#because i don’t want them in my post so better to filter them out

[azaharinflames]

Today on reasons why I am mad:

“Oh my God just let it go”

And also: “We know this comment isn’t from a real person”

To all the buddies making these type of comments (because we all know it’s them): I hope you lick a rock and your tongue gets stuck.

(I want to say so much worse, but. I’m trying to be nice)

Because: No. We are not letting it go.

But also - who the hell are you to policy how people are feeling? How they react to things? Who the hell are you to decide if something should bother us, or if something is completely fine?

Also - have you let go of Gay Eddie yet? Of Buddie? No, right? So why should we let go of our indignation at the poor way 911 dealt with a queer storyline and the apparent exit of a queer man?

You don’t like Tommy, we get it, we do not give a single fuck about it. The fact is that, despite what you try to deny by claiming comments made by the GA are BTs in disguise, BuckTommy’s been a generally well liked couple for the viewers. And I know they ignore that because God forbid the viewers like BT and don’t see or like the idea of Buddie.

It’s also incredibly easy to se these are GA members, especially when you only need to click on their profiles to see they are normal people who, for once, are going to the official account to show disappointment.

(Also very telling most of the people buddie comments are made with fan accounts, but I digress here)

I do think they don’t want comments like the ones we’ve seen to be liked, or to grow, because they are scared of the consequences of them. They are more scared than us, actually. We know the comments won’t necessarily do a thing, we just want to express our disappointment at anger at how they played their audience and mistreated it, especially their queer audience. We know that bringing Tommy back isn’t gonna be magically done by our comments. But they are scared about them. They thought their voice was the biggest and the loudest and every time they try to speak over us in the comments, they drown.

Anyway. Just needed to get that off my chest.

[eddiernunson]

I Can Do it With a Broken Heart | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 18+ | PREVIEW

NOW POSTED

Summary: You and Eddie have both had crap luck on dates lately, nothing that can't be fixed with a strawberry milkshake. However, he gets asked out on a date and it goes well...until it turns your life on its head and he forgets how to pick up the phone. You don't even care that he's dating someone else you just want your best friend back.

Warnings: idiots in love, best friends to lovers, ANGST, brief EddiexChrissy, ooc Chrissy, attempted SA, bestfriend!Steve, and needy, desperate smut that makes it all worth it.

Excerpt here:

The puff of smoke that leaves his lips as you approach him should not be this gorgeous, it’s practically unfair. “Hey, Eds.” 

He dusts the filter, killing it on the cement table he sits at as he blows out one more puff. “Hey, sweetheart.” 

Just from that particular look in his eye, you can tell something is on his mind. “You okay, there, Munson?” 

He smirks, effortlessly standing up. “I suppose. I’m not sure how to react. Or how you’ll react.” 

Your brows meet your hairline, watching his mind move at a million miles per hour. “Ok, Eddie this better be about a new class of creatures in DnD, or something, because you’re scaring me.”

He smiles, nodding his head over to the halls that lead toward the front door of the campus. “Someone asked me out on a date, earlier, today.” 

Your brows furrow, biting back the jealousy that eats at your chest. Every little part of you holds back the monster that threatens to class its way out, to snarl and hiss at every girl that even so much as looks at him wrong. It’s hard to bite it back, to choke on it purposely, but if you must, you will. 

It tastes like venom as you swallow it back down. “Oh, who?”

A faint pink spreads across Eddie’s cheeks, much to your dismay. Not once, in your fuck, what, seven, eight years, of friendship have you ever managed to see Eddie blush. (Just once but it was when you nearly walked in on him jerking himself off a few short years ago.) “Who?” 

“Um Chrissy. Chrissy Cunningham?” 

Your jaw drops, but your gut falls through the floor. You swear you hear it smash through the tilted floors and fall into the depths of hell. 

“She asked you out?” 

“Hey! Don’t act so surprised! A cheerleader could like me!” 

That was the last thing on your mind. Of course a cheerleader could like Eddie, they’d be stupid not to. No. Every other girl that Eddie has either slept with, or gone on a date with brought no worry to your head, competition, per say. But a sweet girl like Chrissy, one that bore pretty blonde curls, a sweet smile and a sweet disposition, this is like your worst nightmare come true. 

Thanks to the notion of living in a small town, you could recall 99% of the names that Eddie had told you, whether they be hookups or a date. Most of them didn’t intimidate you, only because, selfishly, you could nitpick at things you think wouldn’t work out with Eddie. Whether they were too vapid, too shallow, had none of the same interests as him, only shallowly liked him for his looks, or was a bully…you had something to give great comfort to you to prevent that little jealousy monster from clawing its way out. 

This time, your brain wracked itself for some sort of answer. Some sort of flaw in the Queen of Hawkins High that could settle this uneasiness that has taken over your mind. Nothing. Nothing. 

“I’m not surprised a cheerleader could like you, I’m surprised that Chrissy Cunningham asked you out,” you answer candidly, watching in step with him to where you supposed was his van. “I’m guessing you said yes?”

“I’d be crazy not to!” Eddie answered sheepishly, tugging at the sleeves of his leather jacket. “I’m taking her out on Friday night.” 

“Ah, you’ll tell Steve to take Creeper off hold for us, then?”

Eddie stops mid stride, faltering, his brows pinched as he gives you those big brown eyes. “Shit. It totally slipped my mind.” 

This is also new. Even as his dates would happen any previously made plans with him were always a priority. You just hope this isn’t a new habit of his. 

“We’ll do it on Saturday, yeah?” 

You nod, giving him the comfort you suddenly find yourself craving. From the pep in his step, the rosiness of his cheeks, the warm glint in his eyes, you can tell that he’s truly excited. As a best friend, you tried to be happy for him, however hard it is to make the smile on your face even remotely convincing. 

Eddie curls his arm around your shoulder, tugging you along with him for what is probably another afternoon in his room, clouded by a haze of weed. 

You smoked more than usual, if anything to allow his excitement and plans for his big date in two days to buzz into the background, the bong rippling through your lungs as a punishment for yourself. 

-

Final word count is about 24k so I think I'll post on the 15 to give my editor a fighting chance. If you want to be tagged let me know <3

[the-xolotl]

Morning Kisses

Alastor x gn!Reader

ღ Itty bitty snip !

ღ a/n: this was originally only a warm-up posted to a discord server but a comment from @theradioshusband made me want to post it as well, so thank him :33

summary: Sometimes it’s nice waking up before Alastor because you get some extra cuddles.

ღ TAGS: sfw, just kisses and fluff

It’s rare to ever wake up before he does, the man seems to either never sleep or a perfectly attuned internal clock for dawn. But there are days like today when you rise from your own slumber with his warm body next to you, even with an arm wrapped protectively around your middle. Alastor has you pressed up against his chest, nose firmly pressed against your neck around your pulse point area, he looked peaceful while he slept, almost innocent with relaxed features with a soft smile.

Slowly and gently, you turned over to face him. You didn’t want to wake him just yet. Wanting to admire the cute sight that you’ve been gifted with. However, once you had made the 180° turn his arms tightened around you and he buried his face into your chest. You had to bite your lip to get a giggle. Not very long ago Alastor himself had protested having shared living spaces, trying to convince you that having independence from one another would be better, except now even when he doesn’t admit it he enjoyed these opportunities to hold you. Show you some affection behind closed doors and away from prying eyes.

The deer demon isn’t much for PDA, public or otherwise. He showed affection in different ways, his own ways. But there came reserved moments like these where he indulged you, and himself, in sweet touches and whispered nothings. The moments you could live in your own bubble together and ironically made your own little piece of heaven here in hell. You could stay like this forever if you could, but alas, there are duties and responsibilities that you know Alastor is nothing less than punctual to.

With a gentle hand, you run your fingers through his currently messy red hair. Your nails traced the back of his ears making them unconsciously twitch. It’s then you hear a soft groan.

“Good morning, deerling,” you whisper, leaning down to deliver soft kisses to his cheek. This is your favorite way to wake him up; peppering him with kisses while he’s still sleepy enough to not stop you from smothering him. “You were slow to rise today,” chuckling lowly your lips travel down to his to peck him, “You have to get up.”

Alastor blinked the sleep out of his eyes searching for the clock. “Good morning, darling,” the low reverb of his morning voice seemed to echo in your own chest. His radio filter is usually off until he’s fully awake. A little treat you learned about when you started waking up with him. “Seems I’ve overslept today. You’re getting me into bad habits.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that it made you giggle. “What do I have to do you waking up late?” you brush a stray strand of hair from his face, “It’s not my fault I’m comfortable to sleep with, silly.”

And yet despite his remark, he still hasn’t unwrapped from you. Alastor wasn’t that complicated of a creature, one just needed to learn to read him. He’s used to hiding or lying about his own emotions, it came as natural as breathing and that included his feelings about you. It took a lot of effort to get him to his point but there was still a lot of work to do in the spoken honesty department. For now, you didn’t quite mind it.

He hummed dismissively at your words pulling you into an actual kiss. Tender, warm. A gentleness he’s reserved for you and you alone. It’s slow, with purpose and his hand is now cradling your cheek. His thumb caresses the skin of your face, the very tip of his talon gracing it sending a shiver down your back. But the kiss doesn’t deepen or become heated. It stays just as it is; innocent and soft. The kind of kiss that has you smiling against his lips and don’t want to pull away until you need air.

“Simply starting the day off the right way, dear.” And with a last kiss to your forehead, he untangles himself from you to get out of bed. You almost want to groan at the loss of contact but you know there wouldn’t be any convincing him to stay any little longer. He already woke up “late” by his standards. So instead you watch him as he dresses and fixes himself up in his usual dapper attire ready to go about the hotel as per usual.

“You can sleep in here longer if you wish, sweetheart. It’s still pretty early for you,” he offered coming up to the foot of the bed, his hand coming to rest atop your head, patting you. “But don’t sleep for too long. It’s not good for you to be in bed for so long.”

With that, he vanishes into the void. Not without his shadow lingering behind for a second longer, he grabbed the shadow of your hand that dangled off the edge of the bed kissing your knuckles before also scurrying away. You giggled to yourself thinking, progress.

© 2024 the-xolotl — all rights reserved. do NOT alter, translate, or repost my works on any platform without my consent, do not claim my content as yours.

—

word dividers were done by ME with @ cafekitsune template — give proper credit if you use it.

[mint-yooxgi]

Dreamer - Yandere!Vampire!Yeosang

Yandere AU & Vampire AU - First Person POV

Genre: Mature, Smutty Themes, Internal Monologue

Pairing: Yeosang X Implied Chubby!Fem!Reader

Words: 1,771

Warnings: Hunter/Prey dynamics, Invasion of dreams mentioned multiple times, Possessive and sexual thoughts, violence and blood mentioned. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: It's been a while... sorry for the delay in posting things, like I said, life has been crazy! I hope you all enjoy this one, something short and sweet for you all. Dedicating this one to @anyamaris hehehe... As always, Feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

The Sixteenth and Final of The Feral Drabbles

The loud chiming of the clock tower rings through my ears, nearly drowning out all other sounds. Golden light filters in through the widows, filling the stone walls with the last rays of the setting sun. If I listen closely, I can still make out the faint sounds of your heavy breaths. You cannot escape me, Starling. No matter where you hide, no matter how far you run, I will always find you.

I don’t know how many times I have told you how futile it is to try and get away from me, but you never seen to want to listen. I’m starting to think you rather enjoy the chase. Something about the imminent danger I pose simply gets your blood thrumming with excitement. I can just tell.

Of course, I could end this all in an instant. I could appear beside you at any given moment. My speed and tracking abilities are unmatched, especially when I have what I want in my sights. Yet, where would the fun be in that? I love listening to your heart race because of me. I love knowing I can make your scent spike suddenly with the slightest of sounds. You can sense me getting closer, can’t you? You know that I always get what I want, and what I want is you.

You smell amazing… Have I said that already? That pungent aroma of fear, permeated with the slightest thrill of excitement. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. After all, I know you better than you know yourself. In time, I’ll show you just how perfect I am for you, just as I know how perfect you are for me.

For months I’ve been studying you. The shadows have always been my friends, but when it comes to you, I am the shadows. All those dark and lonely nights I watched you, longing to be beside you, and finally be able to hold you in my arms. I longed to be able to brush my fingertips over your face, tracing loving patterns into your skin that only I can see. I wish to be there for you, and I so badly want you to be there for me.

Your soul called to me. The scent of your blood intoxicates me. Your laugh enchants me, and your smile sets my long dead heart aflutter. Just the sight of you has brought me back to life in ways I never thought possible, and I will cling to that essence of vitality for as long as we both shall live.

There is no me if there is no you.

Now, if only you could see that.

