve him and he doesn’t love you.” She repeated that a few times before it felt real again, before all that had started to soften was once again as solid as a block of ice. 

***

“You look like shit,” Alex moaned as she watched Michael’s makeup artist, Shanta, struggle to make him look less like a living zombie ahead of his Oprah interview. 

They were tucked away in a suite in Oprah's sprawling LA estate. It was difficult to make Michael feel poor but Oprah was certainly one of the few people in the world who could do so. 

“Thanks, appreciate that.” 

“You know I don’t believe in lying to you. Make sure you get those bags under his eyes,” she instructed. “Alright, this is it. Final stretch. Movie’s out and every review is stellar so far. Do this interview, it’ll air this week, Oscars on Sunday and then you can sleep. Though I bet it’s not the schedule keeping you up? Talked to her since the premiere?” 

Michael forced his body not to sag at the mention of Raven as to not disturb the hard work of the woman trying to make him look alive after days of no sleep.  

“She texted me about the rent thing the next morning. But it’s been radio silence ever since.” 

It had only been a few days since the fiasco after the premiere but Michael’s concern for Raven had not diminished one bit. He  could not let her go as she requested but he tried his hardest to respect her desire for space. His heart was stuck in the quicksand that was Raven and he had no desire to pull himself out. He wanted to be right there. He knew eventually he would have to accept defeat, accept that she had moved on. But he could not do it while she still questioned her own deservedness. She could hate him for the rest of his life, it would be her right. But his soul could not allow her to live thinking so lowly of herself. So if he had to pay 30 years of rent or call in favors to make her life easier and make her see that she deserved care and someone to sacrifice for her, he would do it. It was high time someone in her life put her above themselves. 

“Well, at least she talked to you. That’s something. You’re doing what she asked. Sis has lived a life, she needs time and space. Keep doing what you're doing. Except for the no sleep. For the love of God, by the Oscars, please get a good night’s rest. That’s your night.” 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Alex…” 

She scoffed. “You’ve won the big four, Mike. It’s not just because I believe you deserve it… Statistically, Best Actor is yours. The Oscars is your night. Have a little faith in yourself.” 

“I hear you. I just don’t wann-” 

“Excuse me?” A young man poked his head in the door. “Apologies for interrupting. I’m a PA. Just wanted to let you know that we’re almost ready? I can take you out to the garden when you’re ready.” 

“Be right out. Thank you,” Alex called. 

Shanta did her last quick finishing touches before Alex gave him her customary once over. 

“Shanta, my girl, you’re a miracle worker per usual.” 

They both offered Shanta their thanks, Michael rolling his shoulders before heading out the door to walk out to the gardens. 

He had met and interviewed with Oprah once before so he was not particularly nervous. But despite having done millions of interviews, there was always a kernel of nerves right beforehand that he could just never shake. 

He was dressed in slacks and a light black sweater, thankful for a cooler day as he walked out into her expansive gardens where the Oprah Winfrey waited for him. The cameras were already rolling, capturing footage that may or may not make into the hour-long special. 

“The man of the hour!” she called, her arms stretched wide to wrap Michael in a hug. “Actually I think man of the year is more appropriate. Welcome. I can’t tell you how excited I am to have you here.” 

“Thank you, thank you. It’s so good to be here.”

“Have a seat,” she gestured at the very comfy chair across from hers. “And we can jump right in.” 

***

Raven’s head was propped against her fist as she stared at her computer. A sentence. That was the grand total of her hard work for that Wednesday afternoon. But it was something, she supposed. Weeks of hard work had amounted to maybe two or three pages of her book. She had been offering Angelina vague answers on her progress, ducking and dodging her to avoid admitting that there was no way in hell she could have a draft by March 15 like they talked about. 

“Rae? You busy?” 

She turned in her chair toward the door to find Tiffany’s head poking in. 

“Nope… I’ll never be busy again at this rate,” she grumbled. “What’s up?” 

“I just turned on the interview… if you want to watch?” 

Raven scratched her head, unsure if she could even watch him? See him happy and thriving without her? Despite everything happening between them though, she could not pretend there was not a part of her that still wanted to celebrate this moment in his career. Interviewing with Oprah the week he was poised to win his first Oscar? How could she ever forgive herself if she did not watch this? Even if it hurts? 

“I’ll… be there in a sec. Thanks, Tiff.” 

Raven let out a deep sigh before she grabbed the blanket off her bed and dragged herself to the living room. The interview had already started and he looked gorgeous. Tired, she could tell, in the way he constantly had to readjust his posture, in the bags under his eyes that the makeup artist could not quite fully cover. But even at his worst, he looked captivatingly good. 

Raven found herself studying him so intently that she did not even comprehend the words he and Oprah were sharing. She just watched him and his mannerisms, she focused on the glimmer in his eyes that sparked every so often. She missed looking into his eyes, missed how expressive they were.  

This moment only amplified how much she missed him, missed hearing the deep baritone in his voice and the spark in his eyes when he spoke about his passions. She missed his bright and uninhibited laughter, how his hands were always on her in some way. She just missed him. But she had pushed him away, had told him to let her go. And even if he had not fully let go of her yet, she felt too scared to open that door again, even if her soul ached for her to. Particularly when he continued to try to show up for her in small ways. 

And despite how angry she still wanted to be at him, she had never had anyone show up for her quite like this… try for her like he did. And everyday, her brain took up far more mental space than it should have, debating whether she should follow her foolish heart and forgive him or listen to her logical brain and cast him aside. Days passed and she still did not know the answer. 

“So I’ll admit,” Raven’s ears finally started to pick up the conversation between Oprah and Michael, “I watched Waves more times than appropriate. But Gayle and I saw it at Sundance and we both thought it was just the most heartbreaking and poignant look at loss and grief that we had ever seen. While still being engaging and funny and so relatable. The journey your character goes through is just… I mean I think grief is one of the few universal experiences that we all will have at some point. And you really brought that to life through this character and his struggles with addiction. And the fact that you filmed this while engaged in completely different projects with complex characters like Killmonger in Black Panther and Adonis in Creed 3… I’m curious what you pulled from to give that performance?” 

Michael shifted in his seat as he chuckled, Raven had missed how passionate he got about this project, even though he had been talking about it and doing press for it since they first started dating. She knew he had not truly expected the role to blow up in the ways it did but she could tell he was grateful for it, nonetheless. 

“Well first, thank you. Yea aside from Oscar Grant, Andre was the hardest character I’ve ever played and he stretched me as an actor in ways, you know, I didn’t really expect? And I learned so much from him in his sort of journey through grief. You know, when I read the first script, the line ‘grief is the final stage in love’s evolution,’ really stuck out to me. When you lose someone, grief, this enduring pain you feel, is that love shifting and changing because it has nowhere to go, there’s no outlet for it anymore. And so, Andre really reframed my own thoughts on grief and loss and how I process that and allowed me to pull from personal experiences with loss to pour into that character.” 

“Yea I will say, that line was one of my favorites. I sat with that long after the credits rolled.” 

“Yea same. I remember sitting a-and thinking about that one for a while after reading it. And I loved that even in the more comedic moments of this movie, we still had those lines that made you wanna stop and really sit with what the characters were going through.”  

“Definitely, I was dissecting this movie for weeks after. It’s just amazing. So I do want to shift gears to talk about this moment you're experiencing because of this movie. This really is the biggest moment of your career. You’re nominated for your first Oscar and a favorite to win, so far in 2023, you’ve won a SAG Award, Golden Globe, and BAFTA. And you, as of two days ago, just had your directorial debut in Creed 3. First question, how are you still awake?” Both of them shared a laugh. “But serious question, how has this moment felt? How does it feel to be having this moment at this stage of your career?” 

“Oh wow, when you list it like that, I don’t know how I’m awake either,” he chuckled. “But seriously, you know… it’s been a ride. I know you’ve felt this too but you know, you don’t often take a moment to just pause and soak it in. You finish one interview or award show and your mind automatically just jumps to the next one. And I think what I’ve been trying to force myself to do in the later weeks of this insane time is just to slow down and enjoy it. Not rush through it and really enjoy the fruits of… really years of hard work and sacrifice. But that also means sitting with… you know, the challenges of this time too, which isn’t as rewarding,” he admitted with a sad smile. “But I’m growing and learning alot so it’s worth it.” 

Oprah nodded. “You know I always appreciate when people don’t let the 24 hour news cycle and gossip sort of steal their thunder and moment from them. And I applaud you for sort of moving through the more gossipy side of the last few months with grace and maturity. But you haven’t really talked much publicly about those stories and the effect they have had on you. And you don’t have to get into it if you don’t want but I am curious on how you navigated that and really came out on the other side, from what I can see, stronger for it?”

Michael bowed his head and chuckled. “Um… you know a good friend of mine told me that she thought this was the most vulnerable and most genuine I had ever been publicly on this press tour and I think it’s because I’ve had to navigate some really personal stuff during this great but hectic public moment? And that’s new territory for me.” 

“And I think that friend is right. I don’t think we have seen or learned this much about you ever.” 

“Yea and I wish I could take some credit for it but… it was all one person: Raven Turner. And the way we met, now as the world knows, was extremely unconventional and I can admit that our relationship started as a complete lie. A lie I thought would help me be seen as this serious, mature man my team was worried I wasn’t. And I wasn’t,” he admitted. “I was cold and guarded and not at all the best version of myself. And while I regret how we started and trying to fool the world into thinking I’m something I’m not, there isn’t a bone in my body that regrets falling in love with her.” 

He leaned forward a bit as he spoke. “Because all those walls and barriers we build around ourselves to survive in this world of Hollywood? To endure the criticisms and insanity we deal with? She's the first woman to see me. Not the actor and the money and the fame but just me. And in that, she saved me… without trying or intending to. She just loved me and loving her, choosing her is the single greatest decision I ever made. And I hate how this moment has fallen on her, how my terrible decisions led to these pretty disgusting misogynistic attacks on her. And I think my biggest regret is putting someone as pure as her in the line of fire like that and not doing enough to protect her. And you know, I have to live with that, which is tough.” 

“You know I’ve interviewed thousands of people in my career and while I believe you have to change for yourself and on your own, I also have found that the ones who love us, really love us, are often the most powerful catalysts for change in our lives. I’ve certainly seen and experienced that in my own life and it’s important to spotlight those who were that catalyst.” 

“Oh 100%. Especially when, I think this version of me was always there? I was just too hurt to trust anyone with it, so no one saw it. I buried me under this facade I thought was better? But I fell in love with a woman who taught me that you can’t be guarded, you can’t shut down just because you’re hurt. Life is about getting up every day, being authentically you, and reaching out and loving and risking your heart every time. And sometimes you’ll get swatted away and sometimes you’ll get an embrace. But you just deny yourself love when you don’t show up at all. So I’ve been trying to live by that more lately. Because she showed me what real strength and courage looks like. And I want to have that, I want to lead with that.” 

“Wow… you know people are going to watch this and I think, applaud that vulnerability. It’s refreshing to me because I don’t think our world incentivizes or encourages people to admit when they aren’t being their best selves. So I think for you to do that, at a moment when you’re at the top of your game, is commendable.” 

“She deserves to know the positive effect she’s had on my life. To be celebrated for how she supported me. And you know it’s not just me? When we first started dating, I remember her one stipulation was that we couldn’t go out on Wednesday evenings because she hosted a book club for kids at the library she worked at. And that was the most important thing to her, being there for them. The day of our first date, she spent an hour delivering books and SAT prep books to those same kids she worked just because. There’s just a selflessness to her that is truly admirable. And I think while people are attacking her and calling her these vile names because she made a certain choice during a hard time, they should know who she really is. A woman that would drop everything to help you even when you don’t really deserve it. A woman who I’ve seen give others all she had because they needed it more even when she did not have a backup plan for herself. I could honestly talk about her for the rest of this interview because she deserves celebration far more than I ever could. Genuinely good people don’t always get the shine they deserve, they don’t always get the love and care they deserve because we can often take them for granted. But no one deserves to be celebrated more than her, to be celebrated loudly more than she does.” 

“I love that… she seems like quite the woman.” 

“She is… and I hope she knows that.” 

“So tell me about…” 

The words faded away as his words tumbled through Raven’s head. They clashed jarringly against every belief she had internalized about herself, like metal against metal. But she found herself wanting to believe him. Believe the words a section of the world just heard. She wanted to believe that what he saw in her, even over the course of six months, was who she truly was. Not this broken, damaged scapegoat life had fashioned her into. 

There has to be more than this, right? 

Tiffany nudged her with a box of tissues in her hand. Raven had not even realized she was crying but she accepted them gratefully. 

“Don’t know how I still have tears over this man left,” she whispered as she wiped her eyes. 

“I don’t think those tears are because of him, sis.” 

Raven sniffled and grabbed another tissue. “You m-might be onto something. I can’t watch anymore. Night, Tiffany.” 

However, before she reached her bedroom, she heard Tiffany call her name. 

“I know what he did… sucks. And hurts. But that’s a man who loves you, Rae. More than anything. After that? The only person in the world who still won’t believe it is you.”

She turned around to face her, the back of her hand wiping away a few more stray tears. “You know he said the same thing?” 

“Well, I generally don’t think actors are that smart,” Tiffany admitted with a laugh. “But he’s right about that. You deserve to believe good things about yourself, we all do.”

“Nothing good has ever lasted… I always ruin it somehow. I tried to believe I deserved him and life proved that I didn’t,” she answered, her voice small. “D-Don’t have it in me to try again.” 

“Raven… I know we aren’t best friends or anything. But how many times have I watched you forgiven your dad and sister? Let them back in, try to make things right with them? Try to build the family you want?” 

“Too many…” 

“Right… So why does Michael only get one shot when you found the strength to give them 100? When he’s the one actually showing up for you? He’s the one who actually is trying to earn another chance?”  

“It’s not that simple and you know it.” 

“I know that the only person denying you happiness right now… is you. You push away the good people and things in your life because you feel like you don’t deserve it but no one would be here if you didn’t. Michael, the kids in your book club… me. I don’t keep signing leases with you because you’re a terrible person who ruins everything, no one has a gun to our heads, Rae. We’re here because you do deserve it.” 

“Tiff…” 

“Nope, shut up. This pity party is getting old and tired. It doesn’t matter what I think of you… or what Michael thinks or anyone out there.” She gestured toward the window. “All that matters is the narrative you’ve created and until you decide to believe something else, all you’re going to do is push people away and fuck up and self sabotage because it’s all you think you deserve. You gotta wake up and do some fucking work, girl. Cause until you figure out how to erase this narrative from your brain, you’ll never be happy. And you’ll never fall in love with anyone except for someone who treats you like crap. You’ll never build your own family. You’ll never finish your book or have another fulfilling career. You’ll just be stuck in this broken version of yourself alone… forever. And I’ve seen a few different versions of you over the last two years but this is by far the most pitiful.”

Raven had never heard Tiffany be so blunt. The words were biting but she could not deny that some of them rang true in her ears. And that was always the hardest information to hear. 

“Damn… tell me how you really feel.” 

“The soft gentle love wasn’t resonating clearly so had to go with a different tactic…. Just think about it. And once you fix all this shit and move to a mansion in the hills, don’t forget about me.” She winked at her, causing Raven’s jaw to drop slightly. 

“How do you even know that’s gonna happen?” 

She shrugged and grabbed the remote to press play, Raven not even noticing that she paused it.

“Just got a good feeling about the two of you. Now go so I can lust after him in peace while he's still single. Kidding! Kinda..."

Raven let out a small laugh as she shook her head. "I know you're not kidding. Night, Tiff.” 

She slid into her bed, her only refuge of late, and stared at the ceiling. She was surprised she was not tired of looking at it by now. Michael and Tiffany’s words wrestled with her own thoughts for hours

What was her problem, really? It was not that what Michael did was unforgivable because it wasn’t. Some distant part of her, too quiet to break through the noise of her anger, always wondered if there was more to the story, believed that he had to have had some reason. But she was too angry to allow him to explain. It just became vicious ammunition that no one could ever love her or care about her… that she was the problem. 

Well, that’s true… no one’s ever loved you. And everyone who does leaves. 

She supposed her mother must have loved her, but she would never know. She would never feel it. And her grandmother’s love was so distant, so long ago, that it no longer felt tangible, was no longer a tether to anchor her self worth to something positive.

Instead, the only thing that tethered her sense of self worth to anything was her family’s disdain. Disdain that made her question what Michael could’ve seen in her, how he could ever love someone like her? That disdain which made it far easier to believe that what he did was proof that he did not love her than that he possibly did do it to protect her in some weird way. No other thought could live long enough in her brain to take hold. 

And she did not know if doing what Tiffany suggested would fix that. There was not enough time in the world for her muster the courage to interrogate and confront the source of these feelings. She had hoped she would never have to see her family again. Some days, never felt like too soon.

But she knew she could not avoid it. They were the root cause, the narrative in her head was fueled and sustained by them. And screaming at them across the Thanksgiving table and never speaking to them again was not the closure she needed. She thought she had dropped the weight that was her family when she cut them off. But she was still dragging all the luggage they gave her around and it was time to give it back. 

