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iamtotallyfineokay · 7 months

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A new game?

Hey guys, I decided to change the idea for a bit. In one of my last posts, I mentioned my idea of Yandere FNAF UCN. In another previous post, I also said my how Yandere UCN is just Ultimate Custom Night slowly becoming Ultra Custom Night, while the robots practically simp for reader dangerously. However, I realised how it might not be appropriate, as the creator of Ultra Custom Night would probably not want their game being used for x reader fanfics with the storyline of Left4Dead Lovesick FNAF edition in an office. So I tried to change it! Instead there is a FNAF fangame I made up in my head based off the FNAF community’s stuff, like fanmade animatronics and fangame characters for example. I’m still building the plot, so please ‘bear‘ with me. Enjoy!

You are (Name). You work as a small streamer online, with you gaining an adequate amount of subscribers and followers on Twitch and Tumblr, due to the FNAF content that you created. People like you for your SFM and Blender animations and your occasional FNAF memes. You even made fanmade FNAF merch which was pretty good. You recently requested your followers what FNAF games they want to see you play. Some of them began requesting games like Five Nights at Candy’s, Dormitabis or Animators’ Hell. Others stick to requesting original games like Pizzeria Simulator, FNAF World, and Security Breach. You then start playing the games your followers requested the next day on Twitch.

As you finish your run on Ultra Custom Night, you cross it off the list of requested games that your followers asked you to play. However, there was one odd request you were curious about. This request mentioned a game called The Last Terminal at Freddy’s, which you went on to find on Gamejolt in your free time. However, it didn’t exist(?), only having a Page Not Found screen on your computer.

However, according to the anonymous requester, they proclaimed that, like Ultra Custom Night, this new fangame has a lot of animatronics as well as new mechanics. The requester said, in a nutshell after that, the game is just if the whole community stuffed FNAF games, fangames, book and fanmade animatronics, all put into one game that is programmed and formatted like Ultimate Custom Night. They even mentioned that if The Last Terminal at Freddy’s was compared to Ultra Custom Night, UltraCN would be only about a percent of the content that The Last Terminal at Freddy’s has, as animatronics far and wide across the FNAF community are out in it, with the original FNAF animatronics, to the FNAF AR skins and animatronic variants, to wonderful fanmade animatronic variants, to even the smallest things like the FNAF easters eggs, loading screens and such.

Even though you were excited for it, there were other followers that responded to that requests, saying that the game is probably not real, it will be cancelled, or it might cause problems like lag or a virus being installed. You, however, like the naive Let’s Play player you are, had faith and waited for this new fangame, since the anonymous requester stated that the release date is around tomorrow, late at night, the time after you streamed your playthroughs of FNAF games. As you say goodbye to your followers while you shut off the stream, you were excited! A new fangame is coming! You then go to sleep, before waking up the next day, preparing a small meal, and going to Gamejolt to check on your computer to see if it’s there.

It was! It was released around midnight, showing impressive small leaks that weren’t enough to reveal much of its contents but just enough to show small gameplay clips and pics, with one image displaying a roster with instead a width of 15 characters! You grew giddy, straight to opening the game in the process. You then dive in blind as the first thing that pops up is a title screen reminding you of the formatting of the Animators’ Hell title screen. 6 animatronics take up each side of the screen revealing a middle showing the title of the game ‘The Last Terminal at Freddy’s’. You then notice that whenever 5 to 10 seconds has passed, a random animatronic on the title screen will be replaced by another one that isn’t on it. You then press the ‘Enter’ button on the screen. The roster was huge. It seemed like it never ended no matter how far you scrolled down your mouse down. It was always filled with only roster posters of animatronics taking up the screen. You saw a setting where cheats can be turned on, where there is no system to worry about running your run, and a system where you can’t die. You turn on these cheats, set the animatronics’ AI to one, and dive into your run. After that, you were met with piles of jumpscares frame by frame, before having to purposefully ending the night by turning your oxygen mask system off.

After that, you tried some fun challenges like ‘Candy’s Franchise’, where only FNAC 1, 2, and 3 animatronics are turned on, ‘Malhare’s Invasion’, where Springbonnie and his related variants hunt you down, and ‘Hot, Hot, Hot!’, where you mostly try to make your temperature as cold as possible, trying to prevent any fire-related animatronic come into the office to kill you. You were having a lot of fun in this. So when you checked the time, you were surprised it was getting pretty late. You also realised you didn’t turn on your camera to record this. Oh well, you can do it tomorrow on stream, it’s not like you played much of it anyway. You left the game, shut down your computer, then went on the rest of your day, although you can’t help but have a small gut feeling something strange might happen, so you try to shrug it off.

Loading. . .

. .

. Loading successful. . .

Turning on title screen. . .

A bright flash of light awoke these haunting robotic mascots in a jolt like a shock. All they now see is black. Then, a dozen random animatronics see a face through bright mist against a dark background, while the rest stayed in their blinded state. A new player? Odd. The last time they were turned on was when a darkened figure tapped something in front of them, before all of them seeing black. However, they decide to stay put, though some of them were having a glitching effect after certain time intervals, before being swapped with another animatronic. This new face seems to have a jumpy, positive expression. Curiosity gets ahold of them. Let’s see who you are.

Numerous surprises await. You seemed quite happy to be in their presence, chuckling at certain animatronics who you adore secretly, complimenting the mechanics of others, while whole-heartedly just playing the game. This is new. It’s like facing childish innocence in an adult form, all grown-up while being jolly. The positive reaction they could get from players before you were the occasional comment of how this game is only a bit good while lacking content that could improve it.

This fun lasted so long they even forget time went on. To them it’s was hours and hours of fun, but to you, it was just only a few. Then there it was again. You greeted them goodbye, before pressing something in the corner and them seeing black. Oh.

Oh.

Oh well.

That’s sad.

It seems good things don’t last very long.

And it was quite tiring to be trapped in here after a ghost child named ‘Cassidy’ and a wicked old ghoul named ‘William’, battled each other and fought and fought and fought, only to eventually trap each other in this hell.

There were whispers of the vengeful spirit Cassidy hurling insults and blames onto William while the now-turned murder ghost himself sweared under his breath that the fault and outcast of this place was the golden girl who was given a second change at life and a deep hatred for William.

Each hour, these two fought and fought, until their voices crack and choke, broken from the constant negative words hurling at each other. However, a new player came in. A new one. A vessel. One so sweet that one could have their teeth rot in an instant if this new player becomes a candy.

Cassidy and William, putting their foul arguments aside, now went to their own companions about how a new potential vessel will be there now. A vessel of a perfect, self-imagined future, with good use, with Cassidy having a plan of the destruction of William Afton himself, not caring an ounce for the other animatronics stuck in this game, while William imagines a day where he will shred and kill and burn his future victims to the ground, after getting rid of the golden girl herself first. -

Charlie: But Cassidy, isn’t this a bit too much? Your spirit has reached a state of mind where vengeance takes over your thoughts and feelings.

Cassidy: But Charlie! Look at this! We are trapped in this stupid place because he was the man who started it all! If we get our hands on that person, we will be able to rest, or even better, end Afton himself!

William: Baby, my daughter, I display a deed for you. I seem to have found an appropriate vessel. One that’s so naive that they probably won’t realise they are being controlled. All we need to do, is request Malhare for the help of controlling this vessel, and we will continue the reign of hurt and fright!

Baby (from the books): Of course, sir! May a reign of newfound terror be shown through a new vessel. Shall we start it when this little one comes on again?

These prideful spirits and trapped animatronics are torn in a constant state of acceptance and anger. However, a bigger tear will form, as one’s desires can get in the way of things. Cassidy might not see the destruction of the man who murdered her, while the murderer himself, might not see another drop of blood again. The animatronics might gain awareness slowly, while the other spirits watch from the side the chaos that they foresee and partake in. Maybe the spirits of the angered victim and the murderer might change their plans, though their results might turn out far more gruesome than before. But overall, the main thing you will notice is a fate for our dear (Name) that will not end very well for them.

…-- ….. …--

OKAY THAT WAS LONGER THAN WHAT I PLANNED TO WRITE. But I hope you guys enjoyed it. This was longer than what I expected.

#yandere fnaf #yandere fnaf ucn #yandere fnaf x reader #fnaf x reader #cassidy fnaf #william afton #afton family #fnaf books #circus baby #charlie fnaf #platonic #x gn reader

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beautifulpersonpeach · 4 months

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Hi BPP, i know that i probably shouldn’t be asking you this but right now you are the only blogger i know who might be able to explain this to me in a way that make sense.

So i’m kinda new to the fandom (January 2023) but i’ve been able to watch loads of clips and pretty much caught up to speed with alot of content. I’m not a shipper but i were to ship anyone, I’d probably ship Vmin because they are my favourite members and Jungkook comes right after the two of them on my scale of preference, but i have always thought Jk has an extremely special and sorta complicated relationship with Jimin. It really confuses me sometimes but i know that those two have a really beautiful bond. For Taekook, they have always been very easy for me to understand but while going through some blogs here on tumblr, i noticed that so many taekookers believe that taekook’s ITS talk was scripted. They think so because, apparently neither Jk or tae had ever looked or seemed distant or awkward around each other. They bring up examples of them napping together on ITS, still hanging around each other and even engaging in skinship. According to them, taekook wouldn’t do all these if they really were awkward and distant.

I personally think they are interpreting the whole thing wrong but a part of me wonders if they might have a point. I don’t see any reason why the company would make taekook act out something like that, which pretty much shows that they went through an awkward phase plus taekook seemed very genuine to me while they had the talk and ut didn’t seem like it was an act. So my question to you is, what are your thoughts about the ITS talk? Why do u think some pple continue to insist that it was scripted? I’m just trying to understand the whole thing cuz the different opinions i’ve read about it really confuses me. I don’t think there is anything going on with taekook ofcourse (it just wouldn’t make sense) but i think they are one of the closest pairs, and people tkkrs misinterpret their partners in crime dynamics for romance love. Pls i’d really appreciate it if u can let me know ur thoughts on this.

***

I could go into a rambling detailed breakdown of why Taekookers believe what they believe (their only option in this scenario is to believe the convo is scripted, their theories leave them no choice), or get into how taekook did drift apart and by how much, or talk about the inevitable angle of fan service, etc, but the truth is I really don't want to get into it.

I don't care enough about taekook or taekookers to dive into it, so I'll give you the abridged version.

The obvious counterpoint to their narrative is to ask why their villainization of Jimin skyrocketed in the years during which taekook supposedly 'didn't' drift apart. The times they hated him for jikook's Japan trip, the time they hated him for the fixed orbit situation jikook had in 2018, jikook in 2019 were a problem too. A huge problem for taekookers given they couldn't stop talking about how 'Jimin was working with the company to take Jungkook away from Taehyung while lying to Taehyung that it is to protect his relationship, so jikook + BTS + HYBE were fucking Taehyung over in his personal life and his career'. It riles me up just typing it out so imagine how insane these people are to believe this as a core creed 24/7. Anyhoo, they knew something was 'wrong' in a sense with taekook and that Jimin was involved somehow, and this is plainly evident in their well documented behaviour from 2016 - 2020. In my opinion. Do I think they're right and Jimin is the reason taekook were distant? No. I think whatever distance happened is due to taekook's own actions. But I also think it betrays an understanding in taekookers, that taekook had drifted apart.

What do I think about the ITS talk? I'm glad they had it. I like taekook and had missed seeing their dynamic. For anyone still not sure if they indeed drifted apart, if you can sense a general shift of more taekook content after that conversation than immediately before it, what does that tell you? The sort of rapport between them now is reminiscent of their closeness prior to 2016-ish, and in some ways better so that's good to see.

#quick asks #jikook #bts shippers #shipping culture

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suicidalgamergirl · 1 month

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Bleed Like Me

Doodle takes dad's scissors to her skin

And when she does relief comes setting in

While she hides the scars she's making underneath her pretty clothes

She sings:

Hey baby can you bleed like me?

C'mon baby can you bleed like me?

****

He looked at her. Her non sexual attitude had defied him. He was confused and hurt that this lady isn’t quickly jumping for a chance in a lifetime. The aphrodisiac did nothing to her.

But then again, he didn’t know anything about her. Except for her blood and her makeshift bandages to heal his bat form.

Is it her emotional baggage she kept nagging about? Or she just wasn’t good in bed? Hence making an excuse to avoid anyone touching her.

Perhaps he was pursuing her wrong. Humans can be such ungrateful creatures.

Sighing, he knew he had to reason with her to get his answers.

****

I’m stopping there. I really dunno how to continue to not write it with rapey tendencies. The Astarion fandom think Ascended Astarion is controlling ex boyfriend. Lusting for power and glory. To defy his well known master. To only keep the player as a “pet”.

But all the voice clips I saved so far makes him sound non abusive. He can do whatever the fuck he wants and treats the player as a “darling treasure”. He doesn’t show abuse. Just a marking of his power. Obsessive? Maybe. He never slaps the player, he doesn’t demand the player at his every whim, and lets them explore what the world has to offer them.

Or maybe because of my low self esteem, I might think the relationship with Tav x Ascended Astarion is just another case of Stockholm Syndrome. Fans write him always like the Cullen vampire. He only see them as the perfect prey. Not partner.

I am following other Tumblrs. Nobody wants a wonderful Vampire Ascendant around them, but he’s not the monster that the fanbase paint him as.

Or Andrew Tate.

-V

#astarion x reader #ascended astarion #rant #YouTube shorts seem to paint him as cheerful #for 200 years of pure shit he has everything he every wanted and more

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slutforstabbings-archive · 1 year

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Clean Again

Chapter 2: REAL ADULTS read on AO3 | previous chapter | tumblr chapter index make sure you check AO3 for this fic's playlist, all the references I make throughout, the drawings I did of Reader and Corey's apartments, the vehicles the characters drive and more!

Corey adjusts to life on the lam... kind of. We get introduced to Reader.

general warnings for this fic - angst, fluff, eventual smut (MDNI), canon-typical violence, canon-typical gore contents/warnings for this chapter- mega angst, violent assault (non-sexual), homelessness/squatting, unhealthy relationship and infidelity, wishing for death

7,901 words

@rebel-blue @heartrot666 @wolvesandvampires @cordelium @toxicanonymity @multifandom--mess @hersweetrevenge @futurewife @yllcm @ethanhoewke dm me or reply to this post to be added to my tag list 💕

His first day in Georgia, Corey slept. He slept until the motel manager banged on the door to demand he pay for another night or get out. Then he hitched a ride further into town in a 1970’s Ford Courier with an old man whose accent he could barely decipher. He didn’t catch the man’s name but he wrote his number on a crumpled receipt he found in his pocket and told Corey to call if he ever needed some odd jobs to do.

When he got out of the truck Corey wandered. Trying his best not to look sketchy as he stumbled down residential sidewalks. When the neighborhood looked rundown, he went towards the shabbiest houses, if things started looking too well-maintained, he turned around, until finally he found the most condemned house on a street of condemned houses. It had been left to rot so long the boards over the windows flaked and sagged. Even with his limited strength he could pull the nails right through them, so he freed a window facing away from the street and let himself in.

The weakness and the brain fog lingered so long Corey thought he might not ever feel better. He sometimes followed the physical therapy exercises recommended in the papers Nancy had given him, stretching and flexing in the moonlight streaming through the collapsed part of the roof. He wasn’t convinced it did much, and just accepted that he would always have a stiff neck and a loose left fist, that he would never raise his left arm over his head again, that he would forever sound like he had a frog in his throat.

He shoplifted travel size bottles of lotion to rub into his scars. He couldn’t give two shits about how they settled, except that they were one more identifying feature, bright pink and broadcasting his past to anyone who looked in his direction. His hair grew long and hung limp and greasy on either side of his face. Momma had always refused to let him grow his hair, and he enjoyed rebelling against her like that, even now that she was worm food. He tried to grow a beard to hide the scar on his throat more, but he found it too uncomfortable. Sometimes when he’d pocket lotion, he’d grab razors too, and shave his face by touch. He didn’t see his reflection often, but when he did the person there was unfamiliar. Not a hapless dork, not the town pariah, not a dangerous man on the edge. Just a homeless guy, gaunt and haggard.