I’ll admit, knocking you out and bringing you to an unknown location was probably not the best way to properly introduce myself. In my defence though, I did overhear you talking to that one friend of yours about certain particular fantasies you’ve always had. You’ll have to excuse me for jumping the gun. I got too excited, and besides, it’s not like you don’t know me.

For months I’ve been appearing in your dreams. It started out small, just in passing at first. A glance of my face here. A hint of my voice there. You seemed to be reacting positively to me, too! I noticed a few times you seemed to be looking forward to my slight visits. Sometimes, you’d even go so far as to continue searching for me in your mind when I passed by. A fact of which made me happy beyond doubt.

Then came the nightmares.

You’re prone to them, aren’t you? The darkest recesses of your mind which you hide away in the light come creeping out of the shadows to torture you while in your most vulnerable state. They’re relentless, and unforgiving. A hindrance to your livelihood which dulls your shine, and petrifies your strength.

You can see why I couldn’t have that. I vowed to keep you safe, and that will always include keeping you safe from yourself.

Which is why I had to step in. I couldn’t leave you to suffer all alone. Not only could I prove to you how valuable I could be to you in your dreams, but it let me interact with you. Even on a subconscious level, I could tell it was going to benefit me greatly. I could talk to you, protect you, keep you interested…

And interested you were! I can still recall the way your eyes felt raking over my full visage for the first time. I could tell that you liked me, and that only made me know stepping into your subconscious mind was the right thing to do. 

We were finally making progress! You could see me for who I was, and I could finally see you without hiding myself away. I could interact with you on a more personal level, even within a dream. 

Everything I said, everything I did, was real. There’s no question about it. I would never deceive you like that, anyways. You deserve my truth, for it will soon become yours as well.

Those nightmares, though recurring, also let me understand you better. Those monsters stalking your dreams will never be able to hurt you again. I made sure of it. I showed them what a true beast looked like. Though, I will say, feeling their blood drip from my hands after rendering them limb from limb is immensely more satisfying in real life than within any dream your mind can conjure. I only wish I could have inflicted more damage on them while they were still alive…

They didn’t suffer enough. Not after what they all did to you. Nobody hurts you, cheats you, lies to you and gets away with it. No one.

I’ll tear them all to shreds. I’ll rip their pathetic flesh from their bones and feed their mangled corpses to the sea. Hell is a blessing compared to what I have prepared for anyone that crosses you. After all, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you…

Oh, look at me… getting so caught up in my thoughts of you again that I nearly missed the sound of you changing your hiding place. It’s adorable how you think you can get away from me. As if you really want to. Why else would you have ran up the clocktower rather than out into the streets the first chance you got?

What will I get once I finally catch my prize? I’ll finally be able to properly feel your skin beneath my touch. Will you hold onto me as tightly as I’ll be holding onto you? Will you whisper my name so sweetly, granting me a long since desired wish? Or maybe, just maybe…a kiss? 

Oh, how I’ve longed to feel your lips pressed against my own, My Sweet Starling. Ever since that one fateful night, that glorious dream we shared, I’ve been longing to know what you taste like in real life. You’ve already let me touch you once before, now all there’s left to do is make your whole body shake in ecstasy in real life.

I know it was simply a dream, but fuck- I can still hear the way you cried out for me. The way your thighs wrapped around my head as I worshipped you between your legs… as I buried myself deep inside of you… I want to feel it again. This time, I want it to be real.

I want to hear those sinful lips of yours crying out my name. I want to hear you gasp as I sink my fangs into your flesh, and drink my fill of you. I want to feel your nails cutting into my back and pulling me closer because you cannot get enough of me. You already know that I can never get enough of you, and I will always prove that my love for you is true.

Oh, Starling… you’re going to make me moan if you keep smelling like that…

Delectable. Sinful.

…Mine.

Already I can feel my mouth salivating at the thought of catching you. My fangs are nearly pricking my lips. Starling, I don’t know if I can hold myself back for much longer…

I can hear your heart racing nearly in time with mine.

Tell me… are you as excited as I am right now? There’s something about the thrill of the chase, isn’t there? Knowing that I’m hunting you, wanting to catch you and finally make you mine. I swore to you that I meant you no harm, and that fact will always hold true. I will never hurt you. You are mine, and I am yours. That’s how it should be. That’s how it shall always be.

See! I knew you wouldn’t be able to deny me! We’re meant to be!

Look at you trying to be quiet after purposely giving away your location. It’s extremely endearing, you know. Try to hide all you want, but you can never escape the inevitable.

You may be able to lie to yourself, My Glorious Starling, but you cannot lie to me. Like I said before, I know you better than you know yourself. I can smell the excitement pouring off of you. You want me to catch you. I knew you wouldn’t be able to forget all that I’ve done for you in your dreams so easily. After all, my actions have always been, and will always be, as real as I am.

Come out, come out, wherever you are.

The longer I let this go on, the more excited you seem to get. Just listen to your heart racing for me! It’s getting louder with each step, and this time, there’s nowhere you can run. This will be the last place you can ever hide from me. Or rather, should I say, the last place I’ll let you hide from me.

From now on, you’re mine.

Fuck- I haven’t felt this excited in centuries. Do you realize how special you are? My blood feels like it’s lighting a fire within my veins, and my hands are shaking. Do you see the effect you have on me?

And, oh, when I finally get my hands on you…

There will be no part of you untouched - unloved - by me. I plan to spend however long it takes worshipping you and showing you just how loved you are by me. Mentally, physically, spiritually… Nothing is too much for you. You deserve nothing but my best, and my best is what you’ve always deserved. Nothing less.

Tick tock, My Glorious Starling… Your time is up.

[novlr]

How do I strengthen my writing? I tend to fall back on bad habits because I can't find good habits to replace them.

Building sustainable writing habits that really help you improve can be really difficult. Especially if you don't know where to look. So, here are 10 tips for building good writing habits that can help strengthen your writing!

1. Clear out your creative faucets

Step away from your project and do something else! Write something different. Let yourself write badly. Or just plain old take a break. Your writing will suffer if you're constantly forcing yourself to work on something that isn't bringing you joy.

2. Read voraciously

In the immortal words of Stephen King: “If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have time to write.” 

Read widely in your own genre and outside of it. Take inspiration from other authors, and read critically to see what they do well and what they could do better.

3. Read some bad writing, too

Breaking down exactly why a piece of writing doesn't work for you can be super helpful for understanding what to avoid in your own work. 

4. Try on different writing styles

Try out different approaches to storytelling to find the voice that feels most like yours. You might find yourself attracted to descriptive, sensory prose, or more to austere and pointed prose. Your writing will be strongest when you're the most authentic self you can be.

5. Explore characterisation 

People are messy. Accurately and compellingly conveying this innate messiness is essential to creating a powerful story. Explore your characters and who they are, and if it's a character-driven story, don't be afraid to let them drive.

6. Make friends with your thesaurus 

A great way to make a piece of prose shine even brighter is to expand your vocabulary. There are a lot of words in the English language that mean similar things but have slightly different moods and tones. Finding the exact right word to convey what you’re trying to say will help your writing land more emphatically with your reader. 

7. Banish filtering words

Filtering is one of the most common mistakes new writers make. It involves describing a character’s sensations or feelings with filtering words like felt, saw, heard, knew, watched, or realised. This holds the reader at a distance and makes them feel like they’re hearing a story, rather than living it.

An example of filtering would be, “She watched the sun rise majestically over the mountains”. It would feel more immediate to simply say, “The sun rose majestically over the mountains”. The reader already knows your point-of-view character is watching; now, the reader can watch it with them. 

8. Glare disapprovingly at the passive voice

Passive voice isn’t necessarily wrong all the time, but nine times out of ten, it will slow down the pace of your story and encourage the reader to lose interest in your characters. Passive voice means having something done to a character — “John was punched in the face by Nick” — instead of a character actively doing something: “Nick punched John in the face”.

9. Familiarise yourself with story structure

The best stories follow an established plot structure, and follow it so smoothly that the reader doesn’t even realise there’s an ancient storytelling template behind it. These structures are designed to introduce just the right amount of tension and suspense and to give the reader the ideal payoff by the end. Rather than being formulaic, they help with pacing and plot development.

10. Get peer feedback

Finally, the best way to make your work as strong as it can be is to get some feedback from other writers. This can be from a professional editor, a beta reader, or a collaborative writing group. Getting a second pair of eyes can help you catch plot holes or inconsistencies before you send your story out into the world.

Want to know more? Read the full post at the link below!

[amiableness]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ READERS ETIQUETTE

making this post to explain some ways readers can support their writers, so if you’re new to tumblr or are curious, here you go <3

𐙚 i understand that sometimes as a reader you can feel nervous about interacting (i was once that way) but i promise you it means everything to writers. this is free and our hobby, support is very much appreciated and keeps writers motivated!

𐙚 please interact! a while back someone let me know they save my works, but don’t interact. i don’t know if it’s because they don’t want it on their blog or what. but please do NOT do this. it’s so discouraging to write something and hear that someone liked your works enough to save them but didn’t bother interacting

𐙚 while likes are greatly appreciated, they don’t do anything for writers besides giving them notes

𐙚 reblogs give us notes, but spread our work which is huge! you can reblog with comments or just leave it blank. i promise you we get so excited to see someone reblogged our works

𐙚 comments, whether under the post or on a reblog, are really appreciated! we love reading your thoughts on our work!

𐙚 if you don’t like something, don’t interact! not everyone will like the same thing and that’s okay. better yet, block someone or filter them out

𐙚 do not comment ‘tag me for the next part’ or ‘i need the next part!’ if you have not interacted with a reblog or like. it’s rude!

that’s all i have for now! i’ll add more as i need!

[leclsrc]

hi auds bear!! dunno if you saw charles' insta story of his new sky ad but now begging for a 2k celebration blurb of dad!charles <3

misspelled – cl16

genre: fluff, 2k celebration, girldad!charles

“It’s L-E-S, love.” He points to the piece of paper peppered with doodles. “Go ahead for me.”

The sun is high and sweltering, with noontime March heat, but still Charles is undeterred in his quest to get your daughter to spell his name properly. The evening prior, you’d presented him with a welcome home card signed by her, and addressed to Daddy Charlse—cue the Leclerc dramatics.

He’d pressed about a thousand kisses to her tiny face, thanking her over and over and keeping the card in his bag so they could cook dinner together. But once the pasta was finished and the toothbrush jingle was sang (twice) and he’d stowed her off to bed (three storybooks later), he padded over to your bed and sighed lowly, stopping just shy of the foot of it. Already you’d sensed his incoming anxious complaint.

It comes. “So. Charl-s-e.” 

“She’s four, honey.” You’d shut your book softly, smiling. “She spells her grandmum’s name as Packal.”

“It’s because I’m always out for work, isn’t it?” He climbed into bed beside you, perching his chin on your stomach. “And this is also because Max keeps insisting he babysit, sweetie. I swear, he’s brainwashing my baby girl.”

You laughed; the vibration extended into him and he smiled fondly at your reaction. “Charles, it’s nothing. They’re working on spelling at school, you know—she’s got a few words she gets wrong sometimes, the same ones. But she’s learning.”

“Charl-s-e,” he’d repeated sullenly. “Charl-seh.”

“If it matters that much, why don’t you try teaching her tomorrow?” You swept your hand through his hair, mouth in a half-smile. “Make an afternoon of it.”

He’d taken your advice very seriously—woken up a bit earlier, cooked them both pancakes (and you French toast, as always) and led her into the yard for some daddy-daughter time. “If you’re thirsty, I made lemonade,” you sing-song from the patio door. “You two’ve been at it for a bit.”

There are scrapped pieces of paper with his name misspelled on most of them—there is the occasional success, though you’re guessing Charles wants just one more—and drawings of your family all over them. You already sense the influx of pictures Charles has on his phone, of these drawings and cards he always posts on his Instagram or sends to you.

At your announcement, Julia looks up, green eyes piqued with interest, grip on the red crayon loosening. But her father’s faster, gently coaxing her back into the mini lawn chair that sits on the yard. She nods along his careful instructions, writing slowly, sun filtering through her light brown hair.

You get short moments of reprieve like this during the season. It’s rare for Charles to visit if he’s in the thick of it—most of the time you travel to a different city to see him, Julia going from your hip to his arms in seconds once he spots the two of you. But this moment is irreplaceable: the sunrays on the grass, the lemonade waiting to be drank, the pieces of paper with Mommy and Papa, bunchfuls of grapes on the patio table. 

He tries again. “Come on, love. C-H-A…” 

She bounds into the kitchen five minutes clutching a final paper, which she shows you with a sun-tinged face of pride. CHARLSE, it reads still. You pour her a glass, wait for Charles to finish packing up the rest of the art materials Julia was too excited to do herself; he comes in a bit sweaty from the sun asking to see the card.

You hand him a glass and press a kiss to his cheek. “Still S-E,” you say, both of you reading over the various scribbles.

