#And it should be a short one in that I'm more than halfway done already

[tswwwit]

Me last night: Alright! Tonight I'm going to be PRODUCTIVE

Also me: Writes 1.4k words on a totally new WIP instead of any of my ongoing projects

[dirtyvulture]

Natasha Romanoff* x Fem!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Requested by @amanda13parker: GP!Nat who has blanket consent from fem!R to use her whenever and Nat takes full advantage of it. Cooking? Not anymore she's not. Bent over the counter and stuffed. Watching a movie? Nope. Riding Nat and bouncing on her ... thing... Sleeping? Woke up to being bred. And R is loving every second of it while being praised and a bit degraded, being called by Nat her good girl and her breeding slut since she enjoys it so much.

AN: Enjoy, friend! And everyone should go check out your artwork. 👀 This is basically just porn with no plot, so keep scrolling if you're looking for something with substance. 😂

*Nat has a penis.

You hear the front door slam open and Natasha trudge inside, dropping her heavy work bag to the floor.

"I'm in the kitchen!" you call out, although you know she can guess where you are based on the smell of your cooking. You're almost done now, the stew aromatic and bubbling in the pot, and you're taking the freshly baked bread out of the oven when Natasha walks in.

Just as you set the hot pan on the counter, you feel Natasha's arms coil around your waist, her front pressing against your back, her weight heavy and warm against you.

"That smells so good, baby," she whispers into your ear and your heart rate quickens when you feel her bulge press against your butt.

"Are you hungry?" you ask.

"For you," she responds, and before you can protest, Natasha has you turned around, facing the counter. Your shorts are on the floor as she wrestles out of her pants, her strong hands lifting your hips up to angle yourself back.

"Oh Nat," you moan as her thick cock slides through your center. You feel yourself dripping onto her in record time and you're glad she can't see how red you are in the face at how quickly she turns you on. Her fingers part your folds and rub your clit roughly, causing you to keen louder and thrust back, the emptiness in your core begging to be filled by her.

Natasha throbs at the noises you make, her breathing picking up as she prepares you for her. She slaps her cock against your butt before sliding in, grunting as you tighten and convulse around her.

"Fuck babe, your'e so big," you pant, pushing back to take her entire length. Natasha slams her hips forward, almost sending you crashing into the counter, setting a hard and face pace you can barely keep up with.

Good thing the bread is already out of the oven, because you have no chance of going anywhere now.

Natasha's grip on your waist tightens to keep you in place as she slams into you over and over, the tip of her cock brushing the sensitive spot inside of you with every thrust. You're almost standing on your tiptoes as you try to angle yourself to fit her better, moaning in ecstasy at the thought of her using you like a personal Fleshlight.

"Right there, Nat. Right there. Please don't stop," you beg, holding onto the edge of the counter so tightly if it weren't made of granite a piece would have snapped off.

"Look at you taking me so well. My good girl," Natasha grunts, losing some of her rhythm as she nears her release. The slick noises of sex fill the kitchen, and with one final thrust you come undone, spilling all over her cock.

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

Movie nights don't always go as planned for the two of you either. More than half the time they end up with both of you on top of each other, Natasha's cock somehow finding its way inside of you every time. But you don't mind. You love being bred by your girlfriend and even if your favorite movie of all time was playing, you'd gladly let yourself be taken any way Natasha wants.

And if being dragged onto Natasha's lap halfway through a movie and made to ride her cock until your legs were shaking and you were seeing stars wasn't enough, Natasha has the audacity to wake you up in the middle of the night, already with her cock between your legs, hard and ready for another round.

Both of you are lying on your sides, and you lift your leg higher to give her easier access to sink into you to the hilt. Your brain is a scrambled mess from being woken up so suddenly and fucked so frequently, but you don't mind at all. You love being used by Natasha and you love making her feel good.

The bed rocks as Natasha thrusts into you, holding onto your leg to keep them separated.

"You like being woken up just to be bred like the slut you are?" she grunts into your ear.

"Yes, yes!" you respond, reaching back to tangle your hand in her hair, dragging her head down into the crook of your neck.

"Who's slut are you?" Natasha asks, her thrusts quickening. She will never get over how well you take her, like your pussy was meant for her cock and her cock only.

"Yours!" you pant, slick running down the inside of your thigh. You aren't even sure if you've cum already, but Natasha gives no signs of slowing down as she plows into you. She gropes onto your breasts, biting bruises onto your neck and shoulders, handling you roughly as she searches for her release. And you're happy to lie there and be used, your body in a state of euphoria as Natasha finally cums into you, the hot pulses of her seed triggering yet another orgasm from you, and you go limp in her arms.

"That's my good girl," Natasha murmurs into your sweaty neck. "You'll look so beautiful carrying my child."

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

AN: Please like, comment, and reblog! Follow for more content. 🥰

[mismatched-sockss]

Kiss it better

» Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!BAU!Reader �� Wordcount: 2,4k » Warnings: hurt/comfort, established relationship, non-sexual nudeness and touching (except for maybe a short allusion but emily turns reader down), reader has female anatomy (breasts are mentioned), mentions of unsub beating up reader and the resulting injuries, reader takes unspecified pain medication, pet names (honey, my love, baby) » A/N: no detailed body description --- pls take a look here for more info about my reader descriptions in general

⚶ masterlist ⚶

You tried to muffle the pained groan when you leaned into the shower to turn the water on, so Emily wouldn't hear. You didn't want her to worry her again. Still, not even five seconds later she slithered into the bathroom, almost slipping on the floor with her socked feet as she ran to the door.

"What are you doing?", she asked warily, her brows furrowed as she watched you like a hawk.

"Taking a shower?" You slowly turned to her and simultaneously started to unbutton your shirt. Your knuckles ached slightly from the movement, but the pain was not bad enough that you would have to stop.

"Yes, I can see that. Why are you doing it alone?"

"Because I'm a grown woman and can tak- ow!" Pain shot through your whole upper body when you shrugged the shirt off and moved your arm wrong. You tried to breathe through the pain and shot Emily a thankful smile when she helped you to fully remove your shirt.

She gasped when she saw the full extent of your injuries when she turned back to you after she threw your shirt into the laundry basket. She had been busy dealing with the Unsub and the local police earlier when the EMTs checked you, so she only knew what happend from what you told the team. This was the first time she saw the result of what the man had done to you.

Hotch had sent you to interview a potential witness, but when you knocked on the door the guy freaked when he saw your credentials. You fought with him but he got a couple of good kicks in once he had you on the floor.

Luckily you only had a couple of small wounds were the skin on your knuckles had split from the punches you were able to land, a cracked rib or two and a slight concussion. The big bruise that covered your right side looked really bad; it reached over half your stomach and your ribs up to your shoulder blade, shining in an angry mixture of different shades of red and purple.

As long as you moved with caution the pain was manageable so far and the bruises looked a lot worse than your injuries actually were. You could only imagine how bad it must look to Emily right now.

"Oh honey", she breathed out as she stepped closer. She reached out for you, her fingertips just barely touching the skin of your shoulder as she traced them along the bruise. Even though the bathroom had gotten warmer as it slowly filled with the steam from the hot water, her touch send a shiver down your spine and goosebumps started rising on your skin. "I'm so sorry. I should have gone with you."

You smiled at her as you took her hand between yours. "It's not your fault, okay?" You squeezed her hand and started to draw soothing circles on her skin with your thumb. "We had no way of knowing that Keller was the Unsub, when I left to interview him. And I was the one who insisted I would be fine on my own. Also, you already were halfway to the M.E.s office by then, so you wouldn't have been there either way."

"Still. Reid could have gone to talk to the M.E. alone. Then I could have gone with you." Emily raised her other hand to your cheek and softly stroked her thumb over your cheekbone. "I don't like seeing you hurt."

"I know, baby. But I'm okay." You crooked your head to the side as you leaned into her palm and rolled your eyes as you corrected yourself, because physically you were far from okay. "Okay, more like I'll live."

"You better...", she pouted.

You laughed and after she joined in, a sign that the tension was slowly leaving her, you leaned in to close the space between you both and kissed her.

Emily smiled when you parted and nodded her head to the running shower. "Let's get you cleaned up." She helped you to take off the rest of your clothes and then took off her own so she could join you in the shower. She insisted to do all the work and ordered you to "just stand there and look pretty."

The both of your stepped inside the shower stall and a deep sigh left your lips when the warm water hit your skin, immediately relaxing your tense muscles. The water pressure was light enough that it didn't hurt when it landed on your skin.

Emily reached behind you to grab one of the bottles and signaled you to turn around and face away from her, before she flipped the lid and squeezed some of the flowery smelling stuff into her hand. You closed your eyes when she started to shampoo your hair, her fingers gently massaging your head. She giggled when you hummed. “Feels good?”, she asked. You just hummed again and let your head fall back. When she was done with the shampoo, she unhooked the shower head and rinsed your hair out, then she worked some of the conditioner in as well. Every step - shampoo, rinse, conditioner, rinse - she softly massaged your scalp.

She proceeded to lather her hands up with shower gel. While she was doing so she planted a small kiss onto your right shoulder, right above the edge of your bruise. Emily's hands glided over your skin, washing your arms and your back, and she made sure to move over your injuries as softly as she could so she wouldn't hurt you.

By the time she made you turn back around, her touch had done much more to you than just washing your body. With a new portion of shower gel she started on your collar bones and worked her way down, over your breasts and stomach.

Your breathing quickened and you put your left hand on her waist to pull her closer. You tried to kiss her, but Emily turned her face away and chuckled. “Nope.”

“Mean”, you said and pouted. She kissed your nose before she bend down to wash your legs.

"I'm not being mean, but you are hurt. You'll have to wait until you're better, my love." She looked up at you and the sight alone - Emily on her knees in front of you and the way she was looking into your eyes, paired with her hands on your thighs - almost drove you insane. Like you said. Mean.

You groaned and rolled your eyes playfully. "Why do you have to be so responsible?"

"Because I love you and because I'm your boss."

"Just because you've been in the BAU longer than me, doesn't make you my boss”, you laughed.

Emily shrugged, a wide smile on her lips. "Tomato, tomahto. It's pretty much the same thing."

After the both of you were done in the bathroom - freshly showered, bodies lotioned and dressed in comfortable clothes - Emily gave you some pain killers and sat you down on the couch so she could apply new bandages on your hand.

“It's really not that bad”, you said. She held your right hand in both of hers, examining your knuckles - split skin accompanied with light red bruises that were already turning purple.

She shook her head. “It's bad enough. Just let me do this, please?” Emily didn't wait for your answer, didn't even look up at you, before she dabbed some disinfectant on your knuckles; then she wrapped the new bandage around your hand.

“Okay”, you breathed out, giving in. You could tell she still blamed herself that you got hurt, heard it in the way her voice had cracked just now. If dressing your wounds and tending to your every needs would help that she felt better about it, you'd let her.

You didn't blame her. Or even Hotch. The only person at fault was Keller. But you knew, that if the roles were reversed and Emily would have gotten injured in the field while you weren't around, you would blame yourself as well. Probably even if you would have been around.

So you let her do her thing. You let her fix you something to eat, let her wrap you up in a cozy blanket and let her brush your hair. You would lie if you would say, that you didn't like it.

It was still early enough in the evening that you had time to cuddle up on the couch with each other and watch TV while sharing a tub of ice cream. Emily had you sitting between her legs, your back to her chest, so she could hold you without you having to lie on your side. One of her hands had found its way back into your hair, her fingers playing with your hair and untangling the knots that were back in your hair after she had brushed it earlier.

You had stopped paying attention to the TV a long time ago, fully focusing and enjoying her touch. From time to time you felt her planting a quick kiss here and there - the side of your head, your neck, your shoulder.

Slowly but surely it lulled you to sleep, you eyelids getting heavier by the minute. You adjusted your position, turning your head to the side to lean your forehead against her neck. Just when you were about to drift off, your hand slit off Emily's thigh and it collided with the empty ice cream container next to you. You jumped, not because it hurt your hand but because it had startled you in your half conscious state. Immediately after you doubled over in pain; which you regretted the second you did it as it only made it worse.