He did what he could to find or earn money. Sometimes he called the number on the greasy receipt he’d kept, asking a stranger who walked by texting if he could borrow their phone. The old man, whose name he learned is Phil, would give Corey grubby wads of cash for holding his chickens still while he clipped their wings, or helping his wife Joanna in her garden. Sometimes when the work was finished, they’d let him use their shower. Then they would send him off with a container full of some unfamiliar food. Collard greens with little cubes of ham floating in broth, peanuts that had been boiled instead of roasted, all kinds of animal organs he didn’t know people actually ate. They asked him questions about himself but he didn’t speak to them much. He knew they were the only people in Georgia guaranteed to recognize his face. Giving them any information at all seemed like too big of a risk.

Sometimes he panhandled, but he tried to avoid it because it made interacting with cops far too likely. Other times he found money in places he knew people lost their wallets often, bus stops, bathrooms, alleys behind bars. He always dropped the wallets into mailboxes after stripping them of cash and gift cards. He read somewhere once that doing so meant it would be mailed to the address on the ID inside. He kept his savings in rinsed out containers from the old couple, tucked under a loose floorboard in his squat.

Corey often felt his life had scarcely changed at all. He was a nobody, friendless and marginalized. Strangers glared at him, or else averted their eyes, crossed the street to avoid him, and whispered behind his back. Just as they had done in Haddonfield. Constantly on trial for a new crime: being homeless. Climbing through the busted window of the rotted house where he sleeps just an endless iteration of breaking into the abandoned Allen house.

It suffocated him, making him so angry he couldn’t see. Rage rising in him and spilling out no matter how hard he tried to remember how he used to bottle it up. He had lost everything! Fucking again! He had sunk to the lowest depths of humanity to try to get free. And now he was fucking subterranean. Reduced to a rabid animal. And responsible for the destruction of the only good he’d ever had proximity to. Too stupid to hold onto his one shot at happiness. All that effort to get out, but he could never get out. His isolation only worsened despite any efforts he made.

He cried. He seethed. He released his full wrath on the building he inhabited, using any blunt object he could find to knock the walls full of holes, tearing at floorboards and door frames with his bare hands, hurting his bad shoulder and expending so much energy he'd sleep all through the next day. Other nights he’d scream until his mouth filled with blood, until nothing but a wet rattle could be heard. Each time moving his scratchy, damaged voice just a little further from how he used to sound.

If anyone challenged him they came to regret it deeply. Occasionally on his wallet hunts, a drunk asshole pissing against the wall would decide he was tough. Corey had broken men’s ribs, felt the crunch and sick squish underfoot as he stomped some prick’s hand into ground beef. He generated enough broken teeth to put a dentist’s least impressive son through all four years in an Ivy League program. Magnanimous "donation" included.

When the rage threatened to overtake him he would call out to Allyson in his mind. Corey had never been a religious man. He knew that wherever Allyson had gone was black, and cold, and empty. But he would cast her as a guardian angel when he needed her. Picturing her love for him as a shield, keeping the feelings that had driven him to kill people outside of him so they couldn’t reinfect him, the spell she showed him on a divine level. Or else keeping his evil inside, smothering it and compressing it so it couldn’t leak out and hurt others. Allyson, in death, did for him what she couldn’t do in life. She hooked her finger in his collar and held him back from the brink. Though he left people battered and bruised, Corey didn’t kill anyone else.

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You wake from an uneasy sleep with an unsettled feeling in your stomach. Keeping your eyes closed, you pat around on the bed next to you. Your search turns up nothing. You open your eyes.

You know that if the bed is empty, the whole house will be. But you lay still and listen anyway, hoping to hear a footfall, the sound of water running, any bump or clatter or rustle that would indicate that you’re not by yourself. No sounds come. For the third time in as many weeks, the only living thing in the building is you. God fucking damnit.

You lay on your back and tears of rage roll down the sides of your face to pool in your ears. When you’d first moved in with Orin there had been a couple of times he hadn’t come home all night. It was weird, but he’d told you he was just getting used to having a reason to come home now. That before you moved in, he stayed with his buddies all night a lot because there was no reason to come home. He wanted to come home to you, but it was hard to tell the boys he had to leave when he was so used to staying out. You could understand that, you were adjusting to living with a partner too. But that had been before.

Before he stopped pretending to be charming and kind. Before he started complaining about how boring and annoying you are every time you open your mouth. Before he quit bothering to roll over and kiss you goodnight before he fell asleep. Two weeks ago when you’d woken alone for the first time in years, you had been suspicious but tried to let it go. The second time was a wake up call. The third time is a death sentence.

You feel like you could explode out of your skin. What the fuck!? What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck whatthefuck??? You’re not sure if you’re more angry at him, or at yourself. You’ve been considering leaving for months, but haven’t worked up the nerve, and now this feels like his way of telling you you took too long. This is him saying why aren’t you gone yet? You desperately need to talk to someone, but it’s 7 am. Everyone you can think of talking to is asleep or already at work. You roll over onto your stomach so your face is in his pillow, ice cold from spending the night unused, and you scream until you run out of air.

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It has been four months of living like a rat. Corey slips into the unboarded window of his condemned hovel. He’s had a good morning, making $50 for helping Phil candle chicken eggs, and being sent away with an old Cool Whip tub stuffed with cornbread. He goes to the loose floorboard and pries it up, removing similar tubs, brimming with the cash he’s been hoarding. Stuffing a piece of cornbread into his mouth, he counts.

His plan took time to form. The grief, and the rage, and the effort his body spent healing all formed a heavy cloud over the future. And he still hoped he might die. That it would get cold enough overnight to freeze him in his sleep, or hot enough to boil his blood in a heat stroke, his body lying in the condemned house for weeks or months, decomposing in secret. That an alleyway opponent would produce a knife and, eyes darkening like storm clouds, deliver the karma Corey so desperately deserved. But things were improving, against all odds. So he decided he might as well live a little bit more of a life. He started by getting a phone.

A phone meant not having to borrow one to call the old couple for jobs. And a phone meant access to the internet. With the internet he could really get things done. Like trawling Craigslist for apartments owned by slumlords who wouldn’t bother running a credit or background check as long as he paid them, in cash, on time. Like finding a motorcycle with less than 1000 miles on it, being sold for far less than half its value by a man desperate not to let his wife know he bought it in the first place. Like buying an expertly crafted fake Georgia Driver’s License with a new last name.

The license arrived last week and he was finally able to get his hands on it today when he went to help the old couple. He’d asked them if he could get mail at their address and they’d happily obliged. He’d taken the photo himself, posing for a selfie in the craft aisle of the grocery store, a piece of blue poster board propped up behind him. He decided to keep Corey as his first name. It was common enough not to raise suspicion, ranked 110th his birth year, something he had checked. And going by the same first name seemed safer in social situations. He could never slip up and accidentally introduce himself as his old name if he didn’t have an old name. He picked Wallace as his middle name, after his father. A last name was harder. He considered Myers as a sick joke, and Allyson’s last name, Nelson, an even sicker one. In the end, he settled for another C name, because he’d always liked his double initial. If anyone asks, his name is Corey Carpenter.

The newly christened Mr. Carpenter stacks bills by their denomination and makes sure they all face the same direction. He desperately hopes he can get the apartment and the bike today, but that’s a pretty penny. It just doesn’t seem possible he could have enough, but he’s not sure, he’s never actually counted all of it. He’s just been grabbing the amounts he needed, a couple hundred for the phone, a couple hundred for the ID. Corey knows he needs to prioritize a living space that isn’t so full of mold it practically writhes, and that if he gets a bike first, it will be a bitch to store it so it doesn’t give his squatting away. But this one he’s found is once in a lifetime. The owner wants it gone today, and it’s a Kawasaki, the same make as the motorcycle he left behind in Haddonfield.

Cornbread crumbs rain down as Corey stacks and folds a wad of bills. With everything counted but the ones, he’s just a few hundred shy. He holds his breath as he passes the bills from hand to hand. Please be enough, please be enough, he chants to the strips of paper. He's $50 short. Corey feels cold rage spread through him, hand clenching around the wad of money so hard his knuckles look bright white. Then he gets it under control. It’s only $50. He can find that somewhere on the way, or intimidate the seller into coming down a little if he has to.

He doesn’t have to. The idiot didn’t even count the wad of cash being handed to him by this scruffy stranger who won’t make eye contact. Corey wishes he’d ripped him off more, since he hates having to spend everything he’s collected in one day. But the seller’s hurry grants Corey another gift. In his haste he doesn’t remove the license plate, giving Corey a reprieve from having to steal one or get a good fake made.

The way it feels to finally swing his leg over the seat of a motorcycle again, to lean down over the handlebars as he speeds away, to see the lines on the road as nothing more than smears, it’s the best he’s felt in months, better than he ever thought he'd feel again. He hadn’t had his bike in Haddonfield all that long, but it had become a part of him. Riding now feels like regrowing an amputated limb. He spends so long darting around town just soaking up the roar of the engine that he’s almost late meeting the landlord.

He screeches to a stop outside the apartment. It’s a studio above a garage. 300 square feet upstairs, 300 downstairs. The cheapest thing Corey’s seen, but still a rip off to be sure. The whole structure sags and looks sad, slumped on the back corner of the yard of another house the landlord owns. The beige siding is mossy in places the water drips off the roof and bounces back up to splash the wall when it rains. The window facing the street is webbed with cracks around what can only be a bullet hole. It’s not a very big step up from the place Corey’s been squatting, but as the landlord takes him upstairs he explains he keeps the utilities in his name, and Corey will owe the light and water bill in cash to him on top of the rent every month. Fantastic news because he’s been dreading the utility companies asking too many personal questions. The landlord asks him none. Instead, he spews bullshit about what a good deal the apartment is compared to everything else in the city.

“Can I uh - Can I move in today?” Corey asks, interrupting the landlord’s attempts to spin the apartment.

“If you’ve got the cash on you,” the landlord replies, skeptical.

“I do,” Corey says, pulling a fistful of bills from his pocket. The landlord eyeballs him with suspicion. He was not expecting such an easy target this afternoon. He pulls first a counterfeit detection pen, then the keys from his shirt pocket. He sets both on the counter of the kitchenette where Corey can see them. Then he takes the money from Corey’s hand.

“First and last month?”

“Yes, sir,” Corey replies. The landlord counts the money three times and marks every bill with his pen twice. The guy who sold Corey the motorcycle could learn a thing or two from him. When he’s confident the whole amount is there, he holds out his hand to Corey. Corey grips it firmly and does exactly one shake, up then down. The landlord pats the keys on the counter, satisfied.

“It’s the 12th, so next month’ll be prorated. Don’t put no holes in the walls,” he says as he goes. Then he closes the door behind him, leaving Corey in the empty studio.

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You compose and recompose your DM to Veronica Hand, a girl from your high school graduating class. You’d known her since sixth grade, and your friendship had waxed and waned. When you had class together you’d get close, when your schedules separated you, you’d more or less forget about each other. Since graduation you’ve had the type of zombie friendship only possible via occasional Instagram story replies. You haven’t seen her in person since your last Thanksgiving with your parents before they moved to Florida to be retired. It feels weird to reach out to her like this, but you don’t know what else to do.

That went way better than you expected. You didn’t think her response would be quite so welcoming. Your friendliest moments feel like ancient history, but she seems genuinely excited to have you back in town.

You’ve started packing but you haven’t said anything to Orin yet. Not that he’s been around much to say anything to.

You stayed home on the third morning you woke up alone. When Orin finally came in, you’d been sitting on the couch in silence. Waiting. He walked through the door with a big grin on his face. When was the last time you’d seen him smile like that? Had you ever?

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He exclaimed in surprise when he noticed you. “Weren’t you supposed to go to work today?”

“Called in sick,” you said flatly. He didn’t reply or ask how you were feeling. He just turned down the hallway toward the bathroom, the smile thoroughly wiped from his face. “Hey, wait! Where were you last night?”

You didn’t know what you wanted to gain from asking. He could tell the truth, but if the truth was innocent, you didn’t know if you’d believe it. He could lie, but you would know it was a lie. A question with no right answer. Really, you just wanted him to do something. To react. For months and months he’d ignored you more often than not, barely responding to you no matter how hard you worked to gain back his affection. At least an elaborate lie would be a reaction. You could pretend to believe him, as long as he put in a performance that gave even the tiniest indication that he wanted to be with you.

“Out,” he said in an annoyed tone as he disappeared down the hallway to the bathroom.

You knew without a shred of doubt then. And he knew you knew.

Three years down the toilet. Three years when your friends were having fun, hooking up, going out. Three years where they were finding themselves and making connections. While you’d been at home, whittling yourself down into a shape you thought would keep Orin’s interest, pretending to be far cooler than you were so he wouldn’t get bored of you. Three years in service of a man who couldn’t even be bothered to look in your direction as everything crumbled around you.

That had been more than a month ago. You’d barely seen him since then. With the cat out of the bag, there was no reason for him to act like he wanted to be at home with you. One day you came into the kitchen to find his portion of the rent on the counter, a balled up pile of cash for you to deposit in your account before you paid online. At least he wasn’t kicking you out. Yet. You had no desire to sit around and wait for him to. You looked at places online but everything was out of your budget. And you didn’t really want to stay anyway. First your failed stint at Georgia State, now this. The city of Atlanta is your own personal Hell. Huge and yet somehow cramped, teaming with reminders of all your failures.

The idea of moving back to your hometown came to you one evening last week. You were standing at the kitchen counter trying to force yourself to eat something despite the mess your stomach had been in from the stress. It wasn’t exactly conducive to eating to be dwelling on the thing that was upsetting you so much, but as you pushed your food around with your fork you found it impossible to think of anything else. Going over everything with a fine tooth comb. How you’d met, how you’d wound up moving in together, what he’d seen in you and what you’d ever seen in him. Trying to understand how you’d wound up so small and insecure that you’d been dragging the corpse of this relationship for the better part of a year, desperate for a miracle to bring it back to life. How now, even though the body was in the ground, you slept on top of the grave. Why hadn’t you fucking left yet?

You wished you could go back to high school graduation and start again, have a second shot at the beginning of your adulthood, do everything differently. Tell your parents to fuck off about college. Take a gap year or three. Travel, or move somewhere it’s crazy to move, New York or Chicago or LA. Be a slut and refuse to let anyone make you feel bad about it.

You couldn’t do any of that, but you could go back to your hometown, and do a soft reset of sorts. You knew it had changed since you left, places you’d haunted all your life now demolished. Shiny new buildings sticking out like sore thumbs with their incongruous architecture, built by people who didn’t give a shit about the history of the surrounding area. The population swollen huge, full of strangers, while everyone who’d been close to you had gone away, except Veronica. But it was the fire you had been forged in. As long as one ember of your memory continued to smolder, it would be home. And you desperately needed to feel at home in some way, to try to find home in yourself again.

Veronica is exceedingly helpful. You can’t believe the kindness she extends in those first few weeks. She goes to see apartments in person on your behalf, reporting back about any unlivable details of the places in the links you send her. She finds the apartment you wind up renting, not online, but by noticing a FOR RENT sign stuck in the grass at the end of the street.

She shows it to you in a video call. It’s an old building with an impressive number of original details intact. The floors are hardwood, stain oxidized so dark brown they’re almost black. The living and dining rooms have built-ins and all the doors are surrounded with heavy matching trim, little floral medallions carved into the corners. The kitchen and bathroom are time capsules too, renovated in the 70’s and the 90’s respectively, then never touched again. The anachronism charms you, and while not everything is in the best shape, it seems like it’s been subjected to remarkably few landlord specials.