“I don’t care.” He pauses. “You see this?” He points to the lower part of the page. 

Best Daddy Ever is written on it in wild vivid colors. You beam, love bubbling up in your chest overwhelmingly. He takes it from you and tacks it onto on the fridge, smiling. “She wrote that. I couldn’t have asked for a better card.” 

[adventuringblind]

Hi, I noticed (mainly bc u read a lot of your work) that you write a lot of dark/ self harm based/themed fics so I was wondering if you would be comfortable with writing a lestappen x reader with an Ed. It’s totally fine if you don’t want to so ofc feel free to ignore

(Your work is always very well written and I look forward to reading what you post next)

One for you and One for me

Lestappen x Reader

Genre: Angst/hurt comfort

Summary: Nobody is immune to the toxicity of social media, Charles and Max help their girl through it

Warnings: HEAVY ED, toxic media, body dysmorphia, sexual acts are mentioned but nothing happens

Notes: You must be psychic because I you sent this while I'm struggling with my own ED. I hope this helps you as much as it did me! 😊

Masterlist

Social media is something that everyone seems to revolve around. In theory, it could be great. Getting to see photos of friends and family and updates from celebrities you wouldn't otherwise interact with.

But here's the catch: in practice, the entire thing falls apart. People are left with images of things that are unachievable. Photoshop and filters have become everyone's new best friends. People put only their best foot forward and try to look as perfect as possible.

And those who don't? The ones who are criticized? The ones who will never meet that expectation? They are left trying to swim to the surface of a never-ending ocean. Drowning under the weight never being enough.

So, they do what they can. Nothing can be that bad if it makes them feel better, right? What's one meal skipped every day to cut back on calories?

In her case, she'd cut it all out. The idea of perfection and control weigh heavy in the pit of her stomach. The one that is currently growling as she weighs herself for the fifth time that day alone.

It's addicting, really, the feeling she gets from having gone another hour without a meal. The elation of seeing the scale drop in number.

The media and fans had been all over her appearance after going public with Max and Charles. She'd tried to ignore, but there was a piece of her looking for an excuse to dive back into the habits of her teenage years.

Her mother said she never looked like she had an eating disorder. Her father only started compliment her on her appearance once she was significantly underweight.

Max and Charles had been there for the fall. Her habits finally catching up to her when she started working with Redbull. She didn't have the energy to keep up with the schedule and one day had simply collapsed.

She'd gotten better. Promised the two boys they would never be on the verge of losing her like that again.

Now here she is, breaking that promise over the triple header by not eating at all. She'd started slowly, but now she has a chance to speed things up before the two boys notice anything. Too busy to really pay attention to her weight.

Maybe it would've been better if they hadn't been caught eating together. The fans might have a little less leverage to use on her. Maybe if she wasn't wearing something more revealing to a party in Monaco then they wouldn't have noticed how she looks.

The number on the scale is far from perfect, but it'll do for now. She slips on her teamwear that is looser than it was a few days ago. A satisfied but tired smile plays on her lips as she walks out the door.

The paddock is busy prior to the race. cameras are everywhere and she does her best to avoid them. Thankful her job is away from the majority of people. The less the cameras see of her, the better. A small part of her wonders if it would simply be better to disappear or become invisible. Maybe if she's thin enough, she'll be invisible from the side.

The day seems to drag on. The race is good and ends with both Max and Charles on the podium. It's the last race of the triple header meaning they will want to celebrate properly tonight. Maybe they will compliment her more now that she's lost weight. There is a prominent gap in her thighs and maybe will even be light enough for them to carry. The though makes her swoon.

The cheery conversation in the car quickly turns to logistics. Plans for dinner are made and she claims to have eaten while finishing up her work. To hungry to wait any longer.

There is a hesitant pause. They like knowing she ate with visible proof. That being the reason they eat together or at least someone is there to tell she ate if asked. Even if it's a bite.

They don't mention it. Charles orders in while Max drags her out of ear shot. She assumes it's because he is pent up, nothing surprising after a race. But nothing happens and she is left mildly disappointed.

Max cups her face. "I'm sorry we've been so busy."

"That's not your fault."

"No, but-" Max looks hesitant. "We know you haven't been eating. You're exhausted and your clothes don't fit. We can feel your bones when we hold you at night." She looks at Max in horror. "We thought maybe if we just made sure you felt comfortable that you would come to us but it's bad again."

Charles puts hands on her hips. "We'll take it slow, like last time. But please, we love you too much to see you become a shell of yourself again."

They say in that embrace until there is a knock at the door. Max is quick to answer it. He comes back holding their dinner. An extra box sits on top. One she assumes is for her.

"We got you a small salad. Nothing massive, no dressing, just vegetables." Max sets it all out on the table. They keep up casual conversation, so she doesn't feel horribly uncomfortable. Until they notice she is just playing with her food.

"How about, we continue talking, but we take turns taking bites? If you manage three, we'll call it a night," suggests Charles. Goal setting was helpful last time around. One week she took one bite of every meal, the next was two, and so on.

She manages three bites. Each of her own followed by one of theirs.

They all clamber into bed afterwards. Exhaustion hits her hard.

No, it's not perfect or straightforward. Relapses happen but healing is full of ups and downs. But she has people who care and who love her for who she is, not what she looks like. They'd rather her be healthy then bringing herself to the brink of collapse. And she loves them enough to try her best which is all they can ask for.

[livums]

Liv’s {Totally Optional Non-Mandatory Completely Voluntary} Pointers for Fleshing Out Character Relationships

Hi I’m liv e. and by middling demand I am going to blab a liiittle* bit about relationships.

So I will start by saying that I’m trained & licensed as a marriage and family therapist. So this is kind of what I do all fucking week. And I like this whole writeblr thing so why not make it fun and about fiction instead. LOL.

The purpose of this liiiiittle** post is to offer some ways in which you, a writer (great job btw!), might deepen your own understanding of the relationships between two or more characters in your writing. More specifically, by thinking a little deeper about how relationships function in real life.

These are ways in which I might conceptualize a relationship between people who seek my services as a clinician.

A small disclaimer: the VAST majority of my work is with couples (because I. prefer to see couples over families, lol), so this advice is coming from that perspective. Please keep in mind also that there are certainly infinite other ways to think about relationships. This is just the way I was trained. Or at least, the parts of my training that resonated with me the most, especially as I began writing more seriously.

My hope is that reading and practicing/toying around with these tips will help add another dimension to how relationships play out in your writing. So um. Cheers! Let’s chat.

*it’s not a little. it’s a lot.

**it’s a long post.

i. What I Say vs. What I Mean

When was the last time your partner or good friend pissed you off?

Maybe they were flippant about your feelings. Maybe they blew you off to hang out with someone else. Maybe they keep loading the dishwasher like a neanderthal.

And did you say to them, “Baby/honey/sweetums/bestie, it really upsets me when you load the dishwasher like that. I’ve asked you to do it X way several times, and it feels like you’re not listening to me, or that you don’t care about how I feel” ?

Probably not? Because, hello? (If you did, first try, then, wow! you’re a better person than i’ll ever be.)

You might’ve said “Dude, stop cramming shit in the dishwasher like it’s a fucking suitcase,” or “Haha, wow, again with the dishwasher. Awesome. No, it’s like, whatever.“ Or you might not’ve said anything at all, on purpose.

There is a tension that exists, there, in the CONTRAST between what we are thinking/feeling/meaning (e.g., I love you/I miss you/You hurt me) and what we are communicating via our words and actions (e.g., You never make time for me/You’re so lazy/You’re such a(n) [expletive of choice]).

That tension is ... really fucking interesting to read, huh!

Personally, I have a lot of fun watching the needs/wants/feelings of a character (that we might be privy to, as readers) get filtered through their unique... voice.

So say you write a character who is quite rough around the edges, and not very skilled in affection. They have a deep yearning to be close to [love interest], but they just aren’t accustomed to languaging their true feelings. Maybe we see how scared they are of putting their feelings out there. It’s vulnerable. It’s terrifying.

So instead of “I really care about you, [love interest]”, maybe it comes out something more like “Don’t you have anything better to do with your time than follow me around all fucking day?”

And we, the readers, are like, wow! That’s not what you were thinking at all man! You’re so bad at this, that’s awesome.

So the point of all this is that it’s very helpful to clarify for yourself, in any meaningful interaction between characters in or soon-to-be-in a relationship:

What are the characters individually thinking during this interaction? What are the emotions that are present? How does it show in their body or their movements? Are they careful not to let these things show, or do they not notice at all?

How are they expecting this interaction to go? (Are they afraid something might go wrong? Are they looking for a certain reaction from each other?)

What DON’T they know about what the other person is thinking? What are their assumptions about how the other person perceives them--in general, and in this moment?

What is the GAP or the CONTRAST between all of the above and what actually ends up coming out of their mouth? Or what actions they end up physically taking (or not taking)?

Are the characters aware of their own contrast, here? How do they feel about it? Or, do they think they are being perfectly congruent?

In this way, you have the ability, as a writer, to create some devastatingly (or delightfully) poignant moments between characters. These are the moments that can really sell the reader on the relationship--its importance (why are you showing us this?) and its appeal (thank you for showing us this, this blew our tits off, etc).

ii. Tender Spots and How to Attack Them for Fun and Profit

So we’ve got issues.

What are the things that really fuckin get at you? Those topics that, when brought up, make you really upset and really defensive at like, mach speed. Maybe you’re insecure about your skills. Maybe it really bothers you when people see you as weak/unintelligent/a burden/unattractive. Maybe you have a rough and complicated relationship with a family member.

So these can be thought of as, like, tender spots (lol). You can also think of them as “raw” spots, sensitive spots, or triggers.

Figure out what your characters’ are!

This is another key way in which you can create deep and believable interpersonal drama--Character A (accidentally or intentionally) stomps all over Character B’s sensitive spots. So to speak.

A very cursory and relatively uncomplicated example of this in action:

Tasha and Mimi are two adults in a committed partnership.

Mimi’s got a real fucking chip on her shoulder about being seen as a burden--her father always went to great lengths to make sure she knew just how much he did for her, just how many opportunities he passed up in order to raise her, just how great his life would have been if she’d never been born.

Tasha is the oldest of five siblings. She was frequently tasked with their care, growing up. She did her best not to complain, as her parents were always very busy working to keep a roof over their head. So, Tasha did her part. She would’ve loved to rest and play and goof off like other kids and teens, sure, but it never felt possible with all of her responsibilities.

Mimi is suddenly injured and is unable to do certain things on her own that she had been doing before. Tasha goes about taking care of these things as well as taking on certain other tasks on her own that the pair of them may have tackled as a team before. Tasha feels stretched very thin by the workload, but is deeply concerned about how Mimi feels. There’s nothing to be done about the situation, she reasons, so there’s no point in complaining about how stressed out she is.

Mimi offers to help to the best of her ability, but Tasha is very concerned about her, and insists that Mimi rest and not exert herself. Mimi insists back. Tasha insists back back.

Mimi points out how stressed Tasha must be. Tasha agrees that she is stressed, but does not elaborate on her feelings. Mimi assumes that Tasha must think that she is a burden.

Mimi then becomes very emotionally activated--she is reminded, consciously or unconsciously, of how shitty it felt to have her father tell her over and over again what a burden she is, and how better off he would be without her. So this must be how Tasha really feels about her, Mimi accuses.

Tasha, who is very stressed but who cares very deeply for Mimi and her well-being, and who does not see Mimi as just a burden, becomes very activated in turn--she feels maligned and misunderstood. And now she certainly can’t talk about how stressed out she is, because it will only convince Mimi that she is right.

So Tasha is now convinced that she must continue to hold her feelings in in order to keep the peace--she’s reminded of her childhood spent taking care of others, and how she never felt allowed to express herself.

This example is obviously from a very zoomed-out view, chronologically, and is not exactly the way we would see it written in fiction (fiction is much more moment-by-moment and, well, exciting, usually). BUT we can see where Tasha and Mimi’s sensitivities lie, and how they specifically hurt each other with their behavior (unintentionally, in this case) by stomping RIGHT ON those sensitivities.

Readers love drama. And drama makes the plot go ‘round! So don’t be afraid to lay it on them!

In your (very good and compelling) writing, ESPECIALLY if you want to write engaging relational conflict, you would do well to clarify what your characters’ deepest sensitivities are. Consider the following:

What needs went unmet for them, growing up? A very cliche therapist-y question, but for good reason--our upbringing is where many of our deepest insecurities originate.

Additionally/alternatively, what do your characters understand to be their role in relation to other people? E.g., are they always the caretaker, the burden, the comic relief, the heartbreaker, the lonely hero, the boss? How did they first get this idea of who they’re ‘supposed’ to be towards others, and how was this reinforced throughout their life? Are they satisfied or dissatisfied with their ‘lot in life’? What do they hate about their ‘role’, if anything?

