#edit: FUCK I FORGOT TRIGGER TAGS

[knightsofsomethingorother]

Week 5 - Love

So my reasoning is that Bedivere is my favorite guy and I'm love him and also I wanted to draw his cunty armor from Morte

#march to camelot #bedivere #bedwyr #if you squint and look at it next to my kay drawing from last week you could say it's about them #i fucked the border up #edit: FUCK I FORGOT TRIGGER TAGS #blood #dismemberment

[glasswingowl]

"Defensive or protective mimicry takes place when organisms are able to avoid harmful encounters by deceiving enemies into treating them as something else."

#murder drones #murder drones oc #oc (star) #glasswingdraws #ngl i love this one #those are viceroy butterflies btw #i put a lot more effort into this one because i have been a bit off my game recently #not for bad reasons just been a bit low energy #anyways #thank you for your support especially on my last post you guys are awesome <3 #edit: ah fuck forgot to trigger tag #my bad sorry #tw bug #bug tw #insect tw #tw insect

[augustofwhump]

AUGUSTOFWHUMP ’24

A new whump event/challenge set in August, run by @painonthebrain!

Write-up of prompts & rules under the cut!

AUGUSTOFWHUMP PROMPTS:

Day 1: food / risk / overexertion

Day 2: iv / shock / cry for help

Day 3: poison / shady business / freezing

Day 4: filth / screams / open wounds

Day 5: stranded / power tools / ache

Day 6: confusion / spark / veins

Day 7: time loop / rot / promise

Day 8: rejected apology / trap / attack

Day 9: role reversal / caged / body modification

Day 10: secret / exhaustion / publicity

Day 11: freedom / scars / insecurity

Day 12: deal / monstrous / anger

Day 13: witness / resigned obedience / bootlicking

Day 14: dehumanization / darkness / alone

Day 15: salt in wounds / phobia / revenge

Day 16: hunt / disaster / dread

Day 17: experimental serum / cramps / stress position

Day 18: came back wrong / unavoidable / muzzle

Day 19: salvation / midnight / mistake

Day 20: contaminated / escape / test

Day 21: set up to fail / bitter / creep

Day 22: stitches / robbery / insects

Day 23: feral / possession / fate

Day 24: humiliation / gilded cage / jewelry

Day 25: barbed wire / insults / tear stains

Day 26: sensory deprivation / heartbeat / tape

Day 27: proof / memory / machine

Day 28: bloody nose / medic / abandoned

Day 29: control / touchstarved / broken glass

Day 30: blindfolded / obsession / gift

EDIT: I forgot day 31 so that’s “fuck it we ball” day. Make whatever you want. LMAO

ALT PROMPTS:

Drowning

Broken trust

Claustrophobia

Guilt

Human shield

Locked outside

Whipping

Collapse

The only survivor

Scraps

Outcast

GUIDELINES:

Prompts should ideally be responded to in the form of whump

Creators can make any type of media they want (Yes, this includes any kind of media, no matter how niche. As long as it’s creative, it’s allowed)

You can do as few or as many prompts as you like

You can complete these prompts in tandem with any other event or other prompts (such as in combination with Bad Things Happen Bingo, @randowhump’s Birthday Whump Event, AU-gust, etc.)

DO NOT use ai. I can’t be entirely sure what is or isn’t, but I trust you to at least put some type of effort in your creations. These events are no fun otherwise!

Tag & trigger warn your content accordingly

NSFW is allowed, however because I’m currently a minor, I will not look at or reblog it (Again, tag and label it!)

Tag your works as #augustofwhump and #augustofwhump2024. In addition to that, you can also tag this account — @augustofwhump. (Do not @ me in NSFW works.) I’ll try to reblog whatever I can!

I’m really excited (and nervous) to do this and I know it’s a bit early to post these prompts but whatever — it just means more time for people to work on prompts if they choose to do this event, right?

#whump #whumplr #whump community #whump challenge #whump event #whump prompts #augustofwhump #augustofwhump2024

[hotcocoabuns]

Today I bring you… *drumroll*

Edit: I forgot to tag the lovely artist that inspired me write these. @levionok, ask and you shall receive!

Teacher!Hob headcanons (mixed with an aftertaste of dreamling because I’m mentally ill about them)! Plus a bonus, mildly NSFWish, bit because, as much as I insist on writing sexy shit about them, I’m shy in front of an audience

Teacher Hob headcanons

Hob drives a motorcycle to university. it’s very important to me, ok? (picture him in a well worn leather jacket, distressed blue jeans and taking his helmet off/putting it on 😭💦🥴)

Hob’s outfit game slides from the most “cleans-up-nicely”, contemporary style, to the “just woke up with a migraine this morning after pulling 3 all nighters grading essays” half-made bun and T-shirt. His students can tell at what point of the school period they are depending on Mr Gadling’s looks alone.

Some of Hob’s literature students have taken to playing a game consisting of making him rant about William Shakespeare. He’s become scarily good at keeping his thoughts about the playwright to himself through the ages, and he can manage entire classes teaching his works without issue (maybe Will is still important or whatever). Still, once every blue moon, a student is able to get him riled up enough to trigger one of his signature “Shakespeare’s overrated” monologues. They have kind of a formula figured out: Bring up the topic of the bard’s possible inspirations, or the possible muse for Sonnet 130 and you’re pretty much a winner. He gets… passionate about it, to say the least.

Hob writes short quotes on the board at the beginning of his classes, hinting at the topic of the day. He makes his students try to guess it. He can be quite creative, which makes guessing more difficult. So, if they get it in the first three tries, he let’s them leave a bit earlier. As a treat.

He’s a MASTER storyteller. It’s one of the reasons why his lessons are so in demand and almost always full. His intonation, rhythm and body language are captivating. Sometimes, he’ll wear full-on costumes (with props and everything, the sweet man) to make his lessons more entertaining and interactive. Mr Gadling may be a little exotic, but that’s part of why he’s so popular at uni. (Something something, Dream’s rather private, but the pride that swells in his chest at Hob’s narrative abilities is undeniable).

Hob showed his students an antique fire weapon once (it was one of his, from the 17th century) and proceeded to baffle them after. demonstrating how to safely dismantle it, quickly put back it together, charge it and shoot it in record time. Like he’d been there when they first were made… Hey, Mr Gadling certainly has a variety of interests, huh?

So many faculty members have a crush on Mr Robert Gadling. He’s damn handsome and his easy smile melts even the coldest of hearts. He never seems to return anyone’s romantic sentiments, though. He insists there’s someone in his life already, but no one’s ever seen them?? And Hob won’t even tell their a name??? (He’s still a bit possessive about Dream’s name. It took him 600 years to get it, for god’s sake).

Cue the entire university slowly getting invested in Mr Gadling’s love life.

Bonus NSFW!

Dream enjoys visiting Hob at the uni. Sometimes, he’ll materialise in lecture halls, wait for him at the door, at the halls, at his office… Hob’s prudence is constantly hanging by a thread because Dream has taken a liking to showing up with nothing but his pitch black robe on and getting Hob to push him against the wall and maybe fuck him on his desk, if they have time.

#dreamling #the sandman #sandman #dreamgadling #dream x morpheus #dream x hob #hob x morpheus #hob x dream #dream of the endless #dream #dream the sandman #hob gadling #morpheus #dreamling headcanons #headcanons #the sandman headcanons #sandman headcanons #these are more like a ultra-short drabbles because i couldnt stop writing what the hell #i thought they'd be harder to write so imagine my surprise when the ideas wouldn't stop coming #anyway my thirst is really starting to show so imma stop there

[mikarchive2]

do you have any ciel/sebastian fics you'd recommend? it's difficult to wade through ao3

of course! ive been in these trenches for a while so ive done my share of AO3 wading. hope you enjoy my findings! 💗🫡

the classic(s):

stain the water clear! a must-read. #1 sbcl fic forever its like scripture to me. portrays their dynamic exactly how ive always envisioned it, in a way thats both devastating and so dark but also strangely tender and loving and intimate. (+ i recommend reading other works by objectlesson as well, i feel like they Get It like no one else does.)

the other classic kuro scholars on twitter always talk about it the flowers of evil series - personally i have a complicated relationship with this one cause i just dont enjoy sebastians characterization in it but it is extremely well-written and has some really iconic moments (the fucking mind games here... unparalleled) so if i were you id definitely check it out! feels very canon-compliant too.

(both of these can be somewhat triggering at times so heed the tags and make sure to take care of yourself!)

pwp:

bloodletting was the first sbcl fic i found that i actually enjoyed and it has such a special place in my heart, its almost a classic to me too... its the only sub sebastian fic i know of which is so sad because thats literally canon. to me. lets all shut up about the daddy dom bullshit and get on this immediately. 💯

i love pretty much all fics by martialartist861s #good old yaoi. (im especially fond of the one where they fuck while sebastian is in his old man from book of murder form and they get off at the emphasized age difference, i think thats crazy and i dont think ive seen it before. respect both for unhinged originality and the eroticism. + the sex pollen one)

taunt & fold. omegaverse moment! i really like the way its written.

that tutor, indulging has virginity play which is honestly such a game-changing concept in the context of this ship...

to have and to cherish is the only non-explicit one on this list and its just about them making out but i think its cute!

(edit). forgot to mention la destruction! hot and well-written and worth checking out.

#i will be so brave and put this in the tag. #sebaciel #kuroshitsuji #kuroposting #anonymous #answered #fic rec

[cringelordofchaos]

my tagging systems (??)

Ok I felt as if I should explain how I tag my posts here and how I'll tag them from now on.

For trigger warnings, I simply tag #tw [trigger] and sometimes #[trigger] and/or #[trigger] tw. For example: #tw slur, #slur, #slur tw

For fandom posts, when reblogging, I simply tag the acronyms (EXAMPLE: for Sonic The Hedgehog I tag #STH), there may be exceptions then and there (for Jackson's diary for example, I just tag #jacksons diary, and #jd). I tag all webcomics with #webtoon, even if they're not from or on webtoon,

Anything related to neurodivegence is tagged as #nd.

Any post I make related to music, is tagged with #music.

For Sonic, I'll just tag the characters by their single names (like for knuckles the echidna I'll just tag #knuckles). For any duos (platonic, familial, romantic, doesn't matter), I'll tag "Character A & Character B "(example: #sonic & shadow), character a will be the character that was released before character b. sometimes I might tag character a & character b & character c. For teams I'll try and tag them too with "team [__]". EXAMPLE: #team chaotix. For ships in a specific romantic context, I'll tag "character a x character b" (example: #espio x silver), the same rules apply for the other duo tag system. If the characters in question came out at the same time, I'll tag either with both "character a &/x character b" and "character b &/x character a", or whoever's name comes first in alphabetical order, I'll put them first. (Example: #shadow & maria AND #maria & shadow, OR ONLY #maria & shadow) . This is all very new though so I'll have to go back and edit quite a few tags

general tags I use are #ehlp (for posts that invoke a sense of laughter in me), #mecoded (for posts I can relate to), #others art (by art it can be any form of artistic expression, it'll mostly be digital drawings though), #my art and #toki drawz (Ii haven't implemented the latter tag to all my art posts as of yet, though ), #toki rambles (I often forget to tag that though), #gay screenshot collection (for "evidence" of fictional homosexuality or general queerness, doesn't even have to be in screenshots), #asks (might make a new ask tag in the future ..? Y'know. A cooler one??), #writing advice & #drawing advice (self-explanatory), #intro post for anything related to introducing myself, and probably more I forgot.

Any of my posts that made it to be absolute top are tagged as #my top posts .

#into the rosyverse, #tmf religious lore, #freakblr color/colour war, #🐀🥚 or just general #freakblr (it's chaotic as it is and I love it) are all full of incoherent shit related to freakblr I love.

