#but I’ve been spending very consciously

[seravph]

CONFESSIONS OF A SHOPAHOLIC: i now only have 2 more things on my buy list until I’m DONE and I can STOP SPENDING MONEY ON BULLSHIT and actually save my money 🫶🫶🫶 be proud of me

[sweetmodel]

How I became a master shifter (+ why methods aren't working for you)

Hello! I’ve been seeing a lot of disinformation lately, and I’ve noticed that some people might need help, so I wanted to chime in. I can shift whenever I want, and I see a LOT of limiting beliefs—but I understand because I was once on the other side.

Disclaimer: This is all based on my personal experience with how I became a master shifter. You’ll want to read everything—it’s important.

I first shifted around March 2022. I would always use methods. I would affirm, tell myself I was detached from this reality, and so on. During my very first shift, I literally affirmed all night long (if this sounds familiar, it’s because I used to have another blog here, lol). You know, really complicated stuff. Then... things changed. I couldn’t shift anymore. I kept using the same methods, but they didn’t work!

That’s when I started questioning everything about shifting and consciousness. Why was it that I could be in another reality where things like magic exist, but then suddenly I couldn’t shift anymore? Why were the methods, like lucid dreaming or the void, seemingly more powerful than the act of switching realities itself? Why, when I shifted from my Desired Reality to my Current Reality, all I needed to do think of my CR to shift back—but it didn’t work the other way around?

None of it made sense! And I’m sure many others have asked themselves these same questions.

I came up with two theories:

This reality has something unique compared to the infinite other realities. To shift from here, you need something extra, like a method.

There’s something else at play, something unrelated to the realities themselves.

I dismissed the first option. There’s nothing inherently special about this reality. So why do we use methods here but not in our DRs?

Then, I thought back to how I used to shift... detaching from my body, affirming until I shifted. It all aligned with my subconscious beliefs. The method didn’t work because that’s how shifting works, but because it made sense to my subconscious. Of course I would shift if I did these things—because that’s what I believed shifting required.

Well... kind of. As I said, it made sense because it aligned with my beliefs. So when the method failed, I wasn’t letting myself shift.

Did you catch that? I didn’t let myself shift. Of course, it wasn’t the method. At what point do you actually shift? Is it when you affirm? Do you really think the universe is just waiting for you to say the right thing enough times before it switches you to your DR?

No. It’s you.

So, you have two choices:

Find a method that truly aligns with your beliefs, or

Change your subconscious beliefs.

Changing your beliefs might seem hard, but I’m going to explain why it’s not as difficult as it feels.

All your life, you’ve had certain beliefs, but those beliefs came from somewhere. You weren’t born thinking you need methods to shift—it’s something that developed over time. Which means it’s not set in stone. It can be changed.

I realized that every reality holds the same weight. There’s NOTHING you can do in this one—no intrusive thoughts or negative emotions—that can stop you. Why? Because those thoughts and emotions are products of this reality. Shifting is simply changing what you’re aware of. That’s literally it. Anything outside of that can’t stop you.

Yes, we’ve all seen those posts saying things like, "Oh, you’re not focused enough" or "You spend too much time on X, Y, Z" or even "You don’t go outside enough" (I legit read this on here—y'all are wildin’). Are you in your DR thinking "Oh, I thought about failing to shift, it means I won't :("? Of course you aren't! But nothing can stop you from shifting. Nothing can stop you from being aware that you are a master shifter.

So, how do you become aware of that?

I started affirming throughout the day. I would tell myself these things:

I’m pure consciousness. I create my reality, and everything around me is just what I choose to perceive.

I’m a master shifter. I don’t need methods. All I need to do is choose to shift, think of my DR, and it happens.

Nothing in the 3D can stop me from shifting, because I’m in the 4D and pure consciousness.

I told myself these things constantly, and I truly understood what I was affirming. What being pure consciousness and being a master shifter actually meant. I stopped using methods. I stopped acting like this reality was special compared to the ones I wanted to be in. And then... it happened.

I shifted. During the day. I simply thought of my DR, told myself, I want to shift, and there I was—in my DR. It happened because, as I said, my subconscious beliefs changed and then manifested in my reality. The same way they did when I believed I needed methods.

Naturally, I stopped using methods. I stopped trying to shift. I no longer thought, Okay, tonight I’m going to shift, and I'm going to use X method. Because that’s not how you think or act when you’re a master shifter. I let go—why would I bother using a method before sleeping when I could just stand up, think about my DR, and be there? Why would I bother doing a method before falling asleep when I knew I'm a master shifter?

I allowed myself to shift. It was me! When people ask, What method did you use? What did you do to shift?—do you really, truly believe it’s the method that makes you shift? Of course you do, because you live in a reality that seems logical, and you apply that logic to shifting. But shifting isn’t logical! It just happens! I have no idea why—it’s literally just magic to me—but that’s how it works.

So, you need to understand: You make it happen. That’s a good thing, right? It means you don’t need methods, and you don’t need to keep searching for “the key.”

Anyway, I hope this helps someone. (Also yes, before you tell me, I know this is basically Law Of Assumption. But I wanted to explain it in more of shifting terms)

(Also if someone wants to post this to another social you have my permission- especially reddit since I was active in that community but I deleted my acc lol)

Edit: Hey guys there are some additional notes in the comments that might be useful!

[hedgehog-moss]

hi! i’ve been following you for years, silently in awe of the bright & fulfilling life you’ve built for yourself, and wishing that i could do the same. in between all the charming stories about pandolf & pampe & pirlouit i’ve been noting all your experiences with fence building and foraging and whatnot, in the hopes of putting them to use one day. and that day is today !! today i head out to spend the first night at my little cabin, a long-abandoned seter from the late 19th century, so right now life will be very much like camping with a roof. a lot of work to be done, and it will be a while before i can support animal friends in addition to myself, but i just wanted to say thank you for sharing your life with us! it’s been an invaluable resource + source of inspiration for me :))

Oh that's amazing!! I'm so happy for you 😊 I wish I could send you a housewarming gift (might I interest you in a gremlin cup?)

Your "camping with a roof" comment reminds me of my first spring & summer here, when there was nothing in my kitchen except a table with a small backpacking stove and I had no means of heating the house so I made a fire in the wood oven at night and had to compete with the cats to sit in the 1 square metre of warmth right next to it. They're good memories too, so I hope you enjoy these early days of getting to know your home and working on it <3

I wish you all the best, and especially that you get to feel the "brooding sense of peace and of possession" described by Kenneth Grahame in this quote about a dream home:

First, there would be a sense of snugness, of cushioned comfort, of home-coming. Next, a gradual awakening to consciousness in a certain little room, very dear and familiar [...]: solitary, the world walled out, but full of a brooding sense of peace and of possession. [...] I was there already, ensconced in the most comfortable chair in the world, the lamp lit, the fire glowing ruddily. [A]lways the same feeling of a home-coming, of the world shut out, of the ideal encasement. On the shelves were a few books—a very few—but just the editions I had sighed for […]. On the walls were a print or two, a woodcut, an etching—not many. […] All was modest [...] but all was my very own, and, what was more, everything in that room was exactly right.

[otter-pup]

having slow-rapid pregnancy thoughts

we have a fun, rowdy evening, and i fill you up multiple times. we didn’t use protection, but based on the time of month, it’s probably fine.

(spoilers: it’s not)

later that night, after we drift off to sleep, i have a bleary moment of semi-consciousness. i’m spooning you, hand on your tummy, and i can feel just the slightest unexpected resistance. at first i figure it’s just you breathing, but… i could swear there’s just an almost nonexistent stretch, so subtly rounding you out. i grin and pull you closer before drifting off again.

the next morning, you definitely look bloated, but not unnaturally so. you check it out in the mirror (i check you out in the mirror), we get breakfast, and you leave to go about your day.

you keep looking down at your bulging tummy throughout the morning, expecting it to go down, rather than do the opposite. by lunchtime, you start feeling fluttery movements, and you know something’s wrong.

it’s slow enough that no one can SEE you growing, but you very clearly look pregnant when you obviously weren’t the last time your classmates saw you. i’d guess you’re expanding at a rate of a month of gestation every three hours or so, and you’re definitely carrying more than one.

it certainly doesn’t help that your outfit is about as far from obscuring your figure as your wardrobe can get. when you sit down, you can hear seams stretching ominously.

- 🦑

I’ve been keeping track of my cycle for long enough now that i don’t think twice about letting you fill me up, even begging for it, pleading dumbly for you to breed me while im completely drunk on pleasure.

we both like when you keep your hand on my belly after sex, so of course you notice when i start swelling. im already asleep by then, and you don’t mention it in the morning - you just look at me in the mirror while i check the bloating, before we both move on with our days.

the bloating doesn’t go down. im a little self conscious of how tight my shirt is around it, and my jeans are fairly tight, like always, and if i weren’t in classes i would have them unbuttoned by now. I ignore it the best i can. my stomach isn’t upset or anything, if anything im more hungry than usual, so im having lunch when i start feeling flutters inside me.

i finish eating and rush to the bathroom, unbuttoning my jeans and pulling up my shirt — which feels even tighter than it was before — enough to see how obviously swollen I’ve gotten. i rub my hands over my belly a few times, making sure I’m not imagining it. im not.

i can’t do anything until im done with classes for the day. At least, I try to finish classes. i make it through my next one, but my third and final class of the day is interrupted by the seams of my jeans tearing - and not quietly, either. i go bright red and excuse myself, heading straight home after that.

by the time we’re both home, im five, maybe sixth months along, size-wise — though i look well past full term. im surprised my shirt lasted as long as it did, though the seams on that tear during my commute back home.

we have at least another nine hours left. and, past the concern, im indescribably turned on.

it’s not like i can get any more pregnant if we spend the next nine hours breeding, right?

[katemoneymartinsgf]

Training Room - Kate Martin

Summary: Kate martin x Waterpolo player fic. Multiple part story this is just kind of getting everything going

Warning: Mention of injury

a/n: Please bare with me guys this is the first time i’ve written since my wattpad days 😔 . I know my obsession with kate martin is a problem if it’s thrown me back in to writing. Also if someone wants to help me make this page presentable pls do. Hope you enjoy

—————————————

Brrrrr...

The sound of the whistle rings through the air as the sprinters swim towards the ball dropped at mid-pool.

It was overtime in the Big 10 Women’s Water Polo Championship game. The next goal scored would win the conference and secure you a spot at state.

This would be the first time in school history that Iowa’s team has ever won a conference title. You had promised your coach that you would bring a championship to this team back when you were a freshman. Obviously, it was said as a joke considering you weren’t the greatest swimmer back then.

You went into your senior year of high school barely learning about the existence of the sport, looking to get extra conditioning in before basketball season that year. Also, just interested in learning a new sport in general. Your friend, who was on the swim team, encouraged you to join so you guys could spend more time together. She taught you how to swim and you caught on quick. Since it was a very young team, you earned yourself a starting spot, soon falling in love with the game. With some help from the coaches and putting together a highlight tape, you caught the eye of Iowa's head coach, who offered you a spot not too long after.

Iowa's polo team was very new and they wanted to build. You were perfect for the team: a fast learner who was passionate and competitive in everything you did.

You didn’t take it right away, hoping an offer for basketball would be coming soon, but to be honest, it was either water polo for Iowa or the JUCO route for basketball.

After thinking about how quickly you fell in love with the sport, you couldn’t turn the offer down.

A freshman who couldn’t tread water properly to four years later being in the last minutes of a conference title game.

Your friend, Jade, had possession of the ball and passed it back to the goalie. You swam to the top of the pool and got the ball passed into you.

You were immediately fouled and the whistle was blown for the defender to back away. You knew that if you got the ball stolen it was an easy 1-on-1 against your goalie.

This defender had been on your ass all game. She had gotten away with drowning and kicking you the entire time.

Your teammates were all being face-guarded so you had no choice but to get around her yourself. You took a mental note of the shot clock before turning her and swimming straight down the middle of the pool, dribbling towards the goal.

“YOU, YOU. YOU.” You heard your coach scream as you had a clear path to the goal.

The crowd erupted at the move as you got on your hips and motioned to pass the ball to your teammate, Keira. The defender jumped towards her and you faked the ball and turned to aim straight at the corner of the goal. As you rose out of the water to take the shot, you felt a hand tug on your shoulder, you felt and immediate tearing pain You yelped in pain as you dropped the ball and immediately went underwater.

You didn’t think about swimming up, gripping onto your shoulder in pain. You can’t remember much after that when the last things you felt was a player’s foot hit your head as you lost consciousness.

…..

“What happened to her?” a voice asked softly as you stirred awake.

“She got shaken up pretty badly at the polo game,” you recognized the voice of your athletic trainer as you looked to see who she was talking to.

“I think she’s awake,” the girl said.

“Go get her some more ice, please,” the trainer said before turning to you and immediately asking you how you are feeling.

“Try not to move too fast. How’s your head feeling?”

“Did we win?” you asked, wondering how the game ended.

“Y/N, that’s not important right now. How’s your…”

“My head is fine. Did we win?”

“No, the game’s still going on but you need to…” You moved immediately, ready to leave the room and head back to the pool deck.

She puts her arms in front to stop you and you look back at her in confusion. This was the championship game; how could you not be out there?

“You can’t leave. You really need to stay sitting down; you hit your head pretty hard. It’s not good for you to be up right now.”

“Please, I have to see the end of it. This could be my last game,” you pleaded.

“I can go out there and get you an update, but you need to stay here. Deal?”

You nodded with a little attitude behind it, closing your eyes and leaning your head back.

"Also, I was kicked; I didn’t just 'hit my head,'" you stated.

“Drop the attitude, kid. Kate’s bringing you ice. Safety first, always,” she said before walking out.

You relaxed a little, understanding that she was just trying to help. You’ve grown really close to Regina. She's 100% your favorite trainer and she’s learned how to manage your stubbornness.

“Here, this should help," Kate said, her voice soft but firm.

"Thanks," you replied, pressing the ice to your shoulder. You glanced up, meeting Kate's gaze.

It didn’t fully register with you that this was Kate Martin. If you were in any other state you would be freaking out.

Kate hesitated, then sat down on the chair next to you. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, this is good," you said, then added nervously, "What about you? Aren't you busy with practice?"

Kate shrugged. "Practice just ended. I was supposed to ice and heat, but I guess I got roped into being your ice delivery."

You laughed softly, wincing slightly from the pain. "Well, thanks for the delivery. I owe you one."

Kate smiled, a bit shyly. "It's no problem. I’m just glad to help."

An awkward silence settled between you. Both girls fidgeted, neither sure what to say next. Finally, you broke the silence. "So, you play basketball, right? I’ve seen you on the court. You're really good."

"Yeah, thanks. I’ve seen you play a little too. You’re amazing out there," Kate responded, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

"Really? Thanks," you said, your heart beating a little faster. It didn’t make any sense to you that she knew who you were. "This is my last season, so I’m trying to make it count."

"I understand. It's my senior year too," Kate said, her voice tinged with a mix of pride and nostalgia. "It's a lot of pressure."

"Yeah," you agreed, nodding slightly. "But it's also exciting, right? Knowing you’re giving it your all."

Kate looked at you, admiration in her eyes. "Absolutely. And it looks like you were doing just that before... well, you know.”

You chuckled, despite the pain. "Yeah, that defender really did a number on me. i can’t stand her”

Kate's expression softened. "I'm sorry that happened. I hope you’ll be okay for the next game."

"Me too," you said, trying to stay positive. "If there even is one."

As if on cue, the door opened, and Regina walked in. She glanced at both of you, then at you.

"I’ve got an update," she said.

"You’re not cleared to go back in. I’m sorry."

“No shit” you thought. You didn’t expect to go back in, obviously; you were knocked unconscious. It’s honestly a miracle you aren’t in the hospital right now.

"But," she said, her voice filled with excitement, "You won! You’re a Big Ten champ, kid!"

