#having gotten me through a very rough patch of my life

[setaripendragon]

WIPS - I'm curious about the Cat SI. I mean, it's a reasonably self-explanatory title, but I'm interested to know what sort of direction you'd take.

Ahaha, hoooo, okay.

Buckle your seatbelt, cause this one turned into a monster on me (the thing titled 'CatSI' in my WIP folder isn't a file, it's its own folder with fifteen different files inside), and I will try to keep this short, but... ^^"

It started when I was watching some Order of the Green Hand theory videos on youtube, specifically the ones about the Ned+Ashara=Jon theory, which, while I don't think it's true in canon, I do still find it fascinating.

And then I wondered, okay, what if Catelyn didn't blame the bastard (since he's technically not one)? But since that is kind of entrenched in her whole... main motivation, and I genuinely cannot imagine a Catelyn that wouldn't (I don't... really like her. She's the main reason I stopped reading the books, tbh, so I may be being unfair to her ^^"), and the blame the bastard trope is one of my Big Nopes (hence why I don't like her, probably), and I really needed an escape from reality at that point in time...

So it originally started with a freshly transmigrated Cat having a bit of a meltdown on her wedding night (a sexist feudal hellscape wedding night as someone on the ace spectrum, to boot) all over a Ned who also very much wants to just have a meltdown, for obvious reasons. And Cat decides 'fuck it, the old gods don't look down on polygamy, I can at least make sure he gets to keep his lover and son' and tells him to damn Hoster Tully and keep them both.

It gets, you know, a lot more political than that, because everyone and their mother has an opinion about it, or wants to use it against them, etc, but that's the gist of it. Mostly it's an exercise in Make Things Better for Ned Stark with bonus OT3 as endgame.

But, well, I got a lot more invested in this AU as time went on. That need for escape during the pandemic meant I was thinking about this AU pretty much 24/7 and it grew out of control.

I eventually decided to have Cat transmigrate in at birth, and I've plotted out a Childhood Adventure for her that I've stuffed full of fun things for me to play with like a trans friend, issues with the Faith, internal Riverlands politics, her mother's death, etc etc etc, and is, you know, supposed to serve as a sort of set-up for her being properly integrated into the world by the time the Rebellion starts.

So, instead of starting at her wedding, the main story (or Book 2 of the trilogy ^^") starts at Harrenhal. The ten-day tourney in which, word of god says, so much stuff happens. The tourney is being held in honour of Cat's cousin, and the first part of the story focuses on all the ridiculous romantic nonsense that goes on there. There will, of course, be Cat pining over Ned who's pining over Ashara, as well as Lysa pining over Petyr who's pining over Cat and also Lyanna pining over Rhaegar who's ignoring his wife. Cat tries to keep Lysa and Petyr apart, and tries to get Lyanna's attention anywhere else, and actually thinks she's succeeding...

Right up until Lysa tells her she's pregnant. She talks her out of telling their father, but then her own wedding is looming, and the only way to get out of it is to let a good man get killed, and then Petyr challenges said man to a duel for her hand and Cat... says nothing. She doesn't ask Brandon to spare Petyr's life, and so he doesn't. Petyr dies, and Lysa is devastated, and Cat is guilty, and it only gets worse when Lyanna gets 'kidnapped', and Brandon goes off to King's Landing despite Cat's best efforts (were they, though?). Cat gets to stew in all this guilt for a while, and then...

Finally, the Wedding. Politics happen, Cat fights with her father about her betrothal to Ned along with Brynden 'Only Sane Tully' Blackfish, has a panic attack about her wedding night, cries all over her uncle, and asks him, in a fit of desperation to do at least One Thing Right, if, when he gets to King's Landing with the army, he'll try to save Princess Elia and the royal children. Then there's the wedding night, she introduces the idea of polygamy to Westeros (oops?), and ends up fucking pregnant because there isn't really a way to get out of it at this point.

She goes North to meet her new sister-wife Ashara, and then goes looking for Lyanna (honestly, I still haven't quite decided if I'm going with the standard Tower of Joy thing, or if I'm gonna go with the Green Hand's theory about Winterfell, but since it's another theory that I think is fun despite not thinking it's true, I'll probably go with Winterfell). Four pregnant women walk into a bar... Everyone has their babies with no one dying, because Cat actually brings a midwife or six with her, so this one almost counts as a success! Except little Targaryen-Stark baby (who we will henceforth call Geralt) has to go into hiding, and Lysa's bastard can't be known to be hers, and Cat had a girl instead of a boy! Oh, and then Princess Elia shows up with Rhaenys but not Aegon or Brynden. (Honestly, I am very seriously considering killing Brynden off here. Would make sense, him taking on the Mountain and all, but... I don't wanna...)

