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#SEEING IT EYE TO EYEEEE

wineonmytshirt · 1 year

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everyone just admit that a goofy movie slaps. the music slaps. the cute romance slaps. the entire thing fucking slaps.

#admit it.#SEEING IT EYE TO EYEEEE #STAND OUT #A BOVE THE CROWD EVEN IF I GOTTA SHOUT OUT LOUD SO MINE IS THE ONLY FACE ULL SEEEE #GOTTA STANNND OUT #til u notice me;).

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gardengirl222 · 18 days

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giving bf!rafe a fashion show while cleaning out your closet! ⊹ 𐦍༘.⊹ᥫ᭡

as rafe sat on the floor folding your clothes into piles neatly, one for keeping, for giving away, and for selling, you continued to pull out clothes on hangers to try on and convince rafe you need to keep them.

"and this one?" you walked in front of him to show off the sleeveless white flowy dress you had put on.

"i like that one, makes you look like a mermaid" he mumbles the last part with a slight smirk and you smile, satisfied, you pull out another outfit to show him. as you are putting the clothes on you hear a loud thump and you rush to to peek your head out to see what had happened.

"whadd'ia need all these shoes for!?" he huffs, holding a few boxes of expensive shoes, the rest scattered on the floor.

"careful! they go with different outfits...it's important! besides you've bought me at least half'ov these..." you bend down to start to pick up the fallen shoes.

"thats because you always tell me 'you have like no shoes'!!" he sasses and just then a pair of white manolo's falls from the pile in his arms.

"that's designer!! rafe baby put that down!" you squeal and run to grab clean towels to lay the shoes down on.

"that's a little much don't ya think?" he shakes his head watching you place the shoes on the towels. "you don't need all of these, you've gotta downsize, i say this all the time..." he helps you place the rest of the heels on the towels.

"fine...the little brown bebe heels and the candies wedges can go." you sigh and place your hands on your hips.

"atta girl, and what's that?" he says pointing to the outfit you were now wearing.

"its a shirt!" you smile and do a little pose.

"it looks like ya've had that since like the 6th grade!" he shakes his head "you lift your arms up, your tits are gonna pop out...nope, no way. that goes in the give away pile."

“nooo no! i love this one, its cute….its like a baby tee!” you pout.

“yeah as in made for babies.” he rolls his eyes and manhandles you, getting your arms up so he can take it off you.

“well can i at least save it, for our babies?” you say as he tosses the shirt into the give away pile.

“i’ll buy our kids whatever when the time comes mkay?” he smirks softly and hands you another shirt to put on in the meantime, then he freezes.

“what the fuck is that.” he points and then walks over to lift up the iridescent cheep fabric on the floor that was on top of the keep pile.

“its a sexy costume!" you smile innocently

"and where do you plan to wear this?" he holds it up against you almost to imagine what it would look like on.

"here i'll put it on..." you snatch it from him and go into the bathroom to change. "close your eyeeees!" you coo excitedly from inside the bathroom. rafe sighs and shuts his eyes dramatically as if you could see him.

"ohkay! you can look now." you smile and he opens his eyes to see you in a baby blue and pink sexy princess costume. "i'm a princess!" you smile sweetly and do a little turn.

"look at you baby, you are a princess...look so fucking hot in that." he whispers and runs his hands through his hair in shock and awe. "com'ere" he pulls you closer to him so he can inspect further. you continue to smile and look up at him through your lashes. "the skirt is detachable...comes off." you whisper, showing him how the little ribbons become loose.

"yeah? do the princess panties come off too?" he says picking you up and throwing you on the bed, attacking you with little wet kisses as you squeal and giggle. cleaning and sorting clothes left forgotten. ᥫ᭡ᥫ᭡ᥫ᭡

(swoon)

#gardengirl222 #gardengirl'sobx!⋆₊ ⊹#lenepilar'sobx!⋆₊ ⊹#rafe cameron #obx #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron thoughts #outerbanks rafe #kook!reader #kook!girl #outer banks #outerbanks imagine #outerbanks x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you

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murdrdocs · 6 months

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singular thought got me finna lock my coochie away in a cage (she growled at me) but the early 2000s were such golden years for sex toys, specifically vibrators; the slim ones-- i don't remember seeing wands until later but all i could think about is mike, the open minded sweetheart who's willing to try anything once for his girl, sprawled out in front of you, kiss swollen lips, a sheen of sweat covering him already as you run the vibe up and down his body, getting him accustomed to the 'foreign' item. telling him you're gonna turn it on and pressing it right under the head of his cock-- his sweet spot. Watching him surge to life; his legs curling towards his chest, fist clentched in the sheets, eyes shooting open as his hips jump-- he's so overwhelmed with pleasure he can't tell if he's trying to move closer or further away but you see how they follow as you slowly pull the toy back-- a whimpered half-broken "fuck" falling from his lips as he stares at you like you put the universe together just to ruin him--

hhhhhh I just need to eat him whole and then I'll be sane again.

eyeeeee ???? EYEEEE???

i've tried to add to this but i have nothing to say. like you're too good. this is too good. it can't collect dust in my inbox everyone come look

(making me think abt cock rings now 😔 )

#rubbing my hands together #like a little fly #gawd #mschmidtsworld!#mike schmidt x reader

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merlucide · 5 months

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Satoru Gojo random HCs

notes: Yeesh idk if this is good or not😬

words: 651

warnings: suggestive content, curse words

((Reader has boobs(ignore if you don’t)) —————————————————————

gojo as boyfriend/husband is one hell of a ride.

