#Why would I work on something I'll never publish?

[jadegrey711]

Party of Three

A/N; I don't know what came over me on this one. I must have been ovulating, but I so loved the idea of Frank x Fem!Reader x Billy. So this is pure unholy filth and please enjoy! Also Frank has his delicatable long hair from the beginning of season 2 in this one. And as always...

If you like my stories you can check out my sideblog @jadegreywriting​ to see all of them and my masterlist without filtering through my main blog.

*Not my gif*

I own all rights to this story and do not give permission for my stories to be published, translated or reposted anywhere else. The only places I have published my stories is here on Tumblr and on my AO3 account (LadyAuthor711) 

This story is for 18+ ONLY. It contains sexual themes that are not suited for younger audiences so if you’re under 18 my blog and this story is not for you. Please make sure to read at your own discretion and remember that you are solely responsible for your content intake.

Billy watched both of you. He watched Frank, tilting his head as he took in the soft expression on his face and the small smile he would deny ever crossed his face if Billy ever mentioned it to him. And Billy watched the target of Frank's gaze; you.

You were a cute little thing. Laughing at something the bartender said as he placed your favorite after work Friday night drink in front of you.

Frank was stupid if he thought Billy didn't know why he dragged him to this spot for the past three Friday nights. Billy chuckled as he looked back at the love-lorn look he wore as he took in the sight of you. Tonight, you wore a maroon top, with a high neck, and dark high-waisted trousers; ever the professional, even when you were getting your ritual Friday night drink.

Billy had to admit he understood the fascination Frank had with you. It didn't take him long to find the same qualities in you beautiful that Frank did.

Billy took a sip of his beer.

"So, is this the night that we chat her up?"

Frank's gaze snapped back to Billy. "W-What?"

Billy smirked. "Come on Frank. I think we've done plenty of recon. Now it's time to engage the target. I can chat her up if you want."

Frank's cheeks flushed. "No."

"Why? I'm pretty sure the last woman we chatted up had a very fun time with us. Or is this one you want to do on your own?"

Frank's cheeks only got redder. "No. I just..." Frank trailed off.

"Use your words, Franky." Billy smiled.

"I just don't know if she would be okay with that." Frank whispered, his cheeks turning redder.

"Frank. You never know unless you go up to her. Tell you what." Billy said, taking the last swig of his beer and getting up from his seat. "I'll chat her up and when she's warmed up, I'll signal to you."

"Wait Billy." Frank said a bit startled.

Billy looked back at Frank; his eyebrow raised. "Frank, do you want her or not?"

Billy watched as Frank looked back over to you, where you were sat by yourself watching the sports game that was on, casually stirring your drink, before looking back to Billy.

"Yes."

"Here you go, hon." The bartender said as he placed a fresh drink in front of you.

"Thanks Monty." You smiled at the aged bartender, before he walked away to help another guest.

"Midori sour?" A voice said from the right of you. You looked over your shoulder and saw one of the most gorgeous men you'd ever seen.

"Uhh. Yes" You stuttered trying to remember for a second what the hell he just asked before your brain decided to power down.

“I’ve never had one before. Are they good?” He asked, rubbing his long index finger on the rim of his glass.

“I like them. I like the way Monty makes them the best. He uses the good sour mix, or just uses lemonade.” You paused. “But you don’t really look like the type of guy who would enjoy a Midori sour.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because usually guys who drink old fashioneds are not the kind of people who will just randomly decide to mix things up. Especially with a Midori sour.” You said gesturing to his glass.

He smiled, looking down at his glass. “I guess you’re right. The devil you know and all that.” He smiled and drank down the last of his drink before signaling the Monty for another one.

“What’s your whiskey of choice?”

“Macallen 30.”

“Oh! You’re one of those posh types.” You giggled.

The stranger laughed. “Very much so. I know what I like. Ms.?”

You said your name before reaching your hand out to shake his, which seemed to make him smile more. Before he casually reached out his hand and took yours; his hand felt soft and warm under yours.

“I’m Billy.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Billy.” You said before noticing that your hand was still in his, you felt your cheeks heat and pulled your hand away just as Monty brought Billy his next drink. “So, what brings you here on a Friday night?” You asked, setting your eyes back on the hockey game in front of you, since that felt like the safest option.

“I’m actually here with my friend, Frank. We just finished another job in the city and decided to celebrate a bit.”

“Oh! Where’s your friend?” You asked, watching as Billy made a gesture with his hands and you watched as the most “manliest” man you had ever seen approach where you and Billy were sitting.

There was no doubt that Billy was handsome; extremely so, but more of a refined handsome; like the Macallen 30 he was drinking. His friend Frank though was the complete opposite; he was handsome in the way that simply felt primal. His eyes were dark like Billy’s, and his nose was large and off centered, like it had been busted up a few more times than normal. His hair was longer than Billy’s, whereas Billy’s was neat and trimmed up, the sides faded; Frank looked more casual. And while the scars on his face made him seem tougher than nails, the sheepish smile that he wore when he finally made it up to where you and Billy were sitting showed he was a gentle giant.

Billy introduced you to Frank and Frank’s cheeks heated even more as he reached out for your hand and shook it before sitting at the bar on your left.

After that the three of you seemed to chat for hours, it didn’t help that Billy insisted that the three of you celebrate the end of their recent contract with a shot. Which went from one to two to three, safe to say you were pleasantly buzzed now, but strangely enough you didn’t feel like you were in danger with the two of them on either side of you. In fact; you felt quite the opposite, it was like if there was anyone dangerous in this bar right now, they’d be an absolute idiot to try and approach you with the two of them on either side of you.

When Billy set down a fourth shot in front of you, you let out a low groan. “This is the last one! You understand me? Both of you.” You said in your best stern voice as you gestured to both of them.

“You’re very cute when you’re trying to be tough.” Billy purred and casually reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Frank cleared his throat and threw back the shot, and the rest of you followed suit.

“You didn’t answer my question from earlier.” Billy chided.

You let out a laugh. “No. I’ve never been in a threesome.” You chuckled, the idea of it absolutely absurd and you had no idea how the conversation had gone up to this point but here it was. “That’s the kind of thing that only happens in porn.” You laughed, not catching the look that Frank and Billy just shared with each other.

“What if the opportunity presented itself to you?” Billy asked, his voice ever calm and collected.

“Hmm.” You said, before putting your hands on your chin, looking like you were deep in thought. “Is it with two guys? Or me and another girl?”

“Two guys.”

“I mean hypothetically speaking, I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. I mean what kind of woman wouldn’t say yes to having two smoke shows. I’d probably have to stretch first.” You chuckled, looking at both Frank and Billy. “Why are you offering?”

You said it as a joke, I mean who honestly wouldn’t want to hook up with two of the hottest guys you had ever met before? No one that you knew that’s for sure. But as you played with the empty shot glass in front of you, your fingers twirling it in circles, you noticed both of them were quiet.

You felt your throat go bone dry. “A-Are you offering?”

“What if we were?” Billy asked, his voice ever cool and collected.

“I-.” You stuttered out, not knowing what to say looking back from Billy to Frank, who was keeping eager eyes on you, his cheeks flushed pink. "Are you serious?"

Billy leaned in close and whispered in your ear. "I don't joke about wanting to fuck gorgeous women I meet." He whispered before kissing you just below your ear.

"I really don’t know what to say." You stuttered out.

“Just say yes. unless you really don’t want to.” Billy said softly, his dark eyes burning.

“I -.” You paused, your brain going completely silent as you thought about how much of a once in a lifetime offer this was. You chuckled to yourself at the idea of it, have a threesome on Friday and be back in the office Monday morning. I mean, that’s seriously a porn plot. But as you took in the eager and awaiting gaze of Frank, and the sharp, enticing eyes of Billy. You couldn’t help but think about how stale your life feels right now, like it’s just endless routine that you just can’t seem to break out of, and these two men were handing you the hammer.  

“I want to.” You stuttered out, surprising yourself.

“Good. Then it's settled." Billy said matter of fact, before he slapped down money on the countertop and Frank grabbed your jacket and handed it to you; before he took your hand gently and lead the three of you out of the bar.

You walked for a moment before you reached their car and Billy headed to the driver’s side while Frank opened the backseat door for you. You looked back at Frank, who smiled at you warmly, before leaning in and kissing you. It was soft and sweet; his rough hands made their way around your waist and pulled you closer to him. You relaxed under his touch and made it was the alcohol making you feel brave but you eagerly kissed him back, and after a minute Frank pulled away.

"You’re safe with us." He said softly, those dark brown doe eyes looking at you with sincerity and you knew he meant it.

Without another word, you climbed into the back seat of the car; Frank following behind you and Billy pulled away from the curb.

You leaned back towards Frank again, wanting more of his sweet kisses and he obliged caressing your face and entangling his large hands in your hair.

You pulled away from his soft lips. "I've never done this before." You stuttered out.

"It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything you're not comfortable with.” He smiled.

"Okay." you whispered before Frank started kissing you again. His hand in your hair tightened and pulled your head to the side, exposing your neck for him and you let out a sigh as he kissed your neck, sucking on the spot right below your ear, earning a low moan from you.

As Frank kissed you, you felt braver and decided to move from your spot in the backseat, to sit on Frank’s help. His hands immediately wrapped around your waist, and stroked your back and grabbing fistfuls of your ass; as you felt him deepened the kiss. No longer feeling soft and innocent as his tongue slid past your lips.

You felt hot and aroused, as Frank made out with you in the back seat of Billy's car, knowing that Billy was watching and waiting patiently for his turn.

Frank’s hands tightened on your ass, as you lavished his neck with kisses, sucking at the spot right where his neck and shoulder meet, earning a low groan from him. You felt yourself growing bolder as you rocked your hips into his, needing to feel some kind of friction between the two of your bodies and Frank was more than willing to help you out. As his large hands, took fistfuls of your ass and helped grind you down onto his hard cock, which was still painfully confined in his jeans.

“Fuck, baby.” Frank moaned out. His kisses becoming more urgent.

“Frank.” You whimpered. You thought you were going to cum just like this, rubbing yourself against his jeans. You didn’t even notice that Billy had pulled into a parking garage and had been watching you two for the past few minutes, before he cut the engine.

You looked back at Billy, who’s eyes were fixed on the two of you and you felt your skin flush with embarrassment.

“Are you gonna make her cum here Frank? Or are we taking this party upstairs?” Billy asked casually, licking his lips.

Without a word from Frank, you were surprised as you felt his hands move your hips faster, letting out a little gasp from you as he ground your center on the seam of his jeans and somehow, he found the perfect spot where the seam of his jeans lined up with your clit and rubbed you endlessly against it. You most definitely would be cumming here. You buried your face in the hollow of Frank’s neck as you felt your orgasm build.

“Fuck.” You moaned out. You weren’t even doing the work anymore, Frank was the one driving your hips against his body, bringing you closer to your orgasm. You fisted your hands in his hair as you felt your orgasm peak, your back arching. “Fuck!” You shouted out again as you finally felt your orgasm crash over you. Frank’s hands eased their motions, and held you close as you felt the aftershocks of your orgasm slowly fade and your breath coming back to normal.

“Let’s go inside honey.” Frank whispered, kissing your hair and bringing you with him as he got out of the car and gently placed you on your feet. You held onto Frank for a moment as you tried to steady yourself, before you let Frank direct you in the direction Billy was walking.

When you entered Frank and Billy's apartment, Billy went to the drink cart and poured three glasses of whiskey and handed it to you and Frank as you marveled at their apartment.

"This is really nice, you said in awe as you looked out the window, taking in the skyline view of the city.

"Private security does have its perks." Billy quipped, coming behind you and gently pushing your hair away from your neck. You felt your body tense at the sensation.

"Shh." Billy whispered. "It's okay, darlin'. Just like Franky said, we don't need to do anything you don't want to. If you want only Frank to touch you, I'll sit and watch. I'll even understand if you don't want me here." He said pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. "It might take me a couple of cold showers to get rid of this hard on that you and Frank dry humping in my back seat caused me." He chuckled. "But I'll understand. You're in control here, princess."

You turned back to see Frank sitting down on the sofa watching the two of you eagerly, and he smiled. "He's right. Everything and anything don’t happen without your say so."

"Okay." You whispered. Looking back at Billy you nodded and he smiled continuing his slow kisses up your neck. Earning a low moan from you as he sucked spot where your neck and shoulder meet. All the while his hands, roamed down your body, cupping your breasts through your blouse. His deft fingers casually popping open only some of the buttons as they traveled down further till, they got to the top of your slacks.

"This okay princess?"

"Yes.” you breathed.

"Good." His fingers, undid the top button of your slacks and that was all he needed to wiggle his hand inside your pants, and find you soaked for him and Frank. He let out a low hum as he rubbed his two fingers against you through your underwear.

"Oh, Franky you got her all-wet in the back of my car.” Billy chuckled, as his fingers, moved gracefully against your slit.

“Is that so?” Frank said gruffly from his spot on the couch.

“Oh yeah, she’s soaked through these little panties. That little taste test of an orgasm you gave her has already got her all wet and needy for us. Frank did a good job getting you all wet, didn’t he honey?”

You nodded, your head resting on Billy's chest as you felt his large hand move back and forth inside your slacks. You felt like you could implode again just from Billy doing this, his fingers rubbing your slick on over your panties in front of the entire city to see.

"Don't worry honey, it's tinted and bulletproof." He chuckled, "Besides that's not our real audience; is it?" He said before he turned you both to face Frank who was watching with gritted teeth from the couch.

"There's our audience." He said low in your ear. before slipping his fingers back into your pants this time slipping past your panties too, his fingers moving back and forth through your folds. "She's so sweet Frank, so soft and smells so good." Billy whispered, his nose pressed into your hair. "You want to be the first to taste her or me?"

Frank got up from the couch, his face stern and hard as he said "Me."

Frank was close to you, and you watched in fascination as Billy pulled his fingers out of you and presented his soaked fingers to Frank who proceeded to suck on them, tasting your arousal on Billy's fingers.

"Oh fuck." you whimpered, now understanding exactly what you had gotten yourself into.

"Here's how tonight’s gonna go honey. I'm going to get you off." He said slipping his fingers back inside your pants, his thumb toying with your clit as he slipped one finger inside you, causing you to arch into Billy's chest.

"Then Frank's going to get you off." He said adding another finger inside you, thrusting deep and slow inside you, while his thumb continued in slow motions against your clit. "And maybe we'll do that one more time. Before we both get you off together. Does that sound alright?"

You hummed, feeling your orgasm climbing.

I’m going to need an actual answer honey. Or this doesn't go any further. He said before pulling his fingers out of you, making you whimper.

"Yes.” You whined.

"That's our girl. Now be a good little thing and cum on my fingers, so Frank can eat you up." Billy sunk his fingers back into your tight pussy his movements faster this time as Frank went for your blouse, finishing off the rest of the buttons and pulling down your bra taking your nipple into his mouth.

"Oh fuck!" You cried, trying to turn your head away from the stimulation that both of them were causing. But it was no use, they had you confined in their honey trap. Billy was pressed against your back, and Frank in your front. You felt your orgasm coming quicker than you had ever experienced before with a partner and before you knew you were cumming onto Billy's fingers, your head pressed back against his chest, your back arched giving Frank more access to lather your nipples with his tongue; while Billy’s fingers continued to pump into you as you rode the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You tried to calm your breathing as you felt your orgasm come down and watched as Billy pulled his fingers out of your pussy and suck on them.

He let out a low hum. "You were right Frank. She's sweet."

Frank hummed against your skin, as he kissed his way down your body. His fingers finishing up the job that Billy started and pulled down your pants, letting them pool on the ground, before he gently grabbed each one of your legs and helped you carefully step out your pants. Meanwhile, Billy's hands pushed off your fully unbuttoned blouse and made quick work of your bra.

The two of them left you only in your panties but you had a feeling those would be gone quick enough.

Frank was knelt in front you, staring at your panties, it should've made you felt self-conscious being naked in front of the two of them, but as Billy's hot hands roamed up and down your arms that thought quickly evaporated.

"You got her nice and soaked." Frank whispered, reaching his thumb out and circling your clit through your panties, earning a low hiss from you from the overstimulation.

"Careful Frank. I don't think she's had anyone play with her like we will. Best take it easy on her."

"Yeah.” He replied softly, as if stuck in thought. “I'll take my time honey."

You watched as Frank pressed a soft kiss to your clothed pussy, and you could've sworn your felt another gush of arousal slide down your leg.