She knew her family did not want to see her either, knew it would be difficult to get them to even speak to her after everything. But she knew she had to try… because she knew there had to be more to life than this. That she had not been born to only suffer through life instead of live it. So she needed to confront her demons for herself, even if her relationship with them did not change one bit.  

She grabbed her computer and her wallet. It was time to go home.

***

Raven’s eyes remained trained on her dad’s house across the street as she sat in her rental car. She was almost shocked that none of her family’s nosy neighbors had not called the police yet as she sat there for nearly an hour, summoning the courage to actually go inside. 

She had felt so sure this was what she needed when she bought her plane ticket. And that confidence did not waver when she stepped onto the plane or during the long journey from LAX to Charlotte, NC. However, once she was in her rental car, she found herself waffling, aimlessly driving around for hours. Her brain seemed unable to direct her to the place she knew she needed to go. Home. 

She just could not make herself do it… not yet anyway. So she did not. Instead, she finally went to her hotel to try to get some rest and her night’s rest turned into the entire Friday holed up in her hotel. She had not booked a return ticket, prayerful and hopeful that there would be a reason to stick around for a few days. But that also meant she did not have the incentive of time to make her move faster. 

But she could not even make herself do this. Because she did not know how to be brave like this. Her life had been nothing but running from pain and confrontation. This was so contrary to that. She did not know how to do any of this. She tossed and turned all night, unable to get any sleep particularly when there was only one person who she wanted to talk to, wanted to seek courage and strength from. Because when she felt scared, when she did not feel strong, he was the only person she wanted to reach for. But she was not sure he would even answer. She had pushed him away, told him she needed space. 

But she had not felt like she could do this alone. So last night, she called him. 

“Rae! Everything ok?” he asked immediately, his question met with silence. 

Raven did not know what to say and regret filled her like ice water in her veins. But she knew it was too late to hang up, she had to see it through. She paid for that moment of weakness when she hit the call button as her throat closed at the sound of her voice. She found it impossible to speak, even if she knew what words to say.  

“I’ll wait until you’re ready, Rae. Got all night for you.” 

And she knew he was not just talking about waiting for her to speak. 

“Why?” she whispered, the simple word coming out in a strangled sound as she tried to push past the tightness in her throat. 

“Why what?” 

“Why even answer after everything I said to you? W-why do you keep trying?” 

“Because I love you,” he answered simply. “And you’re worth it. I’ll keep reaching out, baby girl. Even when you swat me away.” 

“You might be the only person who thinks that,” she whispered back as a tear fell. 

“I don’t think that’s true. But even if it was, knowing one person is in your corner is all you need sometimes.”

She laughed lightly. “That press tour got you only speaking in motivational boxing terms or something?” 

His deep laughter filled her ears and filled her soul with such joy that she had forgotten. She had forgotten what these moments felt like, the two of them on the phone or curled up together in bed, just talking. She missed it… she missed him. But she could not say it, could not bring herself to pull her body out of the water to make that long trek back up the cliff to where he waited for her. Everything in her brain screamed at her that she couldn’t do it, that she did not have it in her. And she hated herself for it. Hated how she clung to the ice barriers around her heart, even though they were utterly fractured and ready to fall. She just was not ready yet. 

She let out a shuddering breath as she hastily wiped away her falling tears. “I… don’t know why I called. I s-shouldn’t have called.”

“Call me anytime, Rae. I’ll always answer. I’ll always show up for you. I hope you know that… at least.” 

“Y-Yea… I think I do… or at least, it’s getting harder to deny it,” she revealed. “Your interview with Oprah… it was really good,” she offered lamely. 

“You watched??” she could hear the surprise in his voice. 

“Yea… I almost didn’t,” she admitted. “But I caught most of it. Did you mean it? Everything you said?” 

“Every single word.” There was no arguing with the definitive tone in his voice. “I get that you don’t trust me anymore. I lied and kept secrets. But one thing I never lied about is how much I love you.”  

Her eyes clenched shut for a moment. That was one thing he had always been consistent about, her ears had just been perpetually shut to it. 

“I… um… I gotta go. Early day tomorrow,” she lied as she sniffled. “I’m sorry for bothering you. Bye, Michael.” 

She was not sure what she had expected to get from that call and, at first, it felt as if she only got a firm kick in the heart for it. But for the first time since she landed, Raven had enough strength to finally drive to her family’s house. She had rolled her eyes at his boxing motivational quotes but hearing someone say they were in her corner, that had given her courage. To just feel like someone was behind her, even if she was alone, that meant something to her. 

She took a deep breath and got out of her car, forcing her legs to carry her to the front door. 

Her rounds of knocks went unanswered, Raven getting slightly frustrated but determined not to leave the porch. If she turned around and walked away, she’d never come back. 

After an extremely brief internal debate, she decided to simply let herself in, deciding that since she contributed to the mortgage, she had a right to come in as she pleased. And her father still, foolishly, kept a spare key underneath the welcome mat.

Though she had not been to her family’s home in two years or so, it still looked the same. Her father’s favorite work boots were thrown haphazardly at the door, several pairs of her sister’s shoes lined up next to them. She was an utter mess but she was, at least, somewhat neat. And it still felt… cold. And it had nothing to do with the cold winter east coast weather. The house had always felt like that, void of warmth and love that made a home a home. 

“Kiara?” she called out. “Dad?” However, she was met with utter silence. 

Part of her supposed she was thankful they were not home and that they had not just ignored her or something. She stood in the living room, staring around the room at the pictures that lined the walls and shelves. So many of her mom, her dad, and Kiara but there were none of her. That was not a surprise, it had always been that way. But that did not make it sting any less. All they had ever wanted was to erase her from their lives and if a stranger walked into this house, it would be as if she never existed.

She started up the stairs, her eyes refusing to linger long on any of the photos there. They were all lies anyway, a picture perfect family that did not exist because she had been born. She decided to ascend to the attic once she made it upstairs. Because that was where all her grandmother’s and some of her own things now lived. She had never really gone through her grandmother’s things after she passed, no one aside from her dad to pack them up. But she knew there was so much of their lives, so many memories she had forgotten of the one person who loved her, forgotten in those boxes that she now desperately needed to remember. 

She ignored how narrow the opening to the attic was, realizing that it had been easier to maneuver up here when she was a young teenager. Everything was still neatly packed away as if her grandmother would be back one day to pick it up. 

She started to open each box, pulling out and examining her grandmother’s things, so many beautiful things forgotten in this attic no one went into. For the first time in nearly two decades, she felt close to the only maternal figure she had ever had, felt like her grandmother’s hand was on her shoulder as she reminisced on their short but well-lived time together. 

She found the old costume jewelry her grandmother used to let her play with, laughing to herself as she thought back to dressing up in front of her vanity mirror pretending to be a model or whatever silly idea the pair had thought up. She almost cried as she found a very crumpled piece of paper with the last story she gave her grandmother to read before she died, a random short story that she had written for class. She had not realized, as she found a folder, just how many of her stories her grandmother had kept. 

A gold glint caught her attention, Raven reaching into a giant box to find a shoe box. Raven had seen that box 100 times but her grandmother had never let her touch it, claiming that it held priceless family heirlooms that she did not want Raven or Kiara to mess up. Raven rolled her eyes that something her grandmother had valued so much had been discarded and forgotten haphazardly at the bottom of this box. 

Finally giving into her childhood curiosity, she opened it. It was still filled with things, part of her thankful that Kiara had never found it. The jewelry and pieces in it were gorgeous and indeed priceless. She took her time as she examined each one, wondering if they had belonged to her mother or her grandmother or some other relative she never met. However, it was what existed underneath the jewelry that caught her eye: piles of tied up envelopes, one with her name on it and one with Kiara’s. 

The handwriting was not her grandmother’s, which made Raven even more curious. 

She pulled out the stack with her name on it and undid the thin ribbon that tied them together. There were ten letters there in total, each one with a different note scribbled on the envelope. 

To Raven on your 18th birthday 

To Raven on high school graduation 

To Raven after your first love 

To Raven after your first heartbreak

To Raven on college graduation 

To Raven on your wedding day 

She only had to flip through a few of them to realize who they were from. Her mom. 

“You’re killing me,” she muttered to the sky, unsure if she was speaking to God, her grandmother, her mother or all three. 

Her hands trembled slightly as she ripped open the one on top, addressed to her on her 18th birthday. These were some of the only words her mother would get to say to her, she did not care how long ago she should have read it. She would savor each one. 

To my sweet darling girl, 

If you are reading this, it means that I am not physically there with you on your birthday. It means that I’ve missed 18 birthdays and too many milestones to write a letter for and for that, I am sorry. You might be wondering why there is not a letter for all those milestones and birthdays that have taken place but this felt like the best place to start and the appropriate age for reading the musings of a dying woman. If there’s even such a thing.

We learned your gender today. Another sweet girl. If the doctor somehow got it wrong, these letters will be incredibly awkward. But I know they are right. Because you, my darling girl, are the manifestation of my wildest dreams. I dreamed of you almost a year ago, this beautiful girl with half my face but all of my spirit and personality. And every night since then, I prayed, begged God to make that dream a reality… no matter the cost. And he did. 

I know my body is not strong enough to be your mother, to be around to be the mother someone as brilliant as you will deserve. But I hope you know that deciding to have you and keep you, regardless of the risks, is the single greatest decision I ever made. You were not an accident or a misfortune given to me. You are my dreams. And if my last moments on this earth are spent looking at you, it will have been worth it. 

I waited until 18 to start these letters because I worried a child could never understand the choice I made. And you may still not. And if you resent me for leaving you before you could know me, I understand that too. But I hope that through these letters, you will get to know me. And you will feel some semblance of the immense love I have for you. 

I don’t have much advice because you’ve likely heard it all at this point. But the two most important things I can tell you, that I wish someone had told 18 year old me, is to know that failure is part of the journey. Your grandmother used to always tell me to keep reaching out your hand even if it doesn’t work. I didn’t really understand it soon enough but I hope you do. Life is about risks and if you don’t reach out your hand out of fear, you’ll protect yourself from pain but you will also miss out on the gifts God is trying to hand you. As a daughter, I hated to admit it, but mama was right about that… and so many other things. 

And finally, more importantly than anything else I could offer you in these letters, please remember every day that you are so, so loved. 

Know that regardless of what happened to me, I loved you with every fiber of my being until my last breath. Know that you were a gift from God. And every day you venture out into this world, know that you are worthy of so much because you were so loved from the moment you were dreamed up. Do not let anyone or whatever will happen to you in what I pray is a long, rich, happy life diminish that light, diminish your worth. I know how special you are and I don’t even know your name yet. And while I hope that your father and grandmother will affirm you daily, you don’t need other people to tell you that you are special. You have to know it for yourself. That’s the most important advice I can give you. Know who you are and your worth and take up as much space in this world as you want. And as long as you never forget how special you are… how deserving you are, you’ll move through this world shining bright. And the world will be forced to know it too and move to give you what you deserve. It’s not much and a bit cliche perhaps but I’ve been torn down enough to know that sometimes we all need the reminder. But those are stories for another letter. 

By the time I write my next letter, I promise I will have picked out a name for you. I read a book the other day where the main character was named Raven… I had not thought of it before but I like it. 

Happy Birthday. 

Love, 

Mom

The river of tears streaming down Raven’s face splashed against the slanted handwriting on the page, Raven quickly whisking them away so the words would remain legible. Raven did not even know how long she sat there staring at the words on the page, her heart bursting with the knowledge that her mother’s hand had touched this very paper, that she had poured her heart and soul into every word etched into it. 

It was like proof she had been real and not this entity Raven had conjured up in her head. Raven could not stop herself from ripping open all the ones that she should have gotten along the way. The one for her first love and the separate one on heartbreak were four pages each, and Raven did not pay attention to the clock as she absorbed each and every word. 

Everything she had learned about her mother had been through her grandmother and she had always wondered if her grandmother told her things just to make her feel better. But she realized that her grandmother had been telling the truth, she and her mother were so much alike. She found herself nodding and laughing along to her mother’s stories and wisdom embedded in all those pages. She was a prolific storyteller too and an amazing writer, another trait Raven realized she must have inherited from her.

For the first time in 30 years, Raven did not feel weighed down by this unbearable guilt. She felt lighter than she had ever been in her entire life. Perhaps this was what God wanted her to find here, not a confrontation with her family, but these words. This tangible proof that her mother had chosen her, wanted her… loved her and that she had not ruined anything at all. 

Her mother would not have wanted her to carry such guilt around for so long because there was nothing to be guilty about. 

The letters were scattered across the attic floor when she heard the faint sound of their garage opening. She quickly folded up all of her letters and stuffed them back into the box, tucking it under her arm as she climbed out of the attic. She did not make much noise as she closed up the attic, just as she heard her father and sister close the garage door and enter the kitchen. 

Their voices drifted up to her ears as she started to climb down the stairs, deciding that she might as well get the pure unpleasantness of this moment over with. 

“Wait… you hear that? Is someone in the house??” she heard her sister ask, knowing that they both could hear her footsteps against the old floorboards. 

“Don’t get your gun,” she called out as she started down the stairs. “It’s just me.” 

She was greeted with less-than-welcoming expressions from her family, such disdain that it made her want to scurry away. But she did not. She had done enough of that in her life.

“Adding breaking and entering to your criminal activity, now?” 

Raven scoffed as she placed the box on the kitchen counter that stood between her and her family. 

“Don’t think you can break into a house you helped pay for?” she answered coolly. “And I’m not the one with a mug shot here if I remember correctly.” 

“No you’re just the one who sold her cheap ass for a quick buck.” 

Raven shook her head, opening and closing her mouth for a few moments as she tried to find the words. 

“Yea I did… And I’m not proud of it,” Raven admitted. “But I won’t let you or anyone shame me for doing what I needed to do to survive. What helped the two of you survive too.” Raven scratched her head, realizing that trying to get closure from her family was unnecessary. Her mother’s words had given her all the closure she had ever needed. That’s what she had come home for. 

“You know, I got a plane ready to rip you both a new one for 30 years of abuse and torture. To try to force you to admit that I’m not the villain you made me to be. But… I don’t need that anymore. Because the cross of guilt and shame you two forced onto my back for all these years isn’t one I should have to carry. But I did because I thought it was the only way to keep you two around. And even without you two in my life, I still drag that cross around because I thought I deserved it. But I realized today, way too late, that I don’t need a damn thing from either of you to put it down.” 

“So you came here to what? To chastise us and steal?” her father asked, gesturing toward the box on the counter. 

“You can’t steal things that belong to you. These are letters mom wrote to me,” she lifted the open letters out before sliding the unopened pile to her sister. “And to you.” 

“Your mother wrote these?” he asked, his jaw tensing as he looked down at the stack. 

“Yeah, she did. You’ll enjoy yours… she was a really good storyteller,” she glanced at Kiara. “These letters just told me something I should’ve realized long before Thanksgiving. That cross? That guilt? It isn’t mine. And I am done wasting my life trying to rectify the mistake of being born. Because it wasn’t a mistake. She chose me… prayed for a second daughter knowing the cost and she decided it was worth it. And hearing her say that? That’s all I need to know that I deserve so much more than this… so much more than you.” She took a deep breath. “Being a grieving husband isn’t an excuse to be a terrible father and I’ll just be grateful I found some way to survive you and this. And jealousy doesn’t give you the right to be a shitty sister.” 

“What the fuck do I have to be jealous of??” 

“I always wondered that. But reading those letters… I finally got it. Because even as a failed author and prostitute, I’m everything she was. Grandma used to always say I had her personality… her talent. I always thought she was lying to make me feel better. But you knew she wasn’t and you could never stand it. Couldn’t stand that I was more like her than you.” For the first time, her sister was speechless. A good look on her in Raven’s opinion. “Mom wanted so much better for me than this and I’m gonna go and find it. Because I’ve wasted too much energy trying to earn the love of people who don’t deserve it. So if you want to go to your graves hating me, making me the scapegoat for every problem in your miserable lives, have at it. But know that I don’t hate you even after all this. I won’t be weighed down anymore by any feelings toward either of you ever again. You aren’t worth it.”

Raven pulled herself to full height and rolled her shoulder back as she scooped up the box and folder she had taken from her grandmother’s stuff. 

“Now I’m gonna go and have that long… rich and happy life mom wanted for me. And I hope you two do the same.” 

She did not look behind her as she walked away, a soft smile on her face as she walked out of her family’s house for the last time.

She let out a long laugh as she sat in her car, so much of the weight she had been carrying around gone. It did not feel sad like when she cut off her family at Thanksgiving. She finally felt as if she had cut the anchor away and she could float away, she could move forward and heal all the broken pieces of herself that they had gleefully chipped away at. 

When she got back to her hotel room, she just kept rereading her mom’s words. She would memorize each letter at this point. A part of her desperately wanted to open the other ones but she had not reached those milestones just yet so she left them where they were. For some reason, she worried her mother would disapprove of her breaking into them early. 