#ultra chaos knuckles is a tag for a super form I made up that is created by the use of the master emerald OR uncontrolled chaos emeralds/chaos energy (haven't decided yet). I don't think knuckles would like to use this form at all but I already explained all of that in that tag.

#ghost!Sunny AU is full of incoherent rambles about an OMORI au similiar to OMARI, but the focus is still on SUNNY and how he experiences his perspective of the story. (I intentionally made the description vague cuz I don't want to reveal any spoilers)

#carla and silvia involves occasional posts about my OCS, Carla and Silvia that I barely every talked about on the internet, but trust me there's so much to say about them.

#serbposting for, well, serbposting!

#animalsss, is for guess fucking what. and #>:] is a tag for evil purposes only. mhm.

When I talk about a social media or it's userbase, I usually tag the social media in question.

#house design inspo also exists though I never use it. or was it #home design inspo

I think that's all for now, I might've forgotten some shit

#intro post

[slutforstabbings-archive]

Clean Again

Chapter 10: SELF-INFLICTED read on AO3 | previous chapter | tumblr chapter index make sure you check AO3 for this fic's playlist and other extras!

Corey plans a big night to show Reader how much she means to him

general warnings for this fic - angst, fluff, smut (MDNI), canon-typical violence, canon-typical gore contents/warnings for this chapter - luff, angst, graphic violence, alcohol mention, male masturbation, panty sniffing, passing mention of drug addiction, passing mention of domestic violence, knife play but just barely, major spoilers for The Lobster (2015)

5,108 words

A/N: This chapter contains major spoilers for The Lobster. If you haven't seen The Lobster, I think things will still make enough sense, but see the end for a summary of the plot of the film if needed. I've kept the summary vague so hopefully even though the ending of the movie is spoiled by this chapter, you will still be enticed to go watch the movie and see how they got there. It's one of my favorites and I highly recommend it but it is Fucked Up and there is graphic animal death among many other things so be prepared, look up a list of trigger warnings, and watch something gentle and lighthearted afterwards lol

A version of this chapter has already been published on Tumblr and AO3 with the title LoveSong. It was written to fill a request from @rebel-blue but I thought it fit here perfectly. This version has been edited and added to.

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

Corey parks his motorcycle on a side street instead of his usual spot by the door and lets himself into your apartment with the key you gave him. It feels weird, he’s never been in here without you before. But it’s kinda cool, he feels close to you even though you’re not around. And you wouldn’t have given him a key if he wasn’t allowed to come and go as he pleased. He’d been trying to plan something nice for over a week when he received a cryptic text from you.

He padded down his mossy wooden steps and found the key in a little box with a note from you. Just something I thought you should have, it said. As he stood at the mailbox, awestruck smile on his face, his plan for a special night solidified. Now he struggles to close the door, his hands are so full of all the stuff he needs to make tonight perfect.

He goes to the kitchen and spreads all his supplies on the island. One bouquet of roses to give you and one to tear apart for the petals, a bottle of wine that he hopes is good for as much as he paid for it, a salad kit, a frozen lasagna from the take and bake section of the fancy grocery store, a big long loaf of Italian bread, a pack of tea lights, a carton of raspberry sorbet, a real vase so you can stop putting the flowers he gets you in containers you fish out of the recycling. 

Your oven groans like it’s haunted as it preheats. Corey darts around your kitchen, starting and stopping different tasks, feeling scattered. He places the wine and the sorbet in the freezer. He fills the vase with water and dissolves the plant food, but forgets to put the flowers in it. He grabs a small bowl from the cupboard, then abandons it on the counter. He pulls all the petals off a single rose, then remembers a story you told him.

“One time a roommate I had put a bottle of wine in the freezer and forgot about it. I guess because hard liquor doesn’t freeze, she thought it would be okay. But wine is way too low in alcohol content for that. It expanded when it froze and the fucking bottle exploded on me when I opened the freezer. Scared the shit out of me!” You laughed and shook your head. “Our freezer was sticky and full of broken glass the rest of the time we lived there.”

Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck. He opens the freezer apprehensively, squeezing his eyes closed in case of projectiles. The wine is still liquid and the bottle is still intact. Close call. He breathes deeply and tries to organize his thoughts. One thing at a time. The oven chimes. Lasagna first, then. He reads the instructions a third time and notices something new. TIP: it says next to a little drawing of a lightbulb. Place a cookie sheet under the lasagna pan to catch any sauce or cheese that bubbles over. He finds a cookie sheet and puts the lasagna on it, then slides the whole thing in the oven. 

The rest of his preparations go more smoothly. He follows a recipe he bookmarked last night to make garlic bread. He finds a giant mixing bowl and fills it with ice for the wine, like fancy restaurants always do it in the movies. He does his best to clean off your dining table. Usually when the two of you sit here to eat, you just shove all the shit that accumulates over the week to the side. But you know what’s on the table and Corey doesn’t, so he awkwardly stacks things instead, placing the piles all at one end so there’s room for the set up he envisions. 

He needs something to protect the table from the heat of the lasagna pan. You don’t have any kitchen towels in the drawer where you usually keep them, so he goes into your bedroom. He’s gone with you downstairs to your building's laundry room before, so he knows you have a two hamper system, but he can’t remember which is for clean and which is for dirty. He reaches into one and just pulls out whatever’s on top to do a smell test. It’s a wadded up pair of tights and it definitely came out of the dirty laundry. He just intended to sniff them for hamper identification, so he’s not sure how he winds up sitting on the edge of the bed with the crotch of the tights pressed firmly over his nose and mouth, inhaling as deeply as he did the other night to get stoned on your shotgunned smoke. The smell of you lingering on the nylon couldn’t be more beautiful. 

Since the first night he woke up in the hospital Corey has sometimes struggled to believe things are real. Everything in his life seems so much like a bad dream. Even being in your apartment, cooking you dinner, Corey felt like he was on an empty sitcom set, no cast, no crew, no studio audience. Putting on a show with nobody watching. But you, your physical body, left an imprint on these tights that proves you exist, made out of bones and electricity and meat. Gloriously alive. A unique trace of you, so rare a dog or a DNA panel could follow it back to you and only you, out of eight billion other people. The most precious substance on Earth.  

Corey's breath hitches and he pulls the tights away in surprise when he realizes his cock has gotten all the way hard. He feels like a creep, getting aroused by your stuff when you don't even know he's there, and he still hasn't gotten completely over the Pavlovian way he feels shame when he's horny. When he's with you, you distract him, so beautiful and brazen that you make it feel right. But he hasn't been able to do it alone without feeling bad about it since the night of that first kiss. He pulls his phone from his pocket. There are still several minutes left on the timer for the lasagna and almost everything else is finished.

Maybe it's okay... It's not any worse than following you around, really. He pulls his pants and his underwear down to his knees and scoots back on the bed a little. He brings the tights back over his face with one hand and wraps the other around himself. His intention as he starts slowly stroking is just to tease a little, save the rest for the main event with you after dinner. His hand doesn’t get the memo. He tries to slow down and only speeds up, tries to loosen his grip only to squeeze himself a little harder. 

He wants to resist it, but it occurs to him again that this is kind of creepy. Except now the thought doesn't feel as bad. It kinda feels good. What would happen if you came home early for some reason? What would you think, seeing him, in your apartment without your knowledge, practically eating your undergarments in his attempt to inhale the smell of your pussy, touching himself on your bed? The mental image of your face as you realize your boyfriend is a total fucking pervert is so clear, he looks over his shoulder to make sure you aren’t really there. He can imagine the shock in your eyes, the confusion, the fear. Fuck. 

Then the shame rears its head and he retreats from the thought like jerking back from a hot surface, scrambling to think of something else. He comes up with a brilliant idea. He shakes the tights out until they uncoil from the ball he’d squeezed them into and the legs hang limply, then he slides one leg over his slippery, throbbing cock. He bunches the extra length up against his pelvis, drawing himself deeper into the tights, pinching and wrapping the fabric until he’s sheathed in it like a condom. The texture is scratchy but not unpleasant. Corey leans back on one arm, propping himself up on his elbow, getting his hips into it. He brings the toe of the other leg to his face, knowing your smell lingers there too. He pants hard, and it only takes one, two, three gulping breaths for him to get there. Hot, sticky cum seeps out of the nylon.

His arm under him gives out and he lies flat on his back, the soiled tights sticking to him as he softens. He only gets a second to relax before the timer for the lasagna goes off and brings him back to earth. Corey rushes to clean himself off and shove the tights deep into the hamper he now knows is dirty laundry. He sprints through washing his hands, alarm still blaring, and finally yanks the lasagna out of the oven 3 minutes past time. It’s a little dark but it should be fine. Hopefully.

He digs a kitchen towel out of the clean hamper. He smooths it flat on the dining table and sets the lasagna in the middle. He brings in the salad and the garlic bread, trying multiple placements to see what looks best. He feels so out of his depth, but he’s determined to do a good job. He googles table setting diagrams and does the best he can with your mismatched thrift store dishes. 

He’s doing the last few steps, sprinkling rose petals in a path from your front door to the dining room with one hand, scrolling through the playlists you’ve made him with the other when he hears your car crunch the gravel outside. Corey rushes to the dining room, slipping on his sock feet and gut checking himself on one of the dining chairs. Wincing, he hides where you won’t see him from the door, and presses play on a song just as the lock turns.

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

As you stand at your front door preparing to insert your key into the lock, you hear a thump and then a very faint groan come from inside. What the fuck was that? You unlock the door as noisily as possible and swing it open very slowly. The last thing you want is to surprise an intruder. You peak inside hesitantly. It smells good. Why does it smell good? Just as you start to fear something way freakier than a simple robbery, you notice the song playing over your speakers.

Whenever I’m alone with you… You make me feel like I am whole again. Wasn’t Corey just saying he had been listening to Jack Off Jill at your suggestion? You step inside and finally see the rose petals scattering the floor and the warm glow of candle light coming from the dining room. That cheesy motherfucker, you think as butterflies fill your guts. You smile and bite your lip in spite of yourself.

“Where are you, you big sap?” You call out.

“Follow the petals!” He shouts back.

You follow the petal trail into the dining room and see him standing at the head of the dining table, beaming above all his hard work. Your mouth hangs open in shock as you take in all the details. More rose petals surround the table, on top of which you see a dozen roses in a gorgeous crystal vase, a delicious looking dinner and -

“Are those proper two course place settings?” You laugh.

“My attempt,” Corey says sheepishly.

You come around the table and grab his face in your hands. “This is so…” you trail off, opting to kiss him instead of finishing your thought. It conveys what you mean much more eloquently anyway. When you release him he pulls a chair out for you.

“Thank you, sir,” you say. His face instantly turns bright red and he clears his throat.

Corey piles salad on your plate and pours you a glass of wine. The two of you eat and try to talk through your giggles. You knew he had a romantic side, but this is something else. Somehow you feel even more giddy than when you first met him, even more like a silly middle schooler writing Mrs. Corey Carpenter all over your notebook. You watch his every movement. Could it be possible he’s becoming even more of a babe? Or is it just because you love him?

God, that’s a scary thought. You’ve been suppressing it violently every time you have it. It just seems so fast, you haven't been “official” for very long at all. But trying to shove it down the past few days has made you feel like a cartoon character on a sinking ship, plugging holes with every finger and every toe just for more to appear and the water to keep rising. He smiles at you, all long teeth and crinkled eyes, and the boat capsizes. You love him, you love him, you love him. And now that you admit it to yourself, you have to admit it to him too. 

Before you can say anything, he stands.

“Ready for dessert?” Corey asks.

“There’s dessert?”

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Stay here.” He stacks all the dinner dishes onto the cookie sheet and takes it to the kitchen. You idly wonder if he’s ever had a job as a busboy. You try to guess what desert is by the sounds you hear him making in the kitchen. Something refrigerated, or maybe frozen. That doesn’t narrow it down very much.