Billy's nose brushed against your ear and he watched with you, as Frank wrapped his fingers around your panties and pulled down and just like he had with your pants, he carefully lifted each foot and then threw them aside.

"Frank's very good at this." Billy whispered in your ear. " I sat and watched him one time tie up another partner and eat her out for hours. She cried and begged for him to stop, to give her a rest but rest wasn’t at all on Franky’s mind that night." He chuckled against your hair, placing a kiss on your head and the action felt even more intimate than what the three of you were currently doing.

You let out a sharp breath and jumped slightly in Billy's arms as Frank pressed a kiss to your hip.

"Easy, honey." Frank chuckled. "I told you I’m going to take it nice and slow." He pressed another kiss to the other side of your hip before he placed his hands on the back of your legs and opened your legs more for him. "That's a good girl." He said in a low voice, before placing another kiss on each side of your inner thighs. You watched in rapture as he placed one last kiss directly to your clit, before he took his fingers and gently spread you open to him, and diving his tongue in. You let out a gasp, and watched as Billy traced your nipples with his thumb as Frank ate you out.

He was true to his word and was gentle as he lavished your clit, bringing it to his mouth and sucking it lightly was enough to make you arch back into Billy, earning a low chuckle.

"I think she liked that, Frank." Billy smirked, his fingers brushing your hair back away from your shoulder and placing another kiss there.

Frank didn’t say anything as he sucked on your clit again, earning a low whimper from you. Frank's fingers worked with his tongue, pulling low moans from you as he ate you out with a slow burning passion you had no idea existed before. You guess it truly was Frank's favorite thing.

While Frank was building you up to an orgasm you didn't know if you'd recover from Billy was lavishing your shoulder and neck with kisses, his fingers deftly working your nipples and before you knew it, he was kissing you his tongue invading your mouth like Frank's was invading your pussy. They both felt hot and wet as their tongues swirled, building your orgasm piece by piece. He placed your leg onto his shoulder, letting his tongue dive deeper into your sex. You felt your orgasm coming closer, and you placed one hand on Frank's head keeping him there feasting on you as you took the other, and tangled it in Billy's hair, trying to hold onto everything and anything as Frank brought you closer to your orgasm.

When that cord finally snapped, you broke from Billy's kiss and let out a cry as Frank ate you through your orgasm. Billy held you close and watched eagerly as Frank ate you out through your orgasm, watching as your arousal covered his face.

"Did such a good job Franky. Taking care of our girl, make sure you clean her up real nice for me."

Your mind went hazy and the only thing in this world that you knew was Frank's tongue and Billy's lips. As Frank drank in your release and Billy continued lavishing you with kisses. With one final kiss to your clit, Frank stood up, you could see the slight shine to his face and felt your face flush at the look of your release covering his chin.

"Doesn't he look pretty like that?" Billy whispered in your ear. "Made a mess didn’t you Frank?"

Frank nodded.

"Why don’t you be a dear and clean him up." Billy said, giving you a slight push until you were in Frank's arms, kissing him deeply and tasting your release on his lips. You were breathless and hanging onto Frank for dear life, your body felt limp in his arms, as you tried to come back from one of the best orgasms of your life.

Then Frank easily picked you up, your legs wrapping around his middle and your arms wrapped around his neck, breathing in the smell of him. You didn't even notice that Frank was walking and taking you out of the room and into a different one.

"Still doing okay honey?" He said his voice gruff.

You nodded against his neck, and then remembered their rule. "Yes, Frank."

"Good." He placed you gently on the bed. Your body was sprawled out on one of their beds and you turned to look at Billy who had a hungry look in his eyes.

You watched eagerly, as Billy began undressing himself, pulling his shirt up and over his head.

 You quickly got to your knees on the bed, as Billy came closer to the edge of the bed and grabbed for him; your lips clashing against his in a game of dominance you were going to have fun losing. All the while your fingers moved quickly to undo his belt and slide down his pants. You let out a gasp as you felt Billy bite down your bottom lip, earning a low chuckle from Billy.

Billy groaned against your lips, kissing you deeply; his hands grabbing fistfuls of your hair, keeping you close to him. Pausing only for a moment as he kicked off his trousers, and climbed onto the bed with you.

Billy laid you down onto his bed, and looked down at you splayed completely naked and vulnerable for him. Billy took his time admiring you in this state, your hair in soft tangles from where he fisted it in his hands. Your body soft and pliant underneath him, he watched as your chest rose and fell under his watchful gaze.

“God, look at her Frank. She truly is stunning.” Billy said, his head tilted to the side; like a cat watching the mouse squirm under its paw.

You felt your cheeks heat and reflexively reached up to cover yourself from Billy’s intense gaze.

Billy didn’t like that one bit. “Oh no pet.” Billy chuckled, before grabbing your hands and keeping them above your head, causing your breasts to arch up higher. “There will simply be none of that. You are ours tonight, and there will be no hiding from us. After tonight there will be no inch of you that we won’t be deeply acquainted with.” He smiled, keeping both of your hands contained in one of his, and leaning down to suck on your nipple.

You let out a low moan, arching up into his mouth.

“That’s our girl.” He moaned, his free hand sneaking down your body, finding you slick for his intruding fingers. He hummed again, before sucking on the other nipple. “She’s ready for me, aren’t you sweet girl?”

“Yes Billy.” You moaned, as Billy pumped his fingers in and out of you in a slow teasing motion; before pulling them out and replacing them with something bigger. You let out a small gasp as you felt Billy’s cock slide against your wet pussy, the head of his cock bumping against your clit; sending delightful shocks of pleasure throughout your body. He slid his cock against your wet pussy, getting himself slick from your arousal before he pushed himself against your entrance.

You whimpered at the stretch of him.

“That’s it princess. Take all of me.” Billy said his fingers finding your clit again and easing the intrusion as he rubbed his thumb against your clit. “Look how well she’s taking me Frank.” Billy purred.

And immediately your head snapped in the direction of Frank, honestly having forgot about him till this point. You looked over and saw him splayed out on the couch directly across the room, his hand fisting his cock as he watched the both of you in rapt attention. You felt another wave of arousal as you watched him pump his cock, your eyes meeting his as Billy’s thrusts started to get faster.

“She likes what she sees Franky. Her pussy just clenched against my cock, when she saw you pumping yourself over there. Don’t worry princess, Frank is going to have his turn real soon.” He purred in your ear, before kissing your neck, sucking harshly on the skin there that you knew that after tonight your skin would be littered with marks.

You let out a low moan as you felt Billy’s pace getting faster, his thrusts brutal as you felt him edge you closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it princess let me ruin you.” Billy grinned, letting your hands go so you could fist them in his hair as he brought you over the edge.

You gripped his hair tight as your orgasm ripped through you, causing your back to arch off the bed. “Fuck!” You screamed out, holding onto Billy for dear life as you rode the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Mmm” Billy hummed. “You’re so pretty when your stuffed full of my cock.” He chuckled, but before your body could fully calm down from your orgasm. Billy pulled out of you and flipped your body so you were on your belly facing Frank, before he thrusted his cock back inside you; earning a low cry from you. “That’s better isn’t it Franky?” He purred.

Frank didn’t say anything as he continued slowly pumping himself. It’s like he wasn’t jerking himself off to actually cum, but to keep himself hard for you; patiently waiting for his turn.

Billy grabbed a fistful of your hair again and pulled your head up to meet with Frank’s eyes again as he said. "Look at Frank all by himself, doesn’t seem right, does it? After how good he tongue-fucked this little pussy, getting her all nice and wet for me. We should help him out huh?"

You nodded eagerly, and Frank came to the edge of the bed, he grabbed your chin and brought you face to face before kissing you again and then giving your mouth his cock, you hummed in satisfaction feeling complete with the both of them inside you. Frank let out a grunt as your tongue slathered up his cock, and sucked him down with ease. You were so relaxed and worked up, he just slid right in home.

“Fuck princess you look so beautiful taking Frank's cock like that. Doesn’t she Frank?"

"Yeah, she does." Frank said, cradling your face with his rough hand, moving his hips ever so slightly in time to Billy's. "She's gonna cum. Aren’t you, Honey?"

You nodded and moaned, your mouth full of Frank's cock as Billy rubbed circles into your clit.

"She's so fucking tight. She's gonna milk me dry Frank."

“Oh, I bet. She’s taking my cock like she's made for me. Are you made for me honey?"

"She's made for us." Billy moaned his rhythm stuttering for just a moment before he pinched your clit and you screamed around Frank's cock, as your orgasm crashed over you.

Billy was soon to follow and then Frank, you swallowed down Frank's release the best you could before he pulled out of your mouth.

The three of you collapsed together, in a heap of naked and half naked bodies. The three of you trying to get your breathing evened out.

“Give us 30 minutes then you can take Frank while I fuck your pretty mouth. Fair is fair.” Billy smiled, his thumb tracing your lips and wiping the edge of your mouth before popping his thumb into his mouth.

While you tried to even out your breathing, you smiled; thinking about your coworkers on Monday morning asking how you spent your Friday night.

[normal-girl89]

?????

Confession time, so when I was gone I uhhh started some arg. And I basically used the Crawford's likeness, to work through some stuff (with how I was raised by them), without their permission. That Is wrong, I admit that, they found out and I stopped working on it. Like they have access to the email I made for it, but now their getting on my ass about it updating?????

[notesofarichlycolorednight]

this anime is so dumb i actually hate it

[mariasont]

EEEEK your post prison fic for spencer is fREAking me out!!! could you maybe do one where spencer is now teasing the reader a bit? maybe he's giving her extra praise and she freaks (what would i do if he called me a good girl? 😩) (this is very indulgent to my praise kink i'm so so sorry 🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️) tytyty!! i adore love and cherish you and your work 💕

I Aim To Please - S.R

a/n: shewwwwww to be complimented by post prison spencer fucking reid. im drooling!!!! but anyway babes i adore & love YOU!!!! so thank u so so sooo much for requesting 💖💖

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x shy!media-liaison!reader

warnings: spencer being hot, reader being shy girl, spencer being a little shit who loves to tease

wc: 1.5k

There were a few basic rules you had established from working at BAU. First, avoid Rossi at all costs until he’s had at least two cups of coffee. Second, never attempt to outwit Emily; she’ll see right through you and crush your argument every single time. And third—perhaps the most crucial—do everything in your power to maintain your freaking composure around Dr. Reid.

That last one, however, was proving to be a monumental challenge. It wasn’t just the way he spoke, his brain firing off at a speed only he could keep up with. It wasn’t even the way he seemed oblivious to how endearing those very quirks were. No, it was the fact that the simple act of him breathing in your direction had you scrambling to hold yourself together. And honestly you were failing miserably.

Which is why you spent most of your time holed up in your office. It wasn’t much—just a desk, a slightly uncomfortable chair, and a perpetually growing stack of case files that seemed determined to bury you. But it offered privacy, and that was enough. Here you could breathe, decompress, and occasionally allow yourself to daydream about a certain genius profiler without the risk of public humiliation.

The bullpen was proving to be too chaotic, too close to him. Your office gave you distance, a buffer. But, as you had come to learn, hiding only worked when he didn’t decide to seek you out. And Spencer Reid had a knack for finding you when you least expected it.

"Hey."

You jumped slightly, nearly fumbling the stack of press notes you’d been carefully organizing.

Turning toward the door, you found Spencer leaning casually against the frame, a file tucked under one arm and a distracted sort of smile on his face. His tie was slightly loosened, his sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, and—just like that—your brain completely short-circuited.

"Hi," you said, trying not to sound too startled. "Do you, um, need something?"

"Yeah." He further into the room, lifting the file in explanation. "I was looking at the local coverage of our case, and I noticed a couple discrepancies in the timeline published."

"Oh,” you said softly, quickly shuffling the press notes into a messy pile and pushing them to the side. "Well, um, sometimes reporters try to fill gaps when they don't the facts. It's... frustrating, but it happens."

You glanced up at him briefly, but that look of his made your cheeks warm. Your fingers twisted together in your lap as you tried to focus on anything other than how ridiculously self-conscious you suddenly felt.

"That makes sense. I figured you'd know."

Instead of lingering in the doorway or leaving like you assumed he would, Spencer, casually grabbed the chair across from your desk. He spun it around in one fluid motion and sat it backwards, draping his arms on the backrest with an ease that felt strangely familiar—like you had been friends or colleagues for years instead of just a few months.

"I'll reach out to them about fixing the timeline," you said, your hand instinctively moving a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You clasped your hands together to still them, offering a small, nervous smile. "It shouldn't be too hard to correct."

"Thanks," he said. "That'll probably save from giving another long-winded lecture on factual reporting."

You gave a quiet laugh, grateful for the distraction from your tasks, though you weren’t entirely sure how you felt about the company. Not that you didn’t enjoy his company—there was plenty to enjoy, more than you cared to admit. If you could manage to function like a normal human being around him, you might even look forward to moments like this.

But then he tilted his head slightly, his eyes studying you as if he were unraveling some kind of puzzle and for one terrifying second, you were convinced he could hear every single thought racing through your mind.

"So," he began, "how are you liking it here so far? The job, I mean. Is it what you expected?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. "Oh, um... yeah. It's been great so far. Busy, but... I like it."

"That's good," he said, nodding. "I know it’s not exactly the most predictable job. Some people don't expect it to be so... chaotic."

"Well," you said, fidgeting slightly with your pen. "I knew what I was signing up for. Or, at least I thought I did. It's a lot, but it's rewarding."

"That's a good attitude to have," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Honestly, you're doing a great job. I don't know how you manage to keep everything straight."

Your heart leaped, thudding in your chest as warmth flooded your face. You weren’t used to hearing compliments, especially from someone like him. You wanted to savor the moment, to bottle up the way his words made you feel, but your nerves refused to let you fully enjoy it.

"I'm just, um, organized I guess,” you stammered, your hand flying up to rub at the back of your neck.

"More than just organized," he replied easily, completely unaware of how his words were affecting you. "You've got half the team wrapped around your finger already. Even Rossi listen when you talk. That's impressive."

Your face burned. "I think that's more about respect for the job than me."

Spencer shrugged lightly, as he was watching you, like he didn't quite believe you. "Maybe. Or maybe you're just better at this than you give yourself credit for."

You let out a nervous chuckle, fingers twitching as you fiddled with the corner of the paper in front of you.

"I don't... I don't know about that."

He tilted his head, again, his brow quirking. "Do you know how to take a compliment?"

"Of course I do." You were sure your voice lacked the conviction needed.

He smirked, leaning forward over the chair. "Doesn't seem like it."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat, tangled in the frantic web that was your thoughts around this infuriating man.

"Well, uh, you’ve only done it twice, so I don’t think that’s enough for you to judge."

His grin widened. "Oh? So you’re saying I should try again? For research purposes?"

Your eyes widened, and you blinked rapidly as if to process his words, your hands shooting up as if to physically block the implication. "I—uh—no, that's not what I meant.”

"No, no," he said, sitting up straighter and waiving off your flustered attempt to deflect. "I aim to please. If more compliments are what you’re after, I’ve got plenty.”

"Please, no."

"You're incredibly efficient. Seriously, I think you've managed to anticipate what the team needs before we even know we need it. And your ability to keep your cool under pressure? That's impressive. I mean, do you even get stressed? Because if you do, you hide it really well."

"Dr. Reid—," you squeaked, covering your face with your hands as if that could somehow shield you from the onslaught of praise.

"And," he continued, clearly now enjoying himself. "You're probably the most patient person, I've ever met. Which is something, considering you work with people who constantly interrupt and derail your perfectly planned press briefings."

Your stomach flipped, and you felt a flush of heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment pooling in your chest. As much as you wanted to sink to the floor, the way he looked at you sent every nerve in your body spiraling. Each word felt like it was tailored to you, peeling back the very thin veneer of control you’d desperately tried to maintain over the massive crush you found yourself drowning in.

Your head dropped to the desk with a soft thunk, muffling your groan. "Okay, okay, I get it."

He leaned forward just slightly, resting his chin on his arms atop the chair. "Now what do you say?"

"Thank you."

He smirked widened. "See? That wasn't so hard was it?"

Your cheeks burned even hotter, and you averted your eyes, trying to hide the nervous smile tugging at your lips. "You didn't have to go on and on..."

"Oh, but I did." He was still grinning. "You deserved it."

You risked a glance back at him, losing your cool by the second. That only made your face heat up more. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you haven't kicked me out of your office."