One line of five letters she read and reread stuck to her bones above all else. And of course, as if her mother had known, it was embedded in the letter for her first love. Love… the thing that had cracked her wide open and brought her to this moment in the first place.

You’d be surprised to know that this was the hardest of the letters to write. Because everyone has some prolific idea of what love is and feels like. And I realized I don’t… because I don’t think I’ve ever experienced the love I pray you are as you read this. That’s not to say I don’t love your father, I do. But I want something different than convenience for you. I hope that the love you feel is safe, allows you to feel the full spectrum of what it means to be human - strong and vulnerable, insecure and confident, boisterous and timid. I hope it feels like stepping out of the cold air and into a warm embrace. I hope it is loud and unapologetic because you deserve nothing less. And I hope it makes you feel so enraptured that everything else in the world goes quiet. And lastly, I hope, more than anything, that it feels like home. That when you’re in this person��s embrace, you feel as if your soul finally landed right where it is supposed to be. 

Her eyes scanned that passage over and over again, realizing that she had found the exact love her mother described. She had come back here thinking she was coming home. But this wasn’t home at all. Home was where he was. And he was back in LA, about to prepare for the biggest night of his life in 24 hours. And regardless of whatever trust needed to be rebuilt and conversations needed to be had, she could not allow herself to miss it. She could not allow herself to not show up for him.

Raven scrambled to find her phone as it was hidden beneath sheets of paper. She scrolled through, praying she had not deleted a long forgotten group thread that housed one number she had once thought she would never need but now was the most important phone number in the world. 

She almost shouted praises to God when she found it, clicking the call button on the unsaved number. She paced up and down beside her bed as every agonizing ring dragged on. 

“Didn’t think I’d see your name pop up on my phone ever again.” 

Raven let out a sigh of relief as her voice filled her ears. “I know… me either. But I need a favor.” 

“Does it involve a certain award show tomorrow night?” 

“Yes. Is it too late?” 

“Yea it is.” she knew Alex could hear the tiny sigh of sadness she let out. “For anyone but me. I’ve earned enough favors around here to create a miracle or two.”

“Really?? Cause I need like more than one or two miracles… a dress, hair, makeup… hell a flight from Charlotte to make it back in time. Without him knowing?”

“Consider all of it done. Hope you don’t mind getting up at the ass crack of dawn though.” Alex asked, Raven hearing the smile in her tone. 

“For him… I’ll get up anytime.” 

“Good. Then I'll take care of everything... I'll have to tell his mom but she'll love this. And probably be happy as hell that she doesn't have to go anymore. I'll text you details in an hour."

"An hour?? That's all you need??"

"You're new here so I'm gonna choose to not be offended by that."  

"Noted." She was about to hang up when she stopped herself. “Hey… Alex? Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it. Seriously. Just make sure your ass is on that plane and in LAX tomorrow when Allen picks you up, got it?” 

Raven chuckled. “Yea I got it. See you tomorrow.”

Tag List: @readinghere2023 @blackerthings @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @physicxal @purplehairgawdess @miyuhpapayuh @rueruesclues @geemamii @certifiedlesbianbaddie @pipsqueak-98 @nyifly22 @destinio1 @twocentaur @gopaperless @musicisme333 @roguekiki @majesticbrownjawn @taurusqueen83 @mysteryuz @miamormilan @itsknor-thedeep @naj-ay444 @mads-grace4 @nayaesworld @kholdkill @msniaimani @nccu-rnc @apenasumlug4r @dezzy154

***

A/N: So now will y'all stop yelling at me LOLOL our good sis is going back to her man! We love to see it! How surprised do we think Michael's going to be? Part 11.2 will be the Oscars! Drop a comment and let me know what you thought! And as always, thanks for reading!

#black writers #michael b jordan #michael b jordan x oc #mbjordanedit #black panther #michael b jordan fanfic #michael b jordan x reader #creed 3 #adonis creed #creed iii

[boyfhees]

🗗 MORE THAN ROOMMATES | k. ayato

precis. you plan to move out of your apartment and ayato sees his whole life flash before his eyes.

wc. 10.3k please please please read this do not ignore because of the word count. please read it for ayato in silk robes

genre. humour, roommates ! au, modern ! au, suggestive, roommate to lovers ( ? )

warnings. profanities, this gets sort of sensual pls, suggestive, mentions of sex, disclaimer : there's no style & only writing, very bad jokes i'm unhinged with this one, more or less an inner monologue, unsolicited crack, kys and kms jokes ( ? ), drinking, mentions of dying, open ending ? it's pretty obvious if you'd ask me, thoma and sara are absolutely shit at giving advices, both the reader and ayato are absolute simps oh god please forget i ever wrote this ( actually don't. come talk to me about this )

note. repost :( my brother deleted my account sighh anyway please read this ig this is my fav work ever rip. inspired by this fic by my dearest mai go read it

ayato has no business living in an overly expensive apartment with a broken heater and cracked ceilings. in fact, he can instead move out any second. one call and his chauffeur would pick him up, another call and the kamisatos will have another villa signed under their names— well, ayato’s name, to be specific. for someone with overflowing wealth and a father who’s an excellent architect, ayato is surely down to earth.

his sister, ayaka, drops by every few weeks to check up on her brother. well, honestly, she only arrives to check up on the apartment and try another shot at persuading her brother to move out, only to return back home with nothing but failure in her palms. much to your surprise, she even offered the landlady a contract to buy the apartment. ‘we can buy, renovate and decorate this— then you and ayato can live happily!’ her exact words, but you declined. after all, you can not keep leeching off the kamisatos and living lavishly with a million dollars debt threatening to decapitate you in your sleep. ayato has done enough by handling your expenses when you were fired from your previous job.

talking about you, your life in the apartment isn’t any better. if you ignore the benefits of being roommates with ayato— which solely includes free boba and the opportunity to watch him in a silk robe every time he takes a shower— you don’t have any reasons to not move out of the apartment either. surprisingly enough, you’re sure that if you continue to living there and keep using the dark and narrow alleyway as your shortest way home from the university campus, you’ll be murdered luxuriously. 

that was four months ago, though, when you were a new resident who paid an offensively high rent for a shitty apartment and saw yourself on the streets in the near future. the you from four months ago is probably cursing the hell out of you; not even probably, it’s certain. every night, you entertain your two lovely, semi-functional brain cells telling you to gather your stuff and move out the day you get your pay cheque. 

you’re reminded to move in with your parents again after you had the nastiest argument with them and moved out impulsively, saying you’ll ‘slay’ out there, in the world, all alone. well, surprise, you’re not. instead, the world is slaying you by having you juggle between three part time jobs while managing your hair-greying college schedule and an apartment who’s faucet goes out every other day. that’s when the landlady gave you the happiest news you’d heard in months : a roommate. 

now, you see, for most people, having a roommate would be troublesome. no one wants to share the kitchen or their favourite spot on the couch or something, but the day you were informed about your roommate moving in, you were on cloud nine. you had a drink, blanked out completely in the middle of the living room for absolutely no reason, even cleaned the apartment extra carefully the next day for dear roommate. you’re crazy for that, you had your reasons. 

first, the rent. thankfully, it is still around how it was before with a bare fifteen percent increase; but hey, you no longer have to carry the financial burden yourself and have your conscience call you an imbecile every night before you drift into sleep. moreover, you’d finally have someone to fix the faucet, change the bulbs, and most importantly, hear you venting about how shit the apartment is. you were also excited about your roommate being the ‘nice, college student in his early twenties’ guy, as informed by your landlord, but that’s for another day. 

and that is how you had ayato as your roommate. his first look was intimidating. you remember wondering if he’s actually a college student and not some undercover assassin. but again, he looks too, if anything, decent, to be an assassin. ayato likes his boba extra sweetened and his closet consists of anything but hoodies and sweatpants. he watches bunny videos in free time and feeds stray cats whenever they come around. he also cooks two meals a day and ends up ordering the third one so you don’t have to overwork yourself after all the part time jobs and stressful classes, helps you with assignment, puts you to bed if you fall asleep in living room— yeah, no. he’s way too decent to be an assassin. 

ayato thinks he’s doing a wonderful job at being a roommate who you can depend upon. from the first hour of the day to the last one at night, he helps you, greets you, stays by your side; he’s an amazing roommate, and it’s a fact. thoma confirmed, and sara thinks he’s being a little too generous but hey, it’s about you; and when it comes to you, nothing is ‘too much’ for aayto. 

so when you tell him on one fine sunday morning that you’ll be moving out next month, ayato sees his life flash before his eyes. it’s been two days since you’ve informed him and he’s still too stunned to speak. 

“hey,” ayato greets you in the kitchen, fetching a glass from a shelf higher than usual. there’s something off about the atmosphere, and it’s definitely not you. so, your eyes travel to ayato as he pours himself a glass of ice-cold water at the ass crack of dawn. “so you’re really moving out?” 

what the fuck. 

no because, you’re still half asleep. it’s half past five, you’re getting water and ayato waltz into the kitchen with his robe half draping off one of his shoulders and a raspy morning voice that has you weak in knees. perhaps, you expect a sweet little ‘good morning’ with his trademark smile that has the landlord’s daughter wrapped around his finger— and you too, honestly. instead, you’re met with a frown hanging on his face and a question about the topic that was last brought up about two days ago. 

“yeah. surprise?” you let out the fakest laugh before letting it die just as quickly the moment the sound of your cracked voice hits your ears. actually, you don’t even care about how you look and sound. what’s more important is that ayato isn't acting like himself. well, he’s the one to react quickly and not resurrect a dead conversation two days after, especially when you’re in the process of mourning and grieving about the lack of ayato you’ll have in your life from the next month onward. 

see, you have a disease, and it’s terminal. you could’ve moved out the day you moved in, or the day ayato moved in, or on any day in the past four months, but your condition didn’t allow you. first, it was the lack of green money in your hands to get a better apartment and after ayato moved in, he became the problem. 

you’re down bad. outsold. you have one look at a fine man and you wobble on your knees; one sight of toned muscles and you’re a goner. flatline. dead. there’s no going back. the first time you saw ayato was after you came back from your classes with a cake in your hands to celebrate the welcoming of your roommate. you opened the door and before you stood ayato with his drenched hair and silk robe, smelling like primroses and everything that the man of your dreams could have ever.

he shot you a smile, and you were sold. 

forget the cake, you had a whole five-star exquisite cuisine standing in front of you. rent was no longer a problem, you didn’t mind living under leaking roofs and honestly, even if someone murdered you, you wouldn’t mind. you have been planning to move out for a long time but if that was going to be the scene you came home to everyday, you didn’t mind any of the problems offered by the apartment. 

that is what ayato did to you the day he moved in. 

so, making a decision about moving out and telling that to him was a torture. not only were you losing your man— how funny— but also your daily free boba supplier. it was a life changing, heart wrenching, decision; but it had to be done. 

you shoot him a smile, patting his shoulders as you walk towards your room. “hey, i’m not leaving until next month so don’t think you’re getting rid of me anytime soon.” you hear ayato let out an exaggerated sigh, one that could blow away the wig of your mathematics professor. you don’t know what occurred to him at five-thirty in the morning when he showed up with the saddest frown ever, but thinking he’s upset about you moving out would be getting ahead of yourself and making a clown of yourself once again, in the circus that your life is. 

.

.

.

“dude, what the hell—” that’s thoma, and the saccharine words of compliments leaving his mouth are for none other than ayato. “what’s with your face?” 

no no, not only his face; in fact, ayato, as a whole, is fucked up. he didn’t get a single ounce of sleep last night and you can blame some netflix shitshow for that. and just when he was about to fall asleep, his hydration requirements led him into the kitchen and the rest is history. 

“why is she moving out?” ayato mumbles in the most disappointed and sorrow ridden voice. he didn’t even sound this heart broken when his last girlfriend dumped him in the middle of victoria’s secret because he didn’t help her choose, you know, her lingerie; as insane as it sounds. thoma hasn’t seen ayato this dejected in over a year and the blond head is convinced his one and only close friend, his bro, is losing his mind.

a second passes, thoma repeats ayato’s question in his head. “she, as in yn?” and the next second, he gets his answer. thoma sits straight, back tightened, eyes fixed on ayato who’s very, uh, desolate right now. he has a class in ten minutes but bros before everything, and especially before an hour-long lesson about shit newton did as a scientist. his priority at the moment is to beat some sense into his friend in the politest way possible. 

“why shouldn’t she move out— i mean, have you looked at the apartment? it sucks ass, i’m surprised she made it till four months, i would’ve killed myself on the spot if i had to live there.” ayato shoots him a desperate look, a whine rolling off his pout as thoma’s face scrunches up into disgust because the fuck kind of behaviour is ayato exhibiting in middle of the cafe. “you know, you should move out too. i can clearly see the damage that place has done to you.” 

oh no, the damage is yet to be done. it’s happening slowly, gradually, slower than the tortoise in that tortoise and the hare race, slower than a sloth, drop by drop, sucking the life out of him. ayato doesn’t have any interest in that sorry excuse of an apartment. instead, he’s interested in you. the day he moved in, you appeared in front of him as an angel. an angel with a cake, strawberry flavoured cake that he absolutely despises but you, on the other hand, looked edible— he means, you looked beautiful. you always do, even when you’re wasted after four bottles and a plattering mess. 

god, ayato thinks it’s a blessing to be able to wake up in the same apartment as you. you may say you’re a potato but for ayato, you’re the longest and spiciest chilli in the bunch, he said what he said. and now you’re moving out, he can already spot the differences in the apartment. your stuff is no longer lying here and there since you’ve started arranging your things.

ayato can sense his descent into madness for several reasons. first, you’re just a roommate so why the fuck does he care if you live with him or move to mars; and second, you lived with him for two months without complaints so, why do you want to move out now. he wants to rip his hair out, drink bleach and sleep, hoping to wake up with a better thinking process and stability. 

ayato feels like he has been stripped of humanity, all because you’re moving out in less than thirty days. 

“hi— shit— you need to start sleeping, ayato!” this is sara, and once again, the elite words of compliments are thrown at none other than the boba man. kujou takes a seat next to thoma, observing ayato as he whines and sighs into his hand, looking like a sleep deprived, homeless man who probably has post traumatic stress disorder, but it’s literally just him crying over you, much to sara’s unawareness. “is he okay?” 

thoma shakes his head, taking a sip from his drink, shooting her a ‘does-he-look-like-he’s-okay’ look before sighing at his friend’s state once again. “yn’s moving out and he’s not coping well.”

sara leans back on her chair, rolling eyes at ayato’s diseased situation. it’s surprising that someone hasn’t reported him to the infirmary or some asylum; but she knows the cure. unlike ayato, sara isn’t stupid. she knows; studying criminology gives her an advantage of knowing how to read between the lines, or in this case, ayato’s whines. 

“it’s about time you accept your feelings.” what. she states and it feels like ayato’s heart skipped several beats. he looks at her wide eyed, flabber-gasted, with jaw dropped to the floor. “what? i know you like her. you’re fooling no one with that stupid face of yours.”

no, what sara’s saying is stupid. you’re a roommate. his roommate. ayato’s roommate. mate of the room. nothing less and certainly, nothing more. you don’t share a single class. his mornings start with your face and then ayato doesn’t see you for the whole day, unless you bump into each other on the campus, which is rarer than him getting hit by a meteoroid and dying. ain’t no way, he likes you. sure, you’re pretty. god, you’re gorgeous. human embodiment of goddesses but it’s just the beauty. apart from being extremely gorgeous and someone who ayato probably values more than his life, you’re basically a no one. 

kamisato ayato trusts his instincts, and his instincts tell him that he doesn’t like you. he likes you, just not in that way, not the like-like. not the i-want-to-surrender-my-life-to-you kind of like, not the i-want-to-make-out-with-you kind of like. okay, maybe the last part is a lie— but he still stands by his words. 

“you’re gaslighting m—”

“you’re gaslighting yourself.” thoma cuts him mid-sentence. “i still have the screenshots from the day you spammed me after yn posted that pic. don’t even try to deny.” 

wait, that happened? 

the, going crazy and spamming after seeing your post? ayato likes to think he was drunk. 