He returns with a bowl heaped with scoops of something the color of blood, two spoons sticking out. He sets it on the table and scoots his chair closer to yours before sitting down. You take a hesitant bite. Raspberry. It’s delicious. You devour the bowl together without speaking, just watching each other.

“Corey…” You finally break the silence. “This was really special.”

“Oh, uh... It’s nothing.” He shrugs.

“It’s a lot more than nothing. You put a lot of hard work into this and it was really cool. No one I’ve dated has ever gone out of their way for me like that before.” In the short time you’ve known him, he’s done more for you than Orin did for your entire three years together. He looks at you like you’re God. He cares if you cum. He listens.

“How is that possible?” He asks. You snort at the question.

“I thought that was just how it was.” You say, shaking your head. “Corey I… I love you.”

Before you realize what’s happening he’s out of his chair, pulling you up from yours into a tight embrace, pressing you against him like he wants to fuse your bodies together. You squeeze him back and you can’t fight the goofy smile you break into.

“I love you too,” he says back, voice strangled with emotion. He releases you just enough that he can look at your face. “I’ll never treat you like they did. I’ll never hurt you. I’ll never walk away from you, unless you tell me to leave.” You look into his eyes. He looks so intense in the candle light, lit almost like the villain in a black and white movie. To your own astonishment, you completely believe him.

“I have one more thing planned,” he says after a long pause. He leads you to the living room. You sit on the couch. Corey turns on the tv and connects his phone. You see the name of the movie he’s casting and can’t help but laugh.

“The Lobster?” You say, incredulous.

“You said it was your favorite romcom,” he says.

“That was a joke!” You say, scrunching your face to keep from dissolving into hysterics. “I do really like that movie but it’s a dark comedy. It’s not a date movie… Unless you’re on a pretty fucked up date.”

“You’re on a date with me.” He smirks at you. 

“Okay.” You laugh, pleasantly surprised by his little self-deprecating joke. You pat the couch next to you. He puts his arm around you when he sits down and you nuzzle against him as he presses play. 

“So,” you say as the end credits roll. “Do you think he did it?”

“What?” Corey asks

“Do you think he went through with blinding himself?” You turn to face him.

“Of course. He doesn’t have another option.”

“I mean, there’s no obvious second option, but he could’ve figured something else out. It’s a hard thing to do, to hurt yourself like that. Your sense of self-preservation would get in the way, force you to consider something else, right?”

“No.” He says, with startling conviction. “All other options would lead to death, or something even worse than death. They say they turn you into an animal to give you a second chance, but that’s bullshit. If you’re still yourself inside the animal, that’s a prison. A punishment. If you lose yourself, then becoming an animal is no different from dying. It’s easy to hurt yourself when prison and death are the only other options.”

“But blinding yourself in unsterile conditions with imprecise tools is so dangerous, he might just be committing suicide anyway.”

“Yeah. If he doesn’t do it, he’ll probably die. If he does do it, he might die. But if he does it, at least he tried. Wouldn’t you try?” Corey rests his forearms on his thighs and looks at you with dark, serious eyes. It doesn’t feel like you’re talking about the movie anymore. 

“I would try harder to come up with another plan. If they’re both blind, how will they accomplish anything? Why, after all the shit he’s been through, is he still so willing to hold onto the old system? He’s just gonna give up his whole rebellious thing? No. He should stay sighted and fight to change things.”

“You don’t think he tried hard enough to come up with another plan? He thought of everything. He… He probably thought of a hundred more plans than just what they showed us. He only saw one way out. He did it.” Corey leans back onto the couch, watching your face. 

You look back at him, trying to process what seems like a coded confession. What part of his past is he alluding to? Did he inflict the wounds that scarred him on himself? The thought has never occurred to you. For a long time, your working theory was that it was drug related, a deal gone wrong or something. Corey’s quiet, no frills life would make sense for a recovering addict. But he shows no hesitation to drink, and he’d never smoked pot or seen a bong before the other day, didn’t recognize the sensation of being stoned. 

So then, maybe a robbery? You could see him on either side of that equation. Being young and stupid, making a bad choice and paying the price, or at any age, having an attempt to defend his home go poorly. The other prevailing option was someone’s jealous ex. He’s never had a girlfriend, but all it would take is being in the vicinity of someone with a sufficiently jealous, sufficiently violent former partner. If an abusive asshole decided Corey was a threat... Maybe that was what he meant when he said he was cursed?

No. Self-inflicted. It echoes in your head. What had he said when you'd asked him about it? I was stabbed. Passive voice, almost no information. Your eyes burn thinking about it. Corey just looks at you. 

“Yeah…” you say hesitantly. “Maybe he did do it.” 

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

It’s the first night Corey has slept alone in days and days. After he made you dinner, he stayed the night. When he got off work the next day he popped by his apartment to get clean clothes, several outfits worth, and he hadn’t been back since. But tonight after work he came home to his little garage and the studio above it to work on his tinkering. It was a struggle to pull himself away, so many days in a row just made him want more time with you, like someone lost at sea drinking salt water when they're already dehydrated. He knows you feel the same way, quietly giving him permission to violate your three days a week rule, implicitly asking him to stay another night, and another. Eventually he had to come home. 

Some parts he’s been waiting on have finally come in, so he stays in the garage late, until he realizes he’s drifting to sleep with a soldering iron in his hand. The idea of dying in a fire caused by the iron dropping out of his hand to the wooden workbench doesn’t thrill him like it used to, so he climbs the stairs and crawls under the stained, secondhand covers on his stained, secondhand mattress. 

Like he always does when he’s in bed alone these days, he imagines he’s not. He lays there on his side and pretends he’s curled around you instead of his lumpy pillow. His descent into sleep is fitful, plagued by half-conscious dreams and hypnic jerking. 

Corey’s not himself, his body doesn’t belong to him. He’s taller, thicker, stiffer than usual. He looks down at his hands and he’s missing two fingers, not wearing his ring. I’m Michael, he realizes with awe. He’s outside Laurie and Allyson’s house, and he can hear a commotion going on inside. He turns the knob on the side door and is pleasantly surprised it’s unlocked. He’s going to kill Laurie. After all this time, the bitch is finally gonna bite it.

He steps into the foyer and Laurie isn’t there. He is. The real him. Corey that stabbed himself, bleeding out on the floor. Allyson crouches over him, wailing.

Don’t go! Please Corey, don’t go! Don’t leave me!

He wants to go to her, and he's next to her, just like that, like he teleported. I’m not going anywhere! I’m right here, I didn’t leave!

She turns to face him and screams at the top of her lungs, face contorting in terror. Except she isn’t Allyson at all. It’s you. It’s you and he’s Michael Myers, and the knife he stabbed himself with is right there on the floor, and you both spot it at the same time. You’re faster than him, rising to your feet and lunging for it, but Michael is so much bigger than you, he makes it first.

You stomp on his hand without hesitation. He’s amazed and aroused by your decisive brutality, but he can’t feel the pain at all. He wraps Michael’s massive fingers around your foot and yanks your leg from under you. You slam to the ground, your shirt soaking up dying-Corey’s blood like a sponge. He picks up the knife. You scramble backwards on your hands and feet like a crab, but the blood makes you slide and fall. In one stride, he’s standing over you. You roll away towards the front door, pulling yourself up by the handle and throwing it open. Corey-Michael follows you, desperate to break into a run to catch you as you sprint away, but unable to do more than walk with wide strides. He tries to call your name but his mouth won’t work.

The streets of Haddonfield narrow, the houses shrink and warp. The road is carpeted now and lined on either side not with homes, but with bookshelves. The library. He approaches the aisle where he first saw you, where you trapped him to ask about your sewing machine. He rounds the corner, knowing you’ll be there, that mischievous grin on your face. He raises the knife. You turn to face him and he brings the knife down. A thin red line rapidly widens on your cheek, and another across your chest. Your eyes glaze over with betrayed tears. He raises the knife and brings it down again. This time it penetrates your chest and Michael-Corey feels the tip glance off one of your ribs as the blade buries itself to the hilt.

He stabs you repeatedly, sinking in, sliding out. 10 times. 30 times. More times than he stabbed his mother. More times than he stabbed everyone else, combined. He keeps going, long after you’re dead, until the blade gets stuck in your sternum and the knife handle breaks off, and you slide from his grasp to the floor. All the books on the shelves on either side are coated with a fine mist of your blood. 

He throws the broken handle down the aisle, then sinks to his knees beside you on the ground. He cradles your head in his hands and cries. His hands with all his fingers, signet ring back on his pinky, white scar across one palm. He’s himself, survivor-Corey, hiding-from-the-police-Corey, your-loving-boyfriend-Corey. He wails your name. 

Don’t go! Please don’t leave me! I’m so sorry, please don’t go!

Corey wakes up in a cold sweat. He checks his phone. 4am. He’s been asleep less than two hours, but that's gonna have to be good enough. He tosses on a light jacket, shoves his feet into his boots and goes downstairs. In the corner of the garage is a large toolbox. He unlocks it and opens the lid. It’s full of junk, rusted nails and bent wrenches. He pinches the sides and lifts, pulling the false bottom compartment up and out, setting it on the workbench. He places his hand in the now empty box and pushes on one side. A second false bottom flips up out of the way. On the real bottom of the box is Corey’s little collection of weapons.

Pocket knives of different sizes and designs, a Buck 120 hunting knife in its leather sheath, a brass knuckle, a snub-nose .38 revolver not much different from the one Laurie shot him with, and a box of bullets. Things he’s bought or stolen or found. Things he knows it’s tempting fate for him to have, but they make him feel… Not safer, but perhaps more prepared. 

He takes out a knife and flicks it open. It’s the biggest folding blade in the box, more than an inch longer and twice as wide as the toothpick knife Corey carries every day. For a split second, he’s tempted to test the sharpness on himself. Instead, he turns to a cardboard box on the table top and stabs it. The blade glides through as if the corrugated walls of the box are nothing but air. Perfect.

He reassembles his hiding spot and tucks the knife safely into the inside pocket of his jacket.  

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

You wake to pressure on the bed, the mattress sinking beside you. You open your eyes a sliver and see a silhouette next to you, ever so slightly darker than the surrounding nothingness. You’re barely conscious but you’d know that shape anywhere.

“Corey?” You croak.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Sorry to wake you.”

“Mmm,” you reply, too sleepy for real words. You scoot away from him and pat the bed next to you.

He shifts to lie down in the space you made, and pulls you into him. He’s so warm and soft and safe, you’re already almost asleep again. He puts his hand under your chin and lifts your face.

“Don’t go back to sleep. I need to talk to you,” he says softly, and plants a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Hmmm?” You ask.

“Come on, I need you awake enough to talk to.” He slides his hand along your jaw from your chin to your ear and back, stroking your cheek with his thumb. His words move through your brain thickly, like molasses. “It’s important,” he says.

You fight hard to rouse yourself. It’s important. Corey warns you to shield your eyes, then he reaches over and turns on your bedside lamp. The amber light stimulates you enough to prop yourself up on your arm and look at him. His eyes are red with deep shadows underneath.

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?” You put a concerned hand on his chest.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.”

“What time is it?”

“4:30. There’s something I want you to have.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls something out of the interior pocket. You hold your hand out and he places it in your palm. A pocket knife.

“What..?” You start to ask.

“I want you to be able to protect yourself. You’re so important to me, I need some insurance that you’re safe. I know you’re capable, but you don’t always have a baseball bat. Promise me you’ll keep it with you and you’ll use it on anyone you have to,” he says. 

You sit up and examine the knife in your hand. The handle is made of a rich, dark wood, with something shimmery inlaid. Mother of pearl maybe. The blade has a little groove for one handed opening. You slip your thumbnail into it and pop the blade out. The edge glints in the lamp light. It’s a beautiful knife. 