"That's only because I didn’t think it would work."

"Well," he said, turning towards the door. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you didn't mind the compliments."

You opened your mouth to protest but no words came out. Instead, you watched helplessly as he shot you one last smile before disappearing into the hallway.

When the door finally clicked shut behind him, you let out a shaky breath and drop your head back onto the desk.

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[seeleybooth]

What are you doing out here? - I was... - No. In fact, do not answer that. It is clear I found you in the midst of some... secret dealings. I do not wish to know. And what "secret dealings" have I found you in the midst of, all alone the night before our wedding? What right do you have to ask me that?

/

"He tried to picture a life without Penelope. It was impossible.

Just weeks ago she'd been ... He stopped, thought. What had she been? A friend? An acquaintance? Someone he saw and never really noticed?

And now she was his fiancee, soon to be his bride. And maybe... maybe she was something more than that. Something deeper. Something even more precious.

"What I want to know," he asked, deliberately forcing the conversation back on topic so his mind wouldn't wander down such dangerous roads, "is why you're not jumping on the pet-fect alibi if the point is to remain anonymous."

"Because remaining anonymous isn't the point!" she fairy yelled.

"You want to be found out?" he asked, gaping at her in the candlelight.

"No, of course not," she replied. "But this is my work.

This is my life's work. This is all I have to show for my life, and if I can't take the credit for it, I'll be damned if someone else will."

Colin opened his mouth to offer a retort, but to his surprise, he had nothing to say. Life's work. Penelope had a life's work.

He did not.

She might not be able to put her name on her work, but when she was alone in her room, she could look at her back issues, and point to them, and say to herself, This is it. This is what my life has been about.

"Colin?" she whispered, clearly startled by his silence.

She was amazing. He didn't know how he hadn't realized it before, when he'd already known that she was smart and lovely and witty and resourceful. But all those adjectives, and a whole host more he hadn't yet thought of, did not add up to the true measure of her.

And he was.... Dear God above, he was jealous of her.

"I'll go," she said softly, turning and walking towards the door.

For a moment he didn't react. His mind was still frozen, reeling with revelations. But when. When he saw her hand on the doorknob, he knew he could not let her go. Not this night, not ever.

"No," he said hoarsely, closing the distance between them in three long strides. "No," he said again, "I want you to stay."

She looked up at him, her eyes two pools of confusion. "but you said---"

He cupped her face tenderly with his hands. "Forget what I said."

And that was when he realized that Daphne had been right. His love hadn't been a thunderbolt from the sky. It had started with a smile, a word, a teasing glance. Every second he had spent in her presence it had grown, until he'd reached this moment, and he suddenly knew.

He loved her.

He was still furious with her for publishing that last column, and he was bloody ashamed of himself that he was actually jealous of her for having found a life's work and purpose, but even with all that, he loved her.

And if let her walk out that door right now, he would never forgive himself.

Maybe this, then, was the definition of love. When you wanted someone, needed her, adored her, even when you were utterly furious and quite ready to tie her to the bed just to keep her from going out and making more trouble. This was the night. This was the moment. He was brimming with emotion, and he had to tell her. He had to show her.

"Stay," we whispered, and he pulled her to him, roughly, hungrily, without apology or explanation.

"Stay," he said again, leading her to his bed.

And when she didn't do anything, he said it for a third time.

"Stay." She nodded.

He took her into his arms.

This was Penelope, and this was love."

Romancing Mister Bridgerton, Chapter 17

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Antiusurpation and the road to disenshittification

THIS WEEKEND (November 8-10), I'll be in TUCSON, AZ: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

Nineties kids had a good reason to be excited about the internet's promise of disintermediation: the gatekeepers who controlled our access to culture, politics, and opportunity were crooked as hell, and besides, they sucked.

For a second there, we really did get a lot of disintermediation, which created a big, weird, diverse pluralistic space for all kinds of voices, ideas, identities, hobbies, businesses and movements. Lots of these were either deeply objectionable or really stupid, or both, but there was also so much cool stuff on the old, good internet.

Then, after about ten seconds of sheer joy, we got all-new gatekeepers, who were at least as bad, and even more powerful, than the old ones. The net became Tom Eastman's "Five giant websites, each filled with screenshots of the other four." Culture, politics, finance, news, and especially power have been gathered into the hands of unaccountable, greedy, and often cruel intermediaries.

Oh, also, we had an election.

This isn't an election post. I have many thoughts about the election, but they're still these big, unformed blobs of anger, fear and sorrow. Experience teaches me that the only way to get past this is to just let all that bad stuff sit for a while and offgas its most noxious compounds, so that I can handle it safely and figure out what to do with it.

While I wait that out, I'm just getting the job done. Chop wood, carry water. I've got a book to write, Enshittification, for Farar, Straus, Giroux's MCD Books, and it's very nearly done:

https://twitter.com/search?q=from%3Adoctorow+%23dailywords&src=typed_query&f=live

Compartmentalizing my anxieties and plowing that energy into productive work isn't necessarily the healthiest coping strategy, but it's not the worst, either. It's how I wrote nine books during the covid lockdowns.

And sometimes, when you're not staring directly at something, you get past the tunnel vision that makes it impossible to see its edges, fracture lines, and weak points.

So I'm working on the book. It's a book about platforms, because enshittification is a phenomenon that is most visible and toxic on platforms. Platforms are intermediaries, who connect buyers and sellers, creators and audiences, workers and employers, politicians and voters, activists and crowds, as well as families, communities, and would-be romantic partners.

There's a reason we keep reinventing these intermediaries: they're useful. Like, it's technically possible for a writer to also be their own editor, printer, distributor, promoter and sales-force:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#intermediation

But without middlemen, those are the only writers we'll get. The set of all writers who have something to say that I want to read is much larger than the set of all writers who are capable of running their own publishing operation.

The problem isn't middlemen: the problem is powerful middlemen. When an intermediary gets powerful enough to usurp the relationship between the parties on either side of the transaction, everything turns to shit:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/12/direct-the-problem-of-middlemen/

A dating service that faces pressure from competition, regulation, interoperability and a committed workforce will try as hard as it can to help you find Your Person. A dating service that buys up all its competitors, cows its workforce, captures its regulators and harnesses IP law to block interoperators will redesign its service so that you keep paying forever, and never find love:

https://www.npr.org/sections/money/2024/02/13/1228749143/the-dating-app-paradox-why-dating-apps-may-be-worse-than-ever

Multiply this a millionfold, in every sector of our complex, high-tech world where we necessarily rely on skilled intermediaries to handle technical aspects of our lives that we can't – or shouldn't – manage ourselves. That world is beholden to predators who screw us and screw us and screw us, jacking up our rents:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/yes-there-are-antitrust-voters-in

Cranking up the price of food:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

And everything else:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

(Maybe this is a post about the election after all?)

The difference between a helpmeet and a parasite is power. If we want to enjoy the benefits of intermediaries without the risks, we need policies that keep middlemen weak. That's the opposite of the system we have now.

Take interoperability and IP law. Interoperability (basically, plugging new things into existing things) is a really powerful check against powerful middlemen. If you rely on an ad-exchange to fund your newsgathering and they start ripping you off, then an interoperable system that lets you use a different exchange will not only end the rip off – it'll make it less likely to happen in the first place because the ad-tech platform will be afraid of losing your business:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-shatter-ad-tech

Interoperability means that when a printer company gouges you on ink, you can buy cheap third party ink cartridges and escape their grasp forever:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Interoperability means that when Amazon rips off audiobook authors to the tune of $100m, those authors can pull their books from Amazon and sell them elsewhere and know that their listeners can move their libraries over to a different app:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/07/audible-exclusive/#audiblegate

But interoperability has been in retreat for 40 years, as IP law has expanded to criminalize otherwise normal activities, so that middlemen can use IP rights to protect themselves from their end-users and business customers:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

That's what I mean when I say that "IP" is "any law that lets a business reach beyond its own walls and control the actions of its customers, competitors and critics."

For example, there's a pernicious law 1998 US law that I write about all the time, Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, the "anticircumvention law." This is a law that felonizes tampering with copyright locks, even if you are the creator of the undelying work.

So Amazon – the owner of the monopoly audiobook platform Audible – puts a mandatory copyright lock around every audiobook they sell. I, as an author who writes, finances and narrates the audiobook, can't provide you, my customer, with a tool to remove that lock. If I do so, I face criminal sanctions: a five year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine for a first offense:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff

In other words: if I let you take my own copyrighted work out of Amazon's app, I commit a felony, with penalties that are far stiffer than the penalties you would face if you were to simply pirate that audiobook. The penalties for you shoplifting the audiobook on CD at a truck-stop are lower than the penalties the author and publisher of the book would face if they simply gave you a tool to de-Amazon the file. Indeed, even if you hijacked the truck that delivered the CDs, you'd probably be looking at a shorter sentence.

This is a law that is purpose-built to encourage intermediaries to usurp the relationship between buyers and sellers, creators and audiences. It's a charter for parasitism and predation.

But as bad as that is, there's another aspect of DMCA 1201 that's even worse: the exemptions process.

You might have read recently about the Copyright Office "freeing the McFlurry" by granting a DMCA 1201 exemption for companies that want to reverse-engineer the error-codes from McDonald's finicky, unreliable frozen custard machines:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/28/mcbroken/#my-milkshake-brings-all-the-lawyers-to-the-yard

Under DMCA 1201, the Copyright Office hears petitions for these exemptions every three years. If they judge that anticircumvention law is interfering with some legitimate activity, the statute empowers them to grant an exemption.

When the DMCA passed in 1998 (and when the US Trade Rep pressured other world governments into passing nearly identical laws in the decades that followed), this exemptions process was billed as a "pressure valve" that would prevent abuses of anticircumvention law.

But this was a cynical trick. The way the law is structured, the Copyright Office can only grant "use" exemptions, but not "tools" exemptions. So if you are granted the right to move Audible audiobooks into a third-party app, you are personally required to figure out how to do that. You have to dump the machine code of the Audible app, decompile it, scan it for vulnerabilities, and bootstrap your own jailbreaking program to take Audible wrapper off the file.

No one is allowed to help you with this. You aren't allowed to discuss any of this publicly, or share a tool that you make with anyone else. Doing any of this is a potential felony.

In other words, DMCA 1201 gives intermediaries power over you, but bans you from asking an intermediary to help you escape another abusive middleman.

This is the exact opposite of how intermediary law should work. We should have rules that ban intermediaries from exercising undue power over the parties they serve, and we should have rules empowering intermediaries to erode the advantage of powerful intermediaries.

The fact that the Copyright Office grants you an exemption to anticircumvention law means nothing unless you can delegate that right to an intermediary who can exercise it on your behalf.

A world without publishing intermediaries is one in which the only writers who thrive are the ones capable of being publishers, too, and that's a tiny fraction of all the writers with something to say.

A world without interoperability intermediaries is one in which the only platform users who thrive are also skilled reverse-engineering ninja hackers – and that's an infinitesimal fraction of the platform users who would benefit from interoperabilty.

Let this be your north star in evaluating platform regulation proposals. Platform regulation should weaken intermediaries' powers over their users, and strengthen their power over other middlemen.

Put in this light, it's easy to see why the ill-informed calls to abolish Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act (which makes platform users, not platforms, responsible for most unlawful speech) are so misguided:

https://www.techdirt.com/2020/06/23/hello-youve-been-referred-here-because-youre-wrong-about-section-230-communications-decency-act/

If we require platforms to surveil all user speech and block anything that might violate any law, we give the largest, most powerful platforms a permanent advantage over smaller, better platforms, run by co-ops, hobbyists, nonprofits local governments, and startups. The big platforms have the capital to rig up massive, automated surveillance and censorship systems, and the only alternatives that can spring up have to be just as big and powerful as the Big Tech platforms we're so desperate to escape:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/23/evacuate-the-platforms/#let-the-platforms-burn

This is especially grave given the current political current, where fascist politicians are threatening platforms with brutal punishments for failing to censor disfavored political views.

Anyone who tells you that "it's only censorship when the government does it" is badly confused. It's only a First Amendment violation when the government does it, sure – but censorship has always relied on intermediaries. From the Inquisition to the Comics Code, government censors were only able to do their jobs because powerful middlemen, fearing state punishments, blocked anything that might cross the line, censoring far beyond the material actually prohibited by the law:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/22/self-censorship/#hugos

We live in a world of powerful, corrupt middlemen. From payments to real-estate, from job-search to romance, there's a legion of parasites masquerading as helpmeets, burying their greedy mouthparts into our tender flesh:

https://www.capitalisnt.com/episodes/visas-hidden-tax-on-americans

But intermediaries aren't the problem. You shouldn't have to stand up your own payment processor, or learn the ins and outs of real-estate law, or start your own single's bar. The problem is power, not intermediation.

As we set out to build a new, good internet (with a lot less help from the US government than seemed likely as recently as last week), let's remember that lesson: the point isn't disintermediation, it's weak intermediation.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/07/usurpers-helpmeets/#disreintermediation

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en (Image: Cryteria, CC BY 3.0, modified)

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hi mx witch, I’ve been debating whether to send this in for a bit but I am curious what you think. I’ve been going back and forth on the ongoing “can you read at least one singular book by a Black woman” discussion bc there is a thing where especially white readers (I am also white, non american but also somewhere with significant Black diaspora) hold up Black authors as somehow being the pinnacle of diversity and ending the conversation there. I don’t think you are doing this btw but this is the reading comprehension site. I just worry it doesn’t prompt people to think about more general issues of diversity in publishing when E/SE/S Asian authors also get screwed over in the industry (especially Asian women who don’t want to write about being Oppressed by their Traditional Culture) and there are just shamefully few published Indigenous authors from any continent.

HOWEVER. then I see some of the more tar pit responses to your book posts and to the rap discourse (oh my god the rap discourse) and I am like. hmmm maybe we should stay focussed on prompting people to challenge their anti-blackness for a bit when so many people are clearly incapable of the baby step of reading more widely. Much to consider.

📚

ps if you post this and anyone reads it and goes “oh wow this is so right, I guess I don’t need to read books by Black women”: no

pps SORRY for spam if this is a second anon, I asked this morning with dodgy signal and have no idea if it went through or if you are just swamped/don’t want to reply. no pressure.

hi anon,

I think it's a really good and thoughtful question, and I appreciate the good faith engagement with this question a lot! your concern reminds me a lot of something Yaa Gyasi (an author who's come up a lot in discussion about Black women writers!) said in this interview a few years ago:

Representation isn’t enough. It’s not enough to see people as representatives, and not actually engage with what they’re trying to say. I guess I’ve been feeling dispirited about the way that my work gets read, as it allows people to pat themselves on the back and feel like they’ve done something. Is literature enough? That’s frankly the question I’ve been asking this past year. I used to be the kind of person who would say this is making us more empathetic. But I’m not sure anymore if that’s what’s happening. Are you reading, or are you reading? 

and I definitely agree with her, and think that a lot of people have a tendency to reduce authors who aren't white, heterosexual men to tokens whose work they're morally obligated to read to be Good Allies, rather than because the work genuinely speaks to them, entertains them, moves them, challenges them, or does anything else that literature is capable of. it doesn't help that the publishing industry itself has an awful tendency of tokenzing authors, as you alluded to.

this is one of the reasons why I never include spaces pertaining to an author's personal identity on the reading bingo sheets that I design. I know that prompts like "read a book by a Native author" or "read a book by a trans author" and so on are quite popular in many book bingo spaces, but to me they run the risk of tokenizing those authors and make it seem as if it's fine if, for instance, no Native or trans authors are found anywhere else on the sheet, since they have a designated space. which isn't a perfect solution, to be sure - without a specific prompt, it's just as likely that there will be zero authors who are Native or trans or whatever other marginalized identity one can come up with on the bingo sheet. I'll be honest: as much as I love seeing the bingo sheets my followers are filling out, I'm a little stunned and disheartened to see how starkly white many of them are!

in this conversation, where people are being challenged to name even a single author who's a Black woman and coming up short, I think many people, especially hobby readers, are maybe realizing for the first time that they way they read doesn't quite live up to the ideas of equity that they personally hold and they're interested in changing that now. I've received a lot of feedback that does boil down to people excitedly reporting that they're now deliberately rushing to the library to seek out books by Black woman, and I can easily see how, pessimistically, that could be seen as further tokenizing those authors.

as much as I've rolled my eyes at the people who loudly insist that they couldn't possibly know what gender, race, ethnicity, etc, any author is because they only care about the story (with the implication being that knowing anything about the author would somehow cheapen the story - lmao), I do somewhat understand where they're coming from. while colorblindness is certainly not the solution, it would be ideal if nobody had to think much about hitting any kind of quota in regards to their reading habits. and I'm certainly not advocating for anything that strictly structured! but if so many people can't name a single Black woman who's written a book, then we need to acknowledge that there's a reason for that, and that not all authors are being read equally, and that it takes an active effort to course correct something like that.

my hope is that, with time, readers broadening their horizons enough that they don't have to actively seek out Black women authors (or Black authors in general, or Asian authors, or Latine authors, or trans or Muslim or disabled or Jewish authors, or authors translated into English, and so on) because those authors and their works will become a natural part of their literary diet that no single author is a sole representative of any group or perspective and can be appreciated solely on the basis of their craft.

but maybe the first baby step, as you said, has to be googling "Black woman authors." and maybe that's a little tokenizing! but when we're beginning from the rock bottom position of people struggling to name a single Black woman author at all, you have to start somewhere. I'm really glad to see people actually getting excited to do the work, and I hope they don't stop at reading one (1) book by Yaa Gyasi or Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie because a tumblr post made them feel uncomfortable.

