#Read the whole damn thing or don't respond

[tumblingxelian]

A Necessary Post - Yang, Taiyang & Seeing Red

I debated this being a message or a note or a reblog, but ultimately this warranted an essay. Because a hatred of nuance is not even remotely the reason why Tai is critiqued as a teacher or father.

With that fact in mind, let's begin:

During RWBY Volume 4, Episode 9: Two Steps Forward, Two Steps Back Taiyang has a great deal of critical feedback for Yang regarding her fighting style, personality & Semblance.

The issue is that Tai's words and advice when compared to what we saw on screen before & afterwards demonstrate he does not understand how it works or how she used it.

So here for your reading pleasure if a more or less line by line breakdown of Tai's advice and why I don't feel it holds up & more to the point, why I don't believe Yang utilized it.

Taiyang: Do you realize that you used your Semblance to win every fight after the qualifiers?

Yang rightfully points out that her using Burn is no different than anyone else using their Semblances. I would add that Yang's Semblance only serves to enhance her already present abilities with damage taken in a fight. So her not using it would be stupidly holding back extra energy for no reason.

Tai's critique also fails to register that when using her Semblance to take out FNKI, Yang specifically disrupted the ground so Neon could not skate effectively & used the boost in power to turn Flynt's own weapon against him.

I will be addressing Mercury further down but she used it effectively and intellectually here and to great effect.

What's more, every other fights fighting style, weapons or both were literally built around their Semblances. Yang's threat level remains fairly consistent without her Semblance, all three of these other characters take a huge dip.

Taiyang: Because not everyone else's is basically a temper tantrum.

Ignoring that calling the manifestation of Yang's soul a temper tantrum is another in a long line if dickish things Tai says to Yang. Her Semblance literally does not work that way.

Her anger has jack and shit to do with it, this has been explained & demonstrated time and time again. Yang only gets a power boost when she's been injured, the fact she tends to be angry when using it is because being hurt sucks and she's usually in an intense fight. When the fight is going well and she still gets to use it she's not angry, as seen with a pleased smirk here:

So as before, Tai's critique is bereft of any merit, Yang's Semblance does not work that way.

Taiyang: I'm serious! Once you take damage, you can dish it back twice as hard, but that doesn't make you invincible!

Cite a time Yang thought she was invincible, cite it provably that Yang thought, said or indicated that she felt she was invincible. You can't because Yang never indicated as such this is something Tai is assuming about her at best.

& no her jumping in the Nevermore's mouth is not an example because she was not using her Semblance, did not take damage, it was a very effective strategy & seemingly either part of the plan, or was so easily understood that it could be safely and reliably worked into the plan. She wasn't using her Semblance here but finding evidence of risky behavior was hard, especially with her Semblance, go figure.

In fact every time Yang used her Semblance she did so only because someone landed a blow, which just happens in fights sometimes.

Taiyang: It's great when you're in a bind, but what happens if you miss? What happens if they're stronger? What then? Now you're just weak and tired!

We know what happens when Yang misses, she can swing again!

After the first blow on the Paladin she missed & needed help to catch it, her missing had zero impact on her Semblances.

As to what happens if they are stronger, um, she loses, that sometimes happens in fights. Its not something Yang can do anything about by holding back on extra strength. Not to quote Qrow but sometimes bad things happen. Other characters losing to stronger opponents don't get given this kind of diatribe's because its pointedly obvious that there was nothing to be done about it.

& on the final piece, she was very pointedly not weak and tired after using it. The only times she has been shown to be is when she was extremely low on Aura regardless in which cases not using her Semblance is a death sentence.

So again, we've established Tai's critique comes from nowhere & his understanding of her Semblance is nonexistent.

Taiyang: But you gotta keep your emotions in check. Keep a level head, and think before you act. Your Semblance is a great fallback, but you can't let yourself rely on it.

This is so painfully unfair it hurts.

No other character gets this kind of shit for expressing emotions in combat. In fact we see characters expressing emotions in battle all the time. Nor has she stopped displaying emotions in combat:

I already outlined how in all two of the Yang fights Tai actually witnessed she used strategy and retained excellent combat form. So again, baseless claims from Tai.

What's more, Yang primarily does use her Semblance as a fallback rather than rely on it in these fights. She only whipped it out against Mercury when he'd unleashed his seeming kill move on her and was confident he'd won.

Not using it here would be dumb and make no sense.

Yang doesn't rely on it to save her, she deploys it when it makes sense to & she has the energy or the need. This is more than we see from many characters.

Taiyang: It won't always save you. Obviously.

So now he is critiquing her for a fight he didn't even witness & knows jack shit about. So let's break this down once again:

Yang has spent the last 24 hours questions her sanity.

Yang's new home (Her words) is burning down.

Yang's sister is missing in all this chaos.

Then Yang's partner gets fucking stabbed, and the guy who did it is standing between them with a sword & gun, with fire all over Grimm all around.

Anything Yang can do he can counter, she tries to go around he only has to pivot. If she tries to fire from long range she might hit Blake. She tries an earth shock wave, she launches Blake into the fire.

She quite literally had no others options & zero time to try anything else because he can just shoot or stab Blake whenever he wants.

Taiyang: You definitely have your mom's stubbornness.

This, this right here is where all this is actually coming from. Tai is once again projecting Raven onto Yang despite them frankly having almost nothing in common.

With most of Yang's visible personality tells being inherited from Summer, such as the mother daughter shoulder check of V9. Thanks to chittychittyyangyang for the GIFs

Or as outlined in some songs with Yang's side of the lyrics explicitly citing how she is trying to fill the Summer shaped void in their lives.

Like the smell of a rose on a summer's day, I will be there to take all your fears away.

Taiyang: Your mother was... a complicated woman. Like everybody, she had her faults, but those faults are what tore our team apart. And, it did a real number on our family.

Tai blames Raven for tearing their team apart. Save that by all accounts, barring her absence things seemed to be going fine. Qrow seemed to be present in their lives, Tai looked happy, the girls were happy & Summer at least seemed happy though we know she was covering up a lot of dread.

Keep in mind Tai is projecting Raven, the woman he blames for destroying the team and damaging the family onto his daughter who literally kept the family together after Summer died. Yang's established this, Ruby has established this, its canon.

Yang: I had to pick up the pieces. I had to keep things together. Alone. (pause) Weiss, if you have something to say, then say it. Ruby: If you thought we wouldn’t come for you, then you must’ve forgotten who raised me.

Tai was not the one holding that home or family together. Unless you think the writers are gonna randomly swerve & say both Yang & Ruby are big whiny liars for some utterly nonsensical reasons. So no, I don't take him seriously as a narrator or critique of Yang, I have no reason to.

But let's push on, because I'm not done.

Taiyang: You both act like the easiest way to tackle an obstacle is through it. (pointing at Zwei) That strength is all that matters in a fight.

Ah yes, Raven, the woman famously known for thinking the easiest way to deal with an obstacles is to tackle it head on. That's why she spent years adorning herself in a Grimm helmet that hid her eyes & raised a False Maiden to serve as her body double.

A woman so inclined to rely on her own raw strength that when she was ambushed by Salem's forces she decided to trick them into an ambush.

Then when fighting Cinder and was at a disadvantage she freezes her in place while making Cinder think she is going on the offensive leaving her to be crushed by Stalactites & also utilized mind games to distract her & deal the finishing blow... Cos she only relies on strength.

As to his final piece of advice I already address it up above, there was no way around Adam, the situation was fucked from the start.

Saying it was Yang's fault she was dismembered is no more than victim blaming, I stood by that in Volume 3 to to this day & beyond.

Taiyang: But if you just take a second look, then maybe you see... (walking toward her, stepping around Zwei) there's a way around as well.

But let's actually look at Seeing Red & if Yang listened to Tai's advice or if she not only ignored it but did the opposite of what he ordered.

Let's see she goes in with open aggression & emotions, and also takes many blows rather than going 'around' them somehow.

Yang, as if she were 'indestructible' outright tanks a massively charged up Aura beam for the purpose of increasing her strength.

Then burns through all of her Aura & Semblance energies delivering one direct blow, relying on it to save her & leaving her weak & tired.

Or in other words, she:

Yang didn't miss, but we know that isn't a real issue anyway.

Yang used her Semblance to 'win' the fight & very much did rely on it to save her.

Yang expressed anger & many other emotions in the battle & still continues to does so.

Yang willingly took huge risks that involved her being able to take tons of damage rather than go "Around" the problem.

Yang knew Adam was likely stronger given it was 2 V1 but relied on her Semblance to get her out of that bind and she was in fact left weak and tired.

This is also the first time she has done several of these things, or otherwise demonstrated these traits, such as being left weak and tired or willingly tanking big attacks rather than just being hit by surprise or due to being overwhelmed.

I don't take Tai's advice seriously because none of it was accurate or aligned with the Semblance we saw in action or had described to us.

I don't trust Tai's opinion on Yang because his take on her is explicitly informed by Raven & not the Yang we spent four & then five more volumes getting to know.

I don't take Tai's words over Yang's, Ruby's or what we see on screen because Tai is at best a secondary or minor character & a recurring theme in RWBY is the failure of older generations.

These failures are not just in the past but how they have been consistently failing the next generation as the story is being told. There is zero reason to think Tai is some magic exception to this narrative trend when much more well explored characters like Maria, Qrow, Ozpin, Ironwood, Raven, and hell, Summer Rose are not.

& that is my stance on that, thanks for tuning in!

[gachaparadise]

[lodeddiperactivate]

Aftercare

A/N: I don't really put warnings on shorter fics unless they're full length ones, and I do have a general MDNI rule on my pinned post but I thought that this particular Rafe fic need its own set of warnings. Also, I saw the first part somewhere which then gave me the idea for the entire fic. If you know where it's from, pls let me know!

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, dark!rafe but he has soft moments after sex, male receiving oral, filming sex

"You're so mean to me," you pouted at Rafe who was trying to look for a shirt to put on.

"Yeah, well you get off to it so what's your point?"

That's actually true, you thought to yourself but you also thought, wouldn't your boyfriend indulged you at least once in a while if you ask him to at least be nice for a change and maybe show some support? You decided to tease him further just as you saw Barry approaching.

"Hey Barry!" You enthusiastically called out to him. Rafe immediately shot you a look, which you responded with a smirk.

"What do you think of this new dress?" You twirled for him with so much glee you could hear and feel Rafe's blood boiling.

"Oh princess, that's such a lovely dress!" Barry exclaimed as he placed his hand on your lower back. He has always been so flirty with you and yet he's the only guy who Rafe hasn't beaten up yet.

"Why thank you, kind sir!"

"What's the special occasion?" He leaned even closer. Barry knew what you were doing. You've done this countless times, trying to make Rafe jealous so usually he would play along.

"There's no special occasion," Rafe said. "Have you got my shit?" He asked Barry obviously pissed.

"Yes, I've got your shit," Barry said, mocking Rafe. You and Barry shared a glance. He smirked at you and you couldn't help but giggle.

"Go upstairs," Rafe has finally had it. "And wait there until we're done."

"Come on, country club, she can stay with us," Barry flirted.

"Yeah, maybe I can-"

"Go, now!"

You pouted and said your goodbyes to Barry before going upstairs in his room and waiting. It was a couple of minutes before you hear Barry's motorcycle. Then, footsteps coming up the stairs. You prepared yourself for whatever version of Rafe you're going to face.

As soon as he walked in the door, he walked around the bed, carefully eyeing you. You didn't know what to do so you just sat there.

"Is that what you want? To whore yourself in front of Barry?"

"Oh come on, that's not what I was doing," you said as you stood up and walked towards him.

He pushed you back with so much force that you landed back on the bed.

"Ow! Rafe, what the-"

Rafe quickly wrapped his hands around your neck, his face inches away from yours, breathing heavily down on you as he slowly tightened his grip. You started to choke but could not help noticed the wetness starting to pool down below.

As if reading your mind, Rafe used his other hand to feel just how wet you are. He brought his hand down to rub the fabric of your panties before lifting it up to taste you. He smirked at you and pushed you back on the bed with so much force. He started taking his shirt off and his pants, so you naturally and instinctively took your clothes off as well but Rafe stopped you.

"You're not gonna cum unless I want you to," as he grabbed you by the hair and brought you to your knees. His cock inches away from your face. "You know what to do."

You sucked him out of fear, out of lust, out of excitement, who knows? What you knew is that Rafe had a grin plastered on his face the whole time.

"I knew you were a slut but damn, I believe you may also be a masochist," he said as he leaned closer so that your faces are inches away from one another.

"Open." You opened your mouth. "Stick your tongue out," which you did. Rafe then spit in your mouth and you swallowed. "At least I know there's one thing you would obey," he said as you proceeded to suck him.

"Please," you breathed. You needed some kind of friction that you started rubbing your clit while sucking him off.

Rafe smirked at you, took out his phone, and started taking a video of you sucking him while you're rubbing your clit. "Yeah, you're gonna whore yourself out to Barry. Well, maybe I'll send this lovely video to him so he can jerk off to it."

That statement made you moaned through Rafe's cock. You fingered yourself quickly and took as much as you can of Rafe, his full length.

"Oh? You like that huh?" You tried to reply but your mouth was full.

"I know you," Rafe said as he had chunks of your hair in a grip. "I know what you want, what makes you wet," he said as you feel him jerk in your mouth, you know he's close to cumming. "I know everything about you, and you're mine," Rafe groaned as he cummed all over your mouth. "Mine," he said as he grunted, disposing his seed into your mouth.

You collapsed on the bed from exhaustion and the sheer force Rafe had used on you. You couldn't help it as you drifted off to sleep right then and there.

