#got that beta editor out for you <3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bookshelf-in-progress · 3 months ago

Text

From the Other Side of the End of the World

A time travel story for @inklings-challenge.

Thanks to @awesomebutunpractical, @thatscarletflycatcher, and @rogerhamleys for beta help that made it possible to finish this.

I. Josephine Forester to Rachel Forester

Agril 19, 551 T.E.

Grimsfell, North Arza

Dear Rachel,

At last! The war is over! I know my history as well as anybody, but it still took me by surprise. I sobbed with relief when news of the treaty came. We haven’t heard any shelling for three days. No more wounded have arrived. It seems like a miracle.

But the work is far from done. Grimsby Hall is still filled with wounded soldiers, and we hard-working nurses are kept busy from morning til night. It will be weeks before some of these boys are well enough to travel, and years until they are completely healed, if they ever are at all.

The suffering I’ve seen! There is little even modern medical knowledge can do to ease their pain. Their war machines are primitive—cannons, tanks, machine guns—but they've wrought destruction on the land unlike anything we could imagine in our time. If I hadn’t seen our future, I’m not sure I could believe this land could be healed, that the world could ever find peace. But I have seen it, and the hope it inspires is the greatest gift I can give to these people.

Now, more than ever, I know that I've been called here. My research will be invaluable to history, but more than that, I feel a connection to these people, this place, this time. This is where I'm meant to serve.

I have a connection to you, too, of course. Your letters always make me feel I'm right there with you. Write back soon. I want to know about everything.

Love,

Josephine

P.S. I’ve shared a couple of the stories you wrote me with some of my patients. I hope you don’t mind—they need cheering up, and there's nothing in your stories that requires knowledge of the future. They very much enjoy them.

II. Rachel Forester to Josephine Forester

Agril 32, 771 T.E

Variby University

Dear Josie,

I know it’s taken me ages to write back, but the life of a college girl is a whirlwind. I made a list of all the things I’ve done this week, so you can see that I barely had time to breathe.

Two papers, three exams, and a presentation about the life cycle of the Aribanian tree frog.

Airball playoffs and championship. (I scored twenty-eight points!)

Trip to Grimsby. Twelve of us in one car. Visited the war museum. No pictures of you. Try to pose for any cameras if you see them.

Climbed the bell tower after Ferdie dared me to. Am now the hero of the school.

It sounds terribly shallow compared to what you're going through, but if I didn’t do all these things, where would I get the charming anecdotes that fill my letters and raise your poor, war-weary spirits? Even though the war is over, it still sounds dreadful. I don’t know how you manage it. At least you'll be home soon—it's a little over a month, right?

If I ever had hopes of becoming a time traveler, your letters would burn that dream right out of me. I'm perfectly happy in the safe and cozy modern day. I'll stay here in comfort and leave the do-gooding to you.

I’m glad you could make some use out of my stories. I’ve half a mind to tell that worthless university magazine editor that they’ve proven to be truly timeless. I’ll send another one along with this letter. Let your soldiers read it to their hearts’ content.

I could tell you loads more, but I’ve got play practice in an hour. I’ve been cast as Elsie in Less Boring, and I’ve got to learn my lines. (I've been laughing my head off. Darrin Royston is a genius).

I promise I’ll write more promptly next time.

Your sister,

Rachel

III. Josephine Forester to Rachel Forester

Maj 3, 551 T.E.

Grimsfell, North Arza

Dear Rachel,

It's always good to know things are going well for you. You're right—my term is over in less than a month. I had almost forgotten. It seems impossible. There's so much I still have to do.

I don't have time to give a proper response, except to tell you that I gave your story to the most voracious reader among my patients, and he's already finished it. It's exactly the type of story that he likes best, so he's asked to write a note of appreciation to the authoress. I’ve allowed it—my letter-link isn’t all that different to the ones they have in this time period. Maybe this will make up for the magazine’s lack of appreciation for your work.

Your sister,

Josephine

IV. Darrin Royston to Rachel Forester

Maj 3, 551 T.E.

Miss Rachel Forrester,

Your sister Josephine has informed me that you are the authoress of a little tale that has brought light and joy to my sickbed. Your comic fantasy is one of the most enjoyable works of fiction I have read in recent memory. It isn’t often one finds just such a blend of the beautiful and the silly. Too often, the comic fairy tales neglect their world, while the more grounded fantasy works take themselves too seriously. Yours struck just the right note.

There's little enough cheer in the world these days, and I'm glad to find that someone still remembers its secret. I pray—if it's not too presumptuous—that you have many more such works for your sister to pass on for our amusement.

Gratefully,

Darrin Royston

V. Rachel Forester to Josephine Forrester

Maj 3, 701 T.E.

Josephine!

You let Darrin Royston read my stupid little stories?

“They’re just the kind of thing he likes to read,” she says.

Because they’re based on the kind of thing he writes! Or did write. Or will write.

How old is he?

Have we broken history?

What if, having read my stories, he doesn’t write one of his great works? How would I know if he didn’t write it? Maybe you’ve already erased a dozen masterpieces from history, and I’ll never know they were never written!

Couldn’t you have given me some kind of warning before showing my fiction to one of the great literary minds of the post-war era? I want to curl up and die at the thought of his eyes looking at my inane scribbles. I might have done it already if his letter hadn’t suggested that he, for some reason, enjoyed it.

Maybe the war shattered his sanity. Maybe he has some kind of infection. You should check.

Rachel

VI. Josephine Forester to Rachel Forester

Maj 5, 551 T.E.

Grimsfell, North Arza

Rachel,

Who is Darrin Royston? You’re the one who knows about authors. To me, Darrin Royston is a dark-haired, undersized private recovering from a broken leg, who has every right to read your stories if he wants to.

You don’t have to worry about changing history. I’ve told you before—it can’t be done. History is chronological—everything that happens as a result of time travel has always happened that way. I’m here because I was always meant to be here.

It’s possible your story inspired whatever it is that Royston wrote, but it won’t erase anything.

His words were genuine. He really did enjoy your story. Take it as a compliment. It sounds like a good one.

And maybe send another story? The boy’s going stir-crazy and he’s driving me up the wall.

Yours,

Josephine

VII. Rachel Forester to Josephine Forester

Maj 6, 701 T.E.

Josephine,

Who is Darrin Royston?

Time travel is wasted on you.

He's only one of the most brilliant writers of the last century! Poems, plays, essays, novels—you name it, he's written it. He has wit, wisdom, genius. He's a little bit niche, but you've lived with me. You should at least have known his name! I just told you I'm acting in one of his plays!

There are a million things I'd love to ask him about, but he probably hasn't done any of them yet.

What does he look like? What's he like? I need details!

Yours,

Rachel

P.S. I've sent along a nice, long story. I hope it won't destroy his opinion of my literary talents.

VIII. Josephine Forester to Rachel Forester

Maj 8, 551 T.E.

Dear Rachel,

That Darrin Royston? Now that you mention it, the name sounds familiar. You have to admit this whole situation is mildly hilarious. I never expected to accidentally introduce you to a celebrity.

I'm not sure what you want to hear about him. He's dark-haired. Slender. Not over-tall. Has a melancholy streak. Rather too quiet—except when he's demanding reading material. Your story is keeping him nicely pacified. I leave my letter-link next to his bed (with all the personal letters hidden, of course—though I can't say I wasn't tempted to let him read that last one).

He's not what I would have expected the author of Less Boring to be like. (I guess I have seen that play. I remember laughing.) But he's young, and this isn't exactly a cheerful setting. Broken bodies, broken minds—blood, bones and suffering, dust and dirt and smoke. Even with the shadow of the war gone, it left plenty of darkness behind.

You're going to think this is crazy, but I've written to ask the university for an extension of my time here. The people here have become my friends and allies. There is so much work to be done. I can't leave them to deal with it alone.

It's only another six months, and after all, what's time to a time traveler? I'm going to miss you, but you have plenty to keep you busy. Before you know it, we'll be back together again.

I hope you understand. Pray for me.

Always your loving sister,

Josephine

IX. Rachel Forester to Josephine Forester

Maj 11, 701 T.E.

Josephine,

Are you crazy? Is the university crazy? The fact that you want to spend more time in that horrible time and place should be proof that time travel has messed with your mind.

I get it. Now that you're hob-nobbing with celebrities, ordinary modern life just can't compare. I should never have told you who Darrin Royston was. He can't be that interesting. He won't even write anything for another ten years. Can he really compare to your charming, adorable sister?

But seriously, Josie, what are you thinking? Time travel is cool and all, and I'm sure you're doing good things, but you belong here. In a safe, civilized century. There are plenty of people in this time period who need you—I'm at the top of the list.

You're going to miss my birthday now, you know that?

Disgruntled,

Rachel

X. Rachel Forester to Josephine Forester

Maj 15, 701 T.E.

Josephine,

Are you mad at me? I'm sorry if I got snarky. I'm upset you're not coming home, but you're a big girl and we both have our own lives and you can make your own decisions. I can respect your choice to stay.

I know that you're busy, but can you spare ten seconds to send me a line so I know I haven't destroyed our relationship forever?

Rachel

XI. Rachel Forester to Josephine Forester

Maj 20, 701 T.E.

Josie,

Are the people of that century so much more important that you can't even send a line to your little sister? I know I'm not one to talk about prompt letter-writing, but under the circumstances, this is worrying. And kind of hurtful.

Rachel

XII. Rachel Forester to Josephine Forester

Maj 20, 701 T.E.

Josie,

I'm sorry.

Please write back.

Rachel

XIII. Darrin Royston to Rachel Forester

Maj 20, 551 T.E.

Miss Rachel Forester:

I am writing with a heavy heart to inform you of the death of your sister, Nurse Josephine Forester. She went missing several days ago, and her body was found yesterday. She seems to have been killed in an accident with a stray shell near the hospital grounds. Millions of such unused artillery shells litter the countryside, and I'm afraid your sister was unfortunate enough to stumble upon one and become a casualty of war even in this time of peace.

No doubt you will receive notification through official channels, but I am aware she often contacted you via this letter-link, and I thought you might prefer to receive the news through a more personal route.

Your sister was a credit to her profession. She was a diligent, cheerful, kind, and invariably patient nurse. I am forever indebted to her for her personal kindnesses that brought light to hellish days.

Know that you and your family have my sympathy and my deepest condolences. You will remain in my prayers.

Yours,

Darrin Royston

XIV. Rachel Forester to Darrin Royston

What do you mean, dead?

She can't be dead. She won't be born for a hundred and fifty years.

Time travel's not supposed to work like that. She was supposed to do her research and come home.

It can't happen like that. I refuse to believe it. God wouldn't do that to us.

I haven't heard anything from her, but that's because you stole her letter-link. That must be it. Give it back, you thief, and think again before you go terrifying me with wild stories.

XV. Rachel Forester to Darrin Royston

Mr. Royston,

Don't read my last response. It wasn't supposed to send. Please ignore it. Give Josephine her letter-link back.

Thank you,

Rachel Forester

XVI. Darrin Royston to Rachel Forester

Maj 21, 551 T.E.

Miss Forester,

I'm afraid I read both your of your letters, and they greatly puzzle me. Is this a fragment of one of your fantastical tales? That would be the most sensible assumption, except that the unopened letters you sent to your sister seem to confirm an impossible truth. Your sister came to us from a different time, you exist far in the future, and I am writing to a woman who has not yet been born.

I apologize for reading words that I was not meant to see, but the confusion they've caused has more than punished me for my curiosity. The implications of what you suggest are dizzying.

You are not writing in Valorian, which suggests that the peace holds, and you seem to write from a far more peaceful time. No wonder your stories held such hope. I can barely imagine a world beyond this battlefield hospital.

If I am reading the story correctly, your sister left a place of safety and peace and came to serve the suffering in a time of war. It makes her actions even more heroic and her death even more of a tragedy.

I don't pretend to understand how this is possible, but you have my gratitude and my sympathy.

Yours,

Darrin Royston

XVII. Rachel Forester to Darrin Royston

Maj 22, 701 T.E.

Darrin,

Yes, my sister is from the future. Yes, she came to help out during your war. And yes, you people killed her.

She could have been an aloof researcher, gathering information about the Western War, but she decided to help because she couldn't stand by while people were suffering. And she died for it.

What does it matter if you know the truth? Josephine always said that history can't be changed. I can't even wish that she hadn't gone on the trip, because apparently, the fact that she died in the past means she always died in the past. She was dead before she was born.

But how is that any different from the rest of us? Where I come from, you're long dead. To people in the future, I'm long dead. There's nothing we can do to change that, even with time travel, so what does anything matter?

If our every action is part of an unchangeable history, we're just cogs in a cosmic machine. It doesn't do any good to cry over it.

Rachel

XVIII. Darrin Royston to Rachel Forester

Maj 23, 551 T.E.

Rachel,

I can't pretend to understand how time travel occurs, and the philosophical questions you pose seem far beyond my ken. But it is clear that you are grieving, and I can try to offer what comfort I can.

I'm no philosopher, but I know that the things we do, whenever we do them, matter. From where I lay in this hospital, your sister's actions were far from meaningless. She did not control her fate, but she had free will within it. Her choices made a world of difference to the men she helped.

We have a God who is outside of time. He incorporates our choices into His divine plan. Even if He, the author, knows the end of our story, our actions are what make the story what it is. We can choose to care or be callous, to create or destroy, and those choices ripple across time, for good and for ill.

This war will have effects far into the future, but there is also goodness that transcends time. God sent your sister to help from far in the future. I pray for you from far in the past. Your sister, outside of time, is now better able than ever to pray for us both.

I can't pretend that your sister's death was good. I can't pretend that this war is good. But if there is goodness beyond the end of the war--as your letters suggest--perhaps one day you will find some good that exists beyond the bounds of grief.

Yours,

Darrin Royston

XIX. Rachel Forester to Darrin Royston

Maj 24, 701 T.E.

Darrin,

I wish I could believe in what you say, but right now, hope seems impossible. Thank you for trying.

Rachel

XX. Darrin Royston to Rachel Forester

Maj 25, 701 T.E.

Rachel,

That did get rather abstract, didn't it? I wish I could express myself in a way that makes the truth felt.

Maybe someday I'll have wisdom enough to do so.

Yours,

Darrin Royston

XXI. Rachel Forester to Josephine Forester

Maj 27, 771 T.E.

Josie,

The university sent me your personal belongings today, your letter-link among them. My last connection to the past—and, it feels like, to you—is gone. But Darrin says you're outside of time now, so maybe writing in here can reach you. I'm pretty sure that goes against science and philosophy and theology and probably lots of -ologies, but those were your kind of thing. I can never understand anything but stories.

I'm afraid I've loused things up. I freaked out and revealed time travel to Darrin Royston. It doesn't seem to have broken anything yet, but I feel terrible. You went into the past to help these people through suffering I can't even imagine. Meanwhile, I'm living in comfort and asked the poor boy to deal with my problems on top of his own. I've been selfish from beginning to end, and it's giving me a lot of guilt.

All the time travel in the world can't change that. All I can do is move forward. But I can't believe I can do that, not without you. Whatever stupid things I did, I knew I could count on you to have my back. To understand. To pull me back from the edge of the cliff or pick me up if I jumped off it. Now it's just me and I feel frozen. I'm cut off from the past and the future's a blank. How am I supposed to go on?

Pray for me, I guess. It's supposed to work across time and outside of time. It's the best we've got now. But it's nothing like getting a letter from you.

Love,

Rachel

XXII. Josephine Forester to Rachel Forester

Maj 11, 551 T.E.

Rachel,

Happy birthday!

Anyway, it'll be your birthday when you read this. I'm sorry I'm not there to celebrate with you, but maybe a good present will make up for it.

I can't send objects through time, but I sent a message to Harriet on the research team, and she's come through. This will arrive on your birthday, even if I can't come with it.

What you hold in your hands is a first edition of Darrin Royston's first collection of stories. Given recent events, it seemed only fitting. Here's proof your letters haven't stunted his career.

You're amazing, Rachel, and you've got a great future ahead of you.

Love,

Josephine

XXIII. Dedication in New Beginnings by Darrin Royston

For Rachel

May hope reach you at the proper time

Octon 12, 561 T.E.

XXIV. Rachel Forester to Harriet Zima

Maj 33, 771 T.E.

Harriet,

Thanks for the help with the birthday present. It means more to me than you can know.

Could you do me one more favor? For Josie's sake?

I have another thank you to send.

Rachel

XXV. Rachel Forester to Darrin Royston

Maj 33, 771 T.E.

Darrin,

I read your book. Actually, I reread it. I've read every one of those stories before in anthologies, in collections, as standalone stories. I had some of them practically memorized. But this was my first time reading the original collection. So it's the first time I read the dedication. And it's the first time I've known they were written for me.

I can't begin to explain what that feels like. Imagine a whole lot of tears—joy and guilt and just sheer overwhelmed—and you'll have a general idea.

The stories are fantastic, of course—they're classics! They're funny, profound, sweet, witty, thoughtful.

But the thing that means the most to me is the writing of them. I know something of what your life was like there at the end of the war—Josie sent me plenty of letters. You had so many problems of your own. You didn't need pampered little me throwing more problems on you. But you cared. You built a life after the end of the world and you sent out a light to brighten mine.

That's all we can do, isn't it? Every moment in time. Care about each other. That's what gets us through when it seems like the world has ended. It transcends time. You told me about it back then, but your book showed it to me. I can't imagine what I could have done to deserve such consideration ten years after our few letters, but I can't thank you enough.

Your future and forever friend,

Rachel Forester

XXVI. Harriet Zima to Rachel Forester

Rachel,

I'm letting one last letter through. Only because this is awesome. But I don't have the budget to justify any more favors.