Your eyes widened in disbelief, a rush of joy flooding through you despite the pain. You turned to Kate, a radiant smile lighting up your face.

"We won?" you exclaimed, unable to contain your excitement.

Kate's own smile mirrored yours. "That's amazing! Congratulations, Y/N!"

The trainer nodded, her grin widening.

You and Kate shared a moment of shared jubilation, your eyes sparkling with pride and happiness.

Soon your team came flooding into the room with their Big Ten champ hats on.

You hadn’t noticed you were holding onto Kate’s hand until she pulled away.

“Congrats again, I’ll be at the next game for sure," she said before walking away. A small blush formed on your face as you watched her walk away with a smile.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Jade pulled you into a hug.

“CAREFUL, SHE'S FRAGILE RIGHT NOW,” Regina scolded.

———————————

a/n: again i’m new at this, literally my first time eve posting any fic on tumblr so any help is appreciated.

[fatuismooches]

Hello

I just saw your post with the fragile SO and honestly I loved it sooo much ❤️

Now I wanted to request kinda of a follow up. Like what if before you died you wrote them a letter, saying how much you love them and how they made your last days on earth so memorable and stuff like that. And they found it, like maybe a month or so after your death. How would they all react? (I'm specially curious of Capitano because you said you thought he would think that he killed you 😭)

I really love your writing and I plan to make more request in the future 👋

-🦎

♡𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐞/𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐝 ♡

synopsis: The Harbingers are made of steel, unflinching in any possible situation. But it seems that even such strong beings falter in the face of their lover's death, especially after they find a letter you left behind. Can be read as a part 2 to this.

includes: all harbingers (platonic pulcinella) w/ gn! reader

notes: Hop on the angst train, everyone. This is the first completely angsty thing I've written, and probably one of my favorites + longest pieces. I hope you enjoy this sadness, anon...!

Pierro:

Pierro carried on. He went about his day, filing paperwork, assigning duties to new recruits. What could he do? There was no time to mourn. The entire Fatui depended on his guidance and orders. He couldn’t just drop everything to fully devote himself to grieving you. But everyone knew - in any spare moment he had, he was thinking about you. Thinking about how he used to be able to go home to you waiting for him. Thinking about the walks he took with you that were heartwarming despite the body-chilling temperature. Thinking about when you were alive.

It was another day when one of your maids came to him with a piece of paper. Of course, she was terrified at being in the presence of the Harbinger, but she presented a folded piece of paper to him, stating that she had found it while cleaning your room. Pierro hadn’t been in there for a while. He was consciously trying his best to avoid it, choosing to pick up work instead. He nodded and the maid quickly scurried out of the room. It was most likely a final memento from you. He should honor that, he thought as he took off his mask.

Dear Pierro,

Hello there, my love. I hope your day wasn’t too tiring. I know how you’re always swamped with your Fatui business and such. You’re the head Harbinger, you know! You should definitely abuse your power to get some more days off. You didn’t hear that from me though, not like I wanna keep you to myself or anything. Totally not because I’m dying to spend some more time with you before I quite literally die. 

You know, sometimes I wish I was a Fatui soldier just so that I could admire you from afar some more. Those recruits are damn lucky, getting to see you more than I do. I don’t mean to complain though. I’m still tremendously grateful for everything you’ve done for me. I’ve had the pleasure of enjoying the best moments of my life with you. Yeah, even when I made jokes you still had that stoic look on your face but it was still hilarious. I loved when you would wrap me in your coat and tell me stories about Khaenri’ah. Even when you weren’t here, I loved when these random recruits would be scurrying to my room every so often to deliver your handwritten notes. 

Truly, there’s no life I’d rather live than this one… minus the illness part though. I am sorry to make you shoulder another death, my dear, but I love you greatly. I will always be with you.

Quietly, Pierro put the paper down and rubbed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Ever since the fall of his nation, his heart had long gone numb. He had tried to ignore the prickling of his heart after your death, but your letter was really rubbing it on. When was the last time mere words could stir up such emotion in him? He didn’t know. But he promised you, this would not be your final resting place. Pierro knew, after fulfilling the Tsaritsa’s promise, he would see you again.

Capitano:

Capitano wasn’t very photogenic. After all, all you saw was a helmet shrouding his face in darkness along with his pitch-black armor and clothes. But you had insisted on taking a variety of pictures with him, claiming that it kept you happy. It wasn’t until later on when he stumbled across a scrapbook, with pages covered in photos of the two of you together, that he understood why. Since then, he let you do as you please. The doctors said it was good for you to keep occupied by doing things you liked. And well, it was rather cute, with all the decorations and fancy tape you added. Capitano often found himself looking at it to see what you added when you weren’t around.

But ever since your death, he hadn’t looked at it since. If he did, he didn’t think he’d be able to control the emotions boiling up inside of him. If he looked at your smiling face again, the pain and regret would be too much to bear. But as the days passed by and he continued to think about you, he couldn’t help but flip open the scrapbook, revisiting the memories he made with you so long ago. He flipped until he found a envelope in the middle, causing him to perk up. It had been sealed perfectly, even stamped with one of his seals. Now, Capitano didn’t want to invade your privacy, but what was inside called to him too much, and he very carefully unsealed it with a knife. Inside was a piece of parchment, similar to the ones he used to send you letters.

My knight,

I’m writing this after you just left for an expedition. You’ve just fed me breakfast (a/d fa//ed, but it’s f/ne b/ca/se it w/s c/te.) (The ending part of the sentence has been erased, but it’s still a bit readable.) We took an early bath together, and you helped me choose a nice outfit for today. You dutifully assisted me with my medicine and tucked me back into bed for some rest. Lastly, you’ve just tenderly kissed me with all the love in the world, my favorite part of course.

It’s too bad that I won’t be able to receive any more of your kisses soon. I think the sickness is really catching up to me, haha. (There are some doodles of the two of you randomly drawn in the middle of the paper, with lots of hearts and stars and rainbows. Maybe you stopped because you didn’t know how to continue.) To be honest, I’ve asked the doctors not to tell you, and somehow, they’ve listened to me. I just don’t want you to worry about me. Somehow, for someone as menacingly looking as you, you worry a lot more than I thought (no offense, though.)

I don’t want you to blame yourself for anything, my love. You genuinely made my life so, so much better. Even towards the end, I can only feel happiness that I was able to share some of my life with someone so incredible. You aren’t a monster. You’re the man I love dearly, the one who many people look up to all the time. You did everything and more, which really warms my heart.

I’m saying this because I know how you are and I need to knock some sense into you before you start getting any crazy ideas. Please don’t beat yourself up. If I could choose my destiny, I’d rather choose to be sick and be with you rather than being healthy. I’d choose you again and again, over and over, my dear. I love you, truly.

Carefully folding the letter, he tucked it into the envelope again and resealed it. He snugly placed it back into the scrapbook and closed it, placing it back into the drawer where he usually kept it. Capitano was used to the grief and destruction that war brought. But he wasn’t used to it when love brought these feelings upon him. His heart still hurt - terribly so - but… your letter seems to have brought him some peace. You would forever be in his heart.

Columbina:

It had been a while since your death. By now, everyone had become accustomed to hearing her songs every day. It was a constant reminder of your passing. Oftentimes,  Columbina had begun to stay in your room longer than her own. You were gone, but something about your space soothed her soul a bit from all the grief she was going through. And she also liked to go through your stuff and remember different things about you.

There was a box that contained a compilation of the many songs and poems she gifted you, along with some that you created yourself with her help. Sometimes, she liked to go through the box and think about you, but she never had the time to inspect every piece. Until now, when she noticed that there was an unfamiliar piece of paper that she didn’t recognize. Columbina picked it up and began to read.

My lovely melody,

Lately, I’ve begun to sing more. I think you’ve inspired me. I hope you don’t mind me stealing that one song you like to hum the most. The only problem is that I don’t have enough stamina to sing for that long, and I think my voice is kind of off-key. But I promise I’m working on it! I’m not going to tell you yet because I want to surprise you with something nice, as a thank you for taking care of me for so long.

Actually, there’s another problem, and it’s that… (it seems that you wrote a lot of words here and then scratched them out; perhaps you were unsure how to word it) Well, I guess I don’t really know if I’ll live long enough to perform for you. It’s been kind of tough lately. But I’m going to persevere for you. Your poems have been helping a lot. We should make a book of them one day. And um, in the case that I don’t make it, I would like you to know how happy you made me.

I always got so giddy when I heard you humming down the hallway. Nothing felt better than when you would croon to me and massage my scalp and play with my hair. You are so comforting and sweet, and just - lots of things that would be too much to write. I always feel eternally fortunate that I was able to have a lover as amazing as you. You really did change my life. I love you very much, Columbina. Please don’t forget me.

Columbina’s usual smile had turned into a downward curve. Oh, how she wished she could hear you sing. Your usual voice and laugh had already been angelic to her, she knew your songs would be beautiful too. But you were no longer here. She would have really loved to hear your song. You would have been the best duet partner. But perhaps, you could hear her songs from the other world as she laid on your coffin once again.

Dottore:

Dottore hadn’t entered your room since your death. He was far too busy with his research and experimentation with resurrection. Mourn you? No, no, you weren’t going to be dead for long, after he finds the answer. You would be back in his arms soon enough. Both of you would be fine. That was, until no matter how hard he researched, he always seemed to hit a dead end. It was frustrating. He couldn’t believe it, but he was at the point where he willingly needed a couple of minutes to rest. Dottore headed to his room, but as he placed his hand on the doorknob, something stopped him and he looked over to the room next to his, yours. He silently walked over and opened your room, having not been in it for a while. The only reason you didn’t share a room was that his was very… bland, boring, not very comfortable, and not spacious enough for the medical equipment.

It was the same as he had left it, not bothering to change anything. You liked to decorate it, and he let you. Framed photos of the two of you were on the dresser, lights hung up around the room. It seemed to make you happy. But there was something he had not noticed before - a slip of paper sticking out from under the pillow. Dottore walked over and took off his mask - something he unconsciously tended to do when it was just the two of you - and opened the folded paper.

To Zandik,

I remember when you first took interest in me, looking at me up and down with your mask on, a wide smirk on your face. I knew my parents said they hired someone intelligent to cure me, but I sure didn’t expect it to be the second Harbinger. I think you already know this, but when I saw you, I was kinda scared for my life. And I was for a while, especially when you made me drink the most hellish concoctions and injected strange things into me. But long story short, I still fell in love with you somehow. Even though you were probably trying so hard just because you wanted to solve the mystery of my illness, I couldn’t help but think you were quite handsome when you focused on something so intensely. Your pointy teeth were the cutest. (The previous sentence has been erased but Dottore could still make it out. You were an idiot, he thinks.)

I don’t mean to insult your intelligence or skill… but I don’t think I’m going to make it, Dottore. I know you’ve been trying really, really hard (I was there the whole time, after all) to help cure me, but I think you know better than me about my condition. So yeah. I guess this is my goodbye… my parting letter.

I know you don’t care about anyone or anything really, but I hope you accept it when I say I genuinely enjoyed our time together. Yea, you were hella terrifying and a lot of scary stories drifted about you, but there was a lot of maniacal laughter and you rambling on about things I had no clue about, but I would always happily listen to you, Zandik. I would write more, but I don’t think you’re one for sappy words and stuff like that. So I’ll leave end it here. I love you very much.

His mouth was a straight thin line at the end of your letter. Dottore put his mask back on and tucked your letter into his coat. For once, he couldn’t blame someone for insulting his intelligence. He did fail, after all. But Dottore was no stranger to failure. Experimentation was a series of trials and errors, failures and successes. He swore to himself that you would not be a failure. Perhaps his journey to Sumeru, the land of wisdom, would grant him some more insight for your resurrection.

Pulcinella:

It was just after your funeral. Surprisingly, all the Harbingers had gathered too. It seemed like they had grown somewhat fond of you after Pulcinella introduced you to them, at least enough to attend your funeral. Pulcinella was grateful. He had spoken a few words in memory of you. He couldn’t keep everyone for long. They had other matters to attend to. But in his heart, he had a lot of dear words for you. 

Pulcinella sat down at his desk, deciding to do some paperwork to distract his mind. He pulled out the drawer to retrieve some items but he noticed a piece of paper stuffed to the back of it. He certainly had not put that there. He reached for it and opened it to read the contents.

Hey Papanella,

Do you like that nickname I came up with? I haven’t said it to you yet because I’m not sure how you’ll react. But I think it’s pretty cute. I haven’t said this out loud yet either but… um, I guess you’re like my dad to me. My own parents never cared much for me after my illness proved to be too much work, but you always treated me so kindly. So yeah. Thanks for being a father figure to me. Archons, this is kind of embarrassing.

I’m admitting this because I don’t know how much longer I have. I know you’re always encouraging me to keep living on, and I really do appreciate it. I’m sincerely trying my best, but I think my sickness has been getting worse. Ah, and thanks for introducing me to the Harbingers. They’re pretty scary but they’re kind of cool when you get to know them. Some of them are cute too. Please don’t tell them I said that. But really, for the longest time, I thought my life would amount to nothing, and that no one would remember me. But you proved me wrong. I truly enjoyed spending the last of my days doing old people stuff with you (just kidding of course!)

I’m going to ask you to tell me lots of more stories when I see you again. They really make my day. I like the ones about you in your youth the best. They’re the funniest. Anyway, I love you, gramps. Don’t miss me too much.

Pulcinella was old. He had seen things be built and broken down, people come and go. But he always hated it the most when he had to see youngsters go before he did. Especially innocent ones who had done nothing wrong. He just prayed, that whichever world you were in now, treated you better than this one did.

Scaramouche:

Ever since your death, the soldiers had been on the receiving end of Scaramouche’s insults even more. No longer were you here to hastily save them from his berating, much to their dismay.  They actually appreciated you for stopping Scaramouche from giving them another verbal (and sometimes even physical) beating. But now if he wasn’t yelling at someone, he was deathly silent, which was why even scarier than his words. Everyone knew they were forbidden from speaking about you in his presence.

When Scaramouche had to visit Inazuma for whatever reason, he always found himself walking towards your house. Once he had came across the Tenryou Commission moving your items out of your house, due to no one living there anymore and the want for someone else to buy it. Needless to say, he swiftly dealt with them and sent them on their way with rage. They had tried a few more times and he did not hold back, until later they stopped coming, apparently after the head shrine maiden gave an order on the behalf of the Shogun to leave the residence alone. Hmph.

He doesn’t know why he keeps coming here, the only thing that’s different is the new collection of dust on the dresser. But the want to see you again keeps calling him, only to leave Scaramouche sorely disappointed. He thinks he knows every nook and cranny of your house, that is until he walks on a floorboard that caves in and nearly makes him fall. He’s about to lose his temper until he sees a piece of paper hidden under the floor. The words die in his throat as he picks it up to inspect.

To my beloved Kunikuzushi,

As I write this, you’re probably yelling at some unfortunate Fatui soul and they’re all trembling in their boots. Haha, I wish I was there to see that. You should be nicer, you know. But it is kinda funny to see you mad. I hope you come back soon… it’s getting too quiet around here without your quips and remarks.

But I know as you read this, I’m no longer alive. Kuni, I… (There are wrinkled spots around this area, presumably from your tears.)

I love you, and I don’t want rage and hatred to consume you again. I’m sorry to make your heart bear such pain again. It may be fruitless to say this, but please don’t blame yourself… it was out of our control. Please know I enjoyed every moment with you, whether you were cursing at some guy who bumped into me, even when you teased me relentlessly, or silently crying in my arms about your fate. But my favorite part was your soft smiles which grew more frequent. You are loved very much by me too. I want to see you smile more, many more times before I- (The rest of the sentence was scribbled over with a pen, making it unreadable.)

I wish I didn’t have to depart so soon… I wish I was born someone else, someone more strong and healthier… if I was, would our story be different, Kuni? Perhaps we’ll meet again one day… hopefully, sooner rather than later, and maybe I won’t be the same as I am now, but…

Will you wait for me, Kunikuzushi?