I hope that makes sense and is a satisfying answer!

[mononijikayu]

come back to me — geto suguru.

"I need to tell you something." he said, his voice low, rough with guilt. “It’s... it’s over. Everything.” You frowned, stepping closer to him, concern etched in your features. “What do you mean?” He met your eyes then, and you saw it—the shift, the darkness lurking behind them. His expression was distant, hollow. "I killed them. The village, my parents... I killed them all."

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: dead dove: do not eat, dark fic, nsfw (not safe for work), r -18, angst, hurt/no comfort, toxic romance, character death, murder, guilt, remorse, horror, sorrow, tragedy, lovers, canon related violence, choking, violence, curse creature, ghostly figure, anguish, emotional instability, emotional, haunting, betrayal, unfinished business, depiction of character death, depiction of murder, depiction of emotional instability, depiction of choking, depiction of anguish, depiction of guilt, depiction of sorrow, depiction of ghostly figure, mention of mass murder, mention of death, curse user defector! geto suguru, victim girlfriend! reader;

WORDS: 7k words.

NOTE: this is probably the first time i'm writing something that is a dead dove, because i was curious how i would do when writing something as heavy and as horrific as something like this. i wanted to be able to write it properly, because not only is it kinktober, it is also spookytober. so, i had this in mind. i wanted to participate at least once. so, i hope that even though this might not be your cup of tea, it be something of interest to you. but if you can't read it right now, that's okay too. i'll publish more works soon enough!!! i love you all <3

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HE CAN SEE YOU EVERYWHERE. And it was his own fault. A fault, of course, he does not regret. A fault he incurs with wanting, and greed. You haunt Geto Suguru and there was nothing else but it to last forever. You haunt his existence as though you own it. Everything about was drifting through his every thought like a shadow he can't shake.

He had known this would happen. He had anticipated it ever since that day. The day he crossed the line from the man he once was into something darker, something twisted by hatred, madness and grief.

He had expected your presence to follow him. He had expected that you would never leave him alone. Geto Suguru had always wanted it. He had always wanted you. For you were everything. You were the beginning and end.

You were too important, too loved by him. You cannot leave him. You cannot go astray from him. Because he had made it so. He had made it so and it shall be like that. After all, he was the one that took your life. There was no other way about it. And he remembers. He remembers it distinctly. He remembers it all too well.

It was after the massacre, after he had ended up doing what he had done. Still in his blooded clothes, weary and exhausted, he did not hesitate in all he had done. Why should he? Why should he feel regret now when his heart, his soul, his everything, was corrupted by the greed and indifference of others?

That village had been reduced to nothing but ash and ruin, its people were swiftly slaughtered by his own hand. And all that remained was ash and bone, the dark charred bitterness burning amid the blue flames.

He of course did not stop there. He couldn't. It was as though he was in autopilot. As though no one was home. And yet, he remembers. He feels the contradiction of it all. But he does not need to admit to fault. The result was obvious. It was secured by fate. The fate he had chosen.

He took Mimiko and Nanako and brought them somewhere safe. And all that he could think of his house. It would be empty. His parents wouldn't be home. And he take what he needed and leave. He could leave. But he was a fool for thinking that everything would go swiftly as he planned.

Within an hour of him trying to take everything, he silences Mimiko and Nanako and tells them to keep the TV on, as loud as possible. And no matter what, do not come down. The two young girls agreed, they were smiling too. They would do anything he'd asked. For after all, he was the one who had saved them from these....these cruel creatures that had nearly taken their lives.

Geto Suguru has always had a difficult relationship with his parents. But even then, he had cared for him. He was a filial son, he knew that about himself. Yet he knew that he had gone far already with what he had done.

He cannot let his parents be an exception. Not even if they weren't at fault. Even if they didn't do anything. He can't be lenient. Geto Suguru lets his steps be firm, even if he knows he can't. He could remember his mother's greeting, seeing him. His father's little hey. It was almost like his childhood agaian.

"You staying the night, 'guru?" His mother asks him as she puts down the grocery bags. "I thought it would still be a school night."

"Let him be, dear." His father says, smiling at his wife. "We always work, he's always at school. Let's just enjoy having him around for a little more time."

His mother laughs. "You're right. We might as well enjoy our son being here."

"Oh, 'guru. Is that ketchup stains on your shirt?" His mother gasped, spotting the red stain on his white school shirt. "Take it off, 'guru! Let me clean it. Go and change, you must be tired―"

"You can do it later, dear." His father says, as he starts clearing out the groceries. "I'm sure that you can wash it later. If Suguru wants to spend some more time with us, then wash it later."

His mother pouts at his father's words. "I suppose so."

"Mom, dad." Suguru finally talks, raising his head a little. His eyes meeting that of his mother and father. He catches their attention and he stays still.

For a moment, he could see everything of him in his mother and his father. His mother's purple eyes, his father's tender lips. His mother's long black hair. His father's gentle face. He could see all of him in them. And he's going to destroy it. He's going to ruin it. He has to. There's no other way.

His mother's brows raised a bit confused. "What is it, 'guru? Do you want anything?"

"I'm sorry."

In that moment, maybe they did notice what was wrong with him. After months of suffering, after this whole year, maybe they finally noticed. But they noticed too late. They noticed too late when he already had resolve.

"Hey, son. If there's anything you want to talk to us about, you can." His father says to him, walking towards him. This was the last time Suguru would see his father's kind face. "We love you son, you know that. You can tell us anything."

"I love you too." Suguru whispers, lifting his head whole. He reveals tears pouring from his face. "I'm sorry."

Those were the last words he said to his parents. Those were the last thing they heard from him as his curses took them both one by one and destroyed what remained of who he was.

Geto Suguru sobbed for a long while, looking at the blood. Looking at what he had done. He sobbed and sobbed until nothing could come out. But what was done was done. He needed to move forward. There was only one thing left.

And yet, after all that bloodshed, he went to you. Not out of regret, not out of any moral dilemma, but he was too far gone for that. He had to close all his ties. He had to disappear. Geto Suguru cannot remain. He has to die. And what better way than to end you too.

If Geto Suguru had one thing he was truly happy in his life about, it was you. And you were his everything. You were the one constant, the one person who had always been there.

You, his childhood friend, the girl who had stood beside him through everything. And more than that, you were the love of his life. The woman he'd once dreamed of marrying, of building a future with before everything unraveled.

When Geto Suguru arrived at your house, everything was still. You were sitting alone, your parents gone, much like his had been your entire lives, leaving the house in an eerie silence. You were the last peaceful thing in his world.

And he has to take you away. You weren't meant for this dirty world. You were the purest thing in his life. You can't be here. Not when he wrecks everything whole. You can't, you can't be tarnished more than you will be.

As he stepped into the room, you looked up and your face lit up, just like it always did. You were so beautiful to him. The most beautiful star in his sky. Forever infinitely so pure. His beloved.

You smiled at him like nothing had changed, as if the boy standing before you was still the same Suguru you had known all those years. You were happy to see him, your eyes full of warmth, unburdened by the weight of the horrors he had committed just hours before.

“Suguru!” you greeted him, standing up and crossing the room to meet him. Your voice was soft, affectionate, carrying none of the tension or fear that had filled his life. “I’ve missed you.”

For a moment, in that single heartbeat, he almost let himself believe it—that he could be that man again. The boy who smiled and laughed with you. The one who loved you with every part of himself. He could feel the familiar tug in his chest, the love he had always felt for you, pulling him back from the brink. And for a second, he almost let himself forget.

But deep down, Suguru knew. The path he had chosen was irreversible. He had come too far, burned too much of himself away to ever turn back. There was no room left for love, for innocence, for the life he had once dreamed of with you. He had destroyed it all, and now everything around him had to fall too. Even you.

You didn’t see it coming. You had no idea of the darkness that had consumed him. You looked at him as if nothing had changed—as if he were still the boy who had promised to protect you, to always stand by your side. And that was the part that hurt him the most.

"Suguru, what's wrong?" you asked softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "You look... tired. Are you okay?"

He flinched at your touch, as though your kindness was too much to bear. He turned his face away, swallowing the bitterness rising in his throat. How could he even begin to explain? How could he tell you what he had done, the blood that stained his hands, the lives he had taken?

"I need to tell you something." he said, his voice low, rough with guilt. “It’s... it’s over. Everything.”

You frowned, stepping closer to him, concern etched in your features. “What do you mean?”

He met your eyes then, and you saw it—the shift, the darkness lurking behind them. His expression was distant, hollow. "I killed them. The village, my parents... I killed them all."

Your breath hitched. For a moment, you didn’t understand. You didn’t want to. “What are you talking about?” you whispered, shaking your head, disbelief coloring your voice. “That’s... that’s not possible. You wouldn’t—”

“I did.” His voice was cold, flat, devoid of emotion. “I killed them. They deserved it.”

Your knees buckled, and you stumbled back, eyes wide in shock. You couldn’t reconcile the words he was saying with the boy standing in front of you. “No... no, that’s not you, Suguru. You wouldn’t do something like that. You.... you would never.”

But as you looked into his eyes, the reality of it sank in. You could see it. Little by little, you pieced it all together. You could see the darkness that had swallowed him whole, the monster he had become. And your heart broke, shattered into pieces as you realized what he had done, what he was planning to do.

“I’m sorry, my love.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but there was no warmth in it. “You have to understand... I can’t let you live. Not like this. Not anymore.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but even then, even as the weight of his betrayal crushed you, you didn’t hate him. You couldn’t. This was Geto Suguru; the boy who had always been gentle with you, who had held your hand on dark nights and made you believe in a future together. Your everything.

Just as much as you were his everything. You loved him. You still do love him. How could you not? He was and always will be the love of your life. You didn’t hate him, but you were afraid. Not of death, but of what he had become.

“Suguru…….” Your voice trembled. “You don’t have to do this. Please.”

He looked away, clenching his fists, his jaw tight. “I do.”

“But I love you.” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I still love you. Even now. Isn't that enough?”

His heart ached at your words, the pain of your love cutting deeper than any blade. He had come too far, done too much. There was no going back, not for him, not for either of you. He cannot stop. If he could do it to his parents, he could do it to you.

But you—you were different. He couldn't kill you like he had killed the others. He didn’t want to see fear in your eyes, didn’t want to hear you scream or beg for mercy. You deserved better than that, better than what the world had given you, even if he no longer deserved you.

So he made a choice. A twisted act of love, the last shred of mercy he could offer.

“I’m sorry, my love.” he repeated, stepping closer, his voice soft now. "You won’t feel anything. You’ll just fall asleep, and... you’ll dream. A dream that never ends."

Your tears fell freely, but you didn’t move. You didn’t try to run. How could you? You were in disbelief. You were in absolute mania, you were in a madness. There was no way you could. You cannot do anything but be still, in shock, and wait for the end. Betrayed, hurt and gone by the one that you loved the most.

Or perhaps, maybe you had always known it would come to this; that the boy you had loved had been consumed by the darkness, and there was no saving him. Maybe it was just fate. Or maybe you were just too kind, too trusting, too good for this world. Suguru would never know.

He held you close, cradling you in his arms, and for a moment, you let yourself believe everything would be okay. That somehow, this nightmare would end, and you would wake up in the arms of the boy you loved, the one who would protect you. But deep down, you knew that wasn’t the case.

He just kept you beside him all through the night, for what felt like hours, maybe longer. Your body was so still in his arms, as though the weight of the world had finally let go of you. You were so quiet, so calm, as if you had already accepted what was coming. 

Maybe you knew, deep down, that the boy you had loved so fiercely, so fully, had become someone else. That he had become this person lost in a sea of hate and ambition, far beyond the innocent dreams you had once shared together.

Geto Suguru wondered if you had always known that it would come to this, that the path he had chosen would inevitably lead you to this moment of no return. That you had always known that he will be your beginning and end. That you would belong to him no matter what, life and in death. Because he didn't. Until now.

“I’m so sorry. I love you.” he whispered one last time, his voice cracking, as he used his curse on you—the one that could curse with a dream that would never end.

You felt yourself slipping away, your body growing heavy, your eyelids fluttering shut. But there was no fear, no pain. Just a deep, endless sleep. Suguru’s heart clenched. He knew what he was about to do. He had already gone too far—there was no turning back. 

You would never have followed him down the path he had chosen, the path of darkness and destruction. You were too pure, too gentle, to walk the same road as him. You would never raise a hand to hurt anyone, even if it meant saving yourself. That was the kind of person you were, the kind of person he could never be.

So, this dream; this was all he could give you. It was the only gift left that wasn’t tainted by his sins.

His curse; a dream that would never end. It was his final act of love, his last attempt to protect you from the reality he had created. With it, he could give you what the real world had taken away from both of you.

He could give you the life you should have had. The life he had stolen from you when he became the monster you never deserved. In this dream, you could live peacefully, forever untouched by the violence and corruption that had consumed him. In this dream, you could be happy. You could be free.

He watched as your breathing grew softer, your chest rising and falling in a steady, peaceful rhythm. And in that moment, Suguru let himself imagine what your dream was like. Maybe it was a simple life, the kind you had always wanted. 

Maybe the two of you were walking through the fields of a quiet village, hand in hand, with the sun setting on the horizon. Or maybe you were sitting beneath a tree, with your head resting on his shoulder, laughing about nothing at all.

He pictured the softness of your smile, the warmth of your touch, moments of joy that you would never experience again, not in the real world. But in this dream, it would be eternal. And most of all, it would be final. It would be the end. And there would be no path to return.

In this dream, the two of you could grow old together. You could have the life that you both had once spoken about when you were younger, before everything had gone wrong. There would be no death, no suffering. Only love. Only peace.

As your body stilled completely, Geto Suguru’s heart ached with the weight of what he had done. He had cursed you, just as he had cursed so many others, but this curse was different. This one was born out of love.

A twisted, desperate love that couldn’t save you, but could at least offer you a kind of peace. It wasn’t enough. He knew that. It was never going to be enough. But it was all he could give.

"I’m sorry, my love." he whispered, his voice breaking in the silence of the night. "I’m so sorry."

He could never undo what he had done. He couldn’t bring you back, not really. But he could give you this, a life lived in the dream of what could have been. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough for you.

But as the hours passed, and the weight of your absence began to sink in, Suguru knew the truth; he hadn’t done this just for you. He had done it for himself. To hold on to the illusion of what he had destroyed. To keep you with him, in some way, even if it was only in the depths of a dream that would never end.

It was all he had left

You never woke up.

“I love you, I love you.” he whispered into the silence, knowing you would never hear him. "Always."

And as he laid you down, letting you drift into the dream he had cursed you with, he knew he would never find peace again.

He had seen it in your eyes when he came to you that night. There was no anger, no fear—just a deep, silent understanding. It wasn’t the kind of acceptance that came from giving up; it was something softer, sadder. 

Maybe you had already resigned yourself to the fact that Suguru could no longer protect you, that the man he had become could only destroy the things he once cherished. He wondered if, in your heart, you had always known that the love you had given him so freely would be the very thing that led to your end.

Or maybe, he thought, you were simply too good for this world. Too kind, too pure. He never really knew. The way you looked at him that night, with the same softness you always had, even after everything. He couldn’t understand it. He had expected fear, maybe even hatred. But there was none of that. Just love, unwavering, even in the face of what he had become.