“Okay. I promise.”

“I‘m serious,” he says. “Promise you’ll use it against anyone you need to. Even me.”

“Corey, I… Why would I need to use it against you?”

“You won’t. But just promise me that if you did, you would.” The prospect is ridiculous to you, but he looks dead serious.

“I promise.”

He grabs your hand, holding the still open knife, and angles it so you’re pointing it at him, the tip grazing the skin of his chest made visible by the two unbuttoned buttons of his henley shirt.

“Promise me.”

“Corey…” you protest. You try to pull away, you don’t want to hurt him by accident. But the strength of his grip stops you. Your heart races. You’re scared, but the fear is oddly arousing. “I promise.”

“That’s three times you promised.” He lets go of your hand. 

A sick impulse comes to you. Without thinking about it, you raise the knife, angling it upward so the tip presses against the soft underside of his chin instead of his chest. He breaks into a wide smile. You apply the tiniest amount of pressure and he raises his chin just a little to get away. You follow him with it, pressing it into his stubbly skin enough to make him pull away again. Then you realize what you’re doing. Horrified, you pull away and fold the blade back inside the handle.

You can’t even begin to apologize before he’s kissing you like his life depends on it.

Summary of The Lobster(2015): A man lives in a society where adults MUST be in romantic partnerships. After his wife leaves him for another man, he goes to a matchmaking resort for single people to meet. If you fail to meet a long-term partner before your stay at the hotel is over, you will be turned into the animal of your choosing. But there's a group of Loners, people who want to be single, that live on the edges of society. The man wants to be a Loner, but finds himself attracted to another Loner, which is against the rules. His partner winds up blind, and he has to decide if he wants to join her in blindness or not.

#corey cunningham #corey cunningham x reader #halloween ends #mine #smut #fan fic #cc

[nasuversekinkmeme]

Pinned

A kinkmeme is a prompt challenge: here people can anonymously (or not!) send prompts, and people can pick them up and fill them.

RULES:

Send 1 prompt = fill 1 prompt. It's rude to expect people to make things tailored specifically for you and not give anything back. Aim for that sweet 1:1 fill/prompt ratio. It's fine if you lag a bit behind, but I will get mad if I catch you sending 5 prompts without filling a single one.

Almost anything is allowed as a prompt. For a list of the few exceptions, see here.

You can also post prompts on our ao3 collection or our dreamwidth. I will cross-post them here regardless.

Any medium is allowed for fills. Fanfics. Fanarts. Edits. Videos. Songs. And anything else I might have forgotten.

Any skill level is allowed for fills. Never written a fanfic before? Only able to draw stick figures? Fucking grand. Get in here, tiger.

Any effort level is allowed for fills. Doodled a thing in five minutes? Wrote a 50 word-long fic? Fucking grand. Get in here, tiger.

Multiple fills for a single prompt are allowed. Multiple prompts in a single fill are also allowed.

If someone fills your prompt, say something nice about it. Comment on that fic. Leave nice tags on that art. Directly message the guy if they're off-anon.

If you don't like a prompt, look the other way. This is a kink meme, not a forum to discourse on whether a prompt was ooc/didn't care for the worldbuilding/offensive to a character/ect

The mod cares much for privacy. Please do not ask me for any personal information or opinion. I will not answer.

HOW TO SEND FILLS TO THE BLOG

I would prefer if you posted your fill somewhere else and then sent me a link to it. Sending a link can be done through: askbox, submit box, DMs, directly tagging me if you posted it on your own tumblr.

We have an ao3 collection. If your fill is on ao3, you can post it there too. This isn't mandatory, it's just helpful for me. If I see a new fill in the collection, I will post it on the blog.

For nsfw artists: we have received fills before hosted on Squidge Image or on google drive.

If you send me a link to a fill and it is not posted after a few days, feel free to send me a message about it. It is possible that I did not see it or forgot about it.

HOUSEKEEPING

Every prompt is tagged as #prompt. Every fill is tagged as #fill.

Prompts & fills are tagged by: fandom, character, kink/trigger. Use these tags to look up prompts you want to fill, fills you want to read, as well as blacklist anything that might be upsetting to you.

Prompts that do not apply to a specific fandom or character are tagged as "any fandom" or "any character". If none of the prompts in your favorite character tag appeal to you, you can look these up for inspiration.

I am queueing prompts to avoid flooding and keep the blog active over time. That means your prompt can take some time to show up. Do not panic.

I make weekly summaries of the prompts we've gotten/the fills we've received. They're tagged as #weekly roundup."

If you want an old (more than a month old) prompt to get more attention, you can send a request for a prompt reminder. That means that prompt will be included in the weekly roundups.

THINGS TO KEEP IN MIND

If your prompt is vague or only implies things, it is possible that the filler will have an interpretation you do not like. I know everyone wants their prompts to sound pretty and poetic, but if your prompt is "and then blorbo meets a mysterious white-haired figure in a red coat," you are equally likely to get a fill with Archer, Amakusa, and Kuroe. I advise prioritizing clarity over poetry, unless you are specifically sending a vague prompt to see how people will interpret it.

Not everyone is familiar with every fandom meme. Especially true since some of our fillers don't use tumblr. If your prompt rely on a fandom specific thing that can't be looked up on the wiki (ie a popular fanservant, a fantheory, ect) you REALLY want to prioritize clarity over poetry, or your filler will completely misinterpret what you're talking about.

For crossovers: please explicitlyl say in your prompt what is the other franchise you're crossovering with. This one is for me. Googling can only get me so far when you're using obscure quotes, and that makes things a nightmare to tag correctly. Plus, see above on misinterpreting prompts that aren't explicit in what they want.

If your prompt is complicated, you are less likely to get an artfill. Not an issue if you're specifically looking for a fic, but something to bear in mind.

If you're okay with artfills, you can say so! I'm told some artists are hesitant to fill prompts because they're afraid the prompter is specifically looking for fics. If you don't mind though (or even prefer artfills) you can always say so.

For fillers: if you want a clarification on a prompt, you can always send me an ask and I will relay the question. That being said, I do not guarantee an answer. General rule of thumb is: if it's not explicitly forbidden in the prompt, then anything goes.

Sometimes, the fill you will get for your prompt will not be what you want. Maybe you wanted an artfill and you got a fic. Maybe they interpreted your prompt in a way you don't like. Maybe the fill just suck. I still expect you to say something nice about it (see rules above). If you want more more control over the kind of fills you get, commission someone.

If you like a fill, let it known! Comment on that fic! Leave nice tags on that art! Directly message the guy! Even if it's not for one of your prompts! Someone who gets compliments is someone who is more likely to do another fill.

That's it! Have fun!

Still have some question? Check out our FAQ!

#pinned

[destructo-range]

wee introduction

ENGLISH VERSION

hi hello hope you're having a lovely evening friends! ! ! this is just a quick intro to me might edit later idk

WHO AM I?

idek lol

you can call me eli, valian, val, vali, any other nickname you could ~possibly~ derive

use any pronouns/neos for me i dont particularly prefer any

i'm a creative person so i'm probably mainly going to be posting visual art (messy sketches and doodles, digital stuff and photos of my sketchbook) and maybe some writing? idk lets see how this goes! ! ! i will take requests but i'm pretty inconsistent and life gets busy so do me a favor and don't rage at me in my inbox if i don't take your request / it doesn't come out how you wanted it to.

im bilingual french / english so i may post in french sometimes! i'll be providing translations moooost of the time (and image IDs ofc) but do remind me if i forget also i do tend to speak in frenglish/franglais but that should be comprehensible

i don't think i'll post much vent art or triggering stuff, but if i do it will be tagged so you can avoid it since i do sometimes draw gore. speaking of triggering topics - for fucks sake, do not tag me in posts that mention s/a or message me stuff about it, please and thank youu.

fandoms i generally tend to participate in (can't believe i nearly forgot this): TOH, GI, my own ocs, ramshackle, dead plate, and pjo a little

IMPORTANT: please do not repost my art without asking permission first! feel free to use for pfps though. my art belongs to me and if you use it to train an AI, i will make a soup broth from your bones <3

yeah thats basically it. chill vibes around here feel free to message me :D

VERSION FRANCAISE

salut bonjour ca va la compagnie? ce post est juste une petite intro lol amusez-vous a le lire

T'ES QUI?

g aucune idee

vous pouvez m'appeler eli, valian, val, vali ou quelconque autre surnom que vous pourriez ~possiblement~ inventer.

vous pouvez utiliser n'importe quels pronoms pour moi ca ne m'importe pas, il/elle/iel ou autre chose je m'en fous

en general puisque je suis une personne creative ce blog aura probablement majoritairement de l'art visuel (petits dessins vite faits, gribouillages, quelques trucs digitaux peut-etre et des photos de mon sketchbook) et peut-etre de l'ecriture? jsp on decouvre ensemble! ! ! si vous avez des idees hesitez pas a me les donner mais je ne peux pas vous garantir que je les ferai! je suis assez inconsistent.e et la vie est compliquee alors svp sois mon pote et ne viens pas rager dans ma messagerie quand je ne les prends pas ou je les fais et ils ne sont pas assez detailles pour toi, d'accord?

je suis bilingue (comme vous avez probablement deja remarque lol) francais-anglais alors dcp je posterais parfois en anglais! je donnerai des traductions (et des image ID, bs) la plupart du temps mais n'hesitez pas a me rappeler si j'oubliee aussi g tendance a parler en franglais/frenglish mais ca devrait etre comprehensible

je ne pense pas que je vais poster des choses particulierement morbides mais je dessine parfois des trucs assez sanglantes mais ce devrait etre dans les tags. aussi, tant qu'on y parle - s'il vous plait, ne me 'mention' pas dans des posts parlant du viol, meme si c'est qu'un petit truc, merciiii.

fandoms dans lequelles je participe plutot frequemment (g failli oublier): TOH (ou luz a osville si vous avez regarde en francais mais moi g regarder en anglais mais c quoi osville wsh????), genshin impact, mes propres personnages, ramshackle, dead plate et percy jackson un peu

IMPORTANT: svp demandez moi avant de reposter qqc que j'ai poste! mais vas-y si tu veux utiliser comme pdp. aussi si tu utilise mon art pour creer une IA, je bouillerai tes os pour faire une soupe <3

ok bon je pense que c tout! mon blog c une zone chill hesitez pas a me balancer des mesages a toutes :D

#intro post #blog intro #pinned intro #toh #the owl house #percy jackon and the olympians #ramshackle #genshin impact #fanart #fanwork #artists on tumblr #bilingue #bilingual #french/english #francais/anglais #art #my art #artwork

[cringiest-kid-ever]

System blog: @the-neighbourhood-system

Hello peope of tumblr!

I'm Nori, a CDD alter! I use they/them pronouns. Bodily we're 17yo, but mentally I'm 14yo.

I used to be a host, but I went dormant for 3 years (reasons unknown), and now I'm back again! All the new things are kinda confusing.

I'm against cringe culture! Aslong as you don't harm others, do whatever the fuck you want. I'm also in multiple fandoms, so expect to see fanart on here.

Everything is trigger tagged! Pls let me know if I forgot to tag something!

Edit: I'm otherkin (in a non-spiritual way)! I know that I'm rabbitkin, but I might also be wolpertingerkin sometimes. I'm very new to the community, so idk if I'm using the right terms.

DNI below the cut!