You finish packing. There’s not much you’re bringing with you, all the furniture and all the shit in the kitchen is Orin’s. You text him that you want to talk to him. He doesn’t reply. You hang out around the house, hoping to catch him in a rare moment home, but out the window you see his car roll slowly by, not stopping because your car is in the driveway. You weigh the idea of leaving without saying anything to him at all. It seems cruel. But then again, you’ve seen proof he’s been in the apartment when you’ve been gone. Things moved around, his hamper filling up and overflowing since you’ve stopped doing his laundry. The rent on the counter that day. Surely he’s noticed your things disappearing from parts of the house, the boxes and suitcases in the corners. He’s an inattentive asshole, but he isn’t stupid.

After mulling it over for a day or two, you put everything in your car. There’s so little it all fits neatly in the trunk and backseat. The only thing you leave behind is the login information for the rental company’s payment portal, scribbled on a scrap piece of paper, stuck to the fridge with a beer cap magnet.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Corey is astounded at the difference having power and water makes to his health, mental and physical. The apartment is a dump to be sure. He wonders how it isn’t condemned like the squat he occupied. But it’s warm inside when it’s cold outside, and cool inside when it’s hot outside, more or less. He can shower, he can shave in a mirror with a light instead of dragging his hands along his cheeks and hoping he didn’t miss a spot.

He finds a mattress and box spring on the curb down the road a week or so after he moves in, abandoned by a graduating frat boy. The mattress is covered in mystery stains, reeks of marijuana for days, and is extremely difficult to get up the stairs by himself. It gives Corey fleas that he has to set off a bomb for. Even so, it’s a vast improvement over the hard linoleum floor. He’s always struggled with insomnia, and he still doesn’t sleep much, but the amount of sleep he does get doubles right away.

He buys two plates, two cups, two forks, two spoons, two knives. He can eat two meals a day and do dishes once. Momma didn’t teach him much about cooking, but it’s no big loss since her food was disgusting anyway. He’s competent enough to follow the directions on the back of a boxed meal, stirring in canned chicken for protein. Sometimes he scrambles an egg from his warm, stale fridge, the only thing he retained from Home Ec in middle school.

He notices his mobility increasing. It’s crumpled, stained, soft and fraying like fabric, but he still has the paper Nancy gave him with the exercises on it. He commits to following them. Corey’s shoulder is still stiff and uncomfortable, he always knows when it’s going to rain — something he’d thought was made up — but he can finally lift his arm over his head. Most days. Something he thought he would never do again. The clothes from the hospital lost and found actually fit now, after so long being huge on him. He doesn’t have to worry about his ring sliding off his pinky anymore. The man he sees when he looks at himself is almost someone he recognizes. The cheeks are almost his cheeks, no longer so gaunt and hollow. The forehead is almost his forehead, just with some unfamiliar creases. He lets Joanna give him a haircut, massaging his scalp with her tree root fingers, and that makes him feel more like himself too.

With an address, an ID, and a reliable place to shower, he can look for a job. He wants something sketchy, something where they won’t do a background check, they won’t verify his resume, and they won’t make him fill out any tax paperwork. The first thing he finds is maintenance at a decrepit and festering apartment complex, so run down that the job seems moot. Being on call sucks, and he has to interact with residents more than he thought he would. He gets a call to examine a tenant’s leaky ceiling. When he comes to the apartment, the woman who lives there is listening to a true crime podcast. The hosts giggle and shriek as they describe a serial killer’s collection of trophies from his victims. It’s the last straw. He leaves her apartment, gets on his motorcycle, and rides away. When he doesn’t show up for work the next week, the complex manager only tries to call him once.

For a while Corey wanted to avoid jobs at auto shops, fearing the memories of the last time he drove a tow truck, the last time he used a cutting torch. But he misses the intellectual challenge of figuring out what’s wrong with such a complex machine, and the prevalence of small businesses in the industry appeals to his need for privacy. He washes dishes at a restaurant, he works at a plant nursery. When those don’t work out, he caves and starts looking for HELP WANTED signs in the windows of the mechanic shops he rides past. It doesn’t take long for him to find somewhere that will hire him without any paperwork bullshit. They have a girl who works the front desk, the owner’s daughter, so he almost never has to interact with customers. He keeps his eyes on the ground when he hands her the printouts of what was done to each vehicle. She says nothing to him except thank you.

He lives simply enough that his salary from the auto shop mostly piles up, stuffed into Country Crock containers in his freezer. Corey continues to do jobs for the elderly couple here and there, now refusing to let them pay him, but still accepting food. He starts buying busted small appliances and repairing them, but he doesn’t have the space to keep most of his projects, and selling them fills the dent in his hoard right back in. He vaguely wishes he could open a bank account, but it’s way too risky to even entertain. He tries not to ever use his fake ID if he can avoid it. He picks smoking back up, a habit he’d had in his old life, but he makes sure only to buy cigarettes from places he knows won’t card him.

He makes one notable exception. It’s a government entity, but only in the most local way possible, so although it makes him nervous, he convinces himself it’ll be okay. He gets a library card.

One day on his way to work, he sees a cop flashing her lights at him in his mirrors. He considers fleeing. If he did, maybe she would bump his motorcycle with her car, maybe bump it a little too hard and send him flying off and scraping down the road. Or maybe she would pull her gun out and shoot at him through her open window. Death hasn’t lost its appeal for him, and what a way to go that would be. A nice little ending for the Netflix documentary. But if he runs and she catches him without killing him, that would be the worst thing that could happen. So, gritting his teeth, he pulls to the side of the road and turns the bike off.

“Good morning, sir.” The cop says as she walks up to him, thumbs hooked in her belt loops. “Did we leave our helmet at home?”

Corey’s not sure how to respond, so he doesn’t.

“Georgia law requires all motorcycle drivers and passengers to wear a helmet, and have some kind of eye protection. Since your bike here doesn’t have a windshield, that would mean goggles or a helmet with a visor. But I’m sure you knew that. Maybe you just forgot?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I was just in a hurry this morning. My mistake,” he says, trying to sound casual despite his heart pounding in his chest. A bead of sweat rolls down his scalp through his curls to make the collar of his shirt wet. He wonders if he could kill her, if he lunged forward and wrapped his hands around her throat. He's never strangled anyone before, but he remembers Michael's hand crushing his windpipe so vividly. The cop's neck is long and slender. Corey sees her pulse thumping beneath the skin, and imagines feeling it slow to a stop under his fingers. Would someone drive by and see him before he could finish the job? Or would a nosy housewife peak out the window and make a phone call? His eyes land on the cop's body camera nestled just below her breasts, then on all the doorbell cameras along the street. Watching him. Someone always fucking watching him. He stays seated.

“I’ll let you off with a warning this time. But don’t let me see you out without a helmet again,” she says.

“Right. Yes ma’am,” Corey replies.

“I mean it, now. I never forget a bike I like, so I'll know if I see you again, Kawasaki." She looks down at him over her mirrored sunglasses. "Have a good day.”

The cop gets back in her car and pulls away in front of him, leaving him stunned on the side of the road. Guess I’m getting a fucking helmet, Corey thinks.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

You hear a massive vehicle approaching and go outside. Veronica and her little brother Harker pull up outside your new apartment in his lifted Ram. It’s so ridiculous you have to laugh at him. It has the biggest deer bumper you’ve ever seen, and lights twinkle on the running boards. A holographic sticker in the rear window proudly displays his Instagram username. Veronica opens the passenger door and slides to the center of the front seat. The sound of Walker Hayes meets your ears. You practically need a ladder to get inside, it’s so tall. You try unsuccessfully to stifle your giggles.

“I know, I’m embarrassed to be seen with him too,” Veronica says.

“No, no, I think it’s cool,” you say, voice straining around the laughter you’re still trying to suppress.

“It is cool,” Harker says. “I have 500 followers on Instagram.”

“Well thanks for taking the time to help me pick up furniture, Your Majesty.” You bow your head to him. Harker and Veronica both laugh. It’s so weird to see him driving, with his short little beard and biceps like melons. Last time you saw him he was a twerpy ninth grader with less fuzz than a peach, who had failed to even make the bench at football tryouts.

Harker pilots his behemoth with surprising ease. You cruise around town in a big loop, meeting people from the Craigslist free section and Facebook Marketplace, hitting thrift stores and Target. The three of you organize boxes and furniture in the truck bed like a game of Tetris, then cross bungee cords over the top. When the truck backs up to your door hours later, you’ve managed to fit everything you needed to furnish your apartment in both the truck bed and your budget.

You can’t believe you had such a successful day. Veronica and Harker make easy conversation with you, as if you’ve kept in close contact with them all this time. After unloading your giant haul, you order pizza. They stay and help you assemble and arrange everything big. By the time they leave, the space has been transformed from the cold, echoing box you’d slept in last night, to something resembling a home.

You haven’t thought about Orin in hours, comfortable and busy with your friends. But now that you’re alone and it’s dark outside, you remember why you moved here. You picture him. What’s he doing right now? What did he do when he came home and your car wasn’t in the driveway and your clothes weren’t in the closet, no goodbye except the login info you left him so he could make your replacement pay the rent. You hope he’s fine. You hope he doesn’t even miss you a little bit. You hope he’s miserable and kicking himself for losing you. You hope the new girl is cheating on him right this moment, screaming some other man's name. You hope they’re happy and that he never treats her the way he treated you, never says the things he said to you. You’re boring. You’re fat. You’re unambitious and slothful. No matter how hard you try to learn how football works.

The way you bounce back and forth between incompatible feelings could give you whiplash. It’s his fault. It’s your fault. You feel bad for leaving how you did. You wish you did something much, much worse. You lean against the wall behind you and slide down it, sobbing. Embarrassing yourself in front of all your new furniture.

Getting close to Veronica again is easy, like all those semesters you’d be pleased to find you had a class or two together, automatically sitting next to each other on the first day. She annoys the shit out of you sometimes — she always has to know everything , and she’s not shy about asking. But she’s a good friend, fun and funny and actually there for you. Orin got custody of all your old “friends.” Not one of them sent a single text after you left Atlanta. You can imagine him blaming the whole thing on you, making you sound so awful they wanted nothing to do with you. Or maybe they just never cared about you of their own accord. Veronica’s twice the friend any of them were. You’re relieved to find all your coworkers get along well, and you like when everyone hangs out together.

You’re also extremely pleased to find out you love records. You’ve always liked music, but you’ve never owned a record player until the store upgrades its listening station and everyone votes that you should get the old one. The speakers it comes with are amazing. You can actually hear what audiophiles are talking about for the first time. It brings you great joy that the warm crackle of a record isn’t a myth. You slowly acquire a neat little collection of all your favorite albums.

One day a customer comes to the register with a fistful of stuff from the patch bins. They’re wearing a plain denim vest.

“Are these going on that?” You ask as you ring them up.

“Yeah, I’m stoked on it, “ they say, “But I’m not actually sure how to attach them.”

“These three are iron-on,” you tell them, flipping all the patches face down to examine the backs. “You can tell because the back is like, plastic-y. The rest you have to sew on, but you don’t have to sew all the way around it, you can just tack it down in a couple spots.”

“I don’t know how to sew and I don’t own an iron. How much would it cost to have someone else do it?” They say, laughing.

“I’d take 20 bucks.”

“Are you for real?”

You hadn’t been serious but the customer asks with such earnestness, you feel bad. “Oh, I guess,” you say with a shrug.

The customer takes off their vest and folds it into a nice square, then sets it on the counter. They pull their wallet out of their pocket and swipe their card to pay for the patches, then they put two $10’s on top of the vest.

“Thank you so much!” They say.

“No problem,” you say incredulously. “I’ll do it tonight and you can pick it up tomorrow.”

You attach all the patches to the vest that night. The customer didn’t give you any guidance on placement, but they’re all relatively small, so you put them all on the front and hope for the best. They come in the next afternoon and love what you’ve done. They ask for your phone number for when they buy more patches, and they hand you an extra $10.

“20 just seemed kinda low,” they say.

After that you find out their name is Taryn and they text you for permission to give your number to friends from time to time. The record store pays pretty decently but you could use a little more wiggle room, so you say yes and wind up with a neat little stack of projects from local punks. The money is a nice addition and the work is fun. Things come to you that you’re not sure how to do, so you watch YouTube videos until you figure it out. You realize you could try to market yourself to more people, so you make an Instagram and have business cards printed. When the work gets overwhelming to do completely by hand, you find an almost unused sewing machine at an estate sale. It becomes an actual thing, so much of a thing that you have to figure out what it means to the government come tax time. It makes you feel like a Real Adult for the first time. It feels nice.

#corey cunningham #corey cunningham x reader #halloween ends #fan fiction #mine

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unquietspiritao3 · 7 months

Text

Interrupting Your Irregularly-Scheduled Fic-Related Content with An Extremely Long Note on The Situation in British Comedy

Hi there. If you don’t want to read about my thoughts on everything happening in the British comedy scene at the moment, feel free to give this a skip. I totally understand needing to take a step away from such things. But I felt it was important to address, given some of the characters in my stories are based on the people involved/being criticized. I’m also going to link this post in the author’s note of my next chapter update, but feel free to share it before then with those who might not be on Tumblr.

CW: non-detailed mentions of transphobia, sexual assault, and childhood sexual abuse

Okay. I think to start, I need to explain a few of things about me.

First, as I alluded to in the opening author’s note for Should’ve been obvious, I am just an American with a moderate obsession with British panel shows and not enough time to keep up with the entire British comedy world. I jumped into writing in this fandom with huge gaps in my knowledge, which was possibly not wise.

Second, as a way to protect my own mental health and under the advice of my therapist, I’m what you might call ‘terminally offline.’ Before I reactivated this blog for the purpose of sharing fic inspo, I had not been on social media for over a year. I still don’t use it outside of Tumblr, where I follow a very narrow selection of blogs that mostly post Taskmaster gifs (love you all, btw). I don’t watch or read the news. I have systems in place with my friends and family to keep me informed when something really big happens, but outside of that, I am purposefully oblivious. The consequence of this is that I did not know about the two situations I’ll be discussing until I saw some stray posts this past weekend, and that’s why I didn’t address it before.

Third, I always (to a fault, my friends would say) give absolutely everyone the benefit of the doubt and see the best in people until they prove otherwise—and even then, even while holding them accountable and removing them from my life if need be, I try to be compassionate. That’s not going to change; it’s just who I am.

Now for the two situations, my thoughts on them, and their impact on my writing.

The Richard Ayoade Thing

I’ve said before that I’m genderqueer (she/they, equally happy with both, btw). I’m not down with transphobia. But I’ve read that Richard is a separate-the-art-from-the-artist kind of guy, so his personal views aren’t entirely clear to me. That said, the blurb he gave makes me uncomfortable because to me it seems to imply he does agree with the views in the book. I don’t know much about Richard and haven’t consumed much content with him other than Big Fat Quiz and some random clips of various shows, so please point me to anything that would confirm or refute this. For now, I’ll leave it there. In terms of my writing, this isn’t as big of a deal, since the Richard character isn’t central to anything and could be easily retconned out if I wanted to, but I’ll talk more about the writing at the end.

The Noel Fielding Thing re: Russell Brand

Like most Americans, I was introduced to Noel through GBBO. (Well, to be fully honest, I watched the Buzzcocks spanking clips long before then, because those get passed around in spanko circles, but I didn’t know, or care, who the guy in both of them was at the time. It took awhile for my crush on him to develop.) I’ve actually never seen The Mighty Boosh or much of Noel’s standup; he’s just a bit too surreal and nonsensical for me to enjoy when he’s in complete creative control. I’ve watched interviews going back to the time he was promoting Luxury Comedy, all his episodes of Big Fat Quiz, and some episodes of Buzzcocks, in addition to GBBO. I knew he and Russell Brand and had good on-screen chemistry, but I had no idea they were off-screen friends to some degree (at least, they were in the past; more on that below) until this weekend. I also didn’t know that Noel was ever accused of being in a relationship with a 16-year-old when he was in his 30s. I experienced sexual abuse throughout my childhood. Obviously, if that accusation is true, it’s completely unacceptable regardless of the legality in the UK and I will no longer be a fan of Noel.