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HE PAYS FOR HIS SINS WITH THIS. Every evil act has a gift in return. Everything has a consequence. And he knew that you would die with some hatred in you. That you wouldn't go without a fight, without resentment. You would be bound to materialize as the shadow of what life could have been and the regrets he had made it to be.

Because of he had done, your ghost lingers. You were his constant reminder of what he threw away. You were all he wanted and all he had wasted. The person he loved the most and the person he ruined the most. In his mind, he can still feel the warmth of your embrace, still hear the way you said his name with love and trust.

He killed you because he had to. Because his mission demanded it—but the truth is, he didn’t want you to die. He had never wanted that. He had wanted you by his side, forever. But in his quest for destruction, he had destroyed the only thing that had ever truly mattered to him.

Even now, he can feel you. The weight of your absence presses down on him, but so does the weight of your presence. You’re always there, just out of reach, watching him, haunting him.

He sees you in his dreams, in his nightmares, in the quiet moments when he’s alone with his thoughts. He wonders what could have been, if only he had made a different choice. But that world is gone, along with you, and all he has left is the ghost of the life he should have had.

In the end, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve to die. But he had gone too far, and in doing so, he lost the one person who had always believed in him. Now, your love is a memory that torments him, and your ghost is a shadow that will never leave his side.

"Do you hate me?" Suguru's voice trembled as he sat at the edge of the bed where he had last held you.

No one was living here anymore, your parents couldn't bear it. And so he bought the house, with a proxy. And left everything just the way it was. The room still smelled like you. It always will. Everything in this house will be you. Everything in his life is you.

There were faint traces of the perfume you wore, the lingering scent of your skin, and the warmth that used to make this place feel like home. The dresses you liked to wear when you both would go on those rare dates. The smell of your shampoo lingers in your bathroom. He remembered the way his nose would rest against it when you both slept together.

The home had been so abundantly you. Everything about it was you. And now, it was just a hollow space, like a tomb. All his regrets lay there. All his grief resided here. Everything was here. And he couldn't take it. He couldn't abandon it. He couldn't live with it. But he had to. He has to live. He has to live haunted by you.

Because he was sure, hell would be his place. And he would never see you again. He would never know you again. He would only ever live in misery there without you, without traces of you. He could feel his heart beat in his chest, heavy and erratic, waiting for something. Anything. Just a little sign from the presence he could always feel around him.

You didn't answer, not with words. You never did. But there was a weight in the air, a feeling that always hovered when he thought of you. He could feel your sadness, the disappointment that clung to the silence between them. It cut deeper than any curse could.

"I... I didn't want it to be like this, my love." he whispered, gripping the sheets beneath him, the same ones you used to curl up in. His fingers twisted in the fabric, the pressure keeping his hands from shaking.

"I thought... If I let you go gently, it would be enough. It would be kinder. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? I should...I should have taken you with me. Abandoned the world. We could... we could have been together."

There was no reply, but the stillness in the room felt heavier. The silence was cruel. But it was what he deserved. He could imagine your eyes on him, those soft, kind eyes that had once looked at him with nothing but love. Now, he wondered if they would have only looked at him with sorrow.

"I loved you, the most in the world." he said, almost to himself. His voice cracked, the admission pulling something raw from deep within. "I still do. I don't know if that matters now, but I wanted you to know. Even after everything... I loved you more than I loved anything. Even the hate. Even the darkness. But that didn’t change anything."

The words felt hollow, like a confession given too late to a ghost that could no longer forgive. He buried his face in his hands, the weight of the years, of his choices, pressing down on him like a thousand stones. He did this to himself. He did this to you. He had no right to feel sorrow. No right to feel remorse or longing.

"I used to think I could fix it. That somehow, I’d find a way to make everything right. That maybe... Maybe if I succeeded, I’d see you again, and you’d understand. That you’d forgive me." He laughed, but it was empty, bitter. "But I don’t deserve it, do I? I killed you. I killed the woman I loved more than anything in this world, and for what?"

He stood suddenly, unable to sit still any longer, pacing the room. "What did I gain? Power? Control? None of it matters. None of it ever mattered without you."

The room seemed to shift then, the shadows curling in the corners, and for a moment, he thought he saw you. A glimpse, just out of the corner of his eye, like a faint outline of your silhouette. He froze, heart pounding, and for the briefest second, hope flickered in his chest. Could it be?..........

"Suguru......." Your voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it pierced through the silence like a dagger. "Suguru........."

He turned, but there was nothing. Just the dim light filtering through the curtains, the room empty as it always had been. But the voice lingered, echoing in his mind.

"Suguru..."

He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply, trying to hold onto the sound of your voice, as though he could pull you back into reality. "I'm sorry, my love." he whispered. "I’m so sorry."

For a long moment, there was nothing but the hum of the wind outside, the creak of the old floorboards beneath his feet. And then, in the stillness, something seemed to shift again. The presence was still there, but softer, like a gentle hand on his shoulder, a touch that wasn’t quite there but wasn’t gone either.

"I never wanted this, I…." he whispered, his voice breaking. "I never wanted to hurt you. But I didn’t know how to stop. I couldn’t stop."

There was no answer, but in the silence that followed, there was a warmth—a fleeting warmth, like the last rays of sunlight before nightfall. It wrapped around him, gentle, forgiving, and for just a moment, he thought that maybe you didn’t hate him after all.

But then it was gone.

Just like you were.

Just like everything.

And he was alone again, in the house where you had once lived, haunted by the love he had destroyed with his own hands.

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HUMAN GREED IS THIS, HE LIKES TO THINK. Even though he was the most undeserving being in existence, he wanted to be greedy. He wanted to be greedy when it came to you. He can't help it. He wanted you, no matter what. He yearns for you no matter the case. Even if it's to curse him, he wants to see you again. You became a cursed ghost, bound to him like the shadow of every terrible thing he had done. 

Geto Suguru felt your presence in everything he did, in every step he took. It was unavoidable. When he would wake up, he knows you were calling his name. When he was in his dreams, you would look at him, without saying anything.

You haunted him relentlessly, silently, like a specter of the life he had stolen from you, and from himself. He couldn't escape you. He didn’t deserve to. He doesn't want to. He doesn't think he should. Not when he loves you most.

At first, he tried to ignore it. He tried to pretend that your death had been some kind of mercy, that he had spared you the pain that had consumed everyone else. Because that was what he had thought when he had taken your life. That's what he thought he was doing. He thought he was standing by you.

But as the years passed by, he knew that he was in the wrong. He accepted that he was in the wrong. That he had caused misery beyond compare. Not only for him but the most, for you. You were robbed of everything. Because he willed it.

And you couldn't accept it. He knew you wouldn't. Even if you had not done anything when he had killed you, you resented him. He knew that for a fact. Because you would not have materialized, your spirit wouldn't have lingered if that was the case. You resented him. And you loved him. You wanted him to pay and you wanted to hold him.

You followed him through the days and the nights, never speaking, but always there—watching, waiting. Your eyes, once full of love and warmth, now filled with sadness, sorrow, and something worse: disappointment.

If he was being honest, Suguru hated it. He cannot take how you look at him with those eyes. He cannot understand how it hurt him, how it can put him to the worst of grief. Over and over again.

He hated how tainted you had become because of him, how his hands, once capable of tenderness, had defiled your soul. You were twisted now, corrupted by his actions, bound to this cursed existence because of him.

He had stained you, dragged you into the darkness with him, and now, he could never set you free. You were a cursed being, a remnant of everything pure he had ruined.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you. Every time he breathed, it was like you were just behind him, your breath a cold whisper on his neck. When he fought, when he killed, when he walked among the ruins he had created, you were there, like a silent witness to his sins. You never left him alone. And he had a love and hate for the fact. 

And in the stillness, in the quiet moments between battles, he would feel your sadness radiating from the shadows, like a knife twisted into his chest. The more he tried to push you away, the tighter your curse clung to him, a constant reminder of what he had done.

It wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve this. You had been innocent. You had been his love, his reason for hope in a world full of hatred. You were the light he had turned away from, and in doing so, he had dragged you into the abyss with him. And now, you were part of that same darkness. A monstrosity of his own making.

He wanted to give you peace. He wanted to free you, to find a way to release your soul from the curse he had placed upon you. But deep down, he knew he couldn’t. He had gone too far, and there was no redemption, not for him, and not for you. This was all that was left of the love you shared—a twisted, haunted existence. You were bound to him in life, and now in death, you were bound to him still.

Suguru couldn’t forgive himself for what he had done to you. He couldn’t bear the weight of knowing that even in death, you had no peace. You should have been free, your soul at rest, away from the horrors of the world he had embraced. But instead, you were with him, suffering, watching him destroy everything, even himself.

"This isn’t what you deserved." he whispered one night, his voice shaking as he sat alone, surrounded by the cold, oppressive air of your ghost. "But that's all I have left of you."

And in his heart, he knew the truth: he had destroyed everything good in his life, including you. Now, all he had left was this haunting, this curse, this twisted version of the love he had once cherished. It was his punishment, the monstrosity of his own creation, and he would carry it with him until the very end.

You began to interact with him, more than just a haunting presence. At first, it was subtle—a cold breeze across his skin when the windows were closed, the flicker of shadows in the corner of his vision, the soft rustle of something moving when no one was there.

But as the days passed, it became more intense. You weren’t just watching him anymore. You were with him, and that made the guilt all the more unbearable. He could tell that you didn't know how to feel about it. One moment, you adored him. One moment you hated him. Each and every time, he took it. He yearned for it. He wants it to repeat over and over.

Suguru could feel it in every brush of cold air, in every movement you made. There was nothing left of the person you once were. You were no longer the girl who had loved him, the one who smiled and laughed, whose touch brought him comfort.

What was left was a hollow shell of your soul, twisted and broken by his actions. The broken body of a ghost that wanted nothing more to be free. To hate him, to love him and to leave him. And yet, despite knowing this, despite knowing that he had destroyed you beyond recognition, he still couldn’t let you go.

It was his greed that bound you, his selfish desire to keep you close, no matter what you had become. Even now, even as you haunted him, as you tormented him with your presence, he clung to you like you were his last lifeline.

He convinced himself that this was you, that this cursed, fractured version of your spirit was the real you coming back to him. He needed to believe it because the alternative; the idea that you were gone, truly gone, was too painful to bear.

In his twisted mind, he told himself that you stayed because you loved him. That even though he had shattered your soul, even though he had ripped you away from everything you knew, you still came back to him. You came back because you loved him the most. And that was enough for him, even if it wasn’t the truth.

But the truth was something he could never fully escape. He knew, deep down, that you hated him. He saw it in the way your spirit lashed out at him at night, the way you hovered over him, watching him with eyes that burned with anger and grief.

Sometimes, when the room grew still and dark, he could feel your hands—those same hands that once touched him with love—wrap around his throat, cold and vengeful, pressing down as if you were trying to choke the life from him. You wanted him dead. He knew that.

There were extreme nights, when you would feel your death over and over again. Where you would feel the anger and the grief and the pain overwhelm you. In those nights, you tried to kill him. Your cold, spectral fingers would tighten around his neck or press into his chest, making his heart race with terror.

He would wake in a panic, gasping for air, drenched in sweat, his body shaking from the closeness of death. And yet, even as he lay there, heart pounding, knowing you had just tried to take his life, he couldn’t let you go. The more you hated him, the more he needed to keep you close.

"I know you hate me, my love." he whispered one night, after waking from another attack. His voice was hoarse, his throat raw from where your ghostly fingers had pressed down on his windpipe.

"I deserve it. I deserve all of it. But… you came back to me, didn’t you? You could’ve gone anywhere, but you came back to me."

There was no answer, just the icy stillness that filled the room, but he swore he could feel you there, hovering just out of sight, watching him with those same cold, dead eyes as you kept pushing over and over again. You wanted him to die. You wanted him to pay. But he could see it too, how you wanted to stop yourself too.

"Even if you hate me, I need you here." he continued, his voice breaking. "Because you love me… you still love me, right?"

The silence stretched on, and for a moment, he almost believed he could hear your voice, your real voice, telling him that it was true. That you did love him, even after everything. That you wanted to say sorry over and over again.

But then, the familiar cold returned, creeping up his spine like the touch of death itself, and he felt your hands again, tighten against his skin. Only this time, colder, harsher, more brutal. More willing to kill. More willing to take his life in revenge. He had never seen you like this before. He had never seen you so angry at him before.

And he knew he deserved it. He knew it is what you should feel. He hurt people, he hurt you. He killed you. You had every right to want to take his life for yours. Even like this. Even after all this time. He would let you. As he had done before, he lay himself defenseless, at your mercy. He was ready to be taken to hell by your angelic arms. Even if he didn't deserve it. You pressed harder, digging into his flesh, as if you were trying to crush him.

"I’m sorry. I’m so sorry." he gasped, fighting for air, tears blurring his vision as he clawed at the emptiness around him. "I’m sorry for everything! But I can’t— I can’t let you go."

And that was the truth. No matter how much you hated him, no matter how many times you tried to kill him in the dead of night, he couldn’t let go of what little was left of you. You were all he had, even if what remained of you was a cursed, vengeful spirit, twisted by his own cruelty.

You were the only thing in his world that still meant anything. You were the last piece of the life he had destroyed, and he would cling to you, even if it killed him. Because that's the only way he could survive. That's the only way he could continue with this. Life is meaningless if you cannot be there. Even if it's to hurt him.

He hated himself for it. He hated the way his greed had tainted your soul, how his selfishness had turned you into this monstrous version of the woman he loved. The promise he had made was his failure. His eternal mistake. But it didn’t matter. In his broken mind, this was better than nothing.

"I’ll keep you with me, my love." he whispered, even as your fingers gripped his throat once more, sending waves of pain through his body. "Even if you kill me, I’ll never let you go."

For a moment, you were silent.

You just keep pushing on and on.

But he could see it as clear as day.

Tears were falling down on your face.

"I know." He croaks out with a struggle. He could feel his skin turn blue and purple as you kept pushing. "I....I know."

No, he thinks to himself. He will never truly know.

He was still alive.

And you were dead.

▐░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▌

MISERY HAS COME TO AN END. This was what he had been waiting for since that day he had taken your life. He couldn't wait for it. He wanted for it to be over. He wanted for it to be done. As Geto Suguru lay there, life slowly draining from his body, Gojo Satoru stood above him, his face unreadable but filled with a deep, unspoken sadness.

The air around them felt thick, charged with the weight of years gone by, of a friendship that had crumbled under the weight of Suguru’s choices. But there was something else in that moment, something that Suguru had felt long before Gojo Satoru arrived. There was a presence that lingered, watching, always there. You.

You stood in the shadows, just out of reach but ever-present, as you had been for so long. He could feel your gaze, cold and sharp, cutting through the haze of his fading consciousness. He didn’t need to see you to know you were there; he always knew. Even as his body weakened, even as death crept closer, you were the one thing he could still feel.

Suguru's breathing was ragged, each breath a struggle, but he forced his eyes to focus, searching for you through the mist of pain and regret. And there you were—silent, ghostly, unchanged in the years that had passed since he had taken your life. 

Your face was a mixture of sorrow and rage, just as it always had been since you had become this cursed existence. It was so real, it felt so real. You were here. He had made you this way, and he knew it. The weight of that knowledge pressed down on him harder than any physical pain ever could.

“I knew you’d be here, my love.” he rasped, his voice weak, barely above a whisper. Blood trickled from his mouth, but he didn’t care. All that mattered now was you.

You stared at him, your eyes burning with the same hatred and sorrow that had haunted him for so long. But behind that, there was something else, something deeper that had always lingered between you….love. It was fractured, twisted by the years of torment, but it was still there, in the way you watched him now, waiting.

"I—" He coughed, the pain wracking his body, but he forced the words out, knowing he didn’t have much time. "I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. For everything. For what I did to you. For taking you away. I never wanted it to be like this."

Your expression didn’t change, but Geto Suguru could feel the weight of your emotions. He could always feel it, the depth of your pain, your anger, and the love that had been tainted by his cruelty.

"I don’t deserve forgiveness, my love." he continued, his voice trembling, "I know that. I don’t even ask for it. But… I need you to stay with me." His purple eyes, dark and filled with regret, locked onto yours.