“you we’re sober, by the way. never been more, honestly.” and oh god, he’s done for. but that’s okay, right? you’re his roommate, and it’s normal for a roommate to aggressively talk about how pretty their roommate is, isn’t it? ayato believes it is normal. it’s as normal as drinking coffee to sleep better. a human appreciating another human’s beauty, what’s so wrong with that? one should support their kind, mutualism is the way through the ecosystem. rhizobium doesn’t live symbiotically for nothing, after all. it’s just give and take— 

“are you going to say something or…?” sara interjects ayato’s trail of useless thoughts. he still doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t know what to say. he doesn’t like you, right, right— it’s clear in his head, he just needs to put it in words. he’s unable to carry out the last part. “okay, if you don’t like yn, then why do you have a problem with her moving out?” 

ah, yes. now we’re talking. the life in ayato’s eyes revisits. “look, look— she’s a great cook,” hah, what a liar. you’re a cook, not a great one. you don’t even cook in the apartment to begin with. the kitchen belongs to mister kamisato ayato and you sit by the counter to watch him cook and add another ten to fifteen years in your life. “and she can clean,” that’s something you’ve always been good at. truthfully, you don’t mind cleaning or doing any of the chores for ayato. you’re ready to get on your fours and bark for him. “and, she's pretty…”

“there,” thoma interrupts, slamming his hand on the table, having ayato look at him with a curious gaze; which looks horrifying because of his lack of sleep, by the way. “i don’t see how being pretty is anywhere close to why you need her to stay.” 

sara nods in agreement, but ayato knows he makes sense. who wants to live with an ugly roommate? okay, maybe, all roommates are pretty, but thoma, if ayato had to live with him, he’d flee the country. so, being pretty does co-relate with living peacefully, because if you’re not pretty, your roommate will flee countries and that’ll cause unnecessary expenses. henceforth, point proven. ayato still thinks he makes absolute, completely, hundred percent sense. 

“whatever, just ask her to stay if it’s that important,” thoma snickers, rolling his eyes. but what he’s saying is not possible. ayato may be good at flirting, he does have a pretty good record with dating, but he becomes a nervous wreck around you. 

he’s nervous right now. 

you make him nervous. just the thought of you makes him nervous. 

and believe it or not, ayato can’t just walk up to you and ask you to not move away because you’re a great cook, you can clean and you’re pretty— no. he doesn’t have the confidence. the whole process sounds like a secret military operation where flexible deterrent options are a must if he wants to survive. 

talking to you feels like writing finals for a subject he has never touched in his whole life. it’s like skydiving without a parachute, going into space without oxygen, and whatnot. despite spending two months with you in the same apartment, under the same roof, ayato’s communication skills haven’t improved past the ‘hi / hello’ stage. 

it’s like stepping on his sister in front of his mother and then breaking her favourite vase before throwing his father’s golf clubs into the sewer. and even though ayato says he likes you, hypothetically, he wouldn’t stroll up to you and ask you to not move out. that's utterly selfish. you’re just a roommate, a chapter in his life, someone who he stumbled across on his way and took a liking to— platonically— that’s it. that’s all you are. ayato thinks it’s insultingly selfish of him to ask you to stay. so he wouldn’t ask you, but he wants to, he wishes for you to stay, no matter how selfish it sounds.  

“i can’t ask her that.” it’s a stern reply, ayato is way too confident with his words while thoma raises his eyebrows as an interrogative response. “what, you expect me to go ‘hey yn, please don’t move out’ one fine day?” 

“no, but you can definitely go, ‘hey yn, you have a sexy and hot roommate who will do you right so don’t move out,’ at her.” ayato believes that the stupidest and most brain-degrading sentence that has ever come out of kujou sara’s mouth. “i mean, you don’t have to tell her to stay, show her.” 

“this isn’t literature, sara.” 

“i know, but show her the benefits of not moving out,” she repeats, her eyes enunciating a bigger plan behind those few insensible words. “seduce her with your skills, ayato.” 

yeah no, there’s no bigger plan. 

the only plan is to fuck up kamisato ayato’s already fucked up life with her illogical, useless fucked up plan. for someone studying criminology and nailing those charts, sara surely thinks less before speaking. no, she doesn’t think at all. her brain is probably in the suitcase she trashed last week. 

“sara, shut up before i—” 

ayato wants to continue his statement, but thoma beats him to it. “no no, wait. she, she makes sense.” 

no, she does not. 

she doesn’t make any sense.

no dots are connected, the dots aren’t here to begin with. head in hands, ayato sighs again. this sounds like something that would ruin his life beyond repair. to damage his reputation so much, he’d have to flee the country and change his identity. perhaps, the kaedehara family would take him in. 

“dude, think about it,” ah, no. ayato very well knows that thoma doesn’t get to talk about ‘thinking’ and anything related to it after saying sara’s plan makes sense. her words are incredibly thoughtless. “you show her the benefits. drop her to campus and drive her back, cook for her, clean for her, arrange her bed for her, earn for her, spend on her, just anything— show her, ayato.”

no. 

ayato doesn’t like the direction this conversation is heading in. 

or perhaps, he’s just overthinking. well, he has been doing almost everything on that list, honestly. everything as in, cooking. that’s it. that’s important, cooking is necessary, one must survive to eat— he means, eat to survive. he has spent quite a generous sum when you lost your very first job. 

this whole conversation is eating his brains out. you’re just a friend, not even a friend, a roommate. a fucking roommate he got attached to and how his abandonment issues are surfacing and god knows what will follow. he repeats thoma’s words in his head over and over again— now way, it makes sense. if anything, it’s going to give you the wrong idea that your roommate became a sugar daddy overnight and you’re going to be his first sugar baby, as sweet and horrific as it sounds.  

talk to us when you’re in a state to accept your feelings. that’s what sara said before excusing herself out of the cafe with thoma following her shortly behind. yeah no, ayato is regretting every decision that led him to this conversation, this unsolicited therapy session that fucked his brain inside-out. he’s about to leave the cafe as well, planning to skip all his classes and probably go visit a temple or something, until you come around with your friends.

there’s a smile on your face, the one he wakes up to. he loves your smile. ayato thinks your smile is really pretty; you are pretty— platonically. a smile creeps up to his face as well, dissipating as soon as thoma’s words re-visited his mind.

show her. ayato bites the insides of his cheeks. he’s probably going to take that advice. after all, you can make anything make sense if you really tried. 

.

.

.

ayato is on his way to the apartment.

he clearly disposed of all his responsibilities as an ideal student and sprinted out of the campus like a criminal on the run. well, he’s on his way to become a criminal. he’s about to seduce you using his skills and then you’ll report him to the police. doesn’t matter that he can get bailed out in minutes thanks to his mad rich family, he’ll still flee the country, get a new identity, dye his hair. kaedehara ayato doesn’t sound bad, not bad at all. it sounds delicious, healing, sounds like something that would save his life. 

now, he’s on the elevator to the floor. he’s afraid the elevator would stop moving if another pack of stress stacks up on his shoulders. actually, that wouldn’t be half bad.

the elevator stops, security comes, you will come running, the management will open the door and he’ll die in your arms out of collapsing lungs? stress? anxiety? heart attack? you’ll cup his face and he’ll tell you about his last wish— please don’t move out. though, it would lack the necessary fucks to give since he’s dead but in case, he’s alive, in case, then you’d live with him. sounds like a plan. godbless to whatever sara and thoma have done, ayato is incapable of carrying out the general thinking procedure. 

now he’s walking towards the door, fiddling with the key between his fingers. show don’t tell, show don’t tell, show don’t tell— fuck, if ayato ever paid attention to all the lessons about creative writing in highschool, he would’ve been the best selling author; which he is not. there’s a reason why he’s majoring in history, out of all the available options.   

for some reason, ayato expected you to be home. if he remembers correctly, you only have half your lessons and he knows you wouldn’t attend half of those scheduled lessons to read webtoons in the library. 

but you’re not home, and he’s going crazy. did you run away? oh god— what if you already moved out? surprise, with the haha, happy living alone note? he doesn’t wait another second before opening the door, coming across a living room that’s seemingly… normal. 

he spots your plushie on the couch, your gaming console lying around like trash or whatever, and uh, a poster of some levi ackerman from that apocalypse au of the anime you watch after sacrificing sleep to you sleep paralysis demon. he remembers you ordering it a week ago, turns out it arrived this morning and you unpacked it, leaving it in the living room because you were getting late for classes. 

you’re still living here, definitely. there’s no way you’re moving out without that silly poster of yours. 

ayato picks it up, judging the man from head to his chest since that’s where the poster ends. he looks like a bergamot. that’s all, and ayato dumps the poster on the floor and leaves to take a shower. 

.

.

.

it’s six in the evening. 

you got drunk at two for absolutely no reason and passed out at your friend’s place. good for you, your hangover is evaporating. though, your head throbs like something else when you watch ayato in his silk robe after shower when he smells like the man you’d get on your knees for. 

you don’t have high expectations this evening. it’s tuesday and ayato never returns on time when it’s tuesday. no he doesn’t drink and judging from how he’s always up at six on wednesdays, he doesn’t get laid either; which is actually good for you because you would never, ever, want any girl to sleep with your man, even though he isn’t yours. 

you’re met with a pleasant surprise when you stand in front of your door with the keys in your hands, noticing that it’s already unlocked. perhaps, you can at least end your day with ayato in his finest attire. you smile, opening the door, your smile grows wider as you notice ayato’s shoes, it grows even wider when you smell freshly prepared creme pasta lingering in the air. you’re in for a ride. you step in further, eyes settling on your roommate who’s leaning against the kitchen counter with a wine glass in his hand— wait.  

wait a damn minute.

wait a fucking second, that’s— ayato for sure— okay, you decide to take it from the bottom. that’s ayato wearing a silk pyjama, okay that’s new. new for you, maybe not for him, but you’re used to seeing him in silk robes with nothing beneath, you know, bare calves and feet. his toenails probably look prettier than yours. your eyes travel up further, completely leaving out the part you shouldn’t be thinking about especially when you’re still partly hungover, you see his abs— pause.  

hold the fuck up, his abs? you blink, and look again, you stare at him for a better look. abs. fucking abs, you’re— but why abs?! no, you don’t complain. all you’ve ever seen is a part of his chest from the godsent chest window offered by his robes. nothing more, nothing below, not abs. never. 

you— okay— you take a deep breath and process the situation. ayato is wearing the same silk robe, except it’s with pyjamas, however he didn’t tie it. he didn’t tie it, oh god— you’re watching kamisato ayato from the first seat, full access to his toned abs, you’re frothing at the mouth. 

“welcome home, yn” silence. what. what. what the fuck did he say? no, ayato greets you everything but not like this. not in the seductive tone that makes your name sound a hundred times breathtaking and make you feel like you’re an empress to some crazy rich nation, not in a way where you can look at his abs, and he runs his fingers through his wet hairs before taking a sip from the wine. not in the sexy, knee weakening, voice that fills your brain with the visual depiction of ‘pregnant emoji’ over and over again. 

you’re done. sold. dead. gone. mother of his kids, probably? you don’t mind because just when you thought you’re over your silly little crush on your roommate and ready to move out, he stands in front of you, looking like aphrodite’s son or just, aphrodite herself— except, this one’s male. 

“yn, you okay there?” no no no, you’re not, you’re not. you’re not okay. you’re oscillating between having the time of your life and lying on your deathbed. it’s like you’re playing a quiz with your own mind where the first option is to die and the second option is to die as well. you’re— you’re failing to compose yourself and you’re sure if someone doesn’t drag you out of this, you will embarrass yourself horribly enough for you to dig a hole and decompose. 

ayato chuckles. he chuckles. he has the audacity to chuckle at you after looking at that. does he even know about the effect he has on you? no, of course he doesn’t. he probably thinks it’s completely normal for him to stand in front of you, half naked, looking criminally hot; yeah no— someone needs to stop him.

“your face is red,” oh, i wonder why. “are you sick?” it’s such a rhetorical question, you’re not sure if he’s actually that innocent or whether he’s having fun teasing you like this. you nod, avoiding all sorts of eye contact and verbal conversation. you’ve figured out enough that if you open your mouth, it’ll get you in trouble. you’re bound to say something stupid, perhaps about how you want him to blow your back like a glowstick or something, or maybe you’d tell him to dress up and put on some clothes, despite the fact that you very much adore the scene in front of you right now, and make everything terribly awkward for the rest of your lives. 

ayato smiles, putting his hand on your shoulder, and you feel several volts of electric current travelling down your spine. you’re getting butterflies, or perhaps the whole damn zoo with monkeys swinging off your ribs and vertebrates. you want to pass out. you want to faint right fucking now before something goes wrong because he’s standing right in front of you, and his hand is on your shoulder, and you’re getting a much much closer and clearer look at this toned muscles— you’re about to start barking. 

“uh, i’ll go—” yes. leaving is the only option, the only correct option. exactly what you should do right now. gather your useless thoughts, run away, go to your room, take a cold shower, and don’t come out until ayato leaves for his classes the next day. 

he smiles, taking his hand off your shoulder and you take a sign of relief. probably the best you’ve felt in months, really. “okay, i’ll set dinner.”

“i’m not hungry.”

“huh?”

“i’m not hungry, i feel sick. it’s uh— dysentery.” great. fucking marvelous. out of everything, it had to be dysentery. 

“oh. do you need med—”

“no, i have benadryl.” you want to bang your head into the closest wall, want the ceiling to finally collapse, the tiles to break and take you inside. you just want to disappear because benadryl is a fucking cough syrup. you simply excuse yourself before he could ask anymore questions, hearing him suppress his laughter as you walk away. he probably knows you’re lying, doesn’t take a doctor to tell what a benadryl is; and you couldn’t thank him enough for pretending you’re absolutely right with the medications and letting you be. 

you get inside your room, you shut the door, you lean against it and contemplate every decision you ever took in your life. 

where did it go wrong? 

was it the part when you moved in? damn, sure you should’ve moved out earlier. you should’ve ran away the day you saw a fine man like ayato standing in front of you, tagged as your roommate. you know you’d sell your soul or something for him, you are aware of the things you’d do for him, for ayato, because a man like him deserves the world. you should’ve moved out before your inner simp had started channelling herself. 

you grab your clothes and decide to sit in the shower until you prune up and die. that’s probably the only right decision. you’re about to get inside the bathroom when you hear the doorbell, halting your steps as you hear footsteps approaching inside. 

“hi,” that. that’s a woman. a lady, a female human, you didn’t think ayato would be capable of being friends with any other woman beside you and kujou sara. 

now judging from the low, scarred intensity of the voice that’s reaching your ears, you can tell she’s a pretty woman. pretty like those campus crushes but in your head, she’s pretty like those main antagonists of some melodramatic television show that make you want to strangle her to death with every breath she takes. you don’t even know her but the way your fist clenches, it’s definitely jealousy piping out of you like candies from pez dispensers. 

“i’m sorry for last night,” last— last what? “we can continue.” 

continue what. 

no. no fuck, you can’t.

if this is about what your rotten brain is thinking about then there’s no way they can continue. you’re here, in your room, the walls around aren’t soundproof and you aren’t ready for whatever obscene act they’re going to pull in his room, or perhaps in the living room because the woman seems to have zero patience. 

“my roommate is here,” that’s ayato. yes. you nod in approval. tell her ayato. tell her to gather up her fantasies and desires and get he fuck out of your apartment. “hope you don’t mind.” 

what. 

what. 

of course, you mind. you didn’t sign up for some real life porn show when signing the papers for this apartment. moreover, you’re not stable and mentally, physically or emotionally strong enough to stand all the moans and groans that’ll fill up the room when he’ll do everything that you want him to do with you, and you’re thinking this with all your soberness. 

“oh, she can join us! the more, the merrier.” no, never. you don’t want to join them in their silly little adventure. you’re not in for some monstrous threesome, as amazing as it sounds. you still have to live with ayato for around twenty-eight days and you can’t just join the two of them tonight and wake up the next day as if nothing ever happened. 

you’re insane, but the sane part is still functional. your last two lovely, worn out brain cells are working day and night to keep you alive, successfully having you avoid all the pits of embarrassment and shame, you can not let them down. 

you don’t hear ayato’s response, or perhaps, you want to pretend you didn’t. because you definitely heard something along the lines of ‘bend over,’ and then he cues some music. 

it’s sway by michael buble. out of all the testosterone stimulating sex songs out there, ayato had to choose this. well, it doesn't change the fact that she’s living the life you’ve been dreaming for, ever since ayato moved in. you’re fucking glad the song is loud enough to block any R-rated sounds or else you would’ve suffered a trauma and piss your pants everytimes someone brings up sex the next time in your life. 

you’re on your bed, covering your ears with your pillows, trying to sleep, while she’s in his arms, doing the deed. funny, very funny. is there a chance you would have completely misinterpreted the entire situation? maybe. but no woman randomly shows up at a man’s house after seven in the evening and the first thing she asks is to continue their last night activities. 

you wish your ears would fall off and you’d forget everything you heard tonight. the sound of music isn’t helping you sleep and you can waltz to ayato and ask him to turn down the volume in middle of whatever the fuck they’re doing and infect your eyes and lose your virginity along with the last bits of your sanity, but you don’t have the balls to do so. 

you don’t have the balls to do anything. maybe if you did, you would’ve told ayato about your feelings and maybe, tonight, it would’ve been you instead of that woman. so you just do what you can : bury yourself inside the covers and try to sleep. 

maybe if you ignore it, it will go away. 

.

.