Harriet

XXVII. Darrin Royston to Rachel Forester

Novrum 23, 561 T.E.

Rachel,

Your stories brought me comfort and hope at a time when I felt that I had none. The least I could do was return the favor.

These years since the war have brought grief and suffering, but also more joy and healing than I ever could have imagined. Time is a great healer--and I needed time to see the truth of that for myself, before I could begin to make others believe in it.

My little book, even now, is gaining attention. It is gratifying to know it will last. I can only pray my other words will last long enough to reach you. If ten years of experience can teach me this much, I am curious to see what I can learn with a little more time.

May we meet again on the bookshelves.

Your friend,

Darrin Royston

P.S. I've visited your sister's grave three times since the war. Knowing I will be her only visitor for more than a hundred years makes it a solemn duty, but it is also an honor to visit one who proved so good a friend. Each time, I ask her prayers for both of us. I know they are answered.

XXVIII. Rachel Forester to Josephine Forester

Maj 12, 702 T.E.

Josie,

I visited your grave today. The war-torn country you described in your letters is a lovely springtime meadow. Grimsby Hall is torn down, but there are plaques where the hospital stood, and the little graveyard stands in a peaceful grove of trees. The world has healed, and, slowly, so am I.

Your grave is marked by a clean white stone that's been kept free of moss and dirt. Darrin's family cared for it well. It only has the date of your death, but its existence proves that there are times in the past where you're alive. Outside of time where you are now, you're even more alive.

One day, we'll meet again, but until then, I've got work to do. I tried to avoid suffering in the past, leaving the painful work to you. But pain finds us no matter where we are. I can't stay focused on my own and ignore everyone else's. There are plenty of people, even in our own time, who need help. I've added some volunteer work to my rampant social schedule, trying to find out exactly where I can do the most good.

My experience with your work makes me a good candidate for the time travel program. I'll admit that I'm considering it. There's plenty of work to be done in the post-war world, and I've got connections there.

Love,

Rachel

#the bookshelf progresses #inklingschallenge #team tolkien #genre: time travel #theme: comfort #theme: pray #story: complete #not terribly happy with it but it's done

44 notes · View notes

fenrislorsrai · 11 months ago

Text

Fandom Trumps Hate- Good Omens Offerings

this is a non-exhaustive list because there are so many Good Omens offerings. These are just Discord pals that were go "aaaaaaaaaaa what if nobody bids on me!?!?!?!"

well, then what if I give you the opposite problem and EVERYONE bids on you. AHAHAHAHAHA. Chaos for a good cause! my favorite!

Read the full offering for details. I've just given a super quick summary and additional fandoms they do if you're going "I hunger for CROSSOVER" plus said nice things about them. HAHAHAHA. YOU HAVE TO ACCEPT MY COMPLIMENTS NOW!

Get art or words as a gift for your favorite fandom for a charity donation! Fandom Trumps FAQ on how it all works. @fandomtrumpshate

Dorli-+ Legend of Zelda, Avatar The Last Airbender- illustration, banner, or book cover -- up to M rating - does trans/nb characters, f/f ships - absolutely the softest, squishiest looking character work. get the most huggable version of characters. (or squishy AND hot. ohohohoho)

SassishMoon- illustration up to E rating- does trans/nb characters, f/f ships -special note, I got art for Moon last year and it was fabulous. also have a collab coming out in a zine and it is HOT HOT HOT.

WarGoddess- + FullMetal Alchemist- Illustration up to E rating- interested in angst, unhappy endings, genderbending- lovely textures. beautiful skins tones and absolutely fabulous wings.

Sightkeeper- illustration up to E rating- option for comic page if bid goes high enough!- interested in trans & nonbinary characters- Delicious line work and delightful facial expressions. also: monsters

TheRavenMuse - 5-10K fic up to E rating- make it dark, make it weird! and by weird, has done Bentley/Bookshop smut. TIME FOR CRACK.

contritecactite- + Final Fantasy: VII, XII, XV, Ace Attorney 5-10K fic up to E OR 5K podfic of your work up to M rating- interested in trans & nonbinary character, F/F, polyships, and canon compliant/fill in the gap in canon type fics- go get you some RADIO omens. and Book Omens. writes very caring stuff... and sometimes caring is a good healing fuck.

accidentaldemon- under 5k up to E rating- interested in polyships, trans & nonbinary characters, and humans AUs- do you need some Crowley & Young Shadwell fic? AccidentalDemon has you covered.

TawnyOwl- 5-10K up to E rating- loves AUs where they meet and find they're perfect for each other in a new and special way.

SeedsofWinter +Our Flag Means Death + Venture Brothers- Fan Labor for up to E rating. (length depends on final bid value) Deep content editor. Goes way beyond the basic spelling and grammar check. This is a draft editor to help fill in missing scenes and fix pacing. Has run several zines as the editor! Interested in trans /nb characters, polyships, f/f, reader insert, unhappy endings, and RARE PAIRS.

Ngk_is_cool - under 5K up to T- TV or Book Omens! time for all those secondary character to shine! anything but a/c. especially interested in ace and queerplatonic relationships. do you want a fic with some footnotes like the book?

Shaninal- under 5K up to M rating- A/C in some canon complaint fluff and humor. OR beta read for 5-10K up to E rating for Good Omens, Percy Jackson, or Miraculous Lady Bug

EdosianOrchids- 3 options! 2 soft & fluffy up to 5K and one 5-10K hurt/comfort. TV or Book Omens. especially known for chronic pain, disability, and PTSD focused fics. Come and get some HEALING and comfort for the chronic issues. also does aspc fics.

HKBlack- 10-20K up to E rating. Interested in trans/nb characters. Love AUs with a happy ending. THERE WILL BE PUNS. SO MANY PUNS

This is only a partial sampling go see the whole Good Omens tag

and if you are have a gomens offering not listed here, feel free to add in reblogs! Let's give some charities some money!

#good omens #fandom trumps hate #book!omens #radio!omens #fanfic #fanart

114 notes · View notes

sugaflake · 2 years ago

Text

Poison | myg [m]

One.

Summary: A dark stranger with an even darker secret crosses your path.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Word count: 4312

A/N: The biggest thank you has to go my best friend, @jeonsjiddies for always encouraging and pushing me to write. This has been the first fic I’ve actually put out and posted out of the countless ideas I’ve rambled off to her and stored away. Her fic Toxic is ultimately what sparked this idea - please go read it, it’s amazing. She’s my forever beta reader and editor, and I can’t thank her enough <3

Warnings: swearing, alcohol use, degradation, fingering, handjob, exhibitionism, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, bathroom sex, cream pie, piercings (male genatalia), porn with *some* plot, dirty talk, dom!yoongi, rough sex

“You need to actually get out and meet some new people. You need to get out of this musty-ass apartment.” Your best friend since childhood, Morgan, and the biggest pain in your ass right now threw open the curtains in your bedroom, allowing some natural light to stream in. “And when was the last time you showered?”

“No, I don’t want to,” you whined as you threw yourself back against the pillows, pulling the covers over your face, “I’m perfectly fine in my musty-ass apartment with my pain in the ass friend who just let herself in, rude by the way, and I showered yesterday, not that it’s of any concern of yours.”

Morgan ripped the covers from the bed and off of your face.

“You never do, not anymore. Not since your breakup.”

You shot her a glare. You wanted to say something, you opened your mouth to, but quickly closed it before pulling your knees to your chest and buried your head there. You didn’t want to look at how depressing or destroyed your room looked. No longer did it share memories of you and your boyfriend. No longer did it have any warmth or love. All it harbored now was loss, angst, ripped pictures and T-shirts, and lost echoes of remembrance. You felt the bed shift as Morgan took a seat beside you, pulling you into a hug. “Y/N, I know your breakup with Minho has been really hard on you.”

“Yeah, easy for you to say. Jimin would never cheat on you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” You looked up at her, eyes beginning to fill with tears.

“The point is, you need to try and put it behind you. I know it’s hard. It’s not going to be easy, but you’ve got to try.”

“I don’t want to. I’ll just die alone and lonely. I’ll never find someone or be like you and Jimin.”

“You’re right,” she said with a little laugh, “you won’t be like me and Jimin. You’ll be like you and whoever you find. You’re you and I’m me. Besides, you like all that weird kinky shit, you need someone who can satiate that weird,” she waved her hands in your general direction, trying to find the right words, “whatever it is you’ve got going on in that funky-ass brain of yours.”

You both laughed.

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” she said as she got up and headed to the closet, throwing the doors open.

“I suppose.” You watched your best friend rifle through your closet looking for the skimpiest thing possible to wear. “So where exactly are you wanting to drag me off to?”

“There’s this new club that’s downtown! It’s apparently really exclusive and it’s really hard to get into. Jimin knows the owner, so he managed to get us in!”

“Of course he does and of course he did.”

Jimin was right, this new club wasn’t like any of the others you’d been to. It definitely was more high class than any of the ones you’d ever visited. The name, Venom, seemed to clash with the vibe the club was trying to go for, but was likely just right for the seedy underbelly type of people that would frequent.

You leaned into the large cushions of the booth you’d been thrown into by Morgan and Jimin, fruity drink in hand. You sighed as you watched the two blissfully and drunkenly grind each other senseless on the dance floor, not a care in the world. You pulled your phone from your clutch and went straight to Minho’s Instagram page. Your heart sank as you scrolled through the images of him looking happy, arm looped around another girl’s waist. The girl he’d been cheating on you with. The girl you stupidly believed was “just a friend”. There was a part of you that wanted to just curl up in a ball and cry. But there was also a part of you that wanted to set his house on fire with him and that little bitch inside of it.

Groaning, you downed your drink, about ready to wave the waiter down for another one. As much as you didn’t want to really be at the club, at least Jimin managed to get you guys in the VIP section with unlimited drinks you didn’t have to pay for. If you were going to be forced to be here watching your best friend and her boyfriend be gross and not think about your stupid ex and his stupid bitch, you weren’t going to be sober.

Yoongi leaned against the bar, swirling his whiskey in his glass, eyes scanning the room. He didn’t see what the big deal about this club was. It seemed like every other club he’d ever been to. Bored assholes with too much money bribing their way in, drugs on their lips and in their veins, cocks hard for drunk girls who can barely stand up.

He watched as couples humped each other drunkenly, stumbled across the floor, and made their way to private rooms. It was all typical behavior.

Except for one.

One girl caught his attention. One girl with curls falling down her bare shoulders. A girl sitting by herself looking as though she were absolutely miserable and waiting for the ground to swallow her whole.

Yoongi downed his whiskey and motioned for another one before he slowly walked a little closer, tilting his head to the side, watching the girl scroll through her phone.

“Stupid fucking piece of shit,” she seethed, continuing to scroll, “she’s not that pretty… I mean I guess she is, but whatever. I hope you’re fucking happy, you douchebag and little bitch. I could just fucking… ngghh!”

She threw her phone back in her bag, chugging the pink drink the waiter had just given her. A smirk crept across Yoongi’s lips. ‘Now she seems like she could be some fucking fun.’

Dark eyes continued to watch the girl as she sat alone. His eyes traced over the small tattoos that littered her shoulders, He continued to wait a little while longer to see if anyone would join her. He could tell she hadn’t come alone, having spotted another purse. After several minutes of no one joining her, Yoongi decided to take this opportunity to make a move.

Your eyes scanned the dance floor, having totally lost your friends somewhere in the haze of lights, fog, and music. Your head started to feel a little fuzzy after the last watermelon margarita you deep throated in negative three seconds. So far the night was a bust. Your friends had abandoned you to be horny teenagers, which you couldn’t blame them (even though you wanted to). You’d wasted a clean pair of clothes and a shower. You honestly were ready to call it quits and crawl back into your bed in your musty-ass apartment.

Just as you were resigning yourself to gather your shit and go - a hot, scratch that, a very hot tattooed man with piercings, dark hair and dark eyes slid into the booth beside you. “I think you might be at the wrong table.”

“I’m exactly where I need to be,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth. His hot breath tickled the shell of your ear, making you shiver. “I saw you from over at the bar. You looked bored.”

“I got ditched by horny love birds,” you rolled your eyes with a withering smile.

“We love that.”

“No we don’t,” you laughed as you tucked some hair behind your ear.

The man with dark hair leaned close to your ear, his dark hair falling in his eyes, “why don’t we ditch your horny love birds and make our own fun?”

He wrapped his arm around the back of the booth, ringed fingers lightly touching the skin of your shoulders. The sultriness of his voice and the heat of his touch caused you to shiver once more. And that wasn’t the only thing beginning to shiver. You cleared your throat and crossed one leg over the other. “And what exactly did you have in mind?”

A smirk crept across his lips, exposing his gums. He reached his other hand over and began slowly drifting lazy figure eights with his fingers up your bare leg, slowly working his way from up your knee to your thigh. Your cheeks began to feel warm, and it wasn’t too long after a waiter came by and dropped off six shot glasses of varying colors, filled to the brim. He leaned in close again, planting his lips by your ear, “I’m sure you’re a smart enough kitten to figure that out,” he cooed, licking his lips.

The tip of his tongue grazed the curve of your ear and you leaned into him with another shiver, biting your bottom lip in an attempt to keep the moan that threatened to escape. He was warm and fuck did he smell good. You cleared your throat once more and reached out and touched one of the shot glasses, trying to focus on anything besides the growing heat between your legs.

Had it really been that long since you’d had any physical touch since your breakup? You’d tried to recall, not even remembering you having the willpower to please yourself. ‘Depressing.’

The dark haired stranger reached his long tatted arm out and pointed at the shots. “Three for you, three for me.”

Your eyes looked at the varying colors of the glasses. You weren’t always a fan of shots. You always managed to pick the nastiest, most bitter ones.

“What are they?”

“This one’s Strawberry Starburst,” okay, sounds fruity, you didn’t mind the sound of that, “this one’s Buttery Nipple,” it had a thick layer of cream on top, surely it was good, “and this one’s a Wet Pussy.”

Your eyes widened, flicking up to meet his. He looked down at you hungrily, dark hair covering his face, wicked grin creeping across his lips. That was all it took for your core to tighten.

“So what do you say, kitten? Have some shots and some fun with me.”

You stared at him for a long moment, the sounds of the club fading away briefly. This wasn’t the type of girl you normally were. You liked to build and take things at a decent pace. But he - whoever the hell he was - swooped in like a raven in the night and knocked that wall down. Jesus Christ on roller skates he was hot as hell. And it had been so long.

Fuck it.

“So ho-“

“Yes,” you cut him off before he could finish. Fuck it. You wanted this. You needed this. Maybe it would help you get out of your little funk and you could go back to living a normal life.

“Well all right, then.” The dark haired stranger pulled the first pink shot glass towards the both of you. He wrapped his veiny hand around the small glass and slightly lifted it from the table, waiting for you to do the same. Your heart pounded in your chest, as you took the same shot in hand.

“Bottoms up,” he said, bringing the glass to his lips.

You had no idea just how literal that term would become.

The fruity alcohol sent a warm heat down your throat as you kicked back the first shot. It was good, better than expected. Without much prompting, you grabbed the second glass and waited for the stranger to do the same.

“Eager little one, aren’t you?”

You clenched your legs together a little tighter, your cheeks heating once more. You both had your shots in hand, each tossing them back like the first. The second shot tasted even better than the first, and a wobbly heat began to come over you, settling in your legs.

You looked up at the stranger, sweat damp curls pinning to your neck. “You seem more eager than me, plying me with drinks.”

You could tell you were slurring ever so slightly, the words leaving your lips at a slow pace. You could handle your alcohol somewhat decently, but the addition of three strong shots one right after another would be the tipping point.

A sultry, deep growl washed over you as the stranger slightly traced his tongue along the shell of your ear, “don’t start something you know you can’t finish, kitten.” He ever so lightly grazed his lips against your neck, only causing the pesky throbbing between your legs to strengthen.

He pulled the third and final shot glass towards you. He wrapped his large calloused fingers around yours and brought the purple drink to your lips. “This kitten,” he cooed, pressing his lips to your neck once more, “this is how I’m going to leave you.”

FUCK.

He ran the sticky rim of the glass against your bottom lip with one hand, while the other slowly snaked its way to just beneath the hem of your skirt. Your breath hitched, catching in your throat. Some of the drink dribbled down your chin and chest. “Such a messy little girl you are,” he chided with a smirk. He moved his hand from the hem of your skirt to wipe the alcohol from your chest before popping his fingers in his mouth, “mmm, sweet.”

“Mmnf…” you whined as you clenched your shaking legs as close as they could get, rubbing them together to get some mild semblance of relief. Who the fuck was this guy, and what the fuck had he done to you in such a short amount of time? You clenched your free hand into a fist, nails digging into the soft flesh of your palm. Your chest rose heavily as you took a ragged breath. It took all the self restraint you had from shoving his hand between your legs right then and there.

Fuck it.

You grabbed his hand and pulled it back towards the direction of your skirt, pushing it beneath the fabric and slowly towards your now dripping core. Your eyes desperately searched his begging for his touch. You were sitting in the middle of a busy nightclub with a random stranger all but tipsy on however many drinks you’d had previously, two shots and one more to go with his hand you’d shoved up your skirt, begging for him to finger you and you absolutely didn’t fucking care. Heat and hunger radiated through your body as you looked down at the strained but clearly thickly tented erection growing beneath the tight black jeans.

The dark headed stranger swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, that damned sexy smirk appearing once more as he lightly ran his middle finger up the once dry lace. “You really are a messy little girl, aren’t you?” He pulled his hand away once more, the action extracting a mewling whine you hated yourself for making. He licked the wetness from his finger, “I’m not sure what’s sweeter, the drink or you.”

