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familyvideostevie · 11 months ago

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a kind of hunger | chapter 2

joel miller x fem!reader

series masterlist

an offer from your employer sets your life on track and throws it into a new kind of chaos at the same time. where does joel miller fit into it all?

length: 5.9k

Warnings: 18+ smut, fem!reader, unspecified age gap, heavy petting, joel having a moment with r's tits, hand stuff, dirty talk, painful sex for a second, riding (p in v sex), like a really small smidge of breeding kink, emotional turmoil from r cause what else is she gonna do, some plot! wow! a/n: finally! another chapter. it’s short but i think we’re getting somewhere. Let me know what you think! huge thank you to @macfrog for your eyes and for keeping my sanity in check and @bageldaddy for teaching me how to use commas, letting me borrow your bar, and telling me to just “slutty hallmark it.” this is for you guys.

navigation | 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀

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Bill’s offer costs you one night of sleep and that’s all.

Taking over the bar goes against every rule you've had for yourself up until now, everything that’s kept you going and on your feet.

You lose when you stick around. You get hurt when you get attached. Always keep moving.

But your night with Joel seems to have shaken something loose. You’ve got a pit in your stomach, a hunger set alight by his eyes and his hands and his attention. It’s like he reminded you how to want, how to stop letting the world turn under your feet and dig in your heels instead.

And there’s what Bill said, the thing that won't leave you alone. You think no one notices, but I notice. We all notice.

It’s easy to lie to yourself about a lot of things: that you don’t mind this life, its constant movement and instability. That it’s made you crafty. That if you picked up and left right now, you’d be fine. No one would miss you, no one would notice. The names and faces you’ve learned would fade as soon as you found new ones somewhere else.

You’ve been a tight fist your whole life, only hanging onto what can fit into your rough and weathered palm, half-moon crescents bleeding that damn desperate hope you can never seem to scrub off. It means a whole lot of avoiding things that could matter so you can’t lose them, can’t let them slip through your fingers. A family who saw your need for space and control and turned it into isolation and disinterest, who drove you away as soon as you were able to leave. College was a bust. Relationships gone sour have taught you not to rely on anyone. Failed experiment after failed experiment, just looking for something to stick. It’s better to be alone, right?

That tight fist keeps anyone out, anyway. It’s carefully rolled bills in plastic bags in the toe of a pair of sneakers just in case. It’s talking just enough to get you a place to stay, a job, a ride, but not enough that anyone remembers your face, even if you wish they would.

It’s not one big thing. It’s a million small ones. And nothing ever lasts. You never last; always cutting and running before it can get real, before they can see the truth of you and find it lacking.

You’ve been looking for the missing piece for years now, the thing that will make you feel like you’ve finally made it somewhere where you’re needed enough to stick around. Where you can stop quitting, where you can put down roots. Where you can be wanted.

You just aren’t sure it’s possible. You’ve done so many things, seen so much, that you feel like it’s too late to be anything other than this.

It’s easy to believe all of that until someone like Joel sees through it – until someone like Bill tells you none of it is true.

Fuck it.

You call Bill the next morning and tell him you'll take over Frank's.

According to him, the turnaround will be quick. He'll have someone "official" draw up the paperwork. You tell him you won't change the name. You tell him you will make some repairs, fix the cracked vinyl booths, and give the floors a refinish, and –

"Do whatever the fuck you want," he grumbles over the phone. "It's your bar."

It sure is.

You own something, now. You belong somewhere – even if it’s just because you have payslips to sign and counters to clean. But maybe this time, if you try hard enough, you can get it right.

You have a meeting to tell the staff that you’re taking over. There are only five of you – two college kids from a town over, the guy who works part-time at the garage by the highway, and an old butch called Pat you find vaguely frightening who’s been working here longer than you care to ask.

It’s probably the first time all five of you have been in the same room. None of them seem disappointed in Bill’s retirement, and they’re on board with your plan for renovations. Especially after you assure them they’ll be paid even if you close for a bit to get it all done.

Joel doesn't come in. You notice, but don’t spare it too much thought. You can’t because the bar is a fucking nightmare all week.

The keg lines keep blocking, the jukebox dies a sudden staticky death, and some asshole scratches the pool table hard enough to tear up the felt. Everyone and everything is pissing you off. It’s an effort not to spend all of your breaks on that milk crate in the alley with your head in your hands.

It feels like Frank’s is hazing you. After all you’ve done for it, you feel a little betrayed.

“Why the hell do you think I’m retiring?” Bill says when you call to bitch about it. “This shit is a fuck ton of work.”

By Friday, you're at your wit's end.

The rush has come and gone, and now it’s slow. Slow enough that you might be worried, but Pat has told you before that this is just how it is in small towns, sometimes.

That, or maybe your bad mood scared everyone off. Maybe they're tired of the shitty atmosphere, of the cloudy glasses and squeaking stools, maybe they –

You pop an olive into your mouth.

“Chill the fuck out,” you mutter to yourself. No one is around to hear.

The only patrons left are some bikers at one of the back tables playing cards. Their laughter is too loud without the music going. The mats behind the bar are sticky under your boots, and your temple has started to throb. You feel like locking yourself in the office just for the silence.

The air shifts when Joel steps inside.

The hunger you feel is a familiar fire, coals that stoke themselves and never go out. Lust, infatuation as you take in his broad shoulders and grey-streaked hair. You’re strung out and a fuck might help.

But there’s also a weight in your chest at the sight of him, one you haven’t felt in a while. It sits heavy above that smoldering flame in your belly, a bruise you can’t stop yourself from pressing on.

Maybe part of you expected him to stop coming in after you fucked. Regardless of how it made you feel, you’re just some woman who serves him two fingers of liquor when he wants to run away from his life. Just someone who gave him one good night and nothing more.

But this weight – this big, thorny emotion that looks like affection and attachment and something real – you don’t know what to do with it.

It’s never been this way with a one-night stand. Yeah, you know the weight of him above you, inside you. You know the taste of his sweat on your tongue, the feel of his head between your thighs. That kind of shit usually doesn’t change anything with you, but Joel is…different.

Careful, that voice inside you says.

Joel peels off his jacket and tosses it on the otherwise empty bar, pushing up his sleeves to reveal his tanned forearms. The stool creaks under him and his gaze is heated as it travels over you. He doesn’t bother to hide the fact that he’s looking.

He shakes his head when you hold up the bottle of whiskey.

"Water's fine," he says.

You blink. If he’s not here to drink then what is he here for?

He seems like he always does. Relaxed, like the room was made to have him in it. But you look a little closer, now that you figure you can. The deep scar on the bridge of his nose stands out and his cheeks are a little pink. The temperature must have dropped once the sun went down. His jaw isn’t tense so much as set, determined. He rubs his chin with a flat palm as you fill a glass using the soda gun.

“Whatever you want,” you say.

He looks around the bar. You figure he's taking in the out-of-order signs on the beer pulls, the flickering light pointing to the restroom, maybe even the goddamn ruined pool table.

You pick up a rag and start to clean to keep your hands busy.

“Quiet for a Friday,” he says. "Things goin’ alright?”

You bristle at the implication. It’s been a shitty week, and you don’t need anyone reminding you that you’re probably not cut out for this.

“Fucking peachy,” you snap.

Joel raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t rise to it. "Seems like things are a little tense.”

You swallow a flash of genuine annoyance.

"All it takes is a roll in the sack and now you're a talker?"

Joel isn't phased. He takes a small sip of his drink, rolls the glass between his hands. Nice hands, you think. Hands that felt so good between your --

"Just makin’ conversation," he says lightly.

You’ve always thought you were hard to read – hell, you’ve been told that many times. One of your flaws, people always say, but it makes it easier to slide in and out of places without too much damage. And yet, Joel, a man who has been in your bed once and sits at your bar when it suits him, sees right through you.

Your shoulders slump.

“I’m just tired,” you tell him.

Joel rubs his beard with one wide palm. He moves his jaw back and forth like he's giving you the chance to shut him down, like he’s chewing on the silence.

"Heard somethin'," he says. "Wondered if it was true. Thought I'd ask."

"Are you asking?"

He eyes you, takes another sip of his water like it's a tumbler of amber liquid instead. Like anything you pour him is something to be savored.

"Guess so."

You set the glass down and put your hands on the wood, leaning towards him with your head cocked.

“Are you keeping tabs on me, Joel Miller?”

“Nah,” he says, eyes flashing before they slide down to your lips. “Ran into Frank in the frozen aisle at the store.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

The corner of his mouth tugs up. "Known him and Bill a long time."

That explains why he looks like he belongs here. He's probably been in this room more times than you have. All of the things you don't know about Joel hang in the air between you.

"Does Bill...?"

Does your buddy know you fucked me in the apartment I rent from him?

Joel shakes his head. "Frank told me Bill was giving the place to one of his employees. Figured it was you."

And that’s that. But it sounds like a compliment.

“Well, it’s me alright,” you sigh, slumping a bit. “And there's a lot of shit to do.”

Joel puts a hand on your forearm. It's a light touch, a quick one, but it sends sparks along your skin. A moth to a flame.

“Ain’t no small thing. Ownin’ a bar. Big deal, if you ask me.”

You roll your eyes but pride swells in your chest. He’s right. It is a big deal.

And here you are in your bar.

With Joel, who fits into all of this somehow. You just don’t know where yet.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask you,” you say with a smirk.

You want to draw it out of him, make him flirt with you for the answers he seems to want. You want something to sink your teeth into after this week, something to play with.

Something to make you feel in control. And that’s what Joel gave you, last time you saw him. He pushed when you pulled, met your touches and your quips with attitude and hands of his own. You felt alive, you felt present. You felt wanted. And it was fun.

If you’re not careful, you might forget what sex was like without that – his attention, his touch. Your name in his mouth. But now that you’re giving staying here a shot, maybe it’s time to indulge. To reach out and take.

Joel snorts. He leans forward and raps his knuckles on the wood. “Should we toast to it?”

You laugh. “I don’t drink on the job.”

He raises his water glass.

“Alright,” you scoff. “Fine.”

You pour yourself some water and clink your glasses together. Joel’s eyes never leave yours, not when he takes a long sip, not when he sets the glass down. He keeps looking at you with that heavy, unshakable gaze.

It’s unnerving, the way he makes you feel. You’re still tired, still annoyed, but there's electricity at the base of your spine, the embers in your belly. You want to talk to him.

You clench your hands around your glass. You want to touch him, too.

“So,” you say. He’s wearing a henley this time, the buttons at the top undone just enough to give you a glimpse of a peak of chest hair. You swallow and flick your eyes back to his. He’s smirking.

“So,” Joel echoes. “Why’d you take it? The bar.”

You shrug. “Seemed like a good deal.”

“Bill ain’t in the habit of good deals,” he huffs. “He must like you.”

It’s an effort to squash your smile. “I don’t think Bill likes anyone much.”

“Real asshole, ain’t he?”

That gets a laugh out of you. “Well, he’s your friend.”

“Not much choice in a small town.”

You hum.

The noisy group from the back stumble their way to the door, waving at you as they file out into the night.

“Those idiots ruined my pool table on Tuesday,” you hiss, though you smile at them.

“Gotta be pretty fuckin’ bad at pool to do that.” He looks around and realizes he’s the last one in the bar. “You closin’?”

“It’s only eleven, Joel.”

His eyes rake up and down your body. Is he thinking about how he touched you, how you fell apart under him? Heat curls lazily in your belly. He runs his finger around the rim of his glass.

“Damn shame,” he says.

Normally you wouldn’t shut for a few hours, but it’s pretty dead for a Friday and…

And Joel is looking at you like that and you want to touch him.

You don’t mess around with regulars.

You’re already breaking your rules by taking over Frank’s. What’s one more?

The pulse between your legs agrees with you.

“Colin,” you call over your shoulder, stepping back from Joel’s hot gaze. The barback appears immediately.

“Yeah?”

“I’m shutting early. Go home. Tonight’s tips are yours.”

He sputters. “Are you sure?” His gaze flicks to the stacks of glasses behind the bar, the tables that still need wiping down.

“I’ll take care of it. See you next week.”

He just shrugs and turns on his heel. A minute later the back door slams and you know the kid is gone.

You lift the bridge and slide out from behind the bar. Your boots are loud on the shitty floors with no one in here and each step to the door feels longer than it should because of his damn stare. You feel Joel’s eyes on you as you lock the door and flick off the neon BAR sign that hangs outside.

When you turn around, his eyes are dark.

Joel stays on his stool, one foot on the ground so that his knees are spread wide, watching you. One hand rests on his thigh, thick fingers tapping to a tune only he hears. His other arm is on the wood of the bar, stretching his shirt across his broad chest.

When Joel looks at you, sometimes it feels like he’s the first person to ever see you.

“Gotta settle up,” he drawls.

“What, you gonna tip me for water?”

“Not exactly,” he says, words dragging in his mouth. “Got somethin’ else in mind.”

The air in the bar sparks and crackles like one of those long Texas summer days when a thunderstorm looms like a threat. The electricity of it crackles down your spine, turns it molten, turns you dangerous. It’s never felt like this before with someone you’ve slept with. Just being close to him is enough to kick your pulse into gear. You feel hyper aware of every part of your body as he looks at you like you’re offering him something better than what you can pour.

Which, you guess, you are.

“And what would that be?”

He hums.

“C’mere.”

You can see his cock straining against the front of his jeans.

“Bossy,” you say. “That for me?” You jerk your chin towards his lap and take your time walking back to him.

He smirks. “You wanna go upstairs?”

As soon as you step between his knees, the hand on his leg moves to your hip. Two fingers sneak under the waistband of your jeans to find bare skin. You brace yourself with one palm on his thigh, another on his neck, and thread his soft hair through your fingers.

“I don’t see why we have to,” you say slowly, watching him carefully. “No one’s here. And I know the owner. She won’t mind.”

The hand on your hip slides further back and his fingers press hard into the swell of your ass.

“Oh, that right?” he chuckles. “Well, as long as we ain’t breakin’ any rules.”

You’re not sure who moves first. You’ve got a few inches on him by being on your feet so you pull him towards you just as he surges up and your mouths meet sloppily, hungrily. Joel tugs you closer and you dig your fingers into his thigh as he swallows your giddy laugh, his beard scratching your skin deliciously.

You’re going to fuck him. In your bar.

“Somethin’ funny?” he asks, lips trailing over your jaw. He’s got both hands on you now, one on your ass and the other on your hip, holding you like he expects you to disappear.

“No, not really–” You cut yourself off with a gasp when he nips your pulse point. “Joel.”

He kisses you again, licking into your mouth. You remember the sounds he made in your apartment and tug on his hair. Joel’s moan is your reward. You press close and grind your hips against the hardness in his jeans and he growls.

“Hard as a rock the second I step in this damn place,” he says, holding you there. You pull back to see his lips spit-slick, his pupils blown. Seeing him undone like this by your touch is just as thrilling as it was last time. His teeth scrape down your neck and he unbuttons your jeans.

“Sounds like a – ah – you problem.”

Joel’s fingers drag through the curls above your cunt before he goes where you really want him. You gasp against his temple when he circles your clit.

“Seems to me I’m not the only one,” he rasps.

The fingertips on his thigh become nails digging in even harder when he slips one finger inside you.

“Gonna leave bruises, sweetheart,” Joel says. Your cunt clenches around him. “You like that? Markin’ me?”

“Maybe I do,” you groan. “You left some last time.”

The angle can’t be ideal but Joel fucks you as best as he can with one finger, then two. You drag his face back to yours and suck on his bottom lip, tugging his hair all the while. Every part of you feels like it’s on fire, like you’re burning up from the inside.

His other hand rucks up your shirt until you tug it all the way off. He pulls down the cup of your bra with one hand and rolls your nipple between his fingers.

You could come like this, Joel’s hands everywhere.