.

waking up, you realise you haven’t had any sleep in the past twenty-four hours or so. maybe you did, thirty minutes, or so. that doesn’t count when all you’ve heard last night are some horribly weird sex songs and phrases like, ‘that feels so good,’ and other things along the same lines whenever the music stopped. 

you looked at yourself in the mirror and almost passed out at the sight. horrible, literally. failing valak from the conjuring universe. actually, you can be the new valak except you’ll have real, actual, trauma and reason to haunt people. 

what surprises you more is that you haven’t come out of your room since last evening and ayato didn’t even check up on you. not like he’s obliged to, but he must. despite the fact that he was probably having the best night of his life, he should have morals as a human who cares about another human; or, as a roommate, because what if you fell from bed and broke your back? what if you got stuck in a chair and died of poor circulation? he probably doesn’t care. you’re pretty sure he’ll call the woman from last night the moment he finds your body and they’ll dance and sing on your grave; maybe, even fuck around it too. 

you want to get out of your room and go to the kitchen. you want to eat. but you’re scared the pair from last night would be passed out naked on the floor— nah, you’re not ready for that scene at seven in the morning. and this wouldn’t have been another issue to worry about if only ayato showed a little more patience and compassion and took her to his room. 

well, you have to survive. there’s a harsher world out there.  

you open the door and creep out of your room as if you’ve been meaning to steal something. you’re acting like this isn’t your apartment but the apartment of someone you’ve stolen a couple million dollars from. oh, and your eyes are closed. yeah. you’re not ready, not ready at all. you’d rather bump and fall and hit your head, die on spot; that'd be way better—

“oh, you’re up,” that’s a familiar voice. you’re sure, you look crazy standing in front of your room with your eyes closed, but that’s for another day. the main question is whether you should open your eyes or not. “you didn’t come out for dinner, i was waiting.” 

your eyes shoot open. 

okay. okay…

so, he’s not naked. thankfully, he’s dressed. fully dressed, in a white shirt with a top few buttons undone, black jeans or trousers, whatever they are. you miss the chest window, but you’re glad he’s dressed because you don’t certainly want to look at the scratches and marks from last night and add more trauma to your life. 

“i told you, i had dysentery,” as if he believes you. the look on his face tells he doesn’t. no one would, you ruin things for yourself. 

as expected, ayato is a goddamn liar. the ‘i was waiting,’ part sounds so fake now that you’re aware of what happened last night. because waiting while fucking someone doesn’t sound like waiting to you. more or less, it sounds like he was devouring his dinner while you were starving in your room. 

“did you not sleep last night?” oh, yeah, of course not. he’s getting there, slowly, but he is getting to the point. you wonder who’s to be blamed for your lack of sleep and the reason why you woke up with only one living and semi-functional brain cell. “ah, is it because of me? was it too loud last night? i was busy.” 

busy? yeah, he was busy working really hard blowing someone’s back or whatever. sounds like a tough job, but that’s none of your business. ( actually, it is ) you don’t want to have this conversation. you don’t know how to look him in the eyes. ayato, your roommate, your crush, he rocked someone else’s world while he knew you were in the apartment, probably hearing everything. for someone who’s rich enough to be featured in crazy rich asians, ayato surely does work a lot, and hard enough, at that. 

you want to murder him. chop off his limbs and also the part he’s probably very proud of. you want to shave his head so that no girl approaches him in the future. 

“oh, you probably don’t know about my work, do you?” no. you don’t want to. you don’t want to hear about the details, you’re not ready for this conversation. “i help my mom with physiotherapy,” 

yes. yes therapy, sounds lovely. everyone needs it, especially him. wait, therapy? what kind of therapy is sex?  well, it is some sort of therapy by the way, it makes you feel at ease— no, you’re swerving away from the topic ! okay, maybe you didn’t hear him correctly. he clearly said psychotherapy and he needs to get his licence revoked for the kind of therapy he is giving. it’s giving rise to more mental patients; you, for example. 

“therapy?” you mutter, you didn’t mean to. you need to learn how to keep your thoughts to yourself, you lack severely in that department of life. 

“yes, therapy for joints and bones? my mother is a physiotherapist and she taught me a thing or two,” oh. oh. physiotherapy. is that why he asked her to bend over? what was the need to put on music, though? you don’t understand ayato. actually, you don’t understand anyone in the kamisato family even though you’ve only met his sister so far. 

now, you feel guilty for thinking about him in that light. apart from the potential visual representations of ayato from last night in your head, you have a very high respect for this man. you feel like you should get on your knees and apologise, offer a hand-written apology letter for thinking of him in such a non-PG-13 manner. 

though, you don’t know how to apologise. you can’t possibly go ‘sorry, ayato, i thought you were busy having the best sex of your life when you were actually providing her therapy.’ that doesn’t even sound right. it makes you look like you need therapy, urgently. but you need to apologise for your sake. maybe, this is just the consequences of your actions or in this case, your imagination. 

“i’m—” you open your mouth to speak, but ayato beats you to it.  

“do you want to go out with me today?” 

wait, what?

do what now?

go out with who?

it’s a question that catches you off guard, pushes off off the cliff, stops your heart. the monkeys in your stomach are alive again even though they suffer from utter embarrassment and guilt for assuming all sorts of things about ayato, and the perfect man he is. 

you want to say yes. of course, no one in their right mind would reject such a golden opportunity to ride in his Bugatti La Voiture Noire that’s worth 18.7 million dollars as of when he purchased it. you remember you have a terminal disease where you spot one toned muscle and sell your conscience to whatever demon is out there. even though you don’t see any toned muscles, you see ayato’s collar bones thanks to those few undone buttons, you see the nerves of his arms thanks to the rolled up sleeves, you see him wearing an apron because he was making breakfast, what a malewife. 

you’re sold, almost.

almost. 

the offer is tempting, but your new apartment is more. you’re an adult and it's a fact even if you don’t want to believe it and want to become a cat who solely lives for aesthetic purposes. you need to earn for yourself and move out of this apartment instead of living in a hell just to fill a void called ayato in your heart. 

“i have to go take a look at how the work at my new apartment is going,” you’re surprised at how sane and normal your response sounds. it’s truly concerning after everything that has happened since last evening and the trash that’s residing in your head. 

you try your best to sound apologetic. you are, you really are, you’re missing out on ayato and his Bugatti La Voiture Noire of $18.7 millions, the one that people ( aka, you ) drool over every time they pass by. it’s an expensive sacrifice, literally and metaphorically, worth more than your life. 

“well, that sucks,” ayato sighs, removing the apron in the most seducing way possible, proceeding to run his fingers through his hairs, looking like a mouth-watering, melt in the mouth, sizzling pork at seven-thirty in the morning. “i had plans for us,” 

and you’re floored. 

us. you like the sound of that. you and ayato, ayato and you, hot. very hot, very sexy, sounds like an eargasm, honestly. for a second, you think it’s a dream. it has to be. if not, then maybe he wants to take you to a shrine or something and have you cleansed from top to bottom for all the r-rated thoughts you’ve been having. but, that’s only possible if ayato has an idea of what’s going on inside your head. there’s no way he knows that, or maybe he does. you look at him like he’s the happy meal and you haven’t eaten in a good five-hundred years or so. 

you’re too lost in your thoughts to focus on ayato until he leans in a bit closer, alerting every single neuron in your body as he shoots you a smirk, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “have fun, pretty.” 

and here lies yn, twenty something, majoring in one of the available majors offered by her university. cause of death: kamisato ayato. 

.

.

.

ayato lets out a desperate cry of help, sliding down the walls of thoma’s living room as soon as he enters thoma’s apartment, scaring the living shit out of his friends.  

“go die somewhere else.” that’s sara again. you can’t blame her, she follows thoma like a pest because he’s a good cook, that’s it. food above everything else. 

thoma walks to the entrance, sighing at the sight of his friend lying on the floor, dejected and lifeless, looking pale, running the beauty of thoma’s luxurious apartment tiled with granite floors. if it weren’t for his morals, he would’ve trashed ayato. 

“i feel like a whore,” sara’s face scrunches up in disgust. maybe, judging from the way ayato talks about you, he is a whore. if not a whore, then something equivalent to it. “never knew i’d have to do this.” 

sara leans against the wall that ayato just slid down out of pure despair. “do what?” 

“seduce yn.” thoma practically pukes out all the water from his mouth at his friend’s words. “what, you both told me to do so!” 

sara doesn’t believe his words. they say love is blind, but in this case it’s also ignorant and incapable of following the wise and helpful instructions provided. “how the fuck have you been seducing her?” 

“um, with my skills?”

“don’t tell me.” the disappointment, in thoma’s voice, is astronomical. who would’ve thought that kamisato ayato, the heir to kamisato estate, excels in the art of idiocy. god really said he can either have looks or brains, and completely missed out on the latter. “ayato, i talked about cooking and cleaning and your homekeeping skills and not about your talents in bed.” 

oh.

that’s right. 

even though all ayato did was fluster you a little this morning— see, he’s disregarding what happened last evening. ayato assumes you’re used to seeing him half naked in his silk robe, with his drenched hair while he smells like primroses and sandalwood and everything else that’s featured in Dior’s men perfume collection. he thinks it’s normal. it’s his apartment, he gets to wear whatever he wants and make himself comfortable. 

he doesn’t know what bed skills tho— wait, bed? skills? talent in bed? what? what? he’s not even marginally close to what thoma is thinking; and ayato is sure that he needs to get new friends before it’s too late. 

“what ‘talents in bed’ are you even talking about?” ayato asks, finally standing up from the floor like the kamisato he is and slumping on the couch. 

thoma deadpans. “do you seriously want me to elaborate?” no, probably not. never. thoma has experience in this field, you see, and ayato, as someone who has never even thought about this, doesn’t want him to explain and give details about every single move and curve— no.  

ayato chooses his sanity over human reproductive knowledge. 

“i— nothing happened, nothing! all i did was ask if she wanted to go out with me and,” he pauses, eyes travelling between thoma and sara simultaneously. the latter raises her eyebrows, gesturing to him to continue his precautionary tale about how to not treat your roommate. “and, and i might’ve flirted with her, a little, yeah.” 

the embarrassment is evident in his voice. 

ayato wants to liquify and evaporate. he wants thoma’s house to break down and kill everyone and him too. he wants the microwave to blast, just anything, anything that could save him from this conversation. now, flirting isn’t that bad in itself. it’s good, it’s fun, ayaka flirts with yoimiya when her inner lesbian unleashes itself. sara flirts with shogun for some goddamn reason and everyone thinks they have a thing or two going on because no one dares to talk to ei. itto flirts with himself in the mirror— it’s normal, completely, absolutely, certainly, normal-er than normal. normal-est.  

ayato, however, doesn’t flirt. he doesn’t know how to flirt. the leisure art of flirting is beyond the luxuries this specific kamisato can afford. the last time he hit on someone was a cat, not even his ex-girlfriend, a cat. a feline. it scratched him. ayato refrains from flirting to avoid all sorts of innuendos—

a pause. the innuendos, the fucking innuendos, oh god. what if, what if you get the wrong idea? well, thoma and sara assumed that he has been trying to get laid with you so it only makes sense for you to assume the same after all that half-naked, bare-chested, sexy-wine-sipping, jazz last evening. 

no no no—

he’s done. he’s done. 

over.

if there’s someone who should move out, it’s him. 

this life ruining emotionally stressing psychologically mortifying realisation makes him want to jump down the nearest window and pass out, then never wake up. he wants to trip on air and die of mesothelioma, wants to overdose on sparkling water and die of negativity in his life. 

if he doesn’t die, he wishes for the earth to explode or something so that everyone else dies and humanity comes to an end. his day has been ruined, his disappointment and shame is immeasurable. kazuha better be ready to have an adopted brother because ayato is damn sure the kamisatos are kicking him out after this. 

ayato doesn’t wait for his friends to say something. he simply walks out of thoma’s apartment, dejected in shame, hoping lighting will strike him in broad daylight on a day with clear skies. you’re not home, that’s great. you won’t be back anytime before evening because you’re out with your friends. no, actually, you’re out with miko and the new transfer students beidou and venti, who you are bound to get drunk and pass out with.  

that’s good, it’s great. a godsent opportunity. there are two possibilities: first, either you come home remembering everything and move out the very next day or second, you forget everything thanks to alcohol. he hopes it’s the second one. alcohol does wonders water could never. those two molecules of hydrogen and one molecule of oxygen don’t do shit when it comes to forgetting memories. alcohol, on the other hand, is capable of doing miracles. 

like the time he got home downright wasted and almost kissed you senseless while you were helping him clean up. he can swear, he saw the blush on your cheeks. but maybe, that was just fatigue since you had to wake up at two to deal with him. 

yeah, alcohol, a godly drink. 

he reaches home, grabs a beer can from the refrigerator and makes himself comfortable on the couch. ayato wants to forget everything, hoping you’d forget it all too. 

.

.

.

“ayato,” you whisper his name, shaking his shoulders gently in an attempt to wake him up. not like you want to, the sight of him sleeping soundly is healing you and washing off your sins. one does not see the kamisato ayato sleeping on the couch with flushed cheeks because of drinks and a shirt that’s almost half-a-way undone everyday.

it’s a godly sight. a scenery. mother nature could never. you genuinely want to thank his parents for the masterpiece they have created. 

you shouldn’t sit next to the couch and gawk at him while he’s sleeping. that’s creepy. what if he wakes up? imagine waking up to your roommate staring at you with the utmost attention. creepy, and moreover, you wouldn’t be able to face him. 

but again, he looks like the man you’d like to have as your boyfriend. scratch that, your husband, if not more. as if, anything more remains, but whatever. you smile, it’s a chuckle. you chuckle. you chuckle out loud, hand flying to your mouth immediately, hoping he doesn’t wake up. 

you reach out for his face, tracing his nose as superficially as possible, a faint gasp escaping your lips as he shifts a little. great. you have woken him up. his eyes flutter open and you quickly compose yourself, leaning away from him as you realise about the close proximity between him and you. 

ayato groans as he turns to his right, eyes landing on you sitting on the floor right next to him, eyes wide open like a deer caught in the headlights. a second passes, you’re okay. the next second, you’re not. 

you’re panicking. 

you’re experiencing all sorts of emotions at once because ayato just woke up and he probably knows you’ve been sitting here, watching him sleep for god knows how long. time is a social construct either way, who the fuck cares— okay, you’re swaying from the topic once again. and not to mention he looks extremely hot with messed up hair and those flushed cheeks. you’re barely composing yourself.  

did you mention that ayato has excellent facial features? he looks even more stunning up close. you know you should get up and walk away. hide yourself inside your room, live in solitary confinement for the rest of your life, or at least till ayato is around. but you don’t, because you’re staring at ayato, and he’s staring back at you. it’s like you’ve frozen in your place, you’re pretty sure you’d forgotten to breathe, if that even makes sense?

“hi,” he mutters, whispers, in his godly, eargasmic voice, and you feel like you’re hearing melodies of careless whisper ringing in your ears. 

no, you’re not sitting on the floor anymore. you stand up, pretending nothing ever happened, as if you didn’t stare at him sleeping and continued to stare for five solid minutes even after he had woken up. a very reliable solution, playing pretend always proves to be useful. 

“you can wash up, i’ll prepare the hangover soup,” you mutter, making your way to the kitchen, hearing him shuffle on the couch as he sits straight. ayato doesn’t remember a lot from the events that happened prior to your arrival, yet, which is fantastic. marvels of alcohol, everyone. 

“don’t go,” he mumbles, and you stop on your way. “don’t move out,” ayato doesn’t think before speaking, he never does. he doesn’t trust himself. he said you’re just a roommate, nothing less, nothing more, but he has been devastated ever since you told him you’ll be moving out. maybe, that was all a lie. maybe, this isn’t just platonical. maybe, you have always been a little more than just a roommate to ayato. 

it’s like the fireworks are going off all around you. you’re still processing his words, wondering if he really means them because in the end, he’s drunk. partially, completely, he is drunk. and you can never trust alcohol and its consequences. 

so, you simply decide to play along, hoping he won't remember this conversation the next day. “is there a reason for me to stay?”