Scaramouche hated when he cried. He felt weak, stupid, and disgusting, especially when you were there. And somehow, he couldn’t help but feel worse than that when he finished reading your letter. He was never favored by the Gods, having been betrayed by one already. It seemed as though he was always fated to be betrayed by people he cared about. But he knew deep down that you didn’t betray him, he did instead by not being able to protect and save you. In an effort to bury his despair, anger, and grief, he would wipe himself clean of foolish human emotions, ready to ascend to godhood with his creator’s Gnosis…

Arlecchino:

Arlecchino’s days had been exactly the same ever since your death. They were the same as before she had met you too. Bland. Boring. Dull. It was after your passing that she truly realized how much your presence had added some thrill and color into her life. Now they were empty. But she was used to that. She had felt that way for a long time.

Arlecchino didn’t do much in her room besides sleep. Her room wasn’t anything special, just the standard and rich master bedroom. That was, until you took it upon yourself to decorate it. She hadn’t bothered to change it despite the style being very much different from hers. Today she had come in briefly to retrieve some documents under her bed. But, there was a random piece of paper there, collected dust on top of it, most likely from being placed there a long time ago. Arlecchino opened the folded paper and was greeted with your handwriting.

To my sunshine,

I bet you’re wondering why the hell I chose “sunshine” of all names. Even I can admit that you are nothing like sunshine. But I wanted to spice things up a bit, and to be honest, you bring a lot of sunshine into my heart and dreary little life, despite your stone-cold face. So yeah! I don’t think I can call you that to your face though. It’d be too scary.

I didn’t tell you, but I’ve had some people ask me why I chose to stay with you despite my health being what it is. My answer is always very easy - I love you, Arlecchino. Plain and simple. They don’t know how you are with me (which I’m kinda glad for… I want to keep this side of you to myself; yes, I know I’m greedy.) The way your lips quirk up for a split second then always turn downwards because you don’t want anyone to see. The way your eyes soften for a bit when I tell a corny joke. Or when I do anything actually. Your facial expressions are pretty cute.

Ahem, moving on from that, I guess you can say that I’m not too scared to say these things because I might be leaving you soon. Not of my free will, of course. Rather, it seems like the time my illness is allowing me to live is limited. Hopefully, you don’t notice anything off about me. I don’t think I could explain all of this in person… 

But I am really thankful to you for sticking by my side for so long. Even though you don’t tell me, I know sometimes you lament about your lack of ability to be verbally and affectionately comforting. But I hope you know that I don’t really care about that. You are more than enough for me. You’ve done a lot more than you think. I’m forever appreciative, my dear.

Arlecchino was left speechless, the usual bite in her throat died down. As someone who had few kind words to say to others, having such sweetness directed at her was not something she was used to. But of course, a part of her wasn’t surprised, because the only person who’d utter such things was you. It pained her, and even the children who cried after your death, greatly. But whenever she needed a reminder of you, she would uncharacteristically gently trace her fingertips over the words of your letter.

La Signora:

Everyone knew to stay out of La Signora’s way after your death. She was cruel before, but your passing seemed to reignite all the flames of anguish and hatred she harbored deep inside her broken heart. Once again, her walls had been put up to be unbreakable.

Rosalyne had gifted you a lot of makeup and accessories. She liked to experiment on you and liked it when you tried it yourself too. You had kept everything in a nice big box so nothing would get lost. One day she felt drawn to it again. She knew she was missing you dearly again, and although opening it would just cause her heartache, she couldn’t help but pry it open to see how you kept it. But on top was a hastily folded letter, stained a bit by the surrounding makeup, tucked into a small compartment. She flipped it open and began to scan the contents.

My dearest Rosalyne,

Hello there, pretty lady. You know, that’s the first thing I thought when I saw you. Tall pretty lady. Did you know that? Now you do. Anyway, I was wondering - how many of your flame moths can you create at a time?? Can you make them form a heart or something? 

Haha, I’m sorry for beating around the bush. The truth is I don’t know how much longer I have left. No matter how much warmth your moths provide me, for some reason, I always feel the chill of death creeping up my spine…

I don’t mean to be your second heartbreak. I’m really sorry… you deserve so much better than that. But for what it’s worth, you made my life a lot better than it was before. I hadn’t had much confidence in myself because of my illness for a long time. But you, Rosalyne… you made me feel like an actual person, as strange as that sounds. I feel like, when I’m with you, you make me feel so loved and special. I’m far from it but I actually feel like royalty. And royalty is really a life worth living. I don’t even know how you did it, but thank you. My life is so, so much happier thanks to you.

Hopefully, I make it a lot longer after I’m writing this letter. Maybe the Gods could finally take pity on me and give me some kind of blessing so I can stay with you longer. But if anything happens, I really, truly love you, Rosalyne. (The end of the letter has an origami moth colored in and taped to it.)

Signora’s hand trembled as she finished your letter. Her heart had returned to being ice, but it felt like her whole body was being swallowed up in red-hot grief and anger. Signora would dedicate herself solely to the Tsaritsa’s noble dream. It was the only thing she could do now, with nothing else to do and no one left for her freezing heart to love. No one could ever hope to understand the grief and pain she’s been through. Perhaps, that was why when she stood in front of the Raiden Shogun’s sword, she did not feel much regret.

Pantalone:

Whenever Pantalone went out, he often found himself looking through the windows of many stores to view their products. It was almost an instinct to pull out a large sum of Mora to buy anything he thought you’d like. And he still did this, only that he stopped halfway every time when he remembered that you were no longer with him. And his heart felt painfully heavy once again, like how heavy his smile felt with the pressure to keep it up.

The silence of his office had become a norm once again, your joyful presence no longer around to brighten it up. Pantalone opted to drown himself in paperwork to ignore it. Actually, he never realized how much the tick of the grandfather clock bothered him until now. Usually, your voice was loud enough to hide it. He sighed and reached for the bottom drawer to get some new pens to sign the documents. But his eyes widened as he saw a paper clearly laid out there, addressed to him at the top. His heart beat quickened as he carefully picked it up and realized it was from you. It seemed like you had experimented with some fancy calligraphy pens he had gotten you a while ago. And you had also stolen every stamp you had from him and stamped all over the paper.

Darling,

Hello, my love. Sorry for all the random stamps. I wanted to see what they looked like. Why does the Fatui need so many different-shaped stamps? You should make one of us, actually. And do you see I’ve been practicing my cursive script? (Indeed, on the back on the paper, your name has been signed in different styles.) I’ve been trying to do my signature all fancy like you. Hopefully, I’m improving.

I am thinking to make you read me a bedtime story tonight. I found a new one that seemed pretty cute. It’s a commoner falling in love with a nobleman… a tale of forbidden romance. It seems to go fine, until the commoner s/cc/mbs to (It seems that you scratched off the rest of the sentence.) Actually, I won’t spoil the ending for you. But by the time you read this letter, we may have finished it already. I’m just going to abuse that pretty voice of yours as much as I can (kidding of course… but no joke. Have you tried some kind of service where you just read things to people? I think you’d make a lot of money from that. I sure would give all my life savings to you.)

I guess since I’m writing this, I should say another thing I’m thinking about. I’m not sure how much longer I can hang on. I’m trying my best because I don’t want to let you down. I know you’ve been trying your best, with all these fancy doctors and equipment, but um… yeah. But I should also say that I’m not regretful having spent my time with you. You made the last days of my life so relaxing, so stress-free, so… nice. I’m glad I don’t need to worry about anything with you. Let’s move on from this, actually.

I’m thinking of a lot of things, actually. I wonder what you made the chef prepare for us tonight. Mhm… I’m getting hungry. Will you feed me dessert again too? Hah, I’m going to miss thinking about such mundane things. Hmm, I think I can hear your voice down the hall, so I’ll wrap this up. I love you.

Pantalone gazed at your words forlornly, his mouth formed into a downwards line. He had never thought the loss of something besides Mora could squeeze his heart so painfully, but here you were, making his eyes sting once again. Blinking back any tears, he made sure to store your letter in a safe place. He made a note to visit your grave today. He’d bring your favorite snack too, and read you a story perhaps.

Sandrone:

It was almost ironic - the puppet master had become a puppet herself. She didn’t speak much to others anymore, choosing to lock herself up in her lab. A part of her debated making some kind of robot or doll replica of you. But it would never be the same. She wouldn’t feel your warmth, or your natural, free laugh. Nothing would be similar.

Sandrone had begun inspections on all of her created robots. It was a grueling process she had gotten used to, but she missed the chirping of your voice as she did so. She worked in silence, opening the compartment of one of them when she was caught off guard by a formerly white paper, caked in dust, inside. The only person who had access to her Automatons was you. So could it possibly be…?

My forever,

I’m actually writing this in the same room as you. You're too preoccupied with your robot building and engineering and all that stuff, so you don’t notice me rushing to write all of this. I’ll make this quick. Actually, it’s hard to concentrate when you look so pretty and intelligent. Ahh, I’m so lucky to have you with me.

I think you’re repairing one of your robots so it can lift us up and take us on a walk. I’m excited. Those are always so much fun. I know you aren’t a sappy person. But I want to make my feelings clear, since I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to watch you unscrew some bolts and hammer down the nails. I don’t need to say it outright, do I? We both know I’ve been getting worse. Neither of us wants to say it out loud, but it’s reality.

Before I go, let me make it clear, since I know you like being blunt. You are my everything. Seeing your cute little robots send me these cute little messages really made my day. I think you told me a long time ago that you didn’t care much about human emotions. I think that’s changed now. I love waking up to see that calm and content expression on your face and watching it become a bit more softer when you see me. You’re more human than you think, you know. Some people think that being cooped up in a lab with a Harbinger is not an ideal way to live. But I beg to differ. I would choose no other way to live as long as I’m with you, Sandrone.

I think you’re finished with your tinkering. I’m going to have one of the robots hide this paper in them. I think some of them like me better than you >:) I wonder how long it’ll be until you find it. Hopefully, you don’t find it too quickly because it’ll be awkward to explain this to you. Either way… I love you dearly, Sandrone.

Sandrone gently brushed off the dust on your letter. She wished she found it sooner. She didn’t know whether it was good or bad her heart was finally feeling some emotion again, but she was grateful to have some final parting words from you. Sandrone had a bubble of inspiration float up in her. She had a good idea of what she was going to build next.

Childe:

Childe had found it after he was cleaning out your apartment in Liyue. He wanted to bring all of your stuff to his home in Snezhnaya. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t throw any of your items away, even the random useless trinkets. Childe’s chest felt hollow as he opened the door to your residence. He expected to see your face brighten and eagerly pull yourself out of bed to hug him. He’d easily lift you off the floor and spin you around, drinking in your gleeful giggles as he pressed his lips to yours. But now it was just the creak of the floorboards as he walked in.

Childe had a memory connected to every piece of clothing that you had. That one he gifted to you for your birthday. Another he remembered twirling you around in on a picnic. One of his sweaters that he doesn't remember you stealing from him, mingled with your scent and his. Archons, his chest hurt so badly, but there was nothing he could do as he neatly placed your items in boxes, emptiness consuming him. He was finishing up the packing when a piece of paper folded in half fell out of one of your pants’ pockets. Childe picked it up and his eyes widened when he recognized your handwriting and his real name. Sitting down on your bed, he began to read.

To my one and only Ajax,

My greatest wish is that you’ll never find and read this letter because it means that we’re living our best lives. We’re happy, content, still deeply in love with each other… living in bliss. 

But if you’re reading this, then we probably didn’t go and do all of the cool and exciting things you wanted us to. I didn’t move to Sneznhnaya and I didn’t meet the rest of your family. We didn’t go travel to all the nations like you wanted to…

Heh, that’s too bad. I was really looking forward to seeing the same sights you saw on your travels. The pretty bloom of Inazuma’s sakura trees, the beautiful snow-covered streets of Snezhnaya. Remember that time you asked me if I wanted to conquer the world with you? Of course, since I can’t ever say no to you, I accepted your proposition. But in my head, I couldn’t help but think that you should probably choose someone who can match your ability and someone who is act/a/ly g/i/g to b/ ali/e. (The previous words have been haphazardly erased, making it hard to make out.)

You know I… (The ink here has bled through the paper, most likely due to you stopping there for a good while.) I don’t even know what to say, I’m just sorry. I don’t wanna leave you, I wanna be by your side forever, wanna be attacked by your cuddles every day. But the only thing I can do now is to make sure you understand that I’m truly grateful for you. No one else has ever cared about me as much as you did. You never stopped believing in me and always smiled when I needed you. You made my feeble life worth living.

Please don’t be sad. Teucer and the rest of your siblings need you. I love you so very much…

He didn’t realize how hard he was digging his fingernails into his skin until he started bleeding through the paper. Childe had been through endless battles, and fought countless enemies, but no wound had ever burned as badly as his heart did right now. Even in the Abyss, he did not feel as bottomless of despair as he felt right now. He wanted to hold you again too, Childe thought. He wanted to kiss you all over and show you how much he loved you. But you were gone, and the letter just solidified it more. He laid down on your bed, hand covering his forehead as he stared blankly at your ceiling. Biting down on his lip hard, he tried to prevent tears from flowing again. He would just go back to being the Tsarista’s weapon again, drowning himself in battle and blood just to feel something after your death.

[bits-and-babs]

i have this idea for joel miller, where him and the reader spend some time together practicing following the rules, since the reader has been lacking im that department, but during that time joel takes it upon himself to find your most sensitive spots and it eventually turns into an overstimulation session where you still gotta follow his rules and hes having the time of his life just ruining you 🖤

-ˋˏ 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 ˎˊ-

— pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

— word count: 1k

— warnings: Dom/Sub themes, very light verbal degradation, a little impact play, fingering, use of the honorific ‘Sir’, overstimulation— phew! Very 18+, ya nasties.

joel miller masterlist I| main masterlist |I send me an ask

“Discipline ain’t your strong suit, is it, Darlin’?”

You shake your head slightly— as much as you can, considering your chest is pressed to the mattress, arms bound behind your back by Joel binding your wrists with his hand. He has you leaned across the bed, toes to the floor. It’s stiff and a little awkward, but you just about manage. “No, Sir.”

Your admission doesn’t match your submissive headspace; muscles slack and vulnerable to the palm that Joel slowly smooths over the curve of your ass.

“You’re going to be quiet for me.”

It’s not a request. It’s an order. Joel’s tone is firm, his voice gravelly as he digs his fingerprints into the flesh of your ass. It smarts slightly, capillaries bursting and blooming beneath in a bruise.

You swallow thickly, immediately falling in line. No verbal response, just a simple nod seems to suffice, because Joel is beginning his cruel torture already as he begins to glide his fingertips over your clothed cunt. He starts at your entrance, up and over your clit. You hold in the sigh that threatens to breach your lips.

“Greedy already,” he murmurs, voice a husk as he holds his hands out before your face. Wetness clings to his fingerprints, glistening under the light. You chew on the inside of your cheek, tilting your head slightly to look at him through your lashes. “Greediest little cunt I’ve ever seen.”

Joel’s fingers dip beneath the crotch of your panties, slipping his middle finger inside of you with such ease that it rocks your consciousness. Your eyelids flutter, and a silent moan catches in your throat. Quiet.

He hums in appreciation at your tight, wet heat, easing his finger in and out of you before slipping in another. Your hips rise from the mattress, balancing on your toes as you rock back onto him.

“Barely touchin’ you, and you’re already misbehavin’,” he points out, his tone clipped. It makes you want to apologise, your heart leaping out of your chest, but you hear his order replay in your head. ‘Quiet’. You smother your appeals.

You feel red hot, your face burning from his attention. The wet sound of your cunt swallowing his fingers practically drowns out your laboured breathing, and you hear a tsk sound from behind you.

“So desperate. Ain’t even noticed how noisy you’re being.”