“Woah, hey, hey.” Emily grabbed your shoulders to hold you steady.

Tears shot into your eyes and you whimpered. It felt like your whole right side was on fire. Now with the sudden movement and since you had rested for a while, your more than sore muscles ached even more than they had before.

A sob fought its way out of your throat and before you knew it, you were full on crying. The crying didn't make it better: your head started to pound again, your side got worse as your body shook with every sob and when you started to hyperventilate your ribs violently protested against having to hold your lungs in.

Emily held you against her, making sure to not hurt you any further of course, and brushed the hair from your forehead. She stroked your hair as she was trying to calm you and she whispered “Shhh, it's okay... It's okay. Just breath.” into your ear over and over again. It hurt her, that she couldn't do anything to help you, to ease your pain. To take the pain away.

It took a while for you to calm down, until your breath evened out and your sobs stopped, only soft whimpers leaving your lips now. Emily asked you if she could get you anything and when you asked for painkillers, she sighed and kissed the side of your head. “It's too early to take another dose. I'm sorry, baby. We-”

“I don't care”, you cried. “Please...”

For a short moment she fought with herself. She wanted to help you, but you only had taken the last pill about two hours ago; the prescription said to wait at least four hours between doses. But with one look into your eyes, she dismissed all caution and nodded. If it only had been 30 minutes, it would have been a different kind of story. And not keeping to the advised time frame one time, shouldn't hurt.

“Okay”, Emily breathed out and carefully got up to get the medication and a glass of water. When she came back, she took a seat next to you and placed the pill in your hand. You took it and after drinking some of the water you gave her the glass back. “Thank you.”

“Of course”, she said and placed the glass down. “Why don't we get you into bed, huh?”

You just nodded. All you wanted to do right now was sleep. You were so tired. From the day, from the crying, from the pain.

“Do you want to go now, or do you want to wait a moment for the medication to work?”, she asked and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. God, you hoped the pain killers would work their magic quickly.

“Now please”, you said in a low voice.

Emily took your hand and helped you stand up, walking you slowly over to your shared bedroom. You stopped at your side of the bed, waited for her to pull back the blanket and then carefully laid down with her help.

“I'll be right back”, she told you, once you were all set. While she was gone, you closed your eyes and hoped, that your pain would stop soon. It had dulled a bit by now and lying down had helped your body relax. Right now, your headache was hurting the most in your body. Luckily it had stopped pounding in the rhythm of your heartbeat, but there was still a constant, sharp pain that felt like your head was about to split open.

You laid your wrist over your eyes - the bandage felt both soft and rough on your skin – and you kept it there, not moving it even when a soft clink on your nightstand indicated Emily's return; presumably with a fresh glass of water. You could hear her walking around the room and shutting off the big room light before she climbed into bed.

She softly touched your wrist and moved it away from your face so she could hold your hand in both of hers in between your bodies. “Are you feeling better yet?”

You turned your head to look at her, watching her pull your hand closer to her face and planting the softest kisses on your bandaged knuckles, one by one. You smiled at her. “A bit, meds are slowly kicking in, I think.”

“Good”, Emily said as she smiled back at you from behind your hand. “I'm glad. Try to get some sleep.” She sat up slightly and supported her weight on her elbow so she could lean down. First, she kissed your lips, then she planted a kiss on your cheek and one on your eyebrow.

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

[moirindeclermont]

Happy Sunday to everyone and thank to the new people who followed me since last night. I hope you'll stay for the long run.

Today is Day 6 of my Polín Kinktober and today the prompts are Voice Kink and Punishment. Enjoy!

Pen was being a tease that night.

Constantly touching him one moment, then dancing with someone else, but when he saw some Lord he didn't know kissing her hand and looking at her like she was a meal, he was done for the evening.

He took him a couple of steps to meet her halfway, she was still talking with him, and he interjected the conversation.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt, I must take my wife back to our home," he said, his voice clear he was not sorry at all.

Pen was clearly teasing him because if she was really interested in what Lord Who Knows had to say, she would it made clear to him. Instead, she went with him, apparently dutiful. Her light smirk invisible to anyone but him. Little Miss wanted to play it seemed. Well, two could play that game. They went on the carriage and then he was kissing her, touching her but never enough, only over the layers and without intentions of escalating their intimacy. Colin saw the moment Pen recognized his game.

They come back home and went straight to their bedroom. He was the one preparing her to bed these days, and he punished her by removing each piece of clothes the most efficient way possible, while still teasing her throughout.

He then undress himself and put s pijama on, something he rarely bother but he had a point to make.

He took a book that someone would define as scandalous and went straight to bed, she on the other side, waiting for him.

"I thought I could read you some pages from my book," he said, his voice going deeper, just the way she loved.

She nodded. Usually they did this: Colin started to read and they re-enact whatever he wrote about. They also discovered his voice was surprisingly effective in arousing her. He had planned a perfect revenge.

He started reading, his voice going down and almost a whisper. The entry was about a woman making love with his lover and it was very detailed.

Pen was about to touch herself when he blocked her wrist. "No, wife. Seeing you enjoying teasing me at social events, I should enjoy teasing you here. You can't touch me or yourself until I finished reading."

She looked like she wanted to discuss him, so he tilted her chin. "Understood?"

She nodded. "If you are going to be a good girl and take your punishment well, I'll may be persuaded to give what you're seeking, Pen," he added then, knowing how the competitiveness from his family was also hers nowadays.

He sat back and restarted his reading, one eye keeping close on her. It was just short of five pages, but he could see her struggling. His voice was driving her mad, and he could see her trying to stay still, letting his voice washing over her.

Her nipples were hard under the night gown and he was getting she was wet as well. He was growing hard too, hoping she would obey him because he really wanted to sink into her.

Pen did moan softy when he read about how the main character was taking it so well from her love interest. She was clearly imagining herself and him and he dropped his voice even more, reading the male character line: "Yes, my love. You take me so well. This is all for you".

He whispered the line directly into her ear, making her shiver. He put away the book, more interested in playing with her instead.

"Are you wet, wife?" She nodded, locking eyes with him. She was pleading him to do something, anything. Colin smirked.

"Were you a little tease before?" She tried to say no, but looked at him as he was removing his top layer and she instead nodded again.

"We're you hoping I'd give it t you at the ball?" He asked.

They already sneaked in more than one occasion into a niche or a garden at a social event. She looked at him again before nodding.

"You know you can ask, right? Instead, you were trying to drive me mad." He removed also the bottom, his hard member causing Pen to licking her lips.

"Answer me, Pen," he said, making her moan louder this time.

"Yes. Yes, Colin. I was teasing you. I thought of asking but it was more fun teasing..." She said with a whisper, and kissed her.

"Very good love. Was it so difficult to say?"

She whimpered, trying to get closer.

"Now, undress yourself. You took the first part of your punishment well enough. Now, for the second part. I'll take you from behind, I don't think your core needs more preparation... I can tel how soaked you are. And then, if you didn't come, I'm going to flip you and make love. You'll come then." By the last sentence his vice was barely spoken and stille shivered.

She undressed herself and turned around.

He caressed her back with his hands, before squeezing lightly her bosom. Then, further down, where he contradicted himself, testing if she was ready for him. She was more than ready.

He slammed into her with a deep thrust, earning a gasp.

"Remember, you can't come."

And then, he wrecked her.

Fast, deep, at the perfect angle to hit her special spot. She was a mess. Moaning and whimpering, eve sobbing at one point. He was merciless.

"Are. You. A. Tease?" He asked, every word a thrust.

"Answer me." He said giving a light slap on her derriere.

"Yes. Yes. I'm a tease, Colin." She gasped, almost screaming, trembling with the effort of avoiding her release. He pounded into her for a while, stopping when he knew she was close and starting again. And again. And again.

Finally, he flipped her and praised her.

"You took your punishment so well, my love," he said, suddenly sweet, kissing her.

He entered again, now slow and methodic.

"You are a tease, but I love you Pen."

She was sobbing now, and he took mercy.

"You can come, love of my life," he said, hitting her special spot again. She did cry a bit with the intensity of her release, spurring his own as well as her core kept pulsating.

"Bloody hell, Pen. That was amazing. Are you alright?" He asked, kissing her slowly.

She was smiling at him, still dizzy from her release, but nodded.

He got up, took a warm towel to clean her and then cuddled her for behind, lulling her to sleep singing a love song to her until she was asleep in his arms.

He kissed her cheek. Pen looked almost angelical in her rest, and he smiled, knowing only him would ever know her more devily side.

[goatcheesecak3]

I hate you too Pt.2

Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x reader

Warnings: brief mentions of nsfw

Fic type: angst

Summary: after spending a wonderful night together, Adam returns home and ponders what the future holds for the two of you.

A/n hello!! A really short one, and a pretty sad one at that (sorryyyy!!) But I'm already working on part 3! Enjoy :^)

Adam had left your apartment before you had even woke up, hastily gathering his clothes and throwing them on, still doing his belt up as he stumbled out the door. His head was a mess, he was hungover, confused and fairly anxious. About halfway home, he remembered he hadn't left you a note- should he have left you one? He typed out a text to send to you.

Had to go check if my apartment was open. Thanks for last night

He stared at the text for a few seconds, before making an edit;

Had to go check if my apartment was open.

He hit send.

...

Upon arrival back to his apartment, it felt noticeably smaller, and sadder than usual. Emptier, lonelier even. He threw his tired body onto his bed, and instinctively turned to put his arm around your waist, the way he'd done throughout the previous night. Of course, you weren't there. He closed his eyes and thought back to the night before.

The two of you had stayed up, talking, cuddling, kissing and enjoying round after round of passionate lovemaking. The pair of you only fell asleep about an hour or two before Adam woke up. Laying alone in his bed at home, his body ached for the soft touch of your skin, your warmth, the way you fell asleep on his chest. Both of you had let your guards down, and really, truly seen eachother that night. He opened up to you about his time in jigsaw's bathroom, told you more than he'd ever told anyone. He remembered you saying something he never would have thought he'd hear you say...

"I made Scott and Mark promise to never tell you this... but I was a wreck when you went missing. I was putting up missing posters all over the city, I cried myself to sleep most nights. It got to the point that the guys had to come and stay here for a while, just to make sure I actually got some sleep." You had said, rather shyly. A little embarrassed, even.

"You actually cared?" Adam asked tearfully

"I couldn't bear the thought of you dying thinking I hated you..."

...

Adam let out an exasperated sigh, finally letting himself realise that he liked you. He liked you a lot, he cared a great deal about you. He wanted to be happy about this revelation, he wanted so badly to enjoy the feeling of falling for you, but there was something in the way. He was a broken man, he was volatile and quick to anger. A casual rivalry, he knew you could handle, you were a tough cookie. But to let you get tangled in his web of complex emotions and frequent outburts? No, he couldn't hurt you like that. For your own good, he knew he had to keep you at arms length.

Adam took a deep breath, and pulled out his phone. You'd texted him.

You wanna get a coffee and discuss what happened last night later?

With tears brimming his eyes, Adam sent a reply that he wished he didn't have to.

No. Last night was a mistake.

[hassedah]

Hi, I hope requests are open!

I was wondering how the boys would react to meeting mcs family (let's just assume they have family lol) I feel like that may be very, very chaotic and fun

Vladimir meets MC's family:

Hi! How are you? I hope you are well! ^^

I'm back again. I have quite a few requests pending. I'll try to publish them quickly. Several of them are already in my drafts and are almost finished ^^.

I'm going to make a separate answer for each character with this request, given everything I've written for Vladimir and the fact that I like each character to have roughly the same length of response.

The next one to come out should be Beliath, I'm halfway through for him.

I hope you enjoy it! ^^

Take care of yourself and have a nice day! ^^

-----

Did he tell you he was stressed? Maybe a dozen times since you left the manor. Vladimir is sitting in the passenger seat next to you, you must have hired a car to take you to the town. It's a short hour's drive, but for once, Vladimir seems much less stressed about the car journey than the idea of meeting your parents.