Gripping him through his clothes isn’t enough. You scramble to undo his belt and get your hand in his jeans, button popped and fly down.

He grunts your name when you spit into your palm and take him in hand, velvety soft and tip leaking.

“Careful,” he hisses. “Don’t want to stop this before it starts.”

“I’ll be gentle,” you say. He thumbs your clit in response and you gasp.

Time blurs with his fingers inside you. Your strokes are lazy but he hisses each time you drag your thumb over his tip. Is it going to be this, you two pawing at each other against the bar until someone bursts?

“Joel,” you gasp. “Joel, I want –”

He finally returns to your clit with a strained smirk. The veins in his neck are visible, telling you it’s getting to him, too.

“You remember what I said last time?”

Ask for what you want, you hear me? You ask and I'll do my damn best.

You could have him bend you over the bar. You imagine it, quick and dirty, the wood digging into your waist as he slams into you, flesh on flesh. It would be better than last time, you know it. But you want to see him.

You want Joel’s face in your neck, your hands in his hair as he fills you up. You want to watch him fall apart under you.

You dig your nails into him again and he hisses. You lean forward so your lips drag along the shell of his ear.

“I want to ride you, Joel,” you say.

His eyes flash. He kisses you hard, swirls your clit one more time, and pulls his hand from your cunt. Your knees feel a little weak so you keep your hands on his shoulders.

Joel brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.

“Gotta get at least a taste,” he says. “Just as sweet as I remember.” You surge forward to kiss him. You can taste yourself on his tongue and he groans into your mouth.

“Alright, baby,” he says, breath a little ragged. He thumbs your nipple again. “Where’re you gonna ride me?”

“Booth,” you manage. “Over there.” You jerk your head back towards the cracked vinyl seats he’s never once sat in since you met him. He pats your hips and you step back. The stool scrapes loudly on the floor as he stands.

He cups your cheek with one callused palm and just looks. His hair is a mess from your hands, lips swollen from your kisses. And yet he’s looking at you like you’re the answer to all his problems.

“So damn pretty,” he says.

Somehow you make it to the booth, a tangle of lips and hands, shedding pieces of clothing as you go. Your bra, his shirt, his belt. Shoes toed off and left in a pile, Joel shoves the table between the vinyl benches to the other side so there’s enough room for him to sit, for him to drag down his jeans and boxers and take his cock in one hand.

Your mouth waters at the sight of it. God, he’s thicker than you remember. One of these days you’re going to take him apart with your tongue.

You could just stand there and admire him but you’re so wet you think you’re going to drip onto the floor. His solid thighs, the dark hair gathered into curls at the base of him trailing up to his navel. If you were a painter you’d put him to a canvas.

Joel spreads his legs wide, and you run a hand down his bare chest before balancing on his shoulder as you step out of your bottoms. It’s almost funny – the two of you naked but for your socks, Joel’s pants around his ankles.

You want him too badly to spare a thought for laughter.

A condom comes from somewhere – his wallet, maybe, or his pocket, you don’t much care – and he slides it on with a hiss.

It’s different than last time. More desperate but in a fun way – and you know this won’t be the last time. You know each other’s bodies, now, and this can be quick, can be dirty, because you’ll be doing it again.

So you don’t waste any time straddling him. Joel lines his cock up with your entrance, his other hand on your hip.

“You ready?” he asks. You lean in to kiss him and sink down at the same time in response.

You moan in tandem as he fills you, the angle different from when you were on your back, so different. The stretch is deeper, and somehow you feel fuller than last time. It’s overwhelming, it’s all-consuming, it’s a little painful.

“Fuck,” Joel groans. “So tight. I ain’t gonna last long.”

It really is a tight fit, so tight you think maybe he was right to ask if you could take him without at least one orgasm to prepare you. The girth of him is splitting you in half, stretching you so much you whimper against his mouth.

Joel’s hands cup your face. “Y’okay?” he says, strained. “Hey, talk to me.”

Your eyes are shut tight, knees pressing hard into his solid thighs as you breathe.

“Need a sec,” you say. “It’s different like this, it’s –”

“I know, baby,” Joel murmurs. “Doin’ so good so far.”

He shifts his hold on you just a little and you whine. The vinyl cracks underneath his shifted weight as he whispers an apology into your shoulder.

The pain of the stretch dulls to an ache and you know what’s just on the other side. You roll your hips and the head of his cock presses exactly where you want it. It sends a shock wave of pleasure through you so intense that you fall forward a little, Joel’s face pressed to your chest.

He presses a kiss to your breastbone, so light you almost miss it as you start to ride him in earnest. Your knees press into the rough vinyl and Joel’s lips find your nipple.

“Didn’t give these ‘nough attention last time,” he says. “My mistake.”

His tongue laves at your breasts, one after the other as you swirl your hips over and over. You tug on his hair as your thighs start to burn but you keep going.

Joel’s teeth scrape against your nipples, the skin of your chest as he nips and soothes, nips and soothes. You’re going to be covered in marks tomorrow.

Maybe it’s the thrill of that, of just seeing him again, maybe it’s how bad you want him, who fucking knows – you’re already so close.

Everything fades away but this. Joel is everywhere, on you, around you, inside you…It’s just the two of you, limbs tangled and sweaty, panting each other’s name.

The smoldering in your belly is a fire climbing higher and higher and you’re going to explode with the heat of it.

Firm, rough-skinned hands hold you steady as you lift and sink, gasping every time he hits that spot inside you.

“Joel, I –”

His grip turns bruising as he starts to fuck you on his own, the wet smack of his balls filling the bar.

“I know, baby,” he pants. “I know. You hear that? You hear me fuckin’ you? You’re takin’ my cock so good.”

You plant your hands on his shoulders and try to meet his thrusts.

“Swear I dreamed ‘bout this,” he growls. “How wet you were. Those fuckin’ noises you make when I –” He circles your clit with his thumb and you keen. “There we go. Just like that.”

“Joel –

“Gonna ruin this booth,” he says with a rough chuckle. His forehead is tacky when you press yours against it.

“I – fuck – need new ones anyway, don’t I?”

Joel grins, all teeth as he pounds into you.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says, breath hot on your lips. “Soak my cock. Know you can, so tight and –”

Your orgasm rips through you, a broken litany of Joel and yes and god knows what else torn from your throat as he fucks you through it. His thrusts become erratic and you try to keep your seat as he finishes with a deep groan.

Joel presses more of those light kisses to your collarbones, the base of your throat, so like the one he left on the back of your hand that first night. You drag your fingers through his slightly sweaty hair.

“I’ll move in a second,” you say, catching your breath.

“Take your time,” he says. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

His grip on you is practically gentle, fingers lazily stroking patterns into your skin. You drag a hand up and down his chest.

It’s tender. It’s…something it maybe shouldn’t be. Something that doesn’t belong in whatever you’re doing.

You get out of his lap as carefully as you can and stand in front of him, naked. Fucking with a condom is smart and all, but you wonder what it would feel like to have him dripping between your thighs.

He doesn’t hide his stare, though it’s not as charged as before. He’s looking just to look.

“Put your pants on,” you grumble at him. He laughs.

You scoop your clothes off the floor and head for the bathroom. The tarnished mirror displays your sated smile and bright eyes. You run a hand over the bruises he left on your neck, your hips. Well-fucked is a good look on you. You look exhausted but happy.

Joel is dressed and back at the tabletop when you return. He’s got his usual bottle of whiskey on the wood, two glasses already sporting a pour each.

“Not workin’ anymore, are you?” he asks you.

You laugh. “No.”

The soreness starts to settle into your thighs when you take the stool next to him.

The momentary silence isn’t uncomfortable. It is comfortable, which is the strange part. Sitting here with him at your bar after he fucked you a few feet away and sipping at your drinks.

Joel, for his part, seems unbothered. You can’t figure him out. It makes you feel a little unsteady to know that he sees right through you, but you don’t know what he’s thinking. Would he tell you if you asked?

“So,” he says. “What’re your plans for the place?”

You sigh. A piece of his hair is sticking up and you tuck your hand between your thighs so you don’t smooth it. It’s different with your clothes on.

“There’s a lot to do,” you tell him. “Jukebox is broken. Neon signs need replacing. Plumbing could do with a refresh. I want to refinish the floors, maybe tear off this ugly wallpaper –”

“Make sure you get a good gel for that,” he says. “Shit’s old and won’t come off easy.”

You lean your chin in your hand and shoot him an amused look.

“Do a lot of wallpaper removal in your spare time?” you ask.

He fiddles with his watch, jaw working around whatever it is he wants to say.

“I’m a contractor.”

“Really?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he grumbles. “You think I sit on my ass all day?”

Honestly, you don’t know. Most of the thoughts you have about Joel aren’t to do with his job. You have no idea what he does when he isn’t here.

You shrug. Joel rolls his eyes.

“Well, I am,” he drawls. He takes a long sip of his whiskey. “And I know the folks around here who you’ll need. Materials, all that.”

“Are you offering to help me, Joel?” You keep your voice neutral.

He looks at you head-on. It feels like he’s seeing through you again. “If you want it.”

“If we do that, it has nothing to do with…” You gesture between you. “With this.”

Joel just looks at you, letting you sort out what you want to say.

“I mean, I don’t want charity, okay?”

He shakes his head. “Ain’t charity. I owe Bill some favors. This’ll square us up. You’ll cover all the other shit, I guess.”

“It’s not his bar, anymore,” you remind him, but it’s a weak protest.

Joel knocks back the rest of his drink.

You’ve been working out how to finance the renovations all week. All that cash you’ve squirreled away over the years finally has a purpose, other than a cushion in case something really bad happens. It’s looking tight between paying the staff and sourcing the work. You’d only be able to close a week at a time and any delays will fuck the whole thing.

But if Joel’s offering discounted labor, materials on the cheap? You could get it all done faster, get it done right.

“Why do you want to help me?” you ask.

Joel huffs and if you knew him better you’d say it was in offense.

“Let’s just say I’m invested in the state of this place,” he says. “And you really gotta replace those booths.”

Your face feels hot. “Asshole.”

“So,” he says. “You interested?”

It’s not a bad idea. Hell, it might even be a good one. Money aside, Joel, whatever his story is, is connected in this town, and if you’re staying it would do you some good to start making some connections of your own. Start settling.

The fist in your chest, your heart, your mind – it loosens just a little bit.

“I’m interested.”

Joel knocks on the bar once, twice, and stands. He digs in his back pocket for his wallet and hands you a business card with his phone number.

“I’ll be here Monday morning,” he says. “We can start goin’ over stuff, figure out when you wanna close. All that. Call me anytime. Sound good?”

You just nod. The fatigue is starting to hit and Joel must be able to tell because he just smiles at you.

“Goodnight, boss lady,” he says. “Put the whiskey on my tab.”

Joel grabs his jacket and unlocks the door, sliding into the cool night with a wave.

“You don’t have a tab, asshole,” you mutter, but you’re smiling a little.

It feels like pieces are falling into place.

You know you could get the bar fixed up on your own. But with Joel’s help, it’ll get done faster and you might even have some money left over at the end of it.

It’s a lot all at once. But for some reason, it feels different this time. It’s not another job about to fall through, not another relationship going south because you got spooked. It’s not you getting bored and cutting your losses.

You want this. You want it to work. Usually, you’d have left by now, before you got too attached, but it’s too late so you’re going to make it work.

This thing with Joel, though – you’re going to have to be careful. If you’re not, it’ll run away from you and – well. You don’t want to lose control of it.

You look around the bar and sigh. Unwiped tables, a booth that no one should sit in, floors to clean. A few hours of work before bed.

You know you’re going to spend them trying not to think about the man who just left.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction

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ghosttalksalot · 7 months ago

Text

Spidery!Peter Spideypool Fics

Let's do this! I have not read all of these. The ones I have not read have been recommended by those mentioned below + anonymous others. Anything that is explicit will be below the line, otherwise in no particular order. These will be from ao3. Assume completed unless otherwise stated. No dead dove or similar, content warnings prior to each summary. I will continue to add if anyone sends more! List below the break, and this is a long one.

You're gonna wanna be my bestfriend, baby by Firefly_ika

Teen&up. 11,843 words. "Peter’s given up caring about his identity around Wade. They're friends, proper friends, not just the kind of we-trade-banter-and-you've-saved-my-ass-a-few-times allies you tend to make in the vigilante gig. He hasn't exactly taken the mask off yet, but he's given more than enough information for Deadpool to track him down. The way he's going, it's like he'll reveal his whole life before, you know, actually revealing." (or) "Five things Peter exposes about himself, and the one that Wade figures out on his own."

Hunger Pains by X_Gon_Give_It

Teen&up. 931 words. Warning for graphic depictions of violence. "Why does he do this to himself? An angry thought hisses in Wade’s brain. Why does he have to make it so damn hard every time? But the anger is quick. Like a snap, there and then gone. Of course, this is hard on him. It’s easy to see the self hatred when he eats. The disgust at his own desperation. Now that he’s gotten to know Peter, and his sensibilities, it makes sense that this would be so difficult."

My Boyfriend's a Murder Bot by Fredegund

Mature. 55,912 words. Content warning, see tags. "Wade Winston Wilson is ugly. His skin's inside out. It ripples and moves every second of every day, at constant war with the cancer. Vanessa put on a brave face for him when she first saw the changes, but it turns out even she can't stomach the sight for long. He's ugly and alone and nothing will ever be good in life again - If only that were his only problem. But Weapon X is at it again, under crisp new management, turning orphans into super slaves and bringing out the big guns to make sure nobody interferes this go around (namely one Pool comma Dead). So now, not only is Wade alone and ugly forever, but he's got a bit of a pest problem in the form of a black-clad murder-happy man spider with a collar around his neck and an unhealthy obsession with tying Deadpool up. So maybe it's not all bad…"

because i have been lonely by QQI25

Teen&up. 8,591 words. See tag: basically Pete's a spider turned human. "As an immortal person, Wade has never really tried to make friends, save for a giant spider. But when an amulet turns the spider into a person, he has to learn how to live with another person in his life again."

When Instincts Take Over by TheStrange_One

Not rated, but no explicit content. 4,577 words. Not explicitly spideypool, but Peter & Wade nonetheless. "Wade had always had a—fascination, for lack of a better term, with NYC’s wall crawling web-themed hero. Just a little bit. Not a lot. He didn’t collect information of every Spider-Man sighting, or anything (He totally did.) So when Spider-Man started acting strangely, it was really no wonder that Wade noticed first. Of course, it didn’t hurt when he saw the behavior firsthand. Spidey webbing muggers, would-be rapists, and those who thought a little B&E was the best way to begin a day in a thick cocoon wasn’t unusual. However, then whirling and hissing—honest-to-God hissing—was."

Dark Horizons by beforethemoon

Teen&up. 11,215 words. Warning for graphic depictions of violence. Content warning, see tags. "“You—you’re the Spider-Man.” From beneath the mask, a slow smile crept across Peter’s face. Gregory Smith—an ordinary name for a man who wasn’t so ordinary—writhed in his grip. It was so easy to subdue the man; with his superstrength, Peter just had to apply the slightest pressure on good ol’ Greg’s neck and the man was blissfully silent. He liked hearing that line, though: you’re the Spider-Man. The Webslinger. Or, if you were J. Jonah Jameson, the Wall-Crawling Menace. So many names, but all were said with the tinge of fear that Peter was addicted to. They always managed to choke out the words, and he always made sure those were their last."

Better than Beyond Beef by BunsofHoney

Teen&up. 16,313 words. **See tag: Riding the literal bleeding edge of smut. Has a sequel. "Wade took in Spidey’s inhuman appearance. "You look about ready to go hunting." "I… get like this sometimes, when I'm in a lot of pain, or fear, or angry I think. Right now I…I just need a really rare steak, that's all." - When a sudden explosion leaves them both badly injured, Wade discovers that Spider-Man's mutation can make him a little...feral. Wade makes an offer to help Spidey heal faster and satiate his craving. What's a little cannibalism between friends?"