Joel sounds so close, your brain lagging in realising that his mouth is right beside your ear. He presses a kiss into the soft flesh just below, nipping at the skin so hard it will surely leave a bruise in the morning. He twists his fingers inside you simultaneously, pressing up against something that makes your bones vibrate.

“Auhhh-“ you moan loudly, unable to hold the noise within.

Joel punishes you for it.

His palm collides with your ass sharply. The sound of the slap rips through the room, and your wail of anguish quickly follows. Your skin stings beneath it, prickling hot and smarting. His hand would undoubtedly leave a print, branding you like a cattle iron.

“Hm,” Joel huffs, his breath tickling the shell of your ear as he presses his arousal into the tingling skin of your ass. “What did I tell you?”

“T-To be quiet,” you squeak.

“Not a sound,” he reminds you, his hands coming up between your abdomen and the mattress to squeeze at the mound of your breasts. Joel’s chest drapes over your back as he takes your earlobe between his teeth. His clothed cock grinds at your entrance, granting you enough friction to tease your neglected cunt while pinching at your nipples.

It fires off nerve endings across your body, your forehead slumping onto the mattress when the pressure begins mounting in your guts.

“But this-“ he pauses, working his fingers inside you so you can hear the wet, slurping sound of your pussy, “This is a sound I don’t mind.”

The buttons of his flannel bury into the skin pulled across your spine, skin aching from the pressure and the circular indents it leaves. Your jaw is agape, throat loose in an attempt to prevent any moans or whines from slipping out of your lungs.

“Such a sloppy cunt, Sugar. Can feel that you like that- is it this, here?”

He works his fingers against that obliterating part inside you. You gasp loudly, the sound pulling itself out of you before you have the chance to swallow it back down.

“So hard for you to be quiet, isn’t it?”

Suddenly, his thumb is pushed against your clit, flicking back across it at an immobilising pace. Your legs give out beneath you, hips falling against the mattress as you cum, a tingling warmth flooding your body and crashing over you all at once.

“Ffuh-fuhck-“ you slur, eyes rolling back as your peak dips. Joel doesn’t relent. His thumb continues to brutalise your throbbing clit, his fingers pistoning in and out of you and drilling into that mind-shattering spot. “Fuck-fuckfuckfuck, stop- Sir, pleasestopplease-“

You’re sobbing, fat tears tearing down your cheeks. The wet noises of your cunt bounce off the walls, and Joel groans softly as he watches your hips squirm against the bed.

“Nuh-uh. Get back here,” he scolds when you try to fight him, try to get away. Gripping your wrists tighter, he yanks you back into position, releasing you only to force your hips to stay and bear down on your overstimulated pleasure points.

“Please please, pleasepleaseplease,” you beg him loudly, your raised volume edging towards a scream as you sob around the syllable of his name. “Joel I can’t! Ican’tIcan’t, Joel!”

“You’re a greedy thing, ain’t you? You always want one more from me. I’m givin’ it to you.”

Your mind goes blank, words you thought to shout to force him to capitulate turning to a static buzz as he pushes his fingers up against your g-spot.

“What is it?” He asks, sounding almost bored.

“Iiiiuhh-“ you keen, you moan. It’s long, high pitched and loud enough that you’re sure half of Jackson can hear you fail to form a coherent sentence with Joel’s fingers buried knuckles deep inside of you.

“What happened to bein’ quiet, Darlin’? Did I make it difficult for you?” His voice twangs with amusement, enjoying watching you suffer like this.

It forces a hiccup from your throat when you cum a second time, cracking through you and wracking your exhausted muscles until you scream.

END

-

[dira333]

Bonded - part 2

Spock x reader

“How is it?” McCoy asks when you walk into med-bay.

“How is what?” You ask back while crossing the distance towards the replicator, requesting two cups of coffee.

“Having a bond with that green-blooded hobgoblin.”

“It’s been a day, okay?” You quip and hand him one of the cups, “So far we haven’t killed each other.”

McCoy grins at that and takes a sip.

“You acting like you hate him won’t fool me, dear. You’re pretty obvious about your feelings.”

You groan and step aside, hoping that will end the conversation. It doesn’t.

“Date night?” McCoy asks two days later when you step out of your office after having gone through all your paperwork - or more accurately, PADD-work. You rub your lips together self-consciously, aware of the color of the lipstick you rarely use.

“What does it matter?” You ask back, hiding your anxiety behind a cool facade. Not that it works, McCoy sees straight through you.

“Nothing. Have fun.” He grins while saying so and you roll your eyes at him and step out of med-bay.

It doesn’t take you long to realize that date night with Spock usually means the choice between two things: Meditate with him or play chess with him.

You usually opt for chess as it gives you the opportunity to talk while doing so, but you’re rather bad at chess so you’re mostly quiet as you try not to lose too badly.

It takes you two weeks or four date nights until you’re tired of it. But how do you tell him that without offending him?

You don’t want him to realize it by reading your feelings through the bond and keep calm as much as possible until you’re tired of that too and drop in the seat in front of McCoy’s desk with a groan.

“What?”

“How do I tell him that I hate chess?”

“By using your mouth, for example?”

You roll your eyes at him. “I would have done that if it was easy. For someone so intent on nosing around in my matters you could have better advice.”

“You want better advice?” McCoy puts down your PADD and looks at you, “Do you think you two are still bonded because you are a shy wallflower that says yes to everything he likes and does? If he wanted something like that, he could have found plenty of those on Vulcan or elsewhere.”

You stare at him wordlessly for a few seconds before you push yourself out of your seat.

“This must be the worst version of ‘Be yourself!’ I’ve ever heard,” you tell him as you walk out his office.

“I hope so!” He calls after you as you leave.

“You are early,” Spock tells you as you step into his ready room.

“Well yeah,” you say, “I like spending time with you.”

He looks up at you, eyebrow raised in question.

“You have something to say?”

“Yes. I hate chess.”

Spock stops short and you take a breath.

“Well, I don’t exactly hate it, you know, but I’m really bad at it, but I figured we could still talk while playing chess whereas meditating seems just plain impossible to me.”

“What do you propose then?”

“There are so many things to choose from. Watch a movie, listen to music we like, make music even or just, I don’t know, talk like we did that first time. And that’s just the innocent part of my ideas.”

He quirks the left side of his mouth upwards until it positively looks like he’s smiling and you grin back at him.

“I’m open to all of your ideas,” he says and you nod.

“Well, how about you show me what we can do with that bond thing anyway?”

You feel a tingling sensation at the back of your head where the connection rests and close your eyes involuntarily as pictures, sounds and feelings trickle in.

You can see yourself talking on a conference, can hear Spock talk to Captain Kirk how you would be a viable addition to the team and feel his eagerness to talk to you when you first step onto the Enterprise.

Your eyes snap open as you realize what he’s trying to show you and the connection stills.

“I am very interested in what you might have to tell,” Spock tells you softly and gestures towards the couch for you to take a seat.

-months later -

It feels different to date when you’re bonded.

It feels different to be bonded.

You are not just yourself anymore and everytime you say or do or feel something, you are reminded of that.

When Ensign Kreger vomits all over your shoes you can feel Spock’s annoyance pricking you right at the back of your skull. It makes it harder to stay calm.

It also makes it harder to stay friends with Dr. McCoy because you can literarily feel Spock’s feelings whenever the CMO makes you laugh. Not that Spock would acknowledge himself having feelings at all, anyway.

“Stop that,” you tell him one morning as soon as you’ve made it to your quarters after an exhausting Gamma shift. You’re sprawled out on the bed and Spock is standing in the doorway, face passive, but annoyance ringing loud and clear through your bond.

“I merely wish you would take better care of yourself,” he states and you grunt.

“Liar.”

“Vulcans do not lie,” Spock claims and steps forward to pull your shoes from your feet.

“But you keep information to yourself. You are annoyed by the fact that I’ve managed to have fun with Dr. McCoy.”

He stops what he’s doing and it’s getting harder for you to stay awake.

“That is true,” he finally confesses, “I admit that the logic of your friendship with the CMO appeals to me in a way I do not particularly like.”

“What?” You turn your head to look at him. “What logic?”

“Doctor McCoy has similar interests, a similar sense of humor and he is fully human. You fit together.”

You snort. “But he does not make my heart jump whenever I see him. Something you should know because we are bondmates.”

“That is a feeling and therefore purely illogical.”

“Illogical or not, I love you.” You tell him, your tongue made loose by exhaustion.

He leans forward to press his lips to your temple.

“I love you too,” he mumbles softly against your skin as you slowly but surely lose your fight and fall asleep.

A relationship is always hard work.

Sure, the bond helps you understand what the other is feeling and it makes many things easier, but not all.

The bond intensifies feelings, the positive ones and the negative ones as well.

You feel twice as happy when you’re happy with Spock, but you also feel twice as angry when he’s angry with you. Or when you’re angry with him. The lines blur until the source of the feelings are no longer clear.

“You could just tell me what she’s telling you,” You snap as you pull out a new uniform from your cupboard.

“I did. She informed me about the progress of the new vaccine.”

“And why did she giggle then?” You throw him a look, annoyance coursing through you, “Don’t tell me vaccines have turned into some new joke nowadays. Or is it just the French way to look serious?”

“Are you jealous?” He asks back, too calm for your liking, “Of Dr. Lefebvre?”

“She never talks to me, okay?” You tell him, huffing out in anger, “And when she does she speaks French which she knows I don’t understand and now she’s talking to my boyfriend, all giggly and smiley and I’m sorry if that makes me feel anxious, okay?”

“I do not think smiley and giggly are terms that-”

“Spock!” You interrupt him, “I don’t want a grammar lesson! I want you to tell me that no French Doctor could ever take you from me because you don’t like French or something like that.”

You wave your hands in the air, trying to capture what you’re feeling as if Spock didn’t already feel that through the bond.

“Dr. Lefebvre thinks we are married,” he says instead and you gape at him.

“What? Why?”

“Because we are close, we’ve been dating for almost two years. I told her we aren’t and she was giggling because she mentioned something about getting down on one knee and found it amusing that I did not get the reference.”

You lean your head against the door of your cupboard.

“Humans go down on one knee when they propose,” you explain to him and he nods in understanding. “That makes sense. Vulcans sing when they propose. Or hold a speech, whatever feels more natural to them.”

“Do you want to?”

“What? Sing? Hold a speech?”

You smile at him trying to copy your humor and shake your head.

“Get married.”

“Oh… well, we are bonded. In Vulcan terms, we are already engaged.”

You laugh at that and step over to where he’s standing, waiting for you to get ready.

“Take my hand, Spock.” You can feel your heart picking up speed, your brain trying to get you to rethink what you’re doing, but you’re not one to rethink yourself.

“Why?” But Spock is.

“I’m trying to ask you to marry me, so take my damned hand!”

He pulls a face at you but takes your hand and watches you with curious eyes as you go down on one knee. It’s difficult in the uniform you’re wearing, but possible.

“Will you, Spock, do me the honor of becoming my husband as soon as we make it to the next starbase?”

Spock crinkles his nose. “Our next stop is on Delta Vega, which is an ice desert void of any civilization. If you do not want to get wed by the poor man working the starbase, I’d advise waiting for a more suitable place.”

You groan.

“Would you marry me then on the next starbase we are both happy with?”

He sends you a strong feeling of happiness through the bond instead of answering and you laugh and jump up to wrap your arms around him.

“And now, the custom of kissing my fiancé,” you joke with a smile before leaning in.

He meets your lips with his own and you can feel an emotion through the bond, taking over your mind.

It’s happiness in its purest form.

It’s love.

[autumnmobile12]

Helluva Boss S2 Trailer:  “You don’t love mother and you don’t love me!”

I have a problem with this line, and I’ve had a problem with Octavia’s character for awhile now, so I’m going to talk about it.

To cut her some slack, her house and family life is a mess.  Fighting parents, cheating dad, feeling neglected by both parents, and she’s a teenager on top of that.  I get it.  Moody, angsty teen with a really good reason for being moody and angsty.

And Stolas isn’t blameless in all this.  With the cheating, he’s actively a problem, but we can see that he loves his ‘little owlet.’  But he is a terrible father.  In the Seeing Stars episode, I thought that it was going to be a lot more Stolas and Octavia-centric on their relationship, but no.  He and Blitzo spend most of the time looking for her just dicking around in some human comedy act when they really didn’t need to be there.  Seriously, it wouldn’t have been the first time Blitzo massacred a group of humans to get out of an awkward situation, but if Stolas is so concerned about his daughter, then why didn't he do something about their situation? If he loves his daughter so much, why is he okay with this distraction? He's not even the one who gets him out of it in the end.  That was the first time Helluva Boss actually disappointed me.  I don’t think the brief bit of backstory we got with Blitzo and Loona justified the rest of that whole bit, so it was really pointless.  That piece could have been handled better.

Throughout the Stolitz ship, Stolas is 100% ignoring Octavia.  But terrible dad aside, the line from the Season 2 trailer, “You don’t love Mother and you don’t love me!” should be emotional.

Except…. “You don’t love Mother….”

…why would he?

Does Octavia not see what a violent, toxic bitch her mom is?  She has seen her screaming, getting violent, and throwing things. I suppose Octavia could have the opinion that Stella's anger is justified with the cheating and all, but then that explanation implies she thinks reacting violently like that is acceptable behavior. And let’s not forget Stella straight up ordered a hit on Stolas, which nearly succeeded.  Does Octavia not know about this?  Again, Stolas being a terrible dad for not taking steps to get the daughter he supposedly loves away from the psycho who ordered an assassination, but did none of this get back to Octavia?

Not that any of it makes Stolas' infidelity okay. If you're unhappy in a relationship, leave it. But with the way Stella behaves, there's no rational way Octavia can expect her parents to love each other. It sucks to be the child in that position, especially a teen still figuring things out, but that is very much an 'it is what it is' situation and you gotta make the best of it in whatever way you can.

As it stands, it isn't fair for Octavia to entirely blame Stolas for their family falling apart.

"You don't love mother and you don't love me," makes it sound like Octavia is consciously choosing her violent, narcissistic witch of mother over her dad. This also doesn't make sense with the plot because there's no sign of Octavia having a close relationship with her mom. There are no portraits of them together in a loving embrace as we see with her and Stolas. Plus, Stella doesn't care about Octavia. The only two times in the show she vaguely mentions her is as the 'one egg that finally dropped out of her' and when she and Andrealphus are discussing the inheritance that will go to Octavia. She doesn't care about Stolas either. The only effect the cheating had on her was the idea of public embarrassment for their family.

Neither of Octavia's parents care for her the way they should, so for the, "You don't love mother and you don't love me," line to work to its fullest impact, it should have been phrased as, “You don’t love me!  Neither you or Mom love me!”

I do love Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel…but Octavia’s character is really poorly handled.  I remember it being said in an interview that Helluva Boss does have heavier focus on its male characters while Hazbin Hotel was supposed to be more female-centric, but when it comes to Octavia, that structure in the storytelling is crumbling under its own weight. There is a story here and it has some major gaps that need addressing.

To give them some benefit of doubt, maybe this’ll be addressed in an episode before that line hits, so maybe it’ll make more sense. Or they could make it clear she said it out of anger.  At least, I hope so because I really need some righteous retribution for how Stolas behaves with his daughter.

...

Edit for clarity: The point of this post is a criticism of the lack of story we get for Octavia that justifies her motives, not a criticism of why she herself behaves the way that she does. The dysfunctional family is heavy stuff and since it is a front and center issue with Stolas' background, it needs more attention than the series gives it.

[luvrodite]

THE VERY FIRST NIGHT JASON TODD (college! au)

↳ the first night you spend at his place

You don’t mean to stay over, the first time that you do. Truly you don’t. But it’s late, and you’ve spent the entirety of the afternoon dozing in and out of consciousness on the–quite frankly, illegally comfortable–couch in Jason’s living room. The both of you lie, pressed into each other, against the couch cushions and watch the reruns of old tv shows that are showing. 