What sorts of situations might remind them of what they hate most about this role? E.g. ‘I enjoy taking care of others, and I’m good at it, but my partner gets upset if I discuss how stressed I get sometimes--I’m never allowed to express myself.’ How can you incorporate these situations into your story to create conflict?

How does your character respond when these sensitivities are triggered? Do they lash out? Do they retreat and get quiet? Do they ghost people altogether?

What do they think will happen if they are unwilling or unable to fulfill this role in their relationships with others? E.g., ‘My partner will leave me if I am not a good caretaker’, ‘Nothing will get done right if I’m not the one taking charge’, ‘If I don’t keep others at arms’ length, even if they say they love me, I’ll end up hurt.’

This is another way in which you can help your relationships really come to life! Anyways. Read on for more cheer and relational joy!

iii. We’re Attracted to What Hurts Us Sometimes, AKA Oops! I Ran into the Knife, Ten Times,

(less of a part 3 and more a part 2.5, but it was simply too long. so,)

So maybe you have a good idea of what your ideal partner/bestie looks like. It’s probably any number of positive traits: kind, considerate, good sense of humor, shapely posterior, ambitious, active, fun-loving, studious, etc.

What probably don’t make the list are things like: emotionally distant like my mother with whom I long to have a reparative experience.

Maybe you’ve witnessed (or been in) a relationship wherein all parties can be described as ‘just so bad for each other’. And maybe this relationship should not have lasted as long as it did (or shouldn’t be lasting as long as it is). And maybe you’re like--’Why are these assholes still together?’ Or, importantly: ‘Why did these assholes get together at all?’ The answer may surprise you! But more likely, it won’t.

Sometimes, we pick people on purpose specifically because they stab us right in the sensitive spot (again. so to speak).

(i should clarify before moving on: I am specifically NOT talking about relational abuse, here. That’s kind of an entirely different subject that is like. the cousin of this subject. In this discussion, I specifically mean relationships in which there is no major power differential--you’re just bad for each other. These relationships can be what we might call ‘toxic’, sure, and painful, but not abusive. The distinction is important, moving forward. ok ty)

[Author’s Note: I need everyone to know that I wrote and subsequently deleted 700 words here because I realized they didn’t make any fucking sense ok. let’s try this one more time.]

Essentially, it’s a known phenomenon among humans that, when we have experience with relational distress in the past (e.g. a partner who neglected you emotionally, or parents who disregarded boundaries you tried to set), we like to seek out similar people with whom to form relationships. Weird! But not really.

The human brain seeks closure and resolution--where we couldn’t get things to work out with our parents, or our exes, we try to get the same situations to work out next time, with someone new.

Let’s look at another example, together. Take my hand,

Suppose you write a character (Character A) whose mother was in and out of their life from a young age, and never seemed to prioritize them. Now suppose you are looking to craft a fraught or tragic or dramatic romance (or other relationship) with this character. Using what you’ve written of your first character’s backstory, you can do just that!

It’s perfectly believable, you know now, for your Character A to pursue a love interest (Character B) who has a tendency to... not want to stick around. Maybe this love interest seems to fear commitment and intimacy.

Now, maybe Character B in actuality has a very dangerous profession that requires that they maintain the utmost discretion, and be ready to flee anywhere at a moment’s notice. Maybe the fate of the city/kingdom/nation/world relies on B’s profession.

It probably doesn’t make them leaving all the time hurt A any less, though.

Character A, unconsciously or not, is determined to make things work this time around. As the relationship deepens, B is faced again and again with the choice--stay, for your love, or go, as duty commands. Maybe they’ve taken a vow for their profession that is no light thing. They leave, time and time again.

Character A, unconsciously or not, remembers this feeling--it’s an old one. Mother, time and time again, chose something else over them. It would be understandable for A to feel a deep anger towards Mom and B both. Maybe A takes drastic action to get back at B (action that is also, symbolically, retaliatory towards Mom)--maybe they cheat on B, or do something that endangers their own safety.

When all they really want is just to get B to stay.

It’s probably very clear now why it’s not so simple a thing for A to choose to date someone more consistent--this is something that goes beyond B alone.

In this way, you can very easily weave themes into the relationship(s) of your main characters. Maybe the story of A explores the pain of abandonment, or loneliness. If B is the protagonist, maybe the story explores the way we excuse our shitty behavior in relationships (maybe the job is a pretext--maybe they really are scared of commitment), or maybe it’s about the dilemma of duty over love.

Relationships don’t always make sense. Or rather, they do make sense, just in a different way than we might expect. You can use this understanding now to intentionally explore a number of complex relationship dynamics, and to create nuanced (but sympathetic) characters. As you do, consider:

In your existing characters’ relationships--what keeps these assholes together? Why do they have to be with each other, as opposed to anyone else? This is important, again, for selling the reader on the relationship, especially if it’s your work’s main relationship.

What initially attracted your characters to each other? Consider again from the previous section (what is this, a fucking textbook?) the historically unmet needs of your character(s).

How do your characters go about expressing their needs? Think again about CONTRAST here--what is the discrepancy between what the actual need is, and how the character seeks to fulfill it? E.g. ‘I need to keep B from leaving me, because it really hurts me when they go, so I’ll go risk my life just to keep their attention (rather than express this pain to them).’

What similarities, if any, exist between your MC’s relationships with the people in their present lives, and your MC’s childhood relationship(s) with their caregiver(s)? Could you expand on/deepen any similarities in your writing? What themes might emerge if you did?

iv. Change / The Arc

So you’ve got your work’s central relationship. It’s believable, it’s just the right amount of dramatic, it’s suitably tragic, and just all-around devastating. People will cry. Great job!

Now what?

Well, that depends--what ending do you envision for your relationship?

If they remain together, do they get the happily ever after? The happy-for-now? Is the reader left to wonder about whether or not their relationship will survive?

Do they not make it at all? Are they separated by tragedy? Do they crash and burn? Or maybe they try their best, but despite how badly they love each other, it’s just not enough?

Whatever the Point B of the relationship is, if it’s central to the work, you’re gonna want to have a clear arc in there. Or not, idk, I’m not your mom.

You might already know, if you inhale every piece of writing advice you come across (like me), what makes a compelling character arc. The good news is that it’s much the same with relationships! Kind of.

Systems (relationships) tend towards homeostasis. Without deliberate intervention, relationships want to remain the way they’ve always been. Just like people!

And just like characters, relationships need a reason to change. Like a catalyst, or a motivation. Whatever the hell you wanna call it.

It’s not always, like, complicated to figure out the driving force behind change in your central relationships. Sometimes the pieces fall together!

Pay attention to the characters within the relationship--as your characters progress through their arcs, their relationship will naturally shift. It will probably not look exactly the same as it did when it began--there might be similarities, of course (they’re not entirely different people.. usually. And there’s a beauty to bookending a story with the familiar, certainly). But in this case, the relationship can be thought of as an extra character, almost. It’s unsatisfying to read a whole story wherein a central character stays exactly the same. It’s further strange and incongruent for a relationship to stay exactly the same while the characters have like, achieved actualization or whatever.

Outside events can force change on a relationship, just as they do individual characters. A couple that’s close to Characters A and B get married--and A & B start to wonder what their future together even looks like. B’s company hires a fiiiine honey, who’s exactly B’s type, and A starts steaming about it. A pandemic ravages the nation, and to prevent the spread of the virus, A and B have to stay inside togeth

YOU GET IT ok anyways I’m fucking tired of writing. If you’re wanting to develop the arc of your MCs’ relationship(s), think on some of this:

Do your characters see any problem(s) present in their relationship? Are they all equally aware of the problem(s)? Do they agree on what the problem(s) are?

How secure are your characters in their relationship? If anything could possibly cause doubt and conflict to arise, what is it?

Where do your characters see their relationship going in the near future? In the far future? Do their visions align? If not, how do they differ? Do they even want the same thing?

Is the arc of the central relationship congruent with the arcs of the characters who comprise it? I.e. does the relationship remain exactly the same as it was when it started, despite the characters undergoing wild metamorphoses? Is the reverse true?

When you think about their relationship, INDEPENDENT of any ending you may already have decided, where do you see it going? Like, where do these people feel like they’re headed, realistically? Does this align with the ending you’ve decided on for them? If not, this doesn’t mean you’ve written a bad relationship or anything, it’s just a possible sign that some really intense shit might have to happen in order to shift their course, y’know? Or not--the world is your oyster and you are the God of your own creation!

What are you trying to say with your story, and do the arcs of the central relationships reflect that message?

final thots

If you read all that shit, thank you. I wrote it all in one sitting and posted it without proofreading 💜

In all seriousness, I want to emphasize that, although some of these aspects of relationships are most visible in rels with a lot of anguish and maybe even some toxicity, you by no means have to write this kind of relationship in order to make use of these tips. You could write a very Normal couple!

The idea is to offer you some avenues through which to consider aspects of your characters’ psychology and personalities, and how they mesh or clash with their partners’ or besties’.

Anyways I hope this was helpful. I love talking about relationships I could literally go on and on all day. Which I kind of just did so. lol.

I’ve been liv and I’ve got two main WIPs I’m working on right now: The Romance of the Demigods and The Marking Blood and they’re full of really really super normal relationships and examples of me definitely taking my own fucking advice.

Cheers and happy writing! 💖💖💖

[canarysage]

…make a psd?

this is a question i get pretty routinely, and i’m going to tell you upfront: there is no one way to make a psd. there’s no ‘better’ way, no ‘easier’ method, you just have to figure it out yourself.

with that said, this post is going to be how i, personally, make my psds, just for the sake of reference. my way isn’t better or worse than anyone else’s—it’s just the way i do things ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

i. making a showcase/moodboard

depending on the psd you want to achieve, your moodboard will probably look different—if you’re making a blue psd it will be mostly blue, if you’re making a psd based on a certain character or card set it will be based around that, etc. i made myself a general showcase that i test my psds on that includes both irl images and darker skin characters, because i like for my psds to work for those purposes most of the time. my showcase is below if you’d like to use it!

it’s best to include sources you edit frequently so you know what works on them and what doesn’t but how the moodboard looks exactly is up to you ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i also recommend using swatchies (original by zeroresources on d*viantart) as long as you bear in mind that swatchies is not a great guideline for actual dark skin

ii. creating the base

actual step two is creating a folder but that takes like two seconds. do make a folder though or you will be sad.

after making a folder, start making the base of your psd; whatever the foundation is going to be. depending on how you want your psd to look, this will look very different. i personally always start off with a gradient map, just to get things going

my settings for this are the default black and white gradient map set to reverse, and it’s set to blending mode soft light at 35% opacity. i typically do something in the range of 20-45% opacity depending on how i want it to look

i’m honestly not sure where i picked up this habit but it does make it a little easier to get things going for me personally. it’s a simple change but it’s a good start. if you want higher contrast you can do the same thing but without reversing the gradient map

next thing i do when creating a base is add a selective color layer, which helps things pick up the pace. i’m too lazy to write it all down but these are my settings:

worlds ugliest collage so i don’t max out my images LMFAO apologies. obviously depending on what colors you want to focus on this will look different. for this one i completely axed magenta and emphasized blue and red/yellow. i also maxed out the black in white, which is extremely typical in my psds. this is what our psd looks like now:

pretty different already, right? nice!

next thing i typically do is another selective color layer. it’s typically pretty similar to the first, but once again that depends on the psd! the worlds worst collage again:

pretty much the same but a little different. and our results:

as you can see, this is pretty saturated and a little all over the place. not to worry—let’s move onto the next step!

iii. let’s get serious

this step varies a lot depending on what my psd needs, but because this one is pretty sayurated right now and that seems to be my main problem, i’m going to add a photo filter in a light grayish-blue to help desaturate and cool it down

(i unchecked preserve luminosity here because i think it looks neat. i don’t recommend doing that if you’re using a darker color bc it gets hard to see, but you can do whatever forever)

obviously this isn’t the only way to desaturate but i find it fun. observe:

definitely better, at least to me, but still not great. we’re going to add another selective color layer bc the skintones look kinda wack. welcome back world’s worst collage:

i only adjusted some of the colors in this one because i wanted to fix specific problems; namely that the darker skin tones were too dark and ashy.

mission accomplished

with that done, it’s time for hue/saturation! for funsies ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ this part i just had some fun with. a new collage:

and the results:

purple! this wasn’t what i originally had in mind but it was much more fun to do tbh LMAO i decided to turn the cyan/blue into purple because it looked better in my head

iv. okay now get silly again

now that the main meat—so to speak—of our psd is done, we can add some fun layers. if you want ideas for this, i have a post about it, but what i’m gonna add as my first silly layer is channel mixer, which is one of my personal favorite layers

pretty simple adjustments for channel mixer honestly ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ but i thought this would look fun. as a general rule of thumb i don’t mess with the red channel so much because it tends to screw over my skintones, but, as with anything, you’re free to do whatever forever

next fun layer i’m gonna add is a noise gradient map, also just for funsies

i randomized until i got a nice pink-ish kinda one. i was hoping for blue but all the blue ones were too green and i got impatient LOL

a little fucked but for sure fun. i set the gradient map to soft light at about 15% opacity. it gave the psd a fun texture and a bit of extra warmth

v. finishing touches

sometimes i add a couple more layers, sometimes i add less, but this psd feels about done so imma wrap it up. i typically don’t save my psds as the showcase for my storage’s sake, so i’m gonna grab something to use as an icon. i typically go ahead and size it at about 300x300

hello, haruka! once i have my icon set i duplicate the folder into the new project and name both the project and the folder. how you name it is up to you, i usually either use a random word generator or just whatever comes to mind. in this case, i’m just naming it ‘tutorial psd’ lol

then go to file and save as psd, bada bing bada boom you’ve got a psd ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

as i said at the beginning, there’s no one way to make a psd. this isn’t the only process or even the best one, it’s just how i personally work. the best way to make a psd on your own is fuck around and find out <3 canarysage out

…so that’s how you do it.