----- fics below this line contain explicit content -----

Songs for the Zombie Apocalypse, a 5-part series by zerospoons_onlyknives (oprime)

First work is Teen&up. Second third, and fourth works are Mature, with sexual content. Fifth work is explicit. 50,000 total words. Zombie apocalypse au, they're not superheroes. Warning for graphic depictions of violence. "Peter Parker and Wade Wilson navigate zombies, religious extremists, and each other as they try to survive the apocalypse. What started as a kidnapping morphs into a weird bond between the two but sometimes it feels like only one of them can survive."

I'm Something of a Scientist Myself by fancastical

Explicit. 11,422 words. Content warning, read tags. "Wade decides to start dousing himself in various synthetic spider sex pheromones before meeting up with Spidey, because why wouldn't he? They have some… interesting results. Wade feels downright scientific."

Upside Down by TheOrangeWritingRanger

Explicit. 56,271 words. Warning for graphic depictions of violence. Content warning for an especially spidery Peter. "Wade Wilson is as happy as a chipmunk in a peanut factory, Avenging by day as Deadpool, playing videogames and eating countless tacos by night. But something is missing from his life, or so say the ever present voices in his head. In the course of investigating several gruesome deaths with his teammates Hawkeye and Black Widow, they discover that something large and arachnoidian is terrorising New York. 'Pool follows some clues, and that cute brunet guy who keeps turning up, and finds himself at the spinneret ends of the elusive spider monster. But is he actually a monster, or is there more to his story?"

Babe Wake Up, It's Pumpkin Spice Season by X_Gon_Give_It

Explicit. 7,460 words. "He glances over the thick black lettering above the picture (SPIDER-MAN AND DEADPOOL: PARTNERS?) and focuses solely on Deadpool. The merc has two guns out in an exchange of bullets with a robber inside a bank. This wasn’t long ago. A week at most. Each shot had been calculated, the bullets never missing their mark, as the smell of smoke and gunpowder drifted in the air, heavy enough to choke on. Peter roamed over the display of muscles covered by a body suit of spandex and leather. For someone who rarely exposed their skin, Deadpool’s suit had a way of accenting every inch of his body. His steady posture didn’t help. Or those rolling shoulders. His large hands. Again, the feeling stirs in Peter’s gut, more insistently. Urging."

Wade Wilson's Guide to Studying Your Spider by X_Gon_Give_It

Explicit. 114,210 words. Warning for graphic depictions of violence. Content warning, read tags. "After months of working with Spider-Man, Wade Wilson realizes there are a lot more to his hero's powers than meets the eye..." (AKA) "The one where Wade notices that Spider-Man has been acting weirder and weirder, and the more he looks into it, the more he realizes that his not-so-normal partner in crime(fighting) is a lot stranger than he thought."

Hurting, Loving by bubblebeezey

Explicit. 12,454 words. Warning for graphic depictions of violence. Incomplete, last updated in June 2024. "Peter Parker finds himself deathly injured alone in his apartment, and in a panic, calls Wade Wilson. Peter's identity gets revealed under some not-so-nice circumstances, but everything is worth it in the end. Hurt and comfort ensues. (And romance, of course)."

you're goodness; i'm what's in between by strawberxi (Tupipsie)

Explicit. 7,416 words. "“I love you, Wade,” Peter stated, said so casually that one might have assumed they were dating. He said them like they were fact– and Peter supposed they were, if he was making proper sense of his feelings. Wade just stilled. Peter didn't move, and his heart sunk deep into his stomach. Even then he couldn't take the words back, and he didn't want to. - a spideypool getting together fic"

Soup and steam - an earthquake waiting to happen by pandafish

Explicit. 9,219 words. "The worst thing about having the flu when you were essentially half spider was that the fever became like ten times worse. No, scratch that. The worst thing was looking out your window and seeing Deadpool sitting there like an oversized cat, eagerly asking if Peter could come out and play, and wanting nothing but to beg him to come inside and care for his sick friend-lover-vigilante partner. But how could Peter do that when they were supposed to be simply fucking for stress relief, not actually stick around for the truly intimate parts?"

Good Enough (To Be Good To Yourself) by jackmischief

Explicit. 221,082 words. Content warning, read tags and chapter notes. "Peter meets Deadpool when he’s in his civvies, and has the good fortune of remaining unrecognized. But with a friend like Deadpool — and his interesting habit of trying to feed his good buddy Spider-Man — he finds it hard to be too worried. When Deadpool winds up coincidentally finding Peter a second and third time, the merc gets attached to the cute brunet. Meanwhile, Spider-Man and Deadpool are a crime fighting duo tackling strange activity on the docks with suspicious ties to an all too familiar organization. A fluffy, angsty, eventually smutty Spideypool romp with an identity reveal endgame and regular updates on Mondays and Fridays. Rating and tags reflect entire fic. Smut starts at chapter 9."

Spider2703 by kingdomclouds

Explicit. 31,166 words. Warning for graphic depictions of violence. Content warning for brainwashed/tortured Peter. There is a sequel. ""When did they get you?" "I was- Peter Parker was 16 when he went missing. Spider turned 24 when he was born." The words come out robotic, practice making the sentence flow quickly and easily. Wade's hand tightens on his neck before it loosens and let's go completely. "So your name is Peter?" Spider shakes his head harshly and pretends his eyes aren't watering- soldiers don't cry. Wade keeps his grip tight on his jaw, ignoring the mess of venom getting all over his palms. "My name is Spider, serial number 2703." "They've really got you brainwashed, haven't they?" "I'm not brainwashed. Spider is my name. Peter Parker doesn't exist." Spider looks away from Wade's gaze- he can't help it. Those eyes can see right through him. --- Or; Peter was apart of the Weapon X program, like Wade- except he never left."

Medium Rare by MargaretKire

Explicit. 24,562 words. Vampire au. Content warning for everything (spidery) vampirism entails. "Peter just can't get full lately. He eats and eats, but he's constantly exhausted and hungry. Wade realizes what's going on before Peter does. And becomes obsessed with getting Peter what he needs- living cells in the form of blood and...other things."

So No One Told You Life Was Gonna Be This Way by Jenetica

Explicit. 32,894 words. Content warning, see tags and chapter descriptions. "Peter Parker's life doesn't need an influx of new, distinctly spidery Spider-Man powers. He would gladly spend the rest of his days not creating tiny spiders from nowhere, for example. Like, in a, "yes please, I'll take two orders of the 'no spider-parenthood lifestyle,' hold the whip" kind of way. And that's only the start of how certifiably nuts his life has gotten lately. But... okay, the spiders are pretty cute. And the other powers, well, aren't horrible. He supposes. And if Deadpool seems to think his new spidery skills are great and interesting and hot (which is weird, but not as objectionable as Peter would expect), that's... that's not so horrible, either. Alternatively: Peter's powers are a joke, he's broke, and his love life... isn't all that DOA."

Tiny Entanglements by MargaretKire

Explicit. 6,875 words. Content warning, see tags. More Spiders-Man then Spider-Man. "Spider-Man has some hidden desires. So does Deadpool. Things get complicated when Morbius claims to have a cure for Peter’s ‘impure’ DNA. Or: Three thousand spiders in a suit fall in love with Wade Wilson. Featuring: Spider interludes"

Weaver of Silk and Dreams by a_stands_for

Mature with explicit chapter. 73,831 words. More ships with Peter than spideypool, see tags. "Some alternate realities are unrecognizable, and some are indistinguishable. This one lies somewhere in between. Peter Parker's life was derailed when he mutated into a strange human/spider hybrid, and he knows that's not the way things went down for him in other realities. Still, he's determined to forge a new path and make the best of it. Sometimes "the friends we made along the way" really is the greatest treasure anyone could ask for."

Strange by smellslikecitrus

Mature with explicit chapter. 34,900 words. Fairy au. "Peter was just trying his best, as a spider fairy would do. Wade stole Ant-Man's suit during a week-long mission in Massachusetts, deciding to see just how big the forest looks at ground height. Wade accidentally discovers fae creatures in said forest. Cue the title."

He is Soundless From Afar. by elastic honey (infernoconcealed)

Explicit. 15,961 words. Content warning, see tags. "Three part story. 100% based on teamup comics. Every time Deadpools wants to kiss him, Peter's spideysense starts going off. He should hate Wade for killing him. He should swing away and never see him again after what he did. Instead, he starts getting drunk off the feeling."

atlas by a_cry_in_the_wilderness

Explicit. 3,143 words. Warning for graphic depictions of violence. Content warning, see tags. "The first time that Wade tells Spider-man that he’s beautiful, the hero laughs in a way that makes Wade realize that there’s a wound that he’s accidentally brushed against. It’s too late to stop the bleeding, but he tries to compress it anyway. Peter Parker alludes to not looking how Wade expects underneath the mask leading Wade down a spiral reflecting on his own insecurities and expectations."

Cicatrices by WaterMe

Explicit. 9,036 words. Warning for graphic depictions of violence. Content warning, see tags. "Spider-Man is falling apart. Deadpool knows how to put a broken thing back together. (also they fuck a lot)"

hit me with your kill shot, baby by Anonymous

Explicit. 6,613 words. Summary is a mature excerpt. See notes: "Peter going feral with spidey traits during sex."

-----

That's the list... for now. Give me a good ol' bonk if I missed info or cws on any of em, and feel free to give me more to add! Enjoy. Thank you to @disconnected-penguin and @enby-spite for your help!

#spideypool #spidery peter parker #spidery!peter parker #spidery!peter #peter parker acts like a spider #spideypool fic recs

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starblazes · 2 months ago

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𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 .

01. stelle tells dad jokes. ( ok, first of all, don't be so loud. )

02. stelle doesn't own a single pair of matching socks. ( not true. she has at least one pair that matches! )

03. stelle is unemployed. ( i suppose it depends on your definition of unemployed. technically, the nameless don't get paid for what they do, but stelle makes a not insignificant sum being everyone's fucking errand girl. )

04. stelle's least favourite subject in school was gym. ( if she had gone to school — or had a 'childhood' at all — this bitch would have loved gym. she'd have been a BEAST at dodgeball, come on. she would hit every one of her classmates in the face. )

05. stelle has an intense fear of doctors. ( untrue! natasha is incredibly kind and nurturing, if a bit horrified at the shit stelle gets up to, while bailu is much like a little sister. )

06. stelle is oblivious to any and all romantic interest someone may show them. ( true, in the sense that romance isn't even remotely on her radar most of the time — from lack of experience and being in constant 'fight' mode. someone would have to be pretty forward and deliberate with their intentions for her to realise it isn't some twisted way to manipulate her. sexual advances are a different story. )

07. stelle is very willing to eat inedible things. ( yes. )

08. stelle can play the guitar. ( she cannot. though i think she'd really enjoy taking lessons from serval if she had the time to really pursue it. )

09. stelle uses the word 'fuck' like a comma. ( untrue, surprisingly. stelle doesn't often curse. and if she does, it's usually to say 'damn' or 'shit'. 'fuck' is reserved for when someone's royally pissed her off, usually right before said person takes a bat to the face. )

10. stelle uses two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. ( at the beginning of her journey, absolutely. march was horrified when she found out and demanded to curate an entire beauty regimen for stelle thereafter. stelle doesn't usually do the full routine because she's not very high maintenance about her appearance, but she does switch to using a lightly scented shampoo and conditioner. nothing incredibly perfumed or floral. )

#⌜ ooc �� ✦ * · ˚ dash games.#i will not elaborate on number 7

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itsjaywalkers · 5 months ago

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Hello Laurie! How are you? How are your holidays going?

I'm the same person who messaged you 2/3 months ago about the fic that I was writing and being scared to post it because it's not my native language. I was wondering how your writing goes, like how do you edit? What do you struggle with the most? I know you said it's not your native language either, and I just wanted to know what slows you down the most? Because for me personally it's grammar, structure of the sentences and its punctionation. I always wonder if my commas are in the right place and if I used right marks, obviously the placement of it differs in every language. And do you have any tips for me? ANYWAYS i'm so sorry this is such a long question bahahhaha, also I've read your new Bartylily fic and I love it. I'm on my knees for them, can't wait to see what you got in store for them. Hihi have a good day! <3

hi darling!! i'm okay, doing some writing!! and my holiday is going great <3 i've been at the beach all week, swimming and reading and eating delicious food. i missed my parents and my sisters like crazy, so it's been very fun to get to spend so much time with them <333

oh, yes!! i remember you!! i hope that fic is going well, and that you'll decide to post it someday. i feel like i already told u this, but i'm sure it's lovely, and if deep down u wanna share it, u should be able to do so, fear be damned (im aware it's not that easy but . u get what i mean)

and my editing process is . very boring and very long . i usually just write the whole chapter out, exactly how i have it planned in my mind, without stopping to check for mistakes, or letting myself get distracted by . a paragraph or a line i don't like, all that can be fixed during the actual editing. once it's done, i try to give it a day?? to let it breathe a lil. and then i reread it all!! i go scene by scene, and sometimes it means just fixing the grammar of some sentences and deleting a random line here and there, and other times it means deleting a whole conversation, or rewriting an entire scene bc it's not working how it's supposed to. editing can take me from a couple of hours to actual days, so it's not a process i really enjoy </3 writing can be a pain, but it's when i get to be messier and have fun and not worry about the end result. editing means polishing and rereading until you grow sick of the story. it's necessary but it's not my fav part of the process, that's for sure

i don't think i'm that bothered by grammar, but it's mostly bc this is just fanfiction and i kinda just . have fun with the language?? sometimes i'm aware i'm not structuring a sentence the Proper way but it looks more beautiful my way, and it sounds nicer, so why would i change it?? not a single one of my uni profs is gonna be reading it anyway. but as someone who isn't an english native speaker either, i totally get u, bc i used to be very insecure about this, and i still am a bit sometimes. i had this fear that ppl were gonna be able to tell english isnt my first language at a first glance. but so what if they do?? theres nothing wrong with that, and bc im bilingual, i speak and write in english in a manner native speakers cant replicate, bc i see and understand their language differently. and i think thats lovely!!!

the thing i struggle the most with is descriptions?? i feel like im not detailed or accurate enough, and like i lack a lot of vocabulary. i do my best to fix it during editing but it never quite works i fear.. i also write ridiculously long sentences, bc i use way too many commas when i should be using periods. and i think that my dialogues are pretty good, but at the same time im always . concerned about characters sounding real enough yk?? since, again, english isn't my first language

and i don't know about tips darling. i keep saying this, but i feel like i'm not the best person to ask about this At All, bc i'm not that knowledgeable, or talented, or skillful. i can tell you to remember that at the end of the day this is fanfiction, and we're supposed to be having fun and being self-indulgent. try not to worry so much about grammar and proper sentence structure or putting commas in the right place. bend the language until it sounds pretty enough for you and a sentence rolls off the tongue the right way. who cares if it's not Correct or Proper. it's not meant to!!! also, don't edit right away, let the story or the chapter breathe for a bit, otherwise you're gonna hate the whole thing and believe it's a Mess. it's usually not!! you just need a break and to put some healthy distance so u can edit more honestly, less unbiased

don't apologise!! my answer was even longer SIGH i hope some of this was at least a little helpful <3 and thank u so much!! more ppl than i thought are reading and enjoying the bartylily fic, and it fills me with joy <3 next ch is coming VERY soon and i can't wait

wishing u the best and sending u all my love MWAH <333

#asks #anons

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evilwriter37 · 8 months ago

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Hey, So I have a personal question that you could answer. Still going to give it a try.

Firstly, some general info about me. I'm a student in a local high school in Poland. In May I have my final exams. Aside from basic level, I have declared to write some on extended one. One of them is in form of a long essay. You get 2 topics, choose one, describe the problem, create a thesis and explain your point of view based on literature and knowledge.