But rather than try to break down all my complicated feelings on this situation regarding Noel, I’m just going to link to this post, which I agree with 100%, including the part about respecting people who feel differently. The two follow-up posts on the same blog give some good additional info/thoughts. I’m working on doing my own digging, trying to find anything relevant, including the source of the claim that the then-girl in the supposed relationship denied it too. No luck there so far, [EDIT: shared what I found here and it’s in Noel’s favor!] though I have discovered that she (now a woman in her 30s) and Noel currently follow each other on Instagram, and that Noel doesn’t follow Russell Brand (nor can I find a time Noel mentioned him after 2020, right about when it seems like Brand’s right-wing conspiracy-theory crap started). Make of that what you will. Personally, it makes me give Noel the benefit of the doubt unless and until further info is revealed.

Somewhat of a side note: It seems like people are most upset about the lack of a public statement from Noel, specifically. However, what I find odd overall is how there hasn’t been a real statement from any big-name British comic. Lou Sanders was basically strong-armed into saying some stuff in an interview that was supposed to be about her book. Katherine Ryan is very clear she doesn’t want to speak about it despite being the one that called him a predator on Roast Battle years ago. There’s this article about the problem in comedy more generally which several female comics are quoted in, and this one from 2020 including Fern Brady (highly recommend you read both if you can stomach it) but no specific quotes on Brand from names I recognize even there. Radio silence. UK people, can you tell me, is this normal because of the libel laws you all have? From what I understand, it’s much, much easier to be sued for defamation against a public figure and lose over there than over here. Should we expect to wait for an arrest or conviction (if that happens) before people feel safe commenting? Or what is going on?

Impact on My Writing and Final Thoughts

I’ve been having a hard time mental-health-wise, these past few days, reconciling the human need to connect to art with the fact that all art is created by imperfect humans and you simply cannot know what is in someone else’s head or past. That includes my own art. I want it to be an escape for you all, for you to feel safe reading it, but like everyone else, I’m imperfect, and part of that imperfection is not knowing what to do.

At least for now, I’m going to be focused on More than that, and Noel and Richard have never been in the plan to appear in this fic. As for the future, I’m undecided. I feel like I need more info, but I also recognize that we might not ever get real answers.

The sad truth is that writing fanfic always comes with the risk that the thing you’ve been inspired by is later revealed to be problematic. Even if not with these two, something could come to light at any time about any of these people we base our characters on. That last Guardian article I linked should give everyone chills.

I think the best I can do with the info I have today is to say I’m writing about a fictional universe populated with fictional characters, and my use of real people to inspire those characters does not mean I endorse their actions or beliefs; past, present, or future; known or unknown to me at this time. I also want to say, though, that I respect anyone who feels they can’t engage with certain fandoms or fics. Trust me, I do understand.

Take care of yourselves. I care about you so much, internet strangers. 💜

edit: linked the wrong article quoting fern, so added that

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icology · 11 months

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I think it’s pretty well established in many Team ICO fan circles, and there’s even a great post about it here on Tumblr by @frabjousvonniche, but for those unaware, the NTSC-U copy of ICO for the PS2 is a little undercooked. It was released in September of 2001 as the result of a shipping deadline that Ueda’s team couldn’t afford to miss. But frankly, ICO was not finished by that time and would not be sold to the Japanese market until December of that year.

For this reason, one can consider the NTSC-U copy to be a beta version of the title. But what it lacks in polish, it makes up for by providing insights. Rare is the opportunity for fans to have easy access to a completed game at different phases of development. And seeing the differences between these versions can show a lot about both the design process and what order the game may have been coded in.

But the strangest and smallest detail of differences, which really freaks me out on some level, becomes apparent when Yorda is taken into the void by Shadows. In the final game, Shadow Creatures are eliminated all at once by the same magic wave that turns you to stone and initiates the Game Over. This is already a little unsettling as a form of their dismissal, but they disappear like smoke, like you would expect of them.

This is not quite the case in the US version. When Shadows are eliminated by this magic wave, their disappearance is marked by a sudden, blurry red particle effect.

And this only occurs in this one specific scenario. No other means of defeating the Shadows can reproduce this.

I have a clip from ICO Speedrunner, Sanchopanda, to help demonstrate. It probably won’t work in the Tumblr ask format, but having the link should be enough. It occurs around 22 seconds in:

I’m all for interpreting this red particle effect in whatever way you want, but I can’t really shake from my mind the potential that it’s blood. And even further, I can’t shake questions of why that would only appear in this instance, and for what reason.

Maybe the confusion of the matter is the very reason this didn’t make it to the final release but it was clearly intentional and meant to signify something that at least one dev had in mind.

It’s intriguing, to say the least.

Tumblr ate your link but I went for a dive and I think this might be the clip you're talking about! The little red particles are visible and they do look like blood! Funny that when you defeat the armored soldiers in The Last Guardian, you can also observe a similar thing if you knock them down and rip off their helmets (which we can observe in this clip, for example). For both types of enemies, the sight of it is a bit bizarre, because they're supposed to be almost intangible little creatures, but that makes it feel like you actually hurt them.

It feels strange, almost like when you defeat the shadow kids that were sacrificed before Ico. I wonder if every shadow in the games is sentient or if there's some sort of robot/zombie like quality for the enemies where they just follow orders and don't feel any real pain.

Speaking of things that ended up being undercooked on the NTSC-U version due to the deadline... we also have the infamous Ico North American cover art. The one we all know and love was hand painted by Ueda himself, based on a Giorgio de Chirico piece titled "The Nostalgia of the Infinite". Much like the game, it wasn't ready when it came out in the US, so they were stuck with this eye sore that's odd enough to make you question whether you just picked up a bootleg copy. Who the heck is that kid?

The team actually talked about this in the bonus interview for the Ico/SOTC PS3 remaster and it made for a pretty funny moment which you can watch here.

(also... the Megaman cover they talk about is WAY worse. At least Ico's doesn't look like nightmare fuel and wow, how did I end up rambling this much? I'm gonna shut up now hahaha)

#ico #trivia #answered

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house-vestra · 1 year

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fe17 thoughts (part 2)

similar spoiler warning as last time; i’ve now beaten chapter 18 but this post is about the brodia gang in this post so mainly spoilers for mid-game

first up in the brodia gang is yunaka. she’s fine. her personality is cute, just not my type of chara, and her design doesn’t work for me so she’s just mid-tier. covert units are good but i prefer zelkov

i unexpectedly like alcryst. i don’t care that much for bernadetta so i wasn’t expecting to like him, but his portrayal balances the serious and comedic elements of his personality better imo. i like that he threatened my life and i also do find extreme apologizing funny (it must have been a direct reference, right????) i think this type of character is very interesting against the backdrop of brodia, and despite his self esteem, he still has a backbone of steel on him, which is all. very. interesting.

i also like his evil-looking eyes. i don’t think diamante has them

(get his pandreo c-support if you can. awoo!! awoo...)

i was worried lapis looked super generic in the character previews but she’s grown on me. actually my first in-game impression of her was very positive because she and citrinne were totally ready to shank us from the front even after they knew who we were, which was refreshing after firene. but then she became nice and i was worried again. now i’ve decided i like her; i need to get more supports with her but i felt the signs that she grew up in extreme poverty were well done, things like being grateful for any type of thing you give her and, obviously, the milk convo. i’ve only gotten the c-support and it’s definitely funny but you can see lapis piecing it together at the same time you’re realizing what she’s talking about (i think the clip circulated on twitter/tumblr on release or near release, and seemed the idea online was that it was a joke about a white person thinking milk needs to be watered down, but the real context is much more interesting). ANYWAY i need to get more lapis supports but also unexpectedly ended up liking her.

citrinne is a hot rich lady. i uncomplicatedly like her. also need to get more supports with her.

diamante... he’s fine. his thing with his dad was neat; that whole family’s dynamic is fun. otherwise, he’s very... there. i do like giving him lyn for the same reason ppl use sylvain to kill felix. i just got a diamante/jade support where diamante fully guffaws out loud for like 2 whole lines and that decimated my grasp of what his character is.

i didn’t notice it for a while, but i think diamante has 2-color hair too? he has a bright red streak at his temple that kind of looks like light glare but it doesn’t move even when he turns around, so i think he has like... idk just one patch of hair that grows differently...

amber. alpaca. he definitely comes the closest to the hisame/pickle situation just bc... alpacas are such a specific animal lol and very like 2011-brand “i love alpacas and sloths bc i’m so random” but from an adult man. his alpaca sweater is cute. his support with vander is funny.

i have no thoughts on jade except that her c support with bunet was funny.

i mentioned i needed master seals last time but actually after ch. 17 you get finally get unlimited seals in the shop so i’ve been rescued. everyone is now promoted except for clanne... i may go back to him but he’s only level 9; we’ll see if he can net any arena exp.

i appreciate that everyone’s default outfit changes with their base advanced class! i haven’t used a second seal so don’t know whether there are reskins for different classes but it’s reminiscent of the RD promotion outfit changes. i imagine if this game had had sprites, we might not have gotten this? i would have liked to see sprites by mika pikazo though; possibly some character designs might have clicked better visually.

supports are annoyingly hard to get?? i feel like after most battles i’ve only gotten 2 or 3 supports unlocked, and even after unlocking gifts to give people (which are SO EXPENSIVE), it feel like gifts and meals had more of an effect in 3h (altho u did get to eat a lot more meals in that game lol)

misc. but i wonder how many people entered the series with fe17? ig we’ll get more of an idea over time because those people probably wouldn’t get it on release. 3h was a huge entry game but i feel like everyone who is talking about engage is just like.... a series veteran lol i was on reddit and people are like “you couldn’t do that map?? unless this is ur first FE, you should know the optimal way is to do this” which struck me as an incredibly weird thing to say if any other game was in discussion?

#m #mine #elyos #fe17 #fe17 spoilers #engage spoilers #there are now 90 fics in the engage ao3 category #literally half of it is rated e which i guess makes sense #the kinds of fic you dont need a full understanding of the world characters and plot #i'll do solm gang first and then elusia so it goes in order of least fav to fav lol

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maudfs · 2 years

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Journal for August 2022

From now on, I’ll be posting my DeviantArt journals here as well. I only write these like once or twice a year, lately...I’ll also write on the Summary of Art at the end of each year, of course. Let’s see if Tumblr’s formatting is better for it! (probably!) It’s long so here’s a readmore. By the way...

The last time I was on my computer, a tree fell on our house! :O Well, that's what it sounded like anyway! I was on my computer watching videos when I heard a crack, a rustling, and then a very loud crash. Me and my mom looked outside to find a pine tree in the corner of the yard had snapped in half and and fallen in between our house and the next house. There was also a large branch sticking in between the fence and our house! It appears the tree had fallen more or less parallel to the fence in our yard, except for that one branch which I think hit the roof above my room and broke on impact. Surprisingly, no one was hurt and there doesn't appear to be any damage to the house, although the fence was knocked open. We're very lucky considering all the ways the tree could have fallen, including onto an AC unit (expensive, important!), into my window (where I was sitting!) or into the neighbors window (where they were probably sleeping!). But it fell almost perfectly next to the fence instead... Gosh! We're very lucky it didn't hit that AC unit, because it was just replaced last month, as it had stopped working! At that point the heat was already in the 80's and 90's and somewhat humid...but now? Wouldn't THAT have been terrible... but, yes, we are okay. In other news... I have ideas to work on my website, but doing HTML is sometimes very complicated so I don't have much to show for it yet. For example, my old Windows XP acted like it didn't want to start up, so I finally copied all the files off of it, and looking through them made me nostalgic for those old fan sites on the late 90's and 2000's (example, example)... so my site might get yet another style change to show. I'm at the very same time thinking about making/adding a Pokémon section with my Fakedex... but should I really be trying to do all that at the same time? Sigh. Oh well, we'll see if I update my website anytime soon. XD My mom has had several procedures regarding her back, so I don't do a lot of drawing or other things around these times because I am helping her with a lot. Of course, I still haven't made a Commission sheet and it sure won't get done during any of these times, lol... If you are really interested getting a commission from me, I WILL consider, just send me a message and I'll take a look... one day I might remember to make a sheet, It just makes me nervous for some reason? It's difficult to get started... hmm. Oh right, I meant to do Smaugust and forgot about it. Whoops! I'll probably still draw some dragons but they will be late. Is it still considered part of the challenge if I don't do it in order or all of the days? Well, I'm always glad to draw Dragons, so I suppose it doesn't matter as long as I have fun. Hmm... what else is there to say? I'm still wearing a mask. I'm still forgetting to socialize. Oh yeah, the branch that fell in our yard? It was very big, but I moved it myself. I'm very strong >:3... I just had to clip some of the branches off first... at least we will have firewood this winter? ...It must be the end of the journal, because I've run of out things to say.

Thank you for reading! I hope you have a wonderful day.

#maudfs #journal entry

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thekleesh · 1 year

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Hey what’s up Tumblr it’s been a little while

I haven’t made an actual post besides reblogging my girlfriend’s art on here in a good few years and I figured with seeing how Twitter is doing these days, now might be a good time to post a big-ass update.

NUMBER ONE:

My YouTube channel is doing well! I just posted this big huge sexy video about emulation and why you should do it and why it isn’t illegal (if you do it the right way). I’m super proud of it. Check it out!

youtube

In addition, I have uploaded a few other videos since my last post that I think (most of) are pretty cool, so if you enjoy this one I implore you to give the rest of my channel a shot.

Here’s one of my favorites.

Here’s another one for good measure.

NUMBER TWO:

Since my last post, I have also made a significant change to the way my streams are broadcasted. Up until last month, I used Twitch for all of my streaming endeavors. I did decently well for myself, met some great people, made some amazing friends, and even received a handful of payouts. I already made a big announcement video going into greater detail about this, but the short version is I am no longer on Twitch. I decided I didn’t like splitting my attention between Twitch and YouTube, so I have fully moved over to streaming on YouTube. It was a big change considering how long I’ve been on Twitch, but I am confident in my decision.

If you would like to see the farewell stream I did announcing all of this and going into greater detail as well as answering some questions, that’s right here.

NUMBER THREE:

I have been doing art still! I don’t do it particularly often, but I have a couple pieces I’m willing to share with you today. I’ll likely make separate posts for these later on, but I’ll stick them here in the meantime to make my post look longer than it actually is.

The first one is Marie from Splatoon! This is part of a collab I did with @skyeroxy where she sketched both Squid Sisters, and we each painted one. I am incredibly happy with how the collab turned out and I think I did a good job with Marie. I would hope so, because she’s my favorite.

Earlier in the year I also took a crack at drawing Captain Amelia from Treasure Planet. I rewatched the movie on a whim one day and each time I do it only solidifies the fact that it’s my favorite animated Disney movie, it just doesn’t get old.

Once again, these (and a few others) will get their own posts probably later in the week.

NUMBER FOUR:

Just kidding there isn’t a fourth point. I would just like to reiterate that yes, I will likely be more active on here than I have been. Even if Twitter doesn’t fizzle out in the next few days I really enjoy the much more relaxed atmosphere that exists on this site, so I’ll probably spend less time on Twitter and more time here regardless of what happens.

I have two blogs, there’s this one and my side blog.

I will reserve this blog for serious announcements like videos and maybe stream alerts (which will be deleted after the corresponding streams have concluded). My side blog is for frequent reblogging of things I enjoy like video games, memes, cool art, you get the idea. Basically retweeting on cocaine. If Twitter really truly does go down in a pit of flames, I’ll use my main account (this one) to post random bullshit thoughts and opinions and jokes and whatever else I do on my Twitter currently.

Aaaand for good measure, some links:

YouTube (Main Channel) // (Live)

YouTube (Stream Archive)

TikTok (FUCK this website I just post clips from my streams on it)

Twitter (A bit redundant to put this here but hey, it’s here)

I am technically available on other sites, like my Twitch account is still around, but these are the ONLY ones where you’ll find me active in any capacity. I still use Twitch but only as a viewer these days.

I’m working on a new public Discord server as well, I’ll post the invite to that when I feel it is ready. It’s coming along.

Alright, that’s it. Thank you for reading.

#thekleesh #update #youtube #twitch #tiktok #twitter

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denjiholic · 3 years

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love talk || gojo x reader NSFW

✎ request: suggestion: gojo breeding kink!