DNI

- have minors DNI on your blog

- NSFW/porn/gore blogs

- pro contact paraphile

- discriminatory (racist, sexist, homphobic, etc)

- terfs/swerfs

- believe in <disorder abuse> (narc abuse, borderline abuse, etc)

- transID/transX/RECTA/ECTA

- proship/antianti

- anti agere/agedre or anti petre/petdre

- non-traumagenic systems

- tulpa's (the appropriated kind)

#pinned post #intro post #introduction #blog intro #traumagenic system #actually traumagenic #cdd system #actually cdd #endos dni #anti endo #radqueers dni #anti radqueer #proship dni #anti proship #cluster b safe #pd safe #otherkin safe #fictionkin safe #alterhuman safe #therian safe #fuck cringe culture #cringe culture is stupid

[complacentend]

Rules

For those on mobile (I forgot mobile is awful) here's my rules page;

1. MINORS: I am very aware I can’t control whether people under 18 engage with my content/myself. However, any kind of interaction I have with anyone is going to be very casual, nothing heavy in topic at all. And this should go without saying but smut is never EVER happening without actively proving your age to me. I will absolutely need proof in the form of ID of some kind. You can edit out your main info, obviously, but I will need to be able to see the age. I’m way too old to be fucking around and finding out with some dumbass online, thanks.

2. You don’t have to match my post length 1:1, but please don’t one sentence reply to several paragraphs of mine.

3. I don’t have many triggers but if you intend to have some In Character homophobia or transphobia go on, first of all tag it but also let me know so I can be aware as i’m a queer trans man.

4. I try to make sure I tag triggering and nsfw content in general but please let me know if I miss one.

5. Honestly just communicate with me if you have issues. When I was younger, vague posting was a thing that others did to me and I did to others and it was so agonizingly stupid. If we have issues, let’s just talk about it.

That’s all I can think of pointing out atm, but I’ll add more if need be.

#//rules\\

[custom-emojis]

Hey guys, this person on tiktok is stealing mine (and a ton of other emoji creators) emojis and using them / editing them / animating them for tiktoks. I tried to leave a few comments telling him not to, but he ignored them so now I’m making a post abt it. If you know any other emoji maker who’s in his videos that wouldn’t allow their emojis to be used like this please feel free to tag em. This is immensely frustrating to see, and I’m frankly sick of people thinking they can completely ignore our rules and boundaries (and the rules and boundaries of every other fucking emoji maker). Please do not be rude to or threaten this person. Just comment on their stuff telling them not to and make sure the other emoji makers are informed

Edit: Forgot to say huge TW on a lot of their videos! They handle hard mental health topics that may be triggering

[inmyarmswrappedin]

I haven't read any post on the tag, these are my unfiltered thoughts on clip 3:

Week 1 is always used to set up the themes and storylines for the season. And they're sure getting hammered down in the first three clips.

The characters have just finished their German exam. Apparently they all picked a Goethe poem to analyze. Mailin had a lot to write, as she found the poem very misogynistic. (Sidenote, but I would like to know which poem specifically this was.)

The poem compares a girl to a flower, waiting to be picked, and dead once she's picked. Mailin thinks it's a rape metaphor. She also thinks the poem should come with a trigger warning. I myself will have to add a trigger warning to this post because of this comparison.

Sporty Spice jokes that he has a trigger warning to give himself: he has to get going. Sporty, it's your presence that necessitates a tw, not your disappearance. But ok. Mailin looks super pissed at Sporty's joke.

On the other hand, Finn, who couldn't be more telegraphed as the LI if he tried, looks at Mailin all like, "you got a point." He mentions that in the poem the boy is a boy, but the girl is a flower.

Isi is taken aback at Mailin's rant. They mentions that they definitely noted the girl as flower as a metaphor for courtship, but then moved onto the rhyme scheme, rather than mentioning rape and so on. Gonna guess that Mailin was so angered by the rape vibes that she forgot to mention the rhyme scheme and her grade won't be as good. Which will further anger her.

Sporty Spice wants to know before he leaves who else wants to celebrate being done with this exam. Isi has a date with their bf. Kieu My and Fatou are also hanging out. Mailin lies that she'll probs go see her grandma since it's been a while since they hung out; however, people keeping track of the social media will know Mailin and her grandma did yoga together yesterday.

This leads me into a digression about the social media. What are we to make of the content posted to insta? Is it supposed to be accurate to what teens actually post? Because I don't believe that German teens (or anyone who isn't actively using their relationship for clout) post the kind of long videos where they're just chatting with their SO about some dumb shit for a while. So then are we supposed to assume that these videos are maybe filtered to Best Friends only? Or maybe even just videos that they shot for themselves, that we as viewers get to see but aren't supposed to be uploaded and published to ig? Because if so, then I think it's really strange that Fatou all of a sudden can't stop talking about sex in clips, but won't even joke about her sex life with her gf on her private videos. Fatou's characterization doesn't ring true.

Anyway, either Mailin's videos with her grandma were private only for herself, or they were published where her friends could see, but Fatou (and everyone else in this clip) was so wrapped up in their SO that they didn't watch Mailin's stories. The message is clear though, Mailin feels so left behind because three people out of the five in this clip are too busy with their relationships to hang out with her, and the fourth is fucking Sporty Spice and his joke trigger warnings.

Edit: a further note about trigger warnings. I think it's kind of insidious that this clip paints Mailin as angry and even kind of off-putting (just look at everyone else's reactions) for wanting a trigger warning, because Druck has used trigger warnings in the past. They were in fact praised for doing so, when pretty much every other Skam version had failed to do so.

#druck #cw rape #druck season 8 thoughts

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey business - john shelby x reader (part 6 of ?)

gif by my queen @michaelgreys, i'm basically her fanblog now but im not mad about it :) i mean just look at him!!1! i almost fainted

a/n: first of all, if you stuck around to this point, tysm for reading!!! this has been one of the most amazing fics ive ever been a part of and it's all thanks to the gorgeous @stxdyblr-2k, who generously took control of the next few parts. her brain is beautiful and we all owe her flowers or something. when i read what she sent me i couldn't bring myself to change much except for some small edits, so pls give her lots of love if you like it!!!! i'm still working on requests as well :)

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four five | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland, @lilymurphy03

prompt: nothing this good can last forever. john doesn't know how to feel, and neither do you.

warnings: nsfw! a teensy bit of smut, angsty as fuck prepare yourselves accordingly, a lil fluff if u squint, yeah this fucked me up

Obviously, it wasn't the last time.

Over the coming months you had many last times; his mouth pressed against your neck said as much. As his responsibility at work increased, you'd find yourself heading to his office after your lectures and night classes more often, perched on his lap, smoking, while he finished up his numbers under your critical gaze.

Thomas was more than aware; his snarky comments made it obvious he had his ways of monitoring your actions. You'd seen the dark car lurking outside your rallies and lectures, and no matter how you'd try to throw him off, not even telling Ada where you were going and even, in a moment of desperation, through your neighbours back window, somehow, his silent shadow was still looming. He was practically begging you to make a mistake, to give everyone an easy out. You just couldn't give him the satisfaction. You knew Tommy saw the world as a chess board, always several moves ahead of his opponent. Even when you played him in chess club all those years ago, you could outflank him if you thought on your feet and kept him thinking he was winning until you obliterated him in the end game. It was brutal, sure. But as he told you, there were bigger games at play. You had your own. Thomas could read your mail, intercept your phone calls and have you followed, but he couldn't hear what you said out of earshot. Your lot could smell an interceptor in your ranks, so spying at that close of a proximity was out of the question.

That's why he'd decided to let you have John. You knew his silent approval and his constant management of the narrative meant he saw a tactical gain. There was only so much information he could get from Ada, but John? He just had to agitate him in the right way and all your secrets would come tumbling out. It was difficult hiding your world from John; of what he knew of, he was supportive, quizzing you over current affairs and political discourse, listening intently. Yet, you had to watch your mouth. You had to keep a barrier up and you knew John sensed the distance. Fundamentally, there was nothing either of you could do.

So here you were, in a comfortable limbo. Your days were filled with work, evenings were for lectures and reading groups at the city's university, Ada and you often stopped for a drink or three; you'd go by your flat to freshen up, and then to John's office. Sometimes, you wouldn't visit for a week or so when the guilt sent you over the edge, it was draining to be living so many lives and knowing you were betraying the person you loved most on earth. Ada was oblivious, taking you on her nightly adventures filled with men, dancing and waiting while she was busy kissing in dark corners. Sometimes a young blinder would ask if you wanted to be walked home. The first occurrence you thought was sweet, but as the nights it occurred coincided with nights John seemed extra pent up, you'd decided to ask. The boy, who couldn't be older than twelve but who you knew was trained in using firearms and had a revolver pinned to his hip and a razor in his cap, looked confused.

"Mate, it's not a tough question. Why do you come and ask?"

"There's a phone call." He shrugs, "Isaiah or Michael tells us to go and get you."

Isaiah and Michael were somewhat aware? Fucking hell. Your fling was basically a military campaign at this point, so many of your friends were complicit. The little lads who ran as messengers around Birmingham were complicit. You had to just end it.

But when you sat on his thigh, his chin hooked over your shoulder, it felt so worth it. He never turned you away when you came crawling back. He never mentioned it until after you were finished, hooked under his arm.

"Fucking missed you, gorgeous."

Sometimes he'd remind you not to be a stranger with a wink, but you could tell it was tearing him apart too. He never once came to you. That's how he could justify it in his mind; obviously, the bare minimum was not having sex with his sister's best friend, but in failing that, waiting for you to initiate it was somewhat better. He barely talked to Ada now, citing work as an excuse, but truly the guilt sickened him. He couldn't believe he was prepared to continuously hurt his little sister and betray her. But every time you turned up at his door, he couldn't find it in himself to turn you away. In his mind, every single time you came to visit him was the last time he'd let it happen, yet he was always waiting for you to come back, his blind closed to signal he was prepared. He never would call, it had to be your choice.

You'd been off and on for over five months now. It was so difficult to hide in plain sight, but you just couldn't stop yourself. Neither of you purposefully meant for this to be happen but fuck, was it fun.

For your birthday he'd gifted you a fur coat from the same shop his sister, aunt and the fashionable crowd of Birmingham had purchased theirs. He joked that you looked like a "proper razor chaser", kissing you when you pouted at his teasing, begging you to wear only the coat when you fucked him next. It was a practice for blinders to buy a coat for their wives and girlfriends as a status symbol. You were neither, but John claimed that being his "favourite lass" also counted.

John was a laugh, but you knew at any time he could close his door to you. Until he decided he couldn't be bothered with you, you weren't going to get caught. You just had to be careful until he got bored.

***

You did end up putting a foot wrong. It was a Thursday night; you were sitting on the edge of John's desk while he was ridding you of your blouse. It was past midnight, Birmingham was asleep. You almost didn't bother coming out tonight, but you knew John had lost a deal and you wanted to be there for him. Your skirt and stockings were strewn across the desk with his shirt, vest and waistcoat, muddled into the files and papers which were once neatly stacked.

His fingers were pumping in and out of you, his mouth lapping at your breast, your head tipped back in euphoria, groaning. The stress made him more affectionate and tender with you, and it was nights like these that made you wonder. Wonder if this could ever be something more, something real.

John's body suddenly pulled away from yours, quickly turning the light off.

"John, what-" You were cut off by John’s hand over your mouth, muffling your words.

"Shut up and get behind the desk." He hissed. "Someone's coming upstairs."

You quickly grabbed your clothes from the shiny oak surface and crouched, hiding yourself from view, quickly making yourself decent. You weren't going to get shot through the head with your tits out. You listened to the stairs creek, and it sounded like a group. You two were easily outnumbered. They were talking, but the thick panels of wood muffled their voices.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, the cracks in the door giving the room a dulled glow, you could make out the figure of John. He was free of his shirt, toned body on display, standing with his back flat to the wall, revolver produced from a discreet notch in the door frame, gaze fixed on where they'd enter. He was tense, ready. The door was unlocked from the outside, the door handle twisting.

John's lip shifted in confusion yet still he kept his trigger finger ready, not a single shake from your general.

The light flicked on and a shriek rang out. It was blinding, and you stood up slightly dazed. Finn was in the doorway, John next to him clutching his chest, panting and lowering the gun.