He’s constantly teasing you whenever

wherever. He love’s annoying you and how

annoyed you get. He 100% does it in public

too. Gojo already drives everyone nuts and

they all feel bad for you having to deal with it

24/7.

He’s also super handsy- but we already knew

that. He always keeps his hand around your

waist when in public(or home ofc).loves

holding you hands and kissing you knuckles,

then saying something super cheesy but

totally meaning it.

you get so embarrassed when gojo does

something stupid in public and ends up with

you being mad at him. If you aren’t talking to

him he will deadass say:

“so sex is off the table tonight huh?”

You probably throw sum at him.

poor megumi gets secondhand

embarrassment so bad from the situations

you get in. His face is all scrunched up in

visible discomfort. He thought you were

mental for being with Gojo.

anywho- Shopaholic Gojo. gojo totally buys

shit he doesn’t need. A shoe umbrella? Hell

ya! A watermelon stroller? It’s totally

practical! A dancing cactus?(yes that one)

dance parties got an upgrade! He loves

spoiling you ofc ofc, he’ll come home and it

would go sum like this:

“okay okay okay- close your eyeeees”

“Satoru, I already told you I- I don’t need anything-“

“Ahh abababaa shhhh- puuuuut your hands out! Okay open your eyes!”

“Oooo…ohh?!.. Oh baby….you, you got me glow in the dark toilet paper”

Gojo does love buying you actually nice things

though. He gives you his card telling you to go

crazy and buy whatever. He buys you the

fanciest clothes because money isn’t a

problem. You’ve tried telling him you don’t

need all of these things but he just says he

love spoiling you.

((Okay gojo would 100% do this))

Gojo definitely likes to spoon you. He likes

knowing you’re safe in his arms. Feeling your

chest moving up and down and the soft

sound of your breathing, he finds it soothing.

Don’t get me wrong he LOVES to be held, just

not as he sleeps, it’s too vulnerable for him.

Now I’ve been thinking. Is Gojo Satoru an ass,

tit, or thigh kinda guy. I think the fandom has

nominated him as a tit guy lol. I don’t think he

would care to much if you were busty or flat

as long as he can grab something lol. He loves

leaving hickeys on your thighs though- omg

when he’s done he looks up through his

lashes and omggghehehehehsh😩😩 ((bffr

he would leave hickies anywhere and

everywhere. In such obvious places too))

gojo is totally the type to see the rain and ask

to dance in it with you- he just wants to dance

with you, any type- could be a clumsy waltz or

a dance in your bedroom kind. As long as you

both are happy.

Gojo doesn’t shut up about you either.

Everyone at the school knows more about

you than you even do. He brags sm too.

gojo is constantly go go go, so when you guys

have soft moments(very rare), he savors

them. You both are just cuddled up close, soft

giggles, long stares, and few to none words

being exchanged. You could stay in your

lovers arms for eternity.

when gojo crashes after loads of stress, he

crashes hard. He doesn’t want to fall apart, he

hates that it’s happening to him. He doesn’t

want to burden you either. He just goes to you

and lets you hold up as he clutches to your

shirt. Just pet his hair and sway softly whilst

whispering sweet nothings. He needs you

more than you could ever know. You’re his

everything.

You and gojo have been through thick and thin and you guys are still together! Whata couple

———————————————————————

I am so sorry if it’s bad- I can’t tell. 😣

reblogs are appreciated!!

made December 11th 2023

#gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x gender neutral reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #jjk x fem!reader #gojo x female reader #gojou satoru x reader

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justobsessedwithlove · 25 days

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Something in your makeupppp

Don’t see eye to eyeeee

We are not your kind of peopleeeeeee

#hyperfixating on this song

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evansbby · 3 months

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Ari goes out of her drom only to find Steve there to apologise for accidentally tripping and puching a hole in the wall and he gets really jealous by seeing ari coming out of her drom so he initiates fight with Ari and they both end up giving each other black eyeeee and now reader has to treat them with her pretty pink puffer 🎀🥹 and then they'll have threesome

Or...

our baby girl Steve would definitely justify his words by asking her what Ari was doing in her drom and then they'll make up and live a happy-for-now for 3k words and then again his anger issue will surface again so Ari would make up with reader and they'll live a happy for now for 3k words and then reader will find ari showing pda with Sharon so now reader and Steve would makeup.......and this will go on and onnnnnnn............°°

Also BESTIEEEEE did you see the ai pics of Henry and Chris's kissing godddd that was alll toungeee ai is getting wild

LMFAOOO. Imagine both Ari and Steve with a black eye, breathing hard bc they’ve just fought. And all three of them are sitting on the bed and somehow they just end up having a threesome bc the tension is running so high and there’s nothing else to do and both want the attention from reader. They glare at each other during the threesome though, or pretend the other isn’t there and only focus on reader 😂

Also your second prediction… not Ari doing pda with Sharon!! 😨😨😨 that would BREAK reader, after everything she’s been through?! Ari wouldn’t… would he? 🤭🤭🤔🤔