When you woke, you noticed it was night time and the room was dimly lit. You also noticed that you were now wearing different clothes, comfier ones. They were Rafe's, an oversized shirt and boxer shorts. You were no longer wearing your panties.

On the bedside table, there is a glass of water and some of your favorite chocolates. Your favorite scent was on the diffuser, and the blinds were already drawn. For a moment, you completely forgot where you are and what happened earlier.

"Hey," Rafe said softly as he poked his head through the door. He then came in with a sandwich on a plate and some soda.

"Hey," you croaked. He smirked as he set the tray beside you. "I see you're still sore from earlier, yeah?"

You didn't respond, you tried to move your body and realized that he was right, your entire body was sore.

"Did I fall asleep after?"

Rafe cuddled beside you, pulling you closer, and stroking your hair. You were so tired that you naturally leaned in and rested your head on his chest.

"Yes, you did." Rafe said, you detected a hint of guilt in his voice.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry if I was too rough."

"You were kinda rough, but it's okay baby," you assured him. He wasn't convinced. He turned to face you and looked you in the eye, "I never want to hurt you, got that?"

"I know," you kissed him and smiled at him.

"And to show you I'm serious, I am going to be 100% nice to you!"

"But then you wouldn't be the Rafe I fell in love with?"

OBX masterlist

[httpswritings]

@alexiaps94 has liked your profile — Alexia Putellas x Reader

Word count: around 648

Warnings: none

Summary: You and Alexia match on an exclusive dating app.

“@alexiaps94 has liked your profile”

That was first notification you saw when you first checked your phone in the morning, still half asleep.

Some days ago, you signed up on Like.ly, an app similar to Tinder but extremely exclusive. The app was directed to wealthy people and reputed celebrities. You had to e-mail the company and wait if they accepted you on the company. If you were, you had to go through an interview where they'll ask you all types of questions, as the company itself would look for some potential matches to get you started. They did not succeed to your liking. They matched you with all sort of celebrities, but nobody properly caught your eye. 

You weren't a football fan, but you knew who Alexia was because of the expectation she woke up when she won her second Ballon D'Or and when Spain won the World Cup, as the press talked non-stop about the different problems with the federation, especially about the incident during the final. 

You clicked on her profile. Her profile pic was a picture with her dog, Nala. She had more pictures uploaded; you could see her with her family, her friends, her team and by herself. You scrolled down to the “About Me” paragraph.

“Hi! My name is Alexia. I like playing football, spending time with my family and learning new things. 😃”

“Cute”, you thought. You hesitated about what your next move should be. You liked her profile but decided to not write her yet. 

“Hi. I saw your profile some days ago and you seem lovely. I'd love to hear from you”. You hated the way you wrote that text. “Y/N, you want to get to know her as a friend, maybe as something more, this is not a business meeting”, you said to yourself. Your text was fine, you were only overreacting. If you knew they way Alexia reacted to your text, you'd feel more than accomplished with yourself.

“Hi, Y/N. Thank you! You seem really lovely too. I'm seeing that you have four cats! Wow, that's some good company. I think a get along better with dogs because I've been around them my whole life, but the cat life sounds fun too. 😸”

You chuckled as you read her message. “She's indeed very lovely”, you thought. 

“Yeah, so damn crazy, but it's quite fun😸😹” You had never used those emojis. Weird. Adorable but weird.

As you kept talking during the week with Alexia, you got to know her better. She told you about the passing of her dog, Nala, and how bad that affected her. You told each other about your life: family, friends, place of work. She even taught you a little bit of football, and you were so entertained you couldn't quite believe it, as you never showed any interested in football except for some random matches of the men's world cup. You started to educate yourself in women's football.

“Can I call you?”, was the message you received from her on a Saturday night. You had spent the whole day rotting on your sofa and talking to Alexia until your eyes started to feel really heavy. As she called you, and you responded, you started to breath uncontrollably rapid but at the same time, you felt so comfortable listening to her. Alexia's voice was soft, and her laugh sounded so delicate, you felt butterflies in your stomach every time you made her laugh.

“It was nice talking to you, Ale, but we both need some rest, especially you. You have training tomorrow.”

“... I liked hearing you calling me Ale”

“I like hearing you, Ale.”

“God, are you always this flirty?”

“Not in person. I'll have to be a little bit tougher when I'll have you in front of me.”

“No, don't be. I'm pretty sure I'd love the timid version of you. I can't wait to see it.”

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Alright, so there's been a lot of chatter about some of the most common racist takes in the fandom lately, and I know most people aren't engaging in good faith but I'm gonna spell some things out anyway. Here's a handy-dandy White Fan's Intro to Racist Fanon 101

Why is it racist to depict Ed as uncontrollably violent?

Because he's not actually depicted that way in the show. OFMD goes out of its way to depict Ed's relationship with violence as complex and intensely traumatic for him. Because he has so many hangups around violence, Ed is one of the least violent characters in a show full of violent characters. He is always shown giving people many chances before they're able to push him into reacting with violence.

Even if you think you're just doing a character study on a guy who is really very complex and nuanced, please take the time to consider if you're assigning more weight to Ed's violent actions than those of other characters or assuming he's worse than he actually is (for example, Ed never physically hurt the crew during his kraken spiral, just Izzy. His crime was being a shitty boss, not going on mindlessly violent rampages).

What do other common fanon depictions of Ed that are racist look like?

The biggest ones are depicting Ed as untidy/messy, as illiterate, and as needing a white man (most often Izzy) to clean up after him. I hope I shouldn't have to spell out why these are racist, but please keep an eye out for them in the fanon you consume so you can be critical of how you respond when they pop up.

Are you saying that all Izzy fans are racist?

Liking a character is morally neutral. Insisting that the viewpoint of an antagonistic character is the lens through which the show should be understood, though, especially when that antagonistic character's whole deal in the first season of the show was trying to control the behavior of the brown lead so he could gain power for himself, however...

Just please consider - why do you find Izzy's tears more deserving of sympathy and compassion than Ed's?

But my hot take/fic/meta doesn't say anything about Ed's skin color!

It doesn't have to. Most of the racist takes/fic/meta out there don't mention Ed's skin color explicitly. Racism doesn't just look like saying "this character is a brown man so he's bad." Everyone who grows up in a racist society (that's everyone on the planet, btw, you included) has biases to unlearn, and those biases impact how you interact with the world around you, including with the media you consume.

The thing is, OFMD isn't a subtle show. It's very consistent with telling us who Ed is, how he responds to situations, and why he behaves the way he does. If you find it easier to throw all that aside in favor of believing what a white antagonistic character tells you about him, then you should really take a bit to examine that.

And here's the most important thing to keep in mind:

This is not about you.

Trust me, it has to be pretty damn bad for fans of color to call out racism in fandom. Every time we do, we know we're gonna harrassment and just some truly awful shit in our inboxes. But you, random white fan who Did A Racism? No one is out to get you. No one thinks you're an awful person for including a racist trope in your stuff, we just wish you'd examine it so we can make this fandom a better place for everyone.

I have had amazing discussions with white fans who saw my posts on fandom racism and wanted a sensitivity read or a check so they could fix an instance where they uncritically included a racist trope. But most people who make similar mistakes will just double down and insist they didn't do anything wrong, and that makes fandom a worse place for all of us.

Fans of color deserve to feel safe and included in this fandom, and we're just tired of feeling like we have to beg to get some circles to see poc as people. You can do your part by being critical of these tropes and your reactions to them when they pop up.

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part three

authors note: hi! its me again. i had some free time and most of this chapter was completed, sans gaps and editing, so i figured why not?

thank you everyone for all of the kind words, like im still so floored just how many people like the random shit that comes from my head!!!

also, some tags don't seem to work for some reason, like when i type it, the hyperlink doesn't appear so super sorry to those impacted by that!!!

warnings: angsttttt, language, suggestive content

song inspo: with me by destiny’s child

word count: 4.2k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wonderingfashion

You were sixteen years old the first time you drank alcohol. Truly, a result of peer pressure. Alcohol never seemed as amazing as your friends tried to preach it to be, not with the amount of hair you’d held back while your friends retched their entire days consumption in toilet bowls. 

Just didn’t seem all that appealing.

And then it was homecoming, and your school won the game, qualifying them for state. The whole town was in celebration, but no one was as lit as the football team. And, of course, dating the quarterback at the time and as cheer captain, your presence was damn near a requirement. High school politics and all.

So, you, Amir, and your closest friends spent the night house hopping, partying at one place for a little while before moving on to the next. And at some point, at some stop, you’d been convinced to try a beer. Honestly, it was disgusting as fuck, but a small part of you didn’t want to be the one prude of your group, so you downed it. And then another. Followed by another. Which preceded one more. 

And by the end of the night, you truly were white girl wasted.

You thank God that you had good friends at the time who made sure you made it home safely, because you absolutely did black out. Amir did too, hence him not being the one responsible for your care.

When you woke up that morning, the first thing you did was dart to the bathroom where you emptied your guts. The second? Panic. You were terrified of your mother finding out that not only had you engaged in underage drinking, literally violating the damn law, but you’d gotten so wasted that you blacked out. It was incredibly stupid and highly dangerous. Your chest tightened and stomach coiled at how she would react if and when she realized what you’d done.

That was the most scared and nervous you’ve ever been in your entire life.

Well, up until now.

Because all you can focus, think, and obsess about is the fact that Joe will be in your state, in your town, in your damn apartment in a matter of hours. He’d text you in the middle of the night a screenshot of his flight information indicating an arrival time much earlier than you were hoping for. 

Dread swept over as you sent him a message asking if he would stay at the same hotel he usually used when visiting, not that it got much use. He typically stayed with you during his visits. But, you offered to meet him there instead, feeling more comfortable if you were out of this setting, not in your apartment that had some type of reminder of Callie in damn near every room.

It took longer than you liked for him to respond, and his answer only served to increase your anxiety and trigger some anger.

No. I’m coming to you.

That was it, no explanation to your follow up texts which you know he read cause bastard had his read receipts on. Just radio silence.

That pissed you off even more, because why the hell was he ignoring you? Wasn’t he about to come talk to you about something anyway?

Oh.

Your stomach tightens. Not knowing what the hell he wants is driving you insane. You know why you reached out to him, but why did he seem so keen on speaking to you? It’d been nearly five years, what could have happened to trigger this sudden desire to reconnect?

And why the hell did he respond so quickly to your initial message? Truthfully, you expected no response whatever, convinced that he’d probably changed numbers after his massive increase in fame. Or, for him to at least hit you with the ‘who is this’? But, he didn’t, he called you and immediately knew who you were.

A tiny gasp leaves your mouth. That must have meant he still had your number saved, the same way you still have his in your contact list.

You….you don’t know what to make of that, don’t know what to make of it at all.

“Mommy, why am I spending the night with Aunt Mariah?”

Callie’s soft voice temporarily eases you from your panic, granted it also makes you aware of how she’s clearly unhappy about this. You know why too. Sundays are always your ‘special days,’ where you spend the entire day together doing the most random of things from baking, to playing game, to random dance parties that sometimes result in neighbors politely asking you to keep the noise down. It’s a tradition, and this is the first time since starting said tradition that it won’t be happening. 

Closing up her drawer where you were just digging for some pajamas for her, you move to sit next to her on her bed. Her head is down as she plays with the stuffed animal in her arms. “I’m sorry, baby. I know this is our day, but mommy just has some business she has to take care of.”

She keeps her head down, voice low. “Can’t you do it tomorrow?

Fuck. You hate disappointing her. “I wish, baby, but it can’t wait.” More like he won’t wait. You’re not sure what you would have proposed regarding a time to discuss, well, Callie, but it certainly wouldn’t have been the next damn day. “Hey, how about this? Why don’t you and I stay home tomorrow and have a special special day on Monday?”

At that, her head lifts, eyes sparkling with renewed excitement. “Really?”

“Yup. Mommy can take some time off, and you can miss a day of school. It won’t kill us.” You rarely ever take time off as it is, mostly because a teacher’s salary isn’t anything to write home about. You have to work your ass off to keep a roof over your and Callie’s head. But also….you’re not even sure what frame of mind you’re going to be in following this meeting with Joe, so better safe than sorry. “But only if we can watch The Lion King first.”

Clearly pleased with this compromise, she offers you her pink finger. “Deal!”

You two seal the deal with a pinky swear as you hold her into your side and sigh heavily. You wish that you two could stay like this forever. “I love you, Callie. Okay? Always remember that.”

________

“He’s what?”

You anxiously chew on the nasty ass protein bar Mariah offered you after you realized you’d barely had anything to eat today. It was a part of the latest dietary plan she was following, probably something she found from one of those weird ass dieting groups she was a member of on Facebook.

You loved Mariah, dearly, but as you two grew older, especially after having her baby boy, Micah, she’d become increasingly insecure about her body. Always the smaller, thinner, more athletic of the two, you knew that she struggled with how much weight she’d put on over the years, especially when her plan to drop the baby weight didn’t pan out. You're not sure she’s lost any of it, to be honest. 

It wasn’t even a massive weight gain, and truthfully, you thought curves suited her well. But, it didn’t matter what you thought. What mattered was how she felt, which wasn’t the best, despite your best efforts to build up her confidence.

“He’s coming into town,” you finally answer, debating if you should offer her the rest of this grass in bar form. Why the hell is it so damn grainy?

“Today? He’s coming into town today?” You nod. “I’m sorry, I must have missed a couple chapters.”