"Jesus Christ, Finn, can't you knock like a normal person? Scared the shit out of us." John bellowed, shaking as the adrenaline coursed through his body, resting his hands on the edge of the desk as he regained his breath.

"You're the one who pointed a gun at me! I didn't even know you were in 'ere!" Finn yelped.

The commotion had attracted the attention of Ada and Isaiah, who had come running and stopped in their tracks upon seeing you standing behind John's desk in the middle of the night. They weren't stupid. John was topless, your clothes obviously rumpled, both with matching tousled hair and practically stinking of guilt. You'd been caught red handed. Ada's eyes flicked between both you and John, and you could practically see the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in her mind, all the moments she found questionable since you'd returned suddenly making sense, realising she had been deceived by the two people who she was meant to trust most in life. Finn looked absolutely crushed, he'd never been able to conceal his emotions as well as his older brothers and sister, linking his fingers through Ada's, squeezing her hand.

"I forgot to drop this off earlier." Finn stated, holding up a money box, "Ada had keys so we thought we'd sneak in so I wouldn't get done by Tommy. We did call round yours, Y/N. We thought you were in bed."

"I'm sorry." You said. It was not enough but you just didn't know what else to say. You couldn't make it right, you'd really fucked up this time. Tears pricked at your eyes, as Ada examined you in silence.

John stepped in front of you defensively. "Look, Ada-"

"How long has this been going on?" She asked, her voice shaking with rage. You and John exchanged a glance. "I said, how fucking long?"

"Five months, six in a fortnight." He answered.

Isaiah whistled lowly. "That's fucked. I thought it was only a few times, that it'd finished."

"Never really over when it's John is it." Finn interjects, you glance to him, were you just one in a long string? You shouldn't be surprised but it was easy to pretend he may actually care about you.

"You've been fucking around for six months behind my back?" Ada yelped, Finn trying to comfort her but she pulled away from him. "And you fucking knew Iz."

"I'd expect this from you, yeah? Wouldn't put anything past you these days.." she sneered at John, "But you? You?! You're meant to be my best mate, but here you are sneaking about fucking my brother?"

"Ada-" you began, eyes welling with tears.

"I thought I could trust you. You're just another fucking razor chaser, aren't you?" She spits. "That's why you came back."

"No it wasn't, Ada-"

Her eyes flashed with anger, but this time John was on the receiving end. "You bought her that fucking coat ,didn't you? The fur one. You did! Fuck's sake!" Her fists were clenched, shoulders squared. For the first time in your life, you understood why crowds parted for Ada Shelby. Understood all the free drinks and cab rides, the nervous serving staff declaring your meal on the house (always acknowledged by Ada with a hefty tip), understood why the men of Birmingham didn't last long with her.

"Did it feel good to swan about town in that fucking coat, while acting as though you cared about me? It's so fucking embarrassing. All trussed up because my knobhead big brother makes you feel special? Thanks for rubbing it in my face."

"Ada, I love you. I never meant to hurt you, I got caught up and that's on me. It's my fault."

"You're not acting like you love me. This isn’t what love is, Y/N." She retorted.

You couldn’t do anything but nod. She was right.

John opened his mouth to speak, Ada silencing him, a scowl darkening her features.

"I don't care what you have to say. Any of you. Who else knows?"

"Thomas, Michael, Arthur-" John listed off slowly, each name prompting Ada to break down a little bit more in front of you.

"I didn't know Arthur knew." You said pointedly, John sending you an exasperated glance. He was planning on dealing with that later, but right now was about his sister. Fuck him if he thought you were going to stick around much longer. You didn't want to hear him justify everyone else knowing about your fling with your best friend being left completely in the dark.

"That all you have to say for yourself?" Ada snaps at you.

"I have fucking no defense, do I Ada? I should've walked away." You pushed your hair back, frustrated at yourself, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You begged yourself not to cry. Tears wouldn't help anything.

"Why didn't you?"

You didn't know. Your silence only riled her up.

"Why didn't you fucking walk away?" Ada yelled, slamming her hands on the desk.

You felt hot tears run down your face, quickly moving your hands to dab at your tears.

"Don't you dare fucking cry. After all you've done, you don't get to cry in front of me." Ada growled at you, John going to shush her, obviously wanting to comfort you. "You can all fuck off. You've all lied to me and gone behind my back. Fuck’s sake, you could've just told me. You could've just told me."

"We didn't want to hurt you." John said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder but she flinches away.

"This hurts so much more. You get that you all lying to me is so much worse, don't you?"

"We weren't thinking."

"You really fucking weren't." Ada laughs bitterly, shaking her head, blinking away tears. "Fuck you lot."

She stormed out, tailed by Finn, begging her to slow down and talk to him, protesting his innocence in the situation. Isaiah hesitated in the doorway, his eyes flickering between you and John.

"I had no idea you two've been at it for so long."

"Iz, fuck off yeah? I've had enough today." John shot back, sliding across the desk towards you. "You alright, lass?"

"We're done here, John."

He slid off the table, his hand cupping your face, "Hey, gorgeous, I get it but don't go breaking my heart tonight. Can we just leave this for tomorrow? Sleep on it."

The idea of getting any sleep at all tonight was laughable, you'd be up all night replaying these moments and torturing yourself. Tonight couldn't get any worse so you had to finally end it. Now was the right time.

"John, it should've never happened."

"But it did."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's over."

"Y/N. You know for me it was never just about-"

"You're making it difficult. Stop making it difficult. Whatever you say isn't going to change that right now we have to do the right thing."

"I know you're right, but I don't want to let go. Is it so wrong to want you? I adore you, you know that."

You wouldn't meet his eyes. Sighing, John pressed his forehead to the side of your head, chin brushing your shoulder, eyes closing. He was begging you to stay with him. There had to be a solution, you'd figure it out together. His voice was cracking, eyes glassy. He looked so much younger when he was pleading. The tall bloke who terrorised the Midlands with his razor rimmed cap, a revolver in his hand, and a ruthless trigger finger had vanished. You wanted to stay, burning to curl up with him and for him to kiss it better.

"I should go." You told him. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, letting out a shaky sigh before pulling away, nodding.

"I'd drive you home but obviously-"

"Obviously."

John suddenly turned from you, eyes narrowing at Isaiah who was still hovering at the door. "Thought I told you to fuck off. Make yourself useful and get Y/N home safely." His tone was ice cold once again.

Isaiah nodded, offering his arm to you. You reached the door and instinctively looked back at John. His eyes met yours, staring at you from his desk, just as you knew he would. He prepared himself to watch you leave every night, but this time was different. That was it with you two.

Isaiah strode down the street with you in silence. You were tucked into his side as was customary with the upcoming blinders who were particularly ambitious, but there was no relaxed chat.

"Isaiah. What’re you thinking?" You asked, voice tinged with nervousness.

He sighed, running his free hand across his jaw, "That was intense in there."

"Just how he is." You shrugged.

"Does he love you or sommet?"

"Fuck knows… does it matter?"

"Of course it does. Do you love him?"

"Drop it. None of that matters, it shouldn't have happened in the first place so it can’t," You snapped, the anger at the situation you'd created suddenly overwhelming.

Isaiah whistled, raising his brow at your obvious turmoil. "You're in fucking deeper than you want to admit."

He walked you up your path, watching you turn the key to the side door leading to your bedsit. You paused, turning to him.

"Iz… I don't know what to do next."

It was so dark, you could see his face only by the lit cigarette burning to embers between his fingers. He inhaled deeply, pausing before delivering his carefully laid out plan of avoidance. Obviously the event of him crossing the Shelbys and losing their good graces weighed heavily on his mind. You nodded, listening intently, noting his ideas of relocation but he explained they were a final resort. The best thing to do was try to regain their trust; in the long run, he had calculated, it was the only option that didn't result in your life being haunted by the Shelbys. Even if they left you alone, their enemies would make a point to go after you, seeing you as an easy target. The other option was to leave the country.

"Good luck, Y/N. I mean it." He muttered as you turned the handle to the temporary safety of your home. You nodded, offering you cheek for the polite good night kiss you'd become accustomed to. He rolled his eyes and obliged, pressing an affectionate kiss to your cheek and ruffling your hair. "I'm serious. Watch your back."

***

John broke down when he finally heard the lock click shut. His eyes had been prickling with boiling tears, his jaw tensed to hold them back. He yelled out in anger, flipping his desk with force, a loud crash as the wood splintered against the stone flooring, glass shattering from the photo frames. His hands went to his head, unable to stop the gasping breaths escaping from his trembling lips, his face reddening.

"Fuck’s sake." He growled. He'd fucked everything up. He had nothing, just as he'd told you the first night you returned. The consequence was no surprise, he'd anticipated the fall out for a while, but he couldn't resist you. He was completely guilty and had no defense; his only justification being that you made him think with his cock, not his brain.

Fuck’s sake. Polly was going to murder him. She'd always had a soft spot for Ada, as the only girl in the family, and was no stranger to lecturing him over his flirtatious behaviour around Ada's friends. She'd murder him. He had a half mind to never go home. He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. Polly had no use for tears. That's what she'd tell him when he was a boy coming home with a skinned knee. This was far worse.

He was also sure that he was a worse brother than Tommy, perhaps the worst in the world. His baby sister, who he'd helped to toddle, carry proudly on his shoulders after school and race with her on his back through the fields on the outskirts of Small Heath, had walked in on him obviously in the midst of fucking her best mate. If he had swallowed his pride and actually talked to her, he wouldn't be in this mess. He could've told her that things changed, that for the same reasons Ada loved Y/N he had fallen for her, that he was truly sorry but she had to know before it got too far and someone got hurt. He couldn't go back.

He should've never approached you that night.

He should never approach you again.

He looked over the mess of his office, the splintered wood and shards of glass, a confetti of paperwork. Now nothing mattered. None of this mattered. He'd lost everything and he had only himself to blame.

#john shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #john shelby fluff #john shelby series #john shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinder fanfic #john shelby smut #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader

[alrightberries]

dante’s inferno

request: wassup homie could you maybe write a college au fic where levi and reader are rommies, then one day reader brings home an adopted cat without levi's prior knowledge? You could decide what happens next lol. Tysm 🥺

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff, semi-crack ❈ word count: 4k

❈ summary: college au. in which you bring a stray cat to your dorm and your neat freak roommate won’t let you keep it.

alternatively: a compilation of college shenanigans where you and levi are best friends who are bad with feelings (ft. an unamused cat named dante)

❈ trigger warnings: profanity. mentions of alcohol and smoking. implied smut.

a/n: this was supposed to be loosely based on the nine circles of hell according to inferno by dante alighieri— hence the title— but i did my research wrong so now it’s loosely based on the seven terraces of purgatory according to divine comedy. i’m keeping the title tho.

Inspired by this art by @ryuichirou on tumblr.

Permission to repost art was granted by the artist. Do not repost/edit the art without explicit permission from the artist.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

i. first terrace: pride

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why?”

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why.”

Levi’s tongue clicks in annoyance. His eyes glance next you where the offending creature lay on your bed; tail curling, paws kneading at his your favorite fleece blanket. Quite frankly he’s a little offended when the little shit has the audacity to glare at him back.

He’ll never admit it, but his ego’s a bit bruised because the cat’s glare was slightly better than his.

“I said no,” he firmly replies, looking back to you. “It’s bad enough I have to share a room with an anarchist who has no respect for boundaries—“

“One time, I forgot to use a coaster that one time!”

“—and now you expect me to share a room with a dirty fur ball who does nothing but eat, shit, and sleep?”

“He’s a cat, Levi.” You murmur, scooping the cat into your arms. “And he has a name,” you give a nervous smile when you see your rommate grit his teeth. He feels a headache coming.

“You named it?”