Baby Geralt goes with Elia north of the wall, and Arthur comes with his sister and the rest of them to King's Landing. Which is where the Politics start. Cat makes the mistake of getting involved by offering the King an excuse to kick Jaime out of the Kingsguard, and then she ends up defending Jaime's honour against Ned, which sticks an oar right in there just when the three of them were starting to build a relationship, and also attracts the attention of Tywin Lannister.

More stuff probably happens, but my notes for this part are a fucking mess, ngl -cries- Why do I like political intrigue so much? It's so hard to write! But, yeah, there needs to be some stuff with the Faith's reaction to the OT3 marriage, Oberyn finding out Elia's alive and the tangle of alliances and grudges that creates, possibly some stuff to do with the Tyrells and other loyalists, and also Cat probably getting too involved in helping Robert govern the Seven Kingdoms.

We end with a bunch of weddings; Tywin engages Jaime to Lysa as a way to drag Cat closer to their family, Robert of course marries Lyanna, which leaves Cersei with Stannis. (And Cat, of course, is still on the outs with Ned, and Ashara's caught in the middle.)

So literally no one except Robert goes home happy.

Then, I have another story planned that covers, primarily the Greyjoy Rebellion, but also the rest of the time before canon. Story starts with Cat, you know, doing everything in her power to prepare the North for the Long Night ('taters, precious), except then, whoops, she gets kidnapped by Iron Island pillagers, kills a man who's trying to rape her, commandeers a ship, survives the war by the skin of her teeth, goes to Pyke and convinces Robert to let the Iron Islands have a not-a-kingsmoot to decide the next Lord Paramount instead of leaving Greyjoy in charge.

Meanwhile, Ned thought she was dead and had a missed-opportunities style revelation that he wishes he hadn't left their relationship so strained after the whole Kingslayer thing, and they make up and talk things out, while Ashara just straight up kisses her as a welcome home. Cat detours to the Citadel on her way home to ask after that one Maester who knows magic stuff, because she's been in this racist sexist feudal hellscape for over a quarter of a century and she wants plumbing, damnit, and also gets the ball rolling on magical sunlamps (Generation-long night?! GRRM, there would be no survivors, wtf?!). Ned starts having wolf-dreams five or six years early, gets his own wolf companion, Cat maybe accidentally wakes up the Lion of Night, the Stark family ends up even bigger than in canon (nine kids instead of six, because I am a sucker for kidfic, okay), everything ends happily ever after.

Until the beginning of canon, anyway =D

(And then there's the AU where the extra Stark babies are all transmigrators as well; Obi-wan Kenobi, Tony Stark, and Frodo Baggins (or possibly Wei Wuxian, I haven't quite settled on that one 100% yes). But I don't have much more on this beyond a few funny snippets of the transmigrators recognising each other and doing a spider-man meme about it ^^")

Most of what I have written for this AU is actually a whole bunch of Canon Crossovers where, variously, Jaime Lannister, Tywin Lannister, the Six Canon Starks, Cat herself, or Ned Stark from the AU swap places with their canon counterpart and generally freak out a lot. (And the reverse, but that's less fun because Cat, of course, spots them at 200 paces and is there to explain shit.)

[ratatoastwrites]

Playing house

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

[this was specifically written with s2 bratty(suffering from withdrawal)!Spencer in mind 🧚‍♀️]

Synopsis: “has a PhD in engineering and thinks that Ikea manuals are for stupid people” boyfriend vs “isn’t really a good handyman but is determined to follow the rules” s/o get into a bit of an argument 🫢

a/n: it’s me woo! did y’all miss me? 🌝 ofc u did!! 🥰 jkjk but umm i was inspired to write this bcuz i actually got a new chair from ikea a few days ago and i almost ripped out all my hair by the time i managed to put it together ✨ i was listening to the Like a Prayer EP from deadpool & wolverine for the whole two (2) hours it took me to put it together as well lmao 🪑 also, the pic on the left of the moodboard is my own ikea manual on the exact page i messed up!! fun 🧚‍♀️ also, did u guys like that i included a synopsis this time? i hope u did ;)

cw: light angst, arguing about something that shouldn’t really be a cause of an argument, reader has one (1) violent thought but doesn’t actually mean it and also doesn’t act on it ofc, allusion to Spencer’s addiction/withdrawal, some kinda unhealthy thoughts, Spencer is a bit 🤏 of an asshole in the beginning, mostly fluffy ending, also kinda rushed ending which is my bad :( sorry

“This is stupid. And you’re doing it wrong.”