Recently, I have noticed some sort of blockage when it came to my writing. We had assignments with writing such essay before and I'm not satisfied with it. Most importantly, I can see the drawbacks it has on my mental health. In the last few days, I tend to get more anxious, hands shaking, feeling a lump in my throat that wouldn't let me speak, crying (today I had that episode in school). I believe the main problem is due to my high ambitions, anxiety and feeling of time running out. I think when it comes to my writing the problem lies within construction of the sentences. I believe that they look bulky and incosistent, which makes them harder to read, lacking sense resulting in destroying the atmosphere I'm trying to create. So here comes the main question (about time): How do you get through that kind of pressure? How do you create a tone of work that will make sense in argumenting your point of view good enough? Making your work more fluent in sentence, so it doesn't look like bunch of squished random sentences?

The reason why I'm asking you is because I reckon that you may know an answer as a writer. I strongly believe that your works are pretty fluent in construction, which makes them easier to understand. Also your responses argument your point well.

Sorry about this long stuff that will definietely sound like a rant/vent. I'm not keen of doing such things (both Internet and irl), but I truly believe that getting this stuff of my chest is better than bubbling it any longer.

I was considering to ask this anonymously, but decided that being honest with myself in admitting of having the problem is far better. Also I thought of writing in a private message, but on the second thought; the potentional answers could help a lot more people and not just me, so I hope my problem and the solution will be shared for more potentional people facing similiar difficulties.

Looking forward to be hearing from you!

Have good day/afternoon/evening/night ^^

P.S I was writing this ask before, but left my computer for a while and later it turned off. I forgot to send the ask and I don't know if it got saved or not, so I'm writing this one more time from scratch

Practice. Practice and reading. My sentences used to be really clunky, and can still come out clunky before editing. But I didn’t let that stop me. I sat down and wrote through that awkwardness, because how are we ever supposed to improve at something if we don’t practice?

So where does the reading come in? Well, if you read from other authors, you can look at how they write. What did they do with their sentence structure that you like? Was there maybe something you didn’t like that you know not to include in your own writing?

Studying writing as a technical thing vs studying writing as storytelling is very different, though both are vitally important.

My advice? Write that first draft and edit once you’re done with it. Don’t look back until you have the finished draft, because editing as you go is only going to slow you down and possibly bog you down with perfectionism.

Don’t be afraid to use commas either! I once said “Commas are my bitch”, and damn, I was correct. And remember that not every sentence has to be the same length. Break long sentences up with short sentences. Not every sentence has to have the same rhythm either. Allow yourself to be anything but rigid in your writing.

But most importantly:

Practice.

I really hope your assignment and writing endeavors go well! Thank you for reaching out and I hope you have a good day/night/morning/whatever.

#asks #long post #writing advice

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asknarashikari · 2 years ago

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I can see why Go Busters can be seen as underrated... damn

Hiromu is kinda RAW for actually committing suicide (and fail) just to win the mission...

Yamato's and Takaharu's reactions?

When it aired I think GoBusters was seen as underrated, considering it came after Gokaiger which was hugely successful, and before Kyouryuger which was a financial success toy-wise (it had the highest toy sales since Ohranger, if I'm not mistaken).

However time came to vindicate it, I think, especially as certain trends in Sentai became harder and harder to ignore- like the blatant focus on the Red Ranger, for example.

It's honestly surprising, tbh- GoBusters was written by Yasuko Kobayashi, and every season she wrote- whether for Kamen Rider or Sentai- ended up a huge success, winning over fans. Seriously, GoBusters is the only season she wrote that hasn't blown up as big as the others have, though now it's quite fondly remembered. It certainly hasn't reached the heights that OOO or Den-O have.

And yeah, I don't think enough people talk about Hiromu being a great Red Ranger, though I suppose when you come after Marvelous you'd have some pretty big shoes to fill.

Hiromu's actually my favorite Red Sentai hero even if I don't talk about him much. I like his bluntness, his serious personality, his lack of social graces (and a catchphrase he uses as a comma!), his dynamics with Youko and Nick... He's a lot like me tbh.

Though imo his suicide attempt was more of a symptom of his tendency to take on most- if not all- of the burden onto himself (gee, where have I heard that before?). Not to mention, he wasn't in a very good place emotionally or mentally at that point, so he wasn't thinking as clearly as he normally would've. While he definitely was willing to lay his life down on the line to defeat Messiah, he's not the type to do it so recklessly like this.

So yeah I don't think people would be thinking he was "raw" or whatever, they'd be worried for his mental state.

#tokumei sentai gobusters #sakurada hiromu #ask #puwaasuru

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fagdykevash · 1 year ago

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i try to not have any pet peeves when it comes to fanfics, bc the whole point is that it's for fun, but DAMN the lack of commas hurt my soul sometimes

#chirping #like breaking grammar rules can be useful and cool and fun #but generally if it's just a regular convo #u wanna keep the commas #it clears things up a tonnnn

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perpetual-catmotion · 1 year ago

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'sona lore (brief version)

To be updated when I feel like it. I'm writing a much more detailed story version of this, but that's gonna take a while.

09/11/23: various rewordings, speeling correkshuns and a vague attempt at kicking my addiction to semicolons, brackets and excessive commas. Some extraneous details omitted (there's e.g. Sarna for deeper dives into specific 'mech models and such) Capitalization of common nouns kept to first instances of a word (e.g. MechWarrior). Spelling Americanized where applicable, cos lol

Any place but home

Robyn, born 2995, is a down-on-her-luck MechWarrior from the Lyran Commonwealth system of Vantaa. A rather miserable planet, but altogether not involved in the Third Succession War. The system is close to the Draconis Combine border, but being on the Periphery edge meant that while there were pirate attacks, it didn't see much fighting between the Great Houses.

Her parents were a retired FedCom foot soldier (who disappeared without a trace some years ago, including all his luggage), and a Lyran court scribe to a minor noble (perishing in a pirate attack not too long ago). Extended family ranges from just kinda there, to outright untrustworthy in some cases. There was even one pirate lord amongst her great uncles, until a rival sniper cracked him open like the last beer can on the troop transport.

Not particularly sociable (or rather, not particularly good at it), she spent her early adult years working the spaceport, unloading the DropShips that acted as the planet's lifeline. To escape backbreaking physical labor, she eventually earned an IndustrialMech license. A Buster loader 'mech, dating back the Star League and even manufactured on Terra, was her employer's sole remaining unit. Nicknamed Tulinen Teemu (or just Teemu for short) for the frequently-backfiring combustion engine, and just plain catching on fire sometimes.

She lost her license when pirates attacked. Putting her piloting skills to use, she helped fend off the pirates (with a lot of throwing and smashing of stuff), but punting one of their Skimmer hovercraft into the side of the dropship she was unloading netted the company a "hefty" repair bill from the captain, and had them strip her of her license. It was the equivalent of throwing a Ford Pinto into the side of the Nimitz, but apparently squeegees and paint are expensive these days.

You're in the LCAF now

A passing officer of the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces, who witnessed the fight (and the hovercraft punting) offered her a place piloting actual BattleMechs, an offer she tentatively accepted; if only to get off the planet. However, she ran the risk of being thrown into the meat grinder of the Third Succession War. She signed up, was assigned to the 30th Lyran Guards, and indeed got promptly thrown into action against the Combine.

Her first major combat action was part of the invasion to reclaim Sevren from the Combine in 3024. She didn't get one of the fancy new Hatchetman 'mechs the regiment was inundated with, but made do with a GRF-1N Griffin. It's got two good fists that helped her keep up with the Hatchetmen in urban combat, and longer-ranged weapons for when things are out of punching range.

While equipped with jumpjets and an avid user of them, she wasn't all that good at death from above attacks, and quickly abandoned the practice after failing spectacularly once. Trying to crush a J. Edgar hovertank, she instead missed slightly and slipped. The lasting embarrassment (not alleviated by beating the hovertank to a pulp), and the Skimmer incident previously, inculcates a lifelong hatred of hover vehicles in her.

Verdammte Kompanie

After the Sevren campaign, she was reassigned to 13th company and they were sent to hunt pirates. Lacking political connections, she never rose above the rank of first leutnant, but at least had command of her own lance. Their hauptmann was a minor noble by the name of Gormann. Furious he was assigned to this damned company and denied glory, but generally trying his best to keep them supplied, at least. Which was handy, as the 13th didn't get more than scraps from higher command; to the point they'd sometimes have to trade ammunition with the locals for toilet paper.

Her last mission with the unit saw first and second lances, with command lance predictably held in reserve, head to the location of a reported pirate dropship landing, in the system of Here. Normally the 8th Arcturan Guards' stomping grounds, but Gormann wanted this glory for himself. Expecting to catch some amateurs with their pants down, the lances instead came face to face with a veteran raiding party with a Union dropship and a full 'mech company. They defeat the pirates, but got the shit kicked out of them.

Gormann and Robyn were the only survivors, once all was said and done. Gormann tries to kill her to bury the only living witness to his fuckup, but fumbled the last killing stroke, giving her the opening she needed to turn his Hatchetman's axe on him. He ejected before his reactor breached, and she threw his ejection pod into the burning pirate dropship.

I'm going for a walk, I may be some time

She gets back to the company dropship and says nothing, though since the Hatchetman's diagnostic data was being recorded, they already knew. They fixed up her 'mech as best they could, loading it with supplies, tradable trinkets (along with salvaged pirate loot) and their precious few notes and coins. Gormann might've tried to kill her, but the LCAF would utterly bury her to hide this incident, so she had to go. As far away as possible.

The 'mech is repaired as best they can, LCAF livery and unit markings are painted over with a crude approximation of forest camo. She claims Gormann's hatchet as her own, engraving it with "Lalli". LRM-10 was gone, so the LRM ammo bins were repurposed for storage. Her final destination: Canopus. Nobody else would accept a deserting LCAF officer, and she'd just about nuked any bridges with the local pirate kingdoms.

While the 8th Arcturan sends their own dropship to check up on the decimated company, she hides in some of the local catacombs; various bunkers and underground facilities dating back centuries. Once they've both left, she follows instructions on a datapad supplied by her crew. Gormann's smuggler contacts could get her out of system, and indeed it looks like he'd arranged to have himself smuggled out, arranging and paying for it some time ago.

Anywhere but Here

She follows the instructions to an isolated spaceport that was once a Rim Worlds Army company base. Painted over the faded original unit markings, in bold colours and blocky letters were the words "Anywhere but Here Shipping", their logo a fairly unwell-looking planet with three dropships flying out to the upper right and spreading out. She pays a little extra as her mech is a fair bit heavier than the Hatchetman they were expecting. On the 23rd of November, 3025, her exodus begins.

Over the course of 14 jumps, 102 days and 329 lightyears, she reaches the system of Issaba. She helps the dropship unload for some money, and gets some tips on local work she can do. An extra month of dockwork to make some more, and manages to sell all of her remaining cargo. With the proceeds she buys a pair of medium lasers, and christens her modified 'mech with the designation GRF-TB Thunderbird.

Enders End

The next leg of her journey takes her to Enders Cluster (specifically Ender 4, rather appropriately named "This is It?"), this time aboard a rather shady, modified cargo Leopard that smells slightly less of stale beer. After 9 jumps, 66 days and 232 LY, she arrives, hops off and tries to find something to do to fund the next trip. Specifically, a month-long security contract for a local archaeological digsite.

They'd already fended off multiple pirate attacks, and after a week of patrols, they attack once again. A Locust, Wasp and Assassin, along with a couple dozen mostly light vehicles. The pirates are defeated, but not before wiping out local security and claiming the lives of several civilian workers. A bloodbath that will never quite leave her memory.

The company can't afford to pay out her full rate plus combat bonuses (since with things heating up, they need to hire a whole professional merc outfit), so they offer her a deal: a rare lostech XL 275 engine for her 'mech, supplies, refit and transport, if she helps them get revenge on the pirate gang in a system along her route. Andiron, in the Circinus Federation; a pirate kingdom that puts on airs of democracy. She accepts. Her current contract is cut short after another week, and she embarks on the next.

Operation Clothesline(d)

She, as the additional member to an under-strength merc outfit, spend 7 jumps, 51 days and 159 LY getting to know each other, and preparing for their mission. The pirates are holed up in an old RWA base, but seem oddly weak. Until they kick down the gate, jump over the walls, and come face to face with heavy armor, and a salvaged royal Orion. Still being refitted, but phenomenally dangerous. It claims the lives of two of the mercs, and grievously wounds the third before falling.

A stash of double heatsinks are uncovered, amongst other looted the pirates had accumulated. She gets heatsinks and an LRM-10, the surviving merc gets the Orion along with the other two's 'mechs; rest of the salvage goes to the company that sent the expedition. After 9 days of salvaging and repairs, they part ways. The last Robyn hears of the merc, she's taken over leadership of the merc outfit and is busy terrorizing the other local pirate gangs. She and the company perish at the hands of an elite Federation response team, many years later.

No home away from home

From Andiron to Lahti takes 9 jumps, 66 days, 211 LY. She tries to cut her journey short and settle here, in a border region of the Free Worlds League. She gets a job in corporate security as something of a prestige piece. After all, how many companies have a veteran pirate hunter in their employ, piloting a military-grade Battlemech loaded with rare tech? There aren't much in the way of pirates in this region of space though, just some relatively peaceful minor Periphery powers.

After three months and three days, Lyran black ops, specifically Loki, prove staying to be a terrible idea. People she's formed connections with die as a result of her staying too long. Company higher ups, furious about the actions of a foreign intelligence agency, use their connections to grant her escape, and hire some mercs to give Loki agents, and the rat that tipped them off, a nasty surprise.

So close, yet so far.

From Lahti to Tellman's Mistake is 8 jumps, 58 days and 192 LY. Learning from their last mistake, Loki hire local mercs to hunt her down, and get a local lord in on the action by framing her for LCAF atrocities on the Steiner/Marik border. She's hunted by them for two months and 13 days; initially doing well, but gradually worn down.

She confronts the lord, who had realized she wasn't responsible like Loki led him to believe, but after having killed several of his family in combat, he doesn't really care anymore and wants her dead all the same. The ensuing battle leaves her mech a shambles, but accidentally stumbling ass-first into his son's plot to take the throne. He gets her and her wrecked 'mech a ticket out of there, but little else. Not even some biscuits.

Canopus

From Tellman's Mistake to Canopus is 10 jumps, 73 days, 234 LY. After a total of 57 jumps, 416 days (635 days total including non-travel time), and 1357 LY of travel, she has finally reached her destination. Utterly destitute and unable to use her 'mech to earn money, she gets by with a month and two weeks of odd jobs, barely managing to sustain herself and keep her 'mech. Certainly not enough to afford her transition.

She's then offered a contract that seems too good to be true; a month-long stint of brute enforcer work, with laser pistol and fist, after which she'll have her transition paid for, and her 'mech fully repaired. Having few other options, and barely reading the contract, she accepts. The month comes due, and she realizes the transition comes with becoming a catgirl, and several years of service in their dingy clubs to pay her massive debt. Catgirls are rather popular with tourists on Canopus for some reason, much to the chagrin of long-term residents and locals.

33382044000

The shady lostech medical capsule the clinic used goes a bit too far, and she ends up, well... "Pop the lid and let's see how she's doing" "Ma'am? How are you feeling?" "mrrrp? :3" "Oh fuck" She's released from her contract immediately with an apology and enough money to get her 'mech walking, on the condition she doesn't report them to Canopian medical board.

Exactly 1 year, 11 months and 11 days from the start of her journey, from the moment she stepped onto the first dropship, she has transitioned. And despite becoming a bit more than she bargained for, certainly a lot more than a catgirl, she finally likes what she sees in the mirror.

A woman. A cat as well, sure, but a woman. And hey, cats are pretty neat.