“Dante is not an ‘it’.”

Levi makes a move to step closer but immediately stops when the ‘Dante’ hisses at him.

“Aw, he likes you.” You coo.

“Clearly,” he replies unenthusiastically. “Listen,” he sighs. “I respect your cat’s pronouns but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to stay. Or do I need to remind you of the mac and cheese incident?”

Okay, maybe he was on to something. If you got caught with a pet in the dorms you’d breach your third and final warning, and you’d be forced to dorm off-campus. The fact that you were still here after the mac and cheese incident was solely because Levi pulled some strings (aka asked Erwin, golden boy of the campus who owed him a favor, to pull some strings).

But you couldn’t just let Dante go. There was something about him that felt so familiar; something about his black fur, thin silver eyes, unamused snarl, and overall grumpy demeanor. Especially endearing was the way he’d grumble and pretend to be annoyed whenever you tried to cuddle him but would complain if you stopped.

You just couldn’t figure out who or what he reminded you of.

Maybe you would’ve figured it out too if you weren’t so distracted with watching Levi and Dante stare at each other. Your eyes dart back and forth between the grouchy cat sitting on your bed and your grouchy roommate sitting on his desk. Both were slightly crouched over with their heads tilted up in a show of dominance; they were engaged in what seemed to be a glaring contest, gunmetal irises unamused and mouths taut in a snarl as they protected their territory.

You sigh. You really, for the life of you, couldn’t figure out why Dante felt so familiar.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ii. second terrace: envy

Levi is not jealous. He’s not.

At least that’s what he tells himself as he sulks alone on his bed. His arms are crossed and his lips are in a pout, eyebrows knitted in distaste, occasionally glancing to your side of the room where you sat up on your bed. He’s sure whatever movie you chose to watch together is interesting and all, but right now all he could pay attention to was that stupid cat. Sitting on your stupid lap. Getting its fur stroked by your stupid hand. Getting all the love and affection his stupid self should be receiving.

It was him you should be cuddling, not Dante. Saturday nights were reserved for him and you, not you and a cat while he happened to be in the room. He’s been trying to make a move on you since high school and he can’t fucking believe he’s losing your attention to a cat. Sure, he’s always been too chicken to make a move and had to suffer seeing you get together with assholes— as per your type during your emo high school days— but this was a new low. He can’t wrap his head around the concept that he’s losing his longterm crush to a motherfucking cat.

When you coo at how adorable the fleabag was for what felt like the 50th time that night, Levi decides he’s had enough of the cuddle-hogging piece of shit.

Wordlessly, he crosses to your side of the room and lifts the cat from its perch, ignoring your protests as he sets it down on the floor and tells it to ‘scram, you little fuck.’ He uses a hand to dust your lap free of any microscopic cat particles Dante probably left behind before lying down his head down once he was satisfied. He grabs your hand to put it on his hair.

“Stroke.” He orders, eyes closing.

“What? No! You pushed off Dante.”

“He was in my spot.”

“You couldn’t have given up your lap pillow for one night?”

“One night?” He scoffs and turns to look at you. “You’ve been abandoning me for two weeks. That disgusting, tic-infested, rabies-carrying slob has no business sitting on your lap.”

“He’s not disgusting, you gave him a shower before you agreed to let me keep him. And I took him the vet to make sure he had all his shots. He’s clean, Levi.”

“Tch, good. Now throw him out and let him find someone else to freeload from.”

“Okay, what’s going on?” You guffaw. “You’ve been grumpier than usual. And why’re you being such an ass to Dante? He’s just a cat.”

“Don’t think he’s special in some way. I’m an ass to everyone.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re always extra mean to him?”

He doesn’t reply. His lips are downturned into a frown when he looks away with a click of his tongue, and you realize with a sigh you won’t be getting an answer from your cryptic roommate soon. Your fingers start mindlessly stroking his undercut when you get lost in your thoughts— a habit you developed through years of Levi using your lap as a pillow. He always complained the first few times you did it but you knew it calmed both him and you, and that it put both your minds at ease. Moreso Levi right now, apparently.

You’re keenly aware of how he seems to curl up into you the more you keep going. You watch as his shoulders slump down when you stroke the side of his face, and his eyebrows relax slightly. From your angle, you could even see the way his eyes close in content. Maybe even a tiny smile if you were being delusional.

Your lip twitches upward.

“Oh my god, Levi, are you jealous of a cat?”

“Shut up and play with my hair.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iii. third terrace: wrath

“You owe me a new cravat.”

You blink up at your roommate. “What?”

“You owe me a new cravat.” He repeats. He pulls from his pocket a white piece of fabric— barely recognizable— torn into shreds, releases it mid-air. It gently lands on your open palm.

“Wait, did Dante do this?” You ask, eyeing the slik in your hands.

“Unless you went feral in the middle of the fucking night and decided to cut up my clothes, yes.”

“Oh my god, Levi, I’m so sorry. I swear Dante will never—“

“You actually owe me three cravats,” he interjects. “The first two I overlooked since they weren’t that expensive but I draw the line here.” His lips are downturned into a frown, eyes poorly concealing his clear distaste. “This one’s my favorite and it was made from silk.”

You eye the fabric in your hands once more before nodding in understanding, setting down the once beautiful cravat before taking out your wallet. It was only fair that you paid him back; he was being more than generous with letting your cat stay and keeping it a secret, and now you wonder how many bad things Dante’s done that Levi’s overlooked or simply never brought up with you.

“Sure, I’m really sorry. How much do I owe you?”

Levi doesn’t say anything. Instead he pulls out his phone and types something on what you could only assume was google, most likely looking for the same brand of the cravat your cat had just torn into shreds. You weren’t entirely sure how much those could cost, but surely you could afford—

“What the fuck!” You screech, eyeing the page with very, very hefty price tags listed. Holy fucking hell where did he even get the money to buy something so expensive. Gulping, you nervously look up at your unimpressed roommate. You already knew he was taking it easy on you; his aura was the only thing intimidating, at least he wasn’t giving you the murder eyes. And even though he was a man of his word, you were thankful he hasn’t reported Dante.

Still, it didn’t change the fact that Levi looked pissed beyond belief.

“Uhm... can I pay you with a check that’ll definitely bounce?”

“You will pay me in cash.”

“Fuck, fine!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iv. fourth terrace: sloth

Levi silently works on his desk. His laptop’s open in fromt of him, numerous notes from classes and books from the library surrounding him. The gentle sounds of clicking and clacking echoe throughout the room as fingers typed at the keyboard, eyes concentrated and lips pulled taught as he focuses on his task. He’s on a roll. He’s almost done with this part of his research, nothing could snap him out of this, he just needs to—

“Levi, when do you think Dante will come back to me?”

He stops typing and grits his teeth.

This is how it’s been the entire night. Ten minutes of peace before you ask him some stupid questions that could’ve been answered with common sense.

“Fuck if I care.”

“Do you think it was something I did?”

He resumes typing. “Yes.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“No.”

“Even after all we’ve been through?”

“Still no.”

“I miss him,” you sigh. “I miss him so much.”

“Then you shouldn’t have left the door open.”

It’s been a week since Dante escaped the dorm and Levi doesn’t understand why you’re still so depressed about it. I mean, you only lost a cat that you loved and treasured and treated like family. Surely a week of moping around in your pajamas and eating nothing but chips and soda was catharsis enough.

He hears you shift in your burrito blanket, presumably to turn away from him so you can sulk into the wall next to your bed. Good. Now he can get back to working on—

“Levi do you think Dante-“

“Enough.” He grits, slamming his laptop shut.

“Where’re you going?” You ask, eyeing the way he hurriedly stuffs papers and books into his bag along with his laptop.

“Out.” He replies, grabbing his keys and his coat. “I can’t stand this shit anymore.”

Your head is burried in your blankets when he slams the door shut and all you could do was slump down because great. You lost Dante, and now you’ve royally pissed off Levi.

Great. Just fucking great.

Unlike your cat, however, your roommate comes back hours later, just before curfew. He doesn’t bother with a hello— he never does— and neither do you, opting to stay hidden underneath the sheets. Though suddenly, there’s a dip in the mattress followed by a pur next to your head.

Could it be?

“Dante?” You murmur, lifting your head from underneath your cocoon of fabric. Small black paws and silver eyes meet your gaze. “Dante!” Immediately sitting up, you pulled him to your lap, scratching his little head and cooing about how much you missed him as he purred and curled into to you.

Levi would never say it, but he missed seeing you smile at the little fleabag.

You turn to look at your roommate. “How’d you find him?”

“Asked around the campus. He wandered into another dorm building and probably thought it was ours.”

“Well yeah but... I thought you hated him?”

“I do.” He replies instantly.

“Then why’d you find him?”

“I hate him, not you.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

v. fifth terrace: avarice

“I fucking hate both of you,” Levi grumbles, staring at the dorm.

Towers of boxes lined his supposed to be clean dorm room. He had a hard time prying the door open since it was blocked, and he wasn’t even sure how the boxes weren’t blocking out the light from how high they were piled. Dante’s sat on a stack of box directly next to the door, purring and flicking his tail around. Levi squints his eyes and glares at the little shit.

“You especially.”

“Mrow?”

Levi’s day had been, with no irony or sarcasm at all, amazing. He got a good grade on his research paper; the guy in front of him at the cafe accidentally ordered an extra serving of (coincidentally, Levi’s favorite) tea and gave it to him for free; and he got full marks for the presentation he’s been worrying about for weeks. His class even got dismissed early so he had an extra hour for lunch. He knew you didn’t have classes, so in honor of his great day he thought he’d do something nice and take you out for lunch. His treat, of course.

But any trace of his good mood vanished when he went back to the dorms and got greeted to a room that looked like it came from an episode of Hoarders.

This is what he gets for trying to be nice.

“Levi! Is that you?” You called out.

“What the fuck happened?”

You laugh sheepishly— at least Levi thinks you do. He couldn’t see you beyond the hundred boxes that took up your shared room. He hears some rustling and the sound of things being moved around before finally your head pops out from behind a wall of brown, smiling at him apologetically before walking towards him (and tripping a few times).

“Remember when I said I’d order some toys for Dante as a surprise?”

Levi’s eye twitches. “Don’t tell me—”

“I accidentally ordered 10,000 instead of 10. Online shopping struggles, am I right?” You nervously chuckle at his pissed off face. Levi was not in the mood.

Your smile widens as you make twinkly gestures with your hands. “So uh... surprise?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vi. sixth terrace: gluttony

The clinic is still when you first entered.

The harsh smell of alcohol and sterile metal makes your nose grimace, and the coldness of the thermostat brings goosebumps to your arms. Behind the wall, somewhete in the waiting room, cats are hissing, dogs are barking, and you could even hear the sound of birds angrily chirping and rattling their cages.

Dante cowers in fear on the silver table, and your heart aches. His ears are down and his fur’s standing on its ends, but you couldn’t comfort him. Not right now, at least. The veterinarian still needed to do a few more checks.

You gulp, “how’s... how’s Dante looking, doc?”

“Not good,” she murmurs. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and she takes a deep sigh as she eyes the information on the chart. “It’ll take months before he can walk properly again, possibly more if we don’t do anything about it soon.”

“Don’t tell me... is he—-”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she sighs. “But your cat is heavily obese.”

The corners of your lips twitch down into a frown, and your palm is warm when you start to stroke Dante’s fur. He calms down a bit from your touch, less on edge but still guarded as he warily eyes the doctor’s gloved hands.

“But I don’t understand,” you reply. “I’ve been following the recommended diet you put him on, and I haven’t been feeding him anything other than the cat food and vitamins you recommended. How’s he still obese?”

“Well, we could look into other solutions, but for now I think we ought to look at whether or not Dante has an underlying health problem.”

