This Is The Worst Timeline. (x)

This is the worst timeline. (x)

help me not get evicted

i haven’t had to do this in ages and never thought i would again but i’ve hit a massive slump at work that started with me getting COVID six weeks ago. i’ve had to exhaust all of my savings and am back to living paycheck-to-paycheck, and my most recent one wasn’t even enough to cover rent.

naturally, this could mean a lot of trouble for me as i’m now delinquent, which has never once been a problem in the year i’ve lived here. i’d rather avoid any dire measures so i could use some help. i’m short about $1000 but anything at all will help.

paypal venmo cashapp

this is really embarrassing because i’ve made great money up until now and i’m back to e-begging. please share if you’re unable to help. thank you.

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theultimatewaffle

4 months ago

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!

1 2 3 4 5 6

Chapter 7

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Arranged marriage AU

Warnings: themes of obsession and maybe possessiveness, implied thought of suicide once (1), toxic relationship/marriage, slight themes of misogynistic society (??? Probably???), implied guilt and regret, ooc Dion. Please tell me if I missed anything.

NSFW warnings: sexual fantasies (Dion: implied unprotected sex, unprotected frottage, oral (fem receiving), clit stimulation, mention of fingering), one (1) dry hump, teasing, mention/implied masturbation, offers of oral (male receiving) and handjob, slightly sexually frustrated Dion (he might die if u don’t kiss him eventually), mention/implications of non-con twice (2) (no he does not non-con you), DUB-CON. Please tell me if I missed anything.

NOTE: I gave the Reader’s brother a name because I dislike writing (family member’s name) unless it’s like the parents. Probably. Also going to tag this as smut just in case.

Main story is slightly different from the drabbles for reasons.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS/TOXIC ACTIONS AND/OR BEHAVIORS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACT WITH/REBLOG WITH FANDOM STUFF DNI AND PLEASE DO NOT SPAM LIKE MY POSTS.

= = =

Something throbs against your bottom.

Breath catching in your throat, your heartbeat speeds up. Your husband doesn’t make any attempt to move, still hovering above you. He’s so close that you could feel his chest against your back with each and every exhale. Despite his… bodily reaction, he doesn’t grind against you. Doesn’t nibble on your ear or slide his hands until they’re groping at your chest, lifting you enough to do so.

No, he just stays and his breath makes your ear tingle. You need to get out of this.

“H-hey… mind getting off? I need to change…” You wiggle a bit, aiming to escape his one-sided ‘embrace,’ if you could even call it that. Only to immediately stop once he hisses through his teeth, one hand flying to hold your hips still. You cease all actions and breathing becomes difficult.

All is silent.

The air becomes heavy and awkward. You dare not move. The risk of rubbing against him is high and you’d rather avoid giving him the wrong idea. Ah, but how should you go about this situation? You can’t exactly move and begging would elicit a less than desirable response from him - he likes seeing you cry, so begging might give him the same thrill.

Seconds feel like minutes and minutes like hours. Dion doesn’t move against you nor away from you. However, his fingers dig into your hip, and you hold back the whimper from the sharp pain caused by his grasp. You’re stuck and don’t know how to escape.

…but he is your husband. You don’t want to do that again, to be used as a fleshlight as he enjoys himself while you shake in his arms from the pain. It was humiliating. Awful.

But your mother would tell you to go along with it. Lant would expect it. Your sister would comfort you, saying that it’s only natural, normal for married couples to engage in sexual intercourse. As for your father… he was always too awkward to discuss the subject.

Besides, you already told him that you refuse to go through it again. That he could jack off and you would shove his sperm into your cunt so it could reach your fertile womb.

You also don’t want to give birth to his child. However, you had no say so in that area - a child should be the result of any marriage. You scowl. While things were different in your old, modern world, things were vastly different here. A child was expected, needed in most cases.

And this was one of them.

His cock throbs again.

… you could offer to jerk him off again. Maybe use your mouth if you’re feeling daring, suck on and twirl your tongue around the tip as your hands work the shaft. You’ll even swallow if it means he’ll stay far, far away from your cunt. It doesn’t matter if his cum is bitter and sour.

When he throbs against you for the third time, you bring up your offer, your voice faltering with each word. When he takes a sharp breath, you know that you signed your death certificate. If accepted, you won’t be able to turn back.

Wasn’t Dion Agriche supposed to be immune to sexual desires? From what you saw from spoilers, he was dense when it came to romance, so why was he acting this way? …then again, nothing about this was romantic.