“More like volumes,” you murmurs, sourly. It’s a great opportunity for you to set aside the dirt bar and explain to her everything she’d missed, from Callie’s initial inquiry to your calling him, to him sending you an itinerary for a flight arriving in roughly three hours at this point.

“Holy shit,” she whispers, careful of her volume despite Micah and Callie being occupied in the living room watching Bluey. “What are you going to do? What are you going to say to him? This is….this is bad, girl.”

“You think I don’t know that?” You lay your head against her kitchen island and force yourself to take three, big, deep breaths. “I don’t think I can do this.” 

You hear her exhale. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m serious, Mo. I—” You lift your head and try your best not to cry. Tears won’t do anything to help the situation. “I don’t know what he wants, but it’s obvious he’s angry with me already, and I can’t imagine when I tell him about Callie that he’s gonna feel any better.”

“You think he’ll be upset?”

“Of course, he will.”

“No, not that. I mean, yeah definitely, about that. But, I mean, you know….that you kept her.” It takes a minute for you to process what she’s asking, and it’s a question you hadn’t thought about in some time.

You’d been so consumed about how upset he would probably be that you kept Callie hidden from him that you hadn’t considered the alternative. What if he was more upset she even existed in the first place?

The thought alone takes you to a dark place. Feelings of rejection and abandonment that you yourself experienced and probably haven’t fully processed. Feelings you swore with your life you’d always protect Callie from. 

And always will.

“Then he’ll continue to not be a part of her life.��� Your voice is sound and resolute. Mariah also recognizes that all too familiar look of determination that fills your face. 

“But what will you tell her then?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.” A motto, a mantra, an oath. You’ve hit hard times before and always pulled through. This will be no different. Whatever's needed to keep your daughter from the trauma you experienced, you’ll do. No matter what.

Mariah knows better than to try to reason with you right now, not that there’s a ton of that needed. As a mother herself, she fully understands the intrinsic desire and borderline need to protect your child. She just also knows that you can be stubborn, and when you put your mind to something, nothing and no one can change it.

She just wonders how that’s going to bode over with whatever is about to go down.

You finish off the conversation with thanking her again for her last minute availability. You know you could have asked your mom as well, but she would have had questions, questions you don’t have the answers for nor the desire to explain just what’s happening.

Hell, you don’t even fully know what’s happening. 

As the time gets closer, you realize you need to get home and straighten up. Maybe vacuum or some shit. 

“Will you call me before I go to bed?”

“Of course, I will, mama.” You push back some of her hair, hating to see her sad again. She’s wearing that pout that you just realized is similar to Joe when he scowls. Shoving that from your head, you add, “and don’t forget about our big day tomorrow.”

That seems to win you a small smile, enough to make you feel less shitty about ditching her, even if it’s completely beyond your control. “It’s gonna be so much fun!”

“You bet your butt it is, kiddo!” You bring her in for another hug, holding her close and tight. “I love you, Callie Bear.”

“I love you too, mama.” 

Callie expressing her love for you is the soundtrack in your head as you drive home and even as you move around your apartment, dusting and vacuuming. You even clean the baseboard, something you’re sure you haven’t done since you first moved in when you were 22. 

You even make the controversial decision to leave up the photos of Callie or both you and Callie together in the living room and don’t really do much to move aside the indicators that a child lives here. Like her toy bucket near the TV or pink kiddy cups lined up near the kitchen sink. 

It doesn’t make much sense to you to hide these things when the sole reason you even reached out is to make him aware of why those things are there and who they belong to. You’ve stopped letting yourself try to figure out why he wants to speak to you or why he’s upset, realizing it was only making your anxiety ten times worse to the point where you felt like you were going to vomit.

Recognizing you have some time before he arrives, you decide to take a shower that’s much longer than necessary and will probably have you upset at yourself when you get your next water bill. 

But, it’s a nice distraction. Being fresh, clean, and moisturized is always a nice pick me up. Granted, you find it almost silly as you struggle to figure out what to wear. It’s Joe. Not Beyonce. Also, your outfit should be the last thing on your mind, as you eventually settle on a graphic shirt and some shorts. 

And realizing you have nothing else to do, you plop down on the sofa and wait. Wait for whatever the hell is about to happen once you open that door. Strangely enough, your anxiety seems to be settling. Granted, you wonder if that’s being replaced with denial, because you’re also starting to tell yourself that it won’t be that bad.

It may not be, but that’s not a good hill to die on. Preferred but not reliable. 

Needing another distraction, you scroll aimlessly through your Instagram, liking a few posts of friends, family, and former classmates from both high school and college. It’s interesting seeing how everyone ventured down different paths, some homemakers, some business execs, and of course the aspiring musicians aka unemployed. 

And then there was you, the small town teacher raising her secret love child of a WWE superstar in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. 

Your stomach twisting and turning tells you the anxiety is returning, but it doesn’t have as much time to heighten because the doorbell rings.

He’s here.

There’s this irritating yet quiet ringing in your ears and anchor on your chest, both of which make it harder to untangle your limbs and move off the sofa. It’s like watching yourself slowly make your way to the door, the tremble in your hand noticeable as you undo the lock and start to turn the knob. 

I love you too, mama.

Callie’s sweet, reassuring voice floods into your head providing the sweet relief needed to return from dissociation and snap back to reality. Eyes shutting, you take another deep breath and carefully swing the door open.

Truth be told, you weren’t quite sure what you expected to feel upon seeing Joe again, not sure what you should feel. This was a reunion, but only in name. Nothing about him being at your doorstep was warm and inviting. That much is obvious by his stoic, unreadable facial expression, which isn’t entirely out of character. Contrary and both similar to his current heel portrayal, Joe has always been more on the quiet side, not as easy to read. More open and warm once you get to know him.

You’d found that out firsthand.

Taking in his countenance, you can’t avoid observing the rest of him. He’s somehow even bigger than the last time you saw him in person, almost taking up your doorway, rippling muscles on full display in the plain, black fitted shirt he wears. His hair is pulled back as usual, clean line up, and beard fuller than you remembered him liking it. He’s aged, obviously, but well. Very well.

Heat rising to your cheeks, you step to the side, allowing him inside. You hate how you close your eyes as you inhale his scent.

He always did smell so damn good.

The physical distractions dissipate when he’s inside, the door locked, and it’s just the two of you. 

You notice almost immediately how he seems to be intent on keeping his back toward you, playing it off by taking in your apartment. Not that much, if anything, has changed. He can’t be that damn interested. 

It was painfully clear that Joe was already frustrated with you just by his texts, but his anger is even more palpable in person, borderline suffocating. 

Just what the hell did you do to upset him so much?

Clearing your throat and crossing your arms over, you decide that someone needs to say something because this silent shit is not working for you.

But then Joe angles his body, still not looking toward you but something else. And that’s when your anxiety starts up all over again.

You watch him, intently, as he walks over to the side table near the sofa, the one that has pictures on it. 

Pictures of Callie. 

He picks one up, and you’ve never been so still in your life. It’s torture, not seeing how he’s looking, unable to read his facials, clueless to what he must be thinking. He’s quiet for too long, so you decide to bite the bullet and say something. 

“I—”

“Is she mine?”

Waves. Heavy, plunging waves of emotions splash at you with a ferocity that nearly floors you. His question, so simple, isn’t what you expected to leave his mouth. It’s posed so quietly, lowly, emotion evident but not enough for you to know which one. Anger? Sadness? Confusion?

It stumps you, and for a second, you try to convince yourself that he doesn’t mean what you deep down know what he means. 

“What–what are you talking about?”

He curses quietly, and you hear him say your name before he asks again in a dangerously calm voice, “is she mine?”

You recognize this tone, the tone he takes when he’s trying his best to tame his temper, but there’s no guarantee that he can. And that in and of itself is not a good sign, Joe rarely ever gets mad. He’s irritatingly adept at maintaining his composure in all situations. 

Except this one.

You just want to take a nap, take a break from all of this. Everything seems to be happening so fast, too fast. It wasn’t even 24 hours ago that Callie first asked about her father, and now the man is standing in front of you asking you to confirm she is his daughter. You’re so confused about everything. How could he tell so easily? You always said and thought she favored him, but did she favor him enough for him to take one look at her and know she’s his daughter?

That doesn’t even seem possible nor plausible. 

You have so many questions, but there’s no need in delaying the inevitable.

Rip the Band-Aid off.

“Yes.” 

It’s at that moment he finally decides to turn around, and you can see the moment it happens, the moment the floodgate of emotions rush through him like a tsunami. He’s shocked. He’s confused. He’s angry.

“How did you find out?” Putting the pieces together is a slow progress, but one that’s progressing nonetheless. He clearly came here with that question prepared and ready to launch. He knew about Callie, knew when you texted him, knew when he decided to call. Knew before he even walked in and saw a picture of her.

He just needed you to confirm as such. 

That seems to be the wrong question, because anger is suddenly more prominent, both vocally and physically. “You’re seriously asking me how the fuck I found out I have a daughter?” Any attempt to control his anger is out the door, replaced with visceral emotions. “No, the real question is why the fuck you didn’t tell me I have a child?”

You’re not sure what it is, the emotionality of it all, the fact that you’re face to face with the man you’ve worked so hard over the years to get over, or even just the fact that he’s speaking to you this way. Maybe all of it. Regardless, you’re not about to just take it lying down. “First of all, watch your tone. You’re not going to talk to me any kind of way. Second of all, you are married, Joe. What was I supposed to do? Send you and your wife copies of the sonogram?”

“Don't put this on that,” he dismisses, swiftly and curtly. “Jadah has nothing to do with you telling me I'm a father. Don't you think I had a fucking right to know?”

“Of course you had a right.” He did. He does. You won’t deny him that, but it’s also not as cut and dry as he’s making it out to be. “But—”

“There’s no but, Y/N!” He cuts you off, and you have to take another deep breath. This time though, it’s not to lessen anxiety. It’s to calm your own anger that’s rising. Who the hell does he think he is to speak to you this way? Like you’re some damn child. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Are you going to actually listen to me, or are you just going to keep yelling? Cause I don’t respond to disrespect, Joe. You know this.”

He actually smiles, smiles at your words. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? I’m disrespecting you? You keep my child from me, and I’m disrespecting you?” He scoffs and looks up at the ceiling, probably to settle himself. “Did you know when you ended things between us?"

The surprising questions just keep on rolling. “What?”

“I swear to God.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. “Did you know you were pregnant when you told me to leave? Is that why you did it? So I wouldn’t find out?”

This time, you’re the one scoffing, trying to rationalize how he could even think to ask you this. “Seriously, Joe? I told you why I ended things.”

“Yeah, well, you’re clearly not the most honest fucking person, so I don’t even know what to believe anymore.” 

You hate the fact that his words don’t further anger you but instead sadden you. You see how he’s looking at you, with a level of disdain and disgust. It’s such an unfamiliar experience, an unwanted one. “So, I’m a liar now?” It should have come out much stronger, firmer, showing him that you’re not putting up with his bullshit. Instead, it’s a damn near whisper.

He looks at you like you’ve grown two heads, like he doesn’t get what you’re not getting about this. “What do you call what you did?”

Your head is starting to hurt. This is going exactly how you feared it would go. 

Bad.

It’s all becoming too much, your voice weighed down with the emotions of it all. You feel like you’re on the verge of tears, and you hate that. You won’t let him see you cry. “We’re not….we’re not getting anywhere here, Joe. I think—”

“You should get a lawyer.”

Your heart stops. “What?”

He runs both hands over his face, the heaviness of this conversation clearly weighing on him as well. “We need to figure out some type of custody arrangement, and I don’t think us handling it with each other is a good idea—”

“Custody?” The room is starting to blur again, items moving wayward and sideways. The ringing in your ears is also returning. “What—you—you want to take her from me?” You need to sit down, your legs feeling like they’re ready to give out at any moment. Take her. He wants to take her from you. Unable to control yourself, you snap, “she doesn’t even know you!”

He matches your tone and volume precisely, clearly unwilling to back down. “Exactly, I’m her father, and she doesn’t know me because of you!”

You can barely believe the words coming out his mouth, incapable of processing that he’s actually standing here threatening to take your child from you. This has gone from bad to worse in a matter of seconds. “So, you think taking her away from me is the way to get to know her?”

His volume levels down a bit, and you could have sworn you saw a glimpse of sympathy. “I don’t want to take her away from you, Y/N. I just can’t trust you to not keep her away from me.”

This is disastrous. You never could you have envisioned this conversation playing out the way it is. Desperate, you move over to him, needing him to see you, to hear you, really hear you. “You’re here now, aren’t you? Isn’t that enough?” 

His answer surprises you with its austerity. He’s so angry. “No, because it took almost five fucking years for you to call me in the first damn place.”

He moves away from you, obviously headed for the door. He has nothing else to say. Your head is throbbing, vision still murky, but you manage to rush past him, obstructing his leave. “Joe….wait.”

You’ve never felt so small, so desperate, so helpless in your life. It’s reminiscent of the last conversation you had with him five years prior, that same boulder on your chest, bigger now. Much bigger. 

“Please.” You’re not even trying to hold in the tears anymore. That’s not even important. Not in the slightest. This is your child.  “Please don’t take her away from me. She’s my baby, Joe. She—she’s never even been without me before.”

He looks at you, and you can see it now. Finally see it. Finally see past all of the hurtful threats, the dismissiveness, the refusal to hear you out. He’s not angry. He’s hurt. “And she’s never been with me.” He moves past you, but not before one last statement. “Maybe now you’ll know how I feel.”

________

just curious, ya'll think joe trippin? personally, i'm team callie cause both reader and joe are wrong in one way or another but im also biased so ignore me.