She applies for citizenship on political asylum grounds, having roundly pissed off the Lyrans and kinda fucked things up with some of the League, and offers to serve in the Magistracy Armed Forces to fulfill the national defense contribution requirement. They fix Thunderbird up the rest of the way, and she proves to be an even better mechwarrior after her changes. She can't really be trusted around laser pointers anymore, though.

#woe be upon ye who finds this post #no i'm not gonna use tags that make this easier to find #for the love of Kerensky don't reblog this

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tg-headcanons · 2 years ago

Note

An additional idea about messing with marude

Arima also assists juuzou in goofing on him. He's too old now to do anything extreme and as an adult he understands why marude chastised him all the time as a teen BUT HOWEVER COMMA, casually taking part in the daily marude gaslighting is a way for him to heal his inner teenager. Since he's so serious looking and speaks in a monotone voice, marude is more likely to believe that arima knows the truth and he's just losing it

He ABSOLUTELY would, Arima took the opportunity and ran with it. Unfortunately he lacks creativity so he’s resorted to moving his coffee mug to a different cabinet after work every day. It’s not much, but damn does marude get pissed

#tokyo ghoul

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imuybemovoko · 2 years ago

Text

so I made a language

well technically i've made kind of a bunch of languages

and probably already have a very old post about one of them

but here's another one. I call it Pinõcyz. I started working on it in February of 2020.

PHONOLOGY

I don't want to get too deep into the evolution I did on this, but to illustrate a little of that, I'll explain what's going on with the vowels and /z/. Basically, in most consonants where the modern language lacks a labialized pairing, i.e. /m l q/ and others, the labialized consonant simply unrounded. Historical /ðʷ/, though, merged with /z/ instead, yielding contrasting /z zʷ/ preceding /ɛ ɵ u ɔ/ and contrasting /ɛ ɵ u ɔ/ and /e ɨ ɯ o/ following plain /z/.

I realize also that I've sort of doubled the explanation of this in the notes maybe?! and left a note about the romanization in this screenshot that I deleted the romanization from because I want to display it separately. I'm not going to replace this screenshot a fifth damn time. :D

ORTHOGRAPHY

The Pinõcyz language is written primarily with the Tewrinnal /teɣrinːal/ script. It's an abugida.

...For a language with eleven vowels and fairly complex syllables.

You know, very much not the normal simple, open syllables that such a system usually operate best with.

So just what the hell is going on here?

Well, every character has an inherent vowel /ə/. To represent other vowels, diacritics are used, and to represent, for example, a single-consonant coda, another diacritic is used to mark that there isn't a vowel. For example:

/mə me m/

There are six regular vowel diacritics:

/nɨ ni no na ne nɯ/

But, we also have to handle four more vowels somehow, and the labialized consonants where they're distinct.

That's all handled with one diacritic, marking both for labialization on the consonant and, where relevant, these different vowels.

/nʷɵ nʷi nʷo nʷɔ nʷɛ nʷu/

So that helps with those things. But what happens with a consonant cluster, or a geminate? Those are weird, right?

Well, the script uses a longer diacritic for that. Let's use the name of the script as an example:

/teɣrinːal/ (It's written from right to left.)

So, couple of things going on here. First, that second chunk is /ɣri/. The glyph for /ɣ/ doesn't need the null vowel diacritic (shown here on final /l/) because it's marked with this tie bar that shows it's part of a cluster in the same syllable as /ri/. And second, that third chunk is /nːa/. Marking geminates via this tie bar is one of several uses of this other glyph, the null-consonant.

We also have to handle initial vowels.

And diphthongs.

So what's going on here?

/ə ɨ i o a e ɯ/

Here's the null-consonant glyph, and every vowel on it. These don't take the rounding diacritic; for geminates, said diacritic will appear on the consonant glyph proper.

/qaj teu/

Diphthongs are written as though the first component forms a simple syllable with the consonant, but then with the null consonant immediately following.

Alright.

So here's all the base glyphs real fast:

/∅ m n ŋ p b t d k g q/

/t͡s d͡z t͡ʃ d͡ʒ r l j f v s z/

/ʃ ʒ x ɣ h ð ɬ/

And one last quick note, /zʷ/ is represented by the glyph for /ð/ with rounding diacritic. Here's an example, in the form of a common given name:

/zʷɛzi/

Last but not least, the script has a couple of punctuation marks:

In order, something between the role of a comma and a semicolon; a marker for the end of a sentence; and an exclamation and imperative marker. These are small and appear next to the bottom of the last glyph, much like a period or comma might.

I don't have a font of this yet, and even if I did I'd have some trouble getting that to function well on Tumblr. So I'm going to briefly explain the romanization that I tend to use.

For the non-labialized consonants I have:

/m n ŋ p b t d k g q t͡s d͡z t͡ʃ d͡ʒ f v ð s z ɬ ʃ ʒ x ɣ h r l j/

⟨m n ň p b t d k g q c ż č ǧ f v ð s z ł š ž x w h r l j⟩

For the vowels I have:

/i ɨ ɯ e ə o a/

⟨i y u e õ o a⟩

The other four vowels and the labialized consonants are handled with diacritics on the characters for the vowels. So,

/ɛ ɵ u ɔ/

⟨ê ŷ û â⟩

and to mark that the preceding consonant is labialized, i and o also take circumflex, î and ô. The result is that ⟨w⟩ represents both /w/ and /ɣ/, and ⟨j⟩ represents both /j/ and /ɥ/, and obviously, for example k, g, r represent both plain /k g r/ and labial /kʷ gʷ rʷ/, and so on.

And because this doesn't handle labialized z, I have /zʷ/ ⟨ź⟩, and for example ⟨zê⟩ /zɛ/.

This probably isn't anything close to an ideal system, but it's what I settled on in 2020 and I don't think I want to change it. It's weird, but it's phonetic, in a sort of weird roundabout way.

So let's get into the grammar.

We'll start relatively simple: word order is verb-subject-object, with descriptors that follow what they're marking except for some in the animate class that are derived from verbs (more on all that later), and placement of other things like indirect objects and relative clauses varies in a couple of ways.

Also, subject pronouns often, but are not required to, drop entirely.

NOUNS

Whether a noun is considered animate or inanimate has some impact on case markings and other things like that. In general, people, certain concepts, feelings, anything divine, weather phenomena, time, animals, some tools, injuries or illnesses, fire and water, and plants food items considered spiritually important such as tea and many herbs are animate; other nouns are inanimate. Certain shelled sea creatures are also inanimate.

Case markings carry a plural marker and information related to definiteness within them. Animate nouns are considered definite by default and so have an indefinite article that incorporates into the cases; inanimate nouns are considered indefinite by default and so incorporate a definite article into their case markings.

Pinõcyz has split-ergative alignment based on animacy. Animate nouns take the (unmarked) nominative case as subject and the accusative case as object; inanimate nouns take the ergative case as subject and the (unmarked) absolutive as object. All the case markers except the ergative appear as suffixes; the ergative, though, is a particle that precedes the noun. There's a lot of wonky historical reasons for that, a bit beyond the scope of this.

Here's a table of the regular forms:

Where I have something in parenthesis, what sounds occur at the end of a noun determine whether it's present. For the vowels (i.e. most of them), it drops if the noun has a final vowel, and for the definite singular inanimate dative, that l is present if it's a final vowel and gone if there's a final consonant. There are other effects that the final consonant can have but they're often less predictable than this.

I'll explain the ablaut more when I get to verbs since it's more relevant there, but the definite singular inanimate dative does trigger ablaut, and the inanimate singular definite genitive triggers ablaut in nouns with a final vowel, where the y is dropped.

POSSESSIVE CONSTRUCTIONS

The possessor is marked with the genitive case and precedes what it marks. Examples: Tuštez bylen "Tušte's cousin", ðandaz manõn "rapids", lit. "river's teeth"

ADJECTIVES

Here I'm using "adjectives" as a sort of catch-all term, there's not a separate class of adverbs. There are, however, separate sets of animate and inanimate descriptors. These come in the form of a few adjectives that can simply be used for either sort of noun, i.e. izy "also", or in the form of separate, often derived forms for animate nouns, i.e. ðakan rõr "the stone nearby", but šõrõr celiż "the nearby ash tree". Many animate adjectives are derived more recently from verbs, and those ones precede what they describe, unlike the others. The new verb-derived animate adjectives are still often transparently related to one of several verbs. For example, šõrõr here has incorporated šõ "to have" as a prefix; wâðrata "dry" takes wâð "to be" as a prefix, and so on.

Except for a few exceptions, animate adjectives may not be used for inanimate nouns and vice versa, i.e. šõrõr ðakan here would be ungrammatical.

ABLAUT

I'm going to take a second before I get into the rest of this to discuss ablaut in more detail.

Sometimes, but not always, an i or e vowel remains in a suffix that triggers ablaut. This was universal before some of the vowels were eroded, but is now a bit trickier to predict if the vowel has been lost. Historically (read: before vowel length was lost, a bunch of final vowels got eroded, and a bunch of other things happened), a long i or e in the final syllable triggered fronting and raising of the vowel in the preceding syllable. How that expresses in the modern language is roughly reflected by this table:

Most of the time, labialization was retained through this raising, so sê "to float" > sîż "they (inanimate, plural) float".

Some verb endings including tense markers and subject agreement trigger ablaut.

VERBS

Oh boy these get messy. Alright, I'll start with the tenses. I'll give an example sentence or two with each, and I'll explain the personal agreement after that.

Simple Present: unmarked. Deals in ongoing actions, states, things like that. Example: Symvinan "I'm thinking".

Habitual: -čin if the noun has a final consonant; -ǧin for a final vowel; in final plosives, the č metathesizes into the word like CVčCin. Triggers ablaut. Deals in actions that the subject carries out often or habitually. Examples: Łezeǧinõn manõnxaz "I often swim in the river"; Wêličkinõm dõz ðažgaňna "She often moves my pans".

Imperative: -žǧin for final vowel, -ščin basically otherwise; rarely -šõčin with final clusters. Triggers ablaut. Commands, things like that. Example: Biliqščin żŷknõ! "Prepare the boat!" (Fun note: żŷk "boat" is an animate noun; that's the accusative case.)

Future: -ðem, VðCem metathesis with final plosives. Deals in things that will take place in the future. Triggers ablaut. Examples: Bigimðemõǧ yquddiz bêdêkkuinan "They will gather the king's council"; Taxe beðqemõl "Therefore you will flee".

Conditional: -sõn if final consonant, -zõn if final vowel, VsCõn metathesis for final plosive. Deals in possibilities, uncertainties, etc. Example: Boňgestõnõn żen Lagruisyn "I might mail those to Lagrui".

Subjunctive: -õð for some final consonants, -ôð for others; -ð for final vowel; metathesizes with final stop VðõC unless it's in a cluster. Expected, preferred, "ought to be". Example: Kalyðõl "You ought to sleep".

Past-habitual: -šał with final consonants, -žał with final vowels; metathesizes VšCał with final plosives. Things the subject used to often or habitually do. Example: Kyużêžałõn ðembawynxaiz "I used to explore among these ruins often."

Optative: -kî for final consonant, -gî for final vowel. Triggers ablaut. Deals in things desired or hoped for by the speaker. Example: Erõmjeqqîl nida "I hope you return early". (In this example the consonant was absorbed into the final q on the verb root.)

Pluperfect: -łyš, metathesizes VłCyš for final plosives. Final consonant in the suffix retains labialization when vowels follow. Deals with actions completed by a specified or implied time period. Example: Dîrzynłyšôč "They (animate, plural) had taken ill". (Final consonants in the root form will have lost labialization, but they retain it when, like here, a vowel is introduced via a suffix.)

Experiential: -šai for final consonant, -žai for final vowel, VšCai for final plosive. Marks an experience that has happened at least once without respect for time, and is repeatable. Example: Sylezunčaiž wâðger waišqalnan "We have survived some large floods". (This example shows fortition of the fricative immediately after a nasal, a common sound change.

Now let's look at the regular forms of the person endings.

Most often, these will retain the vowel before the suffix consonant, but that is not always the case, sometimes you lose it and keep the one after, and it's not predictable in a way I can describe neatly here. For final vowels in the root or the TAM affix, typically no vowel is retained after.

Here's where things get WILD.

PASSIVE VOICE

The passive voice renders the agent of an action as an oblique and promotes the patient, so that it's focused a bit more. The passive is derived from an auxiliary verb that takes the tenses and the verb agreement, giving a qir- prefix. Then the verb is incorporated after that, and then -(u)z prefix, where the u drops if the z is allowed to form a final cluster with the final consonant or the verb has a final vowel. Then the agent of the action takes the ablative case. Example:

Qiršõmrenõnżõ Madriz lezgammuðgõż "Madriz was stabbed by an impostor". (This sentence is sus. Also note the fortition, z > d͡z after that nasal.)

ANTIPASSIVE

In ergative constructions, it's often more appropriate to de-emphasize the agent. In these cases, an antipassive construction forms, basically the passive construction but with the oblique-marked object in the allative case. This shows up mainly in relative clauses, but can form in fully independent sentences for emphasis reasons. Example:

Qiršymqamżõ pera Varasyn "An apple hit Vara"

An active-voice rendering of this same sentence would be Qamšym gõr pera Varanõ; the ergative particle here lends a degree of emphasis that is not always useful. Some speakers even consider it ungrammatical to form a sentence with the accusative on the object and the ergative on the subject, though that's far from universal and is mostly a hard-and-fast rule only in relatively conservative dialects. (For the most part, variation among dialects is beyond the scope of this post.)

MEDIOPASSIVE

The mediopassive construction handles both reflexives and certain intransitive sentences where the subject is not necessarily interpreted as the agent, such as "I fell". It derives from an old auxiliary verb ša- which takes any tenses and the subject agreement, but in this case the main verb, marked with the experiential, is not fused to the end of that. Examples:

Šan kadynčai "I fall" (fortition after the nasal again); Šamom dewšai "He has washed himself".

CAUSATIVES AND INDIRECT OBJECTS

A causative will usually take the form of the cause oblique-marked, taking the ablative case; an indirect object is typically marked with the dative case unless circumstances suggest something else. Typically, an animate oblique will precede the verb and an inanimate will follow the entire clause, but this is somewhat flexible for the purposes of emphasis. Examples: Taraðõd sybêkužõn Jŷddenõ "I met Jŷdde because of Tara" (causative); Kitronyz šŷllalõ leðõn żŷknõ "I'm building a boat for Kitron's clan" (indirect object).

NEGATION

Negating nouns and adjectives is done with a suffix -riq; this does not trigger ablaut. Example: cymanõnriq "nonexistence, void". In nouns this is primarily a derivational method.

In verbs, there is a negative auxiliary, jan in root form. It takes personal agreement, preceding the main verb, and the main verb takes tenses. Here's the forms of the negative auxiliary:

In passives, antipassives, and mediopassives, the negative auxiliary takes root form and precedes the verb construction as a particle.

Examples:

Jan šan kadynčai "I did not fall"; Ne vreita grõn teta "The candle isn't burning".

QUESTIONS

The interrogative terms are:

qa "who"; hud "what"; jõl "where"; tõr "when"; wal "why"; ðam "how"; gy "which one", also a general interrogative; jezyn "to where"; jeðõd "from where". They usually precede the verb, with the exception of gy when it precedes a noun, i.e. Jenin gy tynnanõ? "Which sumac tree am I looking for?"

RELATIVE CLAUSES

The interrogative terms also function as relative pronouns.

If the noun of the relative clause is animate:

Subjects, direct objects, and indirect objects can be relativized without any extra trouble, simply constructing the clause out of an interrogative and then the verb and relevant noun. Examples:

Subject- Kasran kêdynõ qa bašqõm "I see the dog who ran"

Object- Gy bûriðemõl ňaňlõ qa ðõkasran? "Will you wait for the man who I forgot?"