ALSO THE CHRIS X HENRY AI PICS ARE ALL OVER THE CHRIS EVANS TAG AND I HATE THEM BC WHY THEM TWO AND WHY ARE THEY SO GRAPHIC AND JUST… WHO IS MAKING THEM 😭😭😭 MY SLEEP PARALYSIS DEMONS FR

#anon #wg ask

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liz-allyn · 2 years

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heat of the moment, pt 5 - 10,000 ways to die [tasm!peter x reader x groundhog day au]

summary: nothing is more dangerous than hope. angst; fluff; humor; final destination vibes; and yes this is in tribute to my favorite episode of television ever written - "mystery spot"

words: 4.6k

warnings: death. a lot of it. repeatedly. in this chapter: tw discussion of death, self h*rm, and su*cide, Please see end of chapter for a spoiler-y summary.

a/n - damn it, i did it again didn't i? okay, so this is the penultimate chapter. i promise. sorry.

TW: This chapter features graphic discussion of death, self-h*rm, and su*cide. Please see the end for a summary. Reader discretion is advised.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6.

Impaled by a hedge trimmer.

“It was the HEEAT OF THE MOMENT…”

Air-fried by hot oil from a turkey fryer.

“Tellin’ me. what. my. HEART meant…”

Bitten by a venomous, illegally-smuggled pet snake.

“It was the HEAT OF THE MOMENT…

Showed in your EYEEEES…”

E.Coli from a salad.

“…HEAT of the MOMENT...”

The memories of these past Tuesdays would pop in your mind unexpectedly. They’d pass like shooting stars. It used to be extremely distracting. Distressing. But you learned to adapt.

Hit in the head by a foul baseball.

“…HEAT of the MOMENT...”

Dissected by a slow-moving, ascending elevator, whose safety system failed to open the doors when you’d become trapped.

“…HEAT of the MOMENT...”

You’d had more near-death experiences than you could possibly count. Of course it would result in some kind of PTSD. It made you more observant, more diligent. Maybe in a different life you would’ve made a great safety inspector.

Struck by a falling brick.

“…HEAT…”

Struck by a falling turtle dropped by a red-tailed hawk.

“…of the…”

Struck by a flying horseshoe from an angry carriage horse.

“…MOMENT.”

“The HEEEAT of the MOMENT…”

“Showed in your EYEEEESEEEEEEEEEEES”

Death was a part of you now. It was an old friend. Tuesdays were your family estate.

Sucked into a jet engine.

Impaled by an outdoor umbrella that went rogue in a strong gust of wind.

Pinned beneath a remote-start activated vehicle with a brake issue.

You had resigned yourself to your fate. You would die 10,000 times (or more—who’s counting?) until the end of the world.

And then you would wake up, and somehow it would be Tuesday again. You found peace in that understanding.

Attacked by a pissed-off swan that happened to peck your carotid artery.

Skewered by a taxidermy swordfish.

Eaten by an escaped lion at the zoo. (Not as cute as the movies.)

But since the moment you had the revelation about Peter’s other superpower, you felt like something had shifted.

Run down by a drunk driver. And a stoned driver. And a texting driver. And an e-bike.

Combustion via a DIY gender-reveal grenade. (It was a boy.)

Blood clot from a hickey. (Thanks, Pete.)

Suddenly, you felt so alive. So fragile. Like the next time you’d die, it would be for good.

And you honestly didn't know what to hope for.

“You gotta stop this,” Peter pleaded under a flat tone. “This has gone far enough.” He stood, stone-faced, in your apartment with his arms crossed as a muffin bounced off one of his shoulders.

Choked on a muffin.

As soon as it left your hand, you studied him intensely, watching the pastry drop to the floor where it rolled across your kitchen tile.

“Stop,” he begged wearily. Your hand was already in the paper bag of pastries, pulling out another blueberry muffin.

“Don’t,” he warned with a futile sense of authority. “Don’t do it—”

You tossed the muffin, hitting him in the chin. It fell to the floor just like the others, but you gawked expectantly, as if waiting for some sort of alternate outcome.

“Why are you doing this?” Peter groaned, exasperated. “Why are you throwing things at me? That was a perfectly good muffin.”

“I need to see if it’s working,” you replied, intently focused on your experiment. You kept distance between you, eagerly studying him.

His amber eyes fixed on you suspiciously.

Choked on Peter. (Not a bad way to go.)

“See if what is working?”

“The tingly thing—”

“What tingly thing?”

“The Spider sense! Your Spider... tingle.”

“Please don’t call it that—”

You threw another muffin at his cheek.

“Bug. Put down the muffins.”

“It doesn’t work! Your sense isn’t tingling.”

“You—you know that just by throwing muffins?”

“You don’t get it!” you replied. Your wild eyes darted from side to side as you stepped over the muffins in a repetitive pace. “The thing that alerts you to danger is not working, Peter!”

His shoulders nearly met his ears as he shrugged, his eyes suspiciously horrified at your antics. “Maybe it doesn’t work for pastry products?”

You huffed in frustration. “Look. Your Spidey tingly sense is almost like trichobothria, right? The tiny hairs on a spider that detect micro vibrations and shifts in the environment? In your case, maybe they’re not tiny hairs—but something still sends an electric impulse to your nervous system that alerts you to danger. It’s almost practically precognition.”

Peter gazed at you, dumbfounded. “What?”