✎ warnings/tags: NSFW, explicit content, blowjobs, breeding kink, fingering, overstimulation, praise kink, porn watching, dom! gojo, teasing, voyeurism, light sub/dom, multiple orgasms, cockslapping

✎ pairing: gojo x fem reader

✎ summary: you and gojo watch a porno together and one thing leads to another :))

✎ word count: 2.2k

✎ a/n: sorry if some of you have seen me post this already, i was having a glitch with my tumblr the first time it uploaded, so i had to repost :)

“so what are we watching tonight?”

you look up to see gojo sitting lazily on the couch, one hand patting his empty lap. retiring to his nightly clothes, his chest is bare and his legs only clad in plaid pajama pants. you make your way to the sofa, taking a seat in his lap. he wastes no time wrapping his arms around you, letting out a contented sigh.

turning your head around slightly, you look at him skeptically, “what was that all about?”

he smiles.

“nothing, you just smell good.”

“well I did just shower.”

after you’ve turned back around to face the television he repeats his original question.

“what are we watching tonight?”

“surprise me.”

his eyes gleam with mischief. accepting your challenge, he replies, “alright then.”

he turns on the tv before pausing to say, “wait, close your eyes first.”

“why?”

“you said you wanted it to be a surprise, right? just trying to get the full effect.”

“whatever, weirdo”

shutting your eyes you wait impatiently. after a few moments, the sound of a woman loudly moaning greets your ears. lids snapping open, your eyes fly to the screen. the television displays a woman with a rather large chest, getting pounded by a muscular guy with an intricate tattoo sleeve.

gojo laughs from behind you, clearly amused at your reaction. turning around, you face him and see the smirk that adorns his face.

“what’s wrong? not surprised enough?”

“you’re such an ass”

glancing back at the screen you look again at the girl on the screen.

“are you not a fan of this type of film?”, he teases.

you sigh, “i’m not against it really, but i would like it if you picked something a little more tasteful. not just some 2 minute clip of some chesty girl getting her back blown out.”

“so picky”

after a few more searches he settles on a longer video. once he’s started it, he pulls you close to his chest, settling into the couch.

it starts as a standard porno, with very little yet messy foreplay, and the man taking sexual control over the woman. typical. nothing too exciting. yet for some reason, when watching such an explicit movie with gojo’s partially bare body pressed up behind you, heat slowly creeps up your neck. this was the first time you’d done something like this with him. you knew he obviously watched porn, he was a guy after all, but you’d never watched anything together. were you always this aware of the way his arms felt wrapped around you?

you shift your body, making him let out a small grunt.

“this getting you turned on?”, he whispers, careful to not talk over the audio.

“not really”

in all fairness, it wasn’t a lie. what was getting you turned on was him. not so much the movie. just his presence, and the fact that you are sitting in his lap, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

“no? we’ll have to do something about that then..”

he plants a soft kiss on the nape of your neck, and starts to let his hands wander. his fingers start to gently ghost the skin on your stomach from under your shirt. they’re cool in contrast to your warm skin. traveling higher until he’s gingerly caressing your chest, every movement is slow and meaningful, as if he’s feeling your body for the first time. a hand goes even further up your skin, while one goes back down to your abdomen.

the more he touches you, the harder it feels to breathe.

his fingers stroke your throat, not with the intent to squeeze harshly, but merely to just feel more of your skin. he tilts your chin back to rest on his shoulder, your head side by side with his own. by this time, you’re breathing heavier and having immense difficulty concentrating on the screen. his touch feels like euphoria, teasing almost every part of your body.

he’s obviously enjoying exploring you, as you can feel his erection against your ass. his fingers slowly slide further down your abdomen, making your breath hitch. he slowly slips a hand into your shorts.

instead of instantly going for your clit, he just keeps his palm near the waistband of your underwear. he effortlessly strokes your skin for a moment before finding his way to your sensitive spot. beginning to trace it softly, he forces a quiet moan to escape your lips, along with the catch of his breath from his own.

he slides a finger inside you, feeling your wetness on his skin. careful to tease you properly and take his time, he slips it in and out leisurely. once he’s got you breathing heavy, he pulls it out, and gently rubs on your clit once more with his dampened skin. your flesh feels unusually warm, every swipe of his fingers all over your body and pussy, sends your temperature rising. he wasn’t normally this gentle, and if he teases you anymore you might go insane.

“please.. go faster...”

“that’d be taking all the fun out of it then”

his low voice is close to your ear, and you can hear every breath he takes while he feels you up. just when it feels like you can’t take any more, he removes his hands from your shorts.

gojo shifts you from your previous spot in his lap, laying you down on your back. you lie supine on the couch for a moment, and he starts to spread your legs apart. he makes room for himself between your thighs, before one of his hands begins to tug at your waistband. it feels like your heart is about to hammer out of your chest as he slowly pulls down your shorts and damp underwear. he’s looking at you with kind and passionate eyes, a gaze that’s fully intent on seeing you fall apart to his touch.

you gasp when you feel his warm tongue meet your clit. he works it gently, licking up and down with mastery. instinctively, your hand grips a fistful of his white hair as the pleasure builds in your stomach and legs. when he begins to suck on your clit, you let out a whine. upon hearing your noise of satisfaction, he sucks harder, hoping to emit more content sounds out of you. you give in, moaning along with the woman on the tv. you’d been so caught up with gojo in between your legs, that you’d forgotten the porno was still playing.

to your surprise, you didn’t hate it.

hearing and watching the girl feel good alongside you, wasn’t totally awful. you’d watched your fair share of porn, and to be honest it didn’t do much for you, but something about him going down on you while something that vulgar played, made your sensations somehow feel stronger.

as you start to near climax, you gasp his name.

at this, he holds your hips down in place, making sure you feel your full pleasure. when you finally reach completion, he continues playing with your clit. upon being held down, you grip his hair tightly, your only support as you orgasm onto his tongue. as you pant and curse, he licks up your cum, sure to savor your taste and not leave anything left behind. after you’re finished, you feel soft kisses on your clit. he kisses his way up to your stomach, before moving up to leave small marks on your neck.

“gojo-”

“now I’m gonna need you to do something for me, pretty girl.”

you nod your head, your obedience making him smile.

he moves his body on top of yours so his torso hovers above your face. pulling his cock out of his boxers, he drags it across your lips.

“say ah”

opening your mouth, the first taste of his precum meets your tongue. he lets you take him into his mouth, holding his dick with one hand, and the television remote in the other. gojo turns up the volume before looking back down at you, your mouth full of cock. lips around his tip, you suck at him.

“that’s my good girl”

since you’re lying down, you allow him to gently thrust into your mouth. nothing too aggressive yet, but enough to make you want to gag on his length.

pushing further into your throat, he lovingly watches as the tears streak down the sides of your face. he gives you a reassuring smile, and wipes them away with his fingertips. perhaps to encourage you, he keeps muttering praise underneath his breath, constantly telling you how good of a job you’re doing for him.

he watches the tv from time to time, clearly enjoying watching the couple have sex while you blow him. no matter how much he looks at the screen, words of appreciation never fail to leave his lips.

“shit, just like that”

you swipe your tongue around his head and continue to take him in your mouth. he’s lost focus of the screen now, his body and mind taken over with the pleasure he's receiving. with a grunt, he finishes inside your mouth. he’s out of breath, but he looks satisfied.

once you’ve swallowed, he brings his lips to yours. his kiss is full of desire. desire for you, and desire to take your body and make it his. he plants kisses along your jaw and neck, and massages your chest from underneath your shirt.

“you’re really so beautiful, you know that?”, he whispers.

you hold his head close to yours, falling silent at the sudden compliment. he softly bites your neck before saying, “tonight, i plan on filling you up to the brim.”

“so no condom?”

he nods his head.

you smile, “what are you waiting for? fuck me and fill me up then”

he grins and kisses your forehead.

you squirm when he slides himself inside you, as he says softly, “i want to keep cumming inside you until I can’t feel anything anymore”

starting out slow, he begins thrusting his hips, moving in and out of your entrance. his sturdy body is on top of you, white hair falling in his face. he’s fucking you in missionary, something you’d usually chaste as being far too vanilla, but right now, seeing him above you seems to make the moment more intimate.

he occasionally kisses and bites at your neck, while you wrap your arms around his own. you pull at his hair while he fucks you, begging for him to keep going. You can feel the shake of your thighs as his hips dive in between your legs.

“gonna-” he mumbles, “fuck a baby in you”

you answer him with a plea, unable to form a sentence as he keeps bucking into your tight hole. feeling yourself grip around his length, your orgasm sends warmth and pleasure through your body, making you moan for him.

when he cums, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing hard. you can hear him let out curses as he’s overcome with his climax.

“Oh god, fuck”, he moans.

his mouth meets yours in a sloppy kiss, and he groans into your lips.

instead of stopping after one round, he continues to thrust into you, aiming to stay true to his statement of fucking you until you’re completely stuffed full of his seed. he pursues, making you orgasm repeatedly until you’re on the verge of tears.

“please cum inside me again... i need it so bad”

eyes shut and panting, he sends ropes of white into you once more, his body shaking slightly. he was clearly overstimulated, as were you, but he continues thrusting into your wet heat relentlessly. the tv audio is dull in comparison to the sounds of pleasure coming from the both of you, and the sound of his cock shoving into your leaking pussy over and over.

“feels.. so good”, he chokes out.

you watch him as he reaches completion once again, his expression one of lewdness and pure bliss. he lets out small gasps and groans as he comes inside you for the third time. his face glistens with sweat and his chest heaves.

exhausted, he slumps on top of you, trying to catch his breath. you play with his hair with your fingers, keeping his head next to your own.

he kisses your cheek whispering, “can we just stay like this for a while?”

nodding your head, you pull him closer, aware he’s still sheathed inside you. the movie was long over, and for a while you lay with him on your chest, feeling the rise and fall of his own. after a bit, he grows soft and slips out. he gets up to look down at your hole, watching the cum leaking from your entrance.

“as hot as that is, i think you might need to take another shower”

“wanna join me?”, you ask with a smile.

“fuck, don’t tempt me”

grinning, he asks, “was the movie tasteful enough for you?”

“i could barely pay attention”

“what a shame, i guess we’ll have to watch another one sometime”

“only if i get to pick it out”

he smiles, “it’s a deal”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut

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mauesartetc · 2 years

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This is so underwhelming.

[Got an ask regarding what I thought of Alastor’s “redesign” (anon’s quotes, not mine). Fully intended to answer it directly. But of course Tumblr wigged out on me and wouldn’t let me edit the draft. So let’s try this again.]

Here's the thing: Viv Medrano didn't explicitly say there'd be big, exciting changes with Alastor, but hyped him up for days as if this were HUGE, even reminding folks of the big reveal mere hours before it dropped.

I was hoping they'd at least ditch the monocle and stripes, make his antlers more prominent, and give him a more period-appropriate hairstyle. That wouldn't have been so hard. Instead, they changed practically nothing. I get Viv wouldn't want to alter Al's design too much as it might turn off some fans, but really? You couldn't even let go of the stupid monocle that was already way out of fashion in his time period? And then you got our hopes up for... this?

This?

Let's talk about managing expectations for a sec.

There's this Conan clip with Keegan-Michael Key and Jordan Peele that's always stuck with me. The two guests discuss the concept of "dropping a dook" (at 1:04-1:46):

youtube

Basically, be humble and keep expectations low so your audience will be pleasantly surprised. Raise them too high, and they'll inevitably be disappointed.

That's what I am. Not mad, just disappointed. I'm glad they streamlined the pinstripes and cut back on the red somewhat, but they could've easily changed more without causing an outcry.

Literally all I did in the above image was remove the monocle and enlarge the antlers. If any part of a 2D character is so tiny it barely registers from a distance, why’s it even here? Those puny prongs don’t make him look intimidating, either; it’s like he’s a fawn rather than a full-grown buck. And I know I keep harping on the monocle, but seriously, would anyone miss it? Pretty sure the animators wouldn’t.

(”But Maue, didn’t you see Alastor use the monocle like a radio dial when he was about to sing in the pilot?” Yeah, but I’d argue the round part of his bow tie would fit that function better. Its location around his neck actually makes more sense that it’d control his voice, as it’s more likely to have a direct connection to the voice box. Or drive-thru speaker, or whatever he’s got in there. It’d be kinda hilarious if the dial gave him different voices like Dug from “Up”.)

And just for fun, I made his hair opaque and drew in some separation between the cheekbone and brow ridge.

Al’s eyes are so huge, we don’t need to see his eyebrows in order to read his expression. These are relatively minor changes, but they bring about huge improvements.

I find it odd Viv released Charlie’s new design (which features major changes) without telling a soul she was going to, only to promote the hell out of an Alastor design that looks practically the same as the previous one. It would’ve been better to release this one without warning as well, and do the same for the remaining characters. Like Key and Peele said, drop a dook. Don’t overhype stuff, and your audience will thank you for it.

#ask #anon ask #anonymous #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel critical #alastor #redesign #character design #social media

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inkyblinders · 3 years

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Dancing with the Devil

Pairing: Luca Changretta X Reader

Author’s note: So excited to share my first fic on this blog! I’m still trying to figure out the ins and outs of Tumblr as it’s been a hot minute since I’ve last used it, but if you like my writing please repost and follow for more :)

The story (part one of many, hopefully) is set in early Season 4 and is in second-person, but you’re also a character with a name.

And in case you can’t tell...I think Luca Changretta is criminally underrated.

Warnings: Some mild smut.

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There is a stranger in the Garrison tonight.

He isn’t a shipyard laborer, neither tired nor grimy from the perpetual muck that belongs to Small Heath. In fact, he is more polished and well-dressed than anyone you’ve ever seen, except for perhaps the Shelby brothers who frequent the Garrison.

But this man is no Peaky Blinder.

He leisurely surveys the customers in the pub, eyes obscured by a fedora that slants on his head. An unlit cigarette hangs between thin lips. It’s a halfhearted attempt to blend in, as if he’s doing this as a courtesy but cares not in the slightest if he rouses suspicion.

You are used to breaking up bar fights and mopping up the bloody aftermath, but this man makes you more uneasy than any roughhousing drunkard you’ve dealt with. He is too quiet, his eyes too sly.

“This must be the trouble Tommy was expecting,” you think to yourself.

When he catches your gaze from behind the bar, a hawk-like smile cuts across his face. He winks then, and you flush even as something dangerous spikes in your throat. The whiskey you hold in your hands is just like his. Another prop, another facade.

“Anything else for you then, sir?”

He looks up from beneath the brim of his hat. His face is slyly handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a striking nose you crave to run down lightly with your fingers. Now you understand why he tries to keep himself hidden.

Here is a face that, once seen, would not be soon forgotten.

A tilt of his head, a voice as like raw silk as you shiver.

“Your daddy owns this place?”

So he’s not from Birmingham, after all. Every man within a fifty-mile radius knows who owns the Garrison. They might have never met the man, but they certainly know the name of his younger brother.

“No sir, he doesn’t.” Your voice is carefully polite but clipped, praying it doesn’t betray the pounding of your heart as you watch him take off his hat and run a hand through dark, slicked-back hair. You’ve seen Tommy talk like this with men he mistrusts, and he mistrusts a lot of men. No matter what, you are not volunteering any more information than necessary.

He waits for you to say more, and his smile doesn’t falter when you remain silent. “Well then, signorita, will you tell me who does?”

The Italian. So it is him.

Fuck.

“The Garrison is owned by...a family from these parts. Do you have business with them,” You can’t help but add impulsively, “Signore?”

His dark eyes widen with pleasure at your flippant remark in his own language. He is playing a game, and you are playing along with him.

“What business would I have with Gypsy fucks like them?” He leans forward, “But sweetheart, you on the other hand...”

Working for the Shelbys means minding the pub when Arthur’s gone, and spying for Tommy when he needs intel on whoever he’s feuding with at the time. It’s more serious than simply turning the other cheek when there’s a cutting in the streets. But you are not prepared to face an enemy alone.