A cool wind breezes in through an open window, and at your back, Jason is warm. The sun has long since set, but neither of you have mustered up the will to shut the blinds beyond the comments made every so often when a car will beep loudly, or a truck drones down the road, so loud the both of you flinch awake where you’d lingered on the precipice of true sleep.

It’s this such disruption that pulls you so meanly from sleep, startling you where you’d been so very comfortable in the arms of your boyfriend, and your movement in turn wakes him. He grumbles, and the both of you blink blearily in the dark at each other.

“What’s wrong?” he yawns, making to tug you closer. You stay upright, and he frowns at you, greatly inconvenienced. You would laugh if you were more awake, but sleep clouds your senses still and you reach for your phone. The time blinks at you, a mocking 12:19 and you let out a breath that is heavier than Jason feels it ought to be.

You show him the time and he stares blankly at you. “I’ve missed the last bus,” you say, and he screws his face up as another yawn tears out of him. His arms come around you once more, this time successfully pulling you closer.

“So what, sweetheart,” he murmurs, tucking his nose into your neck.

“Be serious,” you murmur, brushing a hand over his hair. “I should get home.”

He lifts his head to look at you. “‘M being serious. Just stay.”

You pause. 

“Stay the night?” you murmur, unsure. He nods, earnest and sleepy. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll drive you home, if you want,” he says gently, leaning up to press a soft kiss to your mouth. Your heart snags on how he grows a little shy as he pulls away, eyes flicking away to where your necklace has slipped out of your shirt collar. “Just thought it’d be more convenient….y’know…you could borrow my clothes if you want.”

“Jason Todd, you romantic, you,” you breathe out, a surprised laugh colouring your voice. He grumbles as you giggle, heat crowding in your face. You cover up your shyness with a false bravado, peering down at him to tease, “Will you make me breakfast in the morning, too?”

He glares up at you, teeth nipping at the tip of your finger. “I would. ‘Cos I’m a gentleman. And a good host. And your boyfriend.”

Everything in you seems to turn topsy turvy at his words, heart melting into a syrupy sweet, treacle-like mass in your chest. You can’t help but kiss him again. 

“Okay,” you whisper, and his eyes brighten in the dark. “I’ll stay, if you’ll have me. If you promise I’m not being a bother.”

“Could never bother me,” he says plainly, happy. “C’mon, sweetheart. Get you something to wear, think I’ve got a spare toothbrush, somewhere.”

You think that your first night together is going to be nerve-wracking. That you’ll stiffen up in bed and never fall asleep for fear of–fear of what? Getting too comfortable, you think. You think you’ll do something ridiculous and be laughed at for it. You don’t know if you could bear it from Jason.

But as it happens, you are guided down the dim-lit hall, hand in his, feeling very much as though you have already fallen asleep. A soft shirt is pressed into your hands, and shorts you forego–sleep plies you soft and uncaring, you’re here anyway, aren’t you? Jason says nothing, only pressing a kiss to your shoulder and leaving. He returns some moments later, takes your day clothes from your hands in exchange for a red, unopened toothbrush. 

You slip under the sheets and sleep claims you with a kiss. 

me when i lie and say i'm saving writing jersey boy for friday and the weekend. september and october are my peak jason months i think. the weather turns gentle and everything starts to bloom again, and i feel so much love for this silly little fictional man. he makes my heart ache. i love domestic jason. i think mid afternoon in september is always so pretty and the evenings are even lovelier. it makes me think of love so much even though i think i'd run away if it came within six feet of me.

[aheathen-conceivably]

In the first weeks of 1930, a slow passenger train rode through the desert hills of New Mexico. It had begun its journey in the city of New Orleans before heading north alongside the snaking brown waters of the Mississippi River.

From there it had stopped in St. Louis, Missouri before it turned back south, following old pioneer trails as it cut through the American Southwest on the way to its final destination in Los Angeles, California.

In one of the cars, the light, determined click of a woman's heels fell in line with the rhythm of the rails below her feet. The sound had defined her life for weeks, yet she found it just as droning now as the day she had first boarded the train. She made her way from her own cabin, where her niece and brother were spending the final hour of their journey, to the room where her soon to be sister-in-law was readying herself. 

As she approached the door a rail attendant appeared in the car to alert the passengers, “Next stop Strangerville, New Mexico! All passengers ready your luggage! I repeat all passengers ready your luggage!”

Josephine increased her pace and rapped loudly on the door, wanting to ensure that her arrival could be heard above the railway attendant's call in the next car. A small voice told her to enter, barely audible alongside the thundering sound from below.

Josephine entered Zelda and Antoine's suite, which was larger than the one she had shared with Violette during the journey. Half smoked cigarettes and thrice-read books clattered against opulently carved woodwork bolted to the walls. Amidst it all stood Zelda in a white silk wedding dress, preoccupied with her reflection as she pinned a final curl in a perfect curve.

For a moment Josephine forgot the rail’s droning sound or the conductor’s hurried call, “Zelda, you….you look marvelous.”

Zelda turned briefly to acknowledge Jo’s presence, self consciously smoothing down the silk of her dress before she turned back to the mirror to fiddle with the clasp of her pearls, “Do I, truly? I’m afraid it’s quite old fashioned now, isn’t it? I suppose I should have gotten something new rather than just dyeing this old dress…”

Josephine walked over to her, taking the pearls from her shaking hands. As the car rattled on, she couldn’t tell if it was from the constant movement or her friend’s nerves. She spoke to her as she fastened the necklace, “It’s perfect, ma sœur, absolutely perfect. Are you ready? It’s time to put the luggage near the door; we’re the next stop.”

When Zelda didn’t answer Josephine turned her around, softening her face and her voice, “Zelda, you can talk to me, if you need to. Whatever it is. If you aren’t ready I’ll speak with Antoine. Whatever you need.”

Zelda looked at her curiously before an immense happiness overtook her face. She grabbed Josephine’s hands and smiled, “Jo, I’m only nervous because I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life. I’ve waited so long; we’ve waiting so long, it simply feels surreal. Like it’s impossible to feel so much happiness all at once without something going wrong.”

Josephine’s heart soared for her, and then sank as she realized that Zelda had learned to expect misfortune so much that she couldn’t even truly give herself over to excitement in that moment. “Zelda, everything will be wonderful, I promise you. You’ve been through enough, okay? Both of you. Today will be perfect.”

(A very special thank you to @simtleman for creating this gorgeous train build and then sharing it with me as well as all the CC creators you used to make it so stunning ♥️)

[incorrect-fnaf-quotes]

A bunch of things being thrown around involving the Game AU that I wanted to mention? Yes. Yes indeed. :) @universewolfpup

RXQ/Shadow Bonnie is basically like... a character that one of the villains/bosses made at some point, hoping that they would help with their plans.

...Though the villain/boss was quickly proven wrong. Very quickly. Because RXQ was genuinely just like: “No.” and left, and eventually joined the team (Freddy, Crimson, etc).

Earlier, I was basically like: “What would Jack-O-Bonnie sound like?” and right now, I’ve just kind of settled on King Andrias’s VA from Amphibia. Might change, might not.

Jack-O was the first one who actually happened to find Crimson once she arrived. No matter if he actually had been or not, though, Crimson still becomes attached to him quite quickly.

There’s... just so many father-daughter things that I’m imagining with these two. And just little things here and there. He’s a decent singer, and will occasionally sing her lullabies.

Crimson just... absolutely doesn’t know how she’s supposed to get out of the game. She assumes, for a short time, that it’ll happen when she wins... but she has no idea.

And, even then, as she spends more time there, she honestly doesn’t really want to leave all that much, and is kind of starting to dread the eventual day. But, she knows she has to go.

Speaking of her being in and out of the game: In a previous post, I (think) I mentioned how her consciousness gets sent into the Game Avatar, while her body remains, and is simply unconscious/in a coma.

By the very end of it—when she does go back, her body has basically been like that for a couple of months at that point.

There would be game-overs that could be experienced—but they technically aren’t death ones. So it’s not like Crimson would repeatedly deal with that happening.

Instead, if she and the others were in a fight, and they all lost, they’d basically faint, and wake back up somewhere else (like Pokemon? There’s other comparisons.)

It doesn’t stop her from being anxious during battles, though. As also mentioned before, Crimson can see a lot of the stuff—text boxes, health, etc. So, when one keeps getting low... she keeps getting scared.

Mangle wasn’t torn apart by kids here or anything. But, for quite some time, she’s still sort of hesitant around Crimson—it just takes some time.

Crimson likes to get piggyback rides from Jack-O.

Whenever she does eventually leave, I keep comparing it to the endings of the Mystery Dungeon games—it’s angsty, but there’s still way more to it. She never returns.

Except for a smaller AU of this AU—where she does, and there’s less angst. She just sticks around 👍. Happy times, I guess.

While the other characters, in battle and everything, do have moves to use, Crimson doesn’t. At least, not immediately. So, she focuses on healing them with the items she has.

She does eventually start calling Jack-O “Dad.”

...This was a lot—anyways, I think that’s it. It’s late.

[lil-spider]

So Damn Pretty

Chapter 10

Part 9 : Part 11

Pairing: Johnny Slaughter X Female Reader

Summary: Johnny is sex starved and you’re very attractive, so attractive that he doesn’t want to kill you. Instead he finds ways to keep you around longer.

Note: The story is coming closer to completion but that’s okey cause I’m gonna be in this fandom forever even if it has died a little lol. I’ve got plenty of Johnny fics planned :3. This chapter is for those who have been so patient! Love you all😘

Warning: This is 18+ and please do not read if your sensitive to heavy descriptions of non/con and violence. Including bondage, blood, gore, assault, objectification and unsafe sex. For those who don’t mind, I hope you enjoy.

I stare vacantly at the couple of eggs on my plate, not feeling hungry for them. I sink further into my seat and take a glance over at Johnny. Its just him and me sitting at the dining table; the rest of the family have already finished up their breakfast, but it seems he has an appetite this morning, digging in his second plate of crispy bacon. I look back at the two eggs; things in pairs have been bothering me lately. It seems my mind still can't get over those two girls. I thought I would be over it; at the time, it didn’t bother me, but the guilt comes in waves. Crashing heavily against my consciousness. I try to keep it down, not letting it depress me. I've gained trust from the family, and I don’t want to ruin it with my emotions. 

 

With their trust comes more leniency. So much so that Drayton brings me along to the gas station, helping him out with whatever he tasks me with. 

 

A surprising amount of locals come by. They didn’t question me; they just went about their own business. I didn't know how to go about it. I guess no one back home really cares that I'm missing. Even though I'm somewhat content with my current situation, I can't help but feel sad. No one bothered at all to look for me. I know I didn't have much family, but Nate and Jessica sure did; both came from big families. There should be people searching for them. 

 

I quickly moved on from those thoughts, especially now that it's too late to go back. It's easier to just focus on other things. Even if there isn't much to focus on,.

 

At least today I can spend the rest of my time with Johnny out in the field. I love keeping him company while he works on the cars, and sometimes I help out by passing him tools or handing him a rag.

I glance over at him again while I smoosh around my runny eggs with my fork. He shoots me a small grin. I was going to smile softly back at him until a sudden shot of nausea hit me. Instead, I must have given him an ugly face because he looked at me with a raised brow. 

 

Salvia starts poring up into my mouth, and with panic, I sit up, making the chair scratch on the floor, and bolt past Johnny to the front door, slamming it open. No longer able to hold it down, I grip the veranda's handrails tightly, lean over, and vomit my breakfast onto the poor bushes below.

 

"Ya' alright, darlin'?" Johnny asks as he walks up behind me, confused. He sees what is happening and places a large hand on my back and rubs it in soft circles while I spew out misery. Thinking I was finished, I turned around to face him, smiling wearily, but a second punch of nausea came flying in, and I turned back to vomit in the bushes again.

 

“I’ll go get Sissy.” He says this, grimacing at the sight of me puking, unsure of what to do.

 

He leaves, and in a quick minute, a concerned Sissy comes with a damp hand towel, and she guides me to take a seat on the white bench, dabbing my forehead while I try not to throw up straight bile.

 

"Oh, pumpkin, this is not good," Sissy worries, still wiping my face. Johnny comes back outside, also looking concerned. 

 

“Take her to the living room, Johnny; she needs to lay down.” Sissy tells him, feeling my forehead and checking for my temperature. I’m not sure if I’m sick; I don’t feel hot. 

 

Johnny, grumbling at being told what to do, still picks me up bridal style, carrying me effortlessly to the living room, and lays me down gently on the cowhide-covered couch.

 

“What’s wrong with her?” Johnny asks, turning to Sissy, wanting an answer to my sudden sickness. She places an old, rusty bucket down next to me, just in case I get sick again. 

 

"Well, she ain’t burnin' up. Maybe it’s something she ate.” She’s replies are also confused about my sudden sickness. 

 

I lay there on the couch, trying to keep whatever wants to come up down while Sissy and Johnny keep me company for a bit. It’s comforting to see how much they seem to care for me. However, after under an hour of resting and sipping on some water, I feel much better.

 

“I'm feeling better.” I said this to both of them, who looked surprised and relieved about my comeback.

 

“Somethin' must've upset ya' then.” She reasons. With that little incident over with, the rest of the day goes by as normal without any sign of sickness. It must have been something I ate. 

 

That’s what I believed until the very next morning, and then the next thing happened on the third day. Sissy keeps my hair away from my face while rubbing my back. 

 

It's another morning, and I'm back outside vomiting; it seems to be my usual puke spot outside on the veranda. 

 

 I know I've made everyone else concerned now. I can hear Nubbins questioning Johnny about why I'm throwing up so much. But he wouldn't get a solid answer from him, as he is just as clueless about my ongoing vomiting. I don’t understand either; at first, I thought I was dying, but what Sissy came up with seemed worse than dying. Her sweet voice contradicts the heavy words coming out of her mouth. I feel like I've been strapped to an anchor, and it's dragging me down, deep below. 

 

 “I think you may be pregnant, sugar; you ain’t got no fever, and sure, dang, know Johnny hasn’t been innocent with you." She explains smoothing my messy hair. 

 

Now I feel like I’m really drowning. Oh, my good I’m pregnant, oh fucking hell. It explains everything: the weight gain, my emotions playing up, and of course the morning sickness. My legs start to wobble. Holy shit, I’m pregnant with Johnny’s baby. 

Sissy notices my shaky form and decides to help me back inside. Holding my arms steady, she shuts the door behind us with her foot while leading me to the sofa. As I sit, she’s skipped off to grab a glass of lemonade while I try to calm down. Just as quickly as she left, she came back with a glass of delicious cold lemonade. Sissy places the drink in my shaky hands as I take a sip. Its sweet yet bitter flavour soothes me. 

 

“When I was in California, some of her sisters from the ranch always threw up every morning when they were pregnant. It's called morning sickness, and it's always a telltale sign that you're going to have a baby.” She explains joyfully, sitting down right next to me and giving me an excited hug. 

 

She then claps her hands together cheerfully. "Oh, how joyous a little baby!" She throws her thin arms around me again in another big hug while I sit frozen, completely gobsmacked by the revelation that I'm pregnant. I guess I must have forgotten how babies were made while I’ve been here; Johnny and I have been going at it enough. There is no denying that.

 

I placed my lemonade down on the coffee table and placed a hand over my belly. Johnny's baby is growing inside me and will later give birth to his baby. 

Sissy stands back up, going over to a sleeping grandpa. I didn't realise he was there. But Sissy, with all her excitement, accidentally woke him up, to which she apologised by telling him about the new member of the family and how he’s going to be a grandpa again. How many generations old is this baby going to make grandpa? I wonder.

Grandpa Sawyer just let out these wistful groans in reply. Sissy explains that he’s excited for a new grandchild. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to understand him. 

Then Johnny comes stomping in, shirtless and sweaty from being outside in the Texas heat. "What’s all the squealing you’re making? I can hear it from outside." He asks, annoyed. 