Indirect object- Wâðõm pinõ qa daxõn luz qarut "That is the person who I gave your money to"

For obliques, genitives, and objects of comparatives, it's necessary to use a passive. Examples:

Oblique- Jenižǧin sadynõ jeðõd qirmomrenõnżõ Nabi lezgammuðgõż! "Find the knife with which Nabi was stabbed by an impostor!"

Genitive- Gy činõl riżalnõ qaz qirõmjeniz rênnan Dargoðõd? "Do you know the shrub whose leaves are sought by Dargo?"

Object of comparative- Dalqamõn ainan jeðõd šoðõð qirčinõnfilz "I playfully hit the nonbinary person who I am sung better than by"

Yeah, Pinõcyz has a word for the act of hitting someone gently in a humorous or flirty way, it's dalqam.

If the noun of the relative clause is inanimate:

Only absolutives may be relativized. Example:

Absolutive- Qiršõngaduz wegrizxaiz jõl kerkożżynčõm verraw "I was given birth to in the city which the king declared war against".

For all other sorts of relative clauses, antipassives must be used. Examples:

Ergative- Vreitašõn ludan hud qiršõmfaisqõ Balzasyn "I burned the arrow that killed Balza" (that -z suffix here is metathesized into the verb and devoiced, and we have a following epenthetic vowel)

Indirect object- Kasran eigu jezyn qirčinõmdaxuz xâż lenasyn "I see the clearing to which the tide gives water"

Oblique- Laxõždõn ðaka jeðõd qiršõmmaxnaz ewa "I broke the stone with which the shellfish hunted"

Genitive- Šommom qâra huż qiršymžac mez rênnażi "The basil that lost its leaves has died."

Object of comparative- Jenimon reňkum hud qirčinõnjanjaz han dõsyn "I have found the needle that is longer than me" (lit. "grows more than me")

A FEW TRANSLATIONS

I feel like translating some stuff, just to show a bit of the feel of it with either some familiar texts or maybe some stuff I decide to write for this. Again, no font, so I'll have to rely on my weird handwriting for this.

The One Ring inscription:

Verreðym gi grõn uda że cy, jeniðym gi że;

[verːeðɨm gi grən ɯda d͡ze t͡sɨ | jeniðɨm gi d͡ze]

rule-SUBJ-3S.Inan one ERG.DEF ring 3P.Inan all | find-SUBJ-3S.Inan one.DEF 3P.Inan

"One ring shall rule them all, the one shall find them;

Bêlašõðym gi grõn uda że cy, ta heqalxaz gŷšqamõðym że

[bɛlaʃəðɨm gi grən ɯda d͡ze t͡sɨ | ta heqalxaz gʷɵʃqaməðɨm d͡ze]

gather-SUBJ-3S.Inan one ERG.DEF ring 3P.INAN all and evil-LOC imprison-SUBJ-3S.Inan 3P.Inan

"One ring shall gather them all, and shall imprison them in evil"

Mordor jejaxtaz jõl xalzunõǧ tawna

[mordor jejaxtaz jəl xalzɯnəd͡ʒ taɣna]

Mordor territory-LOC where reside.3P.Anim shadow-P.DEF

"In Mordor land where the shadows live."

A few quotes from Goncharov and its promotional materials:

Jaqym grõn rêǧi Napolisyn

[jaqɨm grən rʷɛd͡ʒi napolisɨn]

come-3S.Inan ERG.DEF winter Naples-ALL

"Winter comes to Naples"

Ai fiłatõš syganõn; so, fiłacõnõn uri lun ðam qirčinymfiłac yaň sadusyn

[aj fiɬatəʃ sɨganən | so fiɬat͡sənən ɯri lɯn ðam qirt͡ʃinɨmfiɬat͡s jaŋ sadɯsɨn]

O lover apologize-1S | look love-COND-1S only 2S.ACC REL.how ANTP-HAB-3S.INAN-love\ANTP boot knife-ALL

“I’m sorry my dear, I can only love you the way a boot loves a knife.”

Kamassõnõl mainõ Napoliðõd žaz dajersyn qarrêðdõ Mâskõvaxaz ňaňňyz qa zazõðõǧ hud fiłatõǧ lun vaðdõd

[kamasːənəl majnə napoliðəd ʒaz dajersɨn qarːʷɛðdə mɔskəvaxaz ŋaŋːɨz qa zazəðəd͡ʒ hɯd fiɬatəd͡ʒ lɯn vaðdəd]

trace-COND-2S path-ACC.DEF Naples-ABL 1P.GEN home-ALL childhood Moscow-LOC man-GEN.P REL.who say-SUBJ-3P.Anim REL.what love-3P.Anim 2S.ACC blood-ABL

“you could trace a path from Naples to our childhood house in Moscow with the blood of all the men who’ll tell you they love you”

I'll probably do art and shit with this conlang at some point, and not just LOTR and Goncharov brainrot.

Enjoy!

#conlang #neography #why am i like this #goncharov #i am the flavor of dumb bitch who cant get goncharov out of my head so I translated quotes into my conlang #one is even from the movie poster what the fuck #is my trans ass becoming a film bro #i thought i stopped being a weird asshole in college #this is a cry for help

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fluffywolverine · 3 years ago

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so season 6 of lucifer came out.

there were some things that i liked, but generally i hated it. i believe that was SUCH. BAD. WRITING and it left me frustrated. so i decided to write down all things that pissed me off and sometimes i try to fix this by giving other ideas that – in my opinion – would have made the story better. Check my points out and feel free to add your points of view. without further ado: let’s talk.

- imma start with the big one – fucking time travel. ok I generally hate this trope in the media, because it’s complicated and often leads to some logical mistakes – and they happened here. so rory time travels because of her anger which was caused… by her anger?? i think this was unnecessary. it also brings trouble with this whole free will vs. fate discourse. lucifer says, that he chooses free will… but at the same time he goes the path of his fate. he disappears from rory’s life, because he HAS TO in order of the events of the season to happen. just because he chose to do it, doesn’t mean it’s free will.

- lucifer becomes the very thing he desperately didn’t want to become. “bUt It WaS fOr ThE gReAtEr GoOd” screw this bullshit, if writers wanted to make it better, they could have easily do so. they could have altered the rules of time travel so that his choice of staying could have resulted in rory disappearing. yes, that would have been heart-breaking, but it would have been a great lesson for lucifer, that he can’t make the same mistakes his father did.

- chloe and Lucifer get a child without even talking about it. “bUt MaYbE tHeY tAlKeD aBoUt It We JuSt DiDn’T sEe It” you may say. but the point of writing anything - whether it’s a book or a script – is to show any thing that matters. and talking about having kids is one of the most things any couple should do. also not every couple needs to have kids and forcing deckerstar to have it feels so far-fetched. this thread was very unnecessary.

- rory herself is a big problem. to begin with – she wanted to KILL her FATHER. i get her frustration, but commiting a murder?? just because he wasn’t there for her?? I would have thought that chloe taught her better, taught her that, like, killing people is bad. turns out she did not. secondly… she just isn’t necessary here. i elaborate later so in conclusion – her thread could be altered with michael’s and it would have made much more sense. i also don’t like the actress (why was she blinking so much??) so i certainly didn’t help.

- of course ella has to end up with a boyfriend. because earlier she always ended up with “bad boys” and now, without any help, she is just able to have a healthy relationship! yay! for me this creates a toxic view, that in order to be happy one HAS TO be in a relationship, because being alone is aLwAyS bAd. well, it’s not.

- i also have troubles with lucifer starting up a foundation for her. firstly, he didn’t ask her. secondly it – AGAIN – shows, that anything good ella got, was because of another man. firstly because of her relationship with carol, secondly because of lucifer’s idea. it could have been so easily altered! there could have been a scene of a conversation e.g. with amenadiel where she expressed a will to do better and be better for someone (given that she sees a lot of dark in herself). amenadiel could have then told her, that she is an inspiration and that it is her biggest strength. that could have been where ella came up with an idea to start a foundation blah blah – it’s just a rough idea but I believe that written well, it could have been so much better;

- and the last thing about ella – of course she had to find out about celestial stuff because sHe WaS tHe OnLy OnE rEmAiNiNg. umm what about trixie? i'll come back to her later. ella was portrayed as the only one believing in god and having her seeing that he really exists ruins the concept of faith. it’s not about knowing something exists, it’s about believing in it.

- WHERE THE FUCK IS MICHAEL. i must admit that i loved this character AND I CAN’T STAND HOW AWFULLY HE WAS TREATED HERE. so at the end of season 5 lucifer says “everyone deserves a second chance, even you michael". and what does he do then? COMMANDS HIS TWIN TO CLEAR THE FLOOR IN HELL. yes, i agree that michael should have been punished for his rebellion plan, but… he already has his wing cut off. now he’s stuck in hell, with no way out and is he supposed to learn his lesson? this is cruel. instead of this the entire season could have been centred on him – his journey to self-acceptance, learning how manipulating someone is toxic and starting to realise how to be a better person. at the end he could have become god (because amenadiel is such an obvious choice), which would create a beautiful connection – michael in heaven and his twin in hell.

- lucifer doesn’t feel like being god and that’s cool. damn. people died for him to win this place and he’s like “actually you know guys i’m not the right person bye”. while i believe that anyone should step out if they have a reason, but at the same time lucifer should have faced any consequences of his decisions. falling frog and kool aid in the river are not enough.

- adam’s plot feels just quickly sketched, not actually written. i really appreciate this take on toxic masculinity but it all felt too fast-paced. it’s good that they show this idea of “strong and not-showing-any-feelings man” kind of attitude, but it is impossible for ANYONE (especially The ManTM) to change their mind in a matter of a few days. it takes weeks, months, years even, especially given that adam is like a gazillion years old, he should have especially taken a long time to process this.

- carol is just too pure to exist. he’s also one of the most boring, plain and one-dimensional character i’ve ever seen. i feel like they gave him a problem with alcohol because the writers were like “hmmmmm he has to have some weakness. LET’S MAKE HIM AN ALCOHOLIC”. we don’t see any signs of his everyday struggle, why did he fell into this problem, how did struggle. it just feels like a dull plot device to show that he has flaws. oh and also he’s so pure that he doesn’t mind ella BREAKING INTO HIS HOUSE. acceptance should have boundaries and violating someone’s personal space isn’t right.

- why did they forget about trixie again? yes, i know that scarlett estevez had another project but this does not justify the bad writing. the girl lost her father and we only see her crying once because of that. no signs of this affecting her everyday life, not showing any consequences of her relationships with other people, not glimpse of any change in her behaviour. oh and also she loses lucifer too because time travel! great idea, writers! losing another close to her person would have been soooooo good for her psychic for sure.

- i also hate the idea that suddenly rory becomes the only child they care for. where is trixie when they spend their day on the beach? where is she when her mother dies? did writers forget about her as well as they did about michael?

- amenadiel being a police officer is… problematic. i was looking forward to this thread, i was kinda scared too and it turned out… meh. i’m white and not American, so this of course does not involve me at all, but i felt like this was not enough. harris basically said that there is nothing they can do to make it better for black folks. even though chloe and amenadiel want to make everything more just, we don’t actually see any change. the only thing is that harris becomes a detective (right? i’m not sure if i understood it correctly, so correct me if i’m wrong, please) which is a total contradiction of what she said before. suddenly she does not have to protect people anymore?

- in season 5 they stated that heaven and hell need to be fixed, as the system is unfair and unjust. at the end we don’t see any change, the only thing that is different is lucifer helping damned souls. it doesn’t help at all! these people still go to hell, they still suffer and there’s nothing that changed here! plus there is also this thing, that a sociopath who murdered people in cold blood goes to heaven (because he does not feel any guilt) and a person abused by her parents/partner/whoever goes to hell (because have been manipulated to feel guilt).

- dan making amends with trixie while… there wasn’t really anything to make amends about. like, most of the parents make mistakes while upbringing their children, but does this make them unworthy of heaven? i would have preferred dan to slowly regain his self-consciousness, how he positively affected the lives of people around him and by doing so – through conversations or maybe reliving some of the memories, he could have proved to himself that he is worthy of love and redemption.

phew, what a ride. i really liked dan being reunited with charlotte (it went just as i imagined) and mazeve dynamics. i even felt like they are finally a real life relationship – with people hurting each other by not understanding each other, but then talking and seeing other’s perspective. generally though, i’m very disappointed.

sorry for any mistakes, lacking commas etc. writing a text this long in not my native language was not easy.

#lucifer #lucifer netflix #lucifer spoilers #lucifer season 6

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moralina · 3 years ago

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Why I Love the Moon | Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: sometimes accidents happen, and when you're young it's hard to know the right way to deal with them. But Peter is sorry, and you couldn't be that angry, right?

*English is not my 1st language

N/a: I really don't know how to use on and in properly and when to put the damn comma.

Warnings: aside from my lack of comma usage knowledge? maybe cursing but nothing else

I'm really frustrated with this comma thing

Wc: 1.7k

Masterlist

GIF CREDIT

She was in her house, buried under the covers, too tired to do anything after spending all day shopping for a new dress. Homecoming was close and she really wanted to make Peter speechless. Even if she was kind of mad at him right now.

Peter was in a random building looking around, searching for a bad guy to beat the shit out of so he could call it a day and finally see his girl.

She was all he could think about, and after their last conversation he was really anxious to see her.

"See, I told you it was gonna happen!"

"in my defense- i... i don't have a defense" the girl huffed, frustrated with her boyfriend.

the young couple, plus ned, who stood quietly by the couch, were looking at y/n's phone. Broken.

The things is, she'd gotten a text from nick, her friend from school, and he was asking her out. Peter saw and immediately snatched y/n's phone out of her hand. It turned into peter and ned teasing y/n about the fact that nick had a crush on her as well as peter saying "i told you so" repeatedly. He knew nick liked her, and she would always brush it off as peter being jealous and paranoid. But now, now he had proof that nick was trying to steal her away from him.

That led to peter saying he was going to send nick a message, y/n trying to get her phone back, peter running away from her and ned just standing there awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

"Give it back!" Y/n yelled, jumping on Peter's back.

"Hey Ned! Catch!" And he threw the phone at ned who almost missed it.

"Stop, you're gonna drop it!"

But peter ignored her.

That's how y/n ended up with a broken phone, a scared Peter, and a silent Ned. She didn't know what was going on through the latter boy's mind, but the moment they locked eyes, he immediately bid his goodbyes and ran out of the front door and away from a fuming y/n.

Peter stood there, trapped next to y/n in what was possibly his last moments in the living world.

But the screams didn't come. The girl was quiet. Too quiet. And that made him terrified.

Without looking at him, she told him to go home and he silently obeyed.

That was last night and they haven't spoken since. But he sent her a message asking if he could come over and she replied with "yeah"

Before going to y/n's, he wanted to make sure to make it up to her. So he bought her favorite chocolate and her favorite candy plus a bouquet of y/f/f.

And hey, he had a flawless, at least he thought it was, apology speech.

Y/n had spent all her money on that phone. She'd pulled extra shifts just to buy it. Her old phone was total crap and when she bought a new one, with her own money and effort, she was very excited and proud of herself. It was her first purchase and maybe that sounds silly to some people, but to her it was very important.

And he understood why she was mad. She told him to stop and he didn't. He was being reckless. Blame it on jealousy, if you will.

Now he has to make it up to her.

And he will.

It was just 10:13 p.m., and anxiety was taking over him. She couldn't be that mad, could she? I mean, he just cracked her phone's screen, and he's going to pay for it. He has no idea how he's going to do that, these shits are always expensive, but he'll find a way. He always does. And it's not like he has a choice, Y/n would probably make him pay for it, anyway.

Breathe Peter

He eyed the moon.

It was shining, taking away the darkness of the night sky and giving it a glow.

"Karen, call Y/n"

He couldn't wait. He had to at least know if she was still pissed off at him as she had been when he'd left her house. He swore she was going to explode his head with her mind.