You squirmed beneath him, feeling like you might explode at this point if you don’t get something - anything. For the briefest of moments, your ex came to mind. Not once in the four years of your relationship had he managed to reduce you to a whimpering withering mess without even touching you like this random stranger had.

“Please…” you whined, leaning your head back to rest on his shoulder, your nose falling into the crook of his neck. The smell of him absolutely intoxicated you. The faint smell of cigarettes lingered on his breath and clothes mixed with a cologne that had a biting freshness and some kind of animal sensuality that you were finding very hard to resist. Morgan always said you were gross for liking the smell of cigarettes, but you didn’t care. You loved it. You breathed deep, dying to sink your teeth into the vein that throbbed.

A deep, throaty laugh escaped the stranger as he lifted your chin with his finger. He leaned in close, eyes level with yours. Your pupils were blown wide, chest heaving, legs practically wide open for the entire club to see. “Good girls finish their drinks first.”

In the haze, you’d all but forgotten the last shot that left sticky remnants on your lips and down your chest. You nodded like the good girl you were and bit your bottom lip. You looked at the glass that he still held. The purple liquid taunted you, your head already dizzy. Honestly thinking you wouldn’t have the strength to hold the glass, you stupidly parted your lips, eyes stuck on his.

“Mm, yes, that’s a really good little girl.” He pressed the glass to your lips and tipped it back, pouring the sweet liquid down your throat. You leaned your head back some to swallow, eyes never leaving him. He curled his lips into a wicked snarl exposing his teeth and gums that left a devastating pang to your already tightly wound core. He picked up his shot and knocked it back with ease, tossing the glass on the table.

His lips enveloped yours, tongue fiercely pushing its way in. The taste of alcohol washed over you as you sucked on his tongue desperately, whining into his mouth. Without warning, he slipped his hand beneath your skirt, past the ruined panties and straight into your soaking heat. You gasped in his mouth from the sudden touch, but definitely wasn’t prepared for the feel of two very strong fingers pushing their way in. He gagged you with his tongue, pumping his calloused fingers in and out with a harshness you weren’t used to but desperately craved.

Your body shook as you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him down onto you, blocking you further from any prying eyes. But at this point, you honestly didn’t care. This stranger could splay you out for all to see and you’d be perfectly fine with it.

He pulled away from your mouth, a string of saliva pulling between the two of you, “you like this, don’t you, kitten? You like that I can get you off and so wet with all these people watching. You like the fact that I got you off and didn’t even touch you, you little slut.”

Your whine was a little louder this time, your entire body shaking. You planted your face into his neck again, fingers making a mad grab for the arms of his tank top.

He grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him.

“Answer me,” he demanded.

“Yes…”

“Yes what?”

“Sir… Yes sir!” you croaked as you pulled your hands from his top, trying to cover your embarrassment with your arms.

“Nah.” With his free hand, he pulled your hands from your face and over your head, “I know you like this, you little exhibitionist. I know you like the idea of me fingering you into submission right here in this booth.”

You hated the fact that he was right. You hated the fact that this was turning you on in a major way. What sort of witchcraft had this stranger performed on you to make you such a whimpering little simp? You were never like this with Minho or any other boyfriends for that matter. This was never something you’d imagine ever doing. But right now, there was a dark excitement that filled you, and you absolutely were living for it.

A few more rough pumps and you were practically screaming, shaking, convulsing almost, hips bucking into his hand and riding the wave of white hot euphoria that washed over you. The only saving grace being the loud music cutting the two of you off from the rest of the club.

You tried to steady your breathing as you shifted in your seat, cum dripping from your soaking cunt and ruined panties. You looked at the abandoned glasses littered on the table many toppled over from your greedy fit of needing to be touched. Your eyes turned back to face the dark haired stranger. He smirked, popping the fingers that were just inside of you in his mouth and sucking on them. Yet another whine escaped you while you watched him. You’d have assumed you’d be spent at this point, but some kind of hunger had been awakened in you, and you needed more. Shaky hands pawed at him as he pulled his fingers from his mouth.

“What?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side. Knowing full well what you wanted and needed. You bit your bottom lip and glanced down at his growing erection that was just dying to be released. You yourself were dying to know what else was in store for you. One of your hands slid to the bulge and you lightly squeezed it, keeping your eyes on him for his reaction. The guttural moan that left him was all it took to invite you for another squeeze, this one a little rougher than the last. “Remember what I said, kitten. Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he growled as he bit the side of your neck.

“I’ll be a good girl…”

That was all it took to yank you from the booth and harshly and quickly pull you towards the bathroom, your bag with your fucking phone and keys completely forgotten. The only thing on your mind was where he was leading you. You watched as one guy came out of the single use bathroom and shoved the other guy who had been waiting out of the way. “Move.”

You tried to not make eye contact with him as the stranger pulled you into the bathroom and locked the door behind you. His mouth immediately crashed into yours, your back roughly being pushed against the door with a thud.

Your hands scrambled, trying to make quick work of the belt that held his pants tightly around his toned waist. He pulled away from you just enough to unbutton and unzip his jeans, sliding them and the dark gray boxer briefs partially down his thighs. His cock sprang up against his stomach, precum seeping from the swollen head. It was soft and pale like him, but long, thick, and veiny. The one thing you hadn’t expected was that it was pierced. Three horizontal bars consisting of a frenum ladder. Your mouth dropped open for a second. That would be a new experience.

“Like what you see?” Your only answer was a nod before your hand immediately found purchase around the trunk of his cock, dragging your hand up and down, using the friction to your advantage as more precum dribbled down the sides. “Ff-fuck,” he growled, one of his hands twining through your curls.

Core instantly throbbing, you pumped your hand several more times before moving your hand and all too gently tracing your finger down the length of his fully erect cock. It was your turn to smirk this time, but you were stupid for thinking you had the upper hand. You should’ve known better.

“Oh, no, no. Dirty little girls like you don’t get to be in charge.” Reaching his hand between your legs, the stranger ripped the lacy panties in half at the crotch with absolute ease. The fabric flapped uselessly by your thighs, cum dribbling from your cunt. You opened your mouth to say something but were cut off by his hands wrapping themselves under your ass cheeks and lifting you to just above his eye level. “Bad little girls have to be punished for thinking they’re too big for their britches… or lack thereof.”

That wicked, wicked smirk plastered across his lips once more as he rammed his hard dick deep into your wet pussy, using the door at your back to his advantage.

You yelped, grabbing onto his back for support, nails digging into his bare shoulders. With the music muffled from the bathroom, your squelching sounds were much easier to hear, and it would’ve almost embarrassed you were you not being thrown into a stupor. Your back rammed into the door as he pounded into you and your legs wrapped around his waist, one heel falling from your foot from the intensity.

“I-I nnff…!” You bit onto his shoulder, feeling yourself tighten around his cock. With each movement, you felt the bars effortlessly slide along the sides of your walls, making it very hard for you to last much longer.

“Cum for me, baby,” he growled in your ear, “show daddy how good your little slut cunt can be…”

You shuttered as one last drag and pound of his cock was all it took to throw you over the edge, creaming down the length of him. He took your mouth in his and kissed you through his own wave, bucking against you as he shot his load into you. He pulled himself from you, leaving you a dripping, wet mess with your ass and pussy exposed to the open air. You whined as you the felt the balls of the piercings slide from you, leaving you empty.

“What a pretty little mess you are,” he cocked his eyebrow, licking his lips as he lowered you back to your feet. You stumbled for a second or two as you tried to gather yourself and quickly put your dropped heel back on your bare foot. Your core ached with overstimulation, but was so desperately begging for more. The stranger tucked himself back into his boxers and jeans, pulling them back over his hips and buttoning himself back in.

Like that, his conquest was over and he was about to turn on his heel and leave, but you reached your hand out and grabbed his, pulling him back. “Wait…” His dark eyes looked your face over as you wrapped your arms around his neck, standing on your toes even in your heels. “Take me with you.”

523 notes · View notes

replicabetweenblogs · 25 days ago

Text

FIRST POST-HIATUS WRITING UPDATE WOOHOOO. ALSO I NEED Y'ALLS HELP.

30.12.2024 // this is not a chapter update yet! As promised before, an update to reveal what I have been up to regarding RBU.

;-; catching up on age old asks that got thrown into my inbox while I was away on hiatus and. Yes- always made me smile reading those, but also made me quite sad for leaving the story at such a cliffhanger.

All the people hoping for a happy ending with the ROs do make me giggle- all those people pointing out all the angst make me feel quite evil for the stuff I have written down in chapter 9 already. ANYWAY!! the update!

A few lill snippets because why not.

over the past years of total and utter silence with this project gone through a never-ending hiatus, I have gotten alotta more confident(yay) yet no-where to put these skills of mine into, as my struggle in real life right now is the fact that I can’t find a proper game design job where I can flourish - I decided to try and keep said skills sharp and fresh by writing stories. so here we are again. I have been quite busy rewriting and re-defining the overarching story, and I cannot wait to have everyone see the eventual endings.

Kept it all hush hush not wanting to come back with nothing- hence the ask compilation above c:<

the chapter is going to be a BIG one. I am at 91k words, fully written out and basically done aside from one (1) path remaining. WOOHOOOO NEARLY THERE :D running towards the finish line, hence the teaser. Anyway --

FEEDBACK FORM, TEASER, REQUEST FOR EDITOR UNDER CUT!

***Feedback form! Help me reach the finish line!!***

I need your help c: for anyone who still has their saves or new players who have reached the end of chapter 8, I like to know what your stats are! I require this for proper balancing in chapter 9 as this is the chapter where the story gets split into many paths depending on some of those questions. Thank you in advance!!

what can you expect from the next update, coming up SOON?

91k wordcount so far (total, all branches, excluding code)

19k words for one single run

Romance lock-ins with Ash and Ha

consequences of your past major decisions/Character personality traits starting to finally catch up by taking the players onto whole different branches and locations altogether.

trigger warnings: implied mental and physical torture, determined character deaths

Some additional flashback sequences across chapters 6, 7 and 8 to some see things from companions' povs

The story of RBU is dark. this game has a dozen "bad" endings planned, only having one "good" ending for each individual Character/MC and main story in general. It's not for just the sake of drama and shock value, as I want this game to reach a very specific "lesson" which effect will be taken away if everything ended in a too-good-to-be-true way. Just a gentle warning!

main story lock-in!! Coded out some branches already for the next chapters. Chapter 10 will be the end of part 2, and part 3 will be more of a 2-chapter endgame with a chapter dedicated to an epilogue afterward. So we are really getting close to the end if I keep this up, and will stop updating the public link once reaching part 3. Will be making an announcement for private betas by then probably, but that'd be like... when I am on my deathbed at the age of 92, most likely.

I really hope you guys will be enjoying the absurdly long chapter. Did a few bold moves regarding the direction the story is going towards which I had been planning and iterating for since the very start of RBU regarding final revelations, hoping some puzzle pieces will be satisfyingly falling into place.

RBU is really about regret and acceptance regarding our decisions and mistakes, and how different types of people deal with it (badly).. so there are no "good" or "bad" endings or choices, really. BUT there is always a "worse" and "worst" so uh. Beware :')

Looking for a paid/voluntary editor!!

To help with the reconstruction of weird sentences, taking out grammar mistakes, eliminating the bad spelling, and bonking teenage-firefly on the head for her bad storytelling. plus points if you could help with the phasing even, perhaps like some kind of a beta reader- yet not too focused on it right now, as I'm just wanting to make the old chapters flow nicer.

shoot me a message if you are wanting to help out! Either on the forums, over here, or shoot me a DM! as I am @fireflyy on the official COG discord server.

For the sake of consistency, I am hoping to get help from one available editor for now. so please do let me know of your experiences if you are wanting to help out!!

You shall be credited within RBU's main screen

See you all soon <3 and a happy new year!!

#rbu #interactive fiction #writing update #replica: between universes #hosted games #if wip #dashingdon #creative writing

25 notes · View notes

geothewriter · 4 months ago

Text

Tumblr, It's been a year.

A whole big freakin year! Man, it flew by pretty quickly.

Over the past year, I've met a bunch of incredibly talented folks who craft masterpieces that made me cry, laugh, and smile like an idiot about. Y'all are absolutely amazing!

Over the past year, I've helped some people by beta reading and editing, and all the same, had my own works edited by the very talented @achillmango.

All in all, this year has been FANTASTIC. I've gotten back into writing, something I hadn't expected to ever happen again, AND I've read SO MANY WORKS by SO MANY TALENTED AUTHORS. You guys are INCREDIBLE!

Now for an announcement: My asks are open for writing requests (short one-shot styled prompts). I will complete these requests as I have time, so long as they aren't of a subject that I deem uncomfortable to write about.

Speaking of my work, over the past year, I've apparently been pretty busy! Take a look:

WIPs on AO3:

Vermillion Seas Cardinal Skies 176,346 (~10,000 unposted) words An ATLA series rewrite that sets out to expand on the universe, its relationships, and the overall story. ZK

Completed on AO3:

Dark Revelations 1713 words An ATLA one-shot that focuses on Katara's rage after she finds out just how Zuko got his scar. No holding back here.

Zutara Week 2023 - A series of one-shots covering 2023's Zutara week prompts!

Hath No Fury 918 words An ATLA - Agni Kai one-shot focused on giving this final encounter a bit of a reincarnation twist.

Songs of the City 12,764 2024's Zutara Big Bang entry! - How a chance encounter led two people searching in the night to find a (surprising) emotion, and how their story went on and on and on and on... Inspired by some power ballads <3

Any Other Way 2765 An Atla Book 4 (Book 2) AU that is a gift for my editor's birthday :D

Tumblr Posts/One Shots:

Risen from the Ashes Zuko-centric invasion one-shot inspired by Pompeii - Bastille

Spirit of the Season A quick holiday-themed one-shot from Zuko's POV - very warm and cozy

#zutara #avatar the last airbender #atla fanfic #fanfiction #zutara fanfiction #GeoTheWriterRambles #1 year tumblrversary #Summary of my active/completed works!#GeoTheWriter Writes

28 notes · View notes

filthyjoetini · 11 months ago

Text

Stumblin' In

a/n: Here we are guys. The last part. Thanks for sticking around <3 feedback, reblogs and likes are as always very appreciated. beta-reader, editor, partner in crime: @barfightzanddiscolightz

warnings: rpf, fem!reader, could raise your blood sugar...

wordcount: 4k

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

Part 4

“It looks so stu-hu-hupiiid.”, you groaned, stomping your feet and throwing your head back in frustration. You stood in front of your full-length mirror. One of your legs was only halfway inside your tights which had a run from you pulling too hard on them. Your lace corset-top, which was halfway tucked into your faux-leather skirt, hung loosely around your torso because you couldn’t find the laces. You were sure that one of your cats had stolen them and hidden them under your bed, where you couldn’t reach them without crawling under it. But the worst thing of all was the fact that your flat iron decided to die on you mid-way through styling your hair. Luckily, you had already finished your make-up, which turned out to be perfect.

After unplugging the broken styling tool, you took it to your bathroom and placed it in the sink to cool off. Looking down at it with a sneer, you quickly grabbed your hairdryer and curling brush. Returning to your bedroom, you plopped down on your bed and took a few of deep breaths to ground yourself. You needed to calm down. Why were you so nervous? You knew when and where you needed to be. It was a cute little café that also served a variety of sandwiches and other finger foods. You had already checked the menu online and knew exactly what you were going to get.

And you’d read the book twice. For your book club, of course, and not at all to impress him. No need to, right?

With one last big breath through your nose, you stood up and took off your damaged tights. You threw them on your bed, telling yourself you would throw them away later. Later meaning ‘three weeks from now’ later. Pushing yourself up from your bed, you walked over to your commode and picked your second-best pair of tights out of your drawer.

“Yeah...you’ll do.”, you sighed and pulled them on gently. They didn’t really go with the rest of the outfit, but you didn’t have time to go out and get a new pair that would suit your style better. The next step was to find the laces for your top. You got down on all fours and crawled halfway under your bed, where most of the cat toys had found their final resting place. After rummaging through the pile of toy mice, hair and zip ties, you finally found a huge ball of laces. You pulled it out from under the bed and immediately spotted the silk fabric of the strings.

“Fucking cats.”, you muttered under your breath, shaking your head. Carefully, you began to untangle the ball of laces and gently pulled out the one you needed before skilfully threading it through the corset’s grommets, tightening them and finally tying them on your back.

Two tasks down, one more to go.

You plugged your hairdryer into the outlet, turned it on, grabbed your curling brush with your other hand and started straightening the second half of your hair. The brush left a little curve at the ends, making one half of your head look like a 70s actress, whilst the other half screamed late-00’s emo kid. Groaning, you got to work on the emo side again to even it out a bit. You weren’t fully satisfied with the result, but at least it looked somewhat presentable now.

After staring at yourself in the mirror for far too long and almost spacing out, you decided to pick up your mobile phone from where it was lying on the bed. You gasped when you saw the time. You were running royally late.

Panicking, you grabbed your purse and your trusty leather jacket and sprinted for the door. There you slipped into your Dr. Martens and tied them up properly. Another trip to the hospital wasn’t in your books.

As you opened the door, you yelled back at your cats to behave before hastily locking the door and speed walking down the corridor and stairs.

---

Heaving and panting, you entered the café. You prayed that Joe wasn’t there yet, but unfortunately, you spotted him already sitting down in a cosy armchair, dressed in his overly expensive trench coat, phone in hand.