Levi tunes out the chatter between you and the vet, bored eyes staring into nothing. He’s leaning against a wall and he’s watching the cat carrier. Your bag’s slung over his shoulders and your coat’s in his arms, and he was sure you didn’t even need him to be here for “moral support.”

He mentally scoffs. You probably just needed a chauffeur to drive you for free, and honestly, Levi would rather feel like a chauffeur than a coat rack.

His eyes make contact with Dante’s, and all the fear in the cat’s eyes is suddenly gone, replaced with a steely glare and bared teeth. A warning, one no one else notices but him.

Levi gives him a solitary nod, understanding what Dante wanted to say.

Don’t tell Y/N I’ve been sneaking to the neighbors.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vii. seventh terrace: desire

There’s something about the buzz of alcohol and nicotine that makes Levi confident—- the liquid courage in his veins and the smoke in his lungs clouding his judgement. Perhaps that’s where he finally gets the balls to cross the room, drunken eyes on your equally intoxicated ones, before he pulls you in for a kiss.

The kiss starts slow, with lips just interlocking and lightly testing the waters. But then he feels your tongue make its way inside his mouth and your fingers weave into his hair to tug him closer, and Levi loses the last threads of inhibition he has. His tongue massages yours and one of his arm wraps around your waist, the other comes down to grope and knead your ass. He feels you walk backwards and your hand pulls at his tie, dragging him with you. Suddenly he’s trapping you against a wall, lifting one of your legs up to wrap around his hips so he could grind his crotch into yours.

Levi doesn’t expect his first kiss with you to be like this; messy and full of tongue and spit, full of fingers clawing at clothes and small grunts escaping your lips. He was hoping it’d be more romantic, with warm cheeks and fingers softly intertwining, shy kisses exchanged through little smiles.

But he’s not about to complain—- he’s wanted to be with you for years, and god he loved having you like this. Loved having you all hot and desperate, trapped between his firm chest and the wall. His cock is hard in his pants, and he just about growls when he feels you start to undo his belt, the fly of his pants coming down as you got on your knees and stared up at him with innocent eyes as you pull out his aching boner. There’s a cheeky grin your face when you pump at his length, and your tongue peaks out of your mouth before—

“Levi, are you okay?”

His eyes snap open, and he’s greeted to the sight of your worried face directly above his.

“Fuck!” he yells, and his forehead slams into yours when he flinches away. “Sorry, sorry” he quickly ammends when you yelp in pain.

He’s covered in sweat, he notices. Chest heaving, heart beating a little too loud for his liking, and he silently pulls the blankets over his cum stained boxers when you sit beside him.

God, he was really hoping you wouldn’t notice the fact that he came in his pants like a high schooler. And it was before dream you even got to suck him off. How much more pathetic could he be.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“Yeah, m’fine, it’s just...” your eyes are distracted, staring off into space. Fingers trace his thighs, and you sigh. “You were having a nightmare,”

Levi blinks. “What?”

“You were having a nightmare,” you repeat. “Kept tossing and turning and groaning in your sleep. And you kept making these... funny faces,”

“...right,” he nods. Sure, a nightmare. A nightmare he never wanted to wake up from.

It takes about ten minutes to reassure you that yes, he was fine, don’t mind the way his cheeks are flushed, he was just... shaken up from his nightmare, is all. Then you’re back to bed, sleeping the night away, and twenty minutes later he’s on his way back to bed too; this time with a fresh pair of boxers and a content look on his face, all thanks to him finishing off his fantasies in the communal bathroom during his shower.

The door makes a quiet click when he shuts it behind him, and he freezes when he catches sight of Dante sat up on your bed, tail flicking behind him as he gives Levi a knowing look.

Levi squints his eyes, and he threateningly whispers, “you tell no one.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

epilogue

The half empty room brings a frown to your face, and all you could do was pout as you sealed up the last of the boxes.

“Why do you have to leave again?” you ask, and Levi turns around as he finishes folding the last of his clothes. He shrugs. “Cats aren’t allowed in the dorms.”

You owed him your entire college career, that much was sure. The RA’s found out about Dante, and Levi had taken the fall to spare you. He wasn’t required to move out since it was only his first strike, but he insisted on doing so so that Dante wouldn’t be alone, saying he already found an apartment nearby and he’ll never hear the end of it from you if he didn’t take Dante with him.

Bullshit. Levi had a soft spot for Dante, you knew that much. He wasn’t doing it for you, he was doing it for himself. Though normally you’d be overjoyed to know that Levi really did secretly like the cat he pretended to hate so much, this time, you were just pissed. You couldn’t believe a fucking cat was stealing away the guy you’ve been in love with since high school. Sure, you were too much of a coward to ask him out, but he was basically your boyfriend already—- the entire campus knew you inadvertently had dibs on each other.

“Yeah but... do you have to leave me alone?”

“I asked you to come with me, and you said no.” He points out. “I still don’t see why when we’ve been roommates since we were freshmen.”

“It’s different off-campus!”

“How?”

“Because it’s like... it’s like we’re moving in together, y’know?” you reply. “And it seemed wrong to move in with you when we’re not even dating.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs, handing you a spare key to what you could only assume was his new apartment. You glance between him and the key in your hands, and he rolls his eyes when he realizes that you still don’t get it.

“I know we’re doing this backwards since couples don’t typically move in before the first date,” he says before gesturing to Dante. “But we already have a son, and I know you’re his favorite parent. We can share custody until you can move in with me.”

You blink. “What?” Your brain stopped working when Levi referred to you as a couple, and you’re pretty sure your heart stopped beating too. At this point, anything he said went in one ear and out the other. He flicks your forehead.

“Hey— ow! What was that for?”

“You weren’t listening.”

“And you’re being a prick!” you grumble. “It hurts, y’know.”

He scoffs. “What do you want me to do? Kiss it better?” he scoffs.

Your mouth moves faster than your brain, “I’d rather you kiss me.”

Wait. What?

Before you could go back on your words, Levi shrugs. Warm palms gently grab your cheeks, pulling your face closer to his. Your eyes widen and you momentarily freeze, brain definitely not working anymore. He hesitates when you don’t make a move, but then you’re shyly leaning forward, and that was all the confirmation Levi needs.

“If you insist,” he whispers, and suddenly your words die on your tongue when his lips interlock with yours.

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 13

Sorry this chapter took so long homies 

Hannibal invites Will and y/n to dinner to discuss his proposition. 

Trigger warnings: self-degradation

Edit: fuck me I forgot the tag list sorry @deadman-inc-bikeshop @dovahdokren and @viviace 

The more you thought about Hannibal's proposition, the more it appealed to you. You simply needed to act on it before your inhibitions returned. 

Luckily, Hannibal gave you the opportunity to do just that. He invited both you and Will to dinner that night. 

The scene was just beautiful, just as you'd pictured the sommelier's house to look. Candles and fresh flowers decorated the table and soft orchestral music filled the air. Hannibal placed himself at the head of the table with you and Will on either side. Equidistant and within arm's reach.

Two objects of his affection, ready for the taking.

"Steak au Poivre with garlic butter prosciutto wrapped asparagus." Hannibal introduced the meal as if it were a fourth guest. "Enjoy, my loves."

"More importantly," Will looked at you, knowing you had the same question on your mind. "What are we drinking tonight?"

He reached across the table and grabbed a decanter full of dark red wine.

"An excellent question." He said, pouring a bit in each of your glasses. "We will be drinking Armore Di Valpolicella from 2013."

"That's a.." Will racked his brain. "Dry, full bodied red with a predominant tart cherry flavor."

He looked at you as if to ask if he was right, and you giggled. He'd been practicing his wine vocabulary, if not for you than for both you and Hannibal.

"Well done." You praised. "Except the part about the flavor."

Will furrowed his brow. "Is it not cherry?"

"Well," you picked up your glass by the stem. "It might be. But you have to, y'know, taste it first."

You began to swirl the liquid in the glass, letting the scents grace your nose. Will followed your lead.

After getting a good whiff, you brought the glass to your ear. "Hear the wine."

Will looked confused. "What?"

You swirled the glass close to your ear. "You can hear the ocean closest to the vineyard where this wine was made."

Will reluctantly positioned the glass near his ear, causing you to lose your air of seriousness and bust out laughing.

"Okay." Will rolled his eyes and placed the glass back on the table. "Very funny."

"I'm sorry." You said over laughs. "Let's just taste it."

Will smiled awkwardly and brought the glass to his lips. You did the same. This wine was lovely, dark and deep with a chocolatey finish.

Will turned to Hannibal with his empty glass in hand. "I'm not sure what that taste is, but I like it."

"Is it to your liking, [F/N]?" Hannibal asked.

You dropped your shoulders. "It's delicious."

"As you likely know, I've propositioned each of you separately." He said, filling each of your glasses. "I expect to end this night with one of you under each arm."

"For the record." You piped up. "I'm absolutely cool with that."

"Good girl." Hannibal praised. His gaze turned to Will. “Are you amenable?”

Will looked at Hannibal, then at you. You silently begged him to say yes. He was acutely aware that all eyes were on him and he had to make a choice. 

"I suppose I could be, given the right circumstances." Will leaned back in his chair. “You’ll just have to do a better job convincing me.” 

“And I intend to do just that.” Hannibal took his seat at the head of the table. “[F/N], would you come here, please?” 

You stood up from your seat, making sure to smooth the wrinkles from your dress. Hannibal produced a flat gift box secured with a ribbon from the inside of his coat and handed it to you. 

“Welcome home, darling.” He said with a warm smile. 

Your eyes widened. “Is this jewelry?” 

“Open it and find out.” He urged. 

You untied the ribbon and flipped the box open on its hinge. A pair of fancy little black gloves stared back at you. 

“They’re suede, with a cashmere lining.” Hannibal explained as you lifted them from the box. “Perfect for delicate, scarred skin.” 

When you realized what he meant, your mouth hung open in delight. “Are these for my-” 

“Yes, love.” He interrupted. He took your bandaged hand and began to gently unwrap it. “You can say goodbye to these nasty bandages.” 

You leaned over and pressed your lips against his cheek. "Thank you, Dr. Lecter."

"Sweet girl, call me Hannibal." He insisted, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "I'd like to get used to the sound of my name on your lips."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Thank you, Hannibal."

"That's a pretty cheap move, Dr. Lecter," Will taunted. "It's almost insulting that you think I can be lured in with gifts."

“My darling must learn to expect only the finest out of life.” Hannibal said, slinking a hand around your waist and smiling smugly at Will. “Not that you would be interested in that.” 

You pulled the gloves onto your hands and held them out to him. "They're really soft, Will."

Will humored you and took your hands in his. "They are very soft."

"Don't rub it in, [F/N]," Hannibal instructed. "He's already told us he's not interested."

You returned to your seat and tucked the gloves back into the box. You sunk your fork into the tender filet and cut off a piece. “Come on, Will. Don’t make me beg.” 

Will smothered a laugh. “That would be beneath you, [F/N].” 

You raised your eyebrows and pointed your fork in his direction. “You underestimate how pathetic I really am.” 

“Now we’ll have none of that, understood?” Hannibal scolded you. “You’re not pathetic.”

You shot Hannibal a disarming smile. “I was just joking.”

Hannibal’s serious expression didn’t falter. 

“I’m going to have to agree with him on this one.” Will cut in, seemingly without thinking. “Even if it’s a joke, those kinds of words can leave a lot of damage, especially when you say them enough.” 

Hannibal looked lovingly at Will. “That’s right.” 

Will went quiet for a second. He seemed to have a whole conversation with Hannibal through a series of glances. 

Will leaned over and placed his hand over yours. “That’s our lover you’re insulting, after all.”

#hannibal x will #hannibal x you x will #hannibal x reader x will #hannibal x you #hannibal x reader #hannigram x reader #hannigram x you #hannigram #will graham x you #will graham x reader #will graham #hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #the sommelier