“Precognition, like you’re psychic—”

“No, I know what 'precognition' means,” Peter rebutted, his head spinning with information. “How do you know so much about this stuff?”

Impaled by the shards of an exploding can of whipped cream.

You deflated as you considered how much you should reveal at this point in the day. “I brushed up on it.”

“Brushed up on what? Neurobiology?”

“Podcasts,” you said, and brushed him off. “Point is, I’ve been so focused on overanalyzing Tuesday, I haven’t even thought that all of this could be because of something that happened Monday. You mentioned something before about yesterday—something about patrol being rough. What was it? What happened yesterday?”

Peter glanced down at the discarded muffins, before looking back up at you. It was clear by the look on his face that he was several paces behind. “Well, I mean... you were there?”

You blinked a few times. Your brain tripped over the realization that you couldn’t remember Monday.

It had been so long since you’d be trapped in Tuesdayville, that Monday—and all of the people, places, and plans that used to accompany it—were reduced to a blurry, worn-out photograph in your mind. Recalling what any other day outside of Tuesday was like drenching an oil painting in paint thinner and watching it melt.

Shredded by a woodchipper.

There were neighbors of yours you hadn’t seen in ages. Work colleagues whom you barely remember. You even felt nostalgic for your old boss and his unrealistic deadlines.

(As it turns out, whatever it was that was due at 4:00pm on that first Tuesday didn’t really mean all that much, since your boss, nor any of your co-workers or clients, had even bothered to call and ask about you. To them, you were just absent. Out of sight, out of mind. To you, it had been years since you’d visited your job. You barely remember what it was, or what was so important about it in the first place.)

Anaphylactic shock resulting from 250+ stings after stepping on a Yellowjacket nest.

But back in the present Tuesday, you were pushing for answers. “I meant what happened to you? Tell me your whole schedule. Start at the beginning.”

“Okay, um,” he crossed his arms, shuffling from foot to foot. “Well, I had my 7:00am class, then — well — I was going to class, but there was this guy who had a nail in his tire—”

Burned in a nail salon explosion after a poorly-placed box of bulk acetone dropped on a space heater.

”—so I sorta helped him out with the jack, then I got mud on my pants and it weirded me out—”

Partially decapitated by a drone.

“—and I was debating on whether I should go back home to change because I didn’t want it to look like—”

You waved him off, and drew invisible loops in the air with your finger. “Skip ahead to the patrol parts.”

“Oh, okay—yeah, sure,” Peter nodded along, editing himself. “Um, yeah, so... patrol. Um, I stopped a couple of guys who were stealing catalytic converters.”

You nodded, urging him to go on. “And then...?”

“I swung around a bit. I webbed up a purse snatcher.”

Asphyxiation by a purse strap after it caught in the door of a subway.

“Okay.”

“The old lady who got her purse stolen bought me a mangonada popsicle when I gave it back to her—”

Botulism.

“Risky, but I’ll let it pass.”

Embalmed alive after an overtired nurse mistakenly mixed up vials and your IV bag was injected with formaldehyde. Poor May was the one who caught the mistake, right as your organs started failing. You convulsed and foamed at the mouth, the sickly-sweet-smelling fluid ripping apart your blood cells.

“And then I put out a dumpster fire over by East 96th.”

Your eyes widened at that, gaping expectantly. “How so?”

He quirked an eyebrow, unsure of your meaning. “Uhm, a dumpster was on fire. And then I helped put it out.”

Crushed by a trash compactor.

Seconds passed, before you responded, “I need to see this dumpster.” You were shuffling towards the front door, glancing at the microwave clock.

Exploding microwave.

“Wait, really?”

“Shit!” you exclaimed, noting the time. “I’m late!”

“What? Late for what?” Peter called to you, left behind with the discarded muffins.

“Don’t worry about it!” you shouted, rushing out of your apartment. “I’ll catch up!”

The wind whipped fiercely through your hair as you pushed open the roof access door of an office building in Midtown. The building was tall, but not the tallest around by a longshot.

The view from the roof wasn’t breathtaking. The building itself wasn’t fancy or particularly significant, which you think was the point.

Your eyes flicked to the edge where you spotted the frail girl on the ledge. Her neck was craned downwards, her pale legs dangling off the roof precariously. She propped herself up with her weight on her too-thin arms, like a perched vulture, with her oversized sweater engulfing her torso and swallowing up her thighs.

Your tragically-pretty Grim Reaper. Right where you’d expected to find her. You sighed heavily, as you stared at the back of her sullen form. The storm door fall closed behind you with a heavy slam.

She flinched at the sound. Perhaps it was the first time she had been stirred from her lonely, listess daze. Her head spun back so fast that it gave her a touch of vertigo. Her long fingers gripped the brick ledge, with white knuckles and chipped, chewed nail polish.

The slight brush of danger lit up her eyes. It was her survival instinct sputtering briefly, albeit brief.

For a moment you could see the person dormant behind her widened eyes, weighed heavily with dark circles. She gazed at you quietly, her brow furrowed with puzzlement, before sputtering out into apathy. She didn’t recognize you, and she didn’t care to.

“Sorry,” you called out across the distance as her body relaxed, but not from relief. Your voice echoed off the stone and glass towers surrounding you, getting lost in the hum of engines and car horns below. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

The woman who had killed you more times than you could count stared at you indifferently. You took a step towards her.