P.S. the psd i made here will be posted under the tag #tutorial psd. you’re free to poke around in it and use it as per usual. if you want to copy it, feel free, but don’t claim it’s your own or repost it as your work. thanks!

P.P.S. wondering about adjustment layers? see photopea for dummies. wondering about something i haven’t covered yet? shoot me an ask ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

[trohpi]

Hiya ^^

I heard that you take one-shot requests with trans characters and so I was wondering if you could maybe help me out with this...

I git the idea bc I just got my fcking period (suxks as a trans person) and needed some comfort so I thought trans!Sirius (ftm) having his period after hogwarts where he and Remus live together and he feels like sh!t because he's bleeding out and it's giving him dysphoria and then Remus takes care of him and makes him hot chocolate.

I'd rely appreciate it. Thank you so much <3

hello!! hope youre feeling better, periods can be tough ik. this will actually be my first request, sorry it took longer than expected. i hope i did your idea justice and that you enjoy <3

wolfstar w/ ftm sirius • 2.4k words • cw: periods, dysphoria

cross-posted to ao3

Sirius wakes to the sound of incessant meowing and a low ache in his gut. Bleary-eyed and sleepy as he is, he doesn’t even register the pain at first. He shifts under rumpled sheets, mid-morning sun flooding the room and blinding him. A ball of splotchy tri-coloured fur sits in the window sill, pawing at the glass and disrupting the blackout curtains Sirius insisted they have in the bedroom. Unwanted light filters through the window and he groans.

“Linette,” Sirius calls, voice thick and almost whiny with sleep. “What are you doing?”

She only meows again, tail twitching eagerly as she watches whatever it is that has caught her attention outside. Likely a bird or a squirrel, or perhaps one of the bunnies that moved into the backyard. Sirius huffs and moves to sit up, aiming to grab Linette and exile her to the living room, when a painfully familiar cramping of the abdomen hits him and Sirius’ mouth goes dry.

All remnants of sleep wash away in an instant, leaving him hyper-aware of every feeling, every minute sensation in his body. The incoming headache, the tight soreness of his lower muscles, and— Sirius discovers with a shudder as he shifts— the warm wetness of his underwear.

“Fuck,” Sirius mumbles, a sick feeling churning within. He quickly gets up, swallowing thickly at the small blood stain on the pale blue sheets. Moony just bought those, he thinks fuzzily, and suddenly he feels the urge to cry.

Sirius’ periods have always been irregular, no way to consistently track them, and it’s only gotten harder in the months since he’s started his masculinization potions. It's almost worse when he’s blindsided like this, wholly caught off guard by the onslaught of hormones and emotions. At least when he knows it’s coming, he can mentally prepare. This time, his walls were down, and now his mind buzzes as he stares at the stained sheets below.

He can’t handle this right now. He quickly looks away, resolving to deal with it later. Numbly, he scoops up a squirmy Linette from the window sill and makes his way out of the room.

Remus is curled up on the sofa, cup of too-sweet coffee cradled delicately in scarred fingers as he reads a book, the Muggle one his mother gave him when they moved in last month. He perks up at the sound of footsteps, turning to see Sirius in the hall entrance. The small, fond smile on his face quickly falls into a concerned frown when he sees the paleness of his face and tense line of his body.

Sirius’ breath hitches, a tangled mess of emotion swelling within him. He wants to not exist, and yet he wants so desperately for Remus to hold him, to cradle him just as delicately as he would the chipped porcelain mug he drinks from every morning.

Remus sits up, setting the well-loved mug aside as his book falls facedown on the cushion beside him. “Cariad?”

Sirius’ eyes well with tears, but they don’t fall. Sirius hates crying, has hated it since he was a child and his mother would punish him for it. Even now, nearly three years since he got out of that house, he can’t shake the urge to bottle everything up and hide.

Linette squirms in his arms again, dragging him back to reality. Sirius sniffles, letting her drop to the floor. The mostly-white calico wastes no time sprinting back to the bedroom, no doubt to meow at the window once more, but Sirius hardly pays attention to that. No, his eyes are locked on his boyfriend, who has already made his way over to him with an air of worry.

“Are you alright?” he asks, hands twitching as if he wants to reach out but is unsure if that would be okay. It would be. Sirius craves his touch, always will.

Sirius reaches out and tangles their fingers together for him, squeezing harshly as if doing so will tether them together.

“There’s blood on the sheets,” he mutters, and the concern melts into understanding.

“That’s alright,” Remus says softly, squeezing back. “I’ll handle the bed, you go take a bath.”

Sirius immediately shakes his head. “No, Moony, you don’t have to—”

“Sirius, it’s okay. I want to do this for you.”

“But…” Sirius chews on his lip, looking away shamefully. “It’s gross, Rem.”

Remus reaches up and gently grips his chin, tilting his head up to make Sirius look at him. His hazel eyes are tender and reassuring, immediately making Sirius melt just a bit.

“How many times have you cleaned up blood from my sheets after a full moon, Sirius?”

“It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Not at all. That blood isn’t from… from down there.”

“It’s just blood, love,” Remus says patiently. “Doesn’t matter where it came from.”

He hesitates, chewing on his lip once more. On one hand, he thinks he’ll end up in a ball of tears if he tries to clean the sheets himself, but on the other hand, he can’t help but feel self-conscious. Despite having been together for close to two years, Remus hasn’t seen that yet. Sirius has made sure of it. Sure, he’s been there during his period— he’s cuddled him and helped fulfil his cravings and warmed up the Muggle heating pad Lily gave him in their fourth year— but he hasn’t actually seen the blood. Sirius’ dysphoric mind is convinced that he will be disgusted with Sirius and his body when he sees it, even if he knows that Remus would never.

“I can see you spiralling,” Remus mutters, running his thumb along the backs of the other man’s knuckles. Sirius sighs.

“Sorry, I just—”

“Sirius,” he says softly. “Let me help you, please?”

He swallows thickly and, before he can change his mind, says, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Remus repeats with a smile, tugging him closer and pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. “Now, go take a nice long bath, cariad. I’ll have your heating pad and a cuppa waiting for you when you’re done.”

Sirius hums, a warm feeling settling in his chest. “Switch the tea for a cup of that special hot chocolate your mother sent and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“A cup of mam’s hot chocolate it is, then,” Remus says easily and Sirius feels a small smile slip on his face, his first one all morning.

“You’re too good to me.”

“You deserve good.” The other man puts some space between them and before Sirius can even mourn the loss, he’s being gently shoved in the direction of the bathroom. “Now go. I’ll get your clothes too once you’re in the tub.”

“Alright,” he says softly. “Thank you, Moons.”

“Of course, love.”

And with that, Sirius moves down the hall and stops by their bedroom. He grabs his wand and some of his clothes— minus the fuzzy knit sweater, which is actually Remus’ and two sizes too big— and makes his way to the large, tiled bathroom. The door shuts behind him with a quiet snick and, carefully avoiding eye contact with the mirrors, he quickly casts blurring charms on them all. He usually doesn’t have to resort to such measures, rather comfortable in his body now that he’s been magically transitioning for over a year, but his periods always bring about a particular sense of discomfort regarding his appearance.

Trying his best not to let his thoughts drift negatively, he strips off his bloodied clothes and sends them to the laundry hamper in their bedroom with a flick of his wand.

The water is warm and relaxing when he sinks into the tub, soothing aches he didn’t even realise he had. Sirius sighs, letting his head fall back against the tile and his eyes fall shut.

Sirius had almost thought that he was done with periods. He hasn’t bled in months, and he had just started getting his hopes up that the potions had finally stopped his cycle as they were meant to, but no. He feels a bit defeated, if he’s being honest with himself. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle this on his own.

But you’re not on your own, a voice in his head reminds him as he begins to clean himself.

And the thing is, the voice is right. He has Remus.

Sirius has always had trouble seeking help from others, most especially those he’s close to. It always sparks a sense of shame. Maybe his mother moulded that into him, or maybe he was always like this. Whatever the reason, he struggles.

Remus tells him it’s okay to need help sometimes. Sirius knows that, logically. He’s been on the receiving end of that request more times than he can count for Remus— in the days leading up to and following the full moon he needs all the help he can get. He also knows that if someone cares about you, they won’t mind lending a hand when you need it. It just takes some getting used to, Sirius supposes. The care, the support, the concern.

He is getting used to it, slowly but surely. Has to, when he lives with Remus Lupin of all people. His tall, scarred, mean-looking werewolf boyfriend is actually the softest and most loving person he has ever met, and he refuses to let Sirius get away with shutting him out.

Sirius loves him even more for it.

Only a couple minutes later finds him dripping onto the bath mat, towel wrapped tightly around his waist as pink-tinged water swirls down the drain. He quickly pulls on Remus’ sweater and begins rummaging through the cabinets, searching for his cloth pads. He finds one buried underneath a pile of hair scrunchies and he places the pad in his boxers, securing it with a light sticking charm just so he doesn’t have to worry or think about it.

He tugs on his baggy sweatpants with a wince, lower muscles cramping in protest at the lack of soothing warmth now that he’s left the bath. It’s not quite bad enough to need a pain relieving potion just yet, especially not before he’s got his hands on his heating pad, but he can already tell this one will be rough.

At least he’ll have Remus to help him through it, even if he has to force Sirius to let him do so.

Sirius feels a bit like a wet cat as his damp curls drip onto the muted orange sweater he stole borrowed. He quickly grabs his abandoned wand off the counter and casts a quick drying spell, feeling the weight disappear off his head as his curls become light and bouncy once more. With a huff of satisfaction, he slips his wand into his pocket and opens the bathroom door to leave. Immediately, he hears a pleased mrrrp followed by Linette darting between his legs, purring and rubbing all the while. He chuckles, bending over to scratch at her cheeks.

“Finally more interested in me than the birds outside the window, huh, ma pépette?”

Linette purrs even louder in reply, rubbing so aggressively against his hands that she nearly stabs herself in the eye with his fingers. Sirius snorts inelegantly and scoops her up, letting her perch herself comfortably on his shoulder before he finally steps out of the bathroom.

Immediately he can smell the faintest hint of chocolate and nutmeg wafting from the kitchen. Warmth bubbles in his chest as he shuffles into the living room. On the sofa sits the quilt Effie gifted them when they moved in, Sirius’ heating pad folded with care on his seat. Gentle music plays from the wireless and he has to bite back a soft smile. Merlin, he loves this man.

“Have a nice bath, love?”

Sirius turns to see Remus standing in the doorway, two steaming mugs held in his hands. Linette chirps happily at the sight of him, and Sirius privately agrees.

“It was alright,” he hums lightly. “S’that for me?”

“Ah, no, actually. Figured I’d get two hot chocolates all to myself while my poor, sweet boyfriend wastes away on the couch all by himself.”

“How utterly cruel of you, Moons. I’m heartbroken.”

Remus snickers. “Go sit down, Pads.”

“Mm, alright.”

Sirius plops down on the couch, jostling Linette whose tail flicks in displeasure, and burrows under the cosy red quilt. Before Sirius can even think to do it himself, Remus has set the mugs down on the end table and grabbed the heating pad.

“Rem, I can—”

“No, I’ve got it,” he reassures. “Drink your hot chocolate, I’ll set this up.”

“If you say so,” Sirius says a bit reluctantly.

Linette drops off his shoulder onto the couch cushion next to him as he reaches for one of the mugs.

The first sip is heaven, always is. Hope Lupin’s hot chocolate recipe is a gift from Merlin himself.

“Godric, this is fantastic,” Sirius groans delightedly. Remus chuckles as he plugs in the heating pad.

“Isn’t it?”

“Tell your mother she’s a saint for me next time you phone her.”