“I don’t need it.” was his response. In spite of that, he doesn’t move, voice husky and dripping with lust. You despise yourself for the shiver running down your body while your ear tingles as his breath hits it. It seems that you’re also weak to physical pleasure regardless of your wariness and fear.

If only your body was more receptive last night.

“Then why are you still on me? Holding my hip no less.” If your head wasn’t so fuzzy with sleep, if today had gone in a less confusing direction, would you still act the same? Or would you stay quiet as a mouse, waiting for Dion to take you while your stomach churns and you swallow bile down?

“To stop you from squirming,” he deadpans like his fingers weren’t digging into your poor hip.

“And your hand around my throat?”

“To see your reaction.”

This isn’t going anywhere. You’re just running in circles as the man denies himself and keeps you in purgatory. Can’t somebody knock on the door, forcing him to get up and leave?

You think you should be more scared. You are, but it melts into something worse than annoyance. Why can’t he let you sleep? Leave you alone and pretend you don’t exist.

“You didn’t tell me why you’re still on top of me,” pointing out as you lift your shoulder the slightest bit, silently telling him to get out of your personal space. After a pause he lets go of your neck, hoisting himself up a bit. It’s not much, but at least he isn’t as close.

He throbs against you a fourth time.

Please, please for the love of everything that is holy, let him calm down. No sane man would get horny after saying such awful things.

You forgot he wasn’t sane.

“Your reactions are interesting.”

“... Well, you saw them - that should be enough, no?” You’re debating if you should headbut him. Tomorrow, you’re going to question your own sanity, wondering what gave you the bravery of becoming so bold. Chucking yourself into the nearest river won’t be enough.

Time stops when your husband’s thumb starts rubbing circles into your hip. It’s gentle but suggestive all the same. No, no, no - you don’t want to fuck him again. You don’t want to bare yourself to him, to allow his fingers to rub at your clit as he thrusts in and out of your most sensitive area. You don’t want him to lick your twitching clit or tug his hair as he eats you out again.

It was too much, too painful.

You already told him as such.

“D-D-Dion.” You hate how your voice shakes, choking on his name. You hate how loud your gulp is. You hate how you’re going to offer your mouth and hands to him again. You hate the fact that you’re going to sit back and act how your mother and sister told you to.

He hums, hand moving from your hip to your back, tracing your spine again. You fail in holding back the small gasp that slips through. How is it possible for him to get harder just from that!?

Your toes curl as he gives a small hump, only to harshly stiffen. Did he not mean to do that?

“A-as long as we don’t… do it, then I’ll be happy to help you.” His hips struggle to stay still at your words, your husband clearly getting excited. He shouldn’t be like this. He should have left you alone and obsess over Roxana.

But your gut is telling you that you switched places with her. That can’t be true though - he’s just playing with you for now. Raising your hopes up that he’ll be a ‘decent’ husband only to shatter the illusion once he gets tired of you. Honestly, after giving it some thought, you’re not sure which one is worse.

“You have a lot of trouble with saying the word ‘sex’. It’s cute.” Dion muses, deciding to break his promise of not touching you further by ghosting his lips along the back of your neck, stopping between your shoulder blades.

“M-mmh… You promised not to touch,” you shakily breath out, ignoring how he called you ‘cute.’ Your toes curl again, chest heaving a bit as you force your breathing to stay steady. Fingers digging into the sheets, your head starts to feel dizzy - he’s being much more intimate, choosing to be teasing and lover-like.

How long has it been since you tingle down there? You hate it, hate how his touches are starting to set the mood. It’s despicable.

“You also said you didn’t come here for this.”

“People are allowed to change their minds.” Your husband doesn’t go further than this. You wonder what his expression is. What he’s thinking while scared of the reality of everything. Should you be direct with your refusal? Would he even care? Bother to listen?

Breathing in, you decide to test your luck.

“But I haven’t.” Again, he stays practically glued to you. “So, please.” Unable to finish, you only shut your eyes tight, praying to whatever God that would listen. After what seems like hours he completely removes himself from you. Relief fills you as you’re freed, air easier to take in.

It slightly irks you when he doesn’t apologize. The moment you wake up tomorrow, dawn breaking and memories fresh, you might consider killing yourself. To avoid any possible harsh and inhuman punishment Dion may give you for rejecting him. But tonight, right now as your head is fuzzy and your body falling victim to sleep, you couldn’t care less.

You’re just happy and grateful he listened.

Now only your body would do the same.