You scoffed in exasperation at your boyfriend’s complaints, but otherwise kept your focus on the task at hand.

You’ve been trying to assemble your new desk chair for the past half hour, while Spencer loomed over your hunched figure, like an unhelpful little devil on your shoulder.

“Well, why don’t you do it then?”

You mumbled under your breath, not necessarily wanting him to hear. He did anyway.

“Well, I would. If you weren’t so insistent on using the manual.”

You could quite literally hear the eye roll in his tone, and while you usually didn’t mind his bratty attitude, right now it wasn’t helping your already frustrated mood.

“Oh, right. Silly me, using the manual that tells me how to assemble this piece of- furniture.”

You had to try your hardest not to start cursing, not wanting to let this swedish nightmare of a chair get the better of you. Spencer sighed behind you, and you were secretly hoping that it was a sigh of resignation.

“I have a PhD in engineering, do you really think that I don’t know how to assemble a chair from Ikea?”

Your hopes were proven to be futile, just like every other time you found yourself not seeing eye to eye with your boyfriend. You took a deep breath, not wanting to turn this petty argument into an actual fight.

“I don’t know, Spencer. And I’m not interested in finding out. I just don’t understand what you’re trying to prove by refusing the very idea of using the manual.”

Your tone became a little sharper by the end, although it wasn’t actually aimed at him. As you read over the manual again, you realised that you messed up the last step, cursing quietly under your breath as you had to undo the last eight screws in the armrests.

“Good thing you were using the manual.”

You were seriously contemplating throwing the screwdriver at your boyfriend’s smartass head after his smug comment. However, you just slowly put it down instead, before standing up from your place on the carpet, ignoring the crackling in your knees as you turned around to face him.

“Spencer, I love you more than words could describe, but you’re seriously getting on my last nerve right now. I’m going to make myself a cup of tea, do not follow me please.”

You told him with eerie calmness, before walking out of the living room and towards the kitchen.

You tried to ignore the guilt gnawing at your stomach at how annoyed you’d gotten over something so trivial. You knew that he was going through a rough patch in his life, and you couldn’t blame him for being more annoying than usual. But you couldn’t always have the patience of a saint, and you were already quite worked up about that stupid chair.

‘I just need a few moments of peace. Then I’ll go back and pretend like everything is okay. As per usual.’

You tried telling yourself, blocking out the voices saying how unhealthy that sounded.

You went through the steps of making your tea, doing your best to silence the myriad of emotions swirling in your chest. By the time you finished your hot beverage and put your cup in the sink, all your previous frustrations were gone, replaced by only tiredness. The weight of the day weighed on your shoulders as you dragged yourself back to the living room, although the slight aching in your muscles quickly faded to the back of your mind when you took in the sight waiting for you in there.

“Wh- Spence?”

You were dumbfounded as you looked at your boyfriend, who was standing next to your -now assembled!- chair with a sheepish smile.

“I, uh, put it together for you. All according to the manual, of course.”

His tone was almost shy, and he gave you the sweetest puppy dog eyes imaginable, which never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

“But I thought the manual was stupid.”

You stepped closer to him, still feeling a little confused, but your gaze softened in fondness as you looked at him. He shuffled on his feet a little, glancing between you and the chair awkwardly.

“It is. But it doesn’t matter. According to the studies, most healthy relationships are based on compromises. I guess I just realised that I haven’t been the best boyfriend lately.”

You frowned at his words, stepping even closer to him, until you were almost toe to toe. You didn’t like it when he talked about himself like that, and he quickly understood your expression.

“You know it’s true. You’ve been nothing but patient and accepting since I… And I can’t even swallow my pride for an hour to help you put together a piece of furniture.”

He continued before you could argue, and your heart broke as he trailed off mid-sentence. You knew that it was hard for him to acknowledge what he was going through, and you really wanted to tell him that it was okay, that he didn’t do anything wrong. But you knew that those empty words of comfort wouldn’t do your relationship any good.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. But Spence, I don’t want you to think that me being there for you is a chore, or a sacrifice. I’m being patient and accepting, because I love you.“

You told him, reaching your hands out to hold his, interlocking your fingers as you smiled at him softly.

“I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. And you being a little annoying about a stupid chair doesn’t make you a bad boyfriend. Not to mention that you ended up putting it together for me.”

You nodded your head towards the aforementioned furniture next to you, squeezing his hand a bit tighter as you smiled at him fondly.

“I don’t deserve you.”