“Claire, right?” you asked, though you knew the answer.

Claire Rivers, from Long Island. Date of birth: September 5th. Age 23. Had her name legally changed after high school from Clear to Claire because it was constantly misspelled and mispronounced, and met with a reflexive annoyance when she’d try to correct anyone. It was a nuisance. A constant reminder of how little she was regarded.

Date of death—today. Perhaps.

Hearing her name pronounced correctly got Claire’s attention. It always did.

“You probably don’t remember me,” you waved your hand off with a light chuckle. “We took Theater Arts together at NYU last Spring,” you lied. You smiled sheepishly with your hands buried in your coat.

Several seconds passed, as Claire searched your face for some sort of recognition. “Oh,” she said, her voice barely above a squeak. “I... I’m sorry, I don’t — I didn’t recognize you.”

“S’okay.” Your voice is warm. Endearing. “I don’t think we were ever scene partners the whole time we were there. Which is crazy, right?”

No, it wasn’t crazy, because of course you weren’t. You never went to NYU. You had never crossed paths with this woman until that first Tuesday, when she held a box cutter to your throat in some bizarre futile hostage situation, and ended up getting you both shot to death.

That felt like years ago, you pondered. It had been.

“Sorry,” Claire murmured, and now it sounded like she was talking to herself. “I’m not in school anymore.”

A dark shadow crossed her expression. It was the same darkness you’d spotted in her reflection in the glass door of the beverages case. The same one she wore when she tackled you onto the tracks of the L train right before you were both crushed beneath it. The same hollow expression—not just hollow, but hallow; haunted, like a graveyard—as she dragged you over the railing of the 59th Street Bridge, sending you both plummeting 350 feet into the East River below.

These are hazards of being near her or trying to find her. They were risks associated with trying to solve her mysteries.

Ultimately meaningless, you’d decided. Somewhere in your first hundred Tuesdays, you were obsessed with her, but your interest had waned as you realized that her fate made no difference in yours. Whether she lived or died today, you would inevitably wake up in the same place.

Her death was meaningless. As meaningless as yours.

One Tuesday afternoon you’d stumbled upon her charred body at a corner gas station. The fire department was wrapping up and the coroner was getting ready to move the remains. Witnesses said a woman walked up to an unattended SUV being refueled pulled out a lighter.

“How stupid,” they remarked. “How insane.” “Of all the ways to die, how fucked up is that?” they said.

Drowned in a septic tank.

Drowned in a truck of wet cement.

Drowned in a vat of molasses.

Drowned in the “Friends fountain” in Central Park. You were surprised to later learn that the cast of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. never even filmed there.

You started to wonder if Claire's life was also meaningless. Like yours.

You followed her sometimes, watching from afar.

You’d try to get Peter to save her, and he would. But you noticed that it never changed anything about her fate. She’d find a way to make the evening news, one way or another.

If you happened to survive long enough to catch it.

Nothing ever more than a chyron though. One barely-visible, tiny sentence that scrolls across the screen and disappears into the void. Perhaps the only obituary she would ever receive.

You had a theory about why she chose you in the first place. It never about killing you, you thought. She wasn’t the killing type. It was attempted suicide by cop.

Even on other occasions where she caused your death, she wouldn’t reach for you until the last second. Like she panicked. Suddenly realized she didn’t want to die alone.

Death is a lonely thing, you lament.

Struck by a stray piece of gravel that had been tossed out of a passing lawnmower.

You understood that. Reaching out in the darkness for a spark of light. Hoping to grasp the will to live, but snuffing the light out in the process.

Crushed by a Starbucks sign. (Pumpkin Spice is back... with a vengeance.)

“I’m sorry,” Claire repeated, and neither of you knew why. She turned her face away from yours, lost in her own world again. “M’sorry, but I kinda want to be alone right now.”

“I figured that,” you replied, gently. “I saw you come up here by yourself. I just... wanted to—”

“—To talk me out of it?” Claire uttered with bitterness on her tongue. She didn’t bother to face you.

You shifted your weight to your other foot, glancing down at the asphalt. “I’m also down to just... listen?” You let the question hang in the air unpresumptiously.

She scoffed, but it sounded more like her heart shattering. You saw the back of her head, shaking indignantly, but you pictured her jaw set firmly in place. “There’s nothing to talk about. You don’t know me,” she declared, voice firm. When she turned her head towards you, you saw fury in her gaze. “You have no right to judge me.”

“I’m not judging.”

“You think I’d feel regret?” she spat. She squirmed like you were viewing her through a microscope.

That was a valid question. You mused on it for a moment.

“Possibly,” you replied, thinking back to that last flash of light. Of self-preservation. You’d seen it in the urgency of her eyes, right before the end.

It wasn’t the look of acceptance. It was a mix of panic and penitence. That alone was enough to baffle you.

“Probably,” you reiterated, more confident in your assessment. You strolled nearer, keeping your path to a broad arc. It eased the strain on her neck and kept you at a safe distance. “I’d describe it more like shame. This gross, heavy, selfish ick in your stomach. Kinda feels like eating White Castle, but not even when it’s fresh, y’know? Tepid, at best.”

“I don’t care if you think I’m selfish,” she contested with an icy tone. You knew that underneath the ice, she was just tired. “I don’t care what anyone thinks,” she explained, but it lacked any real confidence. “If it breaks my parents’ hearts, I honestly don’t care.”