You collected yourself and stepped into the room, slowly making your way over to him.

“Hey,”, you greeted him, clearing your throat.

Joe turned around quickly when he heard you, beaming grin on his face. He immediately stood up and pulled you into a bone-crushing hug.

When he pulled back, he was holding you at an arm’s length, eyes narrowed, lips between his teeth. He studied your face. Then his eyes darted down your body, a smirk forming on his lips.

You rolled your eyes, snorting at his expression.

“Yeah, I know. For once I don’t look like a hag. All put together, like a normal human being.”

“You never look like a hag,”, he scoffed at your self-degrading remark, “and you always look put together. With or without make-up. I like it though. Suits you very well.”

He said the last part with a wink that made you blush instantly.

Quickly, you took the remaining couple of steps to the second armchair and sat down. Joe though, didn’t move an inch, instead opening his mouth again.

“Do you know what you want? There’s a menu on the table.”

“Oh. Can you get me a cappuccino with the Toblerone sprinkles and one of those egg and cress sandwiches? They look delicious.”, you blurted out without looking at him or the menu at all, shrugging off your leather jacket.

When Joe still didn’t move, you looked up at him and saw him grinning down at you.

“What?”, you asked, innocently.

“Nothing.”, he smirked and then walked off to place your orders at the counter.

---

Joe placed your sandwich and hot beverages neatly in front of you on the very tiny table and his in the same orderly fashion on his side before sitting down.

“How was your wor-”

“How’s your nec-”

Joe and you both started to speak at the same time and stopped abruptly again when you noticed. It made you both giggle.

“Sorry, you first,”, you urged, gesturing for him to start talking again.

“How is your neck?”, he asked, the giggle still evident in his voice.

“I had a check-up two days ago and the doctor said I’ll be just fine, although there is no cure for my clumsiness.”, you giggled and shrugged your shoulders.

“Good. Because otherwise I’ll have to find a new nickname for you, and I’ve grown quite fond of Bambi.”, he explained, a gentle smile now sporting his lips.

“Shut up…”, you muttered bashfully before composing yourself and taking a huge gulp of your cappuccino and a bite of your sandwich. “How was your foreign mission? Any more planned?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. And yes, always.”, he replied nonchalantly, as he leaned towards you. He had his elbow propped on his knee and slowly rested his chin on the heel of his palm, smirking smugly at you.

Two can play this game, you told yourself, mirroring him.

“And what is it you do? Mr. Over-Secretive?”, you inquired further, returning his smug expression.

“I’m an actor.”, he responded quickly, leaning back casually into the backrest of his armchair, hands placed flat on his knees.

“Oh.”, you replied, somewhat taken aback. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything before.”

“Ouch.”

“No…I didn’t mean it like that.”, you apologised immediately, leaning further forward and grabbing his hand without thinking. All Joe could do was smile down at your hand.

“It’s alright. I’ve been in a lot of period productions, and I know they are not for everyone.”, he replied, adjusting his hand in yours by lacing your fingers together.

“Yeah, they are not my cup of tea.”, you nodded, staring at your intertwined fingers before moving your eyes up to his face. “Have you been in anything else?”

“Yep.”, he replied, popping the p. “I was in the latest season of Stranger Things.”

“Wha-?”, you started, mouth agape now and eyes wide. “That’s one of my favourite TV shows. Who did you play?”

“Eddie Mun-“

“GET OUT OF HERE!”, you almost shrieked, pulling your hand away from his and clapping it over your mouth. An elderly couple two tables over glared daggers at your outburst. “Sorry…I didn’t mean to shout.”, you spoke through your fingers, muffled.

All Joe could do was laugh at your reaction. You were so bloody adorable. Especially when you started blushing as soon as you did something out of character.

“Eddie is my favourite character this season.”, you confessed, almost whispering.

“Yeah?”, he asked, giggling.

“Yeah.”, you confirmed sheepishly.

“Anyway.”, Joe continued, trying to divert the attention to something else. Something else was obviously you. “What do you do for a living?”

“It’s really not that interesting.”, you explained with a shrug. “It’s your usual boring desk job.”

“I bet it’s not as boring as you make it out to be.”, Joe spoke, an encouraging smile on his lips.

“It really is.”, you concluded with tight lips, leaving no more room for an argument. “In contrast to my job, yours is very multifaceted.”

Nodding, Joe didn’t inquire further, sensing your discomfort with the subject. You let out a shaky breath and then put on a smile again. You didn’t want to dampen the mood. Joe returned your smile and leaned forward to take your hand in his again. It was very warm whilst yours had become clammy.

"So…what do you do for fun then?”

“Well, I really, really enjoy going to the cinema to see obscure films and I love to read a book every now and then.”, you stated with a chuckled. “Oh, and I love music. I love, looove love going to concerts.”

Joe couldn’t take his eyes off you as you rambled on about your passions and favourite past times. You animatedly recounted the story of the last concert you went to, and Joe basically hung on your every word.

“What do you like to do for fun?”

“Hmm...”, Joe pretended to think, putting his free hand under his chin, which made you giggle again. “I love going to the cinema, especially to study the work of other actors as well as the directors. I also like to write scripts. They’re usually silly little stories. And I love to read. Speaking of reading. I just finished the book this morning.”

“Did you? How did you like it?”

“Considering I literally devoured it between shoots, I’d say pretty good.”, he said with a chuckle, letting go of your hand to reposition himself in his armchair.

“Well, I was hoping so.”, you giggled, pulling your hand back and you crossing your legs. “Otherwise, I’d have to disband our book club.”

“Bambi, book clubs are for discussing different opinions about a book.” Joe retorted. “Disbanding it prematurely would defeat its purpose.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yuh uh.”

“Nuh uh!”

“Yuh uh!”

“Ugh. You’re even more annoying than my cats.”, you groaned, knowing he could go on like this forever.

“You have cats?”, he asked, his eyes widening with interest. His whole body moved forward again.

“Yep. Two little bastards.”, you replied with a chuckle. You took your phone from beside you and showed him a picture of your two fur babies. “Do you want to meet them?”

“Yes. Duh!”, he responded, immediately getting up from his armchair and pulling on his coat.

“Uhm, Joe. You still have some coffee and food left.”, you pointed out with a raised eyebrow. Joe looked down at the table and quickly downed his now cold coffee and stuffed the rest of the food into his mouth.

“Okay. Let’s go.”, he spoke again after he had swallowed everything. You were still sipping the last of your drink and wrapping your sandwich in a serviette when Joe was already halfway out of the café.

“Hey. Wait up.”

“Hurry up! I’ve got cats to meet.”

“Idiot.”, you muttered under your breath, shaking your head, grinning and following him out.

---

“Joe, you really don’t have to do this.”

You slowly climbed the stairs up to your flat, Joe beside you, hovering like a mother hen. An arm was draped around your waist. A safety precaution.

“I won’t fall down again.”

“Says you!”, he objected, jabbing a finger into your side almost causing you to lose your balance nearly missing the next step. You cursed under your breath. Why do you have to be so ticklish?

“See? You almost fell again!”, Joe pointed out the obvious, grinning like a madman. That dick knew exactly what he was doing. You responded by giving him a light shove.

“Of course I’m gonna fall if you poke me in the side, Joseph. I’m ticklish.”, you huffed, feigning annoyance.

“Good to know.”, he countered with a wink.

Rolling your eyes, you wiggled out of his grasp and took the last few steps up the stairs to the door of your flat. Joe was hot on your heels, not wanting to be left behind.

“Uhm. Just so you know. My cats are very skittish and don’t really like strangers. Please don’t be offended if they don’t come to you straight away. They’re drama queens.”, you explained before inserting the key in the lock and slowly unlocking the door.

“Don’t worry. I won’t be.”, Joe smiled at you. He leaned his arm against the wall for support as he unzipped his boots to take them off. His tongue was sticking out in concentration. It made you snort a little, because you found it very endearing.

Gently, you pushed open the door and your cats immediately greeted you. As soon as they noticed someone else was standing there, they took off. Probably hiding under your bed.

“Told you.”, you said matter-of-factly before stepping aside to let Joe in. “The living room is this way.”, you pointed in its direction, “make yourself comfortable…uhm��do you want something to drink? What do you want?”

“What do you have to offer?”, Joe asked sweetly, not yet moving.

“I have water, both still and sparkling, tea…I should have beer…”, you listed, making your way over to the kitchen to check, leaving Joe standing in your narrow hallway.

“If you’ve got beer, I’ll have one.”, Joe called, following you.

“Shit. I’m out!”, you winced lowly after rummaging through your fridge. “I do have a liquor shelf though – holy FUCK. You scared me!”

Joe was standing right behind you as you turned away from the fridge. You hand’t expected him to follow you.

“I thought you’d gone into the living room.”, you explained frowning, hand covering your chest. Your heart was racing at a thousand miles a minute.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Bambi.”, he apologised, mirroring your frown. He gently took your free hand in his and rubbed it softly to emphasise how bad he felt for scaring you.

“Alright...it’s alright.”, you murmured, slowly smiling at him and giving his hand a quick squeeze before taking yours from his grasp. “Would you like a drink instead of a beer?”

“Sure…uhm…a gin and tonic, maybe?”

“Gin and tonic coming right up.”, you announced, turning to your liquor shelf. “Go sit in the living room. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Alright.”, Joe chuckled and wandered off.

---

As you entered the living room, two gin and tonics in hand, you saw Joe coaxing Kiro over from the other side of the sofa. Your black panther of a cat was the braver of the two but totally unimpressed by Joe. The man in question clicked his tongue and stuck his pointer finger out at him.

With a low chuckle, you set the two drinks down on your coffee table and sat down in between them. Your addition to the scene awakened Kiro’s interest and he now ambled over to you and plopped himself down on your thighs.

Joe, who was now sporting a huge grin, slowly scooted closer to you and held his still outstretched forefinger directly under Kiro’s nose. The cat sniffed it and eventually gave it a lick. Joe had been approved.

Giggling, Joe moved his hand to the top of Kiro’s head and scratched it softly before pulling his hand away and grabbing his drink from the table instead. You had watched the whole interaction with a soft smile gracing your lips.

“Would you like to watch something on Netflix?”, you inquired, leaning forward carefully so as to not crush your cat, and grabbing both your drink and the remote.

“Sure. Anything obscure on there you haven’t seen?”, he asked, taking the first sip of his long drink and nodding in approval.

“Not really. I’m kind of in a mood for some nostalgic rom coms.”, you giggled as you launched the app. “I’m talking early 2000’s, baby.”

“Oookay. Whatever floats your boat.”, Joe chuckled and put his drink down again.

You chose the corniest one the streaming service had to offer, but before you hit play, you asked Joe to hand you the blankets that were draped over the settee’s armrest. Before you could drape one over yourself, Kiro jumped off your legs and sat down beside you.

“Do you want the other one?”, you asked Joe, holding it out to him.

“Sure. Thanks.”

You nodded at him as he gently pulled his blanket over his own legs.

Just as you were about to press play, Freya decided to show herself by sauntering lazily into the living room. When Joe saw her, he let out a small audible gasp. She decided to jump on the sofa, right between you and Joe. He immediately held out his hand to her as well. She sniffed it and then turned her behind to him. She opted for your legs instead.

Joe’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and you smiled at him apologetically. He just grinned and waved you off.

“She’ll get around to you…eventually.”, you promised and finally pressed play.

Less than twenty minutes into the film, Freya had had enough of your legs and moved over to Joe. There she scratched gently at the blanket. Joe looked at you with questioning eyes.

“She wants to go into the blanket cave.”, you explained. “Is that OK for you? If not, I can make one with my blanket.”

“Is that OK? Of course it’s OK!.”, Joe confirmed, face beaming and you leaned over to help him make it. Snug as a bug in a rug she now lay against Joe’s thigh, fully covered by his blanket. One of Joe’s hands was underneath the blanket as well, gently stroking her fur.

Surrounded by the warmth of two cats and a man, you grew more tired by the minute. It wasn’t even that late, only a quarter to five but your brain still hadn’t fully recovered yet and the circumstances you found yourself in didn’t really benefit your condition. You tried very hard to stay awake, but your eyes grew heavy, and your head was inching closer and closer to Joe’s shoulder, eventually landing on it.

Joe looked down at your sleeping form, moving as little as possible to make you more comfortable and not to disturb the cats. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you a little closer, so that your head rested just below his collarbone. Unconsciously, you snuggled closer to him and let out a soft sigh. Joe grinned and continued to watch the film which he hadn’t followed at all.

He let you sleep like that even after the film had ended. You were snoring softly, and he found it to be very soothing whilst he tried to solve his sudoku on his phone. 45 minutes after the credits had finished rolling, he received a text message from his manager saying he had to get up early the next day due to a spontaneous work commitment all the way up in Scotland.

Groaning at the text, he pushed himself up a little, much to Freya’s dismay who now crawled out of her cave and glared at Joe.

“I’m sorry, girl. I didn’t mean to.”, he apologised, scratching her ear. Then he gently placed the palm of his hand on your cheek.

“Bambi…wake up.”

“No…five more minutes.”, you whined and tried to swat his hand away, making Joe snort out a laugh.

“Unfortunately, I have to go. I just got a text saying that I have to get up early. I’m needed in Scotland.”, he explained, rubbing his thumb along your jaw.

You slowly opened your eyes and mumbled something about another secret mission.

“That’s right…now come on.”

He moved his hands to your arms and slowly helped you up which irritated the two fur balls even more. Kiro toddled over the sofa cushion next to Freya and lay down again with a grunt.

“You just lost at least four brownie points in their book for that rude awakening.”, you muttered with a yawn and stretching your arms over your head.

“In yours or theirs?”

“Hmm.”, was all you replied, shrugging your shoulders.

“I’ll make it up to them.”, he grinned, gently petting them to say his goodbye. A little more awake than before, you smiled at him and made your way to the hallway to see him out.

After Joe had put on his coat and boots, he slowly turned to you.

“I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you, Bambi.”

“Likewise.”, you retorted having grown rather fond of his silly nickname for you. Slowly, you pushed yourself up on your tiptoes and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Gently, he returned the embrace, and swayed you in his arms for a couple of moments.

Pulling back a little, you stared into his deep caramel eyes, a soft smile tickling at the corners of your lips. Smiling himself, he stared back down at you, lowering his face until you were nose to nose. Joe then gently tilted his head, brushed his nose against yours, causing you turn up your nose a slightly. Your reaction made Joe grin even wider, and you took the opportunity to close the distance, pressing your lips tenderly against his.

He immediately reciprocated the kiss and sweetly pecked your lips a few of times which made you open your mouth just a little. Taking this as an invitation to go further, Joe gently nibbled at your lips and finally captured them passionately with his.

Breathing heavily, you both reluctantly pulled away, resting your foreheads against each other. You took one hand from around his shoulders and ran your fingers delicately along your bottom lip. Both his and your cheeks were slightly rose-tinted, and Joe’s ears were glowing red. He quickly placed another soft peck to your fingertips and gingerly let go of you.

“I’ve got a train to catch.”, he whispered, and you nodded, reaching behind him to unlock the door. He took a step back into the stairwell and turned back around to where you were standing in the doorway, the blush still evident on your face. Joe took a step back towards you and gave you one final peck to your lips.

“Let’s do this again, Bambi.”, he winked, making you giggle again.

“Get home safe.”

“I will.”

“Text me?”, you inquired, crossing your arms around your middle.

“Of course.”, he promised as he descended the stairs. You watched him disappear before you opened your mouth again.

“Bye!”, you called after him.

“Bye, Bambi!”, he called back, and you eventually heard the front door slam shut far too loudly. This was in no way Joe’s fault but the doors itself. The mechanism was broken.

Turning around, you quickly closed the door and ran into your living room to look out the window. You caught him just in time to see him disappear around the corner. Smiling to yourself, you touched your lips again. Your smile turned into a snort and finally into a full laugh.

Oh, you so were gonna do this again.

The End

Taglist:

@ohmeg @daleyeahson @lma1986 @palomahasenteredthechat @mandyjo8719 @aysheashea @littledemon-lilith @readergf @sidthedollface2 @i-wont-run-this-time @miserybeans @kylakins88 @thehillzhaveeyez @punctualhowell @icallhimjoey @ghostinthebackofyourhead @siriuslysmoking @cancankiki @definitionwanderlust @1paire2vans @theonewiththecrackedmind @fromasgardandback @captainonaboat @josephquinnsfreckles @emilyslutface @alessxaa

#stumblin in #joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn x reader #joe quinn x you #joseph quinn fanfic #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn x you #rpf #rpf fic #rpf fanfiction

56 notes · View notes

ladylaviniya · 1 year ago

Text

Spirit of Christmas Past

Masterlist || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: You are greeted by the Spirit of Christmas and he decides to confront your past and punish your stubborn behaviour.

Pairing: Chris Evans x f!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Manipulation, Dead Parents Description, Verbal Abuse, P in V sex, Rough Sex, Choking, Fingering, Humiliation, Heart Break, Ghosts, Swearing, Alcoholic Use, Classism.

Word Count: 9k

A/N: Please to all readers, understand I don't have a beta editor and I can miss some mistakes because most my typing is on the bus to work when I get the time to write. ALSO this is my attempt at the naughty or nice challenge using: 18. “If you didn’t want this, you’d behave.” @the-slumberparty an event challenge created by @navybrat817 & @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

12:59am 25th December 2023, New York City.

Among the nothingness of sleep, you could hear in the distance the sound of little bells jingling. You groaned, cracking your eyes open slowly. The sound was becoming more persistent and volumed.