“‘Course, Pads,” Remus says as he walks back over, careful to avoid tripping on the cord. Linette hops down and starts smelling it curiously.

“C’mon, baban, leave it alone,” he chides while batting her away gently.

“Aw, leave her be, Remus! What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She could chew on the cord and be electrocuted,” he deadpans. Sirius blinks.

“Right. Forgot Muggle technology is utterly terrifying. Carry on, then.”

Remus snorts and picks her up, setting her on Sirius’ lap which has already started to warm up. She purrs, cuddling into the heat and closing her eyes contentedly. Sirius runs a hand through her fur while he takes another sip from his mug. A weight settles next to him on the couch as Remus cuddles up to his side, reaching over him to grab his own hot chocolate from the end table.

Sirius hums happily, tilting his body into Remus’ and melting against the cushions. A little peck on his temple makes a soft grin slide on his face and he lets his eyes fall shut.

“Thank you for this, Moons.”

A hand reaches out to tangle with his own, squeezing gently but firm. “Of course, cariad. You mean the world to me.”

“You do, too. I wouldn’t be able to do this without you, you know.”

Remus hums, pressing another kiss to his head before he says softly, “Well, good thing you don’t have to, then.”

[amongemeraldclouds]

better than revenge | alt chapter: one last cigarette

Toxic!Ex!Mattheo Riddle x f!Reader

Chapter summary: Just when you were ready to leave the past behind, the very person you're trying to escape shows up. 949 words.

Author’s note: Final upload for this series! Wrote this back in March, but it took me forever to post because it's hard to officially say goodbye to the series but here we are.

This chapter is not canon. The main story line officially ended with the previous chapter. This one is just an alternate ending I wrote when I was trying to figure out what to do with Mattheo’s story arc and I like how it turned out. Ex!Mattheo isn’t very popular in this story and for good reason. In the end, I couldn’t write this ending without him being toxic!Mattheo so be warned.

This chapter contains angst and a bit of angry sex so 18+ only below the cut. It was hard writing this because the tone has been mostly fluff, but you can’t really have an ex!story without the heartbreak.

series masterlist | previous chapter | main masterlist

A rude awakening

A/N: This is the final flashback with yours and Mattheo’s story.

“I love you, Mattheo,” I whisper against his ear as the first rays of sunlight filter through the window. 

Mattheo wonders what he did to deserve her affection. Breathing here in between slumber and the waking world, his defenses dwindle. The thoughts he long kept at bay claws its way to the surface. 

He is the dark lord’s son. He was always fated to ruin everything and everyone he loved. If he didn’t hurt her now, he would in the future.

It was easier, kinder even, to let her go now.

So he did what he knew best.

The last cigarette

A/N: Timeline wise, this takes place before chapter seven. In this alt timeline, you and Enzo never attend the ball.

I inhale the cigarette smoke, letting it fill my lungs, and exhale. One last cigarette for Mattheo. Once I snuff it out, I’m letting him go.

A week after we broke up, grief came in waves. I’d do well in class and get excited to show Mattheo before I remember I no longer could. I’d see his favorite food at the Great Hall and turn, but he wasn’t beside me. I’d snuggle in bed and wait for him to climb in, but he no longer did. How did I keep forgetting?

How did I keep remembering?

I remembered one evening how smoking helped him relax. Maybe it could help me too.

All it did was make me smell like him and I clung on because it was the closest I could get to him. 

But here, now, one last smoke then I'll let him go. I inhale and think of twinkling night skies, when Mattheo and I pretended we were floating among the stars. The way they reflected his eyes.

I remember hot chocolate and croissants, snuggling by the fireplace. He complained about my chocolate flavored kisses. Deep down, I knew he loved them.

I recall his fire. Hair pulling, lips crashing, back scratching. The way his touch seared my soul.

And it was good for a while. I exhale and watch it all drift away in the night wind.

I inhale and recall that night. Begging him to stay, to talk to me, we could work it out. Instead he said he got bored. Instead he kissed her.

And oh. Love really did leave you hollow when it left. I exhale and watch the smoke disappear.

I inhale and—

“I thought you liked your lungs?” Mattheo asks, approaching me.

“Don’t talk to me like you know me.”

He stands beside me, eyes searching my face. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s a little too late now, isn’t it? What the fuck, Mattheo? I’m with Enzo and suddenly you care about me?”

“I’ve always cared, please—” he tries.

“You had three weeks to find me, Mattheo. To apologize. But you didn’t. I’m not some trophy you can take from Enzo just so you can score another point against him!”

He recoils, hurt in his eyes. “Do you really think that little of me?”

“Have you forgotten what you’ve done?” I ask.

“If I could take it back, I would.”

“You promised you wouldn’t hurt me,” I accuse him.

“What do you want me to say?” He asks, exasperated. “I’m an idiot! I messed up. I never felt like I was good enough for you.”

“No Matty, you don’t understand,” I point to him, a tear escaping. “You made me feel like I wasn’t good enough!”

My tears spill and his eyes water. He pulls me in his arms as I sob.

“You don’t get to hurt me and cry as if you’re the victim,” I say.

“Angel, please, I didn’t mean to” he shifts so he can look into my eyes and wipe my tears. “If words are not enough,” he kisses me.  

My lips are electrified, everything inside me burning. Needing, hating, mourning. I want to scream, instead I suck his lower lip hard enough to bruise and grip his hair. It earns me a grunt as he hauls my body to his, closing the gap between us.

His hand trails down my waist to press me where he needs me most. Moving against each other, friction and heat sparking embers within. And it’s still not enough.

Without leaving my lips, Mattheo turns us around. Hands locked around his neck, eyes closed, I follow his footsteps until I feel the wall behind me. His hand snakes under my skirt, caressing my thigh. A filthy moan leaves my mouth—begging, praying, craving. More.

He moves his finger where I’m most sensitive and I gasp, breaking our kiss. He brings his mouth to my ear, “I’ll show you just how sorry I am.” With his free hand, he tugs my hair until I’m staring at the stars, and runs his tongue from the base of my throat to my chin.

Muscle memory takes over as his fingers slide across my folds, knowing just where I needed him. My breathing gets ragged when he fills me up with his fingers, exploiting all the ways he can make me moan and whimper. “Fuck. I missed you, angel.”

I ride his fingers, hating his stupid voice and his messy hair.

He bites my neck, leaving marks and I hate his filthy mouth.

He moves relentlessly. I hate his eyes. I hate his hands. I hate his voice.

I burn until I’m overcome with white hot rage, coming undone for him. Shockwaves of pleasure writhe through me as he presses me for all I have.

A second before afterglow, in the quiet darkness, I hate myself most because I still love him. 

“Come on angel, I’m not done apologizing,” he says, taking my hand, leading me to my dorm.

I never get to finish my cigarette.

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A/N: If there was a quote for you and Mattheo in this series, exploring your past relationship, it would be:

"The love was there. It didn't change anything. It didn't save anyone...but it still matters that the love was there."

Thanks again to everyone who followed the series! ♡

Taglist: @hoeforvinniehackerrr @i-think-you-are-gr8 @thecraziestcrayon @adreamingpendulum @themarauderswife7 @midsoulz @ultramarinetovelvet @val-writes @lafrone @daisiesformylove @mildly-delulu @allebasi05 @enha-stan @skb4000 @nat1221 @s0urw00lf @helpimhopelesslyinlove @helendeath @optimisticsandwichgladiator

[heavenlyraindrops]

“ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ” | ᴀᴅᴀᴍ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.5ᴋ

warnings: suggestive, profanity, pda (?), adam is an asshole but so are you, established relationship

a/n: felt bad cause I haven’t posted some proper fic in a while that isn’t father forgive me, so take this fellas

You watched as Adam slid the plate of ribs towards you, wearing that signature grin you’d grown to hate yet still love. “Y’know, these are my personal favourite,” he drawled, snatching one out of your own plate.

The lights of the diner flickered slightly and you could feel eyes on you, ignoring them. People always stared at you whenever you went out with Adam- it pissed you off, but, again, you’d learned to ignore it. 

“Hey, fuck you! That’s rude, you know.” You snapped, but he just rolled his eyes, continuing to munch on the meat. Your eyes fell back down to the plate, then sighed. “Plus, I uh… don’t really eat meat that much.” 

He quirked an eyebrow. “What, you one of those vegans or somethin’?” You could hear the slight disdain in his voice as he said it. “You eat grass?”

You wrinkled your nose. “I- no- what? I don’t eat grass. And I’m not a veg-“ you sighed, shoulders slumping. “I just don’t eat meat that often.”

“Well, here’s your chance,” he sang, waving a rib into your face. 

You sighed, taking it and biting into it. It was… surprisingly good. You chewed thoughtfully, letting Adam rant on about whatever he felt like- that was what he liked about you, you listened. That and your awesome pair of-

“Hey, you’re staring,” you said, crossing your arms. He rolled his eyes, ignoring you as he shamelessly stared at your chest. “You really have no filter, huh? You’re gonna get fucking cancelled or something one of these days.”

“Cancelling people’s for pussies.” He took a savage bite of meat. “Just admit I’m that fuckin’ cool at that point, Y’know?”

“Suuuure,” you said dryly, dragging out the vowel. “So cool.”

He dissolved into another rant about whatever, ignoring your sarcastic comments in between. But the conversation began fizzling down to Lute. A muscle in your jaw twitched as you frowned, irked, as he rambled on about his best friend.

I get it. They’re best friends. But does he really have to fucking worship her in front of me?

“You can stop talking about Lute now,” you snarked. He froze, then raised an eyebrow, a slowly spreading grin appearing on his face, 

Oh, God, no. 

“Why? You jealous?”

What have I done?

“…No.”

He leaned closer to you across the table, resting his head on his fist. “You sure, sweetie?” His eyes narrowed as he eyed you up and down, and your shoulders tensed as you pressed your back into the leather behind you. 

“Y-yeah.”

He rolled his shoulders back. “Well, you seem pretty defensive.” He smirked. “It’s okay to be jealous, babe,” he laughed slightly, a small breathless huff that sent your heart racing. “I know you want me all to yourself.”

You frowned, and held up a finger. “One: in your fucking dreams, dipshit. Two-“ another finger. “-do I have a reason to be jealous of Lute?” Your expression darkened, and you raised an eyebrow. Adam, however, just let out an amused grin.

“Maybe.” He paused, eyeing you. “You worried I might like Lute more than you, or something?”

Sliding around the booth to sit and your side, he grinned. You glared at him. “Do you?”

He seemed to think for a moment. “Hmm. I mean, she is way hotter than you.” He grinned, it was clearly bait just to see you pissed off- but you bit on anyway, because the mere act of being around him was enough to get your blood sizzling.

You almost blanched, clenching your fists with irritation. “Oh, fuck you.”

He laughed. “No need for profanity, sweetie.” Hypocrite. “Plus, Lute’s a fuckin’ badass. She takes down demons for a living. Does it really get any better?”

“Yeah, fine, whatever,” you snapped, getting up to leave, done with his bullshit. 

You felt a hand close around your wrist, tugging you back. “Hey hey hey! It was just a joke, babe. Come sit back down.” You twisted your neck around to stare at him, deadpan. “C’mon babe, don’t be like that,” he pleaded, but he still sounded like he was trying to keep the laughter at bay. 

“I will. If you like Lute so much, go talk to her.” You kicked his shin under the table, and he yelped. 

He rolled his eyes. “Babe, I’m just messing with you.” He grabbed your waist, dragging you towards him and pushing him flush up against you. “Plus, Lute ain’t got what you got.”

You hmphed, unconvinced. “Which is?”

“That bitchy attitude of yours. I like it.” His hand trailed down from your waist to your hip, giving a subtle squeeze. You glared at him as he looked you up and down, tone changing ever so slightly. “And you’re way more fun to rile up than Lute.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not a real answer. You’re so fucking annoying.” 

He grinned, pleased at your reaction as his grip on you tightened slightly, before loosening as his hand wandered down to rest at your thigh. “Yet here you are, letting me touch you like this.” His finger brushed your inner thigh, making a heat pool in between your legs, which squeezed together. 

Your eyes widened with outrage as you smacked his hand away, shifting glancing around the diner to see if anyone was paying any attention. “Well, let go of me then!” You hissed, face burning. 

“Hmm.” He pretended to think about it. “No, I don’t think I will.” His hand closed around you again, pulling you flush against him roughly, and he grinned.

“Well maybe you should! Before I scream!”

He laughed, amused at your threat. “Why don’t you?” He lifted his free hand to thread through your hair, leaning in closer so his breath was hot on the dip of your neck. “I’d love to hear you scream.”

Your mind almost went blank with shock. “Y-you…” you couldn’t finish the sentence, trailing off as his hand in your hair tightened, yanking your head back to expose your neck to him. His other hand still on your hip traced circles into the skin. 