[ghostlywhiskey]

Simon Riley (Priest AU) - Forgive me, Father.

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,203

Warnings: MDNI 18+ ☆ Sacrilege, priest, mentions of prayer and common language used in confessionals - overall religious content that may upset some. Abuse of power. Mentions of being used and somnophilia. Cussing. Masturbation (Simon & reader).

Summary: After having improper thoughts weighing guilt on your mind, you decide to resort to confession. Simon has methods of how you can be forgiven.

Notes: Um, well, yeah. I’m not sure what to say. Writing this whole thing was a 'damn, Catholicism ingrained in me fr' moment from how I literally closed my eyes to remember how I would walk into church & what would be said in confession. Ha. Anyway. Minimal proofreading, I felt too dirty to re-read.

find my masterlist here

You weren't a frequent churchgoer. After years of Catholic school, it all became tiring and felt almost forced at this rate, but you went for the holidays like Easter & Christmas - at your grandparents request to be fair.

But, old habits die hard and one day you find yourself pulling into the parking lot of the church. Maybe it was the Catholic guilt ingrained in you that drew you to go today. 

The large wood doors creaked as you opened them and walked into the church. Every Catholic church looked the same to you - the stained glass, the architecture, the same old wooden pews either their original wood or coated in layers of white paint refreshed over the years. And every church you had ever been to was always so cold - why?

Every single move was like muscle memory. Your fingers dipped into the font that contained the holy water, quietly whispering as you did the sign of the cross and genuflected. 

Your eyes scanned the church, noting the layout as you located the confessional. Once you entered and sat down, you rang the tiny bell to indicate your presence. Heavy footsteps outside getting closer as you heard the priest enter the other side of the confessional, the divider sliding open so you can only make out the figure through the tiny holes.

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." The words are spoken in unison. His voice is clearer to you now as he only speaks now, "May God who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust in His mercy." In response, you quietly whisper 'amen' in return.

Clearing your throat and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you prepare to speak. "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was 5 years ago. These are my sins.." The list of sins are far more minimal in nature such as disrespecting your parents, gossiping, lying and so forth.

Then, you finally get to what has been weighing on your mind like a ton of bricks. "And impure thoughts.." Your words trailing off, the sound of the priest shifting on the other side noticeable from the close proximity despite the divider separating you both. "In order to truly know the severity, what do these impure thoughts include, my child?" He asks, your body tensing as the question catches you off guard. "Ah, regarding premarital sex acts, Father."  You respond, fingers fidgeting with the rings on your hands. "Explain." This is all he says before the silence lingers in the small space before you speak again. "This is only to help your absolution." His voice urges you to continue, the words trying to ease you to come clean. “Well," Swallowing the lump in your throat, your cheeks burning from embarrassment despite your identity being unknown to him. "The thoughts consist of being used at will by a man. To be degraded and fucked until I'm begging for him to stop, but my whines only encourage him to continue. I don't want him to stop.” Your voice is strained, as if you're scared to admit it out loud. And truthfully, this was the first time you had admitted the thoughts out loud.  Your thighs squeeze together as your brain digs deeper into the thoughts you’ve been suppressing for a few months now. 

The sound of the priest clearing his throat pulls your attention back. “Surely that isn’t all, my child.” He says, and you shake your head in response even if he can’t see. “N-No. That isn’t all.” Rings spinning around your fingers as you continue to fidget from nerves. “Please remember, I need to know everything to offer you absolution.” Nodding, you swish spit in your mouth to coat the dryness to some extent and swallow. 

“I-I think about being woken up in the night, the man already buried deep in me. My body  doesn’t resist the feeling and clenching around him as my consciousness regains from sleep.” The heat between your thighs grows as you now shift in the seat, one leg moves to cross over the other in an effort to control the sensation.

The sound of a zipper coming undone is undeniable as your ears pick up on it, your lips parting slightly from shock as you process what’s happening on the other side of the confessional. “Father?” Your voice barely whispers, wondering if you acknowledge it, then he would stop. “Are these thoughts about anyone specific?” He mutters, his hand palming himself through his boxers. “No, just general desires, Father.” 

He inhales a breath and exhales before he speaks. “Have you acted on these thoughts?” No, but you fucking wish. “No, Father.” And maybe it was your own thoughts warping, but you could have sworn you heard him mumble the words, ‘Forgive me, Father’. 

On the other side of the confessional, unbeknown to you, the priest had now pulled his cock free from the constraints of his briefs. Biting back a groan, his hand comes up to his mouth as he quietly spits into his palm before he wraps it around himself. “For your penance, you must do exactly as I say, understood?” He speaks, his voice sounds low, demanding in a way. 

“Understood, Father.” You reply, your chest rising and falling slowly as you anticipate what he is going to say next. “We must rid you of these thoughts. You need to release them.” He murmurs, his hand slowly pumping up and then down. “Be a good girl and spread your legs.” 

Oh my God. Like actually, oh my God. Your brain rings in your head, doing as you're told and spreading your legs. Hearing the movement, he continues to speak. “My child, what are you wearing?” The question is simple, your hand already sliding down to the exposed panties your dress reveals once your legs are spread. “Knee length sundress.” You respond, your head leaning back against the wood of the confessional as your fingers rub the fabric covering your already wet cunt. “Hmm, and I suppose that length is useless as your legs are spread. Exposing yourself like a good girl, but such a slut.” The word slut drips from his mouth like venom, the tone of his voice sending excitement through your body. “Slide the panties off.” He orders, and you obey as you reach for the waistband and slide them down to your ankles, shaking them off to the floor of the confessional. “They’re off, Father.” You whisper, glancing at the divider. Never in your life did you want to be seen more than in this moment. “Father Simon.” He corrects. “Call me Father Simon.” 

“Father Simon.” You repeat the name he asked you to call him. A quiet groan travels to your side of the confessional and you can’t help but move your fingers to rub between your folds. The fact he was groaning to you just saying his title was causing your stomach to tie into knots. “What do I need to do, Father Simon?” You beg, wanting him to continue directing you. “Such an eager girl to be forgiven. You wouldn’t need forgiveness if you weren’t such a slut.” He hissed. “But you come into this confessional and speak of how you wish to be used. To be degraded. Do you think you can be forgiven?” 

“I-I want to be forgiven.” Your fingers build up your excitement, teasing your folds as your fingers move to give your clit some attention as you rub it gently. “I’m sorry, Father Simon. I’m sorry.” You choke out, almost forgetting to breathe amidst the pleasure. “Just because you’re sorry does not guarantee forgiveness.” Simon’s own hand continues to pump his cock, his thumb brushes over the head as some pre-cum oozes out. “You sound stupid saying sorry. Saying sorry while I can hear your hand moving as you touch yourself. Take those fingers and fuck yourself with three of them.” The order coming out of his mouth leaves you breathing shakily.

“F-Father, three?” You ask in order to clarify his demand. “R-Right away?” You needed time to adjust, even with your own slender fingers it took time before you could even have two. “You heard me.” He responds, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Don’t disappoint me, sweetheart.” Simon’s hand starts to pump his cock faster, his free hand moves to massage his balls. 

While you’re already wet, just to be sure you take your index, middle and ring finger to your lips. Your mouth wrapping around the fingers, sucking and swirling your tongue to coat them in saliva. Pulling them away, you carefully position them, teasing your entrance before you push into yourself. Your free hand covers your mouth as you feel them stretching you slightly. A moan muffled by your hand is the additional sound mixed with your fingers starting to pump in and out of you, the wet stickiness filling the confessional. “Oh, sweetheart. You must look so beautiful spread out fucking yourself with your fingers.” Simon coos through the divider, his breaths shallow. “I wish I could bury my cock into that wet, tight cunt. Let me hear you pray to God for that.” 

Closing your eyes as he speaks, you imagine the priest grabbing your hips and forcing himself into you, despite having no idea of his appearance. Your head against the wood of the confessional again as you try to hold your moans in even with your hand over your mouth, scared if anyone else were to enter the church they would hear you both behind these curtains. “I don’t hear you.” Simon growls, glancing at the divider to barely see the movements of your hand as your body moves in response. “G-God, please. I want Father Simon’s cock.” He hears you whimper quietly, a grin forming on his face. “Oh..such a good, good girl.” Simon’s voice acknowledging your compliance. Your fingers curl inside as he praises you, allowing yourself the small reward. “Father Simon, I-I’m so wet.” 

“Mmph..those pretty little fingers must be slick with your juices.” Simon’s own head leaning against the wood of the confessional now, eyes closed as he pumps his cock faster and pushes down hard. The image of his cock disappearing in between your folds making his thoughts spin. “Keep pumping those fingers. We need to make you cum. Release the thoughts that are rotting your brain.” Simon’s teeth grit together, a soft hissing sound coming out as his pump down puts pressure on him.

Not trusting yourself, your hand is back on your mouth. The sound of your wet cunt getting pumped with your fingers fills both your ears and Simon’s, the squishing sounds push him closer to his own release. And for you, the thought of his cock instead of your fingers pulling you closer to the edge before you jump off and release. Whimpering into your palm, you clench around your fingers and pump a few more times before releasing around them. Your thighs immediately squeezing shut as you try to control your shaking. “S-Simon.” You cry softly, lips parted as you pant softly. “F-Fuck.” He groans, the hand not pumping his now cum covered cock fists and hits the confessional wall. The release that had been building up in him for months now. 

“In addition, you leave your panties behind. Along with that, I expect you to recite twenty Hail Mary’s and twenty Our Father’s after your release. Make an act of contrition.” His voice strained from his recent climax. Dazed from your own climax as well, the words come out of your mouth without hesitation, “My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good…” Pausing for a brief moment, you swallow a lump in your throat. “I have sinned against You, whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with Your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Our Savior, Jesus Christ, suffered and died for us. In His Name, my God, have mercy. Amen.” After the words leave your lips, you catch your breath again.

The sound of Simon readjusting and zipping himself up is the only sound you hear in response. “F-Father?” You say softly, awaiting for him to absolve you. “My child…” Simon’s voice sounds like it did when you first sat in the confessional. “God cannot give you pardon and peace as of today. Therefore, I cannot absolve you of your sins. Come back in five days after I’ve had some time to rest and ask God for a final answer.” 

And with that, the sound of footsteps fill the church once more, followed by the door to the sacristy opening and closing indicating he would not be seen by you when you left. The response leaves you stunned for a few moments, before your legs get the strength to stand up and exit the confessional. The hand you didn’t use to finger yourself gently dips into the font as you leave, the sign of the cross spoken softly as you walk out.

[firewasabeast]

Uncle Eddie (part 5)

Our Juniper is growing up 😞 You can read this chapter below, or on ao3. All parts can be read together or as individual stories.

Eddie was pretty sure that this was the most nervous he'd been in his entire life.

Standing on the Buckley-Kinard porch, flowers in one hand and a poorly wrapped birthday present in the other, he let out a deep breath as he waited for someone to come to the door.

When the door finally opened and Tommy stood in front of him, he felt about two feet tall.

“You are in some deep trouble, Man,” Tommy said, shaking his head.

Technically, he deserved it. It was all his fault.

Juniper's tenth birthday was the first time she would have both parents, and her Uncle Eddie, off work for the whole day. Everyone was going to be at the party, even all of her very annoying ten year old friends, but she was most excited to show off her firefighting family, which very much included Uncle Eddie.

Except Eddie, after a very long and exhausting forty-eight hour shift, was asked by Smith if they could trade shifts. “I only have a twelve on Saturday, and I'd be willing to take your twenty-four on Sunday.” And damn if that didn't sound like a good bargain at the time.

It wasn't until he got back from a call on Saturday and checked his phone to see three missed phone calls and five texts from Buck that it hit him.

He was supposed to be at Juniper's party.

He was an idiot.

And should probably get his brain checked for forgetting the one thing she'd reminded him about over and over to the point of Eddie having to beg her to please stop reminding him.

So now he stood at the door with apology flowers and a present that would have been awesome yesterday, but would probably mean nothing today.

“Am I even allowed in the house?” Eddie asked, Tommy already moving to the side to let him in.

“Well, technically Evan was closer to the door when the bell rang, but he went out back instead of answering.”

Eddie stepped inside but stayed in the entryway while Tommy closed the door. “How mad at me are they? How mad are you?”

“Mm,” Tommy hummed, thinking it over. “I'm down to about a four, but that's because of all the downright pathetic texts you sent me yesterday after Evan wouldn't respond to you. Juniper is probably a nine, but I think she's more sad than mad. Evan is... Well, Evan is Evan, so.”

“So I'm in really deep trouble.”

Tommy nodded. “Oh yeah.”

“I guess I should get started on my apology tour then.”

“Good idea. The five apology texts you sent last night are enough for me, by the way. I'd start with Juniper today if I were you. Evan won't forgive you until she does.”

A sigh. “She in her room?”

“Yeah. Good luck.”

*****

Eddie knocked on the open door, standing in the doorway until Juniper hopefully gave him the all clear to enter.

She was facing away from him, sitting at her desk and carefully applying polish to her fingernails. The knock caused her to swivel in her chair, but the smile she had faded quickly when she saw Eddie there. She turned back around.

“I thought you were Papa,” she grumbled out.

“No, just me. Can I come in, Chewy?”

She shrugged. “Free country.”

For all the ways she was turning into her own person, she still contained so much of her dads attitudes.

Eddie walked into the room and over to her desk, setting the flowers down beside her. “That's part of my apology,” he explained, then he set her gift on the other side of her. “That's for your birthday. Your nails look very nice, by the way.”