It was freezing! The management still hadn’t fixed the heating system. You shivered and dug deeper into the duvet layers of your bed. You reached for your phone to check the time.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” you grumbled before rolling over onto your back. All memory of Marlene’s visit had disappeared from your mind.

You stared up at the plain ceiling. Your eyes grew hazy while your mind dissociated into thought. A single tear rolled from your eye.

God, you hated Christmas so much. You tried ignoring all the years. You tried pushing back the pain. You tried thinking about your jobs and tasks still incomplete. You tried not to think about how lonely you were, how unfulfilled you felt deep down. A mean tug at your chest made you hiss.

The ceilings image morphed into spots and shapes of different kinds...and when you chose to focus your eyes you could see the flecks of shadow clashing with light, wrapping and drawing out the shape of a person walking towards you.

You leant back and felt the mattress still under you. What you were seeing had to be part of some strange dream. You concluded you’d fallen back to sleep.

Gravity didn’t apply in this scenery.

The ceiling opened up, glowing in a soft calming light. The figure kept walking it’s way towards you. The closer he got the more you could acknowledge his face and good looks. He was lean and clean shaven, a depiction of youth. His hair was the colour of dark roasted chestnuts. He wore a white sweater.

‘Woah, what a weird dream...but look at how handsome he is.’

As if he heard your thoughts loud and clear he smiled with sparkling white teeth. Still unsure of reality, you lifted your hand up high to the ceiling. He did the same. He reached out with his palm out.

Your finger tips touched and you gasped at how warm and inviting he felt. Your mind ran filthy. You bit your bottom lip before lurching off the bed to the ceilings opening window into the handsome man’s arms. You swore you knew him. Something about that smile. You couldn’t place it though. Butterflies filled your insides.

His eyes were a blue that matched mountains. His cheeks sharp and strong but that smile was ageless.

You shyly bit the tip of your finger and giggled, “Kiss me.”

He cupped your face and accepted your advance without hesitation. His lips leant forward and met your starved mouth.

He was slow, sweet like vanilla. He pulled away and nibbled at your lips, sucking and licking with you. He was perfect. You were the first to pull away, panting and mewling. Your body rubbed up against his again. One of his arms cupped your back while his other hand cupped your cheek and ran his thumb over your bottom lip.

You felt his muscles, his hot body. His arms tightly held you, protecting you from the world and claiming you as his.

In your head this all made sense. Deep down you had met before, but where...God where had you met him? It ached not knowing fully.

Pulling away you moaned, “Fuck me. Please.”

You took his ginormous hands and pressed them against your breasts. Only a thin piece of satin separated your skin to his skin. You knew he’d be able to feel your nipples pebbling under his palms.

You kissed and nibbled along his jaw, panting, “I’m not wearing anything underneath.” And that was true. You underwear had gone missing after you had played with your toy while imagining a rape play scene. You looked up at him with doe eyes fluttering. Your fingers pinched the hem of your night gown. He smirked, his fingers danced up your thighs, and by your surprise....he forced your hem down.

His eyes burned bright blue, almost glowing as the world around you both faded black. His head shook lightly at you, his wet lips parted, and he whispered into the open air, “Be not afraid Y/N as I shine the light on your past.”

Your head jerked back, your eyes squinted, ‘What the fuck?’

The question filled your mind and escaped through your lips, “Who are you?”

The handsome stranger rubbed his thumbs into your palms and said with heralding tones, “I am he who sees past, present and future tidings upon the grandeur of Christmas day. I am The Spirit of Christmas. But you…may call me Chris.”

“Chris?” You blinked and rebuffed in an fit of laughter. You shook your head, disbelieving and feeling that heat of anger rise.

“The Spirit of Christmas,” you cackled, “I really did have too much to drink to be having weird dreams like this. You kiss me and tell me that you’re some mystic being?”

His lips flicked up, bemused, “You asked for that kiss, I merely obliged such a sweet request.”

Humiliation bloomed in the pit of your belly. You felt hot in the face and grit your teeth.

His thumbs ran over the pulse of your wrists, his eyes were crowned in a false innocence.

Your eyes glowered in seconds, “Go fuck yourself, Chris,” you fumed.

You shoved his hands away and turned around trying to imagine something else, hoping the dream would change or you would wake up. You stumped short and jumped back as your path was blocked by a horrific sight. A naked woman in the darkness, chained and kneeling at your feet. Marlene.

The memories flood back into your mind. Her ethereal form floating your bed with her frozen heart and warning words. Except she was no ghost in this form. She was hauntingly thin like a skeleton, the loos skin of her belly and breasts hung down, her skin was discoloured and sickly, her cheeks hallowed and her hair thin, balding. Her teeth were black, gums rotten, her chest made this awful whistling noise as she struggled to breath. Her finger nails were red and cracked. She was chained to the floor. She looked up at you with sad bloodshot eyes, shaking her head at you.

“Go with him Y/N, he is your last chance…” she shivered as if a cold wind had prickled her flesh. Her head hung low.

His heavy hand laid down bearing weight onto your shoulder. You gasped and looked back at him with fear. His face appeared mournful as he acknowledged Marlenes decrypted state. Those blue eyes you were enchanted by moments ago sent an icy chill down your spine as his attention turned to you.

“Come,” he softly beckoned, “Let this soul pay it’s penance…”

You licked your dry lips and tried to keep your cool without revealing your fear. You nodded, not chancing your voice breaking in an exchange. His palm held back out to you. You glared at him. With defeat and the tiniest tremble in your fingers, you finally tucked your hand into his, feeling his warm fingers wrap around you, you had to admit, it felt nice. He squeezed it softly and walked, guiding you away from the living corpse of Marlene’s soul.

After some time of walking away until Marlenes image disappeared.

The shadows felt literally heavy, weigh you down in what felt like a fight against gravity. You recalled a time you trudged through the snow up to your waist. It felt like this, yet there was only silence.

His hand was still wrapped around yours, tugging you forward mercilessly.

You felt like you could have tripped in the black abyss.

“Sp-spirit?” you finally dared to ask, “Spirit…where are you taking me?”

And then he stopped. You could hear his sigh and felt the air around you grow colder. This sexy dream had quickly turned into a foreboding nightmare. A flame of light flickered in the palm of his other hand, it was like supernatural magic.

He pulled you in closer and his other hand came around and slapped your backside.

You shrieked and tried shoving him back, “Ow! What the hell! That hurt!”

He chortled, “Yes, the past can hurt, especially yours,” his finger scratched under your chin, “But it can also heal if you learn from it.”

The floor beneath your feet disappeared and you both plummeted into the darkness again. You screamed as your belly lifted up into your chest. You squeezed your eyes shut and felt the spirit hug you tighter, your fingers desperately squeezed the wool of his sweater.

And then the falling stopped, and your screaming died down into violent pants. He still held you and then placed you softly down onto the ground below your feet.

His smile was gentle, “Here we are.”

05:00pm Christmas Eve, 1999, Texas, Austin.

Finally, you dared to open your eyes. Your hands were still clawed into his thick sweater when you looked around at your surroundings. It was a living room inside a trailer home. Red tinsel had been taped to walls. A small Christmas tree stood in the corner between the space of a couch and a basinet. Poorly drawn pictures of baubles, stars, Santa and elves had been scattered over the floor.

‘Ugh.’ Christmas decorations…but no, hold on…you knew this place.

And a soft hum of Jingle Bells filled your ears. You gasped. You knew who it belonged to in an instant. You let go of the Spirit and looked behind you.

A woman in the kitchen was opening a packet of biscuits, placing each one on a plastic plate. She was younger than you while sharing a likeness in appearance. The home smelt like gingerbread while she began to pour a cup of milk. She placed the cup on the small coffee table, sighing as she ran her palm over the swell of her protruding belly under her dress.

“M-mom?” you said shakily, “Mom is that…oh god mom! I missed you so much.”

You raced forward with your arms spread wide, seeking to hug her. As you closed your arms around her, you stumbled and fell hard to the floor onto your knees.

“Fuck!” you hissed and heard the mocking snicker come from the Spirit.

You twisted your body and sat back on your hands. You looked up and back at your mother, confused and dazed. Her feet were not on top of you, standing on you, but rather, she was standing inside and walking through you. You jumped in fright and crawled backwards, watching how she walked through you transparently.

“M-mom?” you whimpered, scared and confused. When she didn’t answer your voice filled with panic, “Mom!”

The Spirit, holding his hands behind his back chuckled, looking between you both.

You shouted, “What the hell is wrong with her!?”

His laughter pulled back and he hummed with a smile, “There’s nothing wrong, she can’t see you or hear you. These are but shadows of things that have been. They have no consciousness of us.”

She totally ignored you as she lowered herself onto the couch.

The Spirit held his hand out to you to help you up from the floor. You slapped it away and used the wall for stability. He didn’t appear offended or surprised by your viperous habits. You shoved past him and fell to your knees in front of her.

“Mom?” you said a little more gently.

You reached out to touch her shoulder. Your fingers went straight through her. Your eyes watered. She looked up from her belly and her lips spread into her perfect smile. Her eyes glittered, “Honey, can you please grab the cookies for Santa?”

Your face lit up and you nodded desperately, scooting back off your knees to fetch the cookies from the small kitchenette, but before you could step forward, you heard the tiny squeak of a child, “Okay, mommy!”

And from the corner of your eye you saw her... next to the tree was a little girl in a plaid dress and pig tails with plaid scrunchies, laying on her belly, kicking her feet back in forth with a crayon in her little chubby hand scribbling a poor drawing of a reindeer. It looked more like a cow with antlers.

“Is that…”

The little girl crawled to her feet and skipped to the kitchen, she looked so small compared to the plate she carried back to the living room and placed it onto the coffee table proudly put the beside the milk.

You stood up and took a small step back. You bumped into the Spirits chest, “Is that me?”

He laid his hand on your lower back. He watched you watching your much younger self.

He hummed, “Yes, you were seven years old here I believe.”

‘Yes, just before Caroline was born.”

Your mom leant forward and grabbed the little girl by the waist, tugging her back and peppered kisses all over her small giggling face while her fingers tickled her sides until she begged her to stop.

“Love you my little troublemaker,” she whispered against the tiny cheek.

“I love you too mommy,” you and your younger self said in sync. This, the Spirit noted with a calm expression. He walked around the room. The smaller girl version of yourself ran through him as he perched himself on the arm of couch and cocked his head at the drawings scattered along the floor.

“You had talent, you know?” he mused.

A slam of the front door made you jump. Your father with a big welcoming grin came home shortly after. The little girl cheered excitedly, running off to show him the drawing she drew for him. He picked her up and threw her in the air before catching her again despite the disapproving look your mother gave him.

“Daddy! Daddy! Look!” the little girl said giving him the picture, “Merry Christmas!”

He laughed with pure mirth and delight, his eyes squinted at the image, and he nodded.

You smirked; he had no fucking clue what the kid version of you had drawn.

“It’s beautiful babygirl, it’s ah…ah…”

He glanced over at your mother who mouthed the word back, “Reindeer.”

His eyes widened and his voice lilted, “A reindeer! Just for me!? Thankyou sweetheart,” he kissed her cheek, “I can’t wait to show all my friends this at work.”

He placed her safely down on the floor and walked over to your mother before sitting on the couch beside her. He put the picture on the coffee table and leant in to kiss his wife. Child you turned away and stuck out her tongue, in total disgust because ‘boys kissing girls was gross!’

“And how’s mommy been?” your father purred, laying a hand on her belly, his thumb lazily rubbed back and forth.

“Tired,” she groaned, “Little peanut is coming any day now. I can feel her kicking my rib cage, I think she’s planning her escape and wants to rocket out,” she breathed hard, her hand softly laced into her, holding it over the spot where your baby sister was kicking her feet.

You chewed your bottom lip and glanced at the Christmas Spirit who was grinning at the little girl in her pig tails and plaid.

You felt strange. And the strangeness was uncomfortable. Nausea filled your tummy.

“If this is a memory of just the past, “ you started wobbly, “Does that mean...everything is the same as it once was?”

“Yes, that’s right,” acknowledged the Spirit.

You smirked, “Good.” You twisted around on your heel and marched down the hallway that connected to your tiny bedroom.

A small surprised noise escaped you at seeing how pink and purple everything was coloured. On the walls was a my little pony poster. On your floral bed covers was your favourite Bratz doll. You sat down on the tiny bed and sighed before burying your face into your hands.

You tried sneezing. You tried slapping your face. You even got up and started doing jumping jacks. You would do anything to try and wake yourself up! A tiny knock broke your concentration, and you gasped coming face to face with the Spirit of Christmas. He was leaning against the doorway, holding back his laughter.

You sneered at him and sat back on the bed, panting softly. You tried remembering his name; calling him Spirit felt tedious.

“Chris was it?” you spat mockingly, “Is that because your name's Christmas?”

He dug his hands into his pockets, his smile unfaltered, “Nah, I just liked the name, it fits. My real name you wouldn’t be able to say because it hasn’t been said by the tongue of man.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Yea okay whatever,” you dismissed sourly, “So, what the fuck is this? Huh? Is this some kind of sick game, are you trying to hurt me?”

Your throat grew tight. You couldn’t believe what was happening and why of all people this was happening to you. What did he even want? Was this just some insane plot to blackmail you?

“Well, guess what,” your chin jerked out at him, “I’m not scared, I’m not hurt. In fact I’m thrilled!” you showed off your laughter, forced from your lungs.

His smile softened, “Ah, but why is your lips trembling? And...what’s that I see?”

He took a large step forward and stood above you. You laid back, flinching at his hand reaching down to you face. Your heart thudded loudly.

His finger was hot on your cheek, it rolled up and brushed your skin. He pulled back the finger, rolling it into his knuckle and moved it between your eyes to show you something

On his finger was a drop of moisture.

“A tear?” he whispered, “What ever for?”

Your face felt hot and you blinked away the others that escaped your lashes, you sucked in a deep breath and rubbed your nose.

You let out a fake nervous laugh, “Please, you think I’m crying? Have you not seen how dusty this house his? I’m just having allergies.”

Little did you know, the Spirit could see beyond your lies.

He sat down beside you on your bed and placed his large hand on your knees.

You felt vulnerable. You didn’t want him here, you didn’t want to be here. And what was worse was his silence. He did not speak for a long while. The only noises were the sounds of the little girl and her parents in the living room.

You sighed and looked at the floor. You missed this point in your life. Things were simpler. You were so oblivious to the world and it’s harms.

“Your father sounds incredibly proud,” The Spirit said, his thumb ran over your skin.

Your eyes fluttered and you nodded.

“Did you know he told you the truth? About your picture?”

You eyed him cautiously.

He snapped his fingers and your bedroom faded into an office space. You were sitting on a dark oak desk. Seeing the boxy computer with twistable speakers struck you with nostalgia.

11:00am 26th December, 1999, Texas, Austin.

Your dad came through the office door, holding a piece of paper. Your picture.

He pinned it to a cork board and one of his colleagues that followed him in jokingly asked, “What’s with the Picasso cow?”

Your dad huffed back, “Hey man, it’s a reindeer and for your information, my daughter made it for me. And I’m lucky to have it. What did your kids get you?”

The coworker snorted and muttered under his breath, “A phone call asking about Child support, always check if the condom is ripped my friend.”

The two men left, bantering between each other.

You looked at the photo of your dad, your mom, seven year old you and a baby Caroline. It was a Polaroid taken in the hospital. Your mom had little Caroline just before the new year. You all looked so happy. You loved being a big sister, you couldn’t stop leaving baby Caroline alone, eager for her to grow up and become your best friend. Were there times she annoyed you? Yes, she was your sister after all. But Caroline had a heart of gold.

The Spirit touched the photo and asked with mirth, “Such a beautiful family...whatever happened?”

You didn’t answer. You slid off the desk and marched out of the office door only to somehow walk right back inside...you gasped and turned back around but when you opened the door to leave it was like staring into a mirroring space.

You poked your head out of the office only for it to be poking back inside through the same door.

It was the strangest paradox that you had come to find.

The Spirit sucked his teeth and shook his head, “Yea, funny that...so here’s the deal...you are going to follow my rules.”

‘Asshole doesn’t know what a deal is.’

He stood away from the cork board and sat down in your father’s rolling desk chair, stacking his feet up onto the wood loudly.

Your hands protectively wrapped around yourself. His pupils seemed to expand and shrink quickly like a cat. Your skin crawled.

“What rules?” You scoffed, “Are these a part of your test?”

He nodded once, “Yes. See for this whole thing to work, you have to comply and participate...meaning,” he shoved away from the desk and launched from the chair to walk fast towards you, causing you to walk backwards and hit the wall behind you, his hand grabbed and squeezed your jaw, from his teeth he seethed, “When I ask a question.. you answer it. Or I could just leave you here...forever.”

Your eyes watered, your chest heaved sporadically, “L-leave me here?”

His eyes fluttered, “Oh I’m sorry, you didn’t think this would have consequences?” His nose pressed to yours as he remarked, “Your little friend Marlene is stuck haunting your apartment for that reason. She’s stuck in a loop in which she can never escape. She gets to watch you everyday moving into her apartment and moving all her possessions around. I could leave you here and do the same. I could let you re-watch your father hang up your picture for eternity.”

His bright blue eyes darkened almost totally black. At that point you couldn’t tell if he was a good spirit or an unholy one.

You swallowed hard with a whimper and squeezed shut your eyes. His hot breath tickled your ear.

“I can be merciful...so...” his thumb rubbed over your bottom lip, peeking out from your eyes you thought he might kiss you, “Let’s try again...”