"It's all right, darling. They're not going to eat you, you know, you are trying to lighten the mood by joking.

-I know!"

You give him a quick look. Vladimir is clinging to the door as if his life depended on it, and he can't help shaking his leg.

"Do you want me to stop the car? -No, I'm fine. -All right, if you change your mind, let me know. It'll make us a bit late, but my parents will wonder what I've done to you if you turn up so distressed. -We can't be late, it's impolite. -It's OK to be a bit late and it's better than having an anxiety attack in my living room, isn't it?"

He nodded. He wasn't as stressed when he left the manor, well, he was, but he didn't feel like he was running out of air. He spent more than an hour looking for the right clothes to wear, you saw her change outfits more than a dozen times before you decided to choose clothes yourself from her wardrobe. He's comfortable in it, which is the main thing, in your opinion, but he's worried about looking like a fool in front of your parents with his clothes from another century. Maybe they won't even let him in the house. After all, what kind of parents would let a monster like him anywhere near their child? If his parents had understood that the person who had transformed him was a vampire, he would never have been allowed near him.

Vladimir groans. He gets even more anxious by himself. Your parents won't know that he's a vampire, how could they? You haven't told them and it's not written on his forehead… well, he'll always look strange… What parents could leave their child with someone as strange as him?! His clothes are anachronistic, the way he talks is strange.

"Calm down Vladimir, you're worrying me. Are you sure you don't want me to stop the car? -No, I'll be fine. -I assure you my parents will like you. And it's only dinner, it's nothing formal."

A dinner party! Not formal! A first dinner at your partner's parents' house is very formal. He would have known perfectly well what to do in the 19th century, but in the 21st century! He has no idea, and he's already afraid of the mistakes he might make. How should he address them? What subjects are allowed to be discussed? Where should he sit at the table? He can't just sit anywhere, there are rules to be respected! He hasn't even brought a present for your parents - you said it wasn't necessary, but he feels it's really impolite. Perhaps there's still time to turn back? His chest is compressed with anxiety and he's struggling to breathe. You let go of the steering wheel with one hand to take his.

You, you would have preferred to wait a little longer before Vladimir met your parents. You had gone to see them alone on several occasions and you had spoken to them about Vladimir many times. They began to insist on meeting him. You often told your parents that Vladimir was allergic to sunlight and therefore you couldn't come for lunch. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. It was several weeks before they asked you to come for dinner one evening, and you tried to put the date back as far as possible, mainly so that Vladimir would have time to get used to the idea of meeting them. But they were so insistent that you couldn't keep them waiting for more than a week, on a moonless night.

"They're very nice, you'll see, but a bit protective," you try to reassure him. But I think that's normal for parents. They're also likely to make some not very funny jokes. If you don't feel well at any time, you can go and lock yourself in my room. Normally you'd be sitting next to me, so you can shake my hand if anything goes wrong. -Yes… I'll do everything I can not to make you feel uncomfortable with my presence. -I'm not talking about that, Vladimir. You won't cause any problems, I know that. My parents are going to ask you questions about you, about what you like, about your family. -No! No, I don't want anyone talking about my family. -I'll try to deflect the conversation if that happens, don't worry."

You squeezed his hand, then stroked his palm, to reassure him, and it seemed to work, because he relaxed a little. You weren't far from your parents' house and after another ten minutes or so you saw their house looming up in the dark street. You stopped just in front of the house before turning to Vladimir.

"Can we go now? you ask softly. -Yes, I think we can. -All right, then. You'll see, they're nice people, I'm sure they'll like you. -I wouldn't be so sure if I were you," mumbled Vladimir as he got out of the car, "not many people like me… -Don't be silly, everyone at the manor loves you and I've even fallen in love with you. That just goes to show you're someone to love, doesn't it?"

Vladimir gave a little pout without answering. You waited for him by the car and he came over to take your hand in his, and you smiled, leaning in slightly to kiss his cheek before approaching the house.

"It's a small house," Vladimir whispered in your ear as you approached the door. -Yes, I don't live in a castle. -I… I just want to say that even my country house was bigger "

You laughed softly.

" Damn, I really don't know how to express myself. I…. I'm making it worse for myself, aren't I? -That's OK. You make me laugh. You leaned in to kiss her again. I know you're not just saying that to be mean or to brag, I know you."

You rang the doorbell. Your parents only took a few seconds to arrive, almost as if they'd been waiting in the hall to let you in. There was a lot of talking, about your route, your health, the weather, all mixed up with more or less noisy and awkward introductions. Vladimir remained stubbornly beside you, with a smile on his face that you couldn't have described other than uncomfortable. Remembering that your partner is not used to so much commotion, you slipped a hand behind his back to reassure him, and he moved a little closer to you, your shoulders almost touching.

"I'm delighted to meet you," said Vladimir, glancing at you briefly to make sure he wasn't making a mistake. I am honoured to be invited to dinner. -Don't be so formal, young man," exclaimed one of your parents. We're not going to eat you. -I -Vladimir finds it difficult to use informal language. There's not much he can do about it, I think he'll be more comfortable if he keeps talking like that. -Do you really think so? It's strange, but so be it. Come on in, let's get off the porch, it's a cold."

You were pushed inside the house by your parents, who were still talking. There was a strong smell of food in the house and you were already certain that your parents had prepared your favourite dish to celebrate your visit. You all headed for the dining room. Vladimir sat right next to you while your parents sat opposite. His face was icy, a look he always takes when he's stressed and anxious and which often has the misfortune of making him appear extremely arrogant and cold. You grabbed his hand under the table to stroke it and try to help him relax, but he only squeezed your hand before turning his face towards you, you were sure your parents wouldn't see, but you could read the anxiety in his dark eyes perfectly.

The start of the meal went off without a hitch, except for Vladimir who, being rather fussy about food, didn't touch many dishes. The conversation went pretty well too, despite your parents' insistence that your vampire fill up his plate a little more.

"Really, you don't eat much, don't you like it? asked one of your parents after Vladimir had turned down another piece of meat with a contrite smile.

At the remark your partner opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. You immediately stepped in to save him.

"Vladimir has a small appetite, he never eats much. -All the same," continued one of your parents, "it's not good for your health. -I… it's very good… but I don't eat much… MC is right… -It's obvious, you're just skin and bones. -That's not a very nice comment, firstly, and secondly, it's not polite to comment on what people eat either. You're making Vladimir feel uncomfortable.

There was a pause in the conversation as you stared alternately at your parents, beside you Vladimir sighed with relief before taking your hand under the table to thank you.

"Ah, sorry, young man. We didn't mean to hurt your feelings. It's just concern. -It's nothing, nothing at all," mumbled Vladimir.

The meal resumed on less delicate subjects and Vladimir began to relax again. He spoke very little, however, content to answer your parents' questions. When the subject of the manor came up, things got complicated again.

"So, you all live in your house together, is that right? -That's right. -And it's your house? MC told me it was a manor house. -Yes… it is my mansion… -How well do you know your flatmates? I mean, seven people, that's a lot of people it can't be quiet every day. -We have been living together for several years…" replied Vladimir. We get on quite well, even if there is sometimes friction… -It can't be easy to keep everyone happy. I suppose it must be a lot quieter when everyone goes off to work."

You were going to tell a lie, but Vladimir's face betrayed you before you even had time to open your mouth.

"Don't they have jobs?! Your parents' exclamation made Vladimir stiffen in his chair, he moved back a little to press his back against the backrest and you intervened once again to save him. -Of course it is! Everyone has a job. Except Ivan, but he's younger and it's hard for him to find work in the current economic climate. However, he helps us a lot around the house, he does the cleaning, he tends the garden, he always goes shopping for us with Beliath and he's a very polite and very nice boy. Isn't he, my darling? -Y… yes… Ivan is a very helpful boy."

Your lie and your smile worked because your parents relaxed almost immediately before smiling at you again.

"Oh, we were scared for a moment, I thought they were all living in your house without paying. -MC didn't tell us about it, but what do you do for a living, Vladimir? -I… I work… Vladimir glances at you, immediately understanding his distress, and you smile at your parents. -Vladimir is a writer, it's difficult to find a job when you can't work during the day. And he writes very well, by the way."

It wasn't a total lie, of course, Vladimir had never published a single book, but he did write. However, you didn't often get the chance to read his stories because your partner didn't feel comfortable enough with his writing to show them to you.

"Oh, really… It's an original job… but it can't bring in much money…," worries one of your parents. -Money's not a problem, the house is completely self-sufficient," you reply. -The house may be self-sufficient, but you're not living on love and fresh water. -Our food comes from the garden. -The garden… and what do you do in winter? -We store the produce," you always reply, while Vladimir seems to be trying to become one with the chair. -And what about the meat? -I think that if we needed meat Aaron could take care of it without any problem," you answer, giving Vladimir a knowing smile. -Oh… yes, Aaron would have no problem with that. -And we've got enough money anyway to buy meat if we need it."

The discussion suddenly turned to the rising price of meat and the growing vegetarian lifestyle. Vladimir grabbed your hand under the table during the discussion and you began to gently stroke the palm of his hand to try and help him calm down. Slowly, you succeeded, at least until the discussion turned back to your vampire's work.

"I could never have done this job myself, I need to move around to feel good. Do you even do sport? -Er… no. I… I don't do sport. -Not even a little? It's very bad for your health. You should be careful. -I… I don't like it… but I used to go horse-riding. -Horse-riding. It's an expensive sport!"

You ignored your parent's comment as you turned to Vladimir with a smile.

"Did I? You never told me you'd been horse-riding," you reply, amused. -Everyone went riding," protests Vladimir. I even had my own mare. -A mare? But horses cost money to keep! How could your parents afford to buy you something like that?"

You ignored your parent again as he continued his tirade to ask Vladimir.

"And what was her name?"

Vladimir blushed and looked down.

"Oh come on, tell me. I promise I won't laugh. -You're lying, I was three when I named him. You're going to laugh. I know you too well… -Oh come on, what name could a three-year-old boy give his horse… Cherry? Raspberry? No, too modern… Artemisia? Aphrodite? Penelope? -No… I don't think you'll be able to find… -You don't? -I'll tell you… later…"

You smile before leaning over to kiss his cheek, the simple gesture enough to make him blush profusely, he stammers something you don't fully understand but he takes your hand under the table to kiss it gently. You are taken out of your bubble by your parents' discussion, which resumes. The clock is already striking twenty-two and you've just finished your meal. It's been a long dinner and you can feel that your partner is getting more and more tired and already just wants to crawl back into your bedroom to get some rest. However, your parents still have a lot to say and a lot of questions to ask.

"And do you dress like this every day? -Er… yes. -It's original, you must stand out in the street. -I… I don't get out of the house much. -Oh, yes, that's true. MC told us. Your flatmates must be surprised to see you dressed like that. -He's very handsome like that," you retorted immediately to end the discussion."

Your tone is dry enough for your parents to instinctively understand that the discussion is not appropriate.

"I'm not saying otherwise, but it's -Impolite to criticise people's dress? I suppose. -Yes, it is, sorry, bunny, I didn't mean to offend you."

The discussion changes again and Vladimir seems relieved, raising the eyes he had lowered during the discussion to look at you. You smile gently at him to reassure him and this is almost enough to make his unease and shame disappear completely. You talk again for several minutes as you eat the dessert, time passing slowly for Vladimir, who has to keep himself from asking when you're finally going to come home. He was happy, however, not to be included in the discussion, that is, until one of your parents asked him a new question.

"And your parents? What do they do? Do they live near here?"

Vladimir squeezed your hand so hard it almost hurt, you didn't need to turn your head to him to know he must have changed colour at the question. You shook his hand in turn before smiling at your parents and to divert the conversation.