You stopped at the edge, just shy of her reach.

“It won’t just break your parents’ hearts,” you responded, matter-of-factly. “It’ll break your parents.”

The heavy statement sat between you, and she pursed her lips. She tried to steel her face, but the somberness of her eyes gave her away.

“Not just them,” you added. “The people that loved you—yeah, sure. It’ll mess them up. But also the people that didn’t know you well enough.” You explained contemplatively, “There’s gonna be a little hole now that they can’t ever fill. Stuff they wanted to say to you. Things that could’ve made both of your lives better, y’know? If only they had more time.”

Saying it, you feel a sharp pain in your heart. Your lips form a tight line as you look out at the buildings.

After a few moments, you continued.

“There’s the people that you never knew,” you explained, glancing down over the edge. “The guy who has to spray your blood off the sidewalk. His name is Carlos. That’s gonna stay with him forever.” You swallow bitterly, meeting her grim gaze. “And it’s not like it’s even his first time cleaning up something like that. His brother died last month.” Softly, you ask her, “Did you know that?”

Claire shook her head, forehead creased with concern.

“There’s a cop named Frank that’s gonna have to fish out your ID and call your family,” you recounted, reflecting on the vicious cycle of life and death that you’ve been audience to.

“There’s a woman who works at the morgue in the hospital, her name is Bhavisha. She’s gonna ask them to bring down a sample of your hair so she can test the DNA. She wants to be sure. Before she tells your mom that it’s really you. Before she has to hear that sound that people always make. And then she’s going to hand your mom a brochure, and have to talk about ‘options’ for what to do with the rest of you.”

Despite her earlier proclamations, you hear Claire’s breath hitch in her throat. You’re a statue, as you look down at the traffic of the city below. You’re a stone lion, or a chrome eagle, or some other asshole on a horse that has no business being immortalized, having spent years at this lonely vantage point. Watching silently. Bearing witness to the secret, collective pain of these streets.

“Bhavisha’s going to cry about it in her car on the way home. Then she’s gonna have a big glass of wine and a Xanax and not talk about it with her family because she doesn’t want to upset them. She doesn’t think she has anything in common with them anymore. Or with anyone.”

Silent tears ran down Claire’s face. Her pale expression was tinted with red splotches.

You turn to speak directly to her. “Everybody out here—we all feel so alone sometimes. But we’re not in a bubble. Even if it feels that way. Everything is connected. Everybody.”

If you had to explain to someone why you were on that rooftop with Claire, that’s the reason you’d give.

You take a step towards her, then carefully sit on the ledge beside her.

“The pain that one person feels,” you say, “it keeps going around. It spreads.” You add with a hopeful voice, “But I think the good feelings can spread too.” Your voice is heavy, but warm, and void of judgment, just as you promised.

Claire’s chest heaves, sobs threatening to break free. “How do you know?” Her lip quivers. It wasn’t scornful the way she said it. She begged for the answer. She is begging. “How do you know any of this means anything?”

Your lip curls into a smirk, but not unkindly.

You reply, “You know, I was obsessed with my life meaning something. I used to work myself to the bone just to feel important. But to certain people, like—it sounds weird to say, but I wanted to be important to important people. I wanted to make the people that loved me proud. And I was always afraid that I would die before I got to do something great, y’know?”

You sigh, musing over her question and the foolish absurdity of the person you used to be on Monday.

“I felt like I was waiting for that time when I had it together. I’d own my own place. Maybe even a car—a nice one. I wouldn’t have to worry about paying my credit card bills. I’d be married and have a couple of kids. We’d travel all the time. To Europe... and Fiji, and New Zealand, and...” You crack a slight grin, releasing a light laugh, “Maybe even stay at the fancy places at Disney World. For a whole week.”

Your smile fades. Claire watches you intently. “I was waiting,” you add. “Waiting for when I’d be happy.”

You’re quiet for several nostalgic seconds, holding a moment of silence for the You of Monday.

“I don’t know what it means to be ‘great’ or ‘important’ anymore,” you admit. “Or if anything means anything.”

You stare down at your hands, thoughtful in your words. A grin pulled at your lips. “But the weird thing is—I think that’s what’s special, y’know? Gives each day it’s meaning” You look back at her, simmering with intrigue and the excitement of the unknown. “Life is crazy, and confusing, and terrifying, and exciting. It’s all those things. Every day is important. Don’t you want to see how it ends?”

You said it like you were talking about the last chapter of an adventure novel. With all the different ways your Tuesdays had gone, they began to feel like adventures, even if they’d get cut short.

Your eyes sparkled with admiration. With envy. Claire could have a Wednesday. And a Thursday. And a Friday.

God, The Cure really had it right—Friday was worthy of love. How you missed the exhilarion of Friday afternoons.

And the small burst of vigor that would come with waking up on Saturday mornings— sometimes blending perfectly with the right concoction of determination to do that thing that you’ve been putting off (whatever it is). Or those Saturdays where you could just sleep in because maybe you don’t have that energy and it’s perfectly acceptable to stay in the cocoon of bedsheets for as long as you need to.