It was something she had been getting into lately. She loved trying new polishes. Right now she was applying a shimmery blue, and she had done so almost perfectly. She practiced on Tommy a lot. His toes had a new color every week.

The present Eddie had gotten her was a new polish kit that had come out. It was apparently a huge deal with tweens... and she was supposed to have it yesterday so she could do all her friends nails.

“I don't know if- if you know this,” she said, twisting the cap back on her polish, “but my birthday was yesterday.”

Eddie went over to her bed, tossing some stuffed animals to the side before he sat down. “I know, Juniper,” he started, hoping she'd eventually look his way, “and I'm sorry. I made a stupid mistake, I know I did. There's no excuse, but I am sorry.”

Juniper sighed. She stared down at her nails, watching them shine as she moved them around. “Papa told me I should forgive you.”

“That's nice of him.”

“Daddy told me it was, um, it was up to me.”

“That... sounds like your dad.”

“Then Papa told Daddy that people make mistakes, and a- as long as people really try to do better and mean that they're sorry, we should forgive them.”

“That's good advice,” Eddie agreed.

“Then Daddy told Papa that certain mistakes shouldn't be made in the first place and people should make an- an effort to show up.”

“Well, everyone has the right to feel however they feel,” Eddie reasoned.

“Then,” she continued with an exasperated breath, “they kept talking back and forth so I just came in my room.”

Sometimes Eddie wished he could be a fly on the wall to see what kinds of conversations happen in this house.

This was not one of those times.

“Well, Chewy, I- I hope you do forgive me, but I understand if you need more time, okay? I'll make it up to you however I can, but if you want me to leave you alone for a while I will.”

When Juniper didn't respond, Eddie got up and started for the door. “I'll see ya, Juniper.”

“Wait.”

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to see that Juniper was facing him now. “Yeah?”

“Are you really sorry?”

“I'm really sorry.”

“And you promise you won't do it again?”

“I-” Eddie paused, “I promise I will do my best to make sure I never make you sad again.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That is- is not the same.”

“It's the best I can do, Kid.”

She eyed him for a minute before seemingly coming to a conclusion. “Fine. I forgive you.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. You said you'd make it up to me, right?”

There's always a catch.

“Yes... Yes, I did.”

She smiled brightly, folding her hands together. “Can we go to Fun Zone today? It's a trampoline park and it's like th- the best place to go ever! Can we go?”

Well, that didn't seem like too much of an ask.

“Sure,” he replied. “Let me clear it with your dads first, but I'm sure it'll be fine.”

She clapped excitedly, her nose scrunching up with her grin. “Yay! I'm gonna get ready!”

Eddie glanced at his watch. “We'll head out in a few minutes, okay? I gotta talk to your dad first.”

The look on Juniper's face changed. “Ohh,” she grimaced. “I think Daddy's more mad than me. Here.” She hopped off her chair and picked up the flowers Eddie had given her. She pulled out one of the miniature roses and handed it to him. “Give this to Daddy. It might help.”

Under any other circumstance, Eddie might have laughed at the serious expression on her face, but not this time. After all, Juniper got her stubbornness from somewhere, and that somewhere was definitely Buck.

*****

Tommy was on the couch reading a magazine when Eddie came out to the living room. “How'd it go?” he asked.

“I've been officially forgiven,” Eddie informed him. “Although it did take a bit of a bribe. We're gonna go to some trampoline park thing after I talk to Buck.”

Tommy perked up at the mention of the park. “You mean Fun Zone?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Tommy snorted. “Oh, she's good. She is good.”

“What?” Eddie asked nervously. “Why?”

“On Sunday's kids get endless free ice cream. Endless ice cream, trampolines, they've got zip lines, obstacle courses, rope climbing, stuff like that. Add it all together and-”

“And she's gonna vomit in my truck.”

Tommy nodded. “I'd take a bag.”

“She's punishing me, isn't she?”

“We must all pay for our sins, Eddie,” Tommy replied, dramatically flipping the page of his magazine.

“Is Buck outside still?”

“Mhm.” He nodded toward the rose in Eddie's hand. “Flower for him?”

“Junie's idea.”

“Hm. Probably should've gone for the whole bouquet.”

With a roll of his eyes, Eddie turned for the sliding doors and headed out back.

Buck was sitting on the porch, staring out into the backyard ever so solemnly.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie began with a slow approach toward him.

Buck said nothing, turned slightly to fix his gaze further away from Eddie, toward one of their trees.

“Just letting you know, I already talked to Juniper and cleared everything up.”

Still no response.

Eddie sighed. He scooted a chair beside Buck and sat down. “Buck, I'm sorry. I was overly tired when I took that shift and the party slipped my mind.” He held the flower in front of Buck's face so he couldn't avoid it. “Juniper accepted my apology. Can you?”

Buck stayed unmoving at first, but after a few seconds he took the flower from Eddie and stared down at it. “You only brought me one flower?”

“Buck.”

Finally, Buck turned to him. “That was a really crappy thing to do, Eddie. Junie looks up to you, she'd been telling all her friends about her Uncle Eddie. Told them you were the cool uncle that taught her Spanish, and then you didn't even show up.”

“Buck, I-”

“And I worked on that damn party for two months. You remember all the clipboards.”

“I do.”

“A vintage, early 2010's birthday party? That was the theme I was given! Whatever the hell that even means! Tommy and I spent two months figuring it all out, but all she'd ever talk about was the fact you'd be there. Tommy and I are just her dads, Eddie, you're the special, cool one in her life. You let her down.”

As if Eddie didn't feel bad enough already. “I know, Buck. I know I let her down, and let you guys down too. I'm sorry.”

“You should be,” Buck replied, face tense.

They were both quiet for a minute, until Buck's posture slowly relaxed.

“You know I wouldn't care so much if it was just me, but you hurt Juniper,” Buck explained. “She still enjoyed her party, but she was really upset you weren't there.”

“I know, Buck. I really am sorry, okay? I'm gonna take her to Fun Zone today for a few hours and- and maybe we can have all her friends come to the station sometime soon? Give them a class on fire safety and show them what we do.”

Buck thought for a moment, twirling the rose between his fingers. “And you'll be the one giving the class,” he replied. It was less of a question and more of a command.

“Yes, I will give the class.”

Buck sighed. “Fine. You're forgiven.” He pointed at Eddie, “Never do it again though.”

Eddie raised his hands in surrender. “Wouldn't dream of it.” He groaned as he stood, his bones creaking in ways they never did when he was younger. “I gotta see if Juniper's ready to go. Mind if I steal your kid for a few hours?”

Buck shook his head. “No, but... Wait, did you say you're going to Fun Zone?”

“Yeah.”

“She's gonna puke in your car.”

Eddie closed his eyes, bracing himself for whatever he had just gotten into.

“Yeah, I... I know.”

[skribbyposts]

ZOSAN KINKTOBER PROMPT 2 - Cunnilingus/Facesitting

Hey. its me...... kinktober is not going as planned. have this shit, which you can also read on ao3 here!! _______________

“You impatient fuck,” Zoro growls, fumbling with the doorknob to their hotel room with his back to the wood because Sanji can’t keep his damn hands off of him long enough for him to open the door. “Can you wait? ”

“No,” Sanji murmurs, lips roving over the side of Zoro’s neck while he’s still trying to get this fucking door open. His hands slip under Zoro’s shirt, gripping at his waist and digging his nails into his hips in a way that makes Zoro start.

Eventually the door gives way, sending them both stumbling into the dingy room Sanji booked for the night and then there are hands pushing him roughly onto the bed and oh fuck, Zoro needs to tell him.

“Cook,” Zoro breathes, gripping blonde strands at the base of the other man’s neck. Sanji hums against him, but doesn’t pause. “ Sanji. Stop.”

Sanji pulls back, a mix of confusion and apprehension in his eyes. “What?” Zoro doesn’t answer, trying to figure out how to approach this. He slides an apprehensive hand over his face, and Sanji leans back from his place hovering over Zoro.

“We– We don't have to do anything,” the blond says, “If you don't want to.” and Zoro should really say no but Sanji’s hands are still resting on his thighs and Zoro kind of doesn't want them to move.

“No, it’s not that,” Zoro sighs. “I– You– ” And in lieu of explanation, he just takes Sanji’s hand and shoves it down his pants. Which, in hindsight, was not the best idea, seeing how Sanji full-body freezes once his fingers come into contact with the wetness in between Zoro’s legs. 

Sanji doesn’t say anything, the only sound being the sharp intake of breath he makes when he looks down to where his hand lays touching Zoro’s folds. He clenches his jaw, and Zoro can see the muscle in his face twinge as he does.

Sanji hesitates a little before opening his mouth.  “Zoro.”

“Yeah?”

“Take off your pants.” What?

“You really don’t care that I–”

“No, I don’t, oh my god Zoro please take your fucking pants off.” 

Zoro doesn’t argue, lifting his hips to shuck off his pants and Sanji wastes no time spreading open his thighs to lick all the way from Zoro’s taint to his clit.

“Fucking hell,” Zoro grits out, Snaking a hand into Sanji’s hair. The blond groans, tongue lapping at Zoro’s leaking hole eagerly, like he’s trying to fucking swallow him whole. Sanji eats him out like he’s starving, sucking and licking at Zoro’s folds and grabbing his hips and pulling Zoro onto his tongue.

Zoro clenches around the intrusion, breathy grunts getting punched out of him each time he rocks himself forward. Sanji places a hand on his stomach, twisting it so that he can press on Zoro’s clit and the contact sends lightning bolts of pleasure up Zoro’s spine.

Sanji comes up for air, lips shiny with spit and slick, “Tastes so good, Moss,” he murmurs, slurring like he’s fucking drunk.

Zoro feels his face heat. “Shut the hell up.” 

“Yeah, I could think of a lot more things I should be doin’ with my mouth right now,” Sanji retorts, Pushing both him and Zoro farther onto the bed. It squeaks under their combined weight. “Like getting you on top of me.” 

“You fuckin’ freak. I’m not sitting on your face.”

“Please,” Sanji borderline whines, batting his fucking eyelashes up at Zoro like that’s gonna do something. And–well. Zoro can’t say that it doesn’t.  

Zoro cards a hand through blonde strands, watching as Sanji’s eyes flutter closed at the contact. The cook presses a kiss to his inner thigh.

“I hate you.” Zoro feels a smile creep onto Sanji’s face. “Fine.” 

Zoro pulls the blonde further onto the bed by his hair, relishing the sounds he makes when it gets tugged a little too roughly. “And I’m not doing any of that hovering bullshit.”

“Didn’t think you would.” Sanji responds, making himself real comfortable between Zoro’s legs like he belongs there. “Come on, Zoro.”

And with that, Zoro straddles his face, lowering himself as Sanji grips his thighs and Jesus Fucking Christ, is the only thing he can think as Sanji works his mouth like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, wasting no time before fucking Zoro open on his tongue.

It’s wet and messy, slick sounds filling the hotel room as Zoro grinds himself on Sanji’s face, choked-off expletives falling from his mouth as jolts of pleasure interrupt The swordsman’s train of thought. On top of that, Sanji is moaning like he’s the one getting tongue-fucked and that does more to the swordsman that he’d care to admit.

“Fucking bastard,” Zoro grunts, fisting one hand in Sanji’s hair and grinding down hard, chasing the heat pooling in his stomach and bringing his other hand to press on his clit. 

Sanji seems to take this in stride, tightening his grip on Zoro’s thighs until his nails press hard enough to leave marks. They speed up in unison, Sanji’s mouth working deliciously around him and fuck, it’s too much. “Lemme up, I’m gonna–” Come, Zoro wants to say, but he’s interrupted by Sanji shoving two fingers inside of him and then he’s gushing all over Sanji’s face and stupid fucking dress shirt. 

The cook doesn’t complain, just laps up as much as he can as Zoro ruts erratically into his open mouth and fingers, doubled over and gasping while his orgasm rips through him. He spares a glance down at Sanji, who honest to god looks like he’s getting off more than Zoro is; his eyes are barely open, his brow furrowed in pleasure as the remaining grip he has on Zoro’s thigh loosens. 

Unfortunately, it’s not long before overstimulation sets in and Zoro begrudgingly lets go of the cook’s hair, lifting himself off. Sanji’s fingers slide out of him easily, and he hears the man make a disappointed sound at the loss of contact when Zoro collapses on the hard mattress next to him. “Perv.”

Sanji huffs, a light, breathy sound. “You owe me a shirt.” He pauses. “Can we go again?

Zoro shoves him off of the bed.

[scribblescrabbledepartment]

this one isnt my best writing (the story itself is goofy but it was taken directly from a dream so whatever) but i think the illustration came out good enough

[ID: an illustration of a dead guy slumped over on a table, decomposing flesh and slop all over the place. a guy who appears to be some sort of investigating personnel stands beside him, prodding his shoulder with a pen.]

story under cut:

I never really cared for livestreams. It always seemed like a hell of a commitment, sitting down and watching somebody in real time, not being able to turn my focus away lest I miss something exciting. They always seem to stretch on for hours, too. Who has time to watch all that? Well, I guess if somebody has time to stream it, somebody has time to watch. Anyway, that doesn't make a difference to me. I don't have time to sit around watching a four hour stream. I liked this guy's videos, though. That's why I decided to take a look.

I had no intention of sticking around for the whole thing, of course. I popped in a few minutes after it started to see what was going on. The title advertised some new game he was planning on sharing, but he hadn't started yet. I had stuff to do, and I didn't feel like sitting and waiting while he dicked around, so I closed out. I'd peek in again later to see if anything interesting was going on.