“i am,” another quick reply, and you’re losing your mind. it’s like the ground beneath you is shaking. your heart is accelerating so fast, you’re scared it’ll come out of your chest. it’s not your first time witnessing a drunk ayato who has gone batshit crazy, but it is your first time having him look at you with an expression you’ve never seen on his face before. at least not with regards to you. 

he sighs, getting up from the couch before making his way towards you with every step increasing your already racing heartbeat. and before you know it, he’s already standing in front of you, barely a few inches apart as he cups your face, eyes settling on your lips. “please remind me if i forget any of this tomorrow,” 

rest all feels like a dream because ayato, your roommate, the guy you’ve had a crush on ever since he moved in, the man you’d bark for— not literally, maybe, is kissing you. he’s not just kissing you, he’s kissing you, as in literally slotting his lips against yours, pulling you closer with every second that passes. he’s kissing you like the world will end tomorrow and even if it does, you don’t mind. you don’t fucking mind if the house burns to ashes and a truck runs you over the very next day because this is everything you’ve wished for in past two months ( you know, besides having a place with better living conditions to call house )

“ayato—” no he doesn’t let you speak. instead, he nibbles on your lips, soft gasps for air twirling in between as he frames you against the kitchen counter. no, this isn’t your first kiss. you’ve had relationships, but nothing compares to this moment. no other kiss compares to how he’s kissing you and how it feels like you’re on an amusement park ride where the adrenaline gets the best of you and suddenly, you’re drowning between pleasure and thrill. 

that is what kissing ayato is like. 

it’s like going to heaven and back in just the way his hands ghost up your cheeks and slot them against your waist, your hands wrapping around his neck as his tongue slightly brushes against your bottom lips, and without a second thought, you let it in. kissing ayato is like gravitating towards a black hole, it’s like lying at the rock bottom and falling even deeper. you’re not sure if you should be doing this right now, especially when he’s drunk, but the taste of alcohol against your tongue inhibits your thought process, allowing your feelings to get the best of you. 

he pulls away, lips brushing against yours as you lean in to capture them in another kiss, only for him to retract. needless to say, it leaves you a little embarrassed. ayato cups your cheeks once again, making you look into his eyes with his warm breath fanning on your face. “i love you,” that’s all he says before navigating his lips to yours once again. 

you’re not sure if you heard him right. of course, you did. you have a good sense of hearing and there’s no way you’re missing such an important detail, but— love, you don’t know how sober that is. you don’t know how much of this kiss, and every sensation that you’re sharing with each other, is genuine. you don’t know how sober ayato is, you don’t know whether this is because of the alcohol or if he actually loves you. so, you put his hands on his chest, pushing him away as he stares at you with an expression ranging between confusion and heartbreak. 

you kiss the inside of his palms, shooting him a sweet smile, before walking into your room. “say that again when you’re sober.”

note two. hello if you made it this far im in love you and sending you all the, uh, things that you like ?? probably ?? yeah. trust me, i never knew i'd end up writing a 10,310 words long fic about ayato and reader simping over each other, in around five hours, two days before my english exam. but this had to be done. i had the rough draft in my keep ever since i made my genshin acc ( hi hi to people who remember my nezlys era ) i had to elaborate. i hope you liked this ?? not the kind of writing you want to see or even write, when this is your first post for a fandom but c'mon. it's about ayato. i had to do this for ayato in silk robe when he's freshly out of shower smelling like primroses and sandalwood and everything else from Dior's men perfume collection

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Hermitcraft Fic Rec!

HELLO. i have hundreds, HUNDREDS of hermitcraft fanfiction bookmarked and living in my brain without rent. Breaking this up into categories for some of my PERSONAL favorite fics in the fandom- including categories for shipping, crossover, and worldbuilding.

Some of these fics are from 2019 but generally speaking you don't need knowledge of past seasons you should be able to pick up on just about all of them. a lot of these are mostly included BECAUSE they're older and therefore, harder to accidentally stumble upon. put in no particular order.

If your fic is on here and you'd like it removed, send an Ask with the fic, a dm, etc

World Building

The Parting Glass / To Pass The Jungle You Have To Go All The Way Around - Sekrap.

Doc has been trying to forget. He has done everything everyone told him he should do to make the memories go away. And still the jungle calls for him. / He was a monster. Then, a man. Now, a machine. Doc, once a normal Creeper, was not meant to live. Let alone become a Player. He learned to speak, he learned to fight, he learned to build. Some things stayed the same. aka- the Domestic Creeper au.

____

Carpet Trick - CrazyCatMeow

You all know the double carpet trick right? What happens when that joint with a tired mad scientist meet.

Mob hybrids can't see carpets <3 extra silly and very lighthearted

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Window Pane - blueticked

Tango and Impulse discuss the brand new presence of Helsknight.

It's not a coincidence that all the evil personas have red eyes.

Tango is a Hels, struggling with self-acceptance and his place in Hermitcraft, which was never meant to be for him. in my head ALL THE TIME

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"I know" - KindaJustHere

Bdubs was used to death. He was used to being killed by his fellow hermits. He was very used to being killed by Grian. Maybe a little too much.

(This is based off Grian’s episode 61 of hermitcraft season 7 where Bdubs says “I know” and shoots himself) BDUBS SELF ESTEEM ANGST!! Griangst !!!! Emotionally fucked up Grian from YHS !!

____

Hiss and Scratch - TheNerdyTurtle96

Doc is a mad scientist who isn't afraid of anything. Actually, that's not true. His only weakness is cats.

exactly like it said it is . SO GOOD AND CUTE

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For the Record - Anonymous

Tango shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I did. Xisuma’s teaching Impulse some Galactic Standard so he can cheat at enchanting or something. Apparently Xelqua’s, like, some sort of god in Xisuma’s culture? It was kind of unclear, I wasn’t paying attention when Impulse told me.”

“Huh,” Grian said vacantly. “How about that.”

oops! Grian is Xisuma's god. amazing

____ GrianMC - SixteenthDays

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Techno says frankly.

“You know,” Grian says again. “Your- Watchers.”

Techno squints for a moment before understanding visibly dawns behind his eyes. “Ohhh, you mean Chat?”

(On watchers, and Watchers.)

This IS technically a crossover but its more worldbuilding than anything else. its literally so funny. i love it

Crossover

These Days I Don't Feel Like Myself At All / Mercury (No One Can Unring This Bell) (Series Ongoing) - RoguishOne (DarkWolfMoon)

TommyInnit had died. Again. To Dream. Again. And it sucked exactly as much as he thought it would because he'd wanted to move on and have a chance to actually live this time. Seems he won't be getting that.

Then he gets pulled out of Limbo, but he doesn't wake up back in the cell with Dream or next to his bed on the server. He doesn't wake up on the Dream SMP at all.

Little does he know that this is the least of his worries.

i want to scream and cry and hypervenilate thinking about this fic series. literally cannot recommend it enough. your life will be ROCKED. THE WRITING IS SOOOOO OGOOOD . i just want to shake. i cannot put into words what this fic makes me feel.

____

Shells in the Foam (a Hermit!Tommy fanfic) - Cedarwhisp21

When Dream attacks Tommy in Logestshire, Tommy runs. Badly injured, he somehow manages to slip between worlds and wakes up in a badlands biome, on a server far from home, with no other players in sight.

The Hermits are surprised when a new player logs in, and confused when no-one's at spawn. Five days later, after waiting for the new player to introduce themselves, Xisuma uses his admin abilities to access their coordinates. He takes Impulse with him to welcome the new player to Hermitcraft, but instead of the beginnings of a base, they find something a lot more concerning.

NEEDS NO INTRODUCTION. the NUMBER ONE kudo-ed hermit fic . by my beloved. and using the one of the beloved au by pertrichormeraki . its so good and im sooo glad i was here for the ride of seeing it unfold <3

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let me give you a piece of my mind - Interjection

Dream and Grian practice building for MCC, and hold a conversation in the process.

Or,

Grian gives an outside perspective on Dream’s actions. Dream is having none of it.

Grian is a fucked up lil guy <3 Dream is a piece of shit

____

He would not die - Nicoforlife

If phil could save only one person from this place, that would be enough.

Tldr I made phil a watcher :)

Watcher Phil and Grian !! ! !!

____

Scared as hell - Nhi_theuserof_this

Grian was one of the closest people to Fundy at this point. He wants to be honest, really, but with the rest of his family history being a total train wreck, he spends an awkwardly long time dancing around what he wants to say.

Tldr; Grian is Fundy’s uncle, Fundy comes out to him

OK SO THIS ONE. WAS BASED OFF ONE OF MY AUS but i had to include it. ok .short and sweet

It was just a game - QuasarsFaults (UNFINISHED)

Taurtis Has been on the server awhile now, he's made new friends, a really tasty toritos shop, a new job working with Concorp, and he's even made this really cool pirate rollercoaster. So why did his and Scar's idea go so wrong?

OK. so i honest to god cannot remember if this is my au or if i just partook in it. i think its my au. who knows. either way seeing this again makes me want to work on my own Taurtis-Became-a-Hermit-Instead-of-Grian fic

Shipping

heartfelt confession - mysteryguest

it shouldn't come as a surprise to iskall, he thinks, when he finally settles on a term that feels just right. and yet, it is. and it's dreadful, feeling that urge, that need to tell someone, without knowing if they would accept you or not.

at least he knows the person he can trust the most with this info is his boyfriend, mumbo.

non-binary and bigender Mumskull !!! coming out. finding identity. finding pronouns.

____

I Hate You (I Promise I Don't) - BewitchingNotes

If someone asked Grian why he was relentlessly pranking Etho now that he was finally back in Hermitland, he'd say it was just for pure fun.

To Etho, it meant Grian was mad at him.

To everyone else, Grian had a huge crush on the redstone user and obviously didn't know how to communicate it.

OR: Grian just wants Etho's attention, Etho misreads this as Grian being mad at him, Grian thinks Etho hates him because of his pranks and everyone else just wants these boys to communicate properly already. Grian's love language is pranks...i love it

____ A Study Of Love in the Universe Itself - 2point5

Love had a strange meaning on Hermitcraft, where everyone loved each other. 

OR

Joe looks into the different ways he loves some of his fellow members, and what that means for him as a human.

ITS A SERIES TOO AND ITS SOOOO GOOD i love it . Joe x Cleo x Bdubs x Etho . what more could you want. and their sexualities and how they perceive love is . OAUGHHGHGGHHGHGHBHGHFHHVIJXFSHDF IUSDHIUSAHDUIA

#hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermitcraft fic rec #fic rec #hermitcraft fic #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft x dsmp #hc x dsmp #hermitcraft headcanon #hermitcraft worldbuilding #hermitship #mika-posts

[thcophagy]

open to: women.

featuring: siobhan hendrix, twenty-seven, lesbian, stripper.

plot: to pay the rent for herself and her sister's new apartment, siobhan dances at a local strip club. it's good, easy money despite having to stomach the attention of men. luckily for her, she has managed to make on friend at the club who she doesn't have to get naked for, at least, not for work purposes.

"baby, i will kiss you square on your pretty mouth if you go round back and just borrow one of cook's fancy cigarettes for me." siobhan drawled and threw herself into the mild comfort of the bar stool, leaning her arms down onto the counter so she could use them as a headrest. work never ceased to feel eternal, each shift meant handling a new crowd of rowdy men with the combined brain cells of a small amphibian but they paid well and for that, she couldn't complain. she was lucky to have one person she could turn to once the day was over, someone kind and pretty and pleasant to talk to. she knew she should've been heading home, that her sister would have been expecting her but a little detour couldn't hurt, right? she was a grown adult, if she wanted to share a smoke with a girl then she was more than free to do so, even if it had taken some bravery to convince herself that it was really true.

#* . ⊹ siobhan hendrix › threads #* . ⊹ retired › starters

[hopelessrromantix]

where i've been

TLDR: Life sucks and so does the government. Half my family got hit with some pricey medical bills plus our normal rent, so donating or sharing this would be beyond appreciated.

I know you’re all thinking “Roman! You haven’t written anything in a month, what’s going on?” First, valid question. Second, dear GOD where do I start.

Let’s keep things simple. This past month has been the literal definition of hell for me. Everything started off fairly normal, until my two remaining grandparents started having frequent hospital trips. My father spent most of his time caring for them, living mostly at their house. Given that he works most in our house, he wasn’t having an easy time. He ended up developing what his doctor said was “stress tremors”, to the point that he went on disability.

Well, even after my grandparents were a bit more stable (though still on close watch)... they continued anyway. Eventually it got so bad my mother drove him to the hospital one night and what do you know, brain tumor.

Queue several days of our family wondering what the everloving fuck we’d do without my Dad. It was several days of my dear mother (note the sarcasm) trying to control everything, my brother trying to continue school, and me taking care of the house and our pets.

We got the scans back not long after and, cue sigh of relief, the tumor was benign. It still seemed to be draining the life out of my father, though. The nurses and doctors were absolutely floored because his tumor was absolutely huge but he had no headaches. Imagine a baseball in your head. Yeah, exactly. He did however stare at the wall for hours and had a hard time getting out more than a few words. It’s probably one of my most heartbreaking memories to watch the strongest person I’ve ever known reduced to a husk on a hospital bed.

Brain surgery came soon after. He made it through and is currently in recovery. He’s speaking actual sentences, though he’s still got tremors and needs a lot of help. Still, I’m just happy to have my father.

That same week, we noticed my cat acting off. We have two of them and my cat, Gallifrey, is a talkative sweetheart who’s attached to me at the hip. But he was meowing differently and acting weird and all around not normal. One vet visit later and we find out he has kidney disease and pancreatitis. He’s being treated for it (new food, possible meds, regular fluid injections, etc.), but he’s still not himself yet. Talk about my life falling apart. This on its own my family couldn’t even begin to afford. The government seems to hate disabled people and paying for numerous doctor’s visits wasn’t remotely in our paper thin budget, much less the meds and treatment.

It was a lot all at once, and not even close to what we expected. Gallifrey is only 7 and my father didn’t show the typical signs of a brain tumor. So, I guess the universe thought “Y’know, this is a perfect time to kick Roman in the fucking balls”.

Routine testosterone blood test, just monitoring… until I got a call from the doctor. Turns out I have some untreated issues that none of my previous doctors caught. In fact, the only reason she caught it was because it was so severe. According to her she was shocked I’m still up and kicking and not in the hospital for a blood transfusion. Apparently my red blood cell count and oxygen level is insanely low, and she asked me to take a Covid test (negative), so it turns out it’s a completely different issue. I’m still in the process of diagnosing it, so that was a fun little addition. With my chronic pain and my mother in denial, I sleep most of the day and am in constant pain the entire time.

I’ll be real, I’m not a fan of asking for money. It’s not something I like, but it’s something I have to do. The amount of treatment we need, my dad, Gallifrey, and me, is more than we can hope to afford on our salaries (thank you, American healthcare!). The medical process in this country is a joke.

I’m asking y’all to help me out. Sharing, donating, whatever. Everyone around me has been kind and supportive, and I'm beyond thankful for that. If you can’t donate, please send it, share it, do whatever, I'll take absolutely anything. If I’m honest? The number I’m asking still won’t cover it, but anything is helpful.

Thank you for reading this far, thank you for sharing, for donating, for being kind, for absolutely everything.

I also understand that the internet is a horrible, despicable place, so I can give any breakdowns of what the money would be used for and give any medical info (not releasing family names or locations) to provide proof. The page includes a lovely little x-ray of my father’s head so you get to see the absolute insanity. If this isn’t enough please let me know and I can link anything else needed to confirm that yes, I am actually having the worst time of my life.

All in all? Thank you.

Donate here if you can <3

#since im not capable of offering much ill be finishing requests #ill prioritize those who donate so if you have a request enter it in the “words of support” #anything you request there will be done within 48 hours #otherwise ill be powering through as many as humanly possible to spread this around #thank you again

[itsbrittanybiitch]

Incorrect AATC Quotes 20

I am so bored. Happy 20th post! Woot!

Dave, texting Alvin: Text me when you’re home safely.  Alvin: I’m home dangerously.  Dave: Stop it.  Alvin: I’m home lethally.

******************************************************************

Simon: Yeah, well I've never died so how do I know that god is real?

******************************************************************

Jeanette: If you could guess, how many brain cells do you have?  Theodore: Dorito’s cool ranch.  Jeanette:  Jeanette: I'm just gonna assume zero for now.  Theodore: I love that song.

******************************************************************

Alvin: When do you usually go to sleep?  Simon: Whenever I collapse is entirely up to the gods.

*****************************************************************

Brittany, during a mental breakdown: Isn't it amazing how I can feel so bad and still look so good?

*****************************************************************

Eleanor, spraying a melted cutting board with a tiny water gun: We gotta cool this bitch down. Cool it down.  Alvin: I actually just put the cutting board in the oven...  Simon, visibly confused: You decided to put the cutting board in the oven?  Eleanor, spraying Alvin: You FUCKING DUMBASS!  Alvin: Dude, I forgot-  Eleanor: OH MY FUCKING GOD! We're trying to make Chicken Alfredo right now, and you fucking MELT the cutting board in the oven at 400 DEGREES FAHRENHEIT!?  Theodore: *Watching in complete confusion while trying to process this whole situation.*

*******************************************************************

Brittany, staring upwards: So, *insert dumb boy name here* broke up with me… haha…  Eleanor: Why are you looking up?  Brittany: I need to cry, but my foundation was 48 dollars!

*****************************************************************

Alvin, talking about a videogame he's playing: I committed all 7 deadly sins in 30 minutes.  Simon: Wow, I've gotta hear this.  Alvin: I was angry and envious of my neighbor so I lazily seduced his wife and ate all his groceries and didn't share.  Simon: You forgot pride.  Alvin: No, I'm pretty proud of this.

********************************************************************

Theodore: If you water water, it grows.  Simon: ...What.  Alvin: He's got a point.

********************************************************************

Finale:

Simon: *standing at the top of the stairs* What are y'all doing at the bottom of the staircase?  Alvin: I accidentally fell down.  Eleanor: BRITTANY PUSHED ME down the stairs because I refuse to pay HER part of our rent!  Theodore: Alvin bet me fifty bucks that I couldn't reach the bottom of the stairs faster than he did falling down it, so I slid down the banister to get my money! Jeanette: I don't know how I got here. One moment, I was sleeping in my bed, three floors up, and then suddenly I was waking up here, just in time to get crushed by Theodore...