When he released you and turned back to the cork board he clicked his fingers. You collapsed from the wall to your knees, too weak and shaky to hold you up after his dominant spell. Piles of work paper flew around the room, around his head, his eyes raced over the pages, the words turned glowing gold as he read over them with his supernatural powers.

“Your family looked stable enough for their poor income. You lived a decent childhood...” He looked over his shoulder, his eyes hard and demanding, “What happened that changed it all?”

You bowed your head cowering as you whispered, “You already know.”

The papers that swirled in a storm around him floated softly down to the floor in front of you. The ink of the printed words began morphing into swirling shapes and colours.

The Spirit said, “I’d like it if you told me. That’s how this works. We analyse what really happened compared to what you think happened.”

Your eyes stared at the colours in the ink rise, painting the image of a snow covered alley way from nightmares years ago. You gasped. Your mother, you and your sister were all walking down from the entrance. You clenched the front of your nightgown and desperately blabbered into begging. Tears ran down your face. It didn’t take much effort knowing what was to come.

“Please don’t make me watch it.”

You tried to move the papers away but the pages fought back in nasty stinging paper cuts.

Your covered your face and eyes before hearing the mystic being bellow, “Put your hands down!”

Half screaming you sobbed, “No, please! I can’t do it! Please!”

You stood up on your feet and threw yourself into him. He did not hold you and let you fall at his feet. He did crouch down and rub both his thumbs over your snot covered lip.

“Please,” you choked, his finger pressed to you mouth. He shook his head and softly hushed you. He cupped the back of your neck and moved his mouth to ghost along your lips.

You hiccuped and opened your mouth, waiting for him to just conquer a kiss. He almost did with how his tongue tickled your lips and teeth when he icily repeated, “Dont forget I can leave your here. And you can watch it over and over and over. Be a good girl. Tell me what happened.”

He sat on the floor and tugged you into his arms and lap. You buried your face into his neck and hiccupped again.

“C-caroline was nine and I was sev-seventeen...Mom took us Christmas shopping. We were gonna buy something for Dad. A watch. A really fucking nice watch because dad had a big promotion in New York coming up...on our way back home, a drunken asshole with a broken bottle threatened to kill us if we didn’t give him our bags. We complied and mom made sure to step in front of us. He got angry because it wasn’t a Rolex...he then...”

You broke down again and clenched Chris’ white sweater tightly. His fingers raced up and down your spine slowly and tempered, hushing you until you managed to start talking again.

“What did this man do?”

The pages turned dark burgundy red.

Your but your bottom lip and sniffled, “He punched the broken bottle into Moms’ belly. It was so sharp it cut through her jacket, her skin and fat all the way into her liver. There was nothing Caroline and I could do. We tried to stop the bleeding with our coats. But When paramedics arrived ....she had bled to death. I watched her choke on it.”

You wiped your tears and snot across his shoulder, the soft wool soaked it up. His strong hands pulled you closer into him. You straddled his hips, curling your legs around his back. Your night gown hem rose up around your nude hips. His body was so warm. He was like a blanket around you.

“She died, protecting us,” you gulped, “She died over a fucking watch because some greedy homeless drunk wanted money for some booze.”

The Spirit clucked his tongue, “Your mother passed and your father?”

Your tears had calmed down significantly, you covered yourself to sit on his thigh instead of balancing on just his lap. You twisted your body and stared at the moving pictures on the papers.

Your dad came to image. The black beneath his eyes and the sunken cheeks were not the man you wished to remember. He lit a cigarette and pressed a bottle to his lips.

“Dad got his promotion and we moved to Manhattan but...Mom’s death really took a toll on him.”

You were making paper angels on the floor with your sister. You hung them up together in her room. There was no Christmas tree. It was the Christmas after your mom’s death and before you left for college. It was the last Christmas you shared with Caroline.

The sweet ten year old was wise and emotionally matured than others her age. It was how she processed your moms death. Caroline at only ten was able to keep you and your father from experiencing more heart ache and grief.

You watched the two girls climbed under a blanket and play with a flashlight. You pushed over her wrist a rubber band loomed bracelet with her favourite colours. She gave you three fruity scented rubbers and a pencil she had been rewarded by her teacher at school.

“I used that pencil until the tip was impossible to hold,” you whispered and felt Chris’ warm wet lips press against your temple, he rocked you like you were the most fragile thing in the room. Maybe you were.

“She still keeps your rubber band bracelet in her bedside table...she wore it to the birth of your nephew,” The spirit stated.

You choked and cupped your hand over your mouth. You hadn’t cried so hard and so much in years not since-

“And then you left for College.”

You sucked in a deep and painful breath. You nodded and clenched your hand into a fist.

“College wasn’t so bad. I had my fun like everyone else,” you lied.

“Did you?” Chris smirked, “Let’s have a look at that then? Shall we?”

8:00pm 23rd December, 2012, New York University.

Your father’s desk morphed into a pool table.

It was the party of the season. Sororities and fraternities came together. You weren’t a member of a sorority. You chose to believe stand offishly that sororities were of a hive cult mind. It wasn’t worth networking in such a unnecessary club and housing.

You didn’t have friends in college either. You didn’t make yourself approachable. Always sitting at the front of the class room and never smiling. You were the dedicated pupil and that made you into the coldest fish of the school.

Your professors approval and marks is all you cared about. The more successful, the more opportunities and the more chances of gaining success enough to maybe look after your little sister. That originally was the goal.

You watched with Chris as a gaggle of Kappa delta girls giggled passed by a young girl no older than nineteen holding a red cup close to her chest. She looked disdainful and tired. She was wearing a basic white thankyou with a cotton scarf and jeggings. Thick black glasses at on the edge of your nose. You laughed awkwardly looking at the past youth. Your recalled your hipster phase in college but didn’t remember you looking this horrendous and mismatched. Your hair...you shuddered. You never did that style again.

“Fun party!” Chris called over your shoulder. He wore a red Christmas hat and in the crook of his lip was a party blower. The lights and music were obnoxiously jolly and hip hop rap remixes found on YouTube. You know YouTube? When it’s common the iPhone one was still a little television and not the red play button we know today. So many people were growing nuts over these two Neanderthals on a channel called “Smosh” at the time, maybe they were trying to mimic that movie of dipshits called Jack Ass.

Yes...party...you had been invited and you almost said no...but your mother’s death anniversary was coming up and you felt it appropriate to seek the comfort of other people and illicit items to take the pain away for a night. The young woman continued to help herself to the eggnog, standing right beside the table, spooning the goop into her red cup

You tried forgetting about the drunk monster that stabbed your mother all those years ago.

“A naughty freshman?” Chris chuckled, breaking you away from your thoughts.

He floated to the eggnog bowl and grinned,.“Barely a woman and breaking the rules, I wouldn’t have pegged you as a rebel.”

You rolled your eyes, “Hardly,” before walking over to sit on the edge of the pool table. Some guys were playing with their cues and balls. They walked through you as they passed by. One of them you remembered very well and tried your best to not acknowledge.

“It’s how you met him though...isn’t it?” said Chris, looking between the young woman and a young man playing at the table.

The man was handsome. Tall and dark. His eyes a burnt burgundy that sent the younger you thrills down your spine.

The young woman leaning in her corner and sipping her sorrows away was eyeing the game keenly. It looked...fun.

The very ass she looked upon was found and shaped with strong thighs and calf’s under those denim jeans. The ass belonged to a man. And that man turned around once he caught her staring in the corner of his eye.

He smirked and finished the game before swaggering over your way. Even now you still admired how good looking he was.

Chris was looking him up and down, smiling and cockily mimicking the walk but this time back to you so you could both watch the events of your forlorn past.

“Hey, aren’t you in my maths class?” The man asked leaning over her with just his right arm.

She ignored him initially, shrugging as a reply.

He chuckled, “You’re that weird chick that sits at the front right?”

Her eyes flickered back and her lip curdled, “And you’re that obtuse moron that doesn’t know the difference between algebra and calculus equations?”

Chris chuckled, “There you are. I was wondering when you’d come out to play.”

You felt a twinge ashamed. Is that how others saw you all the time? An uptight, haughty bitch? You remained quiet.

“Well...I find I act my dumbest when I’m around beautiful ladies,” said the confident man, “I get all nervous and stuff.”

“Nervous and stuff?” She repeated slowly, flicking her tongue deliberately against her teeth to sound out each precious syllable.

God, it made you cringe to watch yourself.

He leant in closer and pressed his nose to hers, his eyes glanced up and he said heatedly, “You’re standing beneath a mistletoe.”

Before he could officially kiss her, Chris clapped his hands and world the room around. He grabbed your wrist and made sure to stand you on his shoes as the people and party disappeared into books on shelves.

4:00pm 23rd December, 2013, New York University.

The pool table melted down into the shape of a smaller desk and chair. That same girl was sitting at it with her head in a book and her pen against the page. The sky outside was dark. It was snowing lightly beyond the windows.

That man from the party now wore a dark blue jumper and sweatpants, he wandered up beside her, sipping a starbucks milkshake.

She moved the thick black rim glasses from her face. Her fingertips rubbed circles into her eyes before returning back to the important reading material. Dark shadows bagged beneath her eyes.

“You were a dedicated student,” said Chris, his hands lingered up your spine and wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You nodded. You were.

The loud sucking of the man’s Starbucks cup made her slap the book close.

With her tight voice she snootily scolded him, “You know you’re not allowed food and drink in the library.”

He smirked, “Whatcha gonna do miss goodie goodie? Gonna tell on me? Gonna take my drink away?” he shook it, the ice cubes rattled I side.

He chuckled and chewed the straw. His eyes glanced at you up and down.

“Youre kinda hot...in a weird nerdy way you know?” he chuckled.

Both younger you and the you if now rolled your eyes and scoffed. But you knew the younger version was naive and how so many of those one liner comments got you into the most destructive relationship of your life.

The young man stole her book from the desk and ran off with it. Her shriek became laughter as she quickly collected her bag and pencils to chase after him.

The Spirit held you when he stood behind you His hands cradled your arms and hip, rocking you slowly, side to side. He watched the interaction of two young people deep into their puppy love with a great fascination over his face.

“Who was the handsome beau?”

“Anthony Mackie...the schools best hockey player and class clown idiot,” you muttered.

Chris hummed with pleased curiosity, “Is that all?”

You grabbed at his wrists and squeezed them tightly. You pressed your head back into his chest and sighed.

“He was my boyfriend,” you said quietly to Chris.

The library seemed to fast forward. Outside the seasons changed from winter, spring, summer fall and back to winter again. She was sitting back in the same desk again. Her eyes were still tired and now she wore a little more makeup to conceal it. Her eyes were glued to the pages, racing to read and write notes. Her ipod shuffle earphones were half broken, crackling each time unless you held the cord in a specific way.

And a soft humming slipped from her lips, totally immersed in her study.

“Oh, oh, where do we begin? The rubble or our sins?”

Chris side glanced you and you side glanced him. Without the music, her crackly voice just sounded like a dying bird.

“And the walls kept tumbling down in the city that we love. Grey clouds roll over the hills bringing darkness from above.”

“An awful drawer and a terrible deaf tone singer,” he laughed, “I didn’t think I would learn so much about the things you’re bad at.”

You had to admit, he was right. You stomped hard onto his foot. His lips puckered and his eyes squeezed in his silent pain.

“Oops,” you feigned ignorance, “Guess I’m bad at watching my step too.”

“But if you close your eyes,” she sang a little louder and you felt that second hand humiliation wave through you hard, “Does it almost feel like nothing changed at all? And if you close your eyes..Does it almost feel like you’ve been here befor-”

Behind her, Anthony came whistling around a corner and stuck his head into the study nook, stealing her head phone from her ear and kissed her cheek hard.

She smiled and just as quickly frowned.

“C’mon babe,” said Anthony, “Sebastian’s throwing a killer basement bash for the holidays. Let’s go to the party.”

The college girl laughed mockingly at her boyfriend, “I’m sorry, did you forget that we have a test tomorrow? I don’t have time to go out wasting it away with your degenerate friends.”

Chris hands sneakily ran down over your thighs and slipped beneath the night gown to cup your belly. Your breath hitched. You couldn’t tell if you were aroused or disgusted anymore. Why of all times and places was he groping you now?!

“Baby,” the hockey player sighed, “You’re the smartest chick I know. I’m sure you’ll pass tomorrow. A little bit of dancing and drinking won’t change that.”

“No,” she firmly hissed and turned her head back to your book. Anthony’s chest deflated.

“Anthony just wanted to party all the time,” you scoffed to Chris, “He was so horny and stupid I can’t believe I actually dated him.”

He gave you a side ways glance, his thumb rubbed tiny circles into your skin.

“So you dumped him?” he asked looking between you and your younger studying self.

Sheepishly you looked away and shrugged, “...not exactly...it’s complicated.”

“Enlighten me,” he whispered into your ear, kissing your cheek after.

Your body grew warmer by the second especially in places you wouldn’t have guessed. Your insides felt alive and buzzing. It was so wrong.

“...I...” Anthony paused and took a few moments to break out his voice, “I can see your studies are more important than me, huh? We haven’t hung out in ages and...you’re never taking a break from study to enjoy life with me... Is this really more important? I mean, c’mon...” his eyes softened, “It’s almost Christmas break.”

And it was violent. You jumped watching her turn and announce cold cuttingly, “As a matter of fact, this is. I don’t have time to waste on dumb doornail guys when I need to succeed. I guess I can’t expect a hopeless hockey player to understand. Go skate on some ice and hit a put, it’s not like you’ll be able to feed your future family.”

His eyes widened.

Your eyes widened.

Her eyes darkened with scornful hate.

He kissed her head and shook his head, he whispered, “Merry Christmas Y/N. I wish you nothing but the world in your palm, I just won’t be in it.” He stood away shakily. Tears were pearled in his eyes as he walked away leaving her to her own devices. She grunted and went back to her studies... The next morning you had earned the top score of the class.

You knew the break up was quick, you didn’t remember saying such a mean thing to the guy you had fallen mad head over hill in love with.

You couldn’t believe you had been so cruel.

But you had. And there was nothing you could do to take it back. It happened. It was done. Finished.

And Anthony did nothing wrong except invite you to a party, a party you never went to, a party where he met his future wife.

“Spirit remove me from this place,” you choked as your chest began trembling.

Chris hushed you and kissed the side of your head, “It’s alright, I told you before, these are merely shadows of the past, things that have been.”

He wiped the unwilling tears coursing down your cheek.

You shook your head and wailed, “I don’t fucking care! Remove me! Take me somewhere else!”

A vile sobbing wail screamed from your lips. You didn’t know where it had come from. Your knees gave way and you fell, Chris’ arm caught your waist in time and laid you down across the carpet.

The vision of time phased away to the darkness. You felt your heart get louder, fearing the unknown pitch black. His hot hand cupped your cheek and you found yourself cowering into his chest.

1:40am 25th December, 2023, New York City.

There was a faint light in the area around you. Dim and blue. Your eyes struggled to open...you lifted your head from what you originally believed was Chris’ chest. Yet it revealed to you quickly that the warmth was only your soft pillows. You were back in your own bedroom again. The sheets has been wrapped around your waist and legs.

You didn’t know how to feel. You just cried. You buried your head and sobbed. You missed your mother and the father you once had. You missed Anthony and regretted how much you might’ve hurt him. And you missed being touched...you missed Chris’ warm hands holding you and the foolish grin he wore. You barely knew up but you mourned his existence that might’ve not been real at all.

Sitting up sniffling and sighing hard, you got out of your bed and walked to your kitchen. You reached for your coffee machine and paused. No, you need something stronger. You went to the fridge and grabbed the bottle of wine from earlier. You intended to finish the damn thing and forget everything for a while.

Turn back around you returned to your room to lay back in your three thousand dollars bedsheets...

Except you didn’t recall buying him too.

Chris, still here. Now laying across your very luxuriously soft duvet. He made it dramatically obvious, running his cheek into your pillow smelling the essence of your tears.

Your spine shot up and down hot. You tried not to smile. You were pleased he was here. You didn’t know where he came from or where he was hiding before but seeing him again welcomed something into your cold heart.

His eyebrows wiggled, “Oh, Merlot? For me? You shouldn’t have.”

You hummed feigning your displeasure, “Its Pinot Noir... I didn’t think you’d be so uncultured.”

He chuckled, looking down at the soft fabrics he was pinching, “Yea, well I’m probably more knowledgeable on hot chocolate and eggnog more than anything.”

He pat the spot beside him, inviting you to sit on your own bed. You felt it was ironic and ludicrous.

“Maybe...anyway...don’t you have somewhere else to be? Someone else to bother?” You snipped and cocked your hip.

“As a matter of fact...” he rolled onto his back and placed his hands behind his head, “I don’t, so be a good snowflake and join me, the covers are incredible!”

You snorted softly rolling your eyes, “I know,” you sat on the bed and unscrewed the bottle, you took a deep sip and cringed a croak, “I bought them.”

He took the bottle from his hands, not asking if he could. But really what was the point in fighting him. He stole your wine and took his own sip. You couldn’t help stare at his bobbing Adams apple.

He passed the bottle back. You were going to take another drink before Chris said, “It all makes sense now.”

You eyes him putting the bottle down....he was daring you to ask it, you knew it...and you complied.

“What?”

You crawled onto your knees on the mattress and waited with your curious eyes. The wine warmed your belly. You tossed your head to one side, staring up and down the Spirit. He had such an appealing form for something so inhuman and supposedly holy.

He smiled.

“What!?” you repeated needfully.

He sighed, “This,” he waved his hand towards you.

“You just gestured to all of me.”

“Exactly.”