It's not like it was a big problem in their relationship. Why would Y/n break up with him over it? He was worried because it was a weird fight, if you could even call it that. She didn't scream, but she was furious. Y/n was never the type to yell under any kind of circumstance, she's always able to keep her cool. He admired that about her.

Usually they'd just tell eachother what was bothering them and they'd talk it out. She wouldn't tell him to go away.

At her house, Y/n couldn't stop looking out the window. Her eyes glued to the moon.

On days when Peter was late or wasn't answearing her calls, she'd look at the moon, believing he was okay, relying on the tranquility it gave her, knowing Peter was looking at it as well, and that he was there, just like the moon. It was the constant in their lifes, that wouldn't change and would keep them close. It was their moon.

She didn't know why, but it'd always keep her mind at ease.

Yesterday she didn't want to see the boy's face anywhere near her. Now she regrets kicking him out.

A few moments passed and her phone started ringing but Y/n was too busy inside her own head to notice her surroundings. And even if she'd heard it, she probably would't have picked it up, not wanting to talk to anyone. The thought that it was Peter calling didn't cross her mind. She thought he was too upset with her.

They had both been wrong about each other.

↬

It was already the other day when Peter got to Y/n's house. He decided it'd be better if he waited a couple more hours to give her some space.

Now, he stood in front of her door, with a bouquet of her favorite flowers, not knowing what to do. He should probably ring the doorbell, but he was too nervous, too scared.

Maybe he should go home?

No. No.

He's here and he's going to apologize. Besides, she couldn't be that angry anymore, right? Y/n was the sweetest girl in the whole world, at least when it came to Peter. Eventually, they'd talk it out and she'd forgive him. He's willing to do anything if it means she'll forgive him. He knows he was wrong and he wants to fix things.

"Are you just gonna stand there?"

Her voice startled Peter. She'd been watching him from her room's window. He haven't noticed she was there before. His body was tense and Y/n could feel the awkwardness that quickly surrounded the air. It was an odd feeling. Usually, they were very comfortable in eachother's presence, even if something had happened between the two. The young girl couldn't bare this anymore and closed her window, going back inside and leaving a worried Peter alone again. He thought she didn't want to talk to him, but when he heard the door being unlocked and her figure appearing in front of him, he felt deeply relieved.

"Hi" y/n said, almost in a whisper.

"Hi" he answered sheepishly.

Without saying anything else, she stepped aside, silently telling him he could come in. Slowly, he made his way into the house, not daring to look at her eyes while doing so.

She wanted to tell him everything was fine. That she wasn't angry anymore and he could relax, but first, she'd wait and hear what he had to say, because after all, she deserves an apology.

"Here" he handed her the flowers with a quick motion, still not looking directly at her. "I thought you'd like them."

"I do." Y/n/n smiled softly. "You can look at me, Pete. It's okay." She laughed lightly.

He did as she said and she was surprised to see his eyes were wide with fear. She didn't understand why he was scared. She wasn't breaking up with him or anything.

She sighed

"Peter?" He only hummed in response. "Hey" her hand cupped his cheek "It's... okay." her voice was tender, but there was a slight reluctance in her tone.

"I'm sorry, it's just-" he paused, taking a deep breath "are we- are we okay?" she couldn't help herself but let a small nervous and breathy laugh escape.

She paused, not saying anything at first. Peter got more scared, and upon realizing it, Y/n answered him quickly "Of course we are..."

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry."

"I know you're sorry, Pete." She rolled her eyes. She wasn't annoyed at him, it's just that his reaction to this whole thing threw her off guard and she didn't really know what to do with her whole body, so it just acted on instinct.

"Sorry." He said again. "It's just... I've been kinda stressed lately and, I don't know, it got even worse after yesterday and I kinda started overthinking things and I know I'm probably overreacting and I'm sorry but I can't help and-"

"Peter" she interrupted his rambling with a soft smile "I understand." She held his hand in hers "but, you still broke my phone, you know," he nodded "and I was hoping you'd help me pay for it to be fixed, if you can."

"Yeah yeah it's the least I can do."

And finally they both talked it all out. Peter kept repeating "I'm sorry" throughout the whole day. When the night came, he helped her onto the rooftop, so they could watch the sky while Peter shared stories about last night's patrol, and she talked about her previous day and how she found the perfect dress to go to homecoming.

"It's, like, the definition of perfect, Peter." He smiled, her enthusiasm filling his heart with pure adoration.

"Oh, I'm sure of it. Anything is perfect on you." she rolled her eyes, smiling timidly, her cheeks turning red.

Despite it all, Peter was still perfect, in his own, messy, way.

"The moon is so beautiful tonight, isn't it?" Y/n mumbled, staring up at the full moon illuminating the dark sky.

"Yeah, it is." He replied, but his eyes weren't on the moon, they were looking at her.

A/n: maybe this fic doesn't make sense, but I'm still proud lol ▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎ if you enjoyed, please consider leaving a like and rebloging, it helps a lot 💙

#peter parker #marvel x y/n #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #spiderman #marvel #marvel imagine #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #mcu peter parker #ned leeds #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker fic #marvel fanfiction #mcu spiderman #spiderman fanfiction

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writinggremlin · 6 months ago

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YEAHHHHH NEW TRB DROP LETS GOOOOO!!!!

After hitting the tag limit last time, I think I'm just gonna put my reactions here instead lmfao. I can make this as long as I want, you don't have to ss anything if you wanna reblog and respond to it, and best of all I CAN USE QUOTES AND COMMAS!!!!! WOOOOOO!!!!!! Probably should've been doing this sooner lol

Anygay-- let's go.

"It was a scene of perfect tranquility. The perfect scene for Fitz to disrupt." Omfg Fitz you are such a cat. "[...] flopping down sideways on the couch and draping himself halfway across Alexander's lap" FITZ YOU ARE SUCH A CAT OMG! NO WONDER I LOVE HIM SO MUCH-- Actually I have a song that's oddly Fitz themed I think? At least slightly? It's Stray Cat Strut by Stray Cats (That was one of my favorite songs when I was a little kid lmao).

Oooo we're involving the Fae now? Didn't you mention before that Fitz had some involvement with that in his lineage, which is part of why his blood is ranked so highly? Is he about to discover this for himself? I'm intrigued!

"Normally he would find this kind of lecture to be boring, but his master's voice was so captivating that he could happily listen to anything." Lmfao Fitz you are so fucked on the enthrallment whether you want/realize that or not.

Wait-- different magics have different smells? Huh. I guess that makes sense, you wouldn't expect them to taste the same, and different foods have different smells, so I see where that tracks. I just didn't expect that lol.

Fitz would be down to fuck a fairy. Got it.

FITZ GOD DAMNIT STOP IT WITH THE ODDLY INTIMATE TENSION I CANT TAKE IT JUST KISS ALREADY AAAAAAAAAAAA (He's down to fuck a vampire too. Got it.)

AWHHHHH SAD WET CAT LEX NOOOOO D:

Fitz is just, "Wait wut-- You weren't supposed to say that-- That wasn't in the script-- I'm supposed to be the wet cat here!"

Oooo the fancy schmancy ✨European✨ soaps~

Fitz, buddy, I think you're (at least partially) wrapping yourself around his finger, but go off ig.

I WAS LITERALLY MENTALLY JUST THINKING LIKE "Oh yeah Lex's "good looks". Y'know, like that totally sexy unruly hair, that extremely hot untucked shirt, the general lack of care or effort put into his appearance outside of the bare minimum basics. Those good looks. So irresistibly handsome, I know." AND THEN HE STARTS UNIRONICALLY DOING THAT HIMSELF LMFAO (To be fair, I do aesthetically like messy hair, so I can see where he's coming from with that lmfao)

Fitz is bread confirmed-- HE'S A LOAF!!! LIKE A CAT-- CAT LOAF FITZ!!!!!!! I am tempted to draw this man as a cat now. I was in the Warriors fandom for a good while too, so I'm certainly no stranger to drawing cats. I could even get the calligraphy pen out to sign his name all fancy-like, complete with dramatic flourishes and all. ...This might actually happen.

Awww Fitz missing the attention nooooo D:-- Immediately followed by the premise of manipulative flirting lmfao. Of course.

OH SHIT NOOOO!!!! LEX NOOOOO!!!! THE POOR GUY CANT CATCH A BREAK!!! WHEN I SAID WET CAT I DIDNT MEAN "DRENCHED IN YOUR OWN BLOOD" WET!!!! Also lemme guess, Lex has been going out and entrancing hunters like we saw a couple characters ago, and tonight was a night where that plan backfired a little.

SHIT DON'T MAKE LEX WHIMPER PATHETICALLY LIKE THAT-- GOD DAMN!!! IT'S NOT BECAUSE I DON'T LIKE IT-- I LOVE IT-- BUT BECAUSE MY MOM IS GOING TO HEAR ME LOSING MY SHIT OVER THIS ISTG JDBDJSBSJSBSJSB

"Fitz wasted no time unbuttoning Alexander's shirt and tossing it aside, an action that was purely in his master's best interest for treating his injury and nothing more." Uh-huh. Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say Fitz.

Hi. I left for dinner and now I am back many hours later. Let's continue.

I lowkey love those moments where a character that's trying to be self reliant does that very long, hesitant pause thing before revealing the truth. Like they duck their head away and look at the ground and everything. Also called the fact that he got shot by a hunter lookit me go!

"And yet, the arrow didn't imbed itself into your flesh all by itself, sir." You don't know that. SENTIENT MISSILE ARROW BEAM ATTACK GO--

HA!!! I'M A WIZARD, HARRY!!!! CALLED IT!! LETS GOOOOO POGGIES BABAGABOOSH!!!!!

AWWWWWW!!!! LEX IS TOUCH STARVED-- SOMEBODY GIVE THIS WET CAT SOME HEAD PATS!!! STAT!!!!! ALSO FITZ-- WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT THE ODDLY SEXUAL TENSION??? GOD DAMNIT FUCKING-- KISS DAMN YOU!!!! (He's so down to fuck a vampire. Got it.)

FITZ IS TOUCH STARVED TOO???? SOMEBODY GET THIS CAT-MAN SOME HEAD PATS!!!! STAT!!!!! LEX! FITZ! PAT EACH OTHER ON THE HEAD!!! PROBLEM SOLVED!!! :D!!!

FITZ YOU ARE PLAYING A DANGEROUS GAME THERE DAMN--

WAIT THEY ACTUALLY-- WAIT I WASN'T-- I DIDNT MEAN IT-- WAIT-- W A I T-- I SHOULD'VE BEEN MORE CAREFUL ABOUT WHAT I WISHED FOR I GUESS-- I DIDNT FUCKING MEAN IT-- I WAS ONLY DOING THE FUCKING HAHA FUNNI-- PLEASE-- HELP-- HELP-- iM fiNE!!! iM sOoO fINe riGHt NOw!!!! (noises that can only be described as demons leaving and entering my body)

I will never get over this.

GEEZUS FUCKING CHRIST FITZ DAMN OK POWER BOTTOM MUCH????? HDBDJSBSKSBKS F U C K--

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Sorry. That was mandatory. (That also took me way too long to find tbh)

OH NOW THEY'RE PERSONAL. DAMN. OK. Well-- kinda hard not to be after-- well-- that.

Also awwwww Fitz is starting to feel a little like he matters. My sweet cat-like boi ofc you do.

Conclusion: They all still need hugs. But I mean-- I'll take a kiss too. Close enough. Still need more hugs tho. I will not rest until hugs are acquired. (Also maybe expect a cat Fitz doodle at some point. Maybe.)

The Rare Bookseller Part 53: Fitz's Terrible Idea

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tw: conditioning, mind control, Stockholm syndrome, arrow wound, blood, blood drinking

August 1905

Alexander was seated peacefully by the fire, a soft blanket draped across his lap, lost in the enormous musty book in his hands. It was a scene of perfect tranquility. A perfect scene for Fitz to disrupt.

"So, what are you reading, sir?" he said, flopping down sideways on the couch and draping himself halfway across Alexander's lap, jostling his book and looking up at him with a shameless grin.

His master sighed, but smiled at Fitz. "I was reading about the customs and ways of the local faefolk."

"Faefolk, sir? You mean like fairies?" Fitz asked. "I knew a guy who was running a racket making fake pictures of fairies to sell to rubes. You're saying they're real, sir?"

"They're very real, and you're unlikely to get a picture of them unless they want you to," said Alexander. "They used to be found in the human world much more often, before humans industrialized. Now, most of the once-proud clans are scattered tribes in slow decline in the few wild places left. Centuries ago, it was common enough for faefolk to mingle with humans that many humans today have traces of fae blood."

"Is that so, sir?" said Fitz. Normally he would find this kind of lecture to be boring, but his master's voice was so captivating that he could happily listen to anything.

"You do, too, I'm sure of it. Your blood smells of it."

"Oh, really, sir?" he said, sitting up a bit. "It's hard to imagine any of my dusty old ancestors making love to a fairy."

"I imagine your ancestors weren't as dusty and boring as you imagine. I expect some of them were more like you."

"Are you saying that I would cavort with a fairy, given the chance?" Fitz laughed. "Because you're absolutely right, sir, I would."

"You see what I mean?"

Fitz leaned in closer, shamelessly running his hand through Alexander's hair. "Well, if I'm a fairy, you'd better be careful, sir, or one day I'll drag you away to fairy-land."

"I dearly wish you would," said Alexander, serious and sad.

Fitz's breath caught. They stared at each other for a long moment. And then the spell between them was broken.

"Unfortunately, I need to go out tonight. Business."

"What business is more important than this, sir?" said Fitz, irritated at being spurned and annoyed that he was irritated.

"It's important. I'll tell you what it is eventually. But for now, I have to go."

And so Fitz found himself alone once more in front of the slowly dying fire, eating an apple, with nothing to occupy his mind but his own thoughts -- the worst way to spend his evening.

He was growing too comfortable here, he knew that. The manor was filled with dust and the scent of deteriorating book bindings, but once he'd gotten used to that, it was strangely like a home. It was less ostentatiously luxurious than the mansion of his childhood, but somehow, despite being a vampire's manor, more comfortable and less oppressive. He slept on the finest sheets, ate expensive foods, and bathed with a wide selection of high-end imported toiletries. Alexander, despite his ability to sink Fitz into a stupor with a word, never criticized, never spoke in anger, never demanded anything of Fitz but his blood.

And thanks to the many layers of mesmeric spell he was under, that blood was all too easy to give.

Alexander, his vampiric master, was the real problem. Between his mesmerism, good looks, and quiet charms, he had Fitz firmly wrapped around his finger, like it or not. Even during the day, when he tossed and turned in a fruitless attempt to sleep, he thought of Alexander, his unkept hair, his gentle hands, and especially his captivating voice. He knew he shouldn't feel that way about a vampire who had purchased him from an auction and was keeping him captive and in dire peril, but his idiotic emotions and the spell laid thick on his mind said otherwise.

It wasn't as though it was likely that Alexander had genuine feelings towards him, no matter how much it seemed that way at times. Fitz knew he was a convenient source of blood. Effectively a grocery item. He knew better than to think his master's need was anything more than that.

Fitz sighed as he tossed the half-eaten apple into the air, missing the catch and watching as it rolled under a couch. Alexander had been leaving for the night more frequently lately, and Fitz was painfully bored without an audience for his chatter and whims.

An audience! Apart from his freedom, that was the main thing he was missing out of life. He needed the stage, the rush of applause, the thrill of holding a crowd captive. Alexander had promised him he could have it, but since then he'd dismissed Fitz when he asked about it.

That thought gave Fitz some direction for what he wanted to do with the evening. He marched upstairs to his bedroom and donned an eye-catching purple frock with an actual collar. He wanted something to keep Alexander's attention without enticing him to feed, so that Fitz could flirt his way into what he wanted.