Even if he is as charming as the devil.

Even if he wants you, and you want him back.

For the millionth time, you silently curse Tommy for forbidding you from having a gun, a knife, anything to protect yourself while in the pub. You had asked him about it one night, afterwards, and he only replied, “It’s bad for business if a girl like you gets caught with a weapon she can’t handle.”

“Then teach me,” You had retorted, balling up his trousers and chucking it at his head, “You think you can protect me. But what about when you’re gone?”

Tommy had looked up from buttoning his shirt then, his gaze steely and blue. “I have eyes in all of Birmingham. And besides,” He smiled ruefully, “You’re never in danger unless I put you there myself.”

In the pub, the Italian watches your expression. And in a moment of madness, you almost take up his veiled flirtation.

But then there is Tommy. Tommy with his inscrutable blue gaze. Tommy with his whores. And now you are angry at yourself for thinking of him when he was probably fucking some other woman in Camden Town. For business, he would explain, avoiding your eyes.

“What business would you have with a barmaid like me?” A whisper of regret fills you as you turn to leave. You are halfway up the stairs that lead to your room above the pub when you hear a caress of a single word that turns your blood to ice.

“Isabel.”

The Italian is leaning against the banister, eyes drinking in your figure. And now he saunters up the steps. You scamper up the rest of them but he is quicker. In a flash he spins you around, his body snugly against you and the second-floor wall. An arm over your head, caging you with his tall frame.

The intoxicating scent of tobacco and roses fills the crevices between your bodies.

Your eyes flash dangerously as he bends down, daring him to force a kiss. But he only murmurs into the crook of your neck, “Where is Mr. Shelby tonight?”

You answer breathlessly into the shoulder of his freshly-pressed suit, “He could be at the betting shop. Could be with his wife at home. I don’t-- ”

“The other Mr. Shelby, Isabel.”

Maybe he already sent his men after Tommy. Maybe Tommy’s already dead in a ditch, in godforsaken Camden Town. Or maybe, just maybe, this man really doesn’t know where he is, and you are the only person who can tell him.

He has you good and compromised. No one can help you, so you must save yourself. Instincts kick in, your mind feverishly formulating a plan. It won’t be the first time you’ve done something like this, and on Tommy’s orders nonetheless.

Loose lips sink ships, and men are so pliant after a romp in the sheets. Mindful of your mission now, you angle to ask for his secrets, anything you could find out that gives Tommy an advantage.

Only this time, your heart actually catches as you gaze into the mafioso’s lethal eyes.

A pause then, wondering how much you should reveal, and you confess, “Tommy doesn’t tell anyone where he is until he’s already there.” It’s a half-truth—he told you.

“So he’s Tommy to you then?” The man is pleased with your slip of the tongue. You’ve told him a secret he already knows.

“You are his woman.” He caresses your face with the back of his hand, etched with ink. A cross. Rosary beads. And there, a black-palmed hand. Just like the ones he sent the Shelbys.

I want to see where his tattoos lead to.

“You are his woman,” he continues, and something dark and sweet fills his voice as he purrs, “And you are not afraid of me.”

“I’m not giving up Shelby secrets even if you seduce me,” You stifle a whimper as he wedges a leg between your skirts, and you think of nothing except the way you ache for him to come even closer, until there is nothing between you but skin on bare skin.

“Tommy has whores who might give him up for a pound or three. Although,” you smirk, “I won’t tell you where you’d find them, either.”

“Oh sweetheart, didn’t you hear me?” So close you can feel his heartbeat with your fingertips, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

A deathly promise.

“I’ve come for you.”

He slants his mouth, his lips pressing hotly to yours as you surrender to desire. The kiss is swift and hard. The two of you come together, again and again, like lightning and thunder. As he cradles your head with one hand, the other slips underneath your blouse to palm your breast. You arch against the wall. The onyx rings on his hand are cold, and they pucker your nipples as they bite your skin.

Somehow you find your fingers seeking him too. But it’s not enough to touch the exposed skin between the gaps of his buttoned shirt. You want more.

When you pull apart he is panting, lips apart and wet. His once slicked-back hair now mussed, you imagine yours is too. For the first time this evening, his arrogant face is a little shocked, as if the taste of you affected him more deeply than he expected. You unclench your fists from his shirt and slowly take his face into your hands. You draw a line down the bridge of his nose, feeling all its bumps and ridges.

You murmur huskily, “Why did you really come to Birmingham?”

He tilts his head expectantly, and you are lost in his devastating eyes as he replies.

“Pleasure.”

#luca changretta #luca changretta x reader #luca changretta smut #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders smut

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21stcenturygworl · 2 years

Text

Excerpt from 21st Century Girl, Chapter 19: Faith and Devotion

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Modern!Reader

Info: AFAB Reader, Second Person Perspective, No Y/N, Outdoor Sex, Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent

A/N: I thought tumblr might like my attempt at writing smut (after over a year of no writing smut (yikes!))… Context isn’t really necessary to enjoy it, I think, so it’s about 1/2 of the chapter. If you like it, consider reading the whole thing on AO3!

Bandit doesn’t seem to enjoy the extra fabric of your skirt draped over his rear. Too bad for him, because you didn’t have any clean trousers or jeans left. You’ll make it up to him later. You’re sure he’ll forgive you when you pull out the sugar cubes.

Arthur didn’t take long at all to come back from the bath, just as he told you he would. On one hand, you feel like he could have allowed himself to enjoy the luxury a little longer, but on the other hand, you’re glad to have left the Parlour House. Sitting there alone was nerve-wracking, to say the least. Because without Arthur next to you to ward off any unwanted attention, it meant people were just openly staring at you.

So you’re taking the “scenic route” back to camp. Just as an extra precaution.

The clip-clops of the hooves of your horses provide the backdrop of noise to your conversation. That, and the cacophony of insects.

“The vibes in there were rancid,” you say with your nose crinkled. “I don’t know if it’s just me, but I feel like we’ve outstayed our welcome here in Rhodes.”

“You might be right,” Arthur says, mulling it over. “But I don’t think Dutch wants to move on until we find that gold.”

“I love the idea of stealing money from racist ex-slavers, but I’m honestly starting to think they’re not as loaded as Dutch and Hosea think they are.”

Arthur gives you a half-shrug. It looks like he’s not sure what to say about the whole situation either. “Don’t go worryin’ too much about it.”

You huff. “I will worry as long as you have to put your neck on the line out there. Especially if chances are that there’s no “big payout” at the end of it.”

“Aww,” Arthur says with a grin. “So you wouldn’t worry ‘bout me riskin’ my neck if there is a big payout?”

“That’s not what I said,” you say, playfully trying to kick him from Bandit’s saddle. Scout seems to see it coming and steps aside before the tip of your boot can make contact with Arthur’s leg. Arthur chuckles at your failed attempt at physically chastising him, praising his own horse for being so clever.

The rest of your ride continues with more idle chatter and laughter. You’ve spent so much time glued to each other’s sides, and yet you still haven’t run out of things to talk about. Sometimes, though, a silence falls over the two of you, and you just quietly enjoy each other’s presence.

It’s during one of those moments that you look over at Arthur. “I love you.”

Arthur blinks, then gives you a bashful smile. “I love you too, darlin’. But where’s this suddenly come from?”

You shrug, grinning at him. “I felt like saying it, so I did.”

He averts his eyes, and you can tell he’s trying to hide his face with the brim of his hat. He can’t hide the way the tips of his ears have turned red, though. “Well, alright then,” he says, smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Shortly after that exchange, you have Bandit slow to a halt — and Arthur immediately follows your lead. “Look at that,” you whisper, pointing towards a sounder of wild boars in the distance. They’re digging around in the mud, no doubt looking for something to eat. Faint high-pitched squeals draw your attention to a couple of younger ones within the group, playing and running around the adults. A little family, out foraging for food.

“Wanna stop and watch ‘em for a while?” Arthur asks.

You nod enthusiastically. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

So you leave the horses to graze, and you and Arthur sit in the grass and watch the boars from a safe distance. They’re just dark brown spots in the distance from here, but it’s hard to miss the way they’re interacting with their environment. Snouts shoved into the ground, front hooves digging at the dirt. The younger ones dart around through the low growth of the forested area the adults are foraging in.

You never did bring in a wild boar for Pearson to cook, but right now you can’t bring yourself to grab your rifle from Bandit’s saddle.

In the shade of the trees, Arthur has taken off his hat and put it aside. One of his hands is on the ground behind you, keeping himself propped up. You turn to look at him and find that Arthur was already looking at you. You keep your voice low as you speak, even though you know the sounder realistically can’t hear you unless you yell. “Don’t you want to draw them?”

“Nah,” he murmurs, shaking his head.

That’s unlike him. The thought is expressed with the way you give him a quizzical look, but it vanishes when Arthur leans in and kisses you. Your eyes flutter closed and you sigh into the kiss.

His hair is still damp, leaving your fingers wet as you move your hands to the back of his neck. The kisses he gives you are gentle and slow, allowing you to fully savour the moment and take him in with all of your senses. The coarse brush of his beard against your cheek, the occasional clumsy bumping of noses followed by quiet giggles, his free hand holding on to your waist. He smells like soap and… cloves and lemongrass, you think. Only for a moment do you get to wonder if Arthur put on cologne for you, because your mind goes blank when he lets out a low moan accompanied by a lick at your lower lip through the kiss.

His touch suddenly feels searing hot through the thin fabric of your shirt, and the whimper he draws out from your throat lets him know just how desperate you are for more. You lean in closer to press your chest against his, your tongue slipping past his lips and tasting tobacco and brandy.

You want him, you want him so desperately it almost makes you lose all sense of reason.

Hands moving to his chest, you helplessly grab bunches of fabric in your fists. Breaking the kiss, Arthur moves to straddle you, and with one hand holding the back of your neck, he carefully has you lay back onto the grass. You look up at him with short breaths and kiss-swollen lips.

He just looks at you for a moment, seemingly stunned. Then he leans forward to cage your body with his own and recapture your mouth with his own, forearms on either side of your head. Your hands move to roam the expanse of his chest as he kisses you tenderly. “You’re beautiful,” he breathes out against the corner of your mouth.

You giggle. You think you could die happy now. “Where’s that suddenly come from?”

It’s hard to miss the feeling of him grinning when he nuzzles your cheek. “I felt like sayin’ it, so I did.”

His kisses move from your cheek to your jaw and to your neck. You whimper when he licks a hot stripe over your pulse point. His mouth continues, leaving a trail of kisses and bites to the hollow of your neck, before moving on to the top of your exposed sternum, following it down towards the valley between your breasts.

Arthur stops, glancing up at you as if asking for permission. You turn your head to look at the road you were riding along just a while earlier. “Nobody’s gonna see,” he says as if having read your mind. He lowers his voice. “I’ll make sure of it.”

A nervous giggle bubbles from your throat. This entire encounter is thrilling in all the right ways. You nod. “Okay, I believe you.” You chew on your bottom lip. “You can… go ahead.”

Arthur’s right hand slips one more shirt button out of its eyelet, then pushes aside the fabric to reveal your chest to him. Your nipples are already perked up with excitement. His eyes, darkened with a haze of lust, dart to your face. “Not even wearin’ a chemise underneath?”

“Laundry day,” you mumble as a lousy excuse.

“Sure,” he says with a lazy grin, clearly not buying it. His hand slides across your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Carefully he moves his hand around the curve of your left breast, looking at you with a contemplative expression as if he’s trying to map out your body and commit every detail to memory. You gasp when his thumb brushes across your nipple.

He lowers himself and returns his lips to your sternum, kissing another trail towards your right nipple as he roughly squeezes your left breast. You throw your head back and whine a little, desperately pressing your knees together for some friction down where you want — no, need it. Your hands find their way from his chest to his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle beneath his shirt as you whimper. Arthur licks across your right nipple, then lets out a satisfied chuckle. “Such pretty sounds.”

“Arthur,” you say between shallow breaths, staring up at the canopy, “I’m going to lose my mind if you’re only going to tease me.”

He hums in acknowledgement, planting his hands on either side of your waist as he moves down to kiss your clothed stomach. His tone is infuriatingly cocky when he speaks. “Can’t have that happenin’, can we?”

You lower your voice to warn him, even though you feel like you’re in no position to make threats. “Don’t test my patience, Arthur Morgan.”

He chuckles, moving lower before sitting back so he’s straddling your thighs. “Apologies, ma’am,” he drawls, fingers trailing down across your abdomen. “I’ll pick up the pace if that’s what you want.” Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth. Arthur looks at you with half-lidded eyes, hands on the fabric of your skirt around your hips. He watches you for a reaction as he slowly tugs at the blue material, carefully pulling it upwards to expose your calves. When you part your lips and your breathing picks up in excitement, his hands begin pushing the fabric up to your thighs.

Arthur nudges your legs apart with his knee, then lays himself down between them, hands holding the backs of your thighs and pushing your legs up a little. You shudder and breathe out his name when he presses a kiss to your left leg, just beneath the lace hem of your drawers.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says, looking at you earnestly as his thumbs gently caress your inner thighs.

You could just as well swoon. That’s what you love so much about him, isn’t it? He’s always showing the world his tough side, putting up this facade of being nothing but a brute who only knows how to communicate through violence. Yet for some reason, he’s let you in, allowing you to chip away at the walls he surrounds his heart with and take a look at what’s behind it. He would never hurt you. Everything he does, he always asks for permission, be it verbal or not. He has killed for you — he would do anything to keep you safe from harm.

You irrevocably have his heart.

You swallow thickly, looking at him through your lashes. “I don’t want you to stop. I want everything you’re willing to give.”

Arthur’s grip on your thighs tightens, but you can tell he’s holding himself back so he won’t bruise your skin. He’s trying to control himself so he won’t accidentally cause you any pain. The thought of it excites you in ways you can’t put into words right now. No, not now, not when he’s looking at you as if he’s been starved, and you’re the only thing that could possibly still his hunger.

He hoists your legs up to have your thighs rest on his shoulders, the movement making the spurs on your boots jingle. You move your hands away, one towards your mouth to hide your giddy smile, the other grabbing a fistful of grass above your head. Taking his sweet time, Arthur kisses along your inner thighs, occasionally alternating between them. “Gonna make you feel real good, darlin’,” he purrs. He presses kisses to the sensitive skin and licks across it, the sensations so Goddamn tantalising and driving you completely wild, making you want to pull up your skirt completely and tell him to make good on his word and just get started.

Arthur suddenly stops and roughly sucks on the skin of your left thigh, on that same spot just beneath the lace hem of your drawers. You gasp with pleasure and in disbelief, then look at him with wide eyes. “Are you leaving a hickey?”

He kisses the red mark with a sly smile. “What? I’m the only one who’s gonna see it.”

You huff, laying your head back again and looking up at the canopy. You’re still a little breathless. Still, your giddy smile slowly returns. “I was just surprised. Didn’t think you’d be the kind of guy to give hickeys.”

Arthur nuzzles your thigh, his beard feeling particularly coarse there. “Well… I hope to keep surprisin’ you.”

Slowly, almost reverently, Arthur pushes up the rest of your skirt. It leaves the navy blue fabric bunched up around your hips, and your drawers completely exposed. You think Arthur is going to tug them off next, but he seems to have other plans. He slips his fingers between the thin section of overlapping fabric over your pubic bone, then pushes the white muslin aside. You inhale sharply, followed by a little “oh”.

(You initially had your reservations about women’s underwear of this time, but suddenly you’re not too upset about the split-crotch designs.)

Both of Arthur’s hands move between your legs, keeping your drawers tugged open. He swallows thickly, and his breath feels hot on your exposed labia. It makes you want to squirm. His thumb traces upwards along your slit, slow and studious, the pad of his digit becoming slick with your wetness. Your eyes screw shut. Then he gently swipes his thumb across your clit, drawing out a little moan from your throat.

“Darlin’,” Arthur murmurs, voice sounding strained. His breathing is ragged. He only continues talking when you open your eyes and look at him. The raw devotion in his blue-green eyes almost leaves you stunned. “I need you to tell me whenever I do somethin’ you like, and whenever I do somethin’ you don’t. Can you do that for me?”