"Hate me. Keep hating me for what I did. I deserve it. Stay angry. Stay hurt. Just—" His voice cracked, and for a moment, the mask of strength he had worn for so long fell away, revealing the broken man beneath. "Just don’t leave me."

You didn’t move, but something in your gaze softened, just for a moment, and Suguru’s heart clenched.

"I need you to keep loving me." he whispered, barely audible now, the strength leaving him with each breath. "Even if it’s hate. Even if it’s anger. Please… don’t ever leave. Stay with me, even in death."

There was silence for a long moment, the world around him fading, the edges of reality blurring. Gojo Satoru’s presence was there, a silent witness to this final moment, but all Suguru could focus on was you. The one person he had loved, the one person he had destroyed.

And in that silence, he thought he saw you nod. It wasn’t forgiveness. He knew that you could never give him that. Not even if you wanted to. So, he didn’t expect that. But it was something, a promise of sorts, that you would remain, that you would stay by his side, even in the twisted, cursed way you had been for so long.

You had no other choice. You were tied to him. Even if you were an angel, you were his to have killed. And you were his to keep. One way or another, you were doomed with him.

As the light in his eyes began to dim, Suguru let out one last breath, his body finally succumbing to the weight of it all. But even as the world around him slipped away, he felt you there, just as he had always wanted. He wanted forever. He wanted you to be bound to him, through love, hate, and everything in between.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Geto Suguru felt a sense of peace, knowing that in death, you would never leave his side.

As Suguru’s body lay still, life finally left him, your form so long bound to his cursed existence, everything had begun to change. The air around you shifted, the heaviness that had weighed you down for years slowly lifting.

You had been tied to him for so long, your soul twisted by the hatred and sorrow of what he had done to you. But now, with his death, the curse that had held you in this half-life, in this torment, began to unravel.

You felt it—slowly, like a breath you hadn’t taken in so many years. The pull that had kept you bound to him, the chains of guilt, anger, and love, began to fade. It wasn’t quick; the pain was still there, raw and deep, but it was easing, loosening its grip on your soul.

The twisted form you had taken, the vengeful ghost that had followed Suguru through every step, began to dissolve. You were withering away, piece by piece, the curse unraveling like a thread in the wind.

But there was no joy in it. No relief. Instead, as you felt your spirit beginning to break free, something strange and unexpected filled you—grief.

The years of anger, hatred, and sorrow were fading, and with them, the love you had once held so deeply for him, a love that had persisted despite everything. As the curse released its grip on you, tears began to fall, silent and steady, down your ghostly face.

Gojo Satoru stood above Geto Suguru, watching it all unfold. He had always known about you, the shadow that haunted his best friend, the curse that Suguru had created out of his own guilt and selfish love. 

But seeing it now, seeing the way your form withered away, your tears falling like echoes of a past long gone, it struck him in a way he hadn’t expected. He didn’t need to see the full story to understand what you were; what you had been to Suguru, and what he had taken from you.

Your tears shimmered in the fading light, and Gojo Satoru, ever perceptive, caught the faint glisten of them. He could feel the depth of your pain, even now, as you began to fade from the world.

The sight of your sorrow, of your spirit being freed but still weighed down by the lingering grief, hit something in him that he rarely allowed anyone to see. His usual mask of indifference slipped, just for a moment, and he sighed softly.

“Love really is the worst curse, huh.” he murmured to himself, his voice low, almost as though he were speaking to the empty air, to you.

He understood, more than most, how love could bind, twist, and destroy. He had seen it countless times in the lives of others, and now, here, at the end of everything, he saw it in Suguru’s last moments and in your ghostly form, finally free but forever marked by what had been done to you.

You didn’t answer him—you couldn’t. Your form was fading faster now, the last remnants of your curse dissolving into the air. But as you disappeared, your tears fell one last time, a final release of all the pain you had carried, of all the love and hate that had twisted you into what you had become.

Gojo watched you until there was nothing left, just the faint whisper of your presence lingering in the silence. He looked down at Suguru, his once closest friend, and felt a deep, bittersweet sorrow wash over him. He knew that, in the end, both of you had been cursed by love, in different ways. And now, both of you are gone.

With one last glance at the empty space where your spirit had been, Gojo Satoru sighed again, his heart heavy. What a tragedy of a life it all had been.

"Yeah……" he whispered to himself. "The worst curse of all."

[wings-of-ink]

Author Update - Good News???

So, I can't go into all the details in their full stupid glory, but I have some news that is...a bit of a mixed bag (at least for me). I wish I could explain it all, but I can't given the nature of my job. I keep my private life veiled from my work life for good reason. If I balked about it like I wanted and my employer somehow found out, I could get into some trouble. They don't know what I get up to for the most part, and I like to keep it that way.

The summation that I can share with you is - I got bad news for my job - but I'm still technically employed. This isn't necessarily "detrimental" to me at this stage (I'm currently safe and I think I will keep my job), but it is a "final straw" sort of deal. This is coming from years and years of mistreatment. My employer is being horrible and shady/conniving/unfair, etc...(In my opinion, of course.) Honestly, that's not a new thing for them, but they continue to set records for the "how low can you go" competition. I've been there for over 11 years and I have their game memorized at this point. But - I'm stuck - for now.

So, I'm turning this into something good.

Soon, I'm going to be increasing my activity here and in writing. I desire to keep focusing on production of God-Cursed AND adding a new project to the mix as well. I also have a full novel that I'd like to publish one day, but it needs a good editing first.

Meanwhile, I'll likely be looking for avenues out of my current job. The dream would be to make a living on writing - but I'm realistic about that. It's not something that can happen easily or quickly so that's a more long-term goal, and it may never be possible for me, I just don't know. One of the biggest hurdles here is my healthcare or rather the cost thereof.

To be as transparent as possible, with how things are where I live, the ideal is finding a fully remote job that I can take with me anywhere, be it another state or even country. My spouse and I have talked at length about relocating *somewhere* when it is feasible, but we need to determine where to lay anchor. We are very much in the air about this and at the mercy of many things - jobs, finances, families, the logistics. A flexible job would be key in helping us determine where we will end up. Our current location just does not have good prospects for employment, which is why I have been at this same job for so long even though they haven't been good to me.

This is a bit of a gift and a curse for me, lol. I'm looking forward to being able to move forward on the production of new things at least. I have some details to work out around it all, but you will likely hear more from me in the coming weeks.

So that's my news. I'm doubting any of this will turn around and change for the better, but if there are any developments (good or bad), I'll let you know. I'm determined to use this as an opportunity to create and grow. ^_^

[onbearfeet]

In Which the Wizard School Books Are a Hammer

Okay. I'm gonna tell this story once, and only once, because I think it might help people who are struggling to finally, FINALLY boot J.K. Rowling from their lives.

I can't precisely say I sympathize, but I definitely know how you feel, because I have already had to do this dance with someone I guarantee you've never heard of. I've had all the feelings you've had. I had to find a way through all by myself, and now I'm going to help you so you have an easier time. Okay? Okay.

Content warning: discussion of child sexual abuse (mentioned but not described in detail).

So there's this writer. I refuse to speak or write his name these days, so we'll call him Evil Bob. ("Bob" is my default placeholder name, and this Bob is evil.) Evil Bob was a damn good writer and, frankly, an underappreciated one in his time. I picked up a few of his projects out of the bargain bin on impulse when I was about 12, and after that he was one of my names to conjure with. If Evil Bob had written it, I wanted to read it. He had a kind of perfect workman's style--he did a lot of things pretty well, and he did them in such a way that a bright 12-year-old could see how the trick was done. I learned a lot of basic writerly technique from Evil Bob--things about dialogue and pacing and how to convey character through action and lots of other stuff. Evil Bob unlocked something in my brain, and I really blossomed as a young writer by applying the lessons of his work.

Evil Bob's fiction started to fall off in popularity eventually, so he switched to nonfiction and wrote a damn good history book that won a lot of awards. I read it in college. The man could really interview, I tell you what.

I even got to interview Evil Bob myself, eventually. I was working for a small magazine that wanted to publish an article about a certain minority group's representation in a certain fiction genre, and Evil Bob had written one of the seminal works in that niche, so I tracked down his contact info, called him up, and we had a lovely hourlong chat. He was kind and gracious and funny and --

Yeah, this is where you learn why I named him Evil Bob.

A few years ago, people in Evil Bob's old fiction genre started circulating a list of, shall we say, disgraced writers in the field. Think of it like a MeToo list. The list got passed around every time a new name was added, and at a certain point, after a much more famous name had just been added to it, the list crossed my feed for the first time in a while. I dutifully scanned down it in case there was anyone on it I'd missed; after all, I attended conventions for this genre, and some of these fuckers were on the list for assaulting fans like me, so I wanted to know who to watch out for.

And there, in the middle of the list, was Evil Bob.

Weird, I thought. Evil Bob had seemed chill when I spoke to him, and usually, being 22 with big boobs (as I was when I interviewed him) brought out the perv in these guys if there was any perv to bring out. Well, maybe this was something else--maybe he used a slur on an old tape or something. I googled.

It was something else, all right.

As I sat there googling, Evil Bob was sitting in a federal prison a thousand miles away. He was there because, according to his Wikipedia page, he had been convicted of having so many CSA images on his hard drive that the judge in his case became physically ill. Honestly, I want to know where he got a hard drive that big in the year he was arrested, but I absolutely will not be asking him.

Evil Bob was EVIL. Fuck the carceral state, but also never let that particular dude near kids or a computer again.

So now I had a problem. I was going to stop buying Evil Bob's stuff, obviously--I would drop the man like a hot potato--but I couldn't so easily remove his influence on me. I'll never be 12 years old and digging through the quarter bin at the used bookshop again. There's no way to re-learn the foundations of my artform without Evil Bob. The bastard is part of me, whether I like it or not. He's left his fingerprints on my brain. And while I have negative interest in creating my own criminal hard drive, it's a little hard to shake the irrational guilt (especially since I had been raised in a high-control religious environment where any contact with sin could permanently stain one's soul, and Evil Bob's writing was part of how I escaped, and--you get the idea). I couldn't shed the stink of Evil Bob. I'd written that article. I was covered in the fuckin' ooze.

I'll spare you the six months of angst and self-flagellation. I've been to therapy since this happened. Here's what I eventually decided:

Evil Bob is like a hammer.

My dad gave me an old hammer when I moved out, along with some other miscellaneous hand tools in a paper bag. I bought a toolbox, I put the tools in it, and I use them when I need tools. My dad is an asshole who abused his children, but a hammer is a hammer. Scratch the previous owner's name off the handle, and you can build a pretty fine house with it.

What I learned from Evil Bob are the tools of a trade, and tools are not inherently evil. He taught me how to put sentences together--but I decide what my sentences say. He showed me how to convey character--but I choose what I'm conveying. He made me a writer--but I'm the one writing now.

So I still use Evil Bob's tools, with his name scoured off. I still teach some of those lessons, but he's the one source I don't cite. Oh, that dialogue hack? I picked it up in grad school, pinky swear. Here, let me share it with you for free, with no credit or compensation to the bastard who taught it to me.

I won't pretend Evil Bob wasn't an influence on my younger self, but you'll never hear me speak his legal name. I was one of the few people who really counted themselves fans of his work ... and he'll never get a whisper of a hint of that support from me again. I guarantee you won't be able to track him down from this post, and that's just the way I like it. There's a reason I haven't identified what genre he wrote in, or what his seminal fiction work was about, or whom he interviewed for that prizewinning book.

Damnatio memoriae, motherfucker. This is my hammer now, and it always has been.

So how do we give JKR the Evil Bob treatment?

Unfortunately, the Terf Queen has a larger media presence than Evil Bob ever did. One sad ex-Potterhead won't be able to erase her from culture. But there's a lot more than one of you, isn't there?

The thing is, cultural trends fade faster than you expect. Plenty of celebrities and famous artists of your parents' generation are nobodies now, and it's usually because their work spoke to your parents but not to you. I once witnessed my brother trying to read his sons a 1912 book about Spanish naval history as a bedtime story, and let me tell you, it did not go over well. Some art burns hot and bright and then it burns OUT.

The Potterheads are the parents now. Imagine how easy it would be to just ... stop talking about her. Stop buying the merch. Don't watch the new TV show or play the new game. Don't tell people you used to be a fan--not because you ought to be ashamed, but because you're not going to give her the satisfaction of saying her name. And when your kids ask about your tattoo, just tell them not to get blackout drunk in college.

Damnatio memoriae, motherfucker.

And if you feel the need to explain where you learned your kindness and courage, your unshakable loyalty to your friends (especially the trans ones), your hope in the face of overwhelming darkness ...

... why, that's your hammer. And it always has been.

[judysxnd]

hii can i have a request?

could you do a pedro x reader? bascially they are married, and one evening when the reader was washing the dishes, her engagement ring slipped off her finger and went down the drain (maybe from all the soap?) basically she gets all worked up and sad about it and pedro hears her and comforts her telling her its okay... you can decide how the ending is !!

thanks love! 🩷🩷🩷

hello hello, sorry for writing this so late! As I said previously, I work a lot and my crush changed so I don't follow closely Pedro anymore. I still have another request to write and then I'll be officially done with my requests! I mean I think so, idk why but Tumblr shows only two messages but says I actually five of them? Idk it's weird.

Anyway, there ya go!

It turned out better than I expected so I published it right away!!!

———————————————————————

You were peacefully enjoying dinner with Pedro in your house discussing any topics that would show up. You had some music playing in the background filling the silence while you were both eating. Those nights were your favorite. It was just you and him, nothing else, chilling, spending some quality time away from everything.

Now you were both done eating, you decided to put away the dishes while Pedro would clean the table and put the rest of the food and drinks away.

"remind me why we don't fix the dishwasher?" you sighed as you remembered that you had to clean everything yourself.

"because we're barely home and it's useless to spend money on that?" he said as he closed the fridge, looking at you. "I can do the dishes if you want" he suggested

"No it's my turn, you've been doing them all week"

"I don't mind" he said leaning on the counter

"I do" he smiled, moved closer to leave a sweet kiss on your cheek

"I'll dry them then"

So you started to clean the dishes. Before Pedro had to start drying them, he put the music a bit louder so that you could sing and/or dance. He always makes everything more fun. You've been married for three years and there's never a dull moment with him, even during moments like these, doing something as simple and little as the dishes.

You were rinsing a plate, singing and dancing a bit with Pedro when you heard something falling. It sounded like it was something small but metallic. You both looked around, not knowing where it came from. It's only when you heard the same noise but closer and deeper that you realised it was in the sink.

"What was that?" Pedro asked, looking in the sink.

"I have no idea but it's gone now" you joked, giving a plate to Pedro.

Around fifteen minutes later, you were all done. You grabbed another hand towel since Pedro was using the main one and started to dry your hands. When you moved around your fingers, something felt weird. As you removed the towel, you saw that your ring was no longer there. And it hit you. The noise you heard earlier that coincidently happened in the sink. It was your ring. You gasped, making Pedro suddenly turn.

"What?" he said, looking at you confused as he was drying a pan.

"my ring" you had wide eyes, touching where your ring used to be, looking at Pedro "I think that's what we heard earlier" you said now looking at the sink. Pedro looked around, realising what you had just said.

"It's oka-" you cut him off

"shit shit shit" you said going over the sink, trying to see if you could see it through the hole, like a delusional person.

"y/n it's okay we'll find it, or I'll buy you another one"

"no, no it's not okay" you turned towards him "it's- the ring you proposed with" you had tears forming in your eyes

"don't cry for that cariño" he said putting both his hands on your face "It's just a ring, it doesn't make the souvenir go away"

"I know, but still. It's so beautiful, it means so much"

"Maybe I'll offer you another one that means even more" he looked at you, reassuring you. And it worked, you smiled. "It also means I can propose another time, so double bonus" you laughed

"You think it's gone forever?"

"Maybe we can find it under the sink"

"Can we look right now? I feel terrible"

"we can, don't worry corazón" Pedro kneeled to open the cupboard and look for the ring. He unscrewed the pipe to see if it was there, but it wasn't.

"So?"

"It's not here baby"

"So it's gone gone" Pedro stood up once he put everything back the way it was

"I'll find another one. More beautiful"

"It won't be the same"

"I know" he hugged you "it will be better"

After three weeks, Pedro and you were in LA for some appointments you both had. You decided to join at the beach to have a nice picnic and watch the sunset. As it is predictable, it was the perfect moment where Pedro surprised you with another proposal. You were watching the sea, and Pedro got on one knee next to you.