"I saw on my way here that he was planning to build a new road through the forest. -Ah, don't tell me about it," it exclaimed immediately, sitting back in his chair. It's another stupid idea. They'll do anything these days, as if there weren't enough roads already… "

Without listening any longer, you turned your head towards Vladimir and stroked his hand under the table. He seemed lost in thought.

"Do you want to go out for a moment?" you whispered, leaning close to his ear. -I want to stay with you," he replied almost immediately. -All right, then. Don't worry, dinner's nearly finished, just the coffee left and I promise we'll go home straight away."

He simply nodded in reply. The subject never came up again, as your parents had obviously forgotten about it and were complaining about the traffic problems on the road and the many traffic jams on the way into town in the mornings. During the discussion, Vladimir had moved his chair closer to yours and you were almost shoulder to shoulder. After a while, your parents finally served the coffee and Vladimir had some tea, because to his great relief your parents had some. He felt like he could fall asleep with his eyes open so he didn't hear when one of your parents asked him a question, and you had to squeeze his hand to make him pay attention to what was being said.

"Can you cook?" repeated your parent. -No… I had servants at home. -So… you've never cooked?" asked your stunned parent. -Servants?! -Well…"

Vladimir gives you another pleading look to get him out of this situation.

"It's Béliath and Raphaël who cook at home."

However, your parents don't listen to you for a second. Your partner's revelation seems to have shocked them so much that one of your parents immediately continues on the subject.

"Can you cook pasta? -Well… you need water, I suppose and… fire… -Supposed to? -I… I've never cooked pasta… -You've never cooked pasta! But everyone knows how to cook pasta! -I… it is complicated… I… -But who cooks in your flat? finally asked one of your parents, turning to you. -Raphaël and Béliath, as I've just told you. He cooks very well, so don't worry about the food. -It's crazy not to have cooked before. -But I've cooked before. It's just something complicated. -It's not complicated to cook pasta. -MC, please. -Vladimir doesn't need to cook. Aaron, Ethan and Ivan don't cook either and nobody has a problem with that. -But come on, sweetheart. Cooking pasta isn't complicated! -I wouldn't let Ethan cook pasta if my life depended on it. If it were up to me, Ethan wouldn't even set foot in the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee."

Luckily, your distraction worked and your parents started asking you questions about Ethan, who wouldn't be able to make himself a cup of coffee without setting fire to the kitchen. It certainly wasn't very nice for Ethan, but you didn't have many scruples: if it would allow Vladimir to be serene again, you would be able to claim anything. The meal went on for a while, the cups of tea and coffee had been empty on the table for a good hour when you finally managed to make your parents understand that you were going to leave.

They walked you to the door and kept chatting, so you stayed in the driveway for another long half-hour, repeating several times that it would be a long way to your house and that you couldn't stay any longer, before one of your parents came up with a new topic of discussion that made you stay five minutes longer. Finally, you managed to get out of their grip and finally got in the car to go home.

The way back was completely silent, Vladimir seemed as exhausted as the time Aaron had forced him to train in combat, his head resting limply against the headrest and he answered the few questions you asked him in very short sentences, finally he even stopped answering you and when you turned to look at him, you could see him asleep with his head leaning against the window. You only woke him up once outside the manor house and even though the night was still far from over Vladimir decided to go to bed almost immediately. You followed him into the bedroom to rest with him.

Vladimir breathed a sigh of relief as he collapsed into your bed. When you joined him, he immediately snuggled up to you.

"I thought the evening would never end," murmured the vampire. It was hell. -Oh, my darling, you're not going to like this… -What?" asked Vladimir in a worried voice. -Well… it's polite to invite my parents to eat here too… -Please, forget politeness," muttered the vampire. I don't ever want to leave here again, I don't ever want to be invited to a meal. It was horrible, I'd forgotten how much I hate dinner parties. -All right, all right, I forget," you smiled, starting to stroke her hair gently to soothe her. No more dinners, and if anyone offers to take you out to eat, I'll bite them. That's fine with you."

Your vampire nodded, his face completely buried in your neck. You laughed before shifting to kiss the top of his head.

"But I'll only do it on one condition. -What's that?" mumbled the vampire in a muffled voice. -What was the name of your mare? -Lady Princess Cherry Rose Camomile? -That's a pretty long name for a mare," you joked. -My parents said exactly the same thing…"

You laughed again before kissing her again.

"My poor darling, you've had an exhausting night. -I made a lot of effort for you. I didn't even complain about the car journey. It just goes to show that I love you. -I love you too. You saw how I saved you several times from my parents' questions. If that's not proof of love, I don't know what is. -Yes, that's true. You're my hero and mine alone."

[scratchandplaster]

FEBUWHUMP DAY 21 - Lightning strike

CW: parental Whumper, conditioned Whumpee, hypnosis, betrayal

Previous | [Masterlist] | Next

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The storm raging outside had been no surprise. Otis helped to upgrade the tents beforehand, so the aftermath would be predictable enough to not resow any doubts. In barely half a week, everyone who dared to saw Reuben's efforts to settle in as a smooth success.

His "other one" was still writhing aimlessly.

Nothing more than a few clicks and a hopeless fight against the sluggish Wi-Fi were necessary, after nearly two years in the dark, Shepard was awarded with the address of Luke's shelter. 427 Parkway Drive - the brick front was virtually smiling at him, a half turn away from the international house of pre-diabetes and Red 40. Birdie would get an aneurysm if she every caught her children in there.

A shy knock at the door, nearly inaudibly through the gusts of wind and its rumble, ripped Shepard from his thoughts. Ben slipped through and latched it tightly shut.

Perfect timing, as if appointed. The laptop screen was preventively closed down to a bright slit.

"Hey, Dad," he carefully draped his raincoat over a rack, "I brought the kids over, they are a bit restless." Over to their guardians, as it should be. Handling even two children felt like a Herculean task to Shepard, five would go beyond any reasonable cat herding.

"Well done, sweetheart." He grabbed a spare blanket from the couch to wrap around Ben's wet self. Little droplets fell from the short curls he hopefully planned to grow out again. All bundled up, Ben was pulled in closer for a hug: "We can have a sleepover too."

"Yeah, well, I'm not stepping out there again!" He, too, felt nervous about the storm and winced at every flash of lightning shining through the windows.

"Me neither," his dad huffed skeptically, "Let's hope this shed doesn't turn into a houseboat overnight!"

Nature continued to let its fury whip through the fields, twisting and turning every loose object to its pleasure. Cradling his son and arranging him so sit comfortably on his knees was Shepard's first priority, the second quickly followed suit.

"Do you know how lightning comes to be?" he spoke and let his voice offset the wild howling behind the glass, "Far up in the clouds, thousands and thousands of little raindrops grate against each other. Imagine the tension between them, the electric current jumping from every water bead to the other, over and over and over and over, never stopping, never resting. But the tension doesn't fade. It builds up by a tenfold, over and over and over, until it has no choice but to - release."

Exhaling deep on the last word, or rather command, Ben once again found himself relaxing. Any escape from the storm was welcome.

Shepard's restless scientific speech was finally interrupted by another harsh flash that pulled his son out of the comfort surrounding them. A loud boom quickly followed.

"What do you think, Ben: is it close above or already drifting further away from us? Check this for me, please."

Ben, trying his best to stay calm and secure, began to count the seconds between lighting and thunder. This skill had been a lot more important when they used to live in the old camper: just Shepard, Luke and he.

A flash.

"One...two...three-"

Thunder rumbled.

Waiting for the next one didn't take long. Shepard kept himself busy by warming his son's freezing hands with his own.

"One...two...three...four..."

Ben lulled his brain into mindlessness at his own free will, dragging himself up and down the states of consciousness without Shepard even needing to lift a finger. Every new thunderclap brought him back up, though the lingering relaxation continued to twist into itself with every new count-up.

"...sixteen...seventeen..." The tiny thoughts got swallowed halfway between his lips and ears as Ben sunk further into Shepard's embrace.

Another round, and then another. Just as nature above, Ben stared to let go of all tension that sparked up inside his gray matter.

"...twenty-two...twenty-three..." At last, the telltale soft voice, slack face and distant gaze surrounding his son made Shepard reach out for the laptop and interrupt the peaceful counting.

"Believe it or not, I found something really interesting. Be a gem and help me for a second, starshine."

Oh. Ben could always help his dad out, it was his special talent. He sat up straight, surely this hot new project was nothing more than a breed of zucchini he wanted to cultivate or a plan to cobble a different beehive blueprint together.

Shepard, cautious and at his limit, had to be play it safe. One mistake and Lukas would slip from his grasp once again; an unforgivable error.

"I need someone to greenlight the info I've collected."

Instantly, as Ben recognized the house on the screen, his expression turned from calm to startled. Brow furrowed in confusion, he began to twist uncomfortably out of the blanket, verifying everything Shepard had to know.

"Thank you, Reuben." His father's apologetic smile didn't help a bit. Ben was shocked, more at himself than the situation he was stuck in.

"I never-"

Thunder rolled through the fields, but Ben couldn't care less. Looking away in panic, he struggled to push the gentle presence in his mind away, to resist the urge to agree with every single of Dad's words. Shepard, for one, didn't appreciate the sudden antipathy. A hand sneaked to the small of Ben's neck.

He had to ignore the soothing gestures, for Luke's sake. Ben had kept his mouth shut, he knew that he did! He was so relieved that Shepard didn't even ask once, so how was this possible? 

Should he lie to his father? They both knew he was horrible at it.

"I-I don't understand!" A single finger under his chin made Ben's face turn around to witness his helplessness mirrored in honey-brown eyes. They were studying him intently.

"I don't want you to understand, Ben," Shepard said gently, only the murmur of rain withstanding his words, "I want you to follow."

The world was pulled out from under Ben like a rug.

An all too loved force spread through his body at rapid pace, forcing his pupils to blow wide. Like a deer in the headlights, only the shock let his last thought hang by a threat of resistance.

"Don't fight it, you're going to give yourself a headache again. Just listen and follow."

Eventually, Ben's heavy eyelids fluttered until they were simply too heavy to do so anymore. Weak against any command, he collapsed into his father, arms hanging numb at the sides.

Hours of persuasive assurance were now ingrained as absolute truth into the most delicate part of his mind, the one that wailed for fatherly attention. It listened without protest. In return, Shepard would always take care of it, finally making a pledge in earnest. 

There was lightning at the end of the valley.

This time, Shepard counted for his son, pressing his mind deeper into docility. Ben was safe, loved and a traitor; gone completely as he slipped down the shortcut which Shepard had whittled into the twirls of his cerebral cortex. 

The chances to twist away from him again were just as lost. The storm had moved on.

"Secrets will only eat you up, it's better to share them. I absolve you from my and Luke's complicated arguments. I swear I will never make you do something like this again," Shepard assured and carefully stroked along his son's back, allowing the fatigue to catch on, "It's an emergency, you surely agree. We need Luke, just as he needs us."

Acceptance popped up in his son's face: he was an open book you could rip newly written pages out of and blacken to your whim. Reuben would've never survived out there, nothing to be ashamed of.

Shepard warily carried him to the cot and turned the heater on high. Electricity was the office's main perk. One day, Ben's mind would explode because of all his contradictory feelings. For now, it was kept safe in capable hands.

Shepard needed to pack his essentials, yet before setting out he made sure no sting of guilt would bother Reuben in the morning.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

[farfromstrange]

Are You Okay? | Matt Murdock x Reader

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (gender neutral)

Masterlist

Summary: Sometimes, all you need to hear is one question and one person to make your shitty day not so shitty anymore.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, fear of failure, not proofread (I put Grammarly over that bitch, but that's it), no y/n

A/n: I wrote this in an hour because I'm stressed as fuck and my state of mind is so complicated right now, I didn't know how else to explain it. Also, why is statistics such a bitch to study? And what do I care about fucking behaviorism? I'm already done with Freud and Piaget and those get on my last nerve already, I don't need Bandura to add to my emotional despair, but oh well, here we are. This is completely self-indulgent and I channeled what's happening in my school life into this one, so if it doesn't fit with the American school system, I'm sorry, but I didn't want to research.