I would've hoped Sissy would keep my pregnancy to herself until I was ready to tell her, but instead she just blatantly spills out to him that I'm pregnant. 

“Bout’ time.” He says plainly, I gap at his laid-back attitude on this situation. He turns to my surprised face, and he smirks. He inches closer, bending down so his face is in front of mine. 

“I told ya I wanted to be a dad, didn’t I? It’s why I've been working so hard on you.” His smirk widens as my face flushes red in embarrassment. Have I been baby trapped?

The day goes by like usual, even though I'm an emotional, vomiting mess. Now during dinner, and for some odd reason, I never get sick eating supper. The smell of any other food makes me queasy, except cooked meat. My mouth starts to drool when I smell it being cooked. Just barely being able to keep anything else down has made me famished, and tonight, Drayton's chilli has never tasted better. Going in for seconds and now thirds.

“I should've made extra batches just for the way you eat, girl.” Drayton commented, slightly impressed with how much I can put down. 

“It’s just so good.” I moan out with a mouthful of chilli.

“It's better than good; it's the best chilli in the whole damn county.” Cook proudly states, sitting up a bit straighter.

“Oh god, enough of the chilli talk.” Johnny groans out, already frustrated with the conversation.

“Y-yeah enough!” Nubbins joins in, trying to entice a fight. 

"Oh, shut it; look at the girl; she loves it.” He points over to me, still stuffing my face with utter pleasure. 

“No more of this arguing! Y/N is in a delicate situation, and I want none of ya' messing that up!” Sissy puts her bit in, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. Ironically, this is her way of enticing an argument.

“What delicate situation, girl? She's just hungry.” Drayton asks, confused by Sissy’s words. 

“She’s pregnant, and ya' can't do anything about' it.” Sissy again spills the beans on my pregnancy, but now to the rest of the family. 

I look over at Johnny puasing my eating to see his reaction to Sissy not being able to keep anything to herself. “They'll find out sooner or later.” He just sinks further back into the chair, crossing his muscular arms under his chest, waiting for the onslaught of words from Drayton. 

Bubba, who is next to me, is the first to react. He places his large hand on top of his head and pats it, like if I were a puppy. He groans gleefully, I guess, letting me know that he is happy with the new addition. He can be a real gentle giant when there isn't anyone to murder. 

Cook has gone absolutely red as a tomato, while nubbins start snickering. "Oooh, J-Johnny, I-I-is in trouble.” It seems the night has gone his way for wanting drama.

"God, Damnit, boy, I knew this would happen. You can’t control yourself, can you? Always chasing tail, and now a baby.” Drayton stood up at the start of his rant but now has sat down, looking almost deafted.

“Your mother will go ballistic once she finds out.” Drayton points his finger at Johnny, warning him.

“Shut it, old man! You got nothing to worry about; it’s bout time; we’re all getting old, and we gotta keep the family going.” He counters Drayton's words. 

It looked like Nubbins wanted to say more, but with Johnny quickly standing up and leaving, it was pointless. 

Dinner practically finished up after that fight, and I just sat there silently, not sure what to do. I was supposed to help clean up, but I sneakily decided to go find Johnny. Anyway, with all the commotion still going on with Nubbins and Sissy messing with Drayton, it’s best I stay away. 

I check the front veranda; Johnny has a few smoke spots he always goes to: the front, the back garden, and his shed. But luckily, my first guess was right, as I found him sitting on the outdoor bench. While walking to him, he quickly puts on his smoke, squishing it under his boot. “Shouldn’t smoke around you anymore.” He grins at me, and just as I take a seat, he places his warm hand on my stomach. 

“The second I saw you, I knew you were the perfect girl to have my kid. So fucking pretty, I'm going to look after the both of you, I promise.” 

His words send tingles all throughout your body; it’s electrifying. You place your hand over his, smiling back at him.

“Soon you’re going to get real big, darlin’; ya tits are going to get nice and fat too.” He teases with humour, but a familiar, hungry look starts building in his eyes. 

As he inches closer to me, his large hand moves away from mine and glides up, grabbing a breast. He squeezes it firmly before starting to massage it. His warm breath is on my neck as he kisses right below my jaw. Wetness begins to pool in my panties. 

“Run up the stairs to your room and undress before I take you right here.” As much as I wanted to tease him, it’s better to listen, or he really would take me here, in any position too. He gets very creative when he's horny. 

I get up and leave, going to my room just as instructed. I closed the door behind me and set myself on the bed to undress. I wore a blue sundress today, so I just unzipped the side and let it slip right off. Leaving me in my white panties. Even though it didn’t take me long to undress, it wasn't quick enough for Johnny. He was already here, striding in and locking the door behind him, already semi-undressed too.

“Come on, darlin', only your panties left to go; take em off for me.” I happily obliged, hooking my fingers into the side, purposefully bending over, and sliding them down. 

I look back to see the bulge in his jeans while he takes them off. Now he is just as naked as me. I will never get tired of looking at his body. His large muscles, pecs, sprinkled on chest hair leading down to his happy trail—the sight of his scars always makes me throb. Fuck, he is gorgeous.

With my ogling, I fail to notice him getting closer. Wrapping his large arms around me, he whispers into my ear, “I want you to take a seat on my face while keeping your mouth busy with my cock.” He groans before going to lay down on the bed. This is a new position, and with only a little hesation, I gingerly climb over him, placing my legs on the side of his head. Before I sink down, he grabs my hips roughly, bringing my swollen heat to his mouth. 

I gasp as his tongue slides back and forth over my clit. I lean further down, grinding my wetness along his mouth needing more. His impressive cock, comes into view, precum leaking out; it’s red and aching to be sucked. 

I lick his tip timidly before taking his whole length, making a sloppy mess while focusing on his head, I hear him groan as I go deeper. His grunting sends small, delightful vibrations along my clit.

My muffled moans fill the room as he holds me in place, my aching pussy being devoured while I simultaneously suck off Johnny. I hallow out my cheeks, pinch my lips, and let my tongue slide along his shaft. Working extra hard to get him to finish first. 

It's difficult; he knows exactly how to get me off. He knows where I'm most sensitive and what feels best. My plans to make him cum first are starting to falter; I'm struggling to even keep myself steady. I put my tired arms on top of his muscular thighs, giving them a rest. I take a deep breath and continue to encompass his cock, swirling my tongue along the base. I’m a little sloppy with the rhythm now, but I don’t think he cares. 

I can feel my orgasm building as Johnny doesn’t even stop for air, still sucking and licking my clit with undying hunger. His grip on my hips still remains strong, making me unable to pull away. 

My limbs are starting to become sore. Needing him to finish, I start sucking his cock faster, my salvia drenching him, making it easier for it to slide along my tongue. My moans turn to whines as my own orgasm is right on the edge. 

I feel him twitch in my mouth while his groans continue from below. "Fuck, I’m gonna cum." I choked out, stopping to take a deep breath. 

Johnny slides his hands along my thighs as his tongue stays strong, massaging my clit, while keeping a steady pace.

I take his throbbing length back into my mouth right before my orgasm hits. The force of it makes my legs turn to jelly while I moan incoherently around him. I try to move away, my clit becoming increasingly sensative, but his hands grip back to my hips, holding me captive while he moves his hot tongue in my cunt, licking up my juices as he thrusts himself deeper down my throat. Not letting me until he cums. 

I’m a whimpering mess; my thighs squeeze his face while I lick and sucking, getting him closer so my poor pussy can have a break. 

My efforts were deemed successful as his cock started to twitch and stiffen. With my last lick, he spills himself. He groans as his cock pulsates while I swallow his whole load. With revenge, I continue to suck him, knowing he's going sensitive. He hisses and quickly pulls me off.

“Naughty girl,” he chuckles, slapping my ass hard.

I yelp from the harsh slap and roll my body to the side, recovering from the intense orgasm. Johnny, too, lays still panting. I move up and lay my head on his chest. He throws an arm around me as we both relax into each other. 

Before I knew it, I'd fallen asleep on his chest. 

It's in the middle of the night that I wake up to long, thick fingers inside me, thrusting in and out slowly. 

“You awake, baby?” Johnny asks, now teasing my hard clit with his thumb. I moan out in response, gripping the bedsheets.

"Yeah, does that feel good?" His whispers, his face moving into the crook of my neck, his hardness pressing up against me.

"Ah-ah.” I try to say yes, but it’s morphed into moans.

“Fuck, your tight baby girl, gonna' feel so good when I put it in. He groans while I spread my legs further apart from his words. I'm going to cum soon with the way he’s going.

Instead, he pulls his fingers back, slides over on top, and plunges his hard cock inside me. He slips his wet fingers into his mouth, tasting myself, while his cock goes further deep inside. 

I groan out while he stretches me. A mixture of sleepiness and arousal makes me clench around him. Johnny, in turn, pulls out his fingers, replacing them with his tongue and pushing it into my accepting mouth as he starts a fast rhythm, pounding into me.

All noise is blocked out, except for my moans and the slapping sound of his cock fucking in and out of my sopping hole. 

“I'm going to keep you on my cock forever.” He groans into my ear, grabbing onto my swinging chest. Groping the fatty flesh.

I whimper at the thought of being his cock slave, as if I weren’t already. 

He sits up, holding my hips tightly in one hand, and as the other goes to rub my clit, I hold my tits, stopping their swinging from his hard thrusts.

“I'm going to be full of milk soon.” I moan out, teasing him, thrusting back against his cock. I felt his cock twitch as he groans, knowing he's imaging my tits spilling milk. The hand that was squeezing my hip goes to squish a boob, swatting my hand away and pinching the nipple.

I throw my head back in ecstasy and wrap my legs around Johnny’s waist, getting closer to my second orgasm of the night. 

“Ya' gonna' cum on my cock, sweetheart?” He teases, rubbing my clit achingly slow.

I whine as he also starts to stop his thrusting, keeping me on edge. Repeatedly pulling himself fully out of my cunt and slowly pushing back in. 

Not giving in to his teasing, Johnny takes his cock and starts jerking it, leaving me feeling empty and frustrated. 

“Use your words, darlin'.” He groans out, now stopping his rubbing on my clit, only focusing on getting himself off. 

“Please! Please, I want to cum.” I moan wantonly, fucking desperate for him to continue.

It’s not enough; he is still waiting. 

 

“please daddy.” I moan, testing out a new nickname.

It does the trick as he groans deeply, gliding his hardness back inside me and thrusting away.

Relief floods me when his cock goes back into my aching heat. I’m so close to finishing. 

“I-I-I’m cumming!” I cry out as my pussy squeezes him tightly. My orgasm sends Johnny over the edge as he cums just as quickly inside me.

“Fuck yeah, baby, cum on daddy’s cock.” He moans out, shoving himself deeper. 

I whimper from the overly sensative feeling of being filled and having two orgasms in a short amount of time. 

It’s been a few weeks, and my bump has become more visible. It seems each day I just keep getting bigger and bigger. It does help my confidence that Johnny just can’t seem to keep his hands off me since I’ve become pregnant. It’s like the animal inside of him has changed. Becoming more protective and sex-hungry.

I won’t lie. Being pregnant has been a nice change; I’m doing less labour. Sissy considers me too delicate, and she doesn't want to stress the baby. Drayton has even been forcing Nubbins to actually clean up the messes he makes; he didn’t listen until Sissy and Johnny got on his ass about it too. Three against one, it took him to actually listen. It’s mainly bone scraps he leaves around, always making new traps. He even showed me how he makes him; it was impressive, especially how well they worked on the animals nearby. He explains that it was Grandpa who taught him everything he knows, from killing, slicing, and cleaning his blade, "back when Grandpa was still in his killing form." He told me enthusiastically. 

It’s hard to picture Grandpa in his so-called 'killing form', even if it was years ago. He's just so old and motionless, but with the way he enjoys his blood, I can understand that he may have been more ruthless than anyone here. 

Having less work has made me bored, only spending time in the lounge. I’ve been trying to find my stuff to do. I have no more clothes to patch up or anything to make. And I’ve cleaned so much that there is barely anything else to clean. I need to find something to do before I go crazy.

Johnny has noticed me being a little slumped, so he decided to bring inside some dead rabbits and teach me how to skin them. How lovey. Though it did cure my boredom, even if it was gross, and he did a much better job than me, he made it look so effortless. It was like it was his thousandth time doing it. Unfortunately, it probably was. During my time here, I learned that Johnny is an efficient hunter. The skulls of the animals and other people he killed are used as decorations in the house. 

Those rabbits that we skinned went into a crockpot meal with mashed potatoe; Sissy made it with a bunch of herbs and veggies from her greenhouse. You can't get this type of fresh food in the city. Not including people. 

I decided to try and work on my baking skills, asking Drayton if he could bring back some condensed milk so I could try to make some caramel fudge. He agreed; we already have butter and sugar, so it wasn't too much of an ask, and let’s just say my caramel fudge was a hit. Everyone has a surprising sweet tooth. Maybe not too surprising, as the pantry was stocked with tubs of chocolate drink powder. 

So now during the day, to help my boredom, I've been baking treats and deserts, and it's nice that everyone likes my baking. Even Johnny, who seemed like someone who hates sugar, eats up the sweets much like everyone else. Sissy always gets excited to see what I've made for dessert. She tells me it's become her favourite part of the day. 

Time goes by, and so I get even bigger. Including my chest, I think it's doubled in size; it’s embarrassing how big I’m getting. It doesn’t help that Nubbins snickers around me, poking fun at the size of his chest; he called me a cow one day, and sweet Bubba, who would do anything for his family, smacked Nubbins really hard on the back, making the lanky man tumble embarrassingly forward on the ground. which I've believed humbled him, as I got no more teasing after that.

Some of the spare clothes I’ve had that were modest are now very form-fitting and showy, just because of my growing size. Thankfully, there are old male button-up shirts that I can use to give myself some dignity. 

I don't even know why I worry about my dignity when I let Johnny strip me naked and put me in compromising positions. Thanks to my growing breasts, Johnny couldn’t seem to hold himself back, and now we've been fucking everywhere, more than before.

One moment I’m relaxing outside in the middle of the day, the next I’m nude, riding his cock on the old, ripped-out car seats out back near his shed. I have to hold on to his shoulders tightly because he's making me go. Moving me up and down. He does it purposefully because he likes watching my tits bounce. 

Being pregnant has made everything more sensitive. So when he places his mouth over my nipple and pinches the other, I almost cum. At least fucking outside, I get to be loud. I just hope no one is watching. 

But as I get closer to cumming, the less I care if anyone can see. I’m enjoying myself. So I throw my head back, and I grind down on Johnny while I peak. Milking his cock through my orgasm, he squeezes my chest, holds me down tightly, and fills me up with his hot cum.

Just as my chest grows, so does my ass, so a day later I’m on all fours, holding the headboard for dear life, trying to keep my moans low as Johnny slams into me from behind. He smacks my ass as I thrust back onto him. He grips the fat hard. Making sure this time I finish from his cock alone. Just as I came, he pulls out and pumps himself until he shoots his load over my clit  and pussy, making a mess. He reasons that since I'm pregnant, he can decorate me with his cum. He's especially loves shooting his cum over my face and chest. It's nice that he makes sure I have an orgasm right before he does.

Yes, all my assets may be growing; but most importantly, my stomach is too, With the baby getting bigger, Johnny's softer side comes out.

So now he has a pillow under my hips while he slowly ruts his cock while softly sucking my nipple. He slides his hand over my body, feeling all the curves. He slides his hands down and up my leg till he brings it over to my clit, rubbing it in delicate circles. I groan; going slow is new, but fuck, it still feels good to get pampered like this. 

 

“We’re not fucking like this all the time, are we?” I'm still addicted to the hard and fast fucking Johnny is known for. 

"Nah, Darlin, I just like the way you glow tonight and want it slow.” He says this while ironically speeding up, causing me to whimper.

As my orgasm gets closer, I hold his face in my hands and stare into his handsome eyes. “I love you, Johnny.” I pant out as I cum around him.