And then he waited for his master to return. And waited. And waited.

He really shouldn't be so worried about the vampire who was keeping him captive. After all, if something happened to his master, maybe the spell would lift from him, he'd come to his senses, and he could escape this place. That's what he tried to tell himself, but the idea that something could happen to Alexander filled him with a sick dread instead.

Just as he was on the verge of tearing his hair out in frustration, the front door opened and Alexander staggered inside. His steps were ragged and he was panting hard, the problem plain to see -- an honest-to-god arrow sticking out of his upper arm.

"God damn," he said. "What happened to you, sir?"

"Fitz," said Alexander with pleading eyes. "Please…"

That was more than enough to make him abandon all his plans, as clearly his master was in no state for his skillful manipulations. Fitz rushed to prop Alexander up.

"Help me upstairs, to my bathroom. I need to treat this wound."

"How the hell did you get shot with an arrow here in the city, sir?"

"Can the explanation wait until I've removed the arrow?"

"That's fair, sir." Fitz guided his master up the stairs as Alexander winced and whimpered.

Fitz had been in his master's bedroom a few times before, primarily to help him with his hair and outfit, and was comforted by the fact that Alexander's sleeping quarters was as much of a disaster as his had always been. He had ample experience picking his way through discarded laundry on the floor, and soon he was helping his master sit at the edge of his bathtub. Fitz wasted no time unbuttoning Alexander's shirt and tossing it aside, an action that was purely in his master's best interest for treating his injury and nothing more.

"Get a towel ready, a green one from the bottom shelf, and some bandages. I'm going to pull out the arrow."

"Doesn't that do more harm than good, sir?" said Fitz, preparing the requested items anyway..

"That may be true for a human at risk of bleeding out, but this wound can't kill me. The faster I remove the arrow, the faster I can start to heal."

"If you say so, sir."

Alexander wrapped the old towel around the arrow, and Fitz watched in horrified fascination as he took a deep breath and yanked. The blood gushing from the wound soaked straight through the towel as Alexander pressed it to his arm, making some truly godawful noises. Fitz fidgeted nervously, wanting to do something to help but feeling entirely out of his depth. He grabbed a washcloth off the bottom shelf and ran it under warm water.

"Here, sir, let me wash the wound."

"It's fine. I just need bandages."

"It could fester, sir, and I don't think either of us would enjoy that."

"It won't fester. The same magic that keeps this dead body upright also protects it from rot and infection. Otherwise I'd be little better than a bloated corpse."

Fitz shifted nervously, uneasy at the reminder that the handsome face in front of him was, in fact, long dead. "Let me wash it anyway, sir."

"…All right." Alexander took the towel off the wound and presented it to Fitz, who was struggling hard to not get woozy and keel over at the sight of it. He took it in his hands as though he were an experienced field medic, dabbing at it with the warm washcloth, and he felt vindicated as the pain on Alexander's face began to recede slightly.

"So… you've removed the arrow, sir."

"So I have."

"You told me you were going to explain how you were shot, sir."

Alexander scowled and looked away, remaining silent for so long that Fitz thought he would have to badger him to get anything out. "Hunter," he finally said.

"Hunter, sir?"

"A vampire hunter. Every city with a vampire population attracts them, a small but dedicated group."

"Vampire hunters…" It wasn't a possibility Fitz had thought of, but he supposed that it made sense.

"I don't usually have any trouble with hunters," Alexander said. "They mostly hunt vampires who prey on people in the streets. I keep my own thrall, and generally stay confined to the manor. Besides that, my vampiric aura is enough to keep most hunters at bay."

"And yet, this arrow didn't embed itself in your flesh all by itself, sir."

"No, it didn't."

"So why'd a hunter attack you this time, sir?"

"I had hoped not to tell you yet, but I suppose you should know," said Alexander. "I'm recruiting hunters to try and kill my sire."

Fitz looked to the bloody gash in front of him, then down at the discarded arrow. "Far be it from me to criticize my master, sir, but it seems your recruitment tactic may leave something to be desired."

Alexander chuckled. "Hunters won't help a vampire willingly, even to kill another vampire. They have to be persuaded."

"So you're mesmerizing them into doing your dirty work, sir?"

"A dozen so far, and I hope to get at least a dozen more."

"A dozen, sir…" Fitz put down the washcloth and began to wrap Alexander's arm in clean bandages as he thought about this. Alexander was risking his life against a dozen vampire hunters or more to try and kill his sire. Primarily to protect him.

He should be concerned, but instead, his treacherous heart fluttered. His hand brushed against Alexander's chest. His master gave it a long and lonely look, as though he'd never been touched there before.

His master was so solitary. How long had it been since he'd last been touched?

How long had it been since Fitz had last been touched?

Before he could think better of it, he ran his hand through Alexander's soft hair, palm lingering on his cheek as he traced down his face. To Fitz's surprise, his master leaned into the touch, drinking it in like a parched man. Fitz repeated the action with more confidence this time, enjoying the wistful look in his eyes.

"…Be careful," Alexander said finally.

"Careful of what, sir?"

"What you're doing. You must know by now that my feelings towards you are… You should be careful."

Fitz's eyes went wide. Was this a manipulation? Alexander, still looking tired and pained, seemed in no state to be engaging in manipulation.

"Well, sir, I appreciate your advice, but I've found that I never get anywhere in life when I'm being careful."

He was pushing his hand through Alexander's hair to the back of his head, pressing his master's lips to his, hardly caring that they were cold and chapped. He'd wanted this since the first time they'd met in the auction house, and the fact that it was a terrible idea only made Fitz want it more.

Alexander's hands closed around his arms as if to push him away, but he didn't. Instead he pushed forward, returning the kiss, and Fitz felt a giddy thrill in his heart at having finally charmed the stubborn, lonely vampire into reciprocating his affection. They tumbled onto the bathroom floor, Alexander halfway on top of Fitz, and Alexander was desperate as though he hadn't been kissed in a hundred years. Well, he probably hadn't.

Alexander suddenly stopped and drew back, guilt on his face. "I -- I shouldn't -- "

Fitz closed the distance between them once more before either of them could ruin the moment by thinking too much. He needed this. He needed the touch, and even if it was unnaturally cold, he was still drinking it in. He especially needed this infuriatingly stubborn vampire to prove his affections.

It wasn't love, Fitz knew that much. It was bloodlust and regular lust and need, and that suited Fitz better. He would never understand love, but need -- he could understand that.

Alexander's breath hitched, and Lex thought it was desire, until he grasped at the wound on his shoulder. In the excitement, Fitz had almost forgotten about the crossbow bolt. He opened his mouth to ask, but the words died in his throat, as he found himself suddenly enthralled, thoughts scattering.

"The wound pains me, and a bit of blood would help me heal," he said. "I can't be this close to you without the urge overtaking me."

"Good," said Fitz, succumbing easily to the desire. He pushed his master's head gently to the space between neck and shoulder. "Take me, then. Drink from me. I'm all yours."

Alexander hummed, his lips pressed to Fitz's neck and his voice reverberating in his head, sending Fitz further into a dream of bliss. He barely felt the puncture, lying sprawled on the bathroom floor with his master on top of him, swimming in pleasure as his blood drained from his body. The feeding turned to soft nibbles at his jaw and his ear, and Fitz didn't care that his master's lips were stained with blood as he was pulled into a kiss.

"You should warm my bed tonight, Fitz," Alexander murmured into his ear.

Fitz raised his eyebrows. "Is that invitation what I think it is, sir…?"

"…if you're thinking of something lewd, I'm afraid not," said Alexander. "My… desires of that nature cooled along with my blood. I'm truly asking for you to warm my bed."

"So I can serve as a glorified hot water bottle as well as a bloodbag, is that right, sir?"

"No," said Alexander with painful sincerity. "You're much more than a bloodbag."

"And what else am I, sir?" said Fitz, looking up at his master, flashing his least trustworthy smile. "A brilliant entertainer? A scintillating conversationalist?"

"Fitz," said Alexander, placing a hand on his cheek and catching Fitz's eyes with his. "My Fitz."

"Your Fitz," he repeated, feeling mesmerized once more although he wasn't sure his master was actually doing anything. "I suppose I am, sir."

His master looked away. "You don't actually have to call me 'sir' or 'master', you know. It's fine if you don't."

Fitz grinned. "Oh, is that so, Alexander, sir?" The grin left his face as he realized what he'd just done. "Oh, damn that Miss Lily. I'm not going to be able to stop."

Alexander chuckled. "I don't really go by Alexander, anyway. Only my sire and strangers call me that. I go by Lex."

"Lex," repeated Fitz, leaning into his ear, "sir," he added, as seductively as possible, enjoying how his master -- no, Lex -- shivered.

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Thanks for reading! Next week, Oliver gets some help from Lily.

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#good soup #epic soup #delicious soup #immaculate soup #bloody soup #damn this post got long.

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os-hyoideum · 4 years ago

Text

"I have come to a coclusion." Shinsou Hitoshi x fem!plus size!Reader

"i figured out why you're so into me… it's because wherever you grab it feels like a boob" (my inspo, in the form of my stupid thought - I wanted to do a few more of my fav characters, but we'll see)

Word count: 1263 Content: Pro!Shinsou (over 18), fluff (I think), funny (I hope), slighly just suggestive at the end (letting out a perv a bit, but just teensy bit), plus size/chubby/fat Reader, Reader has nipple piercings (I just think everyone -who wants them ofc- deserves them), Reader has big? (heavy) boobies

a/n: Like I'm never inspired to write, this time I just did (and had fun, surprisingly... it's that Shiso brainrot 😔). This is literally THE SECOND time I have ever written something (that isn't an academic essay) in English. Also, THE FIRST time using the second person in writing, but I wanted to try. It's just some quick fic, so enjoy! Also, sorry for, perhaps, a weird use of commas, I don't think I'm ever gonna be able to put them correctly everywhere.

Hitoshi let out a relieved sigh once he stepped over the threshold to your shared apartment.

It wasn’t anything particularly special, with its open space kitchen-living room combo, bathroom, and decently sized bedroom, but it was a home that brought him comfort after hard days (or nights) of work. Particularly, when it was an unexpected task of giving the talk to aspiring heroes at his former high school - UA.

It was a bit weird for him to get home during late afternoon, as his usual night patrols made him used to getting back at rather early morning hours, but still, he was just glad to be finally in the comfort of his own place.

After taking his shoes off and walking a bit more inside, he was met with a sight to behold (by his own requirements).

There, laying face down on a couch was you, clothed only in a pair of black panties and a sports bra. Electric fan, standing on a side table, was blowing straight onto your exposed back. Hitoshi supposed it wasn’t anything particularly strange, given it was the middle of summer and, additionally, you must have been tired from your work trip; nevertheless, he decided to ask.

“Well, hello there,” he started, crossing his arms and quirking an eyebrow, “That’s a nice view of your ass, but why are you basically naked?”

You propped yourself on your elbows and turned your head back to look at him. The breeze from the fan stung your eyes a bit, so you sat up straight and faced Hitoshi properly. Partly, to just be able to admire him (like usual) and, partly, so the breeze would still be directed towards your back.

“First of all: it’s hot as hell today. I have never been more grateful for our AC… that still was not enough, but well…” You listed lifting one finger up.

“Okay, fair.” Hitoshi nodded. He looked at you lifting another finger.

“Second of all: I had a little, hmm… mirror sesh? I guess it could be called like that.”

Hitoshi knew exactly what you meant and instantly was put on alert. He did not know what to expect from the outcome. You weren’t particularly insecure, but drops in confidence happen to everyone, at the best of times. Having a truce with your body didn’t mean an endless peace.

He looked at you with intensity, looking for any indicators of feeling low, but relaxed a bit seeing you being at least in a neutral, if not even good, mood.

“Oh? Is that so?”

You stood up, the slight jiggle of your soft body not concealed by anything. He had seen you bare many times before (like, a lot of times), but still caught himself admiring the patterns your stretch marks drew upon your skin. He knew it’s not anything special, quite the natural part of the human body, yet he still saw some intricate artistic thought behind it.

“Yes,” you said, putting one hand on your hip and gesticulating with the other, “and you know how I, personally, feel about myself. Like, sometimes it’s good, sometimes bad, nothing new, right?” You asked rather rhetorically, to which Hitoshi still nodded slightly, listening from behind a bar piece separating your kitchen and living space.

“BUT,” you emphasized and pointed a finger at him,” today I was wondering in particular, why YOU like THIS-” you paused to encircle your body with one hand “-so much. And I have come to a conclusion”

Hitoshi hummed and took a sip of iced coffee he took from the fridge in the meantime.

“Yeah? And what’s your conclusion then?”

“You are so attracted to me because everywhere you touch feels like a boob.”

That was an unexpected sentence that left your lips; so unexpected actually, that Hitoshi almost choked on his coffee. Luckily though, he did not. Not paying much attention to your could-have-died significant other, you continued with your reasonings.

“Arm? Boob.” You squeezed your upper arm to emphasize. “Tummy?” A little squeeze creating a roll between your fingers. “Boob.” You propped your leg on the couch to poke at your inner thigh. “Thigh? Boob. Calf? Boob. See? Everything’s a boobie!”

Hitoshi just laughed looking at your excited expression, he assumed from coming to such boob-tastic revelation. He fixed his black headband, keeping his beautiful hair out of his face, and pointed at your leg.

“Well, I don’t remember your boobs being quite so hairy. Though my memory might be failing, after all this time.” He said with a chuckle, hinting at your two weeks of separation, due to your dreadful trip.

“How DARE you!” You gasped dramatically and threw a pillow that Hitoshi expertly caught with a laugh. “Are you shaming my body hair?”

“Oh, of course not,” he smirked playfully, “I quite like your hairy legs.”

With a slightly frustrated groan, you fell on the couch and loudly sighing slid off onto the floor. Sitting behind your low coffee table, you tilted your head down and glared at Hitoshi from under your eyebrows. He knew someone could have gotten scared had they been on the receiving end, but spending so much time with you, he was used to it and just found it amusing. Seeing the lack of reaction from him, you just stood up and walked towards the bar to stand in front of him.

“If you don’t stop, I WILL sit on you.”

Hitoshi quirked an eyebrow at you and turned around. He took a step towards the kitchen sink and, after turning the water on, splashed his face.

“What are you doing?” You asked, not quite expecting him to start washing his face in the middle of a conversation.

After taking a small, clean kitchen towel to dry himself off, he looked you straight in the eye.

“Prepping your seat, baby.”

You stared at him for a few seconds with wide eyes, before slowly clapping and nodding with approval.

“Huh… outstanding move. True dedication to a joke.”

“I wasn’t joking.” But you already knew that.

“Damn…” You started, holding his intense gaze. “Okay, Mr Shinsou, you’re on.”

He looked you up and down with an expression of a man starved.

“You’re in for a ride…” But you already knew that too. “Mrs Shinsou.”

“I’m not Mrs Shinsou.”

“Not yet.” You knew it was mostly playful banter since neither of you was in a rush to make your relationship official. It was comfortable enough, to the point actually, that others did mistake you for a married couple at times. So it turned into a joke, being called by his name.

“Alright…” You smiled softly at him before your expression became much more devious. “Wanna take a shower before I take my rightful place upon my throne?”

Without waiting for his response, you pulled your sports bra over your head. In an instant, Hitoshi’s gaze fell onto your heavy chest. Decorated with shining metal nipples perked up, due to the slight chill from the AC and the fan, both working at full capacity. You turned around and walked towards the bathroom with a nice sway in your hips. In the doorway, you slid your panties off and threw them at Hitoshi with a heated look from behind your shoulder.

He caught them with one hand and, looking you straight in the eyes, brought them to his face. He took a long breath in, taking in your scent mixed with sweat that almost made him dizzy with desire.

He put his cup into the sink and, with your panties in hand, followed you into the bathroom.

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