Your eyes narrowed and a bold bolt drove through you, the twinge of annoyance mixed with frustrated anger, “If you’re going to talk in riddles, you can get the fuck off my bed and get the fuck out of my apartment. Merry fucking Christmas.”

His smile remained but his eyes sparkled with mischief. He lifted his chin.

“How you became a holiday hating, grievously malicious, uptight little cunt.”

Your eyes could have popped out from your head, “Excuse me?!” You gagged on nothingness. Your fists curled...‘What happens to people who punched Spirits in the nose?’

He shrugged and sighed, “You wanted to know. Don’t blame me for telling you the truth. I don’t do white lies, that’s not in my books.”

You grabbed the wine again and took a mean big gulp, glaring at him from the corner of your eye, “If that was the case,” your voice said with barbs, “Children wouldn’t believe in Santa and the north pole and his company of elves.”

He pursed his lips and nodded before he snatched the bottle from your hand and vanished it from existence.

“Hey!” you snapped, “I wasn’t finished with that! It cost me-”

“Nothing,” he interrupted and tapped his fingers on his chest, “It didn’t cost you a penny because you got a refund when you lied to the winery that it’s wax seal was broken upon delivery when it very well wasn’t...but upon tasting it you felt it wasn’t worth the price you paid therefore it shouldn’t cost you a dime...it didn’t cost you a damn thing.”

You sat back and gulped, ‘How the fuck-‘

“Christmas past remember? I see all...so don’t bother trying to convince me that you needed to finish that meaningless sip,” he curtly said, “You need to focus on bettering your mindset and yourself. It’s important.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and pouted down at the floor. You wanted to cry and scream with embarrassment, you wanted to kick or break something.

He smirked and picked up your chin with a long finger. You sniffled and jerked your head away. You crawled down to the very end of your bed. You pulled the covers back and kicked the sheets before sliding your feet under them and pulling them up to your chin.

You huffed softly, feeling the prickling heat of tears behind your eyes, why did he have to shame you so easily, “Or what, you gonna chain me up like Marlene? Go on then, call me a cunt again. Put me on your big ol’ scary naughty list.”

You shook your head and rolled your entire body away from him. A tear rolled from your eye and soaked down into your pillow, meeting the rest of its previous brethren tears.

Chris gazed down at you with sad hope. He really did want you to pass the test. He knew you had the potential, but did you have the drive? Maybe you just needed the push...

You were lonely in life more than ever before. You were miserable despite convincing yourself you were incredibly successful in all parts of life.

His arm circled forward and bodly rubbed down your middle and curled around your waist. You sniffled again, ignoring his touch all together.

He laid his cheek ontop of yours and whispered, “Do you want to know what happens to naughty girls like you? You want to really know what they get?”

You shut your eyes, you didn’t want to look at him. You were upset and too ashamed. You didn’t want to be teased again.

You mumbled grumpily, “Coal up their ass?”

“Oh it’s not coal that goes up there,” he hummed deeply

Your eyes fluttered awake.

His hand reached under the duvet and touched your bare thigh...his finger tips wriggled in between your thighs and attacked your clit...your breath hitched.

“I gather you need motivation if you are to improve your outlook on life,” he breathed huskily into your ear.

Your lips parted, your eyes squeezed tight. A gurgling moan crawled from your throat. You rocked your hips into his hand and savoured his controlling hand.

Tiny pants left your lips as he pushed two fingers inside of your salivating pussy. He twitched them back and forth at an average steady pace.

His hot wet tongue licked from your shoulder up to your ear. His loud sucking on your skin cause a small keen shudder to glide down your spine. He kissed your neck and sighed into your skin.

His knee curled up and pressed between your thighs, he fully intended to keep your entire pussy open and available to his instrumental fingers.

“Look at you,” he muttered, “So compliant when I have my fingers up this stubborn cunt. Are you going to promise you’ll behave and obey me from now on? Cease you insistent fight?”

“Pl-please Chris,” you gasped,

He smirked against you skin, “Please what?” he purred

“F-fuck!” you whined and pressed your ass back against him, trying to rub against his hidden cock.

He slapped your backside once making you jump. He chuckled wickedly, “I will if you promise to obey and listen.”

You panted and groaned, “Make- make me!” you wouldn’t submit so easily....not even for unworldly dick.

His noise was feral, rising from the back of his throat like a growl. He pressed his mouth to yours. You whined, his tongue choked you and pressed your tongue down, dominating you even in kiss.

He gasped pulling back, “Very well you stubborn slut.”

He snapped his fingers and poof- the blankets, your night gown and surprisingly all his clothing vanished from the bed all together.

You gasped at the feeling of his hot skin pressing up your back. Your hands clawed the pillows as he thrust his fingers fast and hard. Your eyes started to roll until the sensation was totally lost. He selfishly took his hand back, moments before you hit the high. You whimpered and trembled. You couldn’t breathed you were a mixture of frustration, anger and needy obsession. You would have done anything for him to finish.

He sat up and rolled you until your belly was laid over his legs. His cock you could not see but feel touching you made you excited and eager to know how it would feel to fuck you. His hands roughly kneaded your thighs and bottom.

‘No...he wouldn’t...’

His hand came flying down cracking across the skin of your ass. You squealed and felt your hips launch up in the air. The sting was like a cutting burn that lasted for around thirty seconds. He did it again and again. His flat palm struck you and would the pain absorb before rubbing the flesh. You didn’t fight him and that did not surprise him.

Your hips wriggled and twisted. His hand was harsh and fiery. You groaned and savoured it. And when it felt almost too much and you tried to wiggle free. He pinned you down hard by your neck and shoulders.

You bit your lips and cried, really cried. You grit your teeth and sobbed through each striking spank on your naked ass. Your hands clawed the bed and the skin of his thighs. He hailed into you harder. You screamed and choked on your sobs. It wasn’t fun anymore. It hurt and he wasn’t stopping even when you began squealing and kicking your legs on the bed trying to twist your hips away.

“Stop! Stop please! Please! It hurts! No more, no more.”

“If you didn’t want this, you’d behave.”

You swore he had to have been flaying your skin by his hand until you reached back and cupped or own hot cheeks, protecting yourself from his whiping palm.

You sobbed and trembled. You flinched and whimpered with shining tears when a surprisingly soft knuckle brushed your cheek and his husky voice hushed you softly.

He slowly turned you over off his lap and dragged you close to his chest.

He shoved his thumb into your mouth. You didn’t fight or pull back. You sucked on this digit, wrapping your lips around it. You felt his arm wrap around you and pull you closer. Your breasts pressed to his chest, he was warm

And his thumb gave you something to focus on instead of your burn sore bottom. You whined and laid your head back on the pillows. You rubbed to cheek on the warm skin of his shoulder while he soothed you from your tears using his soft cooing and thumb you greedily kept in your mouth. You moaned and mewled over it, licking the pad and scratching your tongue along his nail.

His fingers ran up and down your back. He pulled his thumb from your mouth with a gentle pop.

“Look at you,” he whispered, “Greedy, spoilt, but once you’re faced with real consequences you come to heel...”

You tried shaking your head, denying it. No. You were an independent woman with control.

A false mocking awe came from him as he said, “Oh yes, yes that’s exactly what you are. But you’re going to promise to be a good girl from now on or else you’ll never cum again.”

You were speechless...you wanted to be fresh with him and state that you still owned a vibrator...but what if he took it away like your wine.

He spread your thighs, he tugged your knees over his hip and rubbed your clit with his fingers until you were wet enough to his liking. He kissed you again, laughing as you pressed yourself up into him, stealing any physical touch you could possibly gain. He ran a soft hand across your cheek, tender and loving. His lips suckled their way down to your chest. Those red cherry lips plucked at your nipples and soft breasts.

Finally the tip of his pink cock touched your pussy. It was firm and from what you could see in the faint dark, it was lengthy. Your arms reached up and held onto his shoulders, you dug your nails sharply into his shoulders as he entered.

He grunted and sighed, struggling to stuff himself in and would pause when your noises were whines of pain. He made sure to avoid any tearing.

And when he managed to press himself taut into you, his balls touching your ass and thigh, you felt like you had been through a workout.

The walls of your cunt were filled to every crevice of his fat cock. You moaned when he moved tiny thrusts into you instead of brutally slamming.

You pressed your mouth to him again, his eyes looking back at you with adoration. He jerked his hips back a little meaner watching you gasp. He mocked your gasp before kissing your nose and then your mouth. He did it again to taste and feel your gasp.

He moved you back, dislodging quickly so that he could climb over you and enter swiftly inside. He picked your legs up with the backs of your knees and anchored himself down, harder and faster picking up the speed.

“You hear that?” he asked and moved himself in smaller jerks, “Dirty little slut, you’re drooling syrup all over my pole.”

And if you weren’t so close to cumming you would’ve laughed. His hand pressed down on your throat. He barrelled into you and slapped a breast.

The sensations of being prevented to breathe as straight and the slap intensifies all your senses. You groaned and choked.

He hissed, bending down to press his nose into yours.

Your legs wrapped tight around his waist trying to lift your hips up to meet him.

“You want to cum?” he snarled? You nodded trying to not cry again. God you needed it.

“Pl-pl-please,” you gasped through the violent thrusts.

He licked your cheek and growled, “You promise to be on your best behaviour from now on?”

You whimpered and nodded.

His thumb attacked your clit as he fucked you.

“Cum,” he whispered, “Cum for me on my cock little slut.”

Your body contorted, muscles strained as you released a soundless scream. You threw your head back let you body be consumed by the orgasm you let tear through your entire body. Your bones and chest rattled. When air finally came to your lungs you let out a powerful sob. But Chris gazing down at you bore joyful vision at your smile as you cried.

You felt incredible, hit by a bus made of all things delightful.

His cock was still inside you. You didn’t take a moment to think about him or whether he cummed. You selfishly enjoyed the gift he gave you and forgot about the promise you had vowed.

He pulled away slowly. You hissed at the departure. So sensitive.

You curled lazily up into a ball and fluttered your eyes shut.

You only recalled feeling his hot lips against your ear, “I will return to you when the bell chimes once more...” his pecked your cheek and left you to lay in your mess, exhausted and falling into your own sleep again.

#tsoc #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans x ofc #christmas smut #Christmas evans x black!reader #dubious consent #dark!chris evans

83 notes · View notes

rpclefairy · 6 months ago

Note

hello! i've been itching to get into roleplaying on tumblr, but as someone who prefers writing on mobile, there are a few minor roadblocks that i'm wondering if you know any workarounds for!

firstly, do you know of any easy way to manage multiple logins while on mobile? sideblogs seem to be rather frowned upon in the roleplay community because of how they can limit interaction, but swapping between different accounts while on mobile seems... very tedious.

secondly, is there any way to access html formatting on mobile? if not through the app, maybe a mobile browser that doesn't just force you back into the app when you access the site through it?

thank you so much for all you do! 💖

hi there!

i used to write and heavy format my replies a lot from my phone so i got you covered!

this will be increasingly harder the more accounts you're handling, but in general all you need is firefox!

this guide still works but it's worth pointing out is that the regular firefox browser now supports extensions as well so you don't need to install the beta or nightly versions and installing xkit is easier as you can just click on the extension settings and look up + install xkit rewritten from there:

having regular firefox + beta + nightly installed at once = 3 accounts logged in.

you can use private/incognito mode to login to more (but as i said, the more accounts you have, the harder it is to handle)

other than that, i still recommend using my rp formatter (or other wysiwyg editor) to format things and just copy-paste the code into the post you're editing on tumblr.

#inbox #rp help #rp resources

23 notes · View notes

physalian · 5 months ago

Text

On self-publishing, and why I did it

Based on the research that I have done, following other indie authors across multiple platforms, I think I've made an approach to this that is a lot less... shall we say, *intense* than people make it out to be? I've seen some YouTube videos acting like picking one route or the other might be the worst mistake of your author career.

I mean, I guess?

Back a few years ago I had a manuscript I was querying around and couldn't find any takers. Couldn't find any publishing houses that were accepting open submissions to pick up my manuscript either. So many of them had clauses in the application verifying that you were submitting to them and only to them and to expect a reply within 8-10 months. Coooool.

I did not have time for that.

—

The manuscript I had was 120k words. Baby’s first novel sitting at 120k words is not attractive to publishing houses. It’s a risk. I was younger and didn’t know much about finding an agent and all that jazz, so I had looked into self-publishing and was staring down an editor bill of about $3k minimum because of my word count. I did not have the money for that.

So that manuscript got shelved, meanwhile I wrote the sequel and got halfway through book 3 before writer’s block took hold.

Enter February 2024. I have an idea for a new book. 31 days later, I have that book’s first draft done—Eternal Night of the Northern Sky, on sale from draft to publication in seven months.

This time, I didn’t consider for one second trying the traditionally published route. ENNS is 111k words, it’s a doorstopper of a book, but the bulk wasn’t the only reason I decided to bootstrap myself to the finish line.

I wanted complete, absolute creative control every step of the way

If I have to market myself anyway, why am I splitting profit with a publishing house?

I *really* don’t have time to wait around hoping the right person sees my manuscript. I have a new job coming that’s going to eat up all my free time and could either delay ENNS a year or more, or get it out while I still had time to do so

I didn’t do this for money

I think that’s what makes so many of those rather intense arguments for one or the other so harrowing—the pressure is a lot higher if you invested all this time, money, and effort expecting returns to break even, if not actually turn a profit. Publishing with a publisher doesn’t guarantee people will buy your book, mind you, but it’s a helping hand nonetheless. If I even want to break even, let's say just on royalties from the ebook, I'd have to sell over a thousand copies.

Breaking down my above points:

I’m a firm believer in “if you want something done right, you do it yourself,” which does bite me in the ass from time to time, this I know. I didn’t want to get caught up in contracts or editors telling me what I could and couldn’t do or what I had to change. If ENNS fails, I will have no one to blame but myself, and I am at peace with this. If ENNS fails, and I’d gone through the trouble of signing my book’s soul away to a publisher, then I’d probably be a little resentful. 100% of ENNS is mine, even the cover. I had an image in my head of what I wanted the cover to look like, and I sat down and I drew it and it matches perfectly. Aside from the feedback implemented from betas and editors, my story is told the way I wanted to tell it. If it fails, I am at peace with this.

On marketing, I am not a person who does well with social media. Maybe it’s autism, idk, but trying to keep up with an Instagram is exhausting. I just don’t get anything from tiny text posts and blurbs and doomscrolling through influencers and advertisements. Social Media is, for me, exhausting. Tumblr is different, because writing is my strong point and this blog exists to share and curate something useful. But either way, I’d have to market this book alone, so why not do so with full creative control? If it fails, I am at peace with this.

I have a new job coming very quickly. My current job allows me about 5 hours of free time during my 8 hour shift on a good day not including the time outside work, and I work from home. ENNS was written in 31 days thanks to this job. The new one? Not so much. Seeing “please allow 8-10 months” and “please ensure this is an exclusive submission” on so many little publishing houses, and I did search far and wide, was incredibly disheartening. For me, personally, it wasn’t worth the gamble of waiting all that time, following the rules, and being told no or just being flat-out ghosted. Nor did I want to sit around querying agents into the void. This time, I didn’t have time to sift through agents. ENNS had to get out on the shelves as quickly as I could get it, and all that time (five goddamn months of editing, 500% of the time it took to write it) was spent perfecting the manuscript that it is, *not* waiting around trying to find an agent. If it fails, I am at peace with this.

And lastly, I don’t care if I make absolutely nothing from this book. I didn’t do it for the money, I did it to say I could. I have a day job, and I’m about to have a much higher paying day job. Maybe I’m lucky enough to have that, but I am under no illusions that putting in the hard work guarantees success. Success as an author is a crapshoot and being an amazing book is not the metric sales are measured in, if no one wants to read it. I’d like to make money, I didn’t do it for charity. It’s going to be priced exactly the same as another fantasy book of its caliber. But if only one person buys it, and finds something good from it, something in it that changes their life, then I will have succeeded, profit be damned. If all else fails, I am at peace with this.

—

This is not a post meant to sway people one way or the other. I know I didn’t do enough research or scour the internet hard enough to find a good agent. All of this is irrelevant when time was the most important factor in my debut novel. I was in a position where I could drop that $3k on an editor, so I did. I’m a capable enough artist to draw my own cover, so I did. I might be abysmal at managing social accounts, but less than a year ago this blog didn’t exist and it has over 5k reblogs and 950 followers and I think that’s pretty swell.

I’m 25 years old. I was not about to let it keep sitting around waiting for the golden opportunity with the perfect publishing house that might not have been coming. I had the means and motive to get it done, and by god, I did it.

If it fails, at least I can say that I failed trying. I am at peace with this.

—

Eternal Night of the Northern Sky is available now on Amazon in ebook and paperback! It is also available through your local bookstore.

Check it out on Goodreads!

#writing #writing a book #writeblr #writing advice #writing resources #writing tools #writing tips #self publishing #self publication #indie author #publishing #Eternal Night of the Northern Sky

22 notes · View notes

magic-is-something-we-create · 25 days ago

Text

- 2024 Writing Roundup -

I don't think I usually do this but I decided it would be a fun thing to do each year to remind myself of how much progress I've made when it comes to creations of all kinds, so...

- THINGS I DID THIS YEAR -

Scrapped the second attempt at Goddess-Touched... and after reconfiguring the end of Echoseers, completed a full first draft of the third attempt, from start to finish!

Began drafting book 4, which is tentatively named Fateweavers (though i am thinking about calling it Paragon(s) instead for Lore Reasons)!

Made another full editing pass of Echoseers, (potentially 2, i can't remember for sure) to the point where it'll be given to beta readers who finished Firebreathers to help me debug it some time next year.