“I love you too, doll,” he responds, filling me up with his cum and kissing me hard.

[the-night-that-feeds-if]

Hey everyone, dunno how long this might be, kind of doing a stream of consciousness style ramble about TNTF and me and stuff :)

alright so, tntf is getting a huge rework, this is my first if game ever, the coding is a little overwhelming, i know it’s fairly simple but it’s A LOT.

the reason i’ve been pretty quiet is mostly due to burnout, as some of you know i have health issues, i have crohns disease, i’m also autistic with adhd—something i love about this community is the understanding and acceptance for people/authors like me who may want to write but are just too stuck to be able to do it.

i know everyone is so jazzed for the next update, and i am too, there’s a few changes i’m making in regards to the technical aspects of the story, i’m removing stats, for the MC and for relationships. part of it is… i’m not a numbers person, trying to balance out the stats going up and down is a pain when this is planned to be a pretty damn long story. i also just don’t like it for my story personally, i don’t want you, as the player to feel like you have to game-ify personality or relationships.

this also opens the option for me to write more player responses to situations without having all of that annoying code in my brain~ MORE FLAVOR!

My writing has also vastly improved when it comes to fiction, a lot because i have been practicing so much while i’ve been sick (i’ve been playing with and writing AI chatbots on Janitor.AI, learning how to create a complex and realistic personality, an engaging character and world.) It’s been useful as a stress reliever and as a tool to help me write better, more descriptive etc.

on that note, smut in my game is also a very yes, i feel much more comfortable writing it now… heh.

i’ve also decided that all of my books are going to remain free, tntf was a planned three book series, it may just be one or two HUGE books, we’re going to have to see what i, and twine are capable of. but the story is going to span four countries and two continents of the world, so yeah.

the new rewrite is also going to slow things down considerably, because now we’ll have MC on a ship for four months as the intro, then meeting maddock and spending <insert amount of time here> with him while traveling to that little inn. it also gives me more room to introduce the characters a lot earlier but in their own POVs and not just while they’re with MC. i want the world to feel alive.

my decision to make and keep tntf free is because i want to.

i would not appreciate minors interacting with my content, but i also grew up with the internet, i know that no matter how much prevention we put in, minors are going to access our content regardless if it’s free or not. i just ask that if you are a minor and reading adult fiction, please don’t comment, dm or whatever, this is for your safety in the community as well as, i don’t want to deal with other people’s children on the internet, it’s nothing against any of ya’ll, you’re awesome, children are great but i’m almost 26, i really don’t want to deal with kids in what’s pretty much an adult space (i haven’t really seen books catered to the younger than 18 crowd, but like i’m saying, i’m more interested in forging connections with the adult community here, considering i am one, lmao *bats children away with pool noodles*)

i think that’s it

i might post more stuff but that’s my general direction

also to the asks in my inbox from last year on my birthday and forward… I READ THEM ALL AND APPRECIATE EVERY WELL WISH AND FEEDBACK, GENUINELY. i’m just bad at social media.

[sunderingstars]

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ EIDOLONS ⌝

sampo analysis m.list

— what the stars reveal: interpretative analysis, heavily aha!sampo

— word count: 3k (can you tell i'm an english major? :3)

— overview: (as of 2.3) hello and welcome back to sampo theory time! this time, i’ll be looking at his eidolons, their names & art, and how they might factor in to his overarching identity and story. there will be a few conclusions i reference in this post (like eidolons progressing in a linear narrative), so if you want more on that, i highly recommend reading my eidolon names as narratives and eidolon art as facets of character posts first! it’s not required reading though (god i sound like a professor) — otherwise, enjoy!

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To begin, I would like to humbly say this post will likely be the most nerdy thing I’ve ever posted in my life. I have written entire paragraphs about two singular words for this. Two words. And I have even more I can say about them! But anyways, just a heads up, this is the type of thing you’d probably see spoken by a stereotypical “nerd” archetype in a high school movie. But without further ado, let’s get started!

(Yes, I am sad that I still only have him at E2 despite pulling every time he’s on a banner. And both of these are from event character selectors :))

My main thesis for this analysis is that Sampo’s eidolons follow a similar narrative structure to other eidolon sets in that they start with his backstory and progress to the present (and open-ended future) of where we are in the story; additionally, the placement of these names with the facets of his eidolon art add to further implications for his personality and development. This can lend itself to multiple of my theories — the main ones I will be interpreting for are Aha!Sampo, Emanator!Sampo / Functional Aha, and Dual Consciousness!Sampo.

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ AHA!SAMPO ⌝

Starting with Aha!Sampo, I interpret these eidolons as beginning at his “rise” to Aeonhood, then following through to him “spending” some kind of cost in the present/future for whatever his plans are. 

“Rising Love,” his E1, has two important components — “rising” and “love.” “Rising” seems the most obvious to me, as Aeons have been referenced to “fall” before, so it makes sense that they would also be able to “rise.” Additionally, Himeko has explained that Aeons “ascended from the form of intelligent beings” (Parlor Car Dialogue); beyond “ascend” being a direct synonym of “rise,” this shows that Aeons can come from physical and perhaps even humanoid beings. In fact, Aha’s lore in the data bank, while not explicitly stating that Aha used to be mortal, implies the “climbing” of the tree of existence and laughing, which is a very human act. (However, it is good to keep in mind that this is a parable told by the Masked Fools, and given the nature of Elation factions may not be entirely truthful.) In this way, “ascend” and “rise” may be interchangeable, and the “birth” of an Aeon could also refer to the “rise” of a mortal to Aeonic status.

Next is “love.” For this we need to think not as followers of a Path, but as an Aeon Themself. While it may be easy to think “If he’s Aha, it should say rising elation” — 1. That might be a bit too obvious from a writing standpoint and 2. From an Aeonic perspective, Aha may very well view “Elation” as “love.” They may view spreading Laughter throughout the universe as the ultimate form of love, and as such “rising love” could refer to the rising of a being capable of dispersing “love” (Elation) on a wide scale throughout the universe.

After the ascension, or “rise,” to Aeonhood comes Sampo’s E2, “Infectious Enthusiasm.” This is one of the more obvious ones in my opinion, as “infectious” implies a status capable of imposing itself on others — influencing them in ways that are perhaps beyond mortal comprehension — and “enthusiasm” is closely linked to “Elation” both in wording (starting with the letter E) and in connotation. “Enthusiasm” and “Elation” are both high-energy words, carrying the idea of excitement and even mania. I would view this as “Aha proper,” in which Sampo has come into his full identity as an Aeon and is thus capable of dispersing “infectious enthusiasm” onto others (Pathstriders). (Aha is also directly described as having “infectious enthusiasm” in the Simulated Universe!)

“Big Money!”, his E3, is particularly interesting to me because it seems like an intrusion — a departure from the other, more grounded names. The exclamation mark especially lends itself to the exact kind of “infectious enthusiasm” present in his E2, to some kind of encroachment on his previous mortal existence. This ties into my compulsory existence theory, in which Aeons by nature live in a sort of compulsive state, needing to adhere to their given “concept” just by virtue of existence; this is heavily influenced by the game’s discussion of “Primum Mobile”s, or the idea of “restrictions” that come from existing as an Aeon. Aeons that ascend from mortal beings would experience the brunt of this, as their previous state would essentially be overwritten by this eldritch, compulsive concept. 

I think “Big Money!” could symbolize such a change in Sampo. After ascending to Aeonhood from a potentially mortal form, intrusive thoughts of Elation encroach on his very being — the feeling of momentary thrill, of “Big Money!” — likely leading him into his next state: “the deeper the love, the stronger the hate”.

I’m not going to lie, I’m absolutely in love with the name for Sampo’s E4. It links back to so many aspects of his character in a way that sets up an amazing juxtaposition between his outward appearance and inward feelings in so few words! For me, “The Deeper The Love, The Stronger The Hate” highly relates to compulsory existence. As we see in Aha’s splash art, the smiling masks — the Elation, the “Love” — are always at the front in the spotlight, while the frowning masks — the sadness, the “Hate” — tend to be obscured in the background by shadow. 

In a compulsory existence, I can’t imagine how horrible it must be to constantly be forced into performing a singular emotion or concept. In all likelihood, these negative emotions are barely able be felt at all, leading to extremely repressed layers of fear, anger, sadness and, yes, “hate.” “The stronger the love” — the stronger the Elation — means more repression, more hiding, a stronger fermentation of despising one’s own existence lingering in the background like shadowed masks — “the stronger the hate.” In this way, I believe Sampo’s E4 may convey this dual existence, of an existence where one side is so deeply, powerfully out-of-proportion with the other that any emotion from the other side is left to fester unchecked below the surface. 

(Note: The name could also be referencing the talent level-up, which would show the self-aware aspect of his character. This would apply to his E5 as well.)

This hate, of course, is then covered up by “Huuuuge Money!” (E5), because we can’t have those feelings swirling around in a being of pure Elation, can we? they must be taken out with the trash, overshadowed with yet another encroachment of exclamation marks and the thrill of sudden gains. After Sampo’s rise to Aeonhood, it must’ve been a constant battle between these underlying negative feelings and his compulsory, Elated existence — and given the linear progression of most eidolons, this must’ve been a pattern that repeated for millennia, over and over and over again, one he can never escape or solve. Perhaps it still is. 

Which is why, in his E6 “Increased Spending,” I believe Sampo may be “paying a cost” to try to alleviate this issue. Whether by becoming mortal, sectioning off his power to others, passing along his title, or any other number of potential solutions I don’t know, but I feel like he is turning his compulsive nature of Elation to the thrill of the “cost” in the hope of changing some part of this ever-chaotic, ever-stagnating existence. Either that, or it is to further a master plan we the audience don’t know about.

Overall, in terms of Aha!Sampo, I interpret these eidolons of tracking his rise to Aeonhood through his compulsory existence and fermenting self-hatred, all the way to “increased spending” trying to find a way around this problem.

Now, let’s take this a step further and add his eidolon art into the mix. This is where I’ll start to get into some of the conclusions I discussed in my eidolon art as facets of character post.

E1 (Rising Love): Keeping in mind “rising” as potentially referring to the rise of an Aeon and “love” as potentially referring to Aha’s idea of Elation, I see this figure as an ascending or untouchable silhouette; “walking” (or perhaps more aptly, climbing) into a new role. It also creates a distance between a potential “past” mortal form and a “current” Aeonic or ascended one.

E2 (Infectious Enthusiasm): I find it so interesting that “Infectious Enthusiasm” was chosen for the eye-centered eidolon. Since “Infectious Enthusiasm” is so, well, Aha-coded, this matches with the conclusions of first impressions and inciting incident from my eidolon art post. I believe this eye is meant to represent the first true “glimpse” of Aha people get — it is very close to the face without being too personal. It also spotlights Sampo’s unique facial features, mainly the almost condescending furrow of his brow. However, the eye itself has deep shadows, most likely referencing the dual hate within his being. This would be the “inciting incident” of Sampo in his Aeonhood proper, at the height of his power.

(Note: “Infectious” + the focus of an eye may further imply the presence of a “gaze” and the ability to distribute power in an Aeonic way.)

E3 (Big Money!): E3s are by far the most character-specific eidolon, with each character interacting with an important object to them. I feel like money is only fitting for Sampo, since it matches both the eidolon name and his obsession with making money. It very much leans into the “con-man” aspect of his character, and would make sense as the way acquaintances or those he keeps at arm’s length would view him (probably his customers).

I also find it extremely interesting how he is looking down. We see this a lot throughout his mannerisms and idles, with him always seeming to have a condescension that looks “down” on others below him. While this could be just another facet of his character, it also matches up with the way an Aeon may view the mortals around them — no matter how close They get to someone, that someone will always be “below” Them. It’s not even a conscious decision, just a natural byproduct of Aeonic existence, much like casting Their gaze down to bestow power on Pathstriders. Whether Sampo has become truly mortal at this point or not, it’s probably a bad habit to kick regardless. (I would also love to point out how him looking down at the money is also reminiscent of this (albeit more nostalgic and “loving”) face he makes towards Sparkle, a whole human being:)

E4 (The Deeper The Love, The Stronger The Hate): Here, we zoom in even more on his personality. Beyond the superficial impressions people get from seeing him at a glance, we have now entered a more complex emotional understanding — his eye, unlike in his E2, is more faded and shadowed, the hand scratching his head and his smile pointing towards a sort of “act” he puts on for others. This shows multiple dimensions of him: both the charismatic, smiling con-man, and the hatred lurking beneath that façade’s surface. This would be in a more present timeline, highlighting his “fake” and mysterious nature as well as how he is portrayed to people who know him better like friends. It shows a clear dissatisfaction with the façade he has to put up; whether the “love” is also a true emotion to him is up for debate, but either way this eidolon has him balancing between these two sides of his being (potentially balancing between an eldritch and mortal consciousness, or dealing with the aftermath and residual power of a past Aeonhood). (He also seems to be looking down at the spot the masks would match up with if the silhouette was looking down in Aha’s splash art — it is possible that this “hate” refers to the hate he has for his power or the power of the masks. Or, perhaps, this looking down is a general way to symbolize a being of higher power looking down on those below them like Pathstriders.)

E5 (Huuuuge Money!): This eidolon is more casual and comfortable than the others — there seems to be no dual-sided hate, nor does there seem to be as prominent of a focus on obsessive moneymaking in the art itself (the name is a different story). Instead, the main focus is drawn to Sampo’s outfit, the moniker of his existence in Belobog. The upper half of his face is still cut off, but the art seems to be hinting at a potential comfortability in Belobog, as well as the future mystery of his true identity (and if he will choose “Sampo Koski” as his real self). I actually love this combination, because it shows how Sampo may be at his most casual in Belobog; it’s clear he’s made real connections with the people there, and regardless of his motives, it seems to be a place he deeply cares about. This would be his appearance to close friends, most likely those aforementioned connections in Belobog like Natasha or Seele. (However, the looming encroachment of “Huuuuge Money!” still hangs in the air, perhaps signaling a bigger issue with Aeonic consciousness persisting despite his best efforts.)

E6 (Increased Spending): Finally, we get to the core essence of Sampo’s being. This is him at his most vulnerable, his appearance to only a select few special people. His head is tilted, his neck bared, showing clear trust and confidence in this position. The main thing of note here is the similarities between E6 and Aha’s splash art — the same pose and build with a different tilt.

This would mean that Sampo’s identity as Aha is his most vulnerable form of being — the fact of others knowing who he truly is, of wading through his personable exterior to reach the truth at the core of him, is a privilege only a trusted few get. This most likely points towards the “cost” implied by “increased spending,” the idea that, for whatever reason, Sampo’s true identity being revealed at the wrong time or too soon would put him in a less-than-ideal situation. As such, it is something he holds close to his chest (at least in Belobog) either willingly or unwillingly. (Note: This could also reference a past identity as Aha, it does not necessarily have to be something he experiences currently.)

It also shows that the silhouette in the splash art is the “core essence” of either Sampo, Aha, or both. Beyond the masks (much like Sampo’s façade) lies a deeper, truer version of who Aha is. The true Sampo is not the masks or the smiles or the laughs, but the shadowed figure beyond them, the silhouette that holds the hidden emotions of an Aeon.

I would also like to point out that, on the whole, Sampo’s eidolons (and kit in general) focuses on damage over time. Interpretations can be varied, but I personally like to think this further references the idea of “cost,” and that staying in mortal form as Sampo may be hurting him over time just like his DOTs affect others!

Overall, the art for these eidolons paired with the names create a fuller picture of who Sampo might be and what he might be hiding. There are a lot of hidden clues and implications that can be applied to several different interpretations, and I tried to account for multiple in my analysis! The standouts for me are his E2, E3, and E6, but that’s just because of personal preference. Before I conclude, I want to briefly interpret these eidolons for some non-Aha!Sampo theories.