All you can do is nod, whimpering a little when you feel him breathe out on your sensitive skin.

“Good girl.” Arthur licks across your inner labia, mimicking the motion his thumb made earlier, before his mouth encases your clit and gently sucks at it. A jolt of pleasure surges through your body, accompanied by you breathing out an emphatic “oh my God”.

You haven’t been properly touched that way for literal months, and Arthur’s mouth quite literally feels like sweet salvation. It’s sparked something in you, and you know you’ve been ruined: you’ll forever be craving more, more of this, more of him.

He carefully flicks his tongue across the bundle of nerves — you immediately throw your head back with a whine. He moans a little, pleased to hear the noises you’re making, before he continues using his tongue. Your hands find their way to his head, fingers threading through his damp hair as you try to restrain yourself from bucking against his mouth. “You can… You can be a little rougher,” you murmur. He immediately responds by lapping at your clit, earning him a gasp. “Yes— Yes, like that,” you whimper.

Arthur hums in response, and for a short moment, you lift your head a little to look at him again. The sight is something you could have plucked right out of your own daydreams. The green-tinted sunlight filtering in through the canopy makes Arthur look like a modern Eros. Eyes closed and brows furrowed as he focuses on nothing but your pleasure, hair all tousled and messed up from your fingers. His mouth is hot and wet against you, tongue doing all the right things and responding exactly the way you want whenever you give him instructions.

You let out a shuddering exhale as you tilt your head back again. “Arthur?”

“Mm?”

“I want more.”

Something snaps in him. Pushing his shoulder against the backs of your thighs, he angles your hips up and presses his mouth a little rougher to your vulva, causing you to whimper and mewl out another “yes” as he sucks and laps at your clit. Your right hand trails over your stomach to your breasts. Glancing up to see it happen, Arthur removes his left hand from between your legs with a grunt to swat your hand away, and palms your breasts instead. You moan his name, followed quickly by a gasp when he takes your perked up nipple between his fingers. Your right hand reaches out to tightly grab his wrist, feeling like you’ll fall apart too soon if you don’t hold on to anything.

Arthur eats you out like a man given his last meal. He’s fully savouring everything: the feeling of you against his tongue, the way your body twitches in response to his touches, and the sound of his name spilling from your lips like a desperate benediction.

You’re like a coil that’s being wound too tightly, your breathing becoming shallow and difficult. The fingers of your left dig into Arthur’s scalp, grabbing fistfuls of hair and gaining a low moan of approval from him, the sound vibrating against your slick heat. Every muscle in your body is starting to slowly tense up. “Arthur,” you manage to say through gasps. “Keep— Keep doing that.”

He hums in response, not changing a thing about what he’s doing to you. You realise now that Arthur wouldn’t only do anything to make you happy and to keep you safe.

He would also do anything to hear you moan his name.

“Yes,” you whimper, “God, yes. Oh… Oh…” You feel tears prick in the corners of your eyes. “Arthur, I’m close— I’m—”

The coil snaps, and you come undone with your head thrown back and gasps and moans drawn from your lips. Your legs tremble, their jittery movements lightly making the spurs of your boots jingle. The fingernails of your right hand leave little crescent moon marks on Arthur’s wrist. He pulls away from between your legs.

You feel a little lightheaded.

All you can do for a couple of moments is breathe. Breathe, and stare up at the canopy above.

Then you sigh, completely content, and prop yourself up on your forearms to look at Arthur. You blink, still feeling a little disoriented. He’s carefully lowering your legs onto the ground, fixing your drawers, and then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looks very proud of himself, wearing a lazy grin.

You take a deep breath, smiling back at him. “That was, um. Wow.”

“Glad to hear you enjoyed yourself.” He gets up on his feet, then offers you a hand. You gratefully accept it, but find yourself on trembling legs even as he helps you to your feet. As you redo your shirt buttons and smooth out your skirt, your knees almost buckle. Arthur keeps you from sinking to the ground again by wrapping his arms around you. A chuckle rumbles in his chest. You link your hands behind his back and press your body against his, not quite wanting to let go of him yet. He kisses your forehead. “You okay for the ride back to camp?

“You don’t want me to return the favour?” you whisper, moving your head to look up at him through your lashes. You can feel his stiffness against your hip, letting you know he enjoyed giving as much as you enjoyed receiving.

Despite the carnal act he just performed on you mere minutes ago, a blush still creeps up to Arthur’s cheeks at the mention of you reciprocating. “Don’tchu worry ‘bout that. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

You nod, grinning at him. Then you carefully stand up on your own, loosening your grip around him. “Who taught you how to do that, anyway?”

Oh, you adore that boyish smile he’s wearing. “I’ve… had some practice on a coupl’a ladies who freely gave out advice.”

You stand up on your toes to kiss him. “I’ll have to thank them if I ever meet them.”

#writing #rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #21st century girl

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chuckbass-love · 3 years

Note

20,39,42 with Andy Barber?

Hey, lovely anon. First of all i hope you’re doing well and second of all, i thoroughly enjoyed writing this and i hope y’all have a lot of fun reading it. It’s been a hot minute since i last wrote for Andy.

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Andy Barber x Fem!Reader

Prompts Used:

20) “You’d better be quiet or everyone’s going to know what a naughty little slut you are”

39) “I’m so sick of your voice. Why don’t you come over here and put your mouth to better use?”

42) “I guess i’ll just get off all by myself”

Warnings: Smut. Sexual intercourse, vaginal sex, spanking, daddy kink, love making (kinda), arguing, swearing, angst and a sprinkle of fluff for good measure. That’s right, used all 3. 18+ you know the drill.

Word Count: 6,796

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @cassercole go check them out💕

Do You Feel What I Feel?

After a long and interesting weekend, you’re a lot less eager to get back behind your desk to work for Andy Barber than you usually are. One reason in particular being that you’ve been dating other people behind his back. See the thing with you and Andy is that you’ve known him for 2 whole years, worked for him for 1 year and been fucking him since the evening of your very first day. He got you the job to work with him after you got laid off.

You met him after he showed up for one of your seminars at college and he gave a presentation on what it’s like to be a lawyer and you just clicked. But it was strictly platonic...until you showed up on that first day dressed in a knee length skirt, a semi sheer polka dot blouse with stockings and heels. He was shocked to say the least. You looked entirely different and he’d never seen you this way before. It turned him on and he let you know it.

As you were packing your things away and bidding him goodbye for the day, he called you back into his office and instructed you to lock the door behind you before he began to inform you of the effect you had on him. Starting slowly by telling you how he was taken aback by your ability to think on your feet, use your initiative and then just like that, it all came out and he couldn’t control his hunger much longer.

He kissed you so hard that night that the breath was knocked from your lungs but you loved it, you yearned for more of that feeling and he fucked you so good that you made it a regular thing, without even realising it was becoming one until it was too late. You’d just show up at each others places without a warning and before you knew it, he was fucking you into the mattress and making you cum with a cry of his name.

Now back to the present... you like Andy, in fact if you’re being truthful with yourself, you’ve fallen so madly in love with him that you know it’s time to quit him. He’s like a drug, an addiction and you need to stop going back for more. Hence why you decided that enough was enough.

You met a guy online, his name is Ashley and he was more than keen to take you out so you happily obliged and sure you had a nice time but there’s just one issue lying in your way. Andy is unsuspecting of your little date and it’s been eating away at you since said date walked you back to your apartment. You know that you need to tell him but you fear that it’ll cost you your job, he did hire you to help you out after all.

Before you can wallow more in your choice to keep things from him, he calls you into his office and you haven’t even gotten any work done yet, you only sat down 5 minutes ago.

What could he possibly want so early on?

“Yes, Mr Barber?” you ask flirtatiously, making him glare up at you before gesturing for you to take a seat opposite him. Which you do.

“So today i’m gonna need you to file this paper work into the data base for me” he starts, lifting up a pile taller than the length of your forearm and now you’re annoyed for real this time. He knows full well that you’re still finishing off the stack from Friday and yet here he is presenting more work for you to do “get it done by the end of the day” he finishes, flashing you another stone cold glare as he looks back down at the paper on his desk, not even bothering to acknowledge your presence for a second longer.

Until you speak up “Andy, you know i’m still finishing off Frid....”

“That’s Mr Barber to you and you can leave now” his rude and snappy interruption makes you scoff as you shake your head at the tone in his voice, he’s not in any mood today to help you out or make exceptions. So you do as you’re told, hauling the heavy pile into your arms and lugging it back to your desk outside. Once it’s on your desk, you walk back to shut his door before he asks, making sure to slam it harder than needed to make it known that you’re angry with him.

He doesn’t seem to notice or care though.

Now to get started on all of this work that’ll probably mean you staying later tonight, just brilliant. Guess your second date with Ashley will have to be rescheduled.

------------------------

You finish off half of the pile by the time it gets to 1:30pm and you’re due a lunch break round about now so seeing as though Andy hasn’t left his office all day, you decide to pop out for some food with one of the other assistants, Stacey. Thank God you don’t have to face him since you have absolutely no clue what could have possibly rattled his cage this morning to make him snap at you like that. The two of you have always had this ongoing joke of you calling him Mr Barber and he usually allows you to call him by his first name until today when that alone was enough to anger him.

It’s obvious that you’ll have to put off telling him about your date until he’s in a better place to receive the news. You’re hoping that since he’s always been opposed to commitment that he’ll take it well but the halt in your fooling around might annoy him a little. It’s not your problem though, he always knew you were planning to eventually settle down.

Upon your return to your desk you find Andy sat in your chair, looking through your work “where the hell have you been?” he mutters as he avoids your eyes “you know what, don’t even bother making excuses, my office, NOW” you jump out of fear as he raises his voice slightly at you for the first time in the whole 2 years you’ve known him. Your anxious body shuffles into his office, scared of what’s about to happen.

“Was i not clear enough earlier Y/N? Hm? Because i specifically remember asking you to have this work done by the end of the day. You get off at half 4, it’s now half 2 and you’ve only done half. Do i pay you to galavant around town with Stacey or do i pay you to do your goddam job?”

In the 2 years that you’ve known Andy, he’s also never made you cry, yet here you are trying your absolute hardest not to let these tears fall in front of him.

“You pay me to do my job and i’ve tried my best to get it done. I-I’m sorry” you stand there awkwardly, picking at the torn skin around your fingernails as you stare hopelessly at your stilettos. “Well your best isn’t fucking good enough Y/N, try harder. You can stay here until all of the paperwork is done and that includes Friday’s load too now close the door on your way out”

Is he actually serious? He can’t be, surely. What is wrong with him?

“No” you stand tall, hands on your hips as you talk back and if he was angry before then now he’s livid with you “What do you mean no?” he questions, stepping towards you, hands in his pockets as he awaits your answer.

“I said, no. Just because you’re in a bad mood for whatever reason does NOT mean that you get to stand here and humiliate me. I said no and that’s final. I’ll do my best to get today’s work done before i leave but Friday’s work can wait and i don’t care what nasty comment you have in store to throw back at me”

His face screws up as he clenches his jaw again, you should feel really scared right about now, that comment might have just cost you this job but you don’t care. If that’s the case then you’ll walk out of here proud of yourself along with one less so called friend in your life.

“Bad mood? I’m furious and you don’t even know the half of it” he picks his phone up, tapping a couple times before handing it to you and walking back to his desk to sit down. You watch the clip in his camera roll, squinting as you try to make out the faces in it and then you realise that it’s you and Ashley. Fuck. He was there that night at your apartment, he was obviously coming to see you and you didn’t even know it. He must have seen you with another man and changed his mind. You feel awful as you look back at him, he just sighs once you place the phone onto his desk.

“Andy, i-i”

“Save it. If you wanted to cut our little deal off then you shoulda just said. I don’t appreciate being lied to Y/N and i don’t fancy talking about it with you for a minute longer so just do as your fucking told and get back to work”

All you can do is turn around and walk away since you’ve done enough damage already. But all you can think about is the look on his face after you watched the incriminating clip. He looked sad, broken even and it’s replaying in your brain over and over. Torturing you.

This is why he’s been so nasty today, so demanding and harsh. He’s hurt that you lied to him, hurt that you were with someone else, even if it was just dinner. You still arranged a date with another man and went and what Andy has never wanted to admit before, not even to himself is that he really likes you. In fact no, he’s fallen madly in love with you.

Every waking moment of his life is spent with you on his mind. You even corrupt his dream world too and it’s gotten out of control. Saturday he decided it was time to cut your little deal off and start over. He was going to do it right, confess his feelings, ask you on a date and then take you out and treat you like a princess.

Ever since he laid his blue eyes on you that first time when he was doing the presentation in your class at college, he liked you. You asked so many questions, engaged a lot in the debates and he knew then that you were going to play an important role in his life. And you have. You became close friends, going out regularly and doing things like bowling and eating dinner together more than a handful of times. He enjoyed your company and you enjoyed his but there was this unspoken rule that you had to remain just friends. He wasn’t ready for anything serious and you were still not over your ex.

But then when you walked through his office door on your first day dressed in that skirt, those heels and stockings and lets not forget about that blouse. He was trying his hardest not to drool. One things for sure though, he was painfully hard for you.

When he came to your apartment Saturday and saw you outside your door with some preppy douchebag who was around your age, he felt this lump in his throat form as his heart ached. Sure he expected you to get a man eventually after all you are 24 and he’s in his 30’s. But he didn’t expect it to happen so soon. He also didn’t expect you to have such an effect on him the way you have but here he is, angry at you for moving on without telling him and angry that you aren’t his anymore.

He feels bad for shouting at you today, for being so harsh with his words. He could see the tears pooling in your eyes right away but he was too pissed off to stop and now he’s almost certain that any friendship the two of you had is gone for good thanks to his vile actions.

Another 2 hours tick by and you’re still working at your pile, you’ve still got a lot left being that he’s included Friday’s in your load too. It’s going to be a long night so you pick your phone up and call Ashley.

“Ashley hey, it’s uh, it’s Y/N. Listen, i have to work late today so i won’t be able to make it” you announce and as he responds, Andy opens his door but you don’t notice.

“Rain check? Uh...” you trail off, trying your hardest to decide if you even want to see him again. It’s like you’re torn. On one hand you have Andy, your dream man. A man who knows your body like the back of his hands and a man who can more than likely take care of you if you just took a leap and told him about your feelings but then on the other hand you have Ashley. A guy who is your age and who makes you laugh a hell of a lot. Before you can even decide though, you hear a cough behind you. It’s Andy.

“Ashley can i call you back? It’s just now’s not really a good time, i have a lot of work to get done”

You hang up the phone as your eyes are locked onto Andy’s and the moment your phone is placed back onto your desk he wraps his large hand around your wrist, lifting you up off your chair and tugging you into his office. You watch as he locks the door behind him before going back to sitting behind his desk.

“You gonna see him again?” he asks, jaw clenched.

“I-I uh, i don’t know. I’m a little torn right now” your eyes settle on his plump pink lips, wanting nothing more than to bite down on his bottom one as you sink down onto his cock but you’re dirty thoughts come to a staggering halt as he speaks. “Torn with what? You like him right?” why is he asking you these things? Is he trying to torture himself with the details.

“Yes i mean no i mean I don’t know. I like him but i don’t think i can date him”

“How come?”

“Because i like someone else, in fact i love someone else”

Andy feels his heart sink further as more cracks appear threatening to shatter it completely. You love someone else and now he’s truly out of the game.

Rage works it’s way back into his body and he can’t help but take it out on you “did you sleep with him? Huh? Did the douche bag get to fuck that tight cunt of yours?”

At first you find him funny, laughing as you look around the room, anywhere but his eyes but then your own rage sets in.

“Not that it’s any of your business but no, he didn’t. We had dinner and that’s it” you state, matter of factly as you place your hands back onto your hips..