This is also the year I gave Whispers to beta readers! And while that happened at a time where many of them couldn't finish, I did get lots of really valuable feedback on the book as a whole!

I launched a whole webcomic! And as you're reading this, Chapter Two is now out for the public! The Lost has been a particularly interesting thing to work on, because of the blend of visuals and writing, and I can't wait to do more and explore where the story is headed!

Also related to art: I took a bunch of commissions, one of which was a series of promotional bookmarks for A Sharper, More Lasting Pain by Alex Harvey-Rivas @authoralexharvey which was my absolute favorite to work on this year, and not just because that book absolutely obliterated me emotionally. The entire illustration process was the coolest thing ever to do with Alex, and I'll forever be grateful to them for choosing me to do it <3

- MY NUMBERS THIS YEAR -

Because I myself sometimes get caught up in numbers in a Bad Way, this section's going to be behind the read more - I'm really proud of what I managed this year, though!

If you want to skip past the numbers, there will be another bolded section for my hopes/plans for next year, too!

So, for some context: Back in early September (I believe it was specifically on September 6th) I looked at my word count for the year on my habit tracker and realized I had written just under 80,000 words.

And then I did some math. And made the biggest commitment of consistency of my life.

Because I realized that if I consistently wrote just under 1k a day for the rest of the year, I would hit 200,000 words by new years eve.

I ended up hitting 200k on December 14th, and this year's total word count (as of the morning of December 30th, when I'm finishing up this post and filling in all the blanks), ended up being 213,000 words!

Some other fun numbers from this year:

I read a total of 16 books, and started 7 more (some of which are on pause due to not scratching my brain right)

I drew a total of 300 panels for The Lost (give or take about ten, depending on how you define panels), 186 of which were in chapter one, and 114 in chapter 2! In total, The Lost is now 40 pages long (25 and 15, respectively)!

The total word count for Goddess-Touched ended up being 126,000 words (or ~500 pages)

As of writing, Fateweavers is at just over 34,000 words so far

The rest of the remaining words were split between some personal projects, the script for The Lost, and some experimental things that ended up being cut from drafts as I went (but the words still got counted and still exist on my hard drive!)

I streamed for my Patrons 32 times this year, despite getting sick a few times and getting absolutely obliterated by the holiday season.

- MY HOPES/PLANS FOR 2025 -

I want to write the same amount I did in 2024 (which will be easier, knowing the goal from day one instead of day 249)

I also want to decide, once and for all, whether I want to go self pub, indie pub, or trad pub. If I go trad pub, I want to get at least one round of query letters out into the world by October, and if I go self pub, I want to have hired an editor by the end of the year to go through whichever book I decide to publish first.

I want to read at least the same amount of books, too! Ideally, I want to read 4 more, which is the goal I set for myself last year, but considering how tough it's been to consistently have time for reading my main goal is to just keep up the pace, because right now my TBR is actually shrinking a bit!

I also want to get to making youtube videos again! It's been a long time, and I doubt I'll have a consistent schedule, but I have a really cool idea for something I can do that might be fresh and fun for the niche I want to fill. I'll definitely keep everyone updated on that front as I get closer to making it a reality!

I want to make more time for personal art, because that fell by the wayside in favor of The Lost, this year. I can feel the art bug itching at me in a way that the comic isn't fulfilling, and I have to get it out somehow.

Overall, despite the State of the World being what it is, I'm hopeful and excited for my personal goals and life in the upcoming year!!

#aboutthewarlord #<- that feels appropriate <3 #also if you didnt know: that tag is that way because my main blog is alittlewarlord #writeblr #um. i dont know what else to tag this as. hm.#new years resolutions #?

7 notes · View notes

cdragons · 2 years ago

Text

Truce Part 1

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 Pairing(s): Ikaris x Persephone!Reader ft. Druig x Hecate!Reader Word Count: 2.7k Prompt/Summary: Ikaris and Druig have a discussion about the women in their lives (AKA: Ikaris is an idiot who thinks your best friend is a demon, and Druig is super in love with said demon). Warning: Slight mentions of death (no major characters tho), neurodivergent reader is neurodivergent, Hecate!Reader bestie is her own warning Note: Thank you to everyone who takes the times to read my writing even through it is likely way too self-indulgent to be considered in-character! Special thank you to the most amazing and incredible beta editor in the world, @valeskafics! If you have not, please go check her works! She mostly does HOTD, GOT, anything Ewan Mitchell, and literally EVERYTHING she writes is incredible!

It was safe to say that Ikaris was a confident individual.

This was a fact that applied to many aspects of his life.

He was confident in his abilities as an Eternal. He was confident in his faith in both his leader Ajak, and the Celestial that created him and his team members, Arishem. He was especially confident in his capability as a leader. This included carrying out missions, eliminating Deviants, and saving and “caring” about the fragile humans’ lives.

No matter what Druig implied.

But the one thing he could not say he was completely 100% confident about… was… understanding how he placed amongst the rest of the Eternals.

That wasn’t to say he wasn’t well-liked or even appreciated… but… he didn’t exactly know how some members “felt” about him.

He was more than well-received by certain members – Kingo and Sprite are the first Eternals that come to mind. He had earned the respect and trust of most of the group – as was shown by the trust Ajak put on him, along with the close bond he shared with Sersi. Thena and Gilgamesh certainly respected him as a fighter – but they never idolized him. In their eyes, he was more of a younger brother that they could share a drink and trade banter. He was on amicable terms with Makkari. Phastos and him never particularly bonded with each other, but the latter still trusted Ikaris’ judgement.

With Druig and Katelyn, both outright dismissing him most of the time –

No…that was putting it lightly…

Take the words “outright dismissed him,” and replaced them with “liked to act like bratty little shits and make him look like a fucking idiot;” along with the words “most of the time,” and replace them with “since they all left the goddamn Domo.”

…But he had no idea where he stood with you.

Sephia, the Eternal blessed by Arishem with the ability of absolute control of plants and the Earth. While Sersi made efforts to connect with the humans, you almost did everything in your power to avoid them. But no matter how you tried to avoid them, humans always adored you. They longed to catch a quick glimpse of the beautiful being that brought them aid whenever their crops were unable to bear fruit.

It was not only your powers that attracted them to you, but also the image you presented yourself to them. You were…heaven-sent – is how the humans saw you. Although fairly quiet, it was obvious to him that you were brilliant. Not only that, but you were fairly regimented in your diligence to your duties- something Ikaris greatly appreciated in a team member. You and Sersi worked together to only present them with their new crops, explain the various uses that would fit their lifestyle, show them how to properly harvest the crops and take a section of the seeds to replant, and then demonstrate how to properly plant them in a way that would yield the best results.

…It also helped how the sun would bring out that lovely flush to your skin in your demonstrations.

To them, your kindness and shy demeanor… along with your overwhelming beauty that was only further brought out from your flowing pink tunic with green twining and brass patterns… presented the very image of a Springtime Maiden.

You carried out your duties flawlessly, and always with so much efficiency that you always managed to have more than enough free time to go off on your little adventures to study the wildlife you had not created. You were curious as to how certain natural environments resulted in different lifestyle choices. You insisted that in studying the world around them, you would be able to better understand the humans’ lifestyle. A thought that was supported by Ajak whole-heartedly.

And it wasn’t only your duties to the humans that you carried out well – you even used your ability to control the plants that surrounded you to attack Deviants in desperate times. Sprite would spin tales of how the Sweet Spring Maiden Sephia could turn a little flower into a giant vine that could pierce through the skull of any deviant that came your way.

You were…different. That wasn’t to say you were strange…if anything…your differences made you…charming. Admittedly, he hadn’t paid much attention towards you at the beginning as he was initially attracted to Sersi’s kind demeanor. But he would always see you with her, and she would always insist on the two of you bonding. Your encounters with one another were awkward to say the least. But soon, he genuinely bonded with you…

Now, you were just the most fucking adorable being in the universe; which brought up the dire need to know where he stood in your life.

He just hoped that your “guardian angel” wasn’t with you at the moment.

“Well,” thought Ikaris, “demon would be a more accurate term in describing her.”

Kaetlyn was a different topic of conversation to say the least. Simply put, her abilities allow her to manipulate shadows and darkness. In battle, she would first scope out any areas that had Deviants to gain any information that would be an advantage. She would do this by either sending her shadows out, or just traveling through any shadows herself. Ikaris loathed to admit it, but her affinity for intelligence-gathering was far superior than the rest of them. Not only that, but she was a more than capable fighter. She would aim her dark arrows to the Deviant’s weakest point, and let the shadows embedded in it sink into their bodies to tear them from the inside out.

After its confirmed death, she would use her shadow portals to transport them to her personal laboratory at the Domo to “study” their anatomy and physiology. And if that wasn’t enough, Ajak just- just- ALLOWS IT! Even going so far as to ask for your assistance at certain times!

Ajak was one matter – after all, the Prime Eternal served as a maternal figure to everyone, including him – but he was more shocked at your eager involvement in the dark assassin’s hobbies. He could never forget how brightly you smiled when you ran towards him in excitement at your realization that encasing the decaying specimens in a mixture of various alcohol solutions and formaldehyde created a much more effective embalming methods than encasing it in an alcohol solution with herbs and spices.

You went on for hours about how you discovered the gas during one of the fires that nearly destroyed the village a few months back. Luckily very few of the villagers died, but you noticed how the victims who only died through exposure to the smoke decomposed much slower than normal. You then ended up trying to explain the process of precipitating the gas into a liquid solution, along with how to properly categorize it so that it wouldn’t be accidentally ingested. You and he ended up talking for so long that you ended up completely missing the feast held in celebration of the harvest that year. Ajak was quite cross with the both of you – Ikaris especially since he is usually so punctual with social engagements – but how could he be upset after having hours of your sole attention? You too were not put off by your leader’s slight scolding. On the contrary, you were more than relieved considering how much you hated these events.

You were kind and thoughtful; she was argumentative and crass. You were radiant brilliance; she was unhinged madness. You brought light and its hopeful beginnings; she oozed out darkness and all its mad chaos. You were life; she was death. So why did you latch onto her as if she was your only tether to the ground?

…You were being controlled by her- that had to have been it. Ikaris refused to believe that someone as wonderful and kind as yourself would willingly subject themselves to that-that-that- hell spawn!

“Y’know,” an annoyed voice broke his thoughts, “I’d really appreciate it if you’d didn’t call the love of my life a ‘hell spawn’.”

“For the love of Arishem,” thought Ikaris, “anyone but him.”

Taking a deep breath, he turned to find Druig.

“And I’m more than certain that our sweet Sephia wouldn’t exactly be ecstatic in knowing how you referred her very favorite person in the world that particular term either.” The mind controlling Eternal finished off with that damned trademark smirk of his.

Gods, Ikaris wanted nothing more than to shove that face a thousand feet in the ground right now. But he didn’t want to afford to lose his temper now. Not when he still hoped to find you.

“Pretty sure Ajak made it a rule for you not to use your powers on your fellow Eternals,” he snapped, “considering your habit of using it on the humans already.”

“Please,” he quipped back, “you’re the one pacing and muttering like a mad man in the middle of the courtyard.” He slightly cocked his head to the side in a facetious manner, “Anything I could help with?”

Ikaris didn’t want to tell Druig his plans…he wanted less for Druig to know about his plans with you. But Druig was close to you…even only through mutual association by Kaetlyn.

“Why are Sephia and Kaetlyn friends?” He blurted out.

“…Seriously?” Druig asked, “that’s what making act so crazy?”

“Just answer the damn question Druig.”

“…Why do you want to know?” The mind controller asked, very sure he wasn’t going to like Golden Boy’s response, but felt it necessary for his own peace of mind.

“…It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Excuse me?” His tone was growing colder with each passing second.

“Druig, I understand that you are incapable of being objective towards your… lover,” Ikaris started, “but even you have to admit you found their friendship to be unusual?”

“I can’t say that I have,” Druig answered, “I happen to think my angel as a lovely individual. A sentiment also agreed on by most members of the team- even your biggest fan Kingo adores her. Unconventional views? Maybe. Relentless tenacity? Absolutely. But that is exactly the foundation my beautiful Kaet’s adoration of Sephia, and vice versa.”

“I don’t- wait- I don’t understand?” Ikaris interrogated the besotted Eternal, “All she does is question Ajak’s authority, and commit senseless acts of childish rebellion! How does that lead to her being close with someone -”

Druig’s blank stare was almost terrifying.

“What Ikaris?” he asked, “Someone like Sephia? And how do you see our Sephia? Someone dutiful? Beautiful? Kind? Sweet? Perfect? How wretchedly mundane and so very one-dimensional- even for you.”

“That’s not it,” Ikaris was getting angry, “stop putting words in my mouth-”

“It’s not exactly a hard thing to do with you, my friend. But you and Sephia aren’t particularly close. She may be cordial with you, but she’s like that with everyone. So why the interest?”

“…I know that…Sephia is considered…different,” Ikaris began, “from a behavioral standpoint – but- tha- that’s not- I don’t think of her any less because of it.” This was much harder than he expected.

Druig lifted one of his eyebrows, signaling for the taller Eternal to continue.

“I like her ‘quirks’ – I can’t say I understand what they are, but – I know that-that they are a part of her, and not in a way that her powers are hers. But I also know that, that they don’t make up who she is as a whole.” Why was his throat closing up? “And…I like that she sees me.”

“…Yeah, no shit genius, it’s not like you can turn invisible. Believe me, not seeing your face would be a great improvement to my life.”

Ikaris scowled while turning so he could fly far from the black-clad armored telepath, “Forget it, I don’t know why I thought to share this with you of all people-”

“You don’t feel judged around her, is that it?”

Ikaris stopped, and once more faced Druig. The shock on his face was almost hilarious…if only Druig wasn’t about to completely expose himself at the moment, then he could at least properly enjoy the dumbfounded look on Ikaris’ face.

“Do you feel like you can talk to her about anything? That you could trust someone with something so humiliating? And then you’re angry because once you actually said those, you’ve realized that you’ve given someone full ammunition of yourself for them to use against you?”

The silence between the two powerful immortals was stifling.

“But then time passes,” Druig continues on, “and even after you pushed them away, they still accept you. Because they saw you, not an image other people projected on to you. And despite all reason, they decided to stand beside you.”

Ikaris’ eyes were bulging out of his head, “How- how did you know-?”

“I know, because I’ve been there,” Druig’s eyes softened just a tad, “with Kaety.”

…What?

“…Well, if you’re so curious about their companionship, I suppose the best way would be to ask directly from the source.” Druig reasoned as he pointed his head to two figures walking towards them.

You, in a soft white tunic with a long pink skirt with some brass jewelry. Today, you decided to let your hair loose with a few braids. Ikaris thought it was a bit curious on how you detested the humans’ worship of you, yet you still preferred their clothing options as opposed to your armor that showed your Olympian origins. However, armor or not, you still glowed a soft and heavenly aura unique only to you. You were in deep conversation with Kaetlyn, who wore a simple white linen dress with a patterned dark blue border skirt and a silver chained belt, and styled her hair in a loose braid.

Noticing the figures in front of them, Kaetlyn immediately pulled a look of just absolute disgust at the realization that Ikaris of all people was interrupting her peaceful day. Curious to your friend’s strange reaction, you turned your head and let out a warm smile and waved enthusiastically to the two men. You were well-aware of your friend’s distaste of the taller Eternal, but he was always kind with you. Besides, if you could occasionally put up with Kingo’s hubris, Kaety could certainly tolerate Ikaris’ company for a few moments.

Druig stepped in view, and Ikaris saw how quickly your feral companion’s expression changed at the sight of her lover. She lightly jogged to meet him in the middle as she threw her arms around his neck. Looking the strange sight, Ikaris noted that when she genuinely smiled, she looked almost…approachable? Druig took Kaetlyn in his arms, and the two pressed their lips together in a tender kiss. And just like that, the spell was broken and Ikaris was inwardly cringing from disgust as he turned his head away from the sight.

As a result, he was unable to see Druig lean forward and softly whisper to her ear of the plight that their mutual grey-streaked hair irritation was experiencing. Wanting to dismiss it immediately, Kaetlyn recalls all the times your cheeks lightly flushed in Ikaris’ company. And despite her obvious distaste for the man, she could tell that he at least wanted to genuinely understand her best friend. And she was more than positive that you were feeling “something” for him; however unaware you were of it yourself. Taking pity on the man, she walked over to you and explained how Druig wanted to explore the area for hidden caves. As a result, you and her would have to continue your discussions of how to properly develop the Punica granatum and its nutritional benefits for expectant mothers at another time. But luckily, Ikaris would be more than happy to escort you back to the Domo.

Before walking away, Ikaris felt a sharp pinch to his side, and looked down to find Kaetlyn’s shadow pinching his? Annoyed, he looked up to reprimand her, but his blood ran cold meeting the shadow Eternal’s gaze.

“Do anything that causes her discomfort,” her eyes seemed to shout, “and I will make your own shadow tear you apart bit by bit.” Quickly turning her head, the dark wisps quickly reattached themselves to their mistress. And the two Eternals were left alone with only themselves for company.

Looking back at you as you basked in the daylight, its golden light only enhancing the glow from your softness. Ikaris had only one thought in his head as he tries his damnedest to not reach out and press your suppleness against his hard frame.

“Fuck.”

Tagging: @its-actually-minicika, @spacetalbot, @siempre-bucky, @beananacake, @ethereal-athalia

#ikaris x reader #marvel eternals #marvel x reader #druig x reader #eternals x reader #ikaris imagine #druig imagine #marvel mcu #mcu x reader

102 notes · View notes