********************************************************************

Until next time.....

#aatc #alvin and the chipmunks #alvin seville #brittany miller #eleanor miller #jeanette miller #simon seville #theodore seville #chipmunks #dave seville #dying at the last one

[thekillingmoonmoon]

living legend

masterlist

Pairing: Kishibe x Fem!Reader Warnings: None this chapter Synopsis: with mounting debts and everdwindling funds, will you take your coworker's offer? Length: 1, 2 k

And baby you, all the things you do And the ways you move, send me straight to heaven And baby you, what you never knew What I never said, is you're my living legend

Masterlist

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

“Are you serious?” you groaned at your phone, the latest email from your landlord open and glaring at you. “Never, but I might be for you,” Kishibe answered as you stepped into the elevator. You laughed, long used to the subtle flirtations the older man sent your way, sure that every young woman in the office got the same glitter in his eye and severed smile. You settled into the elevator beside him and groaned, looking down at your phone once more. “What’s got you looking so glum?” Kishibe asked, popping a breath mint and offering one to you, he must have just come from having a smoke outside.

“Rent,” you grumbled, “It’s gone up by ten percent, and with my student loan -” you groaned, taking the offered sweet and throwing it in your mouth. You wished you could go have a smoke, but Makima needed the files tucked under your arm. “This place not pay you enough?” Kishibe asked and you shook your head, “Not even close,” you sighed, “I’m only gonna start saving by the time I hit thirty,” you paused, “and that’s if I get a promotion at the end of this month.” “The one you and Himeno are fighting for?” Kishibe gave you an unreadable stare, You sighed “Yeah, and I feel bad because she needs it just as much,” you pinched the bridge of your nose. The elevator dinged as you got to the executive floor. “You got plans for lunch?” Kishibe asked, and you grumbled again, “No, I left my lunch at home,” you cussed, “I’ll have to get bread –“ “Good,” Kishibe interrupted you, “I’ll fetch you by your office at one,” he looked you over, “You got a jacket to go with that skirt?” You looked up at him and nodded, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. “Good, see you then,” and then he was gone, disappearing down the hallway to his office, leaving you in a fluster, cheeks hot as you stepped out of the lift. Why was he doing this?

...

“How’s it going?” Kishibe knocked and peeked inside your office on the lower floor. You looked at him, surrounded by files. “How does it look?” you grimaced. “You still up for lunch?” He asked, and you shrugged, “You didn’t give me much choice,” he tilted his head, “but I need the break,” you concluded, grabbing your bag and jacket from the back of your door “Let’s go, before Power discovers I’m gone,” You said, peering down the corridor. Kishibe scoffed and held the door open for you, his hand skimming the small of your back as you worked past. He took you across the street, watching as your eyes grew wider and wider as he punched in the highest number in the elevator across the street, taking you to the best restaurant in Tokyo. “Kishibe?” you looked at him, and he shrugged, “My treat,” he said, “I always wondered if the food here was good.” The foot was more than good. Your eyes fluttered close at your first bite, savouring the explosion of flavour over your tongue. “I take it's to your liking?” Kishibe chuckled across from you. You nodded eagerly, cheeks flushed at the taste. “Good,” he took a bite of his food, dark eyes never leaving yours as you sipped at your wine. He had convinced you to drink, citing the need to be slightly tipsy when you got back to the office and had to deal with your coworkers. “That Power,” you shook your head, “Yeah?” “It’s as if she and Denji share one brain cell,” you sighed, “and it’s always hungry,” he scoffed and you found yourself melting back into your seat. You looked out over the city, wondering if this was what it was like to be Kishibe and Makima – to dine at the top of buildings, eating the best food the country had to offer, spending more on a single meal than you spent in a month on groceries. “What are you thinking about, sweetheart?” Kishibe sipped at his whisky, startling you from your reverie. You gulped, and decided that honesty was the better policy, “Wondering if this is what it’s like to be you,” you admitted, “Or to have the means you do,” you clarified. “Would you like to find out?” his next question took you from left field. “Pardon?” Kishibe straightened a bit in his chair, sipping from his whisky before looking across at you. “As you know, I’m single,” oh you knew. And in the darkest parts of your heart, you were glad. You couldn’t imagine Kishibe with someone, his eyes following them when they moved, a gold band burdening his left hand. “Yes,” You narrowed your eyes. What was he suggesting? “It’s not what you’re thinking, doll,” his nicknames spilt so easily over his tongue, smooth and sweet like the wine on your tongue. “How do I put this..” He paused, “think of it as a contract,” he explained. “A contract entailing what?” you were ready to leave, gathering your purse together at any sign of anything untoward. “I need someone to live with me,” Kishibe said simply, “a roommate if you will. Lately,” he sighed, “I’ve been struggling by myself.” “How?” you could not imagine Kishibe struggling with anything, ever. He seemed so together, so straightforward, so confident. “Take a meal for example,” he pointed to the empty plates before you, “Can you imagine eating this alone?” You looked at him, at those unreadable eyes, dark and deep. “You’re lonely?” he shrugged. “You could say that,” he said casually as if he hadn’t admitted something so vulnerable about himself. “What do I do?” You asked, shifting back into your seat, settling, listening. “Live with me,” he said as if he were commenting on the weather, “share meals with me, have a drink with me occasionally,” he tilted his head. “And sex?” You decided to ask outright and he shook his head, “If I was asking you to be my sugar baby, I’d just ask you,” he said. And you accepted it. You looked at him, at his unfathomable eyes, at the relaxed way he lounged in his chair. He wasn’t lying, and you wouldn’t say you weren’t tempted. Having one less expense would make your life a hell of a lot easier. “I’ll think about it,” you finally said, surprised at the slow smile that stole across his severed face. “Good.”

...

Another email. Another godforsaken email. This time from the university, asking for this month’s payment on your student loan. You dropped your head to your desk, startling both Denji and Aki as they walked into your office. “What’s up, Boss?” Denji asked, immediately getting elbowed by Aki, “Have some respect, pest,” Aki hissed, before looking at you, “Are you okay?” You shrugged, “as okay as any person my age in debt would be,” and Aki nodded in understanding. From what you understood, he lived with Denji and Power, and you wondered why you hadn’t thought of getting a roommate sooner. Or becoming a roommate. You dealt with Denji and Aki as quickly and professionally as you could, missing the way Aki’s eyes lingered on your drawn face, how he hung back as you ushered them out of your office, telling them to get home and get some rest. You plopped back down behind your desk. Your email pinged again. You picked up the phone. “Kishibe, sir?” “Yeah,” came the gruff response. “I’m in.”

@red-letter-imagines / @ranilingus / @twochainsandrollies / @atenisis / @reinrein / @cursedmoonchild / @aathenax / @heichouswife / @eroscastle / @halite-writes / @carrobrumbrum / @httpsdolly / @chaotic-fangirl-blog / @opwolfe /  @10rackz / @vampirec0w / @wish42 / @delicatedahlias / @mind-over-meagan / @citrusteaaa / @wiserebelpartypiee / @ireneswlrd / @vintage-teddyxo / @violetdrkside / @drakensdarling / @astennu94 / @galactict3a / @0bakuzan / @cinnamonruts / @cydonian-knight-in-gallifrey (Inbox me or comment if you want to be taken off the CSM masterlist)

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I do not own Chainsaw Man, or any of the related characters. Chainsaw Man is created and owned by Tatsuki Fujimoto. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of Chainsaw Man belong to Tatsuki Fugimoto. Please do not copy, re-use, or distribute this work as your own

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all images and gifs used are either from popular media or from stock photos. I do not own or take credit for any of the images, only edits

#csm kishibe #kishibe x reader #kishibe x y/n #chainsaw man kishibe #captain kishibe #csm #chainsaw man #killingmoonmoon csm

[f0point5]

One thing I don't get is how people think kelly can't support her lifestyle on her own???? I mean she's an ig influencer with over a million followers and literally has brand deals with (at least I think) brands like LV and Miu Miu. She gets invited to a ton of events, events that probably arrange and pay for hotels etc FOR her. So to say she isn't working for anything, while she probably makes more money with 1 ig post than anyone on here makes in a year is just false. On top of that her dad is rich as hell. Anyone thinking she can't pay for her own stuff is stupid. That being said, just because she can doesn't mean she has to lol max is also rich as hell.

Then I think someone used the argument "if she isn't a golddigger and has her own money why did she move herself and her daughter in with max after only idk how many months of being together? "

As far as I know they got together around Covid times so they probably decided ut was better to quarantine together lol???

Kelly is weird as hell but I don't think she is a bad gf at all lol. The narrative that she's seeking attention during race weekends also seems absurd to me bc she's one of the wags I see the least (but ik this is subjective) I personally only see her at the end of the race lol.

Ngl she probably couldn’t afford the rent on Max’s apartment on her own. But guess what she doesn’t live there in her own and her boyfriend is worth hundreds of millions 😂

I agree lol as a person searching for content of her at race weekends for the smau, I don’t see a lot of her. I normally have to wait till parc fermé on Sunday to find out what she was wearing.

But again idk why any of this matters to anyone. Are you paying her bills? Are you paying Max’s? Is the parasocial relationship with this guy you don’t know who doesn’t care about your opinion SO strong you have some misguided and genuine concern for his bank balance?

I almost want to ask one of these people but I think the answer would actually kill my brain cells

[x-heesy]

I've been the one to party until the end

Looking for the after party to begin

I'm going down to La La Land

I hope to see yaz soon in La La Land

CHORUS

Somethin bout those little pills unreal the thrills they yield until they kill a million brain cells

Somethin bout those little pills unreal the thrills they yield until they kill a million brain cells

Now I need to go, whos gonna give me a ride to the after show

I hope that I have enough change so I can make my brain rearrange

I'm going down to La La Land

I hope to see ya soon in La La Land

CHORUS

Oh what have I done, what happened to the morning

I passed the time away high again

I got to find a way to fill the space in time(8X)

CHORUS

La La Land is where I need to be

La La Land is the place that all sets me free

CHORUS (4X)

Brain cells

Has anybody seen my brain today? Ay

Can anybody pay my rent today? Ay

Lǎ̸̹͔̅̈́͘ Lǎ̸̹͔̅̈́͘ Lǎ̸̹͔̅̈́͘ṋ̷͆̽̍͊d̶̖̠̖̳̏̇̏̆͆̂̾̚ - Or̵̠͖̂̀̄́́̕i̴̛͕͍̤̐͆͆͂̇̈́̍̍͊ǵ̷̦̈͐̓̀̉͌i̴̛͕͍̤̐͆͆͂̇̈́̍̍͊ṋ̷͆̽̍͊ǎ̸̹͔̅̈́͘l̵̡̬̹̙͕͍͙̜̂͌̾ Mi̴̛͕͍̤̐͆͆͂̇̈́̍̍͊x̶̧̥͚̹͚͔̙͇́͐͋͛͊́́̄͝ b̵̧̙̮̰̜̳̟͈̞̓̀͋̅̓̔ͅy̵̧̛̝͙̪̘͑͋͌͂̓͌̉ͅ Gr̵̠͖̂̀̄́́̕e̵̯̞̎̈́̀͑̂̓̽̕͝e̵̯̞̎̈́̀͑̂̓̽̕͝ṋ̷͆̽̍͊ p̸͎̝̲̬̗̳̺̥͗͌̑̽͑̍̈͒h̶̨̢̺̪̻̱̞̓̓͊ͅư̵̛̞̙̩͔̭̠̅̈́̊͆͝c̶̡̙̙̞̊̅̋́̒̔̈̑̑Ki̴̛͕͍̤̐͆͆͂̇̈́̍̍͊ṋ̷͆̽̍͊ǵ̷̦̈͐̓̀̉͌ Ve̵̯̞̎̈́̀͑̂̓̽̕͝l̵̡̬̹̙͕͍͙̜̂͌̾v̷̛̼̣͍͈̮̉̾͗̄̋̉̄̀̄e̵̯̞̎̈́̀͑̂̓̽̕͝t̵͎̳̠̏͐͒͆̐

@len0r @bethanythestrange @luna---zylum @frenchpsychiatrymuderedmycnut @bigbonzo @boanerges20 @seanisnothing source

#Has anybody seen my brain today? #x-heesy #my art #remix #2/2024 #my memes #dirty memes #dark memes #follow me down that rabbit hole #arty #drug #drugs #sex drugs and socks with holes #la la land #green velvet #Punks aren’t dead #fuckit #sub culture #music #now playing #spotify #pop art #neo pop art #iphone art #text art #typography #music and art #contemporaryart

[istanbulite]

Honestly.im stressed bc tomorrow (today?) ill probs learn when my jobs ending in October. ideal would be 15th as id have enough salary to pay the months rent and until the end of the month id be free to focus on job hunting and other options

a,little side of me hopes theyll ask me to stay but also i dont want it bc i hate this small ass town and the job is so....so boring itd kill my remaining brain cells.

#so its more of an ego thing #su.txt #4am #btw #should i sleep for 2.5hours...or give up...

[ezrisdax-archive]

i wanna know YOUR top 5 d20 seasons now 👀 but also top 5 trek femslash pairongs so i can pay attention to them when i eventually have crawled through the original series

dimension 20:

Fantasy High - cause I'm basic and @counterspelling got me into it that way. "you've gotta watch it beej, it's so funny" and now because of that the two of us watch the shows as they premiere together. but yeah I love these bad kids and cycle through my own faves of them but c'mon the set up is just so fun and such a cool idea and then you hit that second episode and jfc, this is a little fucked up actually and you're hooked! you're just hooked!

Mice & Murder - I need this to have a sequel cause it was just so funny and I'm a sucker for a murder mystery type deal and grant and rekha are pure fucking chaos together and I miss raph, bring this cast back pls

A Court of Fey and Flowers - I honestly wasn't sold on this one at first cause regency stuff isn't my thing but holy shit, this one goes hard and I fucking loved it.

The Seven - for exactly the same reasons as you, I mean how can you not love this one, I will take twenty seasons of their quests now thank you

Unsleeping City - this one also took a bit for me to warm up to it but I find it a comfort one to watch now, I love Lou and Ally's characters and how they bounce off of each other and the way their relationship grew in the second season too. also Zac playing a one brain cell firefighter is just so fucking funny

trek femslash, okay so you know most of these aren't gonna be from TOS right? like TOS doesn't even have enough you can really make a top five really. also this one is not in a specific order at all unlike the other lists because it changes as I change. anyway here it is also in a specific order because I'm a liar.

B'Elanna/Seven - at least once a week I text @trillscienceofficer a thing about B7 because the two of us are so fucked up on it. it's about how they mirror each other....it's about how similar they are and can't and can see that and hate that in each other but admire each other. it's about how Seven is out here awkwardly flirting with B'Elanna like c'mon. I wrote a whole fucking essay about it! an essay!!!! (basically if you wanna know more please read that essay least I turn this into another essay about them)

Tasha/Deanna - I always think of this pairing in the sense of what could have been and what we did have still. Like in season one they were always reaching out to each other when the other was hurt or under the influence and then Tasha dies! she just dies! on a mission that was meant to save Deanna! I'm just supposed to go on with my life after that???? Like god, I can only imagine the episode when Deanna loses her powers and Tasha being there for her in that one or when Tasha's sister comes on the ship and Deanna being there for her in confronting the past and what she had to do to survive. I love them for what we got in s1 but I'm forever haunted but what else could have been there.

Uhura/T'Pring - they had one scene. one. where Uhura is out here like "hey Spock your fiance is beautiful" and damn if she a) wasn't right and b) on her way to steal Spock's fiance. that's all it took for me okay, I'm easy! sure this ship requires a lot of extrapolation and we don't know anything about T'Pring really (SNW don't interact) but I know in my heart I can fix that.

Jadzia/Lenara - the big canon femslash ship of 90s cause they got to kiss on screen and do you have any idea how that rewired my brain, like sure I took way too long to figure out I liked girls too but that episode lived in my head rent free. and it was about how they couldn't be together! there were too many external factors! and they missed their chance! they missed their chance!!!!!!!!!! the scene where they pull away from each other realizing this isn't going to happen.....god.....just end me and bury me with that scene thanks.

Beckett/T'Lyn - this one is new and currently at the top because of the newness to me and the season just ended so it's my head. like I went in the season expecting to really like T'Lyn/Tendi and I did! but I came out liking these two more, there's just something about that episode where they really bonded and understood each other. I really need more of them in the future.

#replies in thirty minutes or they're free #quicklings #beej talks star trek

[dracox-serdriel]

Good Omens Season 2

The one thing I really loved about Good Omens season 2 is that Crowley and Aziraphale are clever when compared to other angels and demons, but they really aren't the brightest crayons in the box when it comes to humans and navigating their new paradigm.