The next time I opened the stream, he was dead.

It hadn't been more than twenty minutes, but there he was, hunched over, face down on the desk. Lifeless. The chat was frantic. I could barely read the messages as they sped by, but I gathered that he'd been like that for a while now. Chilled and bewildered, I closed the stream again. I didn't know what to make of it. What do you do? What can you do? Unsettled, with a vague feeling of responsibility for the situation that I couldn't do a damn thing about, I went on with my chores.

I carried on with my day, feeling disoriented and unable to get the image of the dead gamer out of my mind. What the hell could have happened? As I mindlessly scrubbed away at the pan that had been soaking in the sink since last night, I wondered if the stream was still going. I wondered if he lived alone. How long would it go? Until somebody found him? Until his equipment stopped working? Hours, days? Would he decompose on the internet for all to see? Would people watch?

Unable to stop thinking about it, I gave in to curiosity and tuned back in. There was a woman in the frame now, sniffling wetly and speaking softly to somebody just out of the shot. The dead man remained still in his place. I gathered that she was his wife, and that whoever was in the room with her–aside from the corpse, I mean–was some sort of first responder. That was about all I could gather; the conversation was nearly inaudible.

A sudden wave of disgust came over me. I had no business watching this. A complete stranger's grief and horror at the loss of her husband, the undignified slump of a man who could no longer present himself, vague murmurs of their private life. I quickly exited the window and shut my laptop. I hadn't bothered to look and see if anybody else was still watching, but I didn't have to; there was no doubt that somebody was. Probably a bunch of people. I couldn't blame them. It was morbid, certainly, and invasive beyond words, but who wouldn't be curious? Interested, even?

As a matter of fact, I was curious. I was interested. I lasted a while longer, but the pull grew too strong to resist. Once again, with a hesitant hand, I reopened my computer.

There were a number of people in the room now, police, EMTs, what have you. Most of them were just milling about, but two were examining the corpse. Christ, didn't they realize they were live? Could nobody see the camera? Wouldn't the wife have known he'd be streaming? I nearly closed my computer again, disturbed by the unintentional broadcast of such a private moment, but something caught my attention. I wish it hadn't.

One man was knelt beside the body, poking and prodding and dictating notes for another to jot down on his pad. The examiner began feeling around the back of the dead gamer's neck, and as he did, the skin and meat began sloughing off in wet chunks, sliding away from the tendons and leaving clean bone behind. Nobody in the room seemed particularly alarmed by this, but I was dumbfounded. He'd only been dead a few hours, if that long! What the hell could make a person rot like that?

I watched as the examiner continued maneuvering the body around. In spite of his careful movements, the corpse continued to come apart, flesh sliding off like unset jello, skin opening up like wet paper to reveal caverns of pus. I couldn't see the wife, but she was still in the room; I could hear her crying. It was a funeral sort of crying, soft and subdued, not the horrified shrieks I'd expect of somebody watching her husband rapidly decompose into a pile of chum, but then, nobody seemed all that horrified.

At this point, I was invested. I turned up my volume, listening closely, hoping to pick out something that might explain the gruesome display, but with no success. The conversation was hushed, sounding almost as though it were coming from another room, and while I could make out a fragment of a word here and there, the rest was unintelligible. How that was possible was beyond me; the dead man had a fantastic microphone, and the sound had been fine at the start of the stream. As a matter of fact, even now I could clearly hear the sound of birds chirping and cars passing by–not outside my house, but his. Dogs barking in the distance, the footsteps of a jogger fading in and away. The background noise was perfectly clear. The chatter taking place right in that very room, however, was muffled ambient noise.

The impromptu autopsy taking place all over the living room floor was nauseating to watch, but I didn't have to endure it much longer. The stream ended without warning. Maybe his computer died, or somebody knocked a connection loose, who knows. I felt a sense of relief in knowing I couldn't peek back in again, but I also felt thoroughly shaken. What the hell? What the hell had just happened? I couldn't make sense of it, and I supposed I'd make myself nuts if I tried. I closed my computer. I had a feeling I wouldn't open it again for some time. I remained there for a moment, staring blankly at the wall. Then, with nothing better to do, I pulled myself up and got back to washing the dishes.

[cdroloisms]

read your post about how the atmosphere in dreblr feels a little tense nowadays. honestly when i first joined this fandom i was excited to share takes/meta but i dont do it much anymore cause of how intense ppl get when they disagree… wasnt prepared for that level of intensity

i have to say that my experience with this fandom and your experience with this fandom are ... probably pretty different 😅 (not that i know for sure, of course, so sorry abt any inherent assumptions to when you joined the fandom, i've just been here for damn near forever) and that that'll color my perspective on this, so. fair warning in advance.

to be honest, disagreement in dreblr is not a new thing. when dreblr was created there were two main "camps" of c!dream apologism that disagreed on pretty much everything to do with c!dream after novermber 16th and would write essays debunking each other's takes pretty goddamn often. here's an old post by red responding to a lot of opinions on both sides of the line which i think illustrates this well -- note the difference established between "c!dream apologists" and "c!dream enthusiasts," perhaps better known now as the "trauma interpretation" and "strategist interpretation" of c!dream back before the confirmation of staged finale during the prison break, which shows how different people's opinions of c!dream ranged at dreblr's very conception. and this disagreement ran pretty damn deep, too, lmao--some of it was reserved to debating each other in semiprivate discord servers, but plenty of it was made of vagueing each other's takes or directly debating them on each other's blogs.

i think that a source of friction, to be honest, is that dreblr started as a much more analysis- and meta-focused community than it is now. the entire dsmp fandom was very analysis-heavy in 2021-2022, and dreblr definitely reflected that culture; since the dsmp ended, the amount of active discussion about it in a meta sense has also waned, and as such dreblr and many other areas of dsmp fandom have been more focused on other kinds of fanwork. this isn't a bad thing, of course! but it has led to a shift in etiquette, and while i think meta etiquette and fanwork etiquette are very. very different things, obviously the amount of fanwork and the amount of meta that's around in dreblr spaces influences how people interact with all parts of dreblr etc etc that's just how people and communities work

but back to my point. disagreement has always been a part of this fandom, especially in meta spaces (which used to be pretty much all of dreblr, but has kind of become more of a small part of it in more recent times) and intensity with those disagreements also is kind of ... on par for the course? i mean, personally, i think disagreements ran more intense in dreblr in 2021 on average--it's not like dreblr has been as sharply divided with different "versions" of c!dream apologism since--and when it comes to the general fandom, well, any look at the inbox of anyone posting c!dream positive analysis and the formation of dreblr as a whole speak for themselves. also IFUADA and the whole attempt to like, lmanburg us out of our own house. which was hilarious btw that shit was awesome

like, at the end of the day, meta is made to be a place where people are gonna disagree. and a lot of people in meta spaces find it fun to disagree, even; there are more than a few people who will devil's advocate an argument they don't even agree with just for the sake of disagreement and debate. fandom analysis is just ... like, fandom academia lite, and it's also far less beholden to the rules of professionalism in real academia (not that real academia is free of conflict, obviously. including extremely petty conflict, as anyone who has read enough passive-aggressive as shit academic papers will tell you). this isn't to say that things don't go too far, because again, the history of this fandom proves it LOL. but while we all want people to feel comfortable in meta spaces, we also want meta spaces to be a place for people to be passionate about their opinions and to disagree about them fervently and to debate to their heart's content, bc that's kind of the point of fandom meta, yk?

in my post, i mentioned that i think more open disagreement will be good for dreblr, and i do stand by this point; i think that there's no real point in trying to stamp out disagreement in a space meant to be a free place for people to disagree and express their disagreements, not that that's what you're saying or anything just as a general thought. i also think that more disagreement will help with there feeling like there's less of a "correct" way to think about c!dream and the server, which i think raises the barrier of entry for people who want to post meta but don't want to be eviscerated bc they said something "wrong." of course, i can't force anyone to post meta nor do i want to--hell, i want to post more meta but am limited in time, and i know we all live busy lives 😭 (which is part of why this ask is being answered so late, sorry!) -- my point is i dont think, idk, one person being passionate abt a take or disagreement or whatever is necessarily the problem as far as upping the tension in dreblr as much as like. there's a lot of general discomfort and a lack of willingness to rock the boat in a place which should be a safe waters for everyone to take shots at any ship (er, ship to follow up with the rock-the-boat metaphor, but the secondary meaning does apply here as well) they want. we're shooting with water guns, not real bullets, and there's no fun in a splash fight if everyone's too scared of getting someone else wet, i guess.

that being said, anon, i understand that not everyone wants to participate in the free-for-all take pvp that is inherent to meta spaces...to which i say that, honestly, there's no requirement to participate in analysis spaces specifically to just, share your thoughts on the server. i think that in general, if anyone posts their thoughts on the dsmp and adds a disclaimer to the top like "not really analysis, just miscellaneous thoughts that i would prefer not to be vagued/argued against," i really just don't think that most people are gonna go out of their way to argue with that? you have every right to just yap while opting out of the possibility of being vagued or debated with, but you might have to make it clear beforehand bc vagueposting and debating is just the culture that exists in meta/analysis spaces, especially dsmp meta/analysis spaces that have been a part of dreblr since dreblr was made. and if there's anything else that can be done to make everyone feel more comfortable, i think that's worth discussing!

[look-me]

“𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑬𝑺𝑺”

masc!reader x dealer!abby

warnings: using of weed, idk what else

ーー

au: please don't mind any grammar mistakes and please cuz english its not my native language. ps. i never write a smut. also i'll probably won't correct any mistakes cuz i'm too lazy for it

(this story is shitty how can y'all read this 😭)

part 1

part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been a week since you kissed Abby, and the two of you haven’t talked at all. You’ve tried to ignore her whenever you could, but still, you didn’t want her to notice. For example, every time she replied to one of your Instagram stories, you would ‘respond’ by just liking her messages. You wanted to hang out with your usual friend group, but they got mad at you after seeing you leave with Abby that night. They accused you of being a fake friend, of stealing Abby from them—especially one friend of yours who, as you later found out, had a big crush on Abby since the first time she saw her.

“You can’t do that, Y/N! What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re my friend! Why would you do something like that to me?!”

Today, you’re hanging out with some other friends who came into town to see you after you explained what your ex-friends did and what happened with Abby after you left with her. They were shocked. They didn’t know Abby at all, but after you showed them some pictures of her, they just said,

“Y/N, she’s hot and all, but she’s a player. Don’t get attached. Just stay friends with her if you don’t want to cut her off entirely.” After that, they insisted you hang out with them to distract yourself from her.

Now, you and your friends are in a parking lot, vibing to the music blasting from the car speakers, while some other people give you and your group judgmental glances. Your friends are smoking and drinking, screaming their lungs out, singing along to the songs. While you’re laughing at their antics, you notice a girl with black curly hair, long red nails, makeup on, dressed all in black—tight top, tight pants. It’s Julia.

A long time ago, you had a little crush on her because she used to shower you with compliments, was always there for you, and every time you two hung out, it ended in a make-out session. But after you told her you were catching feelings, she started ghosting you, saying she wasn’t ready for a relationship because she had just gotten out of one. You later found out she was lying the whole time, and from that day forward, you started hating her.

-

"Hey," she says with that fake, innocent smile.

Fake ugly bitch.

Why does she have to ruin your moment right now?

"Hi," you mutter, not even looking her in the eyes as you sit on the ground.

"It's been a while."

"Yep," you reply, barely caring about what she says.

"Listen," she starts, her hand sliding onto your thigh, caressing it and moving up and down, dangerously close to your pussy.

You're about to push her away when—

"Hey chicas!" Manny calls out.

"Hey, Manny," she smiles, turning her head towards him.

"What are you two up to?"

"Oh, we're just talking and having fun."

"That kind of fun?" he asks with a smirk.

The girl laughs at Manny's joke and then says,

"I wish."

You whip your head to look at her, your expression dead serious and disgusted, silently screaming: Why the fuck would you say that?

"By the way, aren't you Mike's sister?" Manny asks.

"Yeah, how do you know him?" you respond, your voice clipped as you shoot him a serious and irritated look. It's not your fault you come off as mad, but Julia's presence is grating on your nerves right now.

"You know, he gives me things when my best friend can't," Manny says casually.

You roll your eyes, already tired of hearing that same old story. Every time someone says they know your brother, it's always because of the same damn reason-he's a dealer, and you're so over it.

"Okay," you reply, clearly done with the conversation.

"Okay, chicas, I'll leave you two alone now.

See you later," Manny says, heading off.

The second he's far enough away, you round on Julia.

"What the fuck was that? What's your problem?" you snap, roughly pushing her hand away from your thigh.

"Omg, Y/N! I was just joking," she protests.

"No, fuck you. You know what you did to me-treating me like I was your girlfriend, telling me l was yours, making out with me, and then saying you didn't want a relationship. You have serious fucking problems for saying that shit in front of him when I don't even know him. And you say it like it's nothing? Do you even realize how much that hurt me? Are you fucking stupid? Why are you even here anyway?"

You and Julia are in the middle of a heated argument, voices rising as you go back and forth. Your friends are still chilling with the music blasting, completely unaware of the tension between the two of you. Julia’s face is twisted with frustration, but you’re too fed up to care.

Meanwhile, Abby is at home, watching some random movie to pass the time when a notification pops up on her phone:

Manny - 2 new messages.

“Hey, pendeja”

“Wanna hang out when I’m done with some stuff?”

A new notification interrupts:

*NEW MESSAGES*

Manny: Do you know Mike’s sister?

“Isn’t she the girl you told me about? They look similar by your description.”