He said softly, tilting his forehead against yours.

“Negative. You deserve only good things in your life.”

You told him, before capturing his lips in a gentle kiss.

The two of you didn’t always agree, and you could both be incredibly stubborn. But at the end of the day there was nothing you wouldn’t do for your beautiful, intelligent, sweetheart of a boyfriend, no matter how much he tested your patience. And you knew that he felt the exact same way about you.

🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️

Bonus badly edited pic of Spencer in my new chair ✨

[barcaatthemoon]

housewife || mary earps x reader ||

mary makes a comment about you not doing enough around the house, tipping you over the edge.

"mummy!" dillion cheered as mary walked into the flat. you glanced over the back of the couch to watch as your wife took in the chaotic state of things. you had spent all afternoon loading up the things that absolutely had to be shipped to france, but waited to pack up other things for mary to get home.

"good evening my little prince." mary bent down and scooped dillion into her arms. you watched her set him down again and push him towards his room, muttering for him to pick out more toys to pack up. "you know, if you're gonna be home all day, you could at least clean up a bit. i don't work myself to the bone to come back to this."

"mary, i'll give you one chance to tell me that you're joking," you told her. mary looked at you incredulously, as if she couldn't believe your audacity. you matched her look, resulting in the two of you just staring at each other for a couple of minutes.

"i don't want to fight with dillion here," mary told you. it wasn't a resolution by any means. in fact, it was your warning that this was going to sit and simmer with mary for the rest of the week.

whenever you had met mary, you had lived a very different life. you worked for a big company as a marketing advisor. the lionesses had hired you for help, and once you saw mary, it was love at first sight. the two of you hit it off immediately, and within the next year, you were married. you still worked from home sometimes on various little projects, but nothing that would have distracted you from dillion.

he was your son from a previous relationship, and for almost two years, his father had been involved. mary had been very understanding in letting you take time to yourself to figure things out. eventually, she had suggested that you stay home and focus on family. you had been skeptical for this exact reason, but you had agreed anyway. and for years, it worked until it didn't.

you could see the cracks form almost immediately. mary's frustrations with united seeped into your relationship. she was a great wife, but she had grown angry and demanding. at times, you pondered divorce, but no matter how bad it got, you never even mustered up the courage to leave.

"what's with the box?" mary asked as she watched you carry one of the boxes from the hallway closet into the bedroom. most of mary's things were packed away and set to arrive at the new place in france, but you were still sorting through your things. you'd arrive with mary, and then collect the rest of your things when you flew back to england to finish up the last couple of projects you had left.

"i'm unpacking," you told her. mary looked confused, but didn't say anything. you could still see the anger simmering beneath the surface. dillion was tucked away in his bed, fast asleep. you were glad that he could sleep through anything because you had a feeling that mary was going to blow a gasket when you told her your decision. "i don't think that i'm going to france."

mary's phone clattered to the ground. you winced at the sound and knowledge that it was definitely cracked. still, mary made no move towards it. she just stayed frozen in her spot on the bed. mary had cooled down a bit since she had gotten home, and while she wasn't at the point of an apology, she was willing to talk things out with you and try to listen.

"don't be ridiculous, it's a done deal (y/n)." mary was spiraling, and while you wanted to stop it, you knew that you couldn't just give in to her. "i've signed. we talked about this. it's a big step, but i think that we're ready. dillion is so excited."

"mary, i've been trying so hard, but i can't. things were supposed to be different when you signed to a new club, but they won't be. this rough patch, it's not getting better like i thought. maybe we should take some time apart," you told her. mary's eyebrows furrowed and she sat up on her knees to crawl to the edge of the bed. "i think i'm gonna sleep on the couch tonight."

"no, please don't," mary pleaded with you. she followed you into the living room, where you had obviously done some unpacking after putting dillion to bed. "you're serious, aren't you?"

"yes mary, i am. some days, you're exactly the woman that i fell in love with, but most of the time, i don't recognize you. you're angry, and i get that it sucks, but you can't take it out on me."

"i would never take my anger out on you, never," mary said. she tried to move towards you, but you put your hand on her chest to stop her. "(y/n), i've never laid a finger on you. i wouldn't, no matter what."

"not physically mary. i spent all day moving your things around and making sure that everything was packed up correctly. i did all of this with a hyperactive four year old who is struggling to work through his french workbooks. not to mention that i'm also trying to learn this language for you because i know that maybe if i have a head start, i can help you too. i've been doing so much for so long, but all you can ever do when you're here is lay around and complain. i'm done, i won't live like this!"

the look in mary's eyes was nothing short of regret. she crumpled down to her knees, and if it was anyone else, you would have brushed it off as a performance. because it was mary, you just watched as the guilt took over and she began sobbing. the anger turned inward, and mary donned a look that you hadn't seen in years, not since you had nearly broken up before.