“You should change and sleep.” No emotion in his voice. Remorse, guilt, annoyance, hatred - nonexistent. You are a bit worried about it but you can only close your eyes. Thinking is becoming hard.

How can you talk to him so freely? Minutes ago you were scared that the man would rape you. Yet now you’re back to being fine? Madness really is contagious.

“I don’t think I can… that’s not an invitation.” Making your thoughts and expectations clear, you think you can faintly hear the scolding of your mother. You’ll fret over tonight later.

The world ceases to exist around you, falling into the abyss before you could hear him sigh.

- - -

He was hoping you would change your mind. The most painful part was over with - as long as he took his time with you, it shouldn’t hurt as much.

He would have played with your clit until you were whining for his fingers. To flick the nub back and forth with his tongue until you complain, saying he was being unfair. To rub the tip of his cock against both your entrance and clit until your hips were bucking against him, trying to slip him in.

But dreams don't always come true.

Dion accepted as such, realizing that it was far too early to have sex again anytime soon. He could live without it. For a while. Hopefully the same goes for you, otherwise…

Well, his left arm would suffer a lot.

… this isn’t like him. It’s strange and confuses him. You confuse him. But the questions could be saved for later, when his own eyes aren’t becoming heavy with sleep deprivation, the eye bags getting worse.

He looks at your sleeping figure, halfway undone dress and corset still on. He considers stripping and changing you into the silk nightgown that he threw onto your back earlier. But seeing how the interaction from earlier went, he decides against it.

He should call for Hana.

Scarlet eyes stare hard at you. You look so comfortable, so peaceful - he wants to ruin it. Yet, at the same time, he wants to leave you be, to have a moment of peace in this hell. Your husband settles for the latter. Consideration sometimes overwrites sadistic pleasures.

… something really is wrong with him. He wasn’t raised with consideration in mind yet here he is.

Walking to the closet, opening the doors and picking nightclothes at random, Dion wonders how bad you’ll freak out tomorrow. If you’ll cry and beg for forgiveness once you’re able to talk and think. Or if you’ll play pretend and give him a nervous smile once the shock wears off.

Maybe when he closes his eyes and slips into the dreamworld, he’ll be blessed with a dream of where you’ll accept him as is, faults and all. But as Dion slips his shirt on, he knows it’s next to impossible.

For tomorrow, when you wake up to his sleeping face, you’ll find an isolated corner to hide in. Tonight will only be looked back on with regret filling your mind.

That’s how it always starts.

- - -

“Is it too early to write to sister?” a boyish voice asks. Your father looks up from his paperwork, heavy bags under his eyes. Standing in front of his desk in his office stands your brother - (e/c) eyes filled with impatience and worry. His hands are behind his back, nails digging into skin.

The twelve-year-old boy has to physically stop himself from grabbing your father by the shoulders and shake him, demanding answers. Out of every man to marry you to, every family to give you to… why did he choose the worst of the worst?

Weren’t there any better options?

Your father goes back to his paperwork, pen gliding across the sheets. “It’s not, but be mindful of your words. No need to give your sister more stress. God knows she’s already tipping on the verge of insanity.”

He doesn’t see the point in lying. Everyone with a brain knows he basically sent you to your early grave - it was only a matter of time until the Agriche family drives you crazy. And that’s putting it lightly.

His reputation as a man and father has been ruined beyond belief. In spite of that, many still pitied him, rumors going around that he was forced to give you away. Others say that he wanted a bit of the power your new in-laws would lend him after the marriage. However, no-one would dare to ask him directly.

“... am I supposed to wish her luck on her new happy marriage? Or should I tell her how lucky she is to get sold into such a wealthy and warm family?”

Slam!

“Zachary (Last name)! Enough. This is a political matter; you won’t understand until you get older.” Your father slammed his palms against the surface of the desk, papers flying and pen dropping to the floor. It rolls under the desk.

“Understand…? What is there to understand? Anyone with a brain cell knows that she won’t last long. Maybe a month if she’s lucky.” Zachary argues back, stomping towards the desk. A staring contest breaks out between the two males - your father is the first to look away.

Running a hand through his greying hair, he heavily breathes out. “Everything will… work out.”

“Work out? What do you mean by that? This isn’t some experiment -”

“Listen,” your father leaves his position to walk towards your brother, grabbing his shoulders. “Your sister is strong. There is no need to worry.”

“She’s as strong as a single match.”

“That’s just rude. But yes, she won’t go crazy… immediately.”

“You just said she’s tipping on the verge of insanity.”

“It’s a figure of speech.”