Sundays can be fundays, for sure. But they can also be slow days, grounding and reflective. Serene. Religious or not, they remain holy in that sense. It’s a day for meditation and peace. Time washes your troubles and sins away like some divine sacrament. The kind of thing that makes you want to hold a cup of tea and stare at a picture of a lake. Your spirit is cleansed and reborn with a little bit of hope as the week begins anew.

Mondays get a bad rap, you suppose. But they are no less precious. Especially if it was your last one.

Claire was on the precipice of a canyon of treasure, you knew it in your heart. A gorge filled with the universe’s most precious commodity—not a fragment of which could be purchased. She was just too confused, too tired, too weary, to see it.

You hold another moment of silence for the tragedy of it. Eyes gentle and grieving, you slowly reach out and take her hand in yours.

She glances down at your hand, your fingers intertwining with hers. She feels their warmth. The warmth of the light she was trying so hard to find.

And something fractures. Her face crumples. Sobs overtake her. A river of agony floods out. She shudders from the current. Cries and cries. Leans onto your shoulder and cried even more.

You’re with her, holding her hand in the now, as she brokenly weeps.

Some days you saved her.

Some days you didn’t.

The choice was always hers, and truthfully—you had no idea how long it would stick.

You never lived to see Wednesday, nor did you know if she did either.

It didn’t make the conversation any less important. It didn’t make it any less meaningful.

You sought her out, day after day, and let her cry into your shoulder while she made her private decision.

Today feels hopeful, you think. You look over at her as she wipes her red, bleary eyes.

There’s that light again. That tiny spark.

“You keep doing stuff like this,” Claire sniffed, rubbing tear tracks that streaked her face, “you might just get a statue built after you or something.”

She made a joke this time. Good.

You cracked a smile and chuckled beneath your breath. “Nah. That’s my boyfriend’s gig,” you replied, matching levity. “I’m too chicken for big heroics. Not usually big on courage, either.”

Claire smiled warmly, eyes brimming with gratitude. “Maybe a little bit is all you need.”

Continue to Part 6

A/N- ok I really swear we’re nearing the end. My goal is to have this done by 10/15. Whew what a ride.

Look between the fluffy eye bleach gifs for tw content summary below.

Spoilery description of TW content:

Several deaths are briefly referenced, some bizarre and some common (driving under the influence, etc).

Scene where Reader locates the “Grim Reaper” aka Claire, who is a depressed young woman preparing to jump from the roof of a building. We learn that Reader has come to know Claire due to the many times she’s tried to intervene in her different su*cide plots, in repeated attempts to talk her out of killing herself. Reader confronts Claire about how her death would impact those around her, with gruesome details. On this occasion, we believe that Claire will ultimately choose to live, but her fate is left open-ended, as we are told that it doesn’t always end the same.

If this chapter were a person, would you swipe right? Take 3 seconds and tell me what you think with a reblog or comment!

Don’t forget—fanfic writers spend so many hours to gift you with their stories and provide a tiny escape for your weary mind.

The best “thank you” is a few words of encouragement!

Thank YOU for supporting fandom writers.

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irisfixation · 4 months

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12, 13, and 14 for the hypnosis kink asks :D!

oh shit thanks swirly! lets fucking goooo

12. What’s your favourite kind of hypnotic induction?

Hmmm that's a hard one but. When trancing people who haven't been tranced before I typically go with a bit of a combination of fractionation and multiple-point focus? Asking the person to focus concurrently on several points (typically using sounds or sights around the room that they would be familiar with to make it more personalized) while getting them to open and close their eyes on counts.

For people who I'm used to working with, being forceful is so much fun. Taunting them about not being able to fight back, trancing through the modus of casual conversation to play up the 'oh, it's too late to resist!' beats, et cetera. It's good

13. Do you like visual fixation (on spirals, eyes, swinging objects etc.) for hypnosis?

I think a lot of them are trite and overplayed. Braid didn't die for you to not get creative with your fixation objects. But, as is probably expected for someone called Iris from a system called the Fragments of Observance, I like eye fixation inductions! Albeit with less of a cliche "oooo look into my eyeeees" type beat and more a "your partner is watching over you. you are safe. they will still be looking at you, even as you rest your eyes." thing

14. What are your favourite kinds of hypnosis play?

I like tearing out the innermost desires of the heart. Watching people who try to hold back finally give in to their own desires, getting to see how much they'll beg in order to be given what they want. Giving them those little pushes makes me feel in control and that makes me feel good and happy, y'know?

#fleshdiaries #the eyes have it (horny edition)

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overnightheartbeats · 8 months

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📸 - danielle <3 (u know this was coming the moment u posted it <3)

Send a 📸 to see 3-5 pictures that my muse has/has taken of your muse(s) // @cursivebloodlines

Vacation vibes...vacation eyeeees, okay I was getting sidetracked with the Jonas Brothers song. She definitely did not have vacation eyes at that time, bestie energy only! But, they went on vacation (probably like a weekend getaway) some time ago and it was all fun and sunshine. She definitely took this picture for 'memories' and later told him he could use this on his dating apps because it was actually a decent photo of him.

Caught him mid-laugh - one of her favorite pictures!! Danielle definitely said something meant to tease him, but instead it sounded like a joke...so of course Logan was just laughing at her. Annoying, but she knew the insult sucked anyway...so she just playfully smacked him and took the picture. One of her favorites.