"go up to bed. i'll be back," mary told you. she stood up and began to walk towards the door, pausing when she was behind you. "i love you, don't forget that. i love you, i'm sorry, and i don't know what i'd do without you and dillion in my life. if i'm out of the house when he wakes up, tell him i love him too, okay?"

"mary, where are you going?" you asked her.

"for a walk love, go up to bed," mary told you. she didn't move until you were gone, but you could hear the front door shut from the bedroom. this wasn't by any means the night you had envisioned for yourself when you woke up that morning, but you knew that your relationship needed some space. all you could do was hope that you'd see mary in the morning when you woke up.

[carlsangel]

MY PARENTS’ RINGS

carl grimes x fem!reader

(you and carl have been “married” since childhood.)

tags: flufffff, slight angst, mentions of death.

masterlist here!

You’ve known Carl since you were born. Your moms were bestfriends from high school who’d miraculously gotten pregnant around the same time which, naturally, made you best friends as well. You can’t remember your guys’ first play date, you’d been having sleepovers with him every weekend as well.

Around kindergarten, there was an activity in class where you guys could make jewelry. Carl at the time was completely in love with you, although then you weren’t particularly interested in boys and were more interested in exploring and adventures, you needed someone to go on adventures with.

So, when he’d walked up to you on the playground with the ring he made very poorly, your five year old brain knew exactly where it was going. He proposed to you right there in the pokey wood chips under the slide which by the way was covered in cobwebs. How romantic. You thought that if he’d gone on many adventures with you previously, if he was your husband he’d be forced to be your adventure partner. So you said yes. On the condition he’d be by your side for all your escapades. “Anything for you angel.” He responded.

He held you to it, too. He’d continue to call you his wife and angel, a nickname that’d stick for the rest of your childhood. Everyone knew how much he’d loved you and how much he protected you from anything that could possibly harm you in any way. There was a spider in your room? He’d kill it. Someone was bothering you? He’d help you work it out. You got in an argument with your parents? He was close enough with them to argue with them for you. You ended up helping him through the death of his own father who was also someone you’d looked up to for a long time.

Then, the apocalypse started. You were at Carl’s house with Lori when Shane had arrived to round everyone up. They’d return back to your house to rally up your parents but when Shane went inside to get them, you heard his gun go off a couple times.

He walked out that house alone with a big frown on his face.

So you sobbed the whole time and Carl cuddled your side, holding your hand and occasionally shed some tears. He helped you process it, granted you both were ten but he knew what it was like to lose a parent. When Rick came back, he apologized oddly enough. “Angel…I’m sorry my dad came back.” He told you as you hid in the blanket on your cot that was set up in the Grimes’ tent. You flipped over on your side to look at him. “Why did yours get to come back and not mine?”

Your guys’ “marriage” hit a rough patch to say the least. At some point, Carl walked up to Rick with the dilemma. “My wife is mad at me…how do you make mom feel better?” He asked. Rick informed Lori on the situation and she helped you understand. So from there you dropped your little grudge and realized that you loved Carl back. It only took you maybe five years and yeah you were quite young to know you loved him the way you did, but he was the only person in your life who’d stay consistent; even with the world dying.

A good amount of time had passed, when Shane died the first thing you wanted to do was take anything he possibly had on him. So, you took his 22 necklace and his jacket. Handling his dead body that young wasn’t ideal but you needed to remember him. You shoved his necklace in your pockets and threw his jacket on before escaping from the walkers flooding into the farm.

Upon finding safety, you pull out Shane’s necklace to discover he’d kept your parents rings on his necklace. You didn’t say anything about it, you hid them for the right time. He’d notice them later but he kept quiet about it.

You’d gone through the prison, then Terminus. It felt like Carl had never stopped touching you throughout everything. He was holding your hand or maybe even had his hand gripping your thigh. He’d reassure you by holding you or kissing your cheek repeatedly. He made sure you were well fed while you and the group were on the road after losing Beth. “Here, Angel, take this.” He handed you half of his granola bar.

“Angel, need some water to wash that down?” Abraham nudged a water bottle your way, Carl looked at him funny which caught a couple people’s attentions. Abraham looked around. “What?” He questioned. No one really responded but Tara spoke up, clearing her throat awkwardly before speaking. “I’ve uh…I’ve learnt that ‘Angel’ is just a Carl thing.” She explains. Abraham processes and Rick sort of laughs. “Yeah I’ve known her since she’s was born…he won’t even let me call her that either.” He looks to Carl with a teasing smile, prompting the others to sort of smirk and giggle themselves. “Well my apologies.”