Word Count: 2.7k

You’ve been locked in your room for the majority of the past week, the study notes of the past semester strewn around you, and you swore at the beginning of the week that you would revise every last note at least once. In the end, you panicked more than you studied, but you managed to summarize about half of your notes, which should fill you with glee, but as you stare down at your stack of cards, you’re filled with dread and the purest form of self-hatred. What did you do the entire week that you only got so far? You left your room once, but it was a short walk around the block to air your head, with still many hours of the day left to spare. You swore you would get everything you needed to be done, and you swore to yourself that the next five weeks of exam season were going to be your bitch, but looking at the calendar now you realize, those five weeks still lay ahead of you and you are not even nearly done with everything you swore you would get done. 

Your head screams, “Failure!” And you’re starting to think that maybe your head is right. Maybe you are lazy and that is why your grades have been dropping or your teachers are disappointed or you just can’t seem to get the information into your thick skull even though someone once told you, “You can do it!” You figure that was a lie too. There is no way you can manage to ace all your upcoming tests and the final exams, and part of you is starting to fear you might not be able to graduate. There is too much in your head, too much stress, and too much performance anxiety, but as you look around yourself you don’t realize why you’re so stressed - in your head, it appears as if you spent the entire week playing video games and did the bare minimum, and not even that did you manage. You really don’t understand how you can be stressed and not even halfway done with all of your schoolwork. You’re stressed about being stressed, and you’re stressed about studying so you try to study, but your head blacks out and the day suddenly doesn’t have enough hours for you to think about yourself and the work you have to do, so you just sit back and stare at an empty page in the hopes the words will come out and you can just memorize all of the fucking information on your study notes. You don’t want to be the best, you’ve given up on that, but you want to pass, you need to pass because damn, you want to get out, you want to move on and get out and get on with life, but the load keeps getting bigger and your grades keep swindling. How can the load get bigger when you haven’t left your room in a week, and how did you not manage to finish revising all of your notes even though you definitely had the time and the means? You don’t understand and at this point, you have resorted to watching trash tv to keep your mind from reeling, but even that seems not enough anymore. You can’t eat without upsetting your stomach and the thought of going back to class the next day, having to study more and revise more, and the end moves closer and closer, but never close enough, and the entire pile of documents, anxiety, and stress starts to bury you alive. You can’t remember a second you allowed yourself to properly breathe, to stop your thoughts from racing and focusing on something else. You can’t remember a time you allowed yourself a step away from studying or procrastinating and freeing your head so you can get back to work with newfound energy. All of that seems so… impossible now. You want to pass, but your head keeps telling you that you won’t. You won’t pass. You will fail and everyone will hate you because you will be the only one. You’re scared, you’re terrified even and you can’t do this anymore. You want out of your body, out of your mind, and out of this life just for a second, just until the worst is over and everything has resolved itself. 

You know that’s not possible. 

Your friends are emotionally unavailable, busy with themselves, mostly, and your family is as annoying as ever. No one’s asked about you, most of them have dodged your messages or answered with a clear, “Sorry, we can’t.” It feels as if no one can help you out of this hole you’ve dug for yourself, so you decide to sit in it and wait for the dirt to swallow you. 

Your skin tingles, you’re tired and there is this overwhelming urge to cry. You miss being touched, you miss being taken care of, but there is no time and you just can’t ask. The one person you can ask is across campus and has no idea what’s going on because you told him you’d need the week to study, so he told you he’d leave you alone until then. It’s Sunday now. He hasn’t called or texted and you’re starting to wonder if he’s sick of you as you are of yourself. 

Before the thoughts can turn any darker, and they have gotten significantly darker, there is a knock on your door. You probably smell disgusting, your room is a mess and you should have opened a window, but it’s significantly colder outside today, there is snow and you just hate the way everything but your blanket and the new episodes of America’s Next Top Model make you feel. You’ve driven yourself so far into loneliness, you’re starting to believe that this is actually just who you’re supposed to be. 

You get off the makeshift seating area among your study notes off the floor and walk to the door. You don’t bother checking who’s outside. If it is a murderer, at least you can miss your exams and not feel guilty, and the general heavy pain that drags your soul down to your feet and keeps it there would finally go away. 

Seeing Matt Murdock’s face at your door doesn’t surprise you, you simply step aside and let him in. doesn’t say anything, simply taps his can forward until he can find his way into your room. His nostrils flare, but either he doesn’t smell the bucket of untouched fries and garlic sauce on the counter and how you haven’t showered in four days or he’s being respectful about it. You kind of wish he would just flat-out tell you that you smell and probably look like shit, not that he could judge, but he could probably sense with the way everything feels like a mess around him, that would make your guilt and pain so much worse but at least you could feel something else for a change. You’d be hurt, but it would be a different kind of hurt, one that could distract you from the demons gnawing at your heart. 

“You want a drink?” you ask, your voice hoarse from both the lack and the overuse of sleep as a coping mechanism. 

He stands lost in the room, or maybe he’s waiting, you’re not sure. You get a beer for him from the fridge, but instead of drinking it, he takes it and places it back down on the counter. 

You stare at him, a little confused, and maybe your pride is also a little hurt that he would turn down your nice gesture. 

“Are you okay?”

The question confuses you, at first, and you’re not quite sure how to process it. Those three words sound so foreign, the week you’ve been through suddenly feeling like years without him, and as he’s standing before you now, his question awakening something in you, unscrewing the lid and popping the cork, you realize just how much you have missed him. How you have missed this. How you have missed being acknowledged and asked about, even if it was just a simple, “Are you okay?” 

It finally settles in and the question makes you feel a lot of things at once, but none of them are simple, and none of them you can explain, but you know how they make you feel and they definitely answer his question with something he can feel in the way you tense up. 

You bite your lip. “No,” you admit silently, although it feels wrong to say it because why are you not okay? You should be. You have to be.

But Matt isn’t like that. 

“Do you need a hug?” he asks. 

Fuck him, you think. He’s read you better than you could have read yourself. 

You nod again. “Yes.”

“Okay, c’mere.”

As it turns out, a hug is exactly what you needed and half of the uneasiness you have been feeling must have been a serious case of touch starvation.

He opens his arms and allows you to take the first step, and you do. You step forward to lazily drape your arms around him, but he soon wraps you up tightly in his and squeezes you in the way he knows you need. The physical decompression, his fresh smell, the sound of his heartbeat, and his hands roaming your back open the flood gates, and seconds after you are crying heavily into his chest. You unload all of the stress and all of the anxiety, clinging to him for dear life, but he doesn’t mind. He lets you cry, sob and whimper until you’re too weak to stand and even then he only carries you over to your couch and sits down with you in his lap, still holding you like you are a fragile little thing (which you are, now that you think of it) and he refuses to even think about letting you go. 

He kisses your head. You’re still shaking, but there are no more tears to cry. “Why didn’t you call?” he asks you. 

His voice sounds so soft and it makes you whimper again, wiping your eyes on his already wet shirt. “Why didn’t you call?” you bite back. 

“Because you said you wanted to study. I didn’t want to interrupt you, sweetheart. I know how caught up you get and I wanted to give you space. If I had known-”

You can’t help it. You are safe from the world in his arms so you allow yourself to voice the one thought that has been keeping you on edge, “I’m going to fail, Matty.”

He holds your face away from his, feeling your contorted features and the stress wrinkles on your forehead. “What?” 

You only then realize he took off his glasses and you can see his brown eyes perfectly like that. That only makes you shake harder because he cares so damn much and you never have needed him more than you do now.

“I’m going to fail,” you say again, “because I’m useless and dumb and I can’t get anything right. I can’t even get anything done. I’m such a failure and I am going to fail every goddamn test and I am going to fail my finals and I’m-”

Matt shushes you again by taking you in his arms, and a new wave of tears rattles you. “You are not going to fail,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. “You’re not a failure, you’re not dumb and you are not useless. You made it this far. You passed all of your previous classes. You’re almost there, sweetheart,” he says, “so you are not going to fail now.”

“But what if I am?”

“Everything can happen, but you are not going to fail. I know you and that is not what you do.”

“I barely got anything done this week. I swore I’d study, but-”

“How much do you have left?”

You sniffle and look behind you. God, your floor is a mess. “A lot,” you admit. 

“Too much for one day?”

“Probably,” you break off with another sob. He keeps your head upright though. Instead of shushing you, he gets up, kneels on the floor, and touches your study notes. He can’t read them, they’re not in Braille, but he can smell the different highlighters you have used and he can separate the topics accordingly. “It’s the stack on the right, isn’t it?” 

You rub your eyes. “Yes.”

“And that’s what?”

“Statistics, behaviorism and, um… I don’t know, cognitive development, maybe. I can’t remember. God!” Thinking about it makes you nauseous. “I can’t even remember, Matt. I am so going to fail!”

He shakes his head, pursing his lips to shush you softly. His hand motions for you to join him on the floor. With some struggle, he finds the stack you’ve been talking about. He hands it to you. 

“You’re going to take these and spread them out,” he tells you, “While I take care of those you’ve already summarized, alright?”

You stammer, “What?”

“We’re gonna start with statistics. You are going to go through your notes at your speed while you tell me about them, and I’m gonna rub your back while you do. If you need a break,” he says, “We’re gonna take a break. If you wanna stop, we stop. And if you want me to stay until you’re done with both topics, I’ll stay for the boring behaviorism stuff, too.”

Somehow his readiness to help you without even knowing what he, ever the law student, is helping you with makes you cry even harder. He understands you in a way nobody can, and he never pressures you, not even when it comes to your classes. He knows you torture yourself enough and Matt being Matt, he can’t have you being sad. 

He stays true to his promise. He sits behind you, rubbing your back as you go over your notes, summarize them and tell him about them. Statistics are the bane of your existence, but psychology relies on them, so you’re forced to relive the worst module of your life. But with him by your side, telling you every so often, “You are doing such a good job,” and, “I know you can do it, baby,” it’s a lot easier. 

At around eight, your stomach growls, but you are long done with the statistics part and have decided, with some of Matt’s encouraging words, that there is still time tomorrow to get done with behaviorism and then when you’re done with both, he told you, he’d help you memorize. He hasn’t decided how yet, but he is determined and as the sun goes down and you lay in his arms, freshly showered and shaven on your bed, you can’t help but stare at his beautiful face. You would have lost your mind without him, you don’t doubt that, and he somehow always knows when to come and what to do. He knows when you feel down and when you need space. He knows you better than you know yourself and that is something no one but Matt Murdock has ever accomplished. 

Without him, you are pretty sure you would maybe not have failed your classes but you would have failed at life. Your mind would have failed you and you would have drowned. But with him, you’re a little more alive. 

“I love you,” you tell him sometime after he forced you to eat proper dinner, and he gently smiles against your hair. 

“I love you,” he says. “And you are going to do great, I just know it.”

“You have so much faith in me.”

“Well, one of us has to. Besides,” he flips you over so that he can hover over you, his brown hair falling from his face into yours and you giggle at his antics, “I am a good catholic boy. If I didn’t have faith in the divine, where would I be?”

His words leave you gasping, but nothing can match up to the force and passion he kisses you with. Psychology and messy room long forgotten, you melt into his touch and let his hands and lips speak a language only the two of you understand, and they always manage to pull you out of any hole with a symphony that has become your favorite music.

[lil-tachyon]

For the last couple years I've been keeping a handwritten list of good horror stories I've read. I guess the most recommendable ones are The Music of Erich Zann by Lovecraft, The Stolen Body by Wells, Mimic by Wollheim, The Thing in the Weeds by Hodgson, Cyclops by Leiber, The Screaming Man by Beaumont, and The Open Window by Saki. I might type up and post the whole list on my blog after I've done some more reading (my list of things I still need to read grows much faster than the other list).

Including your other suggestions so I can tackle them all in one post.

I wasn't sure I was going to get to all these but I ended up being kinda knocked out by a nasty cold this week and had time to lay up in bed reading through all of them. Which was an absolute pleasure! Thank you for putting this list together. For fun I thought I'd do a mini-review of each story.