"Pedro!" you gasped "no you didn't" you said as he opened the box, showing a big beautiful diamond ring, even more beautiful than the one you had

"I told you I would do it again. There's nowhere I'd rather be. Everywhere is home with you. We don't need anything to prove it, but I promised to cherish you, and seeing how loosing the ring made you feel, I got you another one." he said, not looking away once

"And you proposed another time" you said, tears in your eyes

"double bonus" you laughed "you still have to say yes though" he added

"are you sure? I don't know" you pretended to hesitate, both laughing. You stopped, looking at him more seriously. "I love you so much Pedro. You're the man of my life, making this crazy world the best place. You're my home. Of course I'm saying yes another time" you laughed. You gave him your hand another time so that he could put, once again, a ring on your finger.

You immediately kissed him after that. Simple moments. A sunset at the beach, washing dishes, whenever, wherever.

[naok-iyuu]

When the sun falls - Zed Necrodopolis x Reader

I am so sad one of my biggest comfort character doesn't have much fanfiction to honor him, so I'll try to work myself to fufill my desire and make some of you guys happy ! I am quite not satisfied with what I did, but I've spend so much time on it that it must be published now. (and why are the dialogue with the childhood friend better written than the actual overall fic???) Please do not hesitate to leave prompts or ideas you could have for future fanfictions, I'll gladly read them and write !

English is not my native language, I appologies for any grammar or other mistakes ! Don't hesitate to tell me for future work. Idea from Creative Writing Prompts My Masterlist

No warnings, just highschoolers being highschoolers.

Word count : 2.6k

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. It was when the sun made his smile a little bit brighter that you realised, Zed Necrodopolis was indeed making your heart beat faster.

_

You had taken the habbit of spending time near the football field when school's days were over, not wanting to go home the second the bell rung. Your childhood friend being a player in the seabrook team made it easier to find an excuse as why you were always near the team of shrimps. It became usual for the group of boys to see you, always sitting on the highest bleacher, reading a book or scrolling on your phone when words were too much to bear after a full day of eyeing them on the school board.

Maybe, you sometimes left your eyes wander, watching the jocks run all over the field, tossing balls, and screaming excitedly at each others. It was funny at times, even when you were secretly praying that one of those balls would never have the secret need to kiss your face.

Today wasn't the day you would get hit by a ball, but it was the day your eyes decided that a green haired boy was more interesting than your romance book about a super-hero and the girl he'll never have. Zed was the kind of guy that was easy to get along with. You both weren't close friends strictly speaking, but James, your childhood friend, made it easier to speak to the zombie. Conversations flowed safely when you two spoke, even when James was between you two, trying to feed conversations, hoping he'll get the two of you to become besties and hang out more with him. He was an optimist, something that really brought light to your life since a young age.

Your head was resting on your backpack, your body fully lying on the bleacher seating as the few last minutes of practice were almost over. Your hand hanging down was careful not to touch the ground, there was no way your skin was going to touch something long forgotten by a dirty student. Your eyes attentively followed Zed's green hair like he was the only guy you knew amongs the teenagers. Surely because he was the most noticeable, you had told yourself. Sometimes it hits you, why Zed was so popular amongs the folks in Seabrook. He was the first zombie who got his kind accepted by the humans, he was a good football captain and player. And now that his relationship with Addison ended a few months ago... It was safe to say that girls became a bit more aware of his charms. It would be a lie to say you've never noticed how handsome he looked, you just choose to ignore it, most of the time.

"Hey (L/n) !" Hearing your last name, you let your eyes drift lower to find the blond hair of James calling you with the biggest smile. Waiting down the bleachers, he breathed like he just ran twenty times the field. "Careful there, I can see you drowling from over here."

His voice was loud enought to reach your ears, and loud enought to catch the other boys attentions. He chuckled and a few players followed his humour with amused smiles, catching your attention. You narrowed your eyes, both slightly embarassed and annoyed that he had to call you out in front of all his teammates. You automatically stand up, picking your bag in one, strong hand, and made your way to him down the bleachers, already knowing that practice was over.

"Nice try James, I was just watching if your skills in football were better than mine." Switching you bag from your hand to your shoulder, you defended yourself with the tiniest amused smile, guiding his attention to anything else than you eyeing the captain of his team.

"Oh really ? What do you think then, did I improve myself ?" He asked, his joke long forgotten.

"Not really. You are not even reaching 10% of my football skills." Your smile grew wider as you made fun of him.

"Yeah yeah of course, how about we take that to the fi-"

"Hey James, time to take a shower buddy." You did not notice Zed approaching the two of you, only letting your eyes on him when he stood next to your friend and made his presence known. His elbow nudged James's, earning a scoff from him.

"I was going to, but I still need to take care of the lady remember ?" He moved his finger close to his temple, reminding him of your presence and how important you were.

"Oh I can take care of that, because it smells like death here." He waved his hand in front of his nose, making you chuckle against your will.

James tapped Zed's shoulder, turning himself to leave.

"Look who's talking Necrodopolis." He shook his head, looking at you. "I'll wait for you at the entrance." He then waved later to you, and you did too, smiling at his body leaving in direction of the locker room.

"Looks like you got rid of him." You now looked at Zed, your smile still full of playfulness. His eyes didn't lose time to search yours, raising slightly his head due to you still being on the bleacher stairs. You could have a better look at him this way, and didn't have to raise your head like you usually did. "Was my plan that obvious ?" He added to your teasing with a smile of his own, his body weight shifting on his left foot.

"Totally, I could see you wracking your brain from the football field, wondering how you would get to talk to me without James third wheeling." Funny flirty banter was your thing, whether you used it to smooth the atmosphere or to hint a slight interest. And in Zed's case... Well... You did admit to yourself that he was gorgeous.

"And I could see you staring, didn't know you had a thing for jocks." However, it was less of your thing when a charming boy used the same tricks as you. Zed's words made your cheeks grew pink, something you could easily blame to be the evening sun's fault.

"Just watching you boys play, it's pretty interesting sometimes."

"Only sometimes ?" He raised an amused eyebrow.

"Only sometimes."

"Too bad, I thought the team captain had caught your attention. You know, the handsome player with green hair." He attempted, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

"Really ? You're the team captain ? Since when ?" You let your face paint itself with a false air of surprise, playing more and more with the jokes he lets you have fun with.

"Oh it's recent, only one or two years since I joined the team. I also often forget how popular I've become." And again he shrugged his shoulders, delivering his line with the most unfazed facial expression you could have seen.

You laughed a bit louder than before, making a twinkle of victory appear in his eyes along with a charming smile. "Alright alright champ, I am just messing with you."

"I wouldn't have guessed." He mocked you a bit more, just to see you roll your eyes and shake your head with yet another giggle. A few seconds pass and Zed's can't help but notice how your eyes seems to have wandered to a thought deep hidden in your head. "What are you thinking about ?" He demanded, lowering his voice not to startle you in case you were already far into your daydream.

"I guess, I never really noticed... But the evening sun really compliments your hair." Too focus on the bright new color the sun created, you can't notice how Zed's cheeks became a lighter shade of pink, contrasting with his very pale skin. Sunddenly aware of his hair color he couldn't help but to run a hand through his locks, his eyes now shifting away from your face. His slight movement appear to break wathever spell you got yourself into and your eyes made their way back to his, not noticing his new attitude.

The next second, his eyes looked back at you, a thought of his own appearing behind the dark of his pupils. "I think I can find something well more complimenting than my crazy green hair. They are totally natural by the way."

His sentence seems to finally knock some sense into you, the very sense you had lost while looking at his hair, and the very same sense you had struggled to get back when your eyes looked at his. "I highly doubt that." Wide eyes take over your features to prove your point and your doubt before being washed by Zed's shaking his head.

"You do ? Okay, give me your hand if you are so sure of yourself." Stretching his hand in your direction, his brown orbs were pleading his case, puppy style, almost encouraging you to trust him.

You rolled your eyes, yet again, placing your hand in his. Your fingers curl around his skin, mimicking the way his just did around your hand. He does not lose the opportunity to take your second hand in his palm while your foot comes down your perch, trying to convince himself that your stability is his top priority. The grassy ground reminds you of how small you are compared to his giraffe heigh, and your head must now look up to gaze at his face. You tried to erase the thought his is skin being soft against yours, his hands being, oh so large, around your girl sized baby hands. But the task was way more difficult than you had imagined. In a soft motion, he exchanged both of your spot by making you rotate with him, his back was now facing the bleachers while you were greeted with the powerful sun on your face. You wondered how you did not became blind on the spot while Zed's face moved around tring to find several different angle to look at you. The skin on his face, moving without warning, cartooned his expressions which made you giggle. He looked so focused on his task that it made you feel self conscious about your look. "What you are doing ?" You try to quiet your giggle while your eyes followed his every move.

He focused his gaze on your eyes again, smiling with satisfaction. "The sun really compliments your eyes, they are beautiful."

At that moment, you couldn't quite grasp if it was the way he looked at you, or the way his voice gently complimented you, or maybe if it was just the fact that you were lying to yourself about being attracted to him, putting that affirmation far behind the fact that he was just charming. But his words stole all the air from your lungs and you felt extremely hot in a matter of seconds. His gaze didn't drift from yours, just admiring you even if he noticed the shy mess he just made of you. He was enough of a gentleman to not make a comment about it, and just appreciated it. Your thoughts racing faster than a rocket made your eyes dance in every direction possible, trying to find your words and confidence from earlier. Acknowledging the fact that you needed to respond, you bit your lower lip, trying to find the air you once had in your lungs.

"They are pretty common, really." You tried to put his words above your head, high enough so you wouldn't think nor take them for what they were.

"Have you seen my eyes ? That's what you can call common, you can even call them poop brown." His joke diverted you from your previous thoughts, obtaining, like it was a precious gift, another laugh from you. You shook your head and, at last, looked at him again. "Are you serious ? Have you seen your eyes under the sun's rays ?" It was easy to compliment other people, you would even shove their face in whatever you could find if that meant they could see how fine you thought they looked. But when it came to you, compliments, praises, were not allowed. Hell you even made yourself think that it was forbidden. But in that moment, you could see the determination in Zed's eyes to fight you teeth and nails just to make you hear him.

"My point, your eyes are beautiful." You were about to dismiss him again when he cut you out before he even saw you mouth starting to move. "And I am winning this one, you can no longer contradict me."

You sighed a small 'okay', your being eating you from inside so you would, in fact, contradict him. His eyes were quick to make you forget what you were going to fight for, and even quicker to make you wonder if something was indeed happening between you two. You couldn't shake those thoughts, maybe you were a hopeless romantic, but you guys were flirting... Right ? Not being able to read your thoughts made Zed's bite the inside of his cheek. Your face was an open book, James didn't lie about that when he talked about you. He could see the wheels turning behind your eyes, and your eyebrows moving to every feeling and image your brain was sending you. He decided to catch your attention once more.

"Hey, I was wondering..." His voice was gentle, almost feeling like the comfiest pillow you would want to lie on. "Would you like to-"

"Hey Necrodopolis ! What's taking you so long, practice over and I want to go home !" The strong voice of the coach resounded in your ears, making you jump on the spot. He almost made you have a heart attack.

Zed's eyes widened with frustration, his head falling backward in an attempt to regain some control over his emotions. His tongue licked his lips, almost bitting it. He turned his head to look at his coach who called him from the locker room doors. "I am coming, I just need to-"

"You'll talk to your girlfriend tomorrow ! Go take a shower and go home champ." You could see from afar the coach tapping his foot against the ground, Zed surely had ran out of talking privilege.

He sighed, turning his gaze to look at you with tiny apologising eyes. "I am sorry I have to go, coach orders." You nodded to show that you understood and didn't hold it against him. With a last and gentle 'I'll see you tomorrow' his hands softly left yours before jogging in the adult direction who seemed to scold him when he arrived in front of him, and maybe tease him a little.

Your hands suddenly felt cold, sinking in the fact your brain had erased on purpose. His hands had hold yours mid conversation and didn't let go. You haven't even thought more about it on the spot, like it was natural. Your heart was beating a bit faster than usual, it took a deep breath to ground yourself. It was when the sun made his smile a little bit brighter that you had realised, Zed Necrodopolis was indeed making your heart beat faster. And you were totally going to blame the sun for it.

"I guess you were too busy and forgot to meet me at the school entrance." James had reached your side from god knows where, his football uniform long forgotten and changed into some random t-shirt and sweat pants. He looked at you with a cocked eyebrow and the most annoying smirk he could have made up on the spot.

You shook your head from your previous thoughts to now fight your childhood friend who seemed to want to have fun about the fact he had left you alone with his captain. "You sure you showered ? That was pretty fast." The best defense is a good offense you convinced yourself, praying that James would leave you off the hook.

You started to walk away, hearing his foot following you closely before adding. "So, can you finally tell me what zombies taste like or am I, still, supposed to wait ?"

"Oh my f-..udging god !"

"Argh almost won a dollar in the swearing jar with this one." -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Am I tweaking or James parts are actually better ?

Thanks for taking the time to read my first work ! Like I said on top of the post, I am really not satisfied with how it turned out. I just feel like I did my boy dirty TwT I might be so in love that I can't even focus when writing about Zed, the sun's fault though ;)

[my-my-my]

I don't know what the hell happened, anon, but I lost your request 😭, but thankfully I saved it in my word document!

Request: Hii! (english isnt my first language) I discovered you while in search of bleach ff and oh my god you best believe that i binge read every single one of them. And in your ruled you had said that you would write for ichigo if he's an adult in accordance to the timeline.

So if its okay with you can i request for husband Ichigo! With a bit chubby reader.ichigo having a thing for breeding, and now their child 6-7 (I'll let you specify the gender) and seeing his kid playing by himself in his room just did something to him,so reader is in for a long night, mostly soft love making was what i was hoping for if it's okay with you

If you're not comfortable with this then you don't have to write it, or if it's too specific you can write it your own way!! My man ichigo needs more fanfictions 😭😭

Summary: The rare times Ichigo has to travel for work, leaves him missing his family terribly. This return home was no exception.

CW: MDNI! Adult Ichigo, breeding.

Ichigo’s work afforded him the comfort and privilege to work from home, but every so often, he was asked to visit a publishing house, conference, or something, that would take him away from home. And they would be long events, which was one of the few frustrating things about his job.

But he did love coming back home and seeing the two of you, and today was no exception. Ichigo smiled at the passing scenery as he made his way home from the airport. Ichigo wasn’t particularly good at planning surprises, but he had given you a much later arrival time. He wanted to surprise you at home.

The taxi dropped him off in front of his house, with blooming flowers greeting him. Even though it was only two weeks that had passed, the flowers you had planted had already begun to bloom. Ichigo didn’t have much of a green thumb, but he and your child were adamant on helping.

He fished for his keys, unlocking the door, and he could hear the two of you laughing about something. Ichigo quietly closed the door and crept upstairs to the playroom.

He watched in amusement as he heard his child rambling a nonsensical story, but you held on to every word, asking them questions. They would pick up toys and reenact scenes, as you played along with them. The two of you were lost in your own bubble, unaware of Ichigo watching in amusement.

“Can I join in on this story too?” Ichigo asked, a hint of laughter in his voice. Before he could even react, he saw a whirlwind of hair and a shriek before his child clung on to his leg.

“When did you come in?!” You asked, “I was going to get you!” Ichigo bent down and picked up his child, holding them comfortably in his arms.

“I might’ve lied,” Ichigo chuckled, “I wanted to come home early and surprise you guys.” Bending down and kissing you on the forehead.

“Gross, daddy!” The two of you laughed as your child scrambled out of Ichigo’s arms.

“You must be exhausted,” you murmured, kissing Ichigo softly on the lips. Your child was off playing with another toy, unaware. “Why don’t you take a nap, I’ll make us some dinner.”

Ichigo grabbed your hand, pulling you into an embrace, “nah, why don’t we order in?” He squeezed your body firmly. You nodded into his chest, feeling a sense of calm at his presence. It might have been two weeks, but his absence felt so much longer for you.

Dinner was a quick affair, as you watched in amusement as Ichigo and your child argued over dinner. Ramen or sushi was the debate, and unfortunately for Ichigo, ramen was the winner. You looked at the two of them in enjoyment as they competed on who can slurp their noodles the fastest.

The soft, dimming light of your kitchen table, the laughter in the room, the warm air, it made you feel content. You never knew parenthood would bring you this feeling, but watching Ichigo wipe the mess off his child’s face and help feed them, it made your heart flutter.