“I what, sweetie?” He asked, tone seductive yet arrogant at the same time. You snapped back to your senses, and you looked away sharply.

“Nothing.”

He laughed slightly, the short huff of breath skimming across your neck. “No no, sweetheart. You don’t get to be silent now. Tell me what you were gonna say.”

“Adam, we’re in public,” you hissed, skirting around the question. “Get off of me.”

He laughed softly into your neck, hand going back to rest on your thigh and squeezing softly. “Why should I? You seem to be enjoying this more than you’re letting on.”

“Off! Off, now!” You pushed him back, scrambling away from him. He snickered. 

“You sure you wanna do that? You seemed pretty comfortable.”

“Whatever,” you muttered through gritted teeth. “Can we leave now?”

His eyes roamed over your form one more time, absolutely shameless, before grabbing your chin and tilting it towards him. “Fine, we can leave. On one condition.”

“What?” You asked, miffed. 

“You gotta admit you were having fun,” he teased. You blinked.

You quickly averted your eyes, trying to pull away but finding yourself unable to move. He grinned at you, tilting his head. “You’re not denying it.”

“Look, let’s just go.” You ripped his hand away from your chin and turned around, stalking out of the diner, not waiting to check whether he followed you or not. 

He laughed at your reaction, following you out. He jammed his hands in his pockets, catching up with your brisk steps, and tried to get you to look at him. “Hey, wait up!” He waved his hand in front of your face. “You always walk this fast?” His tone was joking, but fell silent as you continued to power walk. He sighed heavily. “C’mon, you can’t be that mad at me for a little joke, right?”

You stopped abruptly, crossing your arms and glaring at him. “Well maybe learn not to take it too far?”

He rolled his eyes. “But where’s the fun in that?” He groaned, then grinned, clearly unrepentant. “Plus, I can’t help it if you’re so cute and easy to fuck with.”

“Well, maybe I’ll-“ you stopped, the threat dying on your lips as you looked at him. You stepped forward, subtly pressing your hips against his, the touch feather light. “You know I can’t help it if you rile me up like that,” you pouted innocently, glancing around to check if the streets were empty. “Right?”

He grinned at your change of tone, hand going back to your hip and pressing you against him harder, making your breath hitch. “‘’Course not, babe. It’s all my fault, I know. But shit-“ his grip tightened. “-If it makes you feel better, you rile me up too.” He looked down at you with a smug smile, gaze suggestive. 

You roll your eyes. “Wanna go to your place?”

“Now you’re speaking my language.” 

[jaehyunsprincesspeach]

Hello! Just read I’ll always be for the 6th time. It has a special place on my heart. Thank you for writing these

Also, I saw that your requests are opened. Can you pls write yn with low self steam and not sure if Jaehyun will love her? Only if you’re comfortable with this subject of course

okay so this has taken me so long because i heavily relate to this, and i wanted it to be good for you

I hope you enjoy it!!

warnings: insecurities, thoughts of not being good enough, mentions of hate comments, mentions of negative thoughts

xoxo ~ lunar

Nobody Else For Me

life is a movie… most of the time… but even movies aren’t perfect, just like everything else in life. you and jaehyun have been dating for six months, and its been a dream come true for both of them. for jaehyun, it was love at first sight… the second he saw you, he knew he needed to have you… he’s the perfect gentleman… he refuses to let you touch any sort of door handle, buys you little random gifts that make him think of you, sending goofy pictures and videos when he’s away, calls and texts as often as he can, genuinely making all the time that he can for you. despite his busy schedule, he’s always there for you.

for you, you couldn’t have asked for a better relationship… you’re living a romance movie… nobody has ever made you feel as loved and cherished as jaehyun does. but even the movies have their lows. for you and jaehyun, it happens to be his career. he’s an idol… a star… he’s got the world looking at everything that he does, which is why you two keep your relationship away from the media… the only people who know are the people that the two of you trust the most. despite the extra precautions you two took, the world discovered your relationship after you were seen getting out of the car after a date night in, giving him a quick kiss before leaving for the night. when you woke up in the morning, your phone was blowing up with new followers, people commenting on your pictures, and sending you direct messages. despite some of the fans giving you love and praising you for making jaehyun happy, the amount of hate that filtered into your social media was overwhelming. negative comments about insecurities that already brew in your mind are brought to light as you look through the flood of comments on your pictures…

jaehyun was already at schedules when the pictures hit the media, and he didn’t know about the sudden spotlight that was now on your relationship. he wasn’t near his phone and he didn’t see the messages you had been sending him “jae… they found out…”, “why are people so mean?”, “please tell me what they’re saying isn’t true…”

knowing he was at schedules, you were left alone with your thoughts brewing in your mind, growing more and more negative as the minutes pass… one of the first things that you talked about with jaehyun when you started dating was your insecurities… he knows all about them, and he makes an extra effort to make sure that you don’t believe your insecurities, but right now, there’s nothing that could get you out of the negative thoughts that are consuming your mind.

as you sit in your room hiding away from the world, you turn off your phone to get away from the flood of negativity, hiding your phone in your closet, missing the messages that jaehyun finally sends…

“y/n, where are you?”, “baby please tell me you’re okay?”, “y/n, i’m coming over, i need to know you’re okay…”, “its not true… none of its true… you’re perfect in every way and you’re mine… im not letting go of you…”, “im on my way baby, please be okay, i need you…”

jaehyun sits in the car as his manager drives him to your apartment as fast as he can. jaehyun sits in the back seat panicking at the fact that you haven’t answered any of his messages. he reads all of the nasty things that people are posting and saying about you and his blood boils… he wants to do something… to say something to the fans… but right now, his biggest priority is making sure you are okay. he knows how your mind works, and how your insecurities are eating away at your mind right now, and all he cares about is making sure you see how much he loves you and wants to be with you.

as soon as he gets to your apartment, he bolts out of the car, not even letting his manager put it in park, and sprints to your door knocking desperately to get you to answer

“y/n! it’s jae! please i know you’re there!”

as you lay in bed, now crying from the overwhelming thoughts, you hear his knocking and his desperate voice from your door… you quietly get up and unlock the door for him and he bursts into the apartment, immediately wrapping you into a protective embrace.

“y/n! thank goodness! you… i… i was so scared… you weren’t answering my messages…”

he keeps you in a tight embrace, running his fingers through your silky hair, refusing to let go of you until he hears your sniffles. he pulls back only enough to look at you, and his heart breaks seeing your puffy red eyes and tear stained cheeks. you look away whispering softly

“jae… why are you with me?”

his heart shatters at the question. he gently places his hands on your cheeks, bringing your eyes back to his

“baby… none of its true… whatever they’re saying about you, its not true…”

you sniffle as tears form in your eyes again

“why are you with me? you could be with someone better… someone prettier… someone famous… why are you settling for me?”

jaehyun talks sternly but gently, trying to get his message through the negative thoughts that cloud your mind

“no. y/n dont say that. its you baby… only you… i dont want anyone but you… im not settling y/n, you’re the one my heart wants… nobody else… there’s nobody more perfect for me than you.. please baby, believe me… you’re everything to me…”

as you hear his words, tears begin falling again from your eyes… you want to believe him, but your mind keeps telling you the opposite… your insecurities of not being enough for him overwhelm you more than they ever have before, and he can see that in your eyes. before you can say anything else, he pulls you into a deep, passionate kiss, pouring his entire heart out to you through the action as he holds you tightly. his passion and love for you is undeniable as he kisses you like he’s never kissed you before… as if it would be the last time he ever gets to kiss you… he pours out his love for you, refusing to let the negative thoughts and insecurities consume you. when he finally pulls away, he gently brushes your tears away with his thumb, his touch relaxing you. he walks you to the couch in your living room and sits down, pulling you on his lap, burying his face into your hair.

“y/n, please believe me… i need you… i need you by my side… you’re the only one for me… the only one i want… please, don’t let the negative thoughts in… come back to me…”

he can see in your eyes that your mind is clouded with negativity, as he pleads for you to come back to him… come back from the negativity in your mind… after a few minutes you look at him again, looking deep into his eyes, as if you’re searching for the truth in his eyes, and you’re met with unconditional love and need for you, just from the look in his eyes. you gently press your forehead against his, your silent way of telling him you believe him and you trust him. his hand gently trails from your back into your hair as he holds your head to his, basking in the gentle, intimate moment between the two of you before he whispers softly.

“i love you y/n. please, please stay with me… there’s nobody else for me… only you…”

you silently nod your head against his, putting all of your trust in him, as the negative thoughts slowly fade away. he holds you tightly until all that is left in your mind is thoughts of him and his love for you, refusing to let go of you until he knows that the negativity has left your mind. he keeps you as close as he can, running his fingers through your hair, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, tracing little circles on your back with his fingers, doing anything and everything he can to relax you and your thoughts.

“you’re it for me y/n… im not letting go of you… not now, not ever… i love you, so much.”

as he dries your tears you look into his eyes. the sparkle of love you always have when you look at him is no longer clouded with negativity as you look deep into him.

“i love you too jae…”

[tubborucho]

Genuinely, stop with that fucking bullshit about Blue being bad at communication. Like, where the fuck this crowd of people came from on Tubbo’s ALT stream just to tell him that Blue sucks at being friends and talking to each other. THEY DON’T. They are actually really good! So far they did a great job at having all the logging in members in check, sharing tasks, things, even with people who do more solo stuff like Rivers. They have a great chemistry; Tina, Tubbo and Bad are WONDERFUL as an unofficial co-leaders. Tubbo, who is FAMOUSLY BAD AT KEEPING HIS MORAL HIGH AT COMPETITIVE EVENTS, has been SO SUPPORTIVE AND ENCOURAGING, telling his team how he is so proud of them.

They do NOT suck at communication. They have some time management problems, but MOST of those problems are coming from the event structure itself, where it favors PST timezone. Those streamers are not fucking obligated to change their schedules just to have a chance of winning. Especially EU ones.

Honestly, Tubbo spent most of his time on the server trying to make sure to not go hard on Red, stopping Bad from ambushing them, deciding to talk to Phil where he definitely could’ve just leave. Bad LISTENED to Tubbo half of those times and genuinely held himself back so much. Tina NEVER engaged in anything with Red herself. Missa was just minding his own business. AND THAT’S FINE THAT RED KILLED HIM AND THAT CARRE TRIED TO KILL TINA. THAT’S THE GAME. JUST NOT PLAY ALL HIGH AND MIGHTY ABOUT THEIR ACTIONS AND THEN HATE ON BLUE FOR DOING STUFF. Them getting taunted for trying to be nice by saying that they just ‘can’t communicate with each other’ is such a BM.

Tubbo’s chat is AWFUL with Red viewers coming there and parading how they actually route for other team. And telling Blue ‘to just be better at friendship’. It’s so frustrating. When honestly the only reason why red wins them is because they submit tasks at the last minute. Blue has all the same fucking resources. That’s it. It’s a good strategy for winning, but it doesn’t have to do anything with communication in teams.

And also once again: THIS IS A KILLING AND MAIMING EVENT THAT WAS DESIGNED TO PUSH CHARACTERS TO COMMIT ATROCITIES. THATS THE POINT. THEY ARE ALLOWED TO BE TOXIC TO EACH OTHER. THIS IS NOT A QOMMUNICATION ISLAND, THIS IS PURGATORY.

Honestly, I was getting over my annoyance, but then Tubbo’s alt chat happened and it got me spiraling again. I am just so upset. I genuinely feel disdain towards Red just because of the fans, and I hate it, because it’s a good team and I want to enjoy them. But everything I think about them now is just this fandom bullshit.

This is a warning for my red team mutuals: I have nothing against you, I don’t hate the team, you or ccs, genuinely. But I will probably keep being a little hater towards red and pray on their downfall in my posts unless something will turn the tables completely. So I will use #red neg and ‘tw red neg’ in my posts most of the time, you might want to filter it out.

[chronicangel]

be cute, be dumb, be wise, be young

Link to this fic on AO3. Words: 3009 Date posted: October 20, 2024 Summary:

“Pacifica, tell me you didn’t get a tattoo just to seduce me,” he groans. “I didn’t,” she says, extremely matter-of-factly. “I got a tattoo, and now I’m seducing you.”

This is based on @flxnce's tattoo artist/barista AU, which is so so good and you should check it out!!

“Are you sure you want to put this on your body forever?”

“Oh shut up. You and Mabel have practically been harassing me to get a tattoo for the last six months and now the first idea I come to you with, you try to change my mind?” Pacifica glares at him, and it’s not quite as intimidating as it was when she had black hair, but he holds his hands up in surrender anyway.

“Not trying to talk you out of it!” He says, and his face flushes at how fast it peeps out of him. So it’s still a bit intimidating. “I just don’t want you to regret it and get mad at me or anything.”