For context, I'm the kind of guy that's read probably every H. P. Lovecraft or Clark Ashton Smith story ever published. I had devoured most of Jules Verne and H. G. Wells by the time I was 14. What I'm trying to say is that I'm already a nerd pre-disposed to loving any Weird Fiction or early sci-fi/horror. If that kind of stuff isn't your speed, then adjust your expectations accordingly.

Also SPOILERS AHEAD for 50-100+ year old short stories.

"The Music of Erich Zann" - H. P. Lovecraft - 1921: This was always going to get a recommendation from me, I just enjoy Lovecraft too much. I'm glad I re-read it though, it had been a while and I think this might be one of my favorite of his stories now. The thing that stood out to me this time around was the exploration of the relationship between Zann and the anonymous protagonist. Feels uncharacteristic of a Lovecraft story to focus so much on the interactions between two human characters and it's done with a fair bit of depth. Bonus: no Lovecraftian racism in this story! Also check out this thrash/prog banger from the Mekong Delta album named after this story.

"The Stolen Body" - H. G. Wells - 1898: So when I opened up my copy of A Dream of Armageddon: The Complete Supernatural Tales (a misnomer it turns out, because it didn't contain the other Wells story on this list) I was surprised to find a bookmark exactly halfway through "The Stolen Body" from where I must've stopped the last time I tried reading this anthology over a decade ago. And I can understand why I would've stopped there because this story is kind of a slog. The premise is fine- a man severs his consciousness from his physical body in the course of an experiment in astral projection and is alarmed to find that when he attempts to return to corporeality another spirit has already taken possession of his frame. The problem is that this story is recounted twice- first from the perspective of a friend where, in spite of their incomplete information, it's pretty obvious what has transpired, and then a second time from the astral-projecting protagonist himself. In the protagonist's telling there's an interesting account of his journey through a kind of vapid hell where body-less spirits wander through eternity suffering of boredom and only able to interact with the physical world via mediums but the concept isn't explored in any depth and is recounted in a painfully "tell, don't show" manner. Can't say I recommend, but it's an interesting artifact of a time when late 19th century occultic beliefs showed up in sci-fi. Kind of like how a lot of 50s-70s sci-fi features psychics.

"Mimic" - Donald A Wollheim - 1942: My favorite story from the list. It's weird, compelling, and extremely brief. I won't summarize it because I think you should just read it. Surprised I hadn't heard of it before, especially since there's apparently a Guillermo Del Toro film adaptation of it? Also surprisingly difficult to track down the text. There are a few incomplete versions of it floating around but if you want the full story, I found it as part of this anthology on archive.org.

"The Thing in the Weeds" - William Hope Hodgson - 1913: - Before this, my only exposure to Hodgson had been "The House on the Borderland" (great story by the way), and reading the "The Thing in the Weeds" has me thinking I should dig a bit deeper into his bibliography. Conveys a sense of claustrophobia and anxiety that feels like classic "Weird Tales" fare while dealing with much lower stakes than unnameable cosmic beings. Maybe more horror stories should be set on the open sea...

"Cyclops" - Fritz Leiber - 1965: This is not a story, this is Leiber's idea for a cool vacuum-dwelling space creature dressed up as a story. Dialogue feels totally unnatural, characters are blank slates, tension is set at zero. But the creature is pretty darn cool and the story is very short. So if you want to just read about a neat alien, go ahead!

"The Howling Man" - Charles Beaumont - 1959: I had already seen the Twilight Zone adaptation of this story a while back so I knew the outline of the plot already, but that in no way diminished my joy in reading this. Beaumont's prose is highly engaging and contains a surprising amount of humor that I don't remember being present in the television version. The only real weak point is the ending. I think a bit more ambiguity over whether and to what the extent the Howling Man and the Abbott were lying to the protagonist would've demanded more introspection from the reader. The idea that releasing the Howling Man / Satan is the direct cause of WWII feels a little too simplistic and also depends on this weird assertion that the early Weimar Republic was experiencing an unprecedented era of peace and prosperity that I'm pretty sure doesn't hold up to historical scrutiny. Still highly recommend, a very fun read!

"The Open Window" - Saki / H. H. Munro - 1914: Less a horror story and more a... silly story? I don't know how to describe it other than it feels like the kind of thing you would have to read and analyze for a single high-school English period. Didn't really do anything for me but it's like a 5-minute read so check it out if you want. Does make me wish I could go on one of those "retreats to the countryside for my nerves" that turn-of-the-century English gentleman and ladies are always going on.

"In the Abyss" - H.G. Wells - 1896: A much better Wells story! And I was lucky enough to find this in the other print Wells anthology I own. (I have an addiction to bringing home old paperbacks I don't need but it's a cheap addiction and I don't have the heart to break it. Plus they're all on shelves and alphabetized so my wife can't get mad at me. Anyway, it's the shelves and shelf space that gets expensive...) It can be a little bit "gadget fiction-y" in its description of the submersible but overall it's well-paced with some good tension and a truly weird exploration of an underwater world. Recommend if you're looking for something outright odd or you like specifically underwater sci-fi. Don't recommend if you don't like thinking about the ways you might die in a submersible.

"The Stone Ship" - William Hope Hodgson - 1914: An interesting and definitely weird story, again about strange happenings on the open sea. Stretches the premise a bit too much, both in the actual length of the story and in my willingness to suspend my disbelief of the "scientific" explanation given at the end. I enjoyed it, but for a spookier and shorter take on a similar premise I'd recommend Lovecraft's "Dagon."

Anyway, thank you again @siryl for your recommendations, I had a blast reading through them!

[mysticsparklewings]

Obscutober 2024 Day 16: Escutcheon 🛡️

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Escutcheon (n.)

a shield or shield-like surface on which a coat of arms is depicted

an ornamental or protective plate around a keyhole, door handle, drawer pull, light switch, etc.

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We are officially halfway through October/Inktober! 🎉 

You could say I went with something more on the simple side to “celebrate,” but it was mostly just a coincidence. 😅 I am still happy with it, though! 👍

Click the "Keep Reading" and we'll talk a little more about my thoughts/process. ✨

⭐️ Like My Art and Want to see more of it? Here's All My Links! ⭐️

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Once again for catharsis: We are officially halfway through the month, Sparklers! 🥳

...And you'd think that to celebrate, I'd actually be able to get today's piece posted earlier, but nope! And it really is no one else's fault but my own this time—I had this one already 90% finished, but I let myself get distracted by some other things I know really could've waited until after this was taken care of. 😅 I accept my fate!

But it is what it is; At least I don't think the art itself suffered as a result.

This one felt relatively easy since, as might be overly obvious, it put very specific images in my head—Much of which I thought translated well enough into a mandala design. Namely, I kept picturing a keyhole plate that was etched gold, and I went with a very basic, "classic" shield shape because the definition literally says "shield" and I associate coats-of-arms images with a pretty shield-like shape as it is. And I also associate coats-of-arms strongly with royalty, so that's where the crown shapes came from.

Once I had those shapes in place as a foundation, it felt fair to just kind of fill in with more general mandala motifs that, at least to me, feel reasonably adjacent to some detail work you might see in these kids of decorative plates...However, I will admit I didn't actually bother looking up references for this one, so if you're personally more familiar with "Escutcheons" and some of the motifs I picked look terribly out of place...Well, here's my excuses and an apology, I guess. 😆

The colors were also very straightforward. I went with silver and goal for the metal base, then offset them with some abstract shadows. I added the spots of red, blue, purple, and green as a last-minute pop; The whole package was missing something, and I each of these colors in jewel tones I again associate pretty strong with royalty, plus I think they're fairly common inclusions in colored coats-of-arms designs.

My one regret in the design is that the white lines + browns in the background make me think an awful lot of a Gingerbread house, but when I tried switching the lines to black, everything just felt horribly flat.

At that point I really did not feel like going back over the background colors to try and "fix" the black lines when the white ones were fine outside of the Gingerbread thing (and this was after I got distracted, so I was running short on time, too)...So white lines it is! Who says you can't make a Gingerbread house that looks more like a castle for Gingerbread Royalty, anyway? I'm sure someone out there has done it! 😉

...You'd think I'd have more to say than that, but...Well, this one was pretty simple, especially compared to all everything I tried to squeeze into yesterday's. I know I said once before these can't all be super complex, and that holds true for today.

Oh! I should mention: This is yet again one word where I left off part of the definition that I included on the "official" list because it both took up a lot of space and also didn't really fit with the direction I took the art in. Escutcheon, in nautical use, can also mean, "A panel on the stern of a vessel bearing its name and port of registry."

And one final note you Sparklers might find amusing: This is probably the word I'm the most glad I don't have to pronounce out loud for this challenge. 🤭 I've had trouble enough remembering how spell it!

...That should be everything for today, I think. Now let me get to cross-posting before it gets any later...or before I get distracted by something else that could really stand to wait. 😆

See you tomorrow, Sparklers. 🤗

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See the Prompt List

Artwork © me, MysticSparklewings

Obscutober Concept Inspired by nikolas_tower

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⭐️ Like My Art and Want to see more of it? Here's All My Links! ⭐️

[randomized-sims24]

(Another fic. I've got a couple more to add- I've got an SU au short fic three chapters long and I've got another that you could consider a follow up to "Aftermath Of The Attack". Ive also got a wip fic for Comet (redemption arc Nexus) and Solar in the works. If anyone has any fic ideas they'd wanna see feel free to let me know and I'd gladly write something for it! For now though, enjoy this one!)

I'm Not Me (Twisted Brotherhood AU ft. Nexus, Antumbra (Solar) and Apollo (Solar's Sun)

The two of them worked near tirelessly, between hunting Wither Shards and whatever Solstices' plans for Sun were.

Antumbra had been living with Nexus for a month or two now and while he had met Solstice, spoke with him even, he didn't really trust him.

It was clear Nexus didn't either.

Understandable. He had been all but abandoned by his family, compared to a person that wasn't even alive, fixing problems that weren't his own, and an inferiority complex often preyed upon by enemies, why wouldn't he be wary even though he'd helped him?

Antumbra shook his head of his thoughts, focusing back on the chassis laid out in front of him, while Nexus worked on a computer, typing away.

Both were working on the components for a new Sun model.

Well, not "new" exactly. It was a body for Antumbra's Sun and surprisingly Nexus agreed to it. Maybe because it was Antumbra that asked, or the promise that Sun was not and would not be like Nexus' ex brother Sundrop. Sunshine would be more welcome, if only because he'd be sticking with Antumbra more often than not, and that was fine by him.

Antumbra pushed himself from the work table and stretched out, glancing over to watch Nexus' back.

"Is there something on me? You've been staring for like a minute." Nexus suddenly said and spun around to face Antumbra.

Antumbra jolted and sat back, crossing his arms. "No, just taking a small break is all."

Nexus watched him a moment. Over the time Antumbra had been here purple crack like marks appeared across his face, even turning one eye purple from his exposure. He looked away and shrugged.

"Code's just about done, just waiting for a body to transfer into." Nexus said, a somewhat, if not at all, subtle hint for him to hurry and finish assembling the body.

Antumbra sighed and rolled back to the desk and got back to assembly.

After another hour the body was finally done- it looked similar to an Eclipse with some variations, wavy rays, puffy wrist length sleeves, bells at the wrists and ankles, and a Wither Shard embedded in his chest and covered by Nexus' negative star power infused titanium to help his body withstand the new dimension and its energy.

"Ok, it should be going now. Did you add your chip with the memories and all?" Nexus asked as he plugged a cord from the computer into the head of the body.

"Yeah, it's in. I did change one thing though."

"What was it?"

"His name. I figured you wouldn't want to hear the name Sun anymore so I changed it."

"To what?"

"Apollo. He always had a little fascination with mythology back home before he died."

"Oh. Sure he'll appreciate that then." Nexus turned to his computer. "Halfway done already, huh?"