“I’m full.” Your child exclaimed, pushing away their bowl. You laughed at Ichigo’s reaction.

“Ok, ok. Let daddy finish his dinner. I’ll help you clean up.” Your child gleefully smiled as you helped them out of their seat. Ichigo watched tenderly as you cleaned your child’s face, the way your face lit up into a soft smile as you took gentle care of them.

“Let me finish up here, and I’ll read you a bedtime story.” Ichigo smiled. “Why don’t you pick out a book for me?” Your child’s eyes shone brightly at the suggestion.

“But you have to brush your teeth first! You know the rules.” You chided. You held their hand as you helped them get ready for their bedtime routine.

Ichigo loved hearing your soft, hushed voice when you spoke to your child. It wasn’t one filled with fear or whimpering, but a quiet confidence. Your voice was a calming wave to the both of them. So if it were any other night, he would have gladly listened to you read your child to sleep, but tonight he would do it. He held the worn-out book, it’s corners soft and faded, as he read. It didn’t take too long for your child to fall asleep.

And like clockwork, his body ached for you and the bed, almost as if a rope was pulling him to the bedroom. You had finished your own nighttime routine and were about to get into bed, when Ichigo wrapped his arms tightly around you.

“You missed me that much?” Your muffled voice asked, face implanted on Ichigo’s firm chest.

“You have no idea” Ichigo murmured into your hair. “Coming home” he drawled, his embrace tightening, “and seeing you be a natural at this…”

You lifted your face up from his chest, giving a confused look.

Ichigo’s face turned red, “it’s been a lonely few weeks” he admitted, bashfully.

You cupped Ichigo’s face and reached up to kiss him softly. The man was passionate, intense and dedicated in all areas of his life, and the bedroom was no exception, but you felt something different tonight.

There was a quiet sense of calm in the air. Ichigo picked you up, gently laying you on the bed. He took off his shirt before pulling yours off. Ichigo’s eyes were focused as he pulled your underwear off you, leaving you naked and bare on the bedsheets, the slightly cold air hardening your nipples.

He softly pushed your legs apart, seating himself in between. His warm breath tickled all over your body as he placed kisses on every expanse of skin he could touch. Ichigo savoured your body, as if he was famished and starving, the recent meal gone from his memory. You moaned his name quietly as suckled on your nipple, gently rubbing its twin with the pads of his fingers.

Your pussy felt slicker with every touch Ichigo placed on you. Your eyes cloudy with tears and pleasure as his familiar touches left you wanton and panting.

“Ichigo, please,” you whispered harshly, as his hand spread your wet pussy lips apart. Your clit was aching to be touched but Ichigo watched in amusement as you squirmed underneath him.

“I love seeing you like this.” He gave you a deep kiss, pushing his tongue into your mouth. You whimpered as you felt the faintest hint of a touch along your clit. He pulled away, his attention drawn back to your breasts as he suckled on them contently while he pushed a finger inside you.

You moaned softly into your first as Ichigo began to finger you, yet still your clit ached. His fingers were full, a familiar stretch that filled you out, but your body needed more of him. “Please, Ichigo!” You cried, “I need more.”

Ichigo gave you a tender smile, kissing your forehead as his thumb pushed up on your clit. “This, right?” You nodded eagerly as he circled your clit, but he pulled his fingers out of your sopping wet cunt. “Or maybe you want something else?”

He quickly shoved his pants off, his erection dripping with precum. He gently tapped the head of his cock against your clit before pushing himself deep inside you. Ichigo hissed your name as your tight pussy squeezed around him.

You rolled your eyes as his thick cock filled you. You panted his name as he began to move. Slow, steady strokes, his hips rolling firmly as you squeezed around him. Ichigo cupped your face, kissing you as he angled his hips, pushing his cock deeper inside you. Your moans and cries were swallowed by his kisses as he moved his body against you.

But two weeks was apparently a long time for his body. Your body squeezed around him tighter, as Ichigo scrunched his face, knowing he was close. He brought his hand back to your aching clit, throwing you into a frenzy. You swore you could see stars as your orgasm crashed, and with it, the tightening squeeze of your pussy.

Ichigo groaned into your ear as stilled his body on top of you, his thick cum filling your pussy. The two of you panted as you struggled to catch your breaths. You couldn’t help but whine at the loss of his softening cock as he pulled himself out of you. But a satisfied smile graced his face as he saw a trick of his cum leak out.

“Gimme a few more hours,” Ichigo grumbled, as he crashed next to you on the bed. “I don’t think your pussy hasn’t been filled enough.” He mumbled, pulling you next to him.

You laughed quietly, the trickling sensation of his cum and your juices lingered on your aching thighs. “You’re a terrible liar.” You teased him, “but I missed you, so I’ll let it slide,” kissing him on the lips. Your pussy throbbed at the thought of the rest of the night to come.

Thank you for your request anon! I feel so rusty writing smut 😭 second time writing adult!Ichigo, he's a bit tricky for me to write, but I hope you enjoy this!!

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

I don't know if this is the right place to vent this, but since this is a writing/fandom blog, I'll give it a try. Apologies in advance if my message feels out of the place.

So... has anyone, like me, ever felt "unwanted" by their fandom?

Context: I write for a small fandom (1,500 works on AO3), and I write there from the beginning and foundation (4 years). The thing is: I don't write in English, I write and post in my first language, so my audience was always been very restricted, even if there were (and still are!) a couple of kind souls who translate with Google my stories and read it. I am the most prolific writer in this fandom. And that's a fact: counting the numbers of words published, I am the one who has written more in the whole section. Despite all of this, I have never gotten the chance to become a "fandom big" because of the language barrier. That's okay, I can survive, and I still write every day to update my ongoing longs. Anyway, since this fandom is very small, we are also thirsty for content. Every time an artist posts a single fan art on Tumblr (good or bad or mid) everyone flocks and reblog, putting nice tags and kind words of support. Every time I update a fic (I'm the only one writing regularly)... radio silence. I know they don't own me anything. And it's okay if they don't want to try to engage with my writing, but still... it breaks my heart. It's like I'm invisible. And what's worse... when people talk about our fandom stories on Tumblr they always refer to old fics, to authors who didn't update their stories in years... it's always like they are excluding me on purpose. And I don't know why. When I try to engage, to leave a nice comment on a fic or on a piece of art... they don't even acknowledge me. They always act super enthusiastic when an artist makes a new drawing... but when I put a new chapter, a new story... nothing.

And what's worst: when a "fandom king" makes a post about a headcanon or something... it's always something that goes against something I've written in one of my stories. As they're trying to say: "Don't read those stories. What the author is trying to say is just rubbish. Don't even acknowledge them. "

I don't even know if I'm just being paranoid because I have always been ostracized as a kid and even in my teen years... so it's like a curse I can't wash off myself, and I see people pushing me aside because I'm still suffering from this.

Sorry for the vent... I just would like to hear another voice about my situation. I don't have friends, and even when I try to make "fandom friends", well... I'm not so lucky, as you can see.

Thank you if you would like to read my message. I send a big hug to anyone who is suffering from this kind of issue.

anon, I fully believe this is a language barrier thing. you can’t expect people to engage with you when they can’t engage with something that’s, I assume, in language they don’t understand. and don’t get me wrong, there is absolutely nothing wrong with writing in other languages that aren’t English. but the thing is that you can’t expect people to engage with something that’s not in the language they know, it’s… just not possible. because even if they want to, they just don’t understand what the work even is about.

and Google translate is actually shit when it comes to actually translating. you only get what the text is about (and even then there’s still a 50/50 chance the translation will be off completely) but not the actual feeling, something that can only be translated by humans and not robots, that’s why most people don’t use google translate to help read fics or books in languages they don’t understand. I also know when most people search for a fic to read, they only search for their language and filter out fics that aren’t in their language altogether. so that’s why. I don’t think they’re trying to exclude you, I just think that it’s impossible for them to engage with your works. and I want to make it clear that I am in no way saying you should only write in English, all I’m saying is if your works are in languages that (some) people don’t speak, then they’re not gonna be able to read your works because google translate sucks at translating and if they don’t even have a glimpse of what the works are about, they’re not gonna bother trying to translate them in the first place.

again, this isn’t to say “oh you should write in English” or “works that are written in English are better” at all. write in the language you’re most comfortable with because at the end of the day you should be writing for you. just, you know, don’t get discouraged if people can’t engage with your works.

*also wanted to add that you can’t expect people’s headcanon to fit yours either. I mean headcanon don’t even fit canon. it’s all about the creativity and imagination of artists, you can’t expect them to think like you. that’s not how fandoms work. people will have their own hcs / interpretations of the characters, just because they’re different from yours doesn’t mean they’re trying to throw shade at you. even my own friends in the fandom I’m in and write for have headcanons that are the complete opposite of my fics. and it’s fun to see different perspectives from people. you don’t have to agree with them. but I really don’t think they’re insulting you by posting headcanon that go against your fics, I just think they’re just having fun and having their own interpretations of the characters.

[ghostly-bat]

was wondering if you had any jondami/damijon fanfic recommendations?

Oh boy do I

I'll go ahead and list some that I've recently read, one that I'm currently reading, and just some of my favorites

Recently read:

Spidey Senses by shaobaopeaches

In which Jon’s spider senses repeatedly failed him, and in which Damian is a little shit.

Or

Damian’s brothers find out that not only is he dating his childhood best friend, but also that he’s dating Metropolis’s friendly neighborhood Spiderman.

(this one is actually so cute it quickly became one of my favorites, Jon as spider-man is such a concept and I absolutely love it)

The Man Who Stands To Lose You by fishfingersandjellybabies

It wasn’t possible. That had to be it. This wasn’t real. He was having a nightmare, because this wasn’t possible.

Damian's heartbeat had never stopped before.

(amazing writing, you can absolutely feel the distress and yearning that Jon is going through in this one. It's so soft yet so angsty at the same time, that is the best way I can describe this one lol)

i would know him blind by andthentheybow

Damian’s not particularly worried about the fact that he’s in free-fall, because he’s called Jon’s name and he knows Jon will catch him.

(short, sweet, and soft what more could you ask for. Just Jon catching Damian from falling and then him just needed a minute in his arms)

Currently reading:

Belladonna by rosetealatte

There was something about Jon that set him apart from his father and brother. He was born with all the same abilities as the other two, born with the same black curly hair, born with the same DNA. Only thing was… he came across as very antisocial. Not in the cute-nerdy-awkward way, but the way where he genuinely didn’t care about others and their feelings. Didn’t care about how he could devastate someone with the sheer might of his awesome power. Didn’t care that a thug didn’t deserve death and that there was a weight to different crimes. Criminals were criminals and he was bred to do justice.

or the fanfic where Jonathan Kent makes Damian Wayne his whole life.

(this has actually been a really fun read for me, it's been really good so far and I'm anticipating to see where it goes!)

Some favorites (I'm only listening three and they're all collections cus we'd be here all day otherwise):

ABO Jondami by grayqueen

Connected and unconnected ABO JonDami

(now before we get into it there is nothing explicit but there is some mature content but other that I.love.this.series. I personally don't read a lot of omegaverse but this is it for me. The author also has a lot of other jondami works that I really like too so check those out also!)

Navigating Life by nxghtwxng

A series of DamiJon works in which Damian learns how to make friends.

(this one probably gets recommended a lot but if you read it you'll understand why. Love me a good Jon and Damian college au and this is it. Writing is great, the banter is great, Jon and Damian feel like a genuine couple it's amazing. The author again has a lot of other works that I also like that make me feel incredibly soft)

Oh, Your Good Lovin' (Did Something to Me) by VeryImpressive

This is where my connected pieces of Jon Kent and Damian Wayne will be placed.

All of them that are published, and will be published eventually, are connected. They can be read at any point, but however long it grows, the narrative will be linear.

(now what can I say about this series other than the fact that it is just sexy and I don't mean that just because it does have some explicit content, no I mean that the writing in itself is sexy. The way that this author writes sexual tension is so delicious, I love it. And yes Jon and Damian are of age in this series so no worries lol)

[thechekhov]

Hello! I'm a big fan of your work. I wanted to ask for advice / thoughts about an art problem I've been struggling with that you seem to have at least some sort of solution for?

So basically I'm an animator and digital artist (hobbyist), and I'm constantly coming up with new ideas for things to make. Only problem is that most of these ideas would take up to or longer than 2 months to make because, yknow, animation isn't quick, especially if you want to take your time to make it good. But with so many ideas that all take so long to complete, I often find myself tied and frozen as I can't decide what's most worthwhile to start first. I passionately want to complete all these projects, but my inspiration for each one waxes and wanes in a way I can't control, and I've just been stuck for several months. You juggle a lot of projects- not all of them art, but it still seems applicable here. This is excluding other life responsibilities like work and stuff, I don't have problems with getting that stuff done. This is purely within my creative hobby.

If u can't say anything thats fine I'm just curious- You have a massive output with great quality. Thank you!

This is a very kind message, and one that humbles me a lot, because although I'd love to bestow upon you some sort of advice that might help, or give words of wisdom..............I feel like that would be fake of me because

I also suffer from this very same thing

That is to say, this part of your message:

my inspiration for each one waxes and wanes in a way I can't control

It rings true for me too! I think it might ring true for many others as well.

There are stories in my head all the time. There are stories, and concepts, and IDEAS and they are all so shiny and new in the beginning, and then they slowly peter out and, since I frequently don't have time to do anything about them, they fade into the background.

I have enough trouble with this in terms of COMICS (also a lengthy medium, though less so than animation, which, OOF, you have my condolences, you are stronger than I) that I have started to just come to terms with the fact that some things are not meant to be.

Which is, I think, one of the small bits of advice I can give.

1. Some things may just be ideas, and that's okay.

I think one of the best ways that I've learned to deal with Idea-Death is making it count towards something in the future. That is to say, using them as compost.

In order for this to work, you have to actively put your ideas into the compost pin instead of the trash. That means maybe investing in either a notebook, or a sketchbook, OR just a discord server for yourself where you organize ideas and dump them all into a channel to scroll back through later.

It may seem useless at first, but honestly, it can be satisfying to PUT them somewhere instead of letting them fade away.

Plus, you may one day scroll through them and rediscover an idea at just the right time. OR you may be inspired to take parts of an old idea and repurpose it for a new idea that you DO have motivation for.

However, there's also this part, right?

I've just been stuck for several months

I.......feel this. Sometimes I, too, feel stuck for several months. There are times when even if I WANT to work on something, I just don't have the time. It takes too long to finish!

.........which is why I recommend the following:

2. Don't finish. Just start.

Now, this is the toughie. I can't exactly say that it would work for everyone. But I have learned that I am WAY more likely to return to a project and work on it again sometime in the future if I actually DO something for it the first time I get inspired.

I have SO MANY things that I have not published in my folders. I have sketches of gifs that are 10 frames long. I have concept art sketches boldly labeled with project names that will likely never get off the ground. I have Googledoc files with summary and plot outlines for stories I'll probably never write. I have discord channels with random ass concepts and a few sketches for characters.

And what I have found is that if I just WORK on these ideas when I feel like it, they are more likely to survive, even if they don't thrive right away.

I'm also a huge proponent of Procrastination Rotation.

That is to say, I have so many projects I COULD be working on, that if I ever feel frustrated or stuck on one thing, I just shift myself slightly to the left and do another thing instead. I almost never force myself to work through a block (save for a few money-motivated deadlines) just to complete a thing.

Stuck on a comic? I'll go write a few lines of fic. Unsatisfied with where the fic is going?

I'll go sketch out an illustration. Incapable of finishing an illustration?

I'll go google some references for another comic project and slap them all into an image file for later, so that I have SOMETHING in place for when I want to do studies.

And so on and so forth.

I have comic ideas, and comic sketches, and 30+ pages of original comics sketched. I don't know if they'll make it. It would take a lot of work.

But it also takes very little work - just a few extra pages sketched while I'm bored for an hour. Or a bit of lineart while I listen to a podcast. Or just a doodle somewhere which I snap a pic of and add to my discord channel for that project.

Will it work for everyone? Probably not. But I think that our creative culture is sometimes too attached to a linear production style. The truth is that art, or illustrations, or animation, or comics - none of it has to be on an assembly line. It can be tinkered with and put aside. And then, maybe, picked apart for scraps.........or maybe made into something new!

I don't know if that helps you at all, but I hope it at least helps someone.

And good luck with your animating!