While we don't know how long Shax has been on Earth, we do know she kicked Crowley out of his flat. Does Crowley get a new flat? Miracle himself a cushy job (or perhaps miracling himself his own plant nursery because comeon what else would Crowley sell?) so he could get hid own flat with Hell's finance department footing the bill? No. Does he ask Aziraphale for a place to crash - or a place to keep his house plants? No. Maybe at first it was about being able to tell Shax that he wasn't working wiht Aziraphale anymore... but come on, all the visiting clearly made that a moot point.

But Crowley just... living in his car? With his houseplants? Seems totally Crowley to me.

Aziraphale is like, "Oh, we need to hide this archangel. How about INSIDE THE BOOKSHOP? Surely nobody would ever suspect me of being involved and therefore would have any real reason to check here!"

Like, he could've easily set up "Jim" in the record shop with Maggie. who owes him 8 moths rent. Hell, he could've asked Maggie to help hide Gabriel. The man was a harmelss amnesiac, and she could've put him up in her flat for a few day as a way to pay him back for all that missed rent. But he'd already forgiven the debt, and I doubted he even considered hiding Gabriel anyone other than the book shop - you know the one place both Heaven and Hell were sure to look.

Seems totally Aziraphale to me.

I'm just saying, this angel and demon share 1 brain cell and only one of them can use it at as a time.

#good omens #good omens 2 #crowley #aziraphale

[logically-asexual]

Where's my fucking teenage dream?

summary:

Last part of this series, two years after the events of the previous part. Logan just finished high school while Janus, Remus and Virgil have been renting a house together since they graduated. Logan decides to move in with them, but adjusting isn't so easy. Logan is ace but does feel romantic attraction (for Virgil). He doesn't know he's ace, though, so the story involves some self-questioning.

Read on AO3

Chapter 11 (last)

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words: 1782

Both adults moved forward and Janus and Virgil stepped aside. They walked and stopped right in front of their son, taking in everything wrong with his appearance. 

Logan studied them for a second. “I was participating in a satanic ritual, before you interrupted,” he said with a straight face. His parents weren’t even religious, but they still stared at him with a firm look of displeasure. 

“You’re going to watch that attitude of yours,” his father scolded. 

“I will not.” 

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s go home now.” 

His mother grabbed him by his arm, but he pulled away. What even was that nickname? Logan had heard more of those come out of Janus’ mouth today than from his parents his whole life. 

“I am not leaving.”

“God, this place smells awful. Have you been doing drugs?” His father pulled out his phone. “I think Dr. Henry won’t be available all weekend so we’ll have to wait until Monday to get an appointment for a magnetic resonance and make sure there hasn’t been any significant damage to your brain.” 

He put a hand on Logan’s back and began pushing him towards the door, but once again he moved away.

“Stop touching me!” 

His father did withdraw his hand but he didn’t seem to have heard Logan. 

“Damn phone, I can’t find the number.”

“Hold on, I think I sent a message to him a few days ago.” 

“Tell him that it’s urgent.”

“I will.” Logan’s mother was looking through her messages and sighed. “The fumes here are horrible, I am beginning to feel lightheaded,” she said with a dramatic tone that was hardly credible. 

“Let’s get out of here, I’ll call the police.”

“What?!” Several of the boys’ voices exclaimed. 

Logan snatched both cell phones out of their hands. That finally got them to look at him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

It was only the second time the others had heard Logan swear, and the first time for his parents. 

His father looked at him incredulously. “Don’t you listen? We’re taking you home.”

“You’re the ones that don’t listen. I said I’m not leaving.”

“It wasn’t a question. You’re not in your senses; those delinquents have had a bad influence on you and we must fix it.”

“‘Those delinquents’ are my friends and you’re going to stay away from them!” Logan barely had to raise his voice. He had never talked back to his parents like this before, except for the night when he left. The anger in his tone by itself was enough to show his determination. “And I am staying here.”

His mother tensed up and looked around the messy house. “After everything we’ve given you, this is how you show gratitude? Abandoning all your privileges for… for this?”

Logan’s tone softened slightly as he looked them in the eyes. “You’ve given me so much; it was thanks to that that I could get into a career I could have only dreamed of.” He looked back down at the floor. “But you wouldn’t have allowed that and I… I needed something else.” 

“‘Something else’…” His mother rolled her eyes. “You have everything and you exchange it for what? Geology?”

“It’s Earth Science. The field of natural science related to the plane–”

“I just can’t believe it,” his father scoffed. “I didn’t pay for all those courses in leadership and innovation for you to be sitting your ass around staring at… at freaking dirt all day!” 

“That’s not what I’m doing!”

“I don’t care what you’re doing! What are your actual career options? It’s not even an engineering degree, at least with those you can make things.” 

His mother muttered to herself, “Natural scientists. I’ve seen those pretentious hippies, thinking that a PhD in fruit flies makes them smarter but they don’t even know how to dress themselves for a formal event. I mean, look at you.” She gestured at Logan. “And, for the love of God, please tell me that thing on your face is fake.”

She couldn’t get her hand close to Logan’s eyebrow piercing before he slapped it away. 

“I don’t want to be an engineer. That’s the problem, you have no idea what I want, I–.”

“What you should want,” his father interrupted, “is to not waste your life away on something that won’t bring any benefits.”

“Benefits for whom? For marketing businesses like yours that prey on insecure minds to take advantage of them for money?” 

“Oh, so now the problem is my job? The one that brings food to your table?”

“I know you want me to be an accountant or an economist but I can’t, there’s nothing about that system that makes any logical sense other than abusing and–”

“You wouldn’t speak like that if you had heard a single thing I’ve tried to teach you about economy–”

“I’ve listened enough!” Logan silenced his father. “Now you’re going to listen to me.”

Everyone stood still, for a moment it seemed like time had stopped. All Logan could hear was his own breathing. In and out. 

“I’ve learned a lot thanks to you, and I appreciate that, so much.” It took a lot of effort to not let his voice crack. “However, I have learned more about discipline, responsibility, independence, and socializing here the past months than I ever did trapped behind a desk my entire childhood.” He took another deep breath. “Look at me.”

Both of his parents looked him in the eye. Logan almost shivered at the intense display of their hard-to-capture attention. 

“This is what I want. I only ask one thing of you,” he said with his index finger lifted. “That you trust me… which is to trust yourselves, that you raised me to be intelligent enough to thrive doing whatever makes me happy.” He crossed his arms. 

His father’s stern expression faltered. He looked around himself at the house. “And this… dumpster makes you happy?” 

Logan nodded. 

As he did, his mother took a step closer to him. Logan noticed that her eyes were now glassy. “We didn’t come earlier because we thought you’d get over your tantrum sooner. We called some of the universities that you had mentioned and figured out where you were, but we thought that you were staying in the university’s own residences. My friend Liz, the psychologist, told us we should let you cool off and wait until you came back…” 

Logan didn’t dare to speak. He had never seen the stoic woman ever show a trace of emotion, not remotely like this. 

“But then we were told that you weren’t at the student residences, you were at some punks’ house away from the campus. The image in my mind was awful, but…” she looked around at the other young men in the house. They all had the same wary look in their eyes her son did when she would reprimand him. They didn’t look like soulless criminals. “I’m sorry.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t think of any words. 

“Please,” he whispered, “just believe me.” 

“Logan,” his father said with a sneer, “if you want to study dirt and rocks so bad then… We’ll pay for your residence at the university.” 

Logan looked down once again and fidgeted with his nails. “I’d like to stay here,” he hesitantly said. 

“How about a generous multi-purpose allowance?” Janus suddenly intervened, earning a glare from Virgil. “What? I meant for groceries and stuff…”

“No. I can work as a professor’s assistant starting next semester and they will lighten my other classes’ workload in addition to the payment.” Logan didn’t want his parents to be able to use the money as leverage. It would take a lot more for him to really trust them. 

His father shook his head, looking at the floor. “Are you sure you want this?”

“I am.”

“Fine,” he finally said, lifting the heavy weight off Logan’s shoulders. “Give me my phone back.” Seeing Logan’s hesitancy, he added, “I promise I won’t call the police.”

Logan handed it to him, then looked towards his mother. 

She rolled her eyes. “I won’t, either.”

With a small smile, he gave her her phone, too. 

“Let’s go, I can’t stand in this junkyard for another minute.”

They both turned around to leave. Logan walked behind them. 

At the door, his mother told him that he could go back if he ever changed his mind. Logan thanked her politely, though hopefully they both knew that his conviction wouldn’t change.

As they drove off, Logan closed the door and leaned his back on it, feeling like he was about to pass out. He willed himself to stay standing, anyway. He wasn’t going to collapse in this hallway again. 

The other three approached him carefully. Janus offered to prepare tea, to which Logan nodded. Virgil laid a hand on his shoulder and guided him towards the living room to sit on the couch. He sat in the middle, with Virgil to his left, Remus to his right, and Janus came to sit on the coffee table in front of them. He had made tea for Logan and himself, and brought coffee for Virgil and Remus, as well. 

They stayed quiet for a minute. Virgil took one of Logan’s hands in both of his. His other hand held the warm mug close to his chest.

“Hey,” Janus suddenly broke the silence, “did you check the time?”

Confused, Logan looked at his watch. It read 00:11. December 21st. His expression lightened up with a subtle smile. “It’s past midnight.”

“That’s right, darling,” Janus said, before standing up. “I propose a toast.”

Of course he did. 

Everyone stood with him, holding their drinks in front of them. 

“To the only real family that I have,” Janus pointed his mug towards Logan, “and its newest legally-adult member.” 

“Cheers!” They said, bringing the mugs together. 

After taking a sip from his tea, Logan spoke up. “I think that’s been enough interruption. You were in the middle of something.” He nodded towards the instruments in the corner of the room. 

Remus grinned. “You heard the birthday boy, let’s rock!” he gulped the last of his coffee and smashed the mug into the floor, then ran towards the drumset. 

 “I’ll have him clean that later,” Janus winked at Logan. 

Logan smiled and put his mug down as the other two got in their positions.

They finished playing their set, then played some more. If Logan had been enjoying the music earlier, now he was reveling in every vibration of the air around him. 

He was free, and he was going to do anything in his power to keep it that way.

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thank you so so much for reading! if you liked it it would be super cool if you'd leave a comment. im just glad you enjoyed it enough to make it to the end <3

#logan sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #dukeceit #analogical #ts #lunas writing

[charmixpower]

Brandon or Riven for the ask game? 👉👈(I can't decide lol)

First impression: both of my first impressions of Riven we're the same because I hated him them held a grudge since childhood against him for multiple years until I re watched the s1 finale. I'm not joking. "Oh hey that squire guy that Stella is dating" was both for Brandon too, did not think much of either of them

Impression now: Oh my god it's the only man ever and blorbo from my shows 💞💞💞 Riven my precious little bastard asshole jerkass, no one understands you and the way you lash out due to past trauma like I do. And Brandon! 💗💓💗💓💗💞 Best man in the world, and resident brain cell holder of the specialists. Also number on Riven and Sky apologist. Love him so dearly

Favorite moment: "I have a heart, and maybe a few friends", "IF YOU FUCKERS DON'T SING FOR MUSA IM GOING TO DO SOMETHING DRASTIC", *that expression he made when Musa dragged him into dancing*, *comforting Timmy*, and "Chillax mainframe". Vs literally ALL of s1 Brandon. That man could do no wrong in s1. Tho the time he caught Stella in s4 when she fell out of the van was so cute

Idea for a story: I would like to see what Brandon's family thinks of everything that's happened to him maybe please? EXPLAIN THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS THING RIGHT NOW!!! Riven actually joins the Trix, and does his prince of darkness thing or whatever. The specialists get to do something useful after s2 plz, that's all I ask. Sky and Brandon clothes shopping bf s1 and Sky slowly losing his mind at the horrific ass outfit Brandon is picking out

Unpopular opinion: I saw someone on YouTube say that Riven was making it up when he said she's interested in things she was never interested in before and I don't get that?? They interpreted it as him talking about her music carrier, and I always assumed he was taking about her interest in hanging out with Andy when Musa was VERY stand offish in s1-3 before the crime the writers committed on her in s4 and actively snipped at people around her. Also!!! Her fashion and her mannerisms all changed in s4!!! I was also confused on why Musa was acting different!!! Also Riven's personality stopped in s2, I don't count s3 Riven as the same person. S1-2 is one guy, s3 is another guy, and s4 is a different guy. I don't know if I have an unpopular Brandon opnion. UHHHH I think he'd look like a fucking idiot if it wasn't for his personality, and he definitely should of been the leader of the specialists because he obviously has the best teamwork skills. Sky isn't good at working with the other guys if you really pay attention to him. Like he'll work along side but he's bad at working with. If that makes any sense

Favorite relationship: Rivusa and Brella I would do anything for you. Also Briven. Ya know how it is over here. but Stella, Aisha, Nabu, and Timmy's friendship with Riven lives in my head rent free. Not to mention Sky and Riven bonding after Sky gets his own mind control trama. For Brandon....tbh I like his friendship with everyone because he is really good at reading people so he always knows™

Favorite headcanon: Riven is actually really protective of his spot at Red Fountain, and the most obvious sign that he wasn't acting completely of his own will in s1 was him endangering his spot there. But because he wasn't close enough to anyone for them to know that, no one realize that he was under Darcy's control. Being a servant has strongly colored Brandon's opinions of most royalty, nobles, and rich people in a very negative way due to they way he was pretty poorly treated by people like Diaspro. One of the main reasons he was interested in Stella romantically at first is because she caught him off guard with how nice and genuine she was. RIVEN GETS FUCKED UP AT THE END OF S2!!!! FUCK YEAH SCARS!!!!! Brandon being asexual is just a good hc to me, it's so much fun. He's constantly flirting and trying to kiss people and he doesn't experience physically attraction, he just likes it. Riven has a sibling but they take after his mom and are like a terrible person. Their the main reason Riven worked to hard to escape his home town. Brandon has had a crush on ALL of the specialists at some point

#winx club #winx riven #winx brandon #rus chatters #asks #ask game

[moon-kissed-witch]

The signs as things that I did not learn until adulthood

Aries: Schwarzenegger had a himbo era. That's what inspired this post but not why I'm giving it to Aries. You guys just have that energy. Own it, I guess. You might end up being a Governator idfk

Taurus: That plantains are real and not just the sims way of saying banana. I thought this was just the sims creators being silly.

Gemini: Those toads that shoot blood out of their eyes are actually lizards. Also that scorpions are arachnids. And that I will always know less about this general topic than any mountain redneck I've encountered.

Cancer: I still don't really know who Al Gore is. Like, I kinda do, but most of that knowledge comes from South Park. I have learned in adulthood that knowing things like that has very little impact on my life, much to the contrary of what I learned in school, and my brain cells are few in number and already working overtime. I don't think I could learn about this if I tried.

Leo: That I actually am hot af I just have low self esteem. Also that you can push tampons out with your muscles. Flex that sex biiitch

Virgo: Not knowing many adult things is actually not that abnormal and we all Google what to do when something happens. Or we call our parents, friends, or grandma. Then we do our best and that's usually enough.

Libra: The cuter that something is, the more likely it is to destroy your life. Soft fluffy blanket be so fall aesthetic but will kill you from heat stroke at night. Puppies will destroy everything they can and will continue to do so unless you work with them on it. Attractive humans - self explanatory. Not a guarantee it'll ruin your life, but if you have a gambling problem don't get a puppy.

Scorpio: Teen angst doesn't go away it just becomes adult angst about doing the dishes and how you have to work your ass off to pay rent but then you go to the grocery store and think "Fuck, I need trash bags and paper towels" and you come to hold a deep seated hatred for these things. The teen angst that you formerly held for your parents is now transferred to toilet paper.

Sagittarius: If someone is staring at you, stare back. More aggressively. Scare them off. If they're a creep, you've now made them aware that you're aware of them. If they're just rude/judgmental, you've put not only the fear of God in them but the fear of you . You don't have to even do anything. It's about the eye contact. Works every time I'm out in public and someone is annoying me.

Capricorn: If you put the fucking lid down in a port a potty the smell vents out, like it is supposed to because that's why the vent is there in the first place. And every time you've gone into one with the lid up, that smell of nastiness could've been a lil less awful but the other person ruined it. I always knew that if you flush with the lid open you get particles everywhere, including what you wipe your face/body with and what you use to brush your teeth, but I didn't know about the port a potty thing. Now that I do I'm angry at everyone else.

Aquarius: People die while/from shitting way, way more often than I thought would ever be possible. Specifically I learned this because it's very possible that the "lol Elvis died on the toilet" thing is not only true but that due to the combination of both his heart being weakened by substance abuse and that he was trying to push out four months worth of shit, it caused his heart attack. And people also death by diarrhea. It counts for 1 in 9 deaths of children under the age of five worldwide.

Pisces: Buttermilk doesn't actually have butter. I learned this and thought to myself "Did you really just think that it was milk with a stick of butter in it?" only to realize that, yes, that is exactly what I thought. I had never examined this thought further.

#dumbass astrology