*image.*

Abby quickly taps on the notifications, her curiosity piqued. The image loads, and her stomach drops. It’s a picture of you and Julia, her hand resting way too high on your thigh. Abby stares at the image for a moment, her jaw tightening.

She replies instantly.

Abby: Where are you?

“In the usual parking lot we hang out at with Owen, Jordan, you know.”

“You still want to hang out?”

“Yeah, I’m picking up the others right now, be at your place in 10.”

“Okay.”

Ten minutes later, Manny pulls up at Abby’s house, and soon they’re walking through the parking lot. Abby’s eyes are scanning the crowd until she spots you, her expression darkening.

Manny heads your way, shouting, “Hey, told you I’d be back so—” He stops mid-sentence when he sees Julia kissing you, her lips pressed against yours as a soft moan escapes her. Abby freezes, her vision tunneling, anger flaring up inside her. Her fists clench as her heart pounds in her chest.

Just then, your friend Micheal calls out from the car, unknowingly saving you from the situation, “Y/N! Wanna try this drink? It’s fire!”

You push Julia away from you, wiping your mouth quickly, and stand up, turning to head toward Martin. But just as you reach for the drink, a hand snatches it away before you can grab it.

“You’re not drinking tonight,” a cold voice says.

You look up to see Abby standing in front of you, her blue eyes burning with barely-contained anger.

“Abby? What are you—“

“Shut your mouth and walk,” she snaps, throwing the drink aside before grabbing your arm. Her grip is firm, leaving no room for argument as she pulls you away from the group, forcing you to walk with her.

Your heart races as you glance back at your friends, then at Julia, but Abby doesn't care. She’s got you now, and there’s no escaping whatever comes next.

"Abby, stop."

"Manny, give me your car keys. I'll be back in a minute."

"Sure," he says, handing Abby the keys without asking any questions.

"Get in the car, Y/N."

"Abby, let me go."

She opens the car door and forces you inside. As she takes the driver's seat, you try to open the door, but she's already locked it.

"Abby, what's wrong with you? Open the fucking door!"

Abby doesn't respond. She starts the engine and speeds out of the parking lot.

"Abby, slow down!"

After twenty minutes of speeding, Abby pulls over in the middle of nowhere-no lights, no houses, just darkness all around.

"Fuck! Abigail!"

She turns on the interior light, and you look at her, scared of what might happen. You don't know if Abby is a violent person or not. Her eyes are filled with fury, and you can see she's seething with anger.

"We need to talk. Now."

"No, we don't."

"Oh yeah? So you think it's okay to ignore me and treat me like l'm a stranger?"

"Wha-"

"Don't play dumb, Y/N, and don't make any excuses. You're not even drunk."

The silence between you two grows heavier.

"Why did you stop talking to me after we kissed?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"What do you mean?"

"Abby, you have a new girl with you every two seconds. You're always having sex or making out with them in a blink of an eye." You sigh before continuing, "I felt-and still feel-like a sex toy to you."

"You're not."

"Yeah, like I can really trust you on that," you say sarcastically, turning your face to the window. "I should've never told you about my feelings. We can't work together."

"Y/N-"

"I fucking hate you, Abby. I hate having feelings for someone who would probably just use me however she likes!" You spit out, facing her again.

"I've told you many times that I don't like how you talk to me. I'm serious, Y/N. Stop."

"Abby, seriously, fuck you."

At that, she grabs your neck, nearly choking you, and pulls you two inches away from her face.

"Oh yeah? Then who is that girl? And why was she kissing you and moaning into your mouth? Why was she almost touching your pussy moments before I showed up?"

After the last sentence, you try to understand how she could have seen that, and then you connect the dots. She’s Manny’s best friend. But how?

“How do you—”

“Manny sent me a picture.”

Fuck you, manny

“It’s none of your business who she is, and I didn’t try anything with her.”

“Then why didn’t you push her away from you?” Abby says, tightening her grip on your neck slightly.

“I was shocked. She caught me by surprise.”

Abby doesn’t answer. Instead, she keeps her intense gaze fixed on you, trying to see if you’re lying.

“I was just trying to distract myself from you. Now you’re acting jealous, calling me yours, but are you mine?” you say

“What do you think?”

“You aren’t. I think we both know that, Abigail.”

Just then, your phone starts ringing with a photo of a curly haired woman —Julia — popping up.

Abby recognizes the girl and stares at you, clearly unimpressed by the timing.

“Don’t you even try to answer.”

You ignore her and answer the phone, putting it on speaker.

“Hello? Love?” Julia says, and you remain silent.

Abby looks at you and whispers, “Love? Really?”

“Julia, what do you want?”

“Just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I saw that girl taking you away from me while we were talking.”

As Julia continues talking, Abby starts giving you hickeys on your neck, causing you to moan intentionally. You’re so focused on the sensations that you stop listening to whatever Julia is saying.

“Are you okay, love?” Julia asks, her voice tinged with concern.

Abby pulls her head away from your neck and grabs your phone from your hand. You try to fight her, but you know Abby is hundred times stronger than you.

“She’s busy right now,” Abby says before hanging up on Julia.

“Abby, what the fuck?”

Abby doesn’t answer. Instead, she pulls out a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, which contains a joint and a lighter.

You know where this is going to end.

Abby leans back in the driver’s seat and brings the joint to her lips, the tip flaring orange in the complete darkness. The only sound is the faint crackle of burning paper and herb as she takes a long drag. Smoke fills the air, swirling around her in lazy spirals, barely visible in the faint moonlight that seeps through the windows. The deep, earthy scent of cannabis mixes with the musty smell of the old car seats, creating an almost comforting atmosphere. Abby exhales slowly, the smoke pouring from her mouth and nostrils, diffusing into the blackness outside. The silence is profound, with no hum of traffic or distant chatter, only the occasional rustle of wind through unseen trees. Her eyes are half-closed, her mind drifting as she stares out into the void, feeling an odd sense of peace in the isolation. She takes another drag, the glow from the joint briefly illuminating her fingers before once again merging with the surrounding darkness.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Abby remains silent.

“Are you really smoking while we’re arguing?”

Still.

“I’m done with your bullshit, Abigail. Let me go.”

As you say this, Abby rests the joint between her lips, freeing both of her hands.

Abby’s hands clutch the car’s armrest. With a sudden, rough motion, she yanks you toward her, forcing you onto her lap. You gasp, startled by Abby’s intensity as your bodies collide in the confined space of Manny’s motionless car. She removes one hand from your waist to grab the joint and exhale the smoke.

“I told you many times to stop calling me by my full name,” she says, gripping your neck and pulling you closer to her face.

“And I told you many times I’m not any of your bitches, Abigail.”

“You’re mine, Y/N.”

“Fuck you.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” she says, closing the distance between you until you’re just two inches apart.

“Too bad you made me mad,” she whispers.

You’re about to respond when her phone starts ringing. The caller ID shows ‘Manny.’

Abby rolls her eyes and throws away her joint as if it’s nothing.

“What do you want?”

“Abby, I need my car. Owen needs to grab something from home.”

“Fine.” She hangs up. Without missing a beat, she turns her head and locks her gaze with yours, her icy blue eyes filled with a silent warning.

“Don’t you even try to go back to her when we’re there again,” Abby says, her voice low but firm, every word laced with intensity.

You meet her stare, unimpressed. “You’re so annoying, Abby.”

With a sigh, you move to open the car door, slipping off Abby’s lap and sliding back into the passenger seat, feeling the shift in the air between you. Abby’s eyes never leave you, even as she shifts back into the driver’s seat, jaw tight, hands resting on the steering wheel, as if bracing for whatever comes next. As soon as you settle back into the passenger seat, Abby shifts the car into gear, her fingers tightening around the wheel. The tension in the air is thick, unspoken words hanging between you as you drive in silence. The dark, winding roads stretch out before you, the headlights cutting through the night, but neither of you says a word. Abby’s eyes flick over to you a few times, but she stays focused on the road. Her jaw is set, frustration simmering beneath her calm exterior. You lean against the window, your breath fogging up the glass slightly, arms crossed as the hum of the engine and the rhythm of the tires on the asphalt become the only sounds. Minutes pass, feeling like hours, until the familiar sight of the compound appears in the distance, its fortified walls and the glow of lights signaling you are back. The tension shifts, replaced by a looming sense of inevitability. The car rolls to a stop near the entrance where Manny and a few others are waiting, standing in the dim light as they speak amongst themselves. Abby kills the engine and sits there for a moment, staring straight ahead. “We’re here,” she mutters, her tone curt. You shoot her a sidelong glance but don’t say anything. You push open the door and step out, the cool night air hitting your skin as you stretch, shaking off the weight of the car ride. Manny notices you and gives a short wave, walking over with a grin on his face.

"Hey, took you guys long enough," he jokes, but he quickly notices the tension radiating from you and Abby.

Abby climbs out of the driver's seat, standing tall as she slams the door shut. Her eyes briefly meet yours, but she quickly turns to Manny. “We had some things to discuss about.” she says, her voice flat.

Manny raises a brow, sensing the atmosphere between you, but doesn’t press it. “Well, glad you're back. i’ll take owen at home home, we’ll be back in 10.”

After Manny finishes talking, you move to walk back to your friends when you feel pressure on your waist. It's Abby, her large, veiny hands gripping you firmly. She leans in, her voice low and steady.

"I'm coming with you."

"No, leave me alone," you reply, trying to pull away.

"Calm down, princess. I haven't even started with you yet," she whispers into your ear, smirking. Then, without warning, she presses a kiss against your neck, and it makes you freeze in place.

Abby lets you go, but she stays close, walking beside you with that familiar intensity. From a distance, one of your friends notices Abby’s presence and immediately makes her way over. Without hesitation, she grabs your arm, pulling you away from the tension. Abby lets you go, her hand sliding off your waist as she begins walking next to you, her presence still heavy in the air.

"Come hereeee" she says, her voice light and carefree as she leads you toward the others. The music from the speakers pulses through the empty parking lot, and soon enough, you’re moving to the beat, your friend helping you shake off the tension as Abby watches from the sidelines, her gaze never leaving you. As the beat of the next song thumps through the speakers, your friend throws her head back, laughing. She leans into you, resting her head on your shoulder, her laughter light and carefree.

“Oh my god, I’ve never had this much fun in so long,” she says, still giggling, her words slurring from all the excitement. You feel her happiness infectiously sinking in.

Abby Standing off to the side, arms crossed, her jaw clenched tight, she watches you with a growing intensity. The sight of you laughing, vibing, and lost in the moment with your friend pushes her to the edge. Her patience snaps, and she starts walking toward you, the determination in her stride cutting through the music. You can feel the weight of her presence approaching, the air around you thickening.

She's had enough.

When Abby reaches you, her large hand grips your arm—not harshly, but firm enough that you feel the seriousness behind it.

“We’re done here,” Abby says, her voice low and commanding. There’s a tension in her words that sends a chill down your spine. She’s barely keeping it together. Abby isn’t going to wait for an answer, and before you can think too hard about it, she’s pulling you away from the music, away from the carefree vibe, and into the shadowy edges of the parking lot. You open your mouth to protest, the frustration bubbling up inside you, but before you can say a word, Abby steps in close, towering over you, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous mix of control and desire.

“Not even a word,” she interrupts, her voice low and unwavering. Her smirk pulls at the corner of her lips, sending a shiver down your spine. “Just wait till we get home,” she adds, her tone dripping with a promise that makes your pulse quicken. It’s the kind of tone that says it all:

I’m going to make you regret that.

You stand there, frozen, caught between defiance and the undeniable pull Abby has over you. your friends’s voice a distant hum as Abby’s presence overtakes everything. There’s no escape from the intensity in her eyes, and you know whatever is waiting for you at home is going to be something you won’t forget easily. After a moment of tense silence between you and Abby, Manny walks back over, catching sight of the two of you standing close, the tension still thick in the air. He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything at first, sensing the shift.

“Oye chicas, you guys good?” he asks with a playful smile, his voice casual, but there’s a knowing edge to it. Manny has been around Abby long enough to pick up on her moods, and right now, he’s smart enough to stay out of it.

Abby barely glances his way, her hand still lingering on your arm. “Can you take us to my place?” she asks, her voice steady, but there’s no mistaking the undertone of command. It’s not really a request, and Manny knows it. He looks between the two of you, his gaze lingering on Abby for a beat longer. He doesn’t ask why or what’s going on—he doesn’t need to. Manny knows Abby better than almost anyone, and he can tell exactly what kind of mood she’s in.

“Sí, claro,” he says with a nod, keeping it simple. He doesn’t pry, doesn’t ask the questions swirling in his mind. After all, Abby is his best friend, and if there’s one thing he’s learned over the years, it’s when to mind his own business. You steal a glance at Abby, her smirk still lingering, and your stomach tightens with a mix of anticipation and nerves. Manny leads the way to the car, and you can feel Abby’s gaze burning into you the whole time. Whatever’s coming, you’re not going to be able to avoid it. You slide into the backseat with Abby beside you, the car ride feeling heavier than it should. Manny stays quiet up front, the silence only broken by the low rumble of the engine as he drives, and you’re left wondering what’s going to happen when you finally get to Abby’s place.