"Really? Wow..." Antumbra sat back again. After another half hour or so Nexus' computer let off a small ding, signaling that the transfer was done.

Antumbra sat forward and stood, watching tur still body, seeing the fingers and limbs twitch before the eyes slid open.

The first thing Antumbra noticed was his eyes. Instead of blue and white, one had a black scalera and purple eye.

The eyes flickered with light, darting around before the bot gasped and shot up, calling out frantically "Moon?! Eclipse!?"

Antumbra gently grabbed his shoulders. "Hey, hey Apollo, take it easy, calm down. I'm right here." He spoke softly to him, watching as he turned to him.

"...Eclipse?"

He felt hands on his face, fingers tracing the marks on his face and rays. "What happened to you?"

"It's a long story, Apollo. And I don't go by Eclipse. It's Antumbra now." He said, getting everything unplugged from him.

"Ok..." Apollo looked over and saw Nexus. "Moon?"

"I'm not your Moon. I'm Nexus. Try to remember that." He said.

"Here, follow me Apollo. I'll explain what I can for you." Antumbra lead Apollo to a bedroom, explaining most of what had happened when he died, holding him as he cried when he heard their Moon was dead.

"You died too?"

"Yeah. Someone helped bring me back though."

Apollo hugged him. "I'm glad you're back then. Even if Moonie isn't, at least I still have you. I missed you."

Antumbra hugged back. "I missed you too Apollo."

-end-

[fahye]

Hey! I really enjoyed the Last Binding books, and I am dying from impatience for A Power Unbound! I'm also a writer (unpublished), and I was wondering about your stance on posting info about WIPs on tumblr. I haven't done it yet, and I'm hesitating because I don't want it to be stolen. At the same time, it may be good to interact with others about my story, and maybe start to build a small community of potential readers. Do you think it would be a good idea, or that I should refrain until I have a contract with a publisher, or at the very least an agent?

oh boy. this one got long.

if you're mentioning agents and publishers then I assume you're hoping to be traditionally published, so my advice is based on that. (if you're looking into selfpub then that's a whole other ballgame, about which I don't know a great deal.)

it's very very normal and natural to want to interact with people about your WIPs. you want the story to feel finished and real. you want a tiny sip of a sample of how it might feel to have other people read your beautiful complete book and come and tell you their feelings and thoughts.

(it's also GREAT procrastination from the really difficult part, which is....writing the damn book, editing it, and grimly entering the querying trenches.)

but I don't know if tumblr, or any public social network, is the place for it.

I'm assuming you're not talking about putting entire chapters online. (bad idea. BAD. publishers are strict about what counts as prior publication of a story, and unless you were a viral selfpub sensation they usually don't want something that's been published - even in part - online.)

if you share all the details about the plot, or even a really killer hook of a premise that you're proud of: yeah, you do run the risk of it being stolen, and maybe that person writes faster than you and gets it out into the publishing ecosystem first. likely? probably not. possible? sure.

the other half of the argument is arguably even more important, albeit a bit depressing: you're not going to build a community on tumblr of potential readers of an original idea. especially one that doesn't yet exist. or that does exist, but perhaps will never be available for them to read, if the agent/publisher thing doesn't work out.

the exception to this might be if you already have a community of readers, and you're okay with your fandom and authorial personas being directly linked. perhaps you do! perhaps you're a fan writer with a following of readers! in which case I don't think there's any harm in being open & excited on tumblr about the fact that you're also working on original things and hoping to pursue publication.

here's my advice. you can make and post all the aesthetic boards and fun memes and spotify playlists your creative heart desires! do it for yourself, to keep yourself excited about the story. don't hang your heart on anyone else caring about your beloved blorbos yet.

and find a community of people at your career stage. I had a lot of friends who grew up in fandom with me and who were making the shift to original work at the same time. and one day a tumblr friend (hi @english-mace!) DMed me and offered an exchange of beta-reading for short stories, when we were both at the stage of being largely unpublished. and she then invited me into a small groupchat of early-career sff writers who became a great source of support and advice and indulgent listening to me enthusing about my blorbos and wailing about the tribulations of the tradpub process.

sometimes you're lucky. sometimes it's just a matter of asking your best one-or-two friends to let you bounce ideas off them and give you a little confidence boost. and sometimes you have to go looking. there are discords and slacks and facebook groups out there for aspiring writers: find a few, and go digging for your people.

I hope you find a community to share encouragement and joy with, anon. it's so, so hard to be at the stage of being halfway up the hill and bursting to share.

but you're still only halfway up the hill, and only you can get yourself to the summit. keep climbing. pause sometimes and make a beautiful gifset if it makes you happy. and then keep climbing.

good luck!

[latibvles]

Poet, I'm so sorry that this is late. For starters - congratulations! You should be so proud of all the hard work you've done! A whole year is a LONG TIME to work on something and you've not only kept going but also grown as a writer, too.

I'd love for you to meet Vivian Arseneault. She's the daughter of a textile mill foreman, the oldest of three children, and one of the first people in her family to go to college, where she earns a degree in nursing. An older sister to her bones, Vivian is self-sacrificing, a natural leader, and a deeply compassionate person. She is proud of the hard work it took to get her where she is, and she takes her responsibilities as a nurse very seriously, but she's also not immune to the promise of a good party and the opportunity to dance. Lured by the promise of a steady paycheck and the chance to travel the world, she joins the Army Nurse Corps and accepts a posting in the Phillipines.

You can read more about Vivian in The One That Hits You, and more about her sister Laura in The Darkening Sky.

For those of you unaware, I opened up this inbox game in September to celebrate one year of writing my longfic. While I am not taking anymore submissions, one of the submissions in my inbox will be posted every week on Friday at 12pm EST — either a list of headcanons or a small ficlet! I hope you enjoy reading about all these lovely characters I'm being allowed to play with.

VIV!!!!!!! I definitely remember geeking out over And If I Perish with you after being introduced to the Arseneaults ♡ we here at House Latibvles also played extremely fast and loose with timelines, but it was worth it I think to get a neat little introspection thing with Vivian and Carolyn. If you haven't already, you can check out The One That Hits You here , and The Darkening Sky here — now here's Vivian, Carolyn, Hawaii Hospitals and an unspoken agreement to meet halfway.

—

Islands, Europe, now Hawaii — she figures that one day, Uncle Sam will learn what to do with her.

Because that’s what it feels like it is — like they don’t know what to do with her anymore. Carolyn Foster is not a broken thing, not by a longshot, but sometimes when she’s adjusting her Nighingale cap and looking at her reflection, she doesn’t feel entirely there anymore.

She feels less like a nurse and more like a ghost, most days. Prickly one, that Carolyn Foster. Fine, sure, she’ll be prickly and do her job pissed, because she’s more than earned her right to be pissed off by this point. So yeah, not necessarily broken, but perhaps interminably pissed off would be the most apt when describing her current disposition. She’ll be the harpy, the crone, whatever unpleasant mutterings swirled about her now that she never garnered before.

Carolyn hears a voice one day sounding less like home and more like the place she’s trying to get to. You and me, and my sister and Ron. Dark hair, dark eyes, warm smiles. She damn near freezes at that accent, wants to turn and bear witness to her dark-eyed friend who, for all she knows, is still in that frigid cold. But it isn’t her — the owner of that voice has eyes that are brilliantly blue.

It is not Vivian Arseneault’s fault that Carolyn Foster might be losing her mind.

It is not her fault that Carolyn feels like she’s been hollowed out a little.

And whatever’s weighing on her shoulders — Carolyn wants to tell her that that’s not her fault either. Because it’s always something, isn’t it? With transfers? Whether it be the sound of a sniper bullet splintering wood, or the whole of your clearing station being overrun, it’s always something weighing on them that they can’t really talk about. Hospitals weren’t exactly the place to go halfsies on emotional wellness checks. And nurses weren’t supposed to need the care they were giving. Or at least, they weren’t supposed to show it.

She doesn’t miss Vivian’s shortness of breath and how, even if she doesn’t mean to, she keeps her head down, in a way. On edge.

The first time Carolyn tries to do something nice for her, she feels a little less empty.

“I can take that,” she’d offered, with little room for debate about it, when she’d caught the woman struggling a little with what looked to be a crate of bandages. She’d denied, at first, until Carolyn pointed out that it would go faster if they went half-and-half on the chore. Which could’ve been a bunch of bunk, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Vivian smiled at her then, a proper smile.

“Alright, half-and-half then,” and reluctantly resigned that heavy crate to her awaiting hands.

It’s sealed with that one arrangement.

Half-and-half, going about their days. Getting by. When Carolyn can’t finish something because her hands shake too much, Vivian volunteers herself for it.  And when Vivian has to take a breather, Carolyn steps in without a fuss. She thinks Vivian recognizes where it comes from and why Carolyn’s doing it — but they don’t rip that band-aid off. Not for a while, anyways. If they can’t unpack what’s eating away at them, then they can go halfsies on the workload. That can be enough.

Carolyn doesn’t need Vivian to say it to know that she’s being seen. And maybe it’s something about the way she carries herself — with a deadset determination despite whatever trails her — that makes Carolyn okay with that. And if it means anything, Vivian’s the last person Carolyn would suspect to complain about her being prickly.

It’s towards the end of a night shift when Carolyn decides to take her own band-aid off, and walk halfway.

“Bastogne.” She says, a weighty-word that doesn’t demand an equally hefty reply. But Carolyn looks to Vivian anyways, at the very least, to gauge her reaction. Vivian swallows a moment, presses her lips into a line, and her eyes shut for a moment.

“Malinta Tunnel.” She offers of herself. Half and half.

Carolyn doesn’t need to ask for more.

[catreginae]

People don't give Wind enough credit. Yes, he knew he was still very young and didn't hold as much wisdom as somebody like Time, but he knew when something was wrong before anybody else did.

It's from how people act, that's how he notices that something is amiss.

So, when Warriors and Twilight are gone for far too long, longer than either tends to be, he knows that something bad happened.

He can feel it eating away at his thoughts as he nurses the stew Wild gave him, chewing slowly as his mind wanders. It got so bad that by the time everybody else was finished, he wasn't even halfway done.

“You alright there, Sailor?”

Legend asked as he lightly shook Wind’s shoulder, snapping the youngest out of his thoughts. He nearly choked on the mouthful of stew he had, and sputtered out a swear towards Legend before he cleared his throat.

Everybody was looking at him now, each with a worrisome look. Hyrule even had his hand in his bag, no doubt to grab a potion in case Wind was sick or hurt.

“Yeah, I'm fine.”

Wind lied, gobbling up all the stew in a short span before handing Wild the empty bowl.

“No, you aren't.”

Four said, as Time walked over and placed a hand against WInd’s forehead.

“I promise I'm fine!”

“No fever. Did something happen when you were in town?”

Time asked, but Wind denied it. At this point, everybody was focused on Wind, which made him finally stutter out what infected his core.

“Where is Twilight and Warriors? They are never out this long, and I can't help but worry. What if Twilight collapsed? Or if that infection had returned?”

Sky’s the one who grabbed Wind’s hand, telling him to take a deep breath to hopefully calm him.

“It is odd how long those two have been gone…”

Time admitted as he looked towards the pathway they had taken hours ago, contemplating something.

“Maybe they got lost? My Hyrule is massive, and fields tend to look the same.”

Wild suggested as he put away everything, now having the same worries as Wind. He knew just how bad his Hyrule could get, and he felt a Blood Moon coming sooner than he hoped. An injured Twilight and possible bloodthirsty Warriors being out during that time only spells disaster.

“We should probably try looking for them, then. Three groups, two in two, and the third will have three. Sky and Four will be group one. Myself and Wild will be in group two. Legend, Hyrule, and Wind will be group three.”

Time already was putting his armor back on as he spoke, so when Warriors and Twilight stumbled into camp he wasn't paying attention until Wind had run past him in an attempt to hug the two.

It wasn't until Twilight had growled at him that he stopped dead in his tracks. The hero looked near frantic as he held onto Warriors, growling and baring his now fanged teeth at anybody who dared come closer.