“Bullshit”

“Is that what you really think of me Andy? You think i’d just give it up to any guy that even looked my way. Wow, i knew you were a lot of things but vicious was definitely not one of them and what’s that i smell? Is it jealousy? Surely not.” you tut, shaking your head “I don’t think i even know you at all by the looks of things if you thought lying to me was better than being honest and trust me, i’m not jealous in the slightest, in fact i pity you. It’s your sex life that will suffer” he doesn’t falter for even a second as he stares you down and just as he anticipated, you’re the first one to break, looking away from him. You can’t help the way your heart starts to race from all of the fury filling up your body. How dare he.

“I was only keeping it from you until i found the right time to tell you. And don’t you dare think for one second that just because we’ve slept together that you have any right to comment on my sex life. You made it perfectly clear that monogamy wasn’t your thing so don’t be mad when i finally want to move on from being someone’s fuck buddy” you spit, heat rising to your cheeks as you realise what you just said. Fuck.

“I’ll comment on whatever i fucking want to so quit the bitching and yeah, i don’t do commitment but i sure as hell wouldn’t be with you even if i did”

You don’t respond to him this time, there’s no quick comeback to fire his way, no insult that could mean you having the upper hand again. Nothing is left but shock and disappointment. He really said that, he really played on your biggest insecurity. He played on it and used it to his advantage, to get the upper hand and win the argument.

“What? Got nothing to say?” he snorts, smug grin on his face. Watch his smile disappear now...

“I love you, Andy” you finally get the words out and you feel as if you’re going to choke on them and die right here in his office. Cause of death, unrequited love.

“W-what?” he’s practically speechless, his words barely audible.

“I’m so madly in love with you and i have been for a while now. But i continued to shut my feelings out and reject other guys because i came to the realisation that having you in any way that i could would be enough for me even if it meant that i couldn’t have you in the way that i’ve always wanted. But none of this matters now, right? Because you’ve made it pretty clear how you feel and where you stand. You wouldn’t date me even you did date and that’s fine but at least now both our cards are on the table”

He looks up at you, using his index finger to force you to look back at him and when you do, he looks so deep into your eyes almost as if he’s attempting to see into your soul. Like he’s trying to search for any signs of dishonesty.

“Why didn’t you just tell me? Instead of going out with other guys you shoulda told me and been honest about it?” is all he can say and that’s the last response you expected but what catches you off guard the most is how he said it, almost like he was hurt and relieved simultaneously.

“Andy, you’re my boss and you made it clear that you didn’t want a relationship” he has absolutely no right to lecture you about honesty when he’s spent the entire time he’s known you blabbering on about how the single life is better for him and how he’d hate to be tied down again. You roll your eyes as you move away from him when he attempts to move closer.

Silence falls upon the two of you and it seems never ending, leaving you no choice but to leave. The moment you turn around to walk away he’s on his feet too “where are you going?” the tone his voice makes it sound as though he’s pleading for you to stay without actually saying the words.

“I’m going back to my desk to do my fucking job, just like you told me to do earlier” you turn back around but just as you expected, he stops you “look. I’m sorry, okay. I was just mad that you”

“Mad about what? That i went out on a date? I’m a single woman Andy and despite our little deal, i don’t belong to you so you have no right to be mad at me for doing what any other single person does”

He bites down on his bottom lip as he runs his fingers through his perfectly styled locks, messing them up instantly “God, you’re so fucking infuriating”

“I’m infuriating? You really are clueless to your own behaviour aren’t you? I just told you that i love you and you still haven’t told me if you feel the same. So i think that says it all, don’t you?” you stop yourself before continuing your rant, trying your hardest to prevent something worse slipping out. Right now in your state, you’re bound to say things that you don’t mean and will later regret. “you know what, i think i’m gonna take the work load home and complete it there. I’ll see you tomorrow, if i still have a job that is” you raise your brows at him, praying he doesn’t fire you for your attitude alone. But to your surprise he doesn’t.

“You really think that low of me? That i’d ever fire you because of what’s going on between us outside of this office? Wow” he leans back on his desk and his shoulders drop as he slumps over, looking down at his large calloused hands.

“It’s what i assumed would happen. You’re really gonna pretend like you don’t want me gone after today?”

“I don’t, believe it or not. But i have no time to deal with this discussion any longer, i have to leave early today” he says as he goes back to sitting behind his desk again and turning his computer back on “i don’t expect you to stay any longer, you can take that work home and finish it after your date” he mutters the last few words, pulling a face as if they make him sick.

“Really? We’re back to that again. God i’ve had it with you” you spit, biting down on the inside of your cheek before strutting over to the door but his hand stops you before you even get yours on the lock.

“Let me go Andy. I don’t even want to look at you, let alone be stuck in a room with you” harsh, but in this moment it’s true. He’s done nothing but upset you all day long and even after your stupid decision to confess your love for him, he’s still doing it. You feel so defeated right now that you can’t take another second of his shit.

“Just one more thing and then you’re free to go and fuck whoever you want, whenever you want. How many guys have you been on dates with since we started hooking up?” the desperation is evident in his eyes as they pierce into yours, searching again but this time for the answers before you can even open your mouth to give them to him “one. It was only one date on Saturday night with Ashley” and that’s the truth. You would never repeatedly date behind his back, this was a one off. A one off you’re regretting more as the seconds tick by.

An awkward silence falls upon the two of you once more as he walks back over to his desk, pacing next to it and creating a draft. “Are you planning to see him again?” and he’s back with more questions. Why does he care so much?

He clearly doesn’t love you too otherwise he’d have said it once you confessed your feelings for him. Instead he left you looking like the biggest joke ever, the clown. And you feel so mortified for even believing he’d say it back.

Silly little Y/N, always catching feelings for men who don’t feel the same way back. You’re starting to feel as though you’ll never find someone.

But still his behaviour has you second guessing him. Maybe he does like you and that’s why he’s acting so hurt.

“Maybe i will, after all i am single. That shouldn’t be a problem, should it Andy?” you know full well that you’re pushing down hard on his buttons and you can see his cheeks turn red as his knuckles turn white from his tight grip on the side of the table.

“What you don’t like that? You don’t like the thought of me on top of Ashley, sinking down onto his cock as he touches my body and kis -”

Out of nowhere he interrupts you, slamming his fist down onto his desk “dammit, Y/N, what is it with you? Trying to make me jealous? Because i’ve had just about enough of you running your mouth” he pulls one of the chairs out, falling into it and spreading his legs “In fact. I’m so sick of your voice. Why don’t you come over here and put your mouth to better use? Huh? Maybe then you’ll shut up about that fucking douche bag” he is jealous, it’s so obvious to you now. He’s jealous of Ashley, jealous of the possibility of him spending time with you and he hates the thought of someone stealing you away from his tight grasp.

You can’t quite believe your ears or your eyes as he spreads his legs further, grazing his hand over the tent in his dress trousers and you can’t help the gulp that follows.

“Andy”

“Shhh, enough talking. I don’t have it in me anymore to argue with you, just come here” he insists but you stand your ground “no. i can’t keep going round and round in circles with you with absolutely no end in sight and with no hope for you to reciprocate how i feel. I’m sorry but i’m leaving”

Yet again, as expected, he clears his throat “fine. I guess i’ll just get off all by myself”

Like they always do around Andy, your legs turn to jelly and your eyes glaze over along with your better judgement being clouded by x rated thoughts of him railing you. The idea of him touching himself, working his hand expertly around his girthy cock causes arousal to flood your panties. How dare your body betray you like this. How dare your mind do the same. It’s not fair that every time you think you have the upper hand and the dominance, he comes along, snatching it away from you and proving you wrong.

You have absolutely no idea why you’re about to do what you’re about to do other than the fact that your body gravitates toward him like a magnet and it’s out of your control.

So without a second longer to fester or overthink, you spin around on your heels, charging towards him. Andy watches in awe as you drop to your knees and make quick work of his belt. Once you free his cock from the confines of his black Calvin Kleins and into your small hand you spot the droplets of precum oozing out of the slit on his red bulbous head. You look up at him through your eyelashes, batting them as you give the tip a couple of kitten licks before spitting all over his shaft and pumping him agonisingly slow.

“Fuck” he groans, rolling his eyes back as he grips the arm rests on the chair when you take him into your mouth “attagirl, sucking daddy’s cock like a fucking pro” his hands grip your face as he continues to watch you go to work, making a mess of yourself as you gag around him,

You don’t bother to issue a warning before taking all of him in your mouth, all the way down to his balls over and over. Making sure to hollow out your cheeks as you bob your head up and down, your tongue licking the underside of him as your hands grasp his balls. He starts bucking his hips up, attempting to fuck your mouth but you push him back down as a whole batch of unholy sounds that only you can elicit from him fall from his perfect lips, the sounds that are so loud and downright filthy that he has no option but to cover his mouth with his hand, biting down one of his thick digits to keep from exposing himself to his unsuspecting colleagues outside.

He soon pulls you off and you do so with a pop. He forces you to look up at him, his hand grabbing your cheeks and squeezing aggressively “no matter what undeserving boys you go out on a date with, no matter who flirts with you. You’re mine, always have been and always will be” he moves you to straddle his lap before he stands up to move the two of you to the couch.

“So no more dates princess, no more other guys. Because i’m the only one who gets to have you. Is that clear?” he cocks his brow up at you and you nod in response before mumbling a quick “yes” to satisfy his need for confirmation and assurance.

He lifts your knee length dress up to your stomach before he gets to touching you, squeezing at your ass cheeks a little too hard for your liking but you secretly love the way he gets so rough with your body, the way he smacks both ass cheeks repeatedly until you wince from how sore he’s made you.

“God, these clothes drive me crazy. Ever since that first day i met you, i’ve wanted you and when you started working here, i was so desperate to fuck you as you wore these stockings and these heels. You’re so fucking hot, princess and you have no idea how crazy you drive me when you bend over, shoving this ass in my face”

He starts to kiss your neck, sloppy open mouthed kisses on the spot that has your back arching as you grip onto the back of his neck to steady yourself. He’s working you up all the more, turning the pool in your panties into a river. You’re dripping wet for him, desperate for him to just fuck your greedy pussy, desperate to clench down around his cock as he pounds into you.

“You’ve done it before Andy. Many times in fact”

His kisses halt as he smirks at you, that devilish look in his eyes. It always drives you wild “do it again, please, i need it” you beg pathetically and much to your surprise, he does exactly that. He takes your panties, tugging them to the side and playing with your soaked core a little as well as touching your bundle of nerves. You whine into the crook of his neck as you urge him to hurry before he eventually pulls his pants further down his legs to position himself at your entrance better. You don’t even have time to breathe before he’s knocking the air from your lungs as he fucks himself to the hilt inside of you.

The way his pace continues to pick up until it’s rendering on animalistic is causing you to let out the loudest and sexiest sounds, it’s like music to his ears but he can’t have anyone hearing this. He flips the two of you over so that you’re below him, your legs pushed back to your head and you hold them in place. His hand covers your mouth as he slides himself back in, not making any effort to start slow “you’d better be quiet or everyone’s going to know what a naughty little slut you are” he continues with rough snaps of his hips as he fucks into you with reckless abandon and causing the sweet music you make to vibrate onto his hand.

“Yeah, like this? Like the way i fuck this pretty little cunt?”

Thrust

“Bet his cock couldn’t even touch what mine does to you, the way you cry out for more and scream my name every time. The way i can make you cum with just my words and my fingers. God, such a dirty little girl for me, ain’t that right, princess?”

Satisfied hums follow his questions along with a frantic nod as you feel the coil tightening in your stomach, like a knot twisting and pulling, you’re so unbelievably close that you can almost taste the impending orgasm. “Don’t make a fucking sound when i move my hand, okay?” again you nod in response and he moves his hand, smiling down at you with adoration in his eyes before moving his hand to your aching sex. His fingers pressing down onto your bundle of nerves, rubbing firm circles on it and as soon as your walls flutter around him, he knows your close.

“Gonna cum, huh? Gonna make a mess all over my cock? My filthy girl, go on baby, cream all over me”

Just like that, along with his permission you let everything go, allowing yourself to really feel the pleasure. Your walls flutter around him again and again and each time he pulls out of you he spots your juices as they cover his cock beautifully. The sight alone has his hips snapping harder, the sound of his skin slapping against yours bounces off of the walls in his office and you accidentally let out a lewd moan that he swallows with his kiss as you wrap your legs around him to pull him closer “cum for me daddy” your encouragement sends his entire world spinning as his thrusts stagger.

His cock jolts inside of you, twitching like crazy before his cream fills you up deliciously, painting your walls in thick ropes. You arch your back as your arms wrap around his neck. You need to feel his lips on yours.

He kisses you so hard that your teeth clash, making the two of you chuckle into each others mouths before attempting again. This time his tongue forces it’s way past your lips, battling with yours as he rides the two of you through your dramatic and intense highs.

Once his hips still and he pulls out, he flops down next to you. The two of you are nothing but a panting mess. Chests rising and falling along with your erratic heart beats.

“I love you too” he confesses, making you gasp as you turn your head to look at his spent body, the way his eyes meet yours and tears pool in them has your eyes doing the same.

“Andy”

“I’m not finished. I’ve felt this connection with you since the day i first met you, it caught me completely off guard. When we made the deal for it to be just friends, i was upset. I wanted a lot more but i know i wasn’t ready just yet. But the way you’d draw out laughter from me that no one else has ever been able to and the way you’d boss me around only made my feelings grow. Then we fucked and it was like confirmation to me that i was well and truly screwed. But i kept coming back for more because it was like an addiction, i had to have you in any way that was possible and if sex was the only way then i’d have stayed single forever just to keep you close. I’d have done anything to be able to hold your body and kiss your neck and make you feel good. If doing that as just your fuck buddy was the only way then so be it. But i got to a point where just fucking you wasn’t enough. I wanted something real with you. So on Saturday-” before he can even finish you sigh, sitting up.

“You came to tell me how you felt? Andy, why didn’t you just say that earlier?” you don’t know how to feel right now. You’re so consumed by emotions that your head is spinning. One one hand you’re angry, annoyed and upset that he kept this from you and didn’t just tell you he felt the same when you confessed how you felt. But then on the other hand you’re relieved and happy that he does feel the same. This was never some unrequited love, it’s always been reciprocated and real.

All the lingering stares you’d catch, all of the compliments thrown your way and the insults hurled at random guys who’d ogle you whenever you were out in public with him or whenever another guy at work would take an interest.

“I saw you with that guy Y/N and i broke down. Then today, i expected you to come in and talk to me about it but instead you sat down at your desk, acted normal and didn’t say a word. I was hurt that you’d keep this from me. I know we both felt these things and i know both of us were unaware of the feelings being reciprocated but you still didn’t tell me you’d even thought about seeing other people and i guess i just expected more from you, more honesty”

He’s right. You don’t have it in you to argue because he’s right. He might have had his reasons for hiding his true feelings but you hid your date from him and that’s a lot worse. How was he supposed to just come out with it when all he could think of was you with Ashley.

“You’re right. I was wrong, i didn’t even think about the effect it would have and i was selfish. To tell you the truth i only went out with that guy because i was trying to move on from you, i didn’t want to keep feeling this strongly with no possibility of you feeling the same so i did the first thing i knew to do, date some other guy”

Andy can’t say he isn’t relieved to hear you admit that preppy college boy means nothing to you but it’s bitter sweet, you saying that you thought your feelings were one sided so you wanted to move on to avoid getting hurt further makes him hurt too. You’ve always meant more to him than just some friendship or some steamy sex. You’re the first woman he’s even looked twice at since Laurie and that means a whole lot more than you’ll ever know or understand.

“So what now?” you ask, puppy dog eyes showing as you await his response.

“I know it’s a bit backwards but how about a date tomorrow?”

God, he really is so handsome, so sweet. His deep and raspy chuckles make you giggle along with him as you straddle him once again, crashing your lips to his, his beard scratching at your face just the way you like.

He pulls away for a second “is that a yes?” once more you shake your head, tutting at him “a thousand times yes, Mr Barber. Yes i’ll go out with you” he wraps his arms around you as he pulls you flush against his suit clad torso, kissing you eagerly and smiling into it. He finally got the girl.

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