-

who knows what is going to happen next👀

[wellsbering]

i've been going through prismatic-bell's blog to try to piece together exactly what happened to make xir think that reporting someone to the FBI for terrorism with zero evidence was a logical course of action, and i came across something i felt like i just had to pick apart here. i thought about responding to the post directly, but i don't want my notifications to get overrun by zionists (i mean, that'll probably happen anyways, but...fingers crossed)

if you don't wanna read this whole long thing where i explain why this specific gofundme is indeed trustworthy, at least share & donate to muhammad's campaign here

first, what kind of fucking racist brain worms do you have to have to see an arab man asking for help and think that it's "threatening"?

what, exactly, is threatening about this screenshot? saying the honest truth, that being unable to afford medical care for a serious injury could make an amputation necessary??? asking someone to share a link on other social media to increase reach??? using ALL CAPS, LIKE A LOT OF PEOPLE ON THE INTERNET DO FOR EMPHASIS?? please explain it to me.

and then, of course, we have Zionist of the Year prismatic-bell's response.

most of these grammatical inconsistencies that prismatic-bell seems to think of as damning proof (mixing up 1st & 3rd-person pronouns, mixing up "hand" and "arm") are probably not things that someone who doesn't speak english would catch. tell me, tumblr: which of these do you think are "he" and "his", and which do you think are "i" and "me"?

if you're unfamiliar with the arabic writing system, you have zero clues to go on, right?

some of the people sending these asks are copying & pasting english text they see other people using to ask for donations (this is what led to that other scam controversy with bassel). learning a new language is fucking hard. trying to proofread their own messages in not just a foreign language, but a foreign ALPHABET, is not a good use of their time when they're in a warzone and desperately trying to ask anyone they can for help. also to elaborate on the hand/arm thing, it's not that fucking hard to find his gofundme, which contains photos of his actual x-rays.

you can see the shrapnel in his arm. reverse image search only brings up 5 results, 4 of which are tumblr posts linking to this gofundme, and one of which is the gofundme itself.

the bullet is in his arm. as you may imagine, having a bullet strike and break your arm is going to impact your ability to use your fucking hand. muhammad has nerve damage as a result of this injury. so yes, surgery is necessary. you can't really fix nerve damage with a simple round of antibiotics.

"ALSO also also: has nobody in Gaza heard of antibiotics? Why are we going straight for surgery?" is so fucking patronizing. yes, everyone in gaza has heard of antibiotics. unfortunately, antibiotics don't randomly spawn in hospitals like a fucking video game, they need to be TRANSPORTED there, which impossible to do when israel is blocking nearly all humanitarian aid from entering the gaza strip. this is why there are so many amputations being performed in gaza right now. they are running out - or in some locations, have already completely run out - of basic medical supplies.

also, by reading the gofundme description, the "rebuild" vs "evacuate" bit becomes clear: his family needs to rebuild their home, and he has to leave gaza to get adequate medical care. in other words, he has to leave a dangerous place that is being bombed to get to somewhere safe where he can receive medical treatment. if only there was a word for that. perhaps one that starts in evac- and ends in -uate. if only!

regarding the emojis: personally, i don't use a ton of emojis in my writing. but again, considering the aforementioned language barrier, is it surprising to see a lot of emojis? those are at least something that make sense in every language. they also serve to break up a big wall of text that people might otherwise scroll by. i have adhd, so sometimes if a long post is broken up with an occasional ❗ then my eyes will be drawn to that, and i will actually read that sentence and get put back on track.

i don't think i need to get into the "outed as a scammer" bit, since that's been thoroughly debunked. even blogs dedicated to identifying scams on tumblr, like kyra45, consider el-shab-hussein and 90-ghost's vetting process to be reliable and share their lists of vetted fundraisers.

and finally: "People can be bought. Accounts can be hacked. Maybe they used to be honest. They’re not now." this wording seems to imply that all blogs dedicated to palestinian gofundmes are dishonest? it's just as ridiculous to say "every single ask you get is a scam" as it is to say "every single ask you receive is legitimate". a blanket statement like this only serves to continue to undermine the legitimacy of the many REAL GAZANS who are asking for help to rebuild their lives.

i hope this clears some things up if anyone was confused about the legitimacy of some of these asks. the long and short of it is, it's not that hard to just look up a person's blog and see if a trusted person, who actually knows what they're doing (unlike prismatic-bell), has verified the legitimacy of their campagin or not. to be honest, i think that automatically assuming every ask related to gaza is a scam says something about the way you view palestinians. and it's not pretty.

[i-need-to-get-a-life3]

Why didn't you say something??❤️- Leo Valdez x Poseidon Cabin reader.

Yo, I am SO sorry this took me so long to make, It's just been a very busy break which is a big contradiction.... ps I am so sorry for this SHITTY writing.

Summary: reader doesn't like pda but leo does, and I mean, just read it. I am soooo sorry if this is not what you wanted

Warnings: Cursing, kissing, maybe some dirty jokes?? Angst but it's fluffy. maybe some ooc characters bcs I'm reading magnus chase rn

It had been a few months since you and Leo had started dating, and you were, addmitadly kinda worried about it. Don't get me wrong, you were so happy about it, Leo was the best boyfriend you could ever ask for, but he was extremely a bit touchy. You loved leo, butt you just didn't like touch that much. Like, a high five, a kiss on the cheek, and maybe a hug every now and then, but you weren't an all around PDA person. Leo, on the other hand, loved it. He always had a hand on you, on your shoulder, your thigh, your ass. And even though you weren't exactly shy when you wanted something, you really didn't want to insult Leo, so you just went with it. But you eventually got tired of it. So you went to the best person you could think of; Percy.

" Yo, Seaweed Brain!" You called out "Percy c'mere" Percy turned around, and you walked over to him.

"What's up y/n/n" he said patting your head. You swatted his hand away.

"Hey! No touchie." You said.

"Right," he said lowering his hand. "What's up" you sighed

"So you know how I'm dating Leo right?" Percy rolled his eyes.

"Yeah"

"And you know how he loves... PDA?" Percy nodded.

"And you know how, I... don't?" Percy finally seemed to understand.

"Is he not listening?" He asked. "Because if he's not respecting you I can drown him." Percy warned.

"No no no no no! It's not like that," exclaimed. Percy's head tilted to the side. "I- I uh- I haven't told him." You admitted. Percy's expression turned exasperated.

"Dam y/n! What do you want me to do about that?" He asked

"I don't know! Give me older brotherly advice maybe?" Percy considered this.

"Tell him." You looked at him exasperated.

"Oh my gods thank you that's never came to mind." You said sarcastically.

You walked away and sat in your cabin. You didn't know what to do. You were a fucking big 3 kid, a child of poseidon! You had fought millions of monsters. But you couldn't tell your boyfriend how you feel.

~T-t-t-time skipppppp~

Leo POV

Leo was nervous. He didn't show it, but he was. And it was because of y/n. He loves his s/o, he really does, but lately he has noticed that you didn't respond to his affection like you used to. When he put an arm around your waist, you didn't squeeze back like you used to. Oh my gods did I do something wrong? DO THEY WANT TO BREAK UP?

Leo was frantic. So he did the best thing he could think of. He went to Percy.

"Yo seaweed brain!" Leo whisper yelled as he broke into cabin 3 at 3:00 in the morning. "Wake up!" Percy squirmed.

"What the fuck do you want?!" Percy replied.

"Shhhh, don't wake up y/n" Leo said. Percy grumbled some colorful words that would impress even Arion. "Um, is y/n okay, because I noticed that they aren't as touchy as they used to be and-" Percy cut leo off.

"Leo I swear did you come in here to tell me about your lovers quarrel because I DON'T KNOW!"

Leo emerged from there very wet.

Dam, Leo thought. Leo was scared, and he had been scared his whole life. He list other people, and he most definitely did not want to lose you. So he did something that was the worst decision he could make. He stopped being so touchy.

Reader POV

"Percy? Percy?" You called.

"What the fuck do you want this time." Percy said not even saying hi.

'Damn, I must have annoyed him.' You thought to yourself.

"Dam Perce I just wanted to ask a question.'" Percy looked unconvinced. You continued "has Leo said anything about me, because he seems less touchy and-" you get cut off

"Get the fuck away from me."

Okay I am so sorry for this but uhm, I have been so busy and I dint have a lot of time so I will post this really quick just to get something out there and if this gets 20 likes I will put out part 2 as fast as I possibly can.

[ffcrazy15]

"Just Write For Yourself"

I think the thing that gets to me the most about the whole "just write for yourself!" response to writers complaining the lack of engagement in fanfic, is that it makes me realize that there's a fundamental misunderstanding between writers and readers of how much work writing fic is.

Like, there are 2-3 scenes in any given oneshot or chapter that I want to write. I usually write those first. They'll take me a couple of, very enjoyable, hours at most.

And then I have to go back and write the whole rest of the fic. Which is work. And it's usually not immediately enjoyable.

For example, one of my best fics on AO3 is a Star Trek fanfic called Rascal'ed. This was one of the fics that was easiest for me to write, one of the ones that just possesses you until it's done. It took me less than five days to create.

And I still had to go back in and fill in blank spots and cut bad prose and revise the dialogue.

If you want to see what a difficult fic to write looks like, like my fic Leap of Faith, here's what I do for my stories that I actually plan out:

And that's just the planning. I still have to write the damn thing. And there are things in the above layout—which is just for Chapter 1, mind—that got changed between this and the final published version of the chapter. You can see that the title of the story itself was changed at some point.

So when people say, "write for yourself, not for engagement!" What I personally hear is: "I as a reader do not understand how much work writers put into getting a story into a publishable form, and I also do not realize how easy it would be for them to write the couple of scenes they enjoyed writing and then to let it sit forever in their drafts."

(Of these eight fics—averaging more than 20 pages each—only two of them ever made it to AO3. The rest remain unfinished and unpublished.)

And for the record: I, personally, have wonderful readers. Kind, attentive readers who leave me comments engaging with the work. And it's because of them that I continue to publish stories! Like, I don't want to sound like sour grapes here, because I know that I get way more comments than many great writers out there.

But I've seen, across the board, writers trying to express that they are just not getting the engagement that they desire and expect for the work they put in, and people responding with "you shouldn't expect engagement; just write for yourself."

And the thing is, I know they're not trying to be rude. I know that! Of course they don't know how hard we work, who would have ever told them? We can't blame them for not knowing what they've never been told. Which is why I just felt the need to get out here and say:

Writing fics takes a lot of work. A lot of work. Hours upon hours of unpaid labor. Any fic that you see on AO3 or Fanfiction.net or Wattpad, is not something someone wrote solely for themselves. They could have just daydreamed about it, or written a couple of scenes and then left it unfinished. But they chose to put in the hard work it took to finish it. Because they wanted other people to read and engage with it.

Please engage with it.

Because if all fic writers ever hear is "you should just write for yourself"—we might start believing it.

[livesworthlivingau]

Behind the Vale Chapter 1

Spoilers for TwoHats. CW: Suicidal thoughts/ideation This chapter is meant to be loops perspective on LWL Chapter 1, some dialogue and moments is cut out, assuming you already read it and not wanting to fully duplicate it, so please read that chapter first, or reread if you need a refresher. Lines in Red are meant to show duplicate lines from the complimentary chapter

[Your consciousness slowly fades back into existence. The sweet embrace of oblivion leaving you. The unfamiliar surroundings of a forest clearing filling your senses before a ringing takes over your hearing. Your arms are wrapped around yourself, gripping yourself tighter as the ringing grows. You can't move, you can't speak, you can't...] (Was this actually real?... ) [What?... That voice... You can just barely hear it through the ringing. You focus, trying so hard to parse through the high pitched tone, only making it louder in the process. You have to find it! You have to... find him.] [Stardust?... Is that you?....] (LOOP!) [His voice shouts through your mind. It snaps you out of it, letting you regain control of your body. Your head falls into your hands, staring wide eyed through the your spread fingers, falling to your knees.] [Why?... Why are you back?... Why is this happening again?... You were free, it was over! Why do you exist again?! Why must you be forced through this endless torment?! Why can't you just die?!] [You sigh and collect yourself... you have to hold it together. If you're back, then something must be wrong. You need to be there for Stardust, helping him is the only blinding thing you're pathetic existence is good for anymore...] [You stand again, holding your arms lightly around yourself, waiting... You close your eyes and try to find him, trying to make that connection again. At first it's only static, but as you focus, and as they get closer, the picture becomes just a tad clearer. They seem to be running, frantic at that, rushing through trees, desperate to find you... Suddenly they come to a stop.] "Loop... LOOP! LOOP IT'S REALLY YOU!" [Your eyes shoot open as you hear his voice, suddenly tackled into a tight hug, slowly wrapping your forearms around them as you respond. You do your best to keep up your same little facade as always, even though you fully dropped the that mask during your last encounter. It was what you were best at now, so no use in avoiding it. Performing in your little play was all you could do now.] ------------------------------------------------------------ "30 YEARS?!?!" [You cry out, scattering every nearby bird from the trees.] [This can't be real... Stardust gets his happy ending and a whole BLINDING life, and you're just forced to exist further. You one and only use in this damned universe, taken from you... All you're left with now is his pity, offering you the cheap imitation of your former life. To be yet another character in his play... You suppose it's the only option you have at this point, other than simply wasting away in a tree, though that option did sound more appealing by the minute.] ------------------------------------------------------------- "... So what's the plan here anyways?-" [You begin, it couldn't truly be that simple... right? This wasn't your family. This wasn't your life... Not anymore... Does Stardust truly pity you that much he'd be willing to mess up his perfect little life by cramming me into it?...] “So, just Loop? No other details?” [... Why would he want another him around? Why would he want his family to know? You must be so pathetic! So broken beyond repair, so worthless, so disgusting to look at!... No... No if you were to even humor this silly idea of joining his family, you couldn't parade around as a hollow version of your old self... They're gone, dead... They're the lucky one. They don't have to suffer anymore...]