Visiting friends, and they got distracted with the dog. It wasn't nice that Logan wasn't letting her spend time with the dog, so bummer, but she did get this adorable picture! She didn't tell him it was adorable, but did mention that the dog looked like he was begging for help (probably her only decent insult.)

Day out! Tbh, she probably asked him to join her on her errands + her trip to the museum. Conveniently, she had two tickets for Saturday. Going alone is not as much fun, so she knew she'd convince someone to go. Anyway, she took this picture after they left and were walking back to the car. Of course, they were acting silly and she took this picture in the middle of his pose. Some would say, it looks better than the art at the museum ;)

In her photographer era! No particular reason for this picture, except that she thought he looked super cool, so she had to take the photo. Dani later sent this to him, in case he wanted to share it with his girlfriend at the time (because that's what friends do!)

#cursivebloodlines #answered meme #Danielle's answered meme #Danielle x Logan #the og clowns !!#hahaha this had bestie vibes written all over it!!#but also not really ??/#i love them always <33 #and hopefully more cute moments once they figure their clownery out !!

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koipepo · 1 year

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Oh my god 😭😭😭😍😍 I missed you so much I love It and I see LEATHER BOOOTS ON RAMSAY and THEON'S EYEEEES well... Let's reread the Outlast au... AGAIN.. LET'S GOOOOOOO Love u Koi Hope u are allright❤️

hehe thank you i'm always here! admittedly very slow at arting at the moment, depression kicks my ass so hard 😭

gosh i miss outlast ou! i hope they still hold up in your beholding eyes anon

#replies

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lovingikesen · 5 years

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Cats

I just saw this, im sorry! ok, on the last ask i show a photo of most of my cats, but she is the mom of all the cats on the last ask (the black fluffiness)!. She passed away this year but we gave her all the love that we could and she left us a lot of fluffy cats. Not the happiest story but i thought it was a good time to show her. And besides it was really hard to take a good photo of her! since she was a black cat and always was on the most darkest spots xD

#seeing photos of her it did broke my heart actually #but look at her!#she is so beautiful #you must have seen her legs #it was the fluffiest butt that i have ever seen #and her eyeeees #she was sleepy in the photo but her eyes where SO BIG #she could see through your soul not joke

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chal-latte · 2 years

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imsebastianstan

Liked by 1.277.290 others

imsebastianstan @y/i/n we talked about you just so you know

tagged: @tchalamet

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fanpage10 I JUST WOKE UP AND GASPED SO HARD-

fanpage7 A duo we didnt know we need

y/i/n you didn’t talked shit abt me did you seb?

↪️ imsebastianstan I may have…

↪️ y/i/n i may have to cut ur tongue when we meet on set

↪️ imsebastianstan not! I may have not, goddamnit

tchalamet @y/i/n sebastian may have brought up a thing or two about your particular love interest

↪️ y/i/n @imsebastianstan that’s it you better watch out

fanpage81 seb rn: one eye open when im sleeping… one eyeeee….

y/i/n

Liked by tchalamet and 800.725 others

y/i/n bumped into timothée chalamet (y/n’s version) at lunch

tagged: @finnwolfhardofficial

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fanpage7 Y/N’S VERSION GUYS

fanpage1 THE WAY THEYRE TEASING EACH OTHER

tchalamet haha good one

↪️ y/i/n yk im right

finnwolfhardofficial lol 🥸

fanpage8 its y/n acknowledging the fact that they’re literally the same

fanpage16 KING

fanpage5 y/n they have to meet each other pls make it happen

↪️ y/i/n u bet i will

↪️ fanpage20 MAKE THEM SIT NEXT TO EACH OTHER!!!

*Liked by @y/i/n

@tchalamet tagged @y/i/n in a story!

tchalamet courtesy of @y/i/n

tchalamet

Liked by y/i/n, sebastianstan and 2.509.179 others

tagged: @y/i/n

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imsebastianstan did you guys skinny dipped?

↪️ y/i/n yes��

↪️ imsebastianstan and did you use protection like what i’ve taught you?

fanpage84 JDWKDNSN Y/N REALLY LEFT SEB HANGING

fanpage1 seb being the good father

fanpage9 answer ur father @y/i/n

↪️ y/i/n no.

tchalamet @imsebastianstan don’t worry

fanpage17 HE SAID DONT WORRY YALL THEY USED PROTECTION😭😭😭

fanpage18 does this makes them official?????

↪️ fanpage6 i guess so!

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skytlake · 3 years

Text

y'all i am DYING my boyfriend is listening to tma (just finished ep 56) here's some quotes

"whats the deal with the eyeeees???"

"is there some sort of eye entity or something??"

"is it the audience?? are we the eyes?? but shouldnt we be ears??"

"why was a lady made of spiders?? the bugs are everywhere"

"the spiders arent the same as the worms and the wasps and the other bugs though...they have something to do with that lighter"

*distressed screaming about eyes*

also for some reason he's misremembered what id said from before i knew he was gonna listen to it and thinks jon and elias are gonna date...he's in for a shock

also he's starting to see some of those common threads: bugs, eyes, meat, fire, etc.

he loves trevor herbert though...i think he just loves vampire stories though...what a nerd <3

he really doesnt like michaels audio effects...hurts his poor ears :(

im so excited for him to find out about not sasha >:)

#tma #the magnus archives #sky's rambles #my beloved

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