The argument goes nowhere, both males refusing to back down. Your brother was always hard headed - this wasn’t the first argument that has broken out between father and son, nor will it be the last. However, the context of this one is grave. It involves you.

“Zac,” your father affectionately refers to him by his nickname, “it’s good that you’re worried about your sister. I’m worried too; but now is not the time to think the worst. Right now, you should offer her support… cheer her up.”

What a lousy way of pushing aside the pressing issue.

Zac doesn’t say anything. In the end, he sighs before nodding his head. “Alright. I understand, father.”

Your father accepts his answer. “Good. Now, like I said, do be mindful of what you write. Right now is a sensitive time.”

‘Which means that the Agriche family is going to read through the letter first before giving it to her,’ Zac thinks. Alright, fine. That’s fine.

Not like he practiced writing sugary words with hidden meanings the moment he heard of your engagement. With a teacher he hates but still followed regardless. The results of his teaching better yield positive results. For everyone’s safety - especially your brother’s.

“I’ll tell her how you cried for two hours straight.”

“...Zachary.”

so if youre looking for art, dont give up on us. commission filipino artists and/or boost commission posts! 1 USD is literally enough to buy a meal here, it really helps. here is a link to a thread of filipino artists posting their commission rates. and here is another thread of filipino commission rates. tips and donations outside of comms to these artists help even more.

edit: fixed links

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theultimatewaffle

4 years ago

How are you doing?

Im good,but dont have much motivation to write so im just doing random drafts,but still working on them

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theultimatewaffle

3 years ago

Help a Jewish Community Buy Back Its Own Damn Synagogue!

Firsty, thank you for reading this, and I hope you’ll get through it and give us the honor of a donation, firstly, and a reblog, secondly. Maybe even a note to any friends you have outside of tumblr!

If you don’t care about the history, skip to the bold at the end!

This is Temple Emanu-El, in Helena, Montana. At the time it was built, it was the only synagogue between Minneapolis, Minnesota, and Portland, Oregon. It was built with the hard work of the Jewish community that had come west to seek their fortune and stability, having heard that people were more willing to do business with Jews in the West, a place where social strictures were slightly relaxed. This turned out to be true, and the community thrived.

This picture resolves small on tumblr, but you can see the love and care they put into it. It’s modeled after the great synagogues of Europe, with heavy stonework, onion domes, and intricate stained glass. The president of the congregation cried at its opening and dedication.

As the years went on, the West became more settled, and for a series of socio-political reasons of which my History of the American West major ass is well aware but are ultimately unimportant to the issue at hand, Jewish communities left much of the interior west for metropolitan areas. By the 1930s, the Jewish community was so small that they could not justify the large and lavish worship center.

They sold it to the city for one dollar.

The promise made to them was that it would be used for the public good. The state readied the former temple for its new function as offices for Social and Rehabilitation Services, sandblasting of the Hebrew inscription, “Gate to the Eternal,” above the entry and removing the star-studded, painted domes.. The copper was stripped from the building and likely reused to re-clad the State Capitol’s dome at about the same time.

That lasted all of 40 years, when the State of Montana decided to let it sit idle and decay, so they could justify the sale of the building, sold for a pittance to the public good, to the Helena Catholic Diocese for $83,000 (this is an opinion of mine, though it is not an uneducated one, and I do firmly believe it. I do not, however, represent that they allowed it to fall into disrepair to justify the sale as objective fact.)

This is the building now

In a twist of fate, the diocese can no longer afford to maintain the building. They are selling it, and the Jewish community of Helena is trying to buy it.

The Montana Jewish Project is being far far far nicer and more politic about this than I would be, but in fairness, they actually how to get Nice Goyim to donate, and I don’t, so. The Diocese is spinning this as selling the building for much less than its worth, which may be true, but if you bought it for $83,000, that would be $280,000 now.

They are selling it for $925,000. And we have to have 70% of the purchase price by February 28th. Easy terms, right?

Here’s where you come in! If the idea of Montana’s Jews getting back the building that was sold to the Diocese in spite of the original agreement appeals to you, you can and should donate to their capital campaign. They even have an option for your donation where if we don’t get Emanu-El back, your money will be returned to you instead of being used for other MJP protects and repairs.

This place won’t just be used for the Jewish community, though I think that would be enough. They want it to be used as a museum and center for the community as well, to teach about Jewish life in Montana, with Jewish cooking classes, and social programs, and teaching non-Jews about Jewish customs and culture.

I just want to get the cross off the top.

Donate here

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