Carl gives Abraham a forgiving nod.

Getting to Alexandria was like a breath of fresh air. You and Carl were able to be somewhat of a normal teenage couple who could go on dates and make out in places they shouldn’t. He helped ease your nerves with the new environment, despite his own considering he didn’t know how real Alexandria really was.

He’d fallen more and more in love with you. At some point he’d brought up your kindergarten marriage.

“Do you remember when you said yes when I proposed to you in kindergarten?” He smiled at you as you leaned your head on his shoulder. The two of you were stargazing on a bench by Alexandria’s pond. “Yeah you’ve never let me forget it.” You respond with a small giggle. He pulled back to look at you. “Well I was thinking…with the way the world is and everything.” He chuckles nervously, looking down at your hands which were tightly gripping each other’s, “Maybe we can really be married.”

He stared at you, anticipating your answer. “Well, I dunno what you mean, we’ve been married this whole time.” You say sort of jokingly, causing him to smile, “I think you just mean official rings. I mean we’ve held the label this whole time. Not to mention you’ve stuck to your vows.” You remind him of how he’d promised to stick with you throughout everything. He nods for a moment, his eyes lingering on your face as he admires how beautiful you are in the light of the pretty moon. “Official rings would be nice.”

Without another word, you pulled your hand away, causing Carl’s expression to drop a tad as you dig into your pocket. Your hand comes back out of your jeans in a fist and you stick your hand out, gesturing for him to put his own out. He places his hand out flat and you drop two rings, the metals knocking into each other with a small clink as he looks into your eyes. “Wait really? Aren’t these…” His voice trails off and he looks at you intently.

“My parents’ rings.”

There’s a moment of silence before you take your dad’s ring from his palm and take his left hand, slipping it gently onto his ring finger. It fit perfectly, almost like it was fitted to him. He looks at it for what felt like ages before taking your mother’s ring in his hand. He gently held your left hand, sliding it on to your ring finger. The two of you put your hands between your bodies and just stare.

He tilts his head back up to look at you and before you could fully look at him he kissed you, gently holding the side of your face while he did so.

It was one of the thousands of kisses he’d given you, but this one was different.

Maybe you could go on honeymoon.

a/n: so anon actually wanted this full of fluff but i couldn’t help myself with some parts of angst LMAOOO sorry anon i hope u still like it. i actually think this is the cutest fucking thing i’ve written in a long ass time I LOVEEE IT SM!!! also for those who’ve been waiting for let me make it up to you part two THAT SHITS BEEN OUT idk not as many ppl saw it and there’s sm smut in that shit >_< anyway thank u sm for this cute ass request it was so fun to write and it got me out of my writing funk :)))

tag list: @zomb-1-egutzz @lunarnightt @ilikestrawberriesandwomen @hiro--aoki @h00d-tr4sh

[carmenberzattosgf]

the muscles…. let me pronebone with carmen PLEASE PLEASE JUST ONCE!! -💫

Well I didn’t know that position had a name but yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes

He has you flat on your stomach with a small pillow underneath your hips. This position makes his cock hit so deep inside of you, like feeling him in your guts kind of deep.

Carmen is already fighting for his life the second he presses into you. “Fuck, baby—so fucking tight—holy shit.” Maybe it’s confidence from not having eye contact, but Carmy literally cannot shut up when he starts thrusting into you at a rough pace. “Shit—you can’t keep squeezing me like that or I’ll cum.”

“Please, Carm,” you whine. Your head turns to look over your shoulder at Carmy. Fuck, he looks so gorgeous like this. He’s got both of his hands digging into the meat of your hips. Carmy’s biceps bulge from the way he’s gripping your skin. His teeth bite at his lower lip as his eyes watch the spot where the two of you connect, before darting over to meet your eyes.

“Yeah? Want me to stay inside and pump you full? Is that why you’re squeezing me like a fucking vice?”

“Yes, yes, yes. Please fill me up—want you to.”

Carmy drops down on top of you. His elbows hold his body weight up as his pace switches to slowed, deep thrusts. He wants you to feel how far he’s buried inside of you.

“Taking it so well—shit. S’like you’re made for me,” Carmy groans. His lips begin to kiss your neck and shoulders in an attempt to quiet his moans.