She rolls her eyes and blows a cloud of smoke in his face in what he guesses is supposed to be a retort, but it’s hard for him to be anything but mildly annoyed about it because that was his cigarette a few minutes ago. “Look, I’m not gonna get into the whole tragic backstory or whatever to make this make sense to you. I thought it was a cool idea.”

Dipper wonders if there is a tragic backstory or if she’s just speaking metaphorically. He’s noticed that she doesn’t talk about her family. He figured they just weren’t close and didn’t think prying much further would be polite, but now that he’s been presented with the possibility that there’s something messed up about it, it connects some dots.

Before he can ask, she holds the cigarette back out to him, half-gone with the filter covered in her lip gloss. “I thought you were quitting,” he grumbles, taking a long drag while she just smirks at him. There’s not much left after that, and he puts it out on the railing. There’s no ashtray and he doesn’t want to litter, so he stuffs the butt in his pocket, where he’ll probably forget about it until it’s time for laundry and Mabel yells at him. “Why do you want me to do it, anyway? Wouldn’t Mabel be better for that sort of thing?”

“I’ve seen the tattoos you guys do. Mabel’s art is amazing, but your lettering is better.” Somehow, she manages to say it like none of that was a compliment, though she doesn’t make it sound like an outright insult either, so it’s at least better than it would have been a few months ago. He knows that she thinks his art is good, anyway, because he’s seen the way that she stares at his arms when he’s in short sleeves and he can’t think of any other reason she’d do that. “Do you not want to do it?”

She looks vulnerable in a way he’s never seen. She’s not making eye contact with him, and she picks at a loose thread in her ripped jeans, threatening to make them look a little less intentional and a little more ruined.

“Yeah,” he says somewhat absentmindedly. Then, realizing that that’s the wrong answer to the question she actually asked him, he adds, “I mean, yeah, let’s do it. Why not? I think my book is a little tight this week, but—”

“Oh, there is no way you’re getting me on that table during daylight hours for this,” she says, and he stares at her for a second.

“Uh, what?”

“I am not doing this in front of Leo, let alone a bunch of strangers. Don’t you have a tattoo gun at home or something?”

“Well, yeah, but my apartment isn’t exactly up to code for—”

“Don’t care, didn’t ask.”

He snaps his mouth shut, cutting off his lecture about sanitization and how he could lose his license if anybody heard about this. It’s not like he didn’t do his own tattoos in his bathroom when he was 18 years old and thought he knew better than the health department, and it’s not like his apartment is some sort of crack den or anything. Mostly, though, he just doesn’t want to have this argument with Pacifica when she’s clearly determined to do it no matter what he says.

It turns out that his apartment is within walking distance of hers. He shouldn’t be shocked, since most of Gravity Falls is within walking distance of most of the rest of it, but he is, a little. It feels like they should have met sooner.

Mabel isn’t home, which is a blessing. There is no way that she could be normal about this. He doesn’t know where she is, though, or when she’ll be back, so he gestures for Pacifica to follow him to his room.

This is the first time in his life that he’s ever regretted not listening to Mabel when she lectures him about tidying up his room. There’s all sorts of papers and soda cans at varying degrees of fullness littering the surfaces of his desk and his dresser, and he’s got various articles of clothing strewn about the floor.

“Wow, you live like this?”

His embarrassment immediately gives way to annoyance, and he shoots her a glare over his shoulder. “Okay, I don’t have to give you a tattoo just because you’re in my apartment.” Still, he picks up a few pieces of laundry and tosses them into his hamper as they pass. He knows the gun is on his desk somewhere amongst all of the mess.

It takes a few minutes of digging, but he manages to find the tattoo gun his great uncle had bought for him to practice with when he was 17 and decided that he wanted to go into the profession. His parents had not approved, but since when did his parents approve of anything Grunkle Stan did? And it worked out in the end, didn’t it?

Of course, he almost drops it when he turns around to see that Pacifica has taken her jeans off, standing in his room in a t-shirt, underwear, and a flannel she’d stolen from him about two hours ago like it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to be doing. Fortunately,  he’s fumbled a lot of things in his life, so he’s able to catch it before it hits the floor and breaks.

“Um,” he says, his voice at least an octave higher and his face so red it burns. “I guess you can lay on my bed?”

If he wasn’t prepared for the sight of Pacifica half-naked, he’s definitely not prepared for the sight of Pacifica half-naked and laying on her stomach on his bed, her arms folded under her cheek, face turned so she can look at him over her shoulder. “Is the staring a part of the tattoo?” She asks, with a raised eyebrow and a tone that says she definitely knows it is not.

“I’m mapping it out,” he bluffs. He keeps that excuse in the back of his mind as he runs his eyes up and down her legs. Pacifica is not especially tall, but her legs are proportionately long. He can understand the appeal of the tattoo she’s asking for, at least in an abstract sense. If he was her, he’d want to draw attention to his legs, too. And it’s definitely going to draw attention.

He grabs her ankle and pulls her leg into his lap, or at least, he tries to, but she lets out a single snorting laugh and jerks her leg away from him. He raises his eyebrows at her, and she turns her head to hide in her arms and his pillows. “Sorry. Ticklish.”

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” She doesn’t answer him out loud, just nods against her arms and settles her leg in his lap. When he grabs her ankle this time, her muscle barely flexes under his fingers. “This isn’t going to feel great,” he warns.

To Pacifica’s credit, she doesn’t seem to react to the pain very much. When the needle first makes contact with her skin, he hears her hiss through her teeth, but after that she lays as still as anyone who’d gone under the gun a thousand times. The other thing he’ll credit her with is that the design she’s chosen for her first tattoo is extremely simple, all lines and letters. She didn’t give him a specific font, so he writes it in his own handwriting, and he tries not to think about the fact that his handwriting is going to be on Pacifica’s body forever.

When he gets up to the back of her knee, he offers her a break, but he’s a little surprised when she takes it. “Can you get me a glass of water?” She asks, and when he stands, she adds, “Or maybe a beer?” He laughs, which he knows is what she really wanted. Pacifica knows him and Mabel both too well to think there’s beer in their apartment. Mike’s Hard, maybe.

She sits up to drink her water, bending her leg so her calf isn’t against his sheets. He appreciates it, though mostly because he doesn’t know what kinds of germs are on his sheets to cause some sort of infection. When was the last time he washed them?

“Maybe you should let me wash and wrap those before we get started on the second half?” He suggests.

“You’re the expert,” she says with a shrug, and something about it strikes him as odd. It’s only when he gets back with the stuff for it that he realizes she hasn’t made a snarky comment since she took her clothes off.

“Are you doing okay?”

She tilts her head at him, flexing her leg like she’s testing out the muscles. “Yep, everything seems to be working fine,” she confirms. He just stares at her for another second, and he’s not sure if her face falling is because she realizes what he means or she realizes that she can’t pretend she doesn’t know what he means. “I’m okay,” she says.

“But?” He asks. There’s something about her tone… He doesn’t have the words for it, but he can hear it. There’s something wrong.

She heaves a dramatic sigh. “Well fuck, Dipper, can I just say I don’t want to talk about it?”

“Of course you can,” he says, faster than he means to. She doesn’t have to tell him anything that she doesn’t want to. But he’d like her to talk to him.

She stares at him for another second, and then her eyes drift over to his desk, and he feels another surge of embarrassment. He should have tidied it up after he found the tattoo gun, but he was so eager to get back to her, and then she wasn’t wearing any pants and he kind of forgot about everything else. “I still don’t want to get into the whole tragic backstory,” she says with a warning tone, and he holds his hands up in surrender as if he’d asked. “But my parents were—are the worst. And I guess this kinda feels like taking my body back from them. It’s… cathartic. It’s weird.” She laughs.

“I think a lot of people feel that way,” he says. Of course there are always the people who never thought that hard about it, the people who come in on impulse, but more often than not, he sees people who are very conscious of their bodies.

She looks down at the marks on her leg, twisting it around experimentally. “Is this the worst of it?”

“I can’t lie to you, the back of the knee is gonna suck. Like, one of the worst parts of the whole body to get tattooed suck. But it’s all uphill from there.”

“Guess we’d better get it over with then, huh?”

“No going back now,” he agrees. She sets the glass of water down on his end table, still half-full with marks from her lip gloss on the rim.

He holds her leg down against the bed while he works on the back of her knee, and he can feel her push up against it a couple of times. The only thing that keeps him from fucking the tattoo up is his own expertise, but he’s not about to scold her about it, not until it becomes a real issue anyway. That’s the reason that she asked him to do it, anyway, isn’t it? Well, this and his handwriting, he guesses.

He gets so absorbed in the work that he almost doesn’t notice the fact that he’s working his way up Pacifica’s leg, his fingers sinking into the flesh of her thigh. The room is quiet—just the soft buzzing of the tattoo gun and their breathing. Well, mostly Pacifica’s breathing. Dipper’s breathing is never more steady than when he’s working on someone, but his ears catch on every sharp breath and gasp she makes.

“Almost done,” he says in a way that he hopes is reassuring as he works on the last of the lettering under the swell of her ass. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been here—he thinks it can only have been an hour or two. All lines and letters, it seems impossible that it could have taken any time at all. He knows the only reason it feels like any time has passed is that it’s Pacifica he’s working on.

When he pulls away and immediately sets about getting it cleaned and wrapped, he glances up at her face to check in on her again. “Still doing good?”

“Do you worry this much about all of your clients, or is it just because we’re friends?”

“You know, I think that might be the first time you’ve ever admitted out loud that we’re friends,” he teases.

She gives him a curious look—not curious as in she looks curious, but curious as in he has no idea why the fuck she’s looking at him like that. “We’re friends,” she says, voice soft. Something catches in his chest. His breath? His heart? He’s not sure. “Of course we’re friends,” she adds, and he’s suddenly very aware of his hand against the back of her thigh.

He clears his throat and pulls away from her. “I think that’s, um, pretty much all taken care of,” he says, looking anywhere but at her while his cheeks burn. “You can remove the bandage after 24 hours, but make sure to moisturize it whenever you wash it and—” She reaches out to rest a hand on his arm, and his eyes flick over to her.

“Dipper.” She’s sitting up now, her leg bent up again to keep it off his sheets again even though the tattoo is all bandaged up.

He watches her leg slide around so she’s on a knee instead, and he barely has time to look up at her face before it’s right up against his and oh. She’s kissing him. She tastes like coffee and cigarettes and lip gloss, which are all flavors he’s extremely familiar with—some moreso than others. After a second of hesitation, he slides a hand up to cup her jaw while he kisses her back, and she doesn’t waste any time in climbing over him.

“Mnh… Mabel. I didn’t hear Mabel get home, but I don’t know when she’s—”

“She’s not coming home tonight,” Pacifica says hurriedly, her mouth hardly an inch away from his, and he blinks a few times.

He pulls away even though she whines about it. “Pacifica, tell me you didn’t get a tattoo just to seduce me,” he groans.

“I didn’t,” she says, extremely matter-of-factly. “I got a tattoo, and now I’m seducing you.”

“Then how do you know that Mabel isn’t coming home tonight?”

“Because I texted her while you were getting me water. Will you stop talking?” And, well, she doesn’t exactly give him a lot of room to argue. He doesn’t especially want to argue about it, anyway.

When he wakes up in the morning, closer to noon than usual, he hears the shower running in his ensuite bathroom, and it takes him just half a second to figure out who’s in it before he remembers, shit. Oh, shit. He gets up and scrambles to start putting his clothes on, whatever’s closest to the bed regardless of how dirty or clean it might be. He’s got boxers and one leg of jeans on before the bathroom door opens and steam comes rolling out of it.

She’s wrapped up in one of his towels, and that visual alone is enough to make his cheeks flush. (It shouldn’t be. He’s seen her naked, now. He’s done things to her. But it is.) “I was starting to think I killed you,” she teases, and he blinks a few times.

“Huh?” He says dumbly. Then, “Oh. Right. Because I…” He gestures vaguely at the bed behind him, but trails off. He’s staring. He should stop. He doesn’t.

She just stands in the doorway of his bathroom for a long minute, and he wonders if he’s supposed to be doing something here. He doesn’t… It’s not like he’s got no experience here, but he doesn’t have an abundance of it. “Do you like it?” He eventually manages to ask.

She looks confused for a second, and then her eyes drop down to her leg. “Oh.” She turns to let him see it, and the whole thing is visible with the length of the towel. She already took the bandages off, but he can’t find it in him to scold her.

Trailing up her leg are a series of lines with labels like “prude,” “flirty,” and “slut.” When she had told him about the idea, she explained this picture she’d seen circulated on social media a decade ago that had stuck somewhere in the back of her mind since. It was like a reclamation, she’d said. He’s not sure he gets it, but it’s hard not to let his eyes trail up her legs.

“Yeah,” she says eventually. His eyes snap back up to her face guiltily. “Yeah, I think I like it.”