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ ALTERNATIVE INTERPRETATIONS ⌝

There are other interpretations to be had, namely Emanator!Sampo and Dual Consciousness!Sampo. Many of the points I made for Aha!Sampo can be applied to Emanator!Sampo, as we know Aha is both capable and willing to give others entire mastery over Their path for shits and giggles. It is possible that Sampo, as either an Emanator or a “functional” Aha or both, could have a similar “rise,” “infection,” and compulsory existence as a result of Emanator status. Additionally, any kind of dual consciousness where Aha is trying to impose Their will on Sampo could contribute to the constant push-and-pull of two schools of emotions — even minds. We could read this as a more literal encroachment of Aha on Sampo’s mindspace, quite literally trying to force Elation into his brain while Sampo’s consciousness fights back. In this way, the “love” and “hate” mentioned could refer to more of Sampo’s feelings towards Aha as a separate or encroaching entity, rather than himself or his own existence.

(Note: This could also work for Aha!Sampo where Aha’s power & status is passed down or won like a sort of crown or title — a “mask” if you will — and Sampo is the latest inheritor/receiver of it. The eidolons would then track from a more recent experience of receiving power and dealing with the encroachment that comes with it. I think it would also lend to much more fear and confusion as this new existence would be a stark departure from Sampo’s previous mortal life.)

(Note 2: Electric Boogaloo: This could also work with a “transformation” theory where Sampo’s more human form and his eldritch-Aha counterpart have two distinct mind spaces, and the “encroachment” of “Big Money!” and “Huuuuge Money!” could be indicative of the literal mental change that happens when he transforms, leading to increased spending (or the “cost”) of him trying to stay in human form as much as possible because he doesn’t like what he becomes when he changes.)

(Note 3: I promise this is the last one: It is also possible that Aha has sectioned off these feelings of “hate” into a separate being — i.e. Sampo — and “The Deeper The Love, The Stronger The Hate” shows that how despite being separate physical beings, Aha and Sampo share an emotional space in which the “love” of Aha directly influences the severity of the “hate” in Sampo. Just a thought.)

Anyways, I find these eidolons super cool! I love how Sampo flips through his bills in his E3 and how his E6 mirrors the silhouette in Aha’s splash art. Even if the Aha! or Emanator!Sampo theories don’t end up being true, there’s some really cool psychological stuff going on that could speak broadly to his relationship with money, gambling, and his own self-image.

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ જ⁀➴ if you read this far, thank you for doing so! it means a lot to me when people take the time to listen to my silly little theories, so yes, thank you! if you have anything else you want to add or if you just want to talk about these theories (which i am happy to do at literally any time) my askbox is open! hope you enjoyed my nerdy rambling :3

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© analysis by sunderingstars. do not copy, repost, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[wambsgansshoelaces]

tom is my tall baby girl so more about tom here 🥹

Mechanical

Tom Wambsgans x fem!Reader

Oneshot

Summary: you finally get your husband to take a break.

ahh I’ve been wanting to write for Tom so badly!! thank you so much for requesting <3 very fluffy, very feel-good. enjoy and let me know what you think x

Word Count: 2.872k

“Tom, you’re doing it again,” you murmur gently, poking his jaw. He’d zoned out as you’d been telling him about your day. He only did that when he was stressed. No, you don’t like it, but you can’t hold it against him. He was so perfect and attentive normally. He deserved to have you be the same when he was upset.

“I’m sorry, honey. Tell me, I’m listening.” He sets his head on your thigh and looks up at you expectantly. You’re perched on the couch, him on the floor so you can easily play with his hair and scratch at his scalp.

“I think you need it more than me.” You use your knuckle to gently stroke up his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

He leans into your touch. “Oh, nothing. Don’t worry about me.”

“I know you well enough to know when you’re lying,” you murmur. “I’ll always listen to what you have to say.”

He sighs. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “It’s so trivial. You shouldn’t have to worry about my work.”

“Well, regardless, I’m going to be worrying about you.” You’d begun to trace his features with your thumb, his eyes fluttering shut. “And I’m worried.”

“How’d I get so lucky with you?” He sighs. “It’s nothing serious, really. It’s just so much to do, every day, back to back. It all just keeps piling up.”

“Take a day off,” you suggest. “Stay home with me tomorrow.” You’d weaseled your way out of work tomorrow, and you’d be damned if you didn’t stay home and do absolutely nothing with your husband.

“You think that’ll help?”

“Hopefully it will.” You gently stroke his bottom lip. “Spend the day in bed, on the couch. Pawn off all your work to someone else.”

He laughs. “You’re cruel.”

“No more than you.” You lean down, gently kissing him. “Tommy, baby, come on.” You make a face at him, your features softening.

“You know I can’t say no to you.” He kisses your knee. “I’ll call in sick tomorrow.” He gets to his feet, sliding onto the couch and hoisting you to sit comfortably in his lap. “And take you out on a nice date.”

You stay like that for a long while, watching something on the TV. It doesn’t take long for you to start nodding off, face buried in Tom’s chest.

“Honey, go to bed,” he murmurs gently in your ear, mouth then going to press soft kisses to your forehead.

“Come with me,” you murmur back.

“I’ll join you, I promise. I’m still in my suit.” He takes his tie and pokes you with its tail end. You’re already in pajamas- you get home earlier than Tom does. You burrow under the covers, sighing contentedly at the cool touch of the sheets to your skin. You lie on your side, sinking into the mattress.

You can hear Tom going about his nightly routine in the bathroom, washing his face, brushing his teeth. Now, you’re falling in and out of consciousness, desperately trying to hold on until Tom gets into bed with you.

You don’t have to wait that much longer. The mattress dips on his side of the bed as he climbs in after you, it leveling back out when he’s laid down. He reaches out to you, also lying on his side, and you don’t hesitate scooting closer. One arm curls around your waist, the other allowing his hand to rest on the back of your head, both pulling you close. His lips brush against your brow, kissing you hello. Your arms wrap around his waist, and you bury your head into his chest.

His large palm massages soothing circles into the small of your back, and you can feel yourself slipping away. You want to say something, but you know no words will come out. Instead, you take his chin and bring his mouth to yours. You share a tender, loving kiss that tells him all the things you can’t. I love you, I love you, I’ll never stop loving you.

He makes a soft noise, pulling you tighter against him, fingers winding through your hair.

Before you know it, the warm morning light is peeping through your half open blinds. In your sleep, Tom had managed to get himself completely on top of you, cheek pressed against your chest. His breathing is deep, slow, his sleep peaceful. You take your hand and gently stroke the nape of his neck. He murmurs in his sleep, shoulders relaxing.

You drift in and out of consciousness, Tom a comforting weight settled atop of you.

You wake up fully an hour later, Tom no longer next to you. An appetizing, inviting smell wafts into your bedroom, and you slide out of bed groggily. After rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you pad into the kitchen and silently wrap your arms around Tom from behind. You press your cheek into his back, closing your eyes and sighing happily.

Tom startles slightly, turning in your arms to steal a glance at you. He deposits a kiss in your hair before turning back to whatever’s on the stove. “Good morning, honey.”

You plant a kiss in between his shoulder blades before nuzzling your face into his back. You can feel his muscles flex at your touch, relaxing after a moment. “Good morning. What’re you making?” Your voice comes out quiet and soft around the edges.

“Just an omelette. You can have it, I’ll make another.” With a flick of his wrist, it’s plated, and he’s pushing the plate into your hands. “Go eat. I’ll be right there.”

Reluctantly, you oblige. You don’t want to leave his side, but your stomach is growling. Minutes later, he pulls the chair next to you as close as it can to you yourself. You both eat quietly, just happy to be in each other’s company.

“I have something fun planned for us today,” he tells you in between bites. “Dress pretty, okay? We have to go at two.”

You finish your food, then lean over to kiss him. “I thought I told you to take a break. To relax a little.”

He grins. “This is me relaxing. I’m happiest when you’re happy, especially when it’s because of me. Spoiling you is like therapy.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Spoiling me?” You grin back.

“Well, if it’s not obvious that it’s what I’m doing, then I need to turn it up,” he says, hand brushing against your thigh.

The two of you spend the rest of your morning trying to fix your broken dishwasher. You could both easily afford a hundred mechanics to fix it in a matter of hours, but Tom was adamant he could do it himself.

“Baby, I did this all the time as a kid with my dad. We were a well oiled machine.” He’s sitting on the floor, neck craned as he peers into the dishwasher, fiddling with a screwdriver somewhere in the washer’s insides. “The drain is probably just clogged.”

You’re sat next to him, following his gaze, your hands braced on his knee. “I love you, Tom, but I don’t think you know where the drain is.” He leans back against the cabinets, fingers smoothing over a knick he’d given himself exploring the dishwasher.

“Can you get my phone and Google it?”

When you slide back onto the floor at his side, dissecting the ‘how-to’ now pulled up on his phone, he sighs defeatedly.

“Why are there so many different panels?” he asks incredulously, peeping over your shoulder. “It’s a fucking dishwasher, not a bomb.”

You continue to scroll through the information, leaning against him. “I mean, based off all the junk in it, you could make a bomb out of it.”

“I think it’d be easier to do that than fix the damn thing,” he grumbles.

“We can always just hire someone, honey,” you remind him gently.

Tom makes a face at you, frowning. “Absolutely not. I can do this myself.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m very sure,” he says distractedly, taking the phone from you and readjusting his body so that he can work easier. “Honey, go do something you actually want to do. I’ll come when it’s time to go, okay?”

You crawl over and plant a kiss on his lips before he disappears into the dishwasher. “Good luck.”

When one comes around, you’re still on your own. You’re catching up on some reading on the couch, the suns rays spread through the living room. Since you need to leave at two, you decide to put the book down and start getting ready. On your side of the closet was a floor length mirror Tom had gotten you as a gift. You liked sitting on the rug you’d laid in front of it and do your makeup. You were so absorbed in your own little world that you didn’t hear Tom at all on his side of the closet.

You take your time, humming to yourself. Once you’ve finished, you get to your feet and find that one dress you know he loves you in. He thinks you’re absolutely gorgeous in every instance of time, but there was something about this in particular that drove him wild. You step into your favorite pair of heels, then out of the closet and into the hall.

“Tom? Are you ready?”

“I’m sorry, honey, just a moment. Go wait in the car for me?” He brushes lightly past you, tucking his dress pants into his slacks and gently giving your cheek a kiss. “You know what? No, just wait here. I want to walk with you.”

After he finds his socks and shoes, he has your hand in his and is leading you to the car. He doesn’t let you lift a finger, opening the passenger door and helping you in so you don’t face plant on the asphalt because of your heels. He holds your hand over the center console, refusing to be without your touch for more than the few moments it took him to round the car and get in the driver’s seat.

He has your hand raised to his lips, absentmindedly kissing at your knuckles over and over again. He drives, one hand on the wheel, glancing at you every so often.

He’s taken you to a nice, quiet park not too far from your home. “Tom, you said dress pretty. You let me wear heels to a park?”

Your hand is tucked into the inside of his elbow, and he uses his free hand to gently stroke yours. “I wanted you to feel pretty. I feel good if you feel good,” he murmurs, smiling down at you. He bumps his hip with yours as you walk.

Eventually, you come across a small gazebo that sits over the lake in the middle of the park. You walk to the railing of the gazebo, Tom trailing behind you, his hand a ghost on the small of your back.

It’s a beautiful sight. The water glitters as the sunlight reflects off of the surface, the water suspiciously clear and blue for New York. A small table for two is set in the middle of the gazebo, and in your periphery, you see Tom pluck something from one of the seats. When his hand finally makes solid contact on your back, he prods you gently to turn.

He’s holding a bouquet of flowers, the same type you had in the bouquet in your wedding. “Pretty flowers for a pretty lady.”

“You cheeseball.” You tilt his head down and kiss him.

There’s a picnic hamper set by the table, and you’re sure Tom has filled it with more snacks than things worthy to be deemed an actual meal. He pulls out your chair for you, tucking you under the table as if you weigh nothing at all. He fishes Tupperware containing chocolate covered strawberries from the hamper setting it out between you both. You take a bite from one, the chocolate cracking and breaking off of the strawberry. You catch the fallen crumbs of chocolate, a dreamy smile gracing Tom’s face as he watches you. His eyes twinkle with affection, pure adoration. They’re soft around the edges, the corners wrinkling with a gentle joy as you both take in the moment. Take in each other. He reaches across the table and wipes away a bit of stray strawberry juice from the corner of your mouth.

“I’m so thankful you made me take the day off,” he says, taking your hand in his. “We haven’t done this in a while.” He uses his other hand to lay out more tins of Tupperware full of various picnic foods from finger sandwiches to more chocolate fruit. “I’ve missed staring creepily at you.” He brings the back of your hand to his lips, kissing gently.

“I miss you too, when we’re both at work.” You’re both eating, fingers twined together. The soft sounds of the lake’s tide on the shore was music to your ears, and the world was so, so peacefully quiet. You inspect his hand, your fingers dancing over his wedding ring. “I can’t get over this.”

“I like it.” He disentangles his fingers from yours, instead holding his hand out for you to see. “I get to carry a part of you with me everywhere that I go. When things get… when things get difficult, I look at my ring, remember you have one too… remember that I get to go home to you. And then everything is fine.”

You both stare at each other, the two of you so madly head over heels for each other. It was so evident just by the way he looked at you, and you pray he sees the same thing when he looks into your eyes.

“About the dishwasher.” You have to fight off a laugh. He’s also staving one off, but he continues. “I know you just want to hire a guy, but I swear, I’m so close to figuring out what’s wrong. I promise.”

“If you say so.”

You spend the next few hours just talking. You could do this for the rest of your life, just sitting here, staring at him as he talks. Tom’s animated, passionate about everything he says. You love watching the little flickers of emotion across his face, how his expressions change. You find him both adorable and ridiculously hot.

You’re there until the sun sets, when you both reluctantly decide you have to get up and go home. You walk slowly back to the car, Tom’s arm wound right around your shoulder. He rubs up and down your arm, trying to soothe you from the beginnings of a shiver- the breeze is becoming a wind.

Once you do get to the car, you don’t leave immediately. You both sit, side by side, both your arms wrapped around his one and your head set on the side of his shoulder. He kisses the crown of your head before burying his face into your hair, heaving a sigh laced with fatigue and strain.

“Stay home tomorrow, too, Tom. You need it.”

“You won’t be with me.” You can feel his lips twist into a frown, as if this was a no brainer.

“Tomorrow’s Friday. We have the weekend right after. As your wife, I’m demanding it. You need a nice, long break.”

He gives one last kiss to your forehead before pulling away and starting the engine.

“What you say goes.”

Tom complains the entire next morning, doing his damnest to get you to call in sick. When you don’t give in, and after you plant a final kiss on his lips, he gives up, waving you off with a loving smile on his face.

The workday is slow, as always, and you make sure to check in on Tom periodically. He’s gone to the grocery store- you’d gotten him to start going after the two of you had gotten together, and he loved it, for some reason. He texts you asking if you want to try various different snacks, but you know he’s bringing home your favorite regardless.

When you get home, you find him lying on the couch, grinning to himself. When Tom sees you, his face lights up, and he opens an arm out to you. You slide onto the couch, into his embrace, and kiss him.

“It’s been lonely without you,” he tells you matter-of-factly. “But,” he continues, “I got the fucking dishwasher fixed. All on my own, like I said I would!”

You can’t help but laugh at his pure joy. “I’m proud of you. But,” you mimic, “it took you two weeks.”

“Oh, it’s fixed now, so what’s it matter?” He pulls you closer.

“Okay, whatever. You’re my very own live in mechanical engineer.” You relax in his arms, letting the tension of the day go. “What was it, anyway?”

“The spray bars were all mucked up. They were so clogged no water could go through.” He taps the side of his temple. “Figured it out myself.“

You laugh again before giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Good job, honey. I appreciate you.”

“I’ll start taking more days off,” he murmurs, changing the subject. “Just for you.”