Wind noticed his eyes in a near instant. They looked fine at first, yet they seemed to focus on nothing. His pupils, slit and practically nonexistent, kept darting at every single noise or shift of movement.

“Wars… what happened?”

Time asked as he slowly tried to walk up to the two, which was met with even more snarls from Twilight.

“A Hanox… we didn't even see it before Twilight was sent flying.”

Another growl left Twi upon hearing his name, and he snapped his jaws at Warriors before returning back to listening to everything.

“I doubt a Hanox turned him into this.”

Four said from a safe distance, his ears twitching as we watched the older intently.

“He was dying, Four! It was either I turn him or bury him, and I refuse to lose anybody if I have the choice to prevent their death.”

“So you turned Twilight without him telling you to? You do know how drastic that is, especially with how much of a change this is?!”

Legend yelled out as he walked over to the two, trying to get Twilight out of Warrior’s grasp. Instead, Twilight pulled himself away and stood back, not wanting to get in the way of the unavoidable argument.

“Legend, stay away from hi-”

“He would've died, Legend! You didn't see how his bones snapped and poked through his skin, or how his flesh was torn and beaten! If I hadn't stepped in, we would've been down a hero… down a brother.”

Legend glared at Warriors, disgust written across his face.

“It wasn't your call to make! What if Twilight would've preferred death to this curse?”

“Well, he was knocked out and dying, so words weren't really an option!”

“Guys…”

“It doesn't mean you should have done it! Look at how scared he is! He’s probably never going to recover from this, and look how his eyes are too!”

“Guys, please…”

“If you were in my shoes, you would've done the same thing!”

“NO, I WOULDN'T HAVE!!”

“Get down!”

Legend and Warriors look over to the yelling just afar, eyes wide and bodies going stiff.

Currently, Wind was on the ground, being hovered by Twilight. However, Sky was holding him back, his arm being bitten into in an attempt to get Twilight to not maul Wind. Sky didn't even flinch as his arm was dug into by those fangs, instead, he tried to calm Twilight down as he and Time dragged Twilight away from the group.

“See… he nearly killed Wind and hurt Sky… our Twilight would've never done that…”

Legend said finally, his tone both sad and angry.

“He doesn't know who is what anymore. Once he gets some blood in his system, he’ll be fine.”

“Will he? We do not know how the vampirism will react to his Twili magic… he could just be a beast now.”

“Do you really have that little faith in him? He survived nearly dying to some unknown shadow magic by Dink, I have no doubt he’ll be okay after this.”

“He isn't like you, Warriors. He wasn't cursed, wasn't turned in such an unnatural way like you did. He might be a full vampire and we won't even know until it's too late.”

Warriors is now silent. The possibility that Twilight might just… not be the same anymore lingers in his mind. Did he make his brother a monster? Make him something that Twilight wouldve never wish to be?

“We will have to see then.”

Thats all he said before he headed towards where Sky and Time dragged Twilight. He knew he should focus on making sure Wind was alright, but Hyrule and Four was already on it by that point.

Guilt had settled in his gut, and he sighed.

He was selfish. He couldnt lose Twilight, and made him into something that could be a potential threat bigger than Dink.

He’ll be selfish again if any of the others were to be placed into the same situation, even if they wished not to be turned.

With a sigh, he walks over to the three, knowing now that he’ll make sure Legend was wrong. He’ll make sure Twilight remains his protective, caring and sweet self.

Even if it means everybody else hates him.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

(Here's the next part 😊. I probably won't be writing the fourth one until later because I have been cursed with so much homework 🥲)

(I hope you're taking care of yourself)

❄ anon

🥹 Poor babies. Full vampires are good people too.

[gunsli-01]

So, Triage was certainly a thing huh. Whelp, let me tell you. I've been listening to triage all day and I have some thoughts that may just conflict with everything else said. So, watch me go against my own interests and state for all to see despite me personally voting Shidou Innocent I'm certain he's everything but that!

I believe Shidou’s spouse may have gotten sick which is what initially made him begin taking organs. However, since he was also the main source of income for his household he was gone often. His wife may have still taken care of the house but was not really permitted to do too many strenuous activities because of her illness. Inevitably, her illness worsened, and she was put into a hospital full time. The beginning of Triage even alludes to this being the case with lyrics,

“Those cards of promise I discarded were they retribution for my incessant taking. In that case, I should have been the one. That’s the correct answer, but then why?”

He was already taking organs before his children were impacted more than likely to save his wife from whatever illness she had. In Shidou’s second interrogation he says,

“You saw my true self, didn’t you? There ought to be very few people who have killed more than I have. In comparison to me, the prisoners who weren’t forgiven have also hardly done anything wrong.”

He responds to Es’ assertion that his murder was the act of harvesting organs from brain dead patients with,

“Well… About halfway, I would say."

Es assumed that Shidou’s patients were brain dead and he’s halfway correct but that’s pretty far from correct. Chances are Shidou’s patients were not brain dead but more than likely in vegetative or comatose states with possibly very little chance of recovery. Es is once again seeing what he wants to see here and creating the best-case scenario to justify the choices already made.

Even worse Shidou could have lied to his patients families stating they were brain dead when they weren’t in order to persuade them into pulling the plug faster. When he confronts family members of his patients in Throw Down, he has no paperwork concerning the individual being discussed. So, the family members just have to take his word on it. This is shown being the case multiple times.

Even worse we see the actual patient records scatter through the air and strewn down at Shidou's feet near the end of his first mv.

Average people wouldn’t be able to immediately tell the difference between brain death and a coma.

“Their loved one who has suffered from an injury to the brain is in a hospital intensive care unit. Doctors are doing everything possible to help the patient including supporting blood pressure and heart rate with medications, breathing for the patient with a ventilator, and constantly monitoring the patient’s condition. Often, for the patient with a non-traumatic brain injury like a stroke, there is no outward sign that their loved one has suffered a devastating and non-survivable injury to the brain. The patient looks to be asleep, is warm to touch and appears to breath, albeit with the help of a machine.”

“ “NO” the hesitation I killed is holding its breath and sniffing out lies.”

“Lying, replacing with hope.”/ “To keep you alive, you are still living.”

There is a chance that the person who was brain dead was Shidou’s wife. I’m saying this because of the amount of organs Shidou is displayed taking and the height of the individual he is shown to be working on in Throw Down. If his wife was brain dead and he was deluding himself into believing she could recover she would constantly need new organs. Because organs in brain dead patients can only remain functioning with the assistance of life support for a short time.

“However, the vital organs such as the heart, lungs, liver, pancreas and kidneys can be kept viable for a few days if supported by artificial or mechanical support.”

“You don’t even know yet, and yet- Killing, extracting, I still won’t see them again.”/ “Not dead; yeah, she’s definitely not dead.”

This could be why we see the kids go from being supervised by her to playing by themselves. Under this framing Shidou would still have a very demanding job that he would have to do even more to manage to pay for his wife’s hospital bills, collect organs for her possibly already brain dead body and meet his children’s basic needs. While he was gone either one or both of his kids could have gotten into an accident while playing.

More than likely related to the soccer ball we see bounce to a halt in Triage before we see Shidou in a dark empty home. The call Shidou misses in Triage could be someone attempting to contact him about the accident. This could also explain why the imagery that alludes to an individual (possibly the wife) flatlining is accompanied by the noise a landline phone makes when it’s busy.

Something that conflicts with what we hear at the beginning of Triage which is someone calling Shidou’s cellphone not a housephone. We can tell this is the case because the calling noise rings three times before he sends the call to voicemail. More than likely because he was busy with something else either work related or related to his wife’s care.

From the reaction of the kids when Shidou enters the house he doesn’t seem to be home often. Then when we see him spending time with his wife he’s wearing the same clothes he was when he was walking there. So, they probably were spending time together on one of his off days. The house we see Shidou in is also completely different from the apartment we see him residing in during Throw Down. So, chances are he rented an apartment close to his work and would regularly send money back to his family and visit them when he got free time.

After the mother fell ill to the point of needing hospitalization or was found brain dead. Shidou may have moved the whole family out of that house and into the city where she could get better care for her needs. This is why when the kids are seen playing Shidou sings,

"I yearn to be found guilty."

However, after we see him and his wife walking together it changes to,

"But it tilts towards, find me Innocent."

This is also why he's happy to get his judgement handed down to him by a child. Because in his deluded pursuit to prolong his wife's life regardless of if it had ended already or not, he neglected his children which ultimately led to him losing everyone he loved.

I need to state I'm not saying this to get Shidou’s verdict to change by any means I think he should still be Innocent even while recognizing these things as possibilities. I’m only saying this so people don’t delude themselves into thinking Shidou is someone he’s not.

Certainly, he is willing to care for those who are injured now but that was not always the case and he had to lose a lot to even get to that point. Even after that he tried to find the quickest way to run from his guilty conscious by asking for the death penalty right out the gate. Kirisaki, Shidou is not such a simple case and looking away from the truth in favor of the ideal is how he wound up in Milgram.

Don’t make the same mistakes he did. Look that bastard dead in the eyes and tell him to do something right for once. When I made that post saying friendship ended with my morals I meant that don’t fall for Es’ misconceptions and remember to think for yourselves. If you don’t and allow yourselves to be led by your biases all you’ll get is disappointed or worse used.

[mushangaa]

Don't mind me I'm just gonna whine a bit. So a couple of days ago, before my flare-up really kicked me in the teeth and made me too exhausted for big things, I was working on the cover for chapter 1 of my comic. (it serves hard by the way)

But eh, halfway through I realized I need to redo the entire thing. Problem is in the initial sketch phase I did overwork the paper a bit to hard, which is not so easy to do since it is a 300g/m³ (140lb) paper, meaning medium weight class meaning this paper will not wrap that easily and bc it is cold pressed it also can take some water and all that jazz - bottom line is, it is a good sturdy paper and I am glad I found the perfect paper that suits my workflow and is not too expensive too. But also, I managed to rough up that sturdy paper with the eraser and pencil in ways that are hard to achieve. So yeah I thought I could work around that - n o p e. The colour blooms and bleeds were it should not, I sometimes let it do that deliberately but for certain areas there is drying phases and stuff for more precise brushstrokes etc. Like... I have a good balance on when to control and when to let my inks do as they please with some mild interference from me. Also water control is a bitch tha sometimes loves me and sometimes will f me over but I also know how to work with that. But when the paper is damaged that all means jack shit. No matter how dry it is, the colour will bleed over into areas that are dry just because of the structures I created with erasure friction and there ain't not much I can do about that. I already overworked it and I also have a good amound of graphite that just fused into the paper that even the eraser could no longer pick up that rose to the surface of my colours like it is paying rent. Long story short I messed up my paper in ways that make it impossible for me to fix and I was more than halfway done with the colours by the point I accepted this does not work for me and i have to redo the entire thing. Next issue is that transferring the lineart from one paper to another is horrible with paper as thick as the one I use and my light sheet is a trouper but just not bright enough for the job lol So yeahhhh I am still very exhausted in general but I just wanna tackle the cover again and it is all a lil frustrating hence why I am writing a huge rant about it to get it outta my system and then I will pick up my pencil again and redo this cover rahhhhh. (and like, I am not even a perfectionist, I used to be one, but I trained myself out of that in my early 20s because it was just not helpful or valuable so I usually work with mistakes or work around them because honestly? I am aware most people would not even notice those things I only know they are there because I was there to witness me making them. But this one looks really like ass so I have to redo it. I can't let someone fab like horsegirl Leo look anything less than his best and having green and red bleed together constantly because the paper texture is messed up is so not working for either of us.)

Lessons to take away from this: - don't overwork the goddamn paper - no matter the level of artist you can and will mess up spectacularly and that is okay - sometimes you gotta stop being stubborn, quit and start again, there is nothing to gain but frustration from keeping working on something that just isn't working - and, more personal, wear the goddamn compression opera gloves during sketching and lining for the love of god it helps with the heavy handedness you absolute fool.