“ ‘m all yours, Carm. Feels s’good—so fucking deep—” Your speech is barely coherent. The pleasure is too mind consuming for you to care.

Carmy shifts his arms once again. This time his bicep wraps around your throat, lifting your head up. His other arm wraps around your lower stomach. Carmy’s palm firmly presses right above your mound, making you cry out from the sensation. Within moments, his hips pick up the pace again.

Needing something to brace yourself, one of your hands grasps his forearm. “I’ve got ya. Such a good girl for me. My good girl,” Carmy praises. Slowly, he begins to tighten his bicep around your throat. Your voice whimpers loudly at the pressure, unable to form words. You and Carmen had discussed play like this heavily before. Three taps on his arm and he would let go immediately. Since your palm stays firmly planted on his forearm, Carmy continues to squeeze your throat. Sloppily, he kisses at your cheeks, forehead, and practically any other parts of you he can get his mouth on.

The bicep wrapped around your neck brings stars to your vision. His thrusts have only gotten more powerful. Vaguely, you can hear the sound of the headboard banging into the wall. In an instant, the fire-feeling in your belly explodes. Euphoria flows through your veins as you reach your peak. “Carmy, Carmy, Carmy,” You repeat with a choked desperate voice. You say his name over and over again like it’s the only word you know.

Carmy’s not far behind. “Shit—that’s it. Going to fill you up—“ he pants into your ear. With a few more deep thrusts he’s spilling inside of you, whimpering into the skin of your neck.

Carmy has to go to the hardware store to buy a wall patching kit for the dents the headboard left in the wall of his apartment. He then orders some headboard stoppers from Amazon the very next day.

[russellsppttemplates]

Dad!driver looking after mom!reader whe she's feeling overwhelmed with the baby.

Driver of your choice.

Tw: postpartum, breastfeeding

"Hey, little one, aren't you fussy today?", Daniel cooed at your daughter as he picked her up from her cot, holding her against his chest. Sophia seemed to be going through a rough patch in her sleep, or maybe you had said 'she's a very good baby, sleeps very well', outloud too many times and the universe ought to test you.

Like clockwork, you were up as soon as you heard her cries, shifting your position against the pillows so you could get her, "I have her", your husband said in a low voice, not wanting to disturb your sleepy state. Because Sophia had been struggling with sleep, you and Daniel hadn't been sleeping much either, the only difference being that he wasn't recovering from giving birth to a baby, so between you two, he was the one dealing better with the sleep deprivation.

"Come here, babygirl, I have just what you want", you stretched your arms, holding her and helping her approach her mouth to your nipple, "there we go, my love, it's all good", you smoothed put her head. Daniel excused himself, saying he was going to the kitchen to get something.

You had finished feeding Sophia and gotten up to burp her when Daniel got back, "I was on the phone with my parents, and grandpa Joe and grandma Grace are more than happy to take over and be with Sophia for the afternoon", he offered as he walked closer to you, "you've been stretching yourself thin, and I figured it would do you, and us, some good to have some help. Besides, mum and dad were excited for some cuddles", he attempted, checking any signs of you not agreeing to the idea, "they really don't mind?", you asked, "they don't", Daniel said as he kissed your forehead, "they'll be here in fifteen minutes".

When Joe and Grace arrived, your mother in-law kissed your cheek sweetly before whispering, "go and rest, darling. Don't listen to the voice in your head saying you're a bad mother because you'd like some hours away from her, it's completely okay. She loves you so much, and she wants you, and needs you, to be happy, too", she smiled, rubbing your shoulder as you and Daniel went upstairs while they stayed in the dowstairs area of the house.

"I was thinking we could go and have a shower, those 'everything showers' people talk about", Daniel suggested as he walked you inside your shared bedroom, "I got that set from the laundry room earlier this morning", he said as he kissed your shoulder as you looked at your favourite lounge wear set laying on top of your bed. It was soft and stretchy, so, really, it was the perfect fit for the time being.

"You really are the best, Danny", you whispered, turning around and kissing his lips, "I always try to make sure you know why you keep me around", he joked, picking you up and taking you to the bathroom.

Like he promised, Daniel turned the shower and walked in with you, helping you wash your body and grabbing the razor from your hands, helping you shave your legs before you did the rest, kissing his tanned skin afterwards as you both lathered shampoo in eachother's hair, "I love you so much, Y/N", he would whisper every time he felt like it, "you're the most gorgeous woman", another kiss was pressed on your skin, "the best mummy for Sophia, and the best partner in life".

"My sister said I should get this body oil and make sure you used it, so I think giving you a massage is the best way to guarantee that", he winked once you got out of the shower and wrapped yourselves up in towells, "just be careful around my chest, please", you said as you lied down, seeing Daniel's beaming smile. You had been slowly learning to love your body after having a baby, and seeing you grow so comfortable and proud of your body made him smile as he felt that in a way his words of encouragement and actions had been fruitful.

The massage was blissful and playful, too, giggles flying around in the room as you grabbed some of the oil and rubbed it on Daniel's skin, "thank you, for this, I wouldn't have admitted it, but I needed this", you mumbled, "Soph is downstairs, if they need anything, they'll call, and besides, they raised kids and grandkids of their own. Soph, even with her sleep all messed up, is still the quietest of the grandchildren", he chuckled.

Once your hair was dry, Daniel laid next to you in the bed as you fell asleep, hoping to sleep properly now that you knew your daughter was fine too.

You wake up from the nap to smell some delicious food, heading downstairs to see the table set up, Joe playing with Sophia on her tummy time and Grace taking a tray out of the oven, "I made roast chicken, that recipe you really like", she smiled sweetly before you walked closer to your daughter, "and for her, we took one of the frozen bags in the freezer", she said as she rubbed your back, "you're doing great, darling, she's such a happy baby", she comforted.

"Daniel is a great man", you began, "I know I keep telling you this, but it's true. You raised a great son, both of you did", you told Grace and Joe once Daniel grabbed Sophia and took her to her nursery to change her nappy and put her pyjamas on her, "you are both a great team, dear", Joe added.

(Thank you for submitting an ask 🤍)

[paintingraves]

AITA ? I (40M) bought a condo one of my friends (43F) wanted to buy with her boyfriend (36M) to get back at her for hurting my best friend's (50M) feelings.

This is a bit lengthy so bear with me.

I have a prestigious job in the medical field and I am head of department in my specialty. I met my best friend (G) years ago when he bailed me out of jail (another long story). We work in the same place, under the supervision of our boss (C) who is also a close friend of mine.

Now G and C have a bit of a history. They met in medical school, from what I know they shared a night together, but G was kicked out of uni so it never became more than that, until they found each other again years later and she offered him his current job. They are always flirting, always pushing each other's buttons, and they are clearly very attracted to one another, but a lot of things prevent them from acting on it.

First, their respective positions - she's our boss - and also the fact that my best friend is, to put it plainly, an asshole who avoids emotions and vulnerability like the plague. Given his history, it makes sense, but he's never tried to work on himself, instead preferring to hide behind drugs, booze, and, lately, prostitutes. So he wasn't exactly relationship material, but things changed last year.

First, they got closer. In a very emotional moment that I won't disclose here, G ended up at her place and they kissed. They immediately agreed to pretend like it never happened, despite the fact that they clearly both have strong feelings for each other.

Next, G's drug addiction got worse. Much, much worse, to the point where he hallucinated an entire night where he went through detox in her company, then they had sex, and she left early the next morning. Yes, I wish I was making this up. He was weird the next day, and he ended up shouting for the entire hospital to hear that they slept together. She got understandably extremely mad at him for putting her reputation at work at stake in such a humiliating way. That's when he realised how bad things had gotten. He came to me, and with my help, he went into rehab.

He spent a few months there. When he came back, he'd changed. Not radically, but he was off the drugs, he was seeing a therapist regularly, and he seemed genuinely commited to working on himself and trying to be a better man, to lead a better life. In his own words, he was "tired of being miserable." He moved in with me at the advice of his therapist, and he tried to distance himself from work for a while. He quit, he tried other activities, but eventually he came back because he loves this job.

I could see he was also still interested in C, but she was very guarded. I encouraged him to try to show that he'd changed, because he had, and I knew she also had feelings for him. But things came to a head when we went to a medical conference she also attended. The reason she was so distant with him was also because, as it turned out, she got into a new, serious relationship while he was away, with a man (L) who used to be G's friend. Obviously, it was a blow for G. And for me as well, because I didn't know about this, or I wouldn't have encouraged G to pursue it.

Anyway, life went on, and after a while C started talking to me about buying a condo and moving in with L. I was still a little put out by her behaviour towards G. She called my ex-wife, who happens to work in real estate, and found "the condo of her dreams".

So I called my ex-wife, visited the condo with G, and impulsively decided to buy it before she could.

We'll be moving in shortly with G. He seems happy, and I'm happy to be doing this for him. Hopefully he can move on, and it may teach her a lesson.

So, Reddit, AITA ?

Edit, in answer to a few comments:

- Yes, we met when he bailed me out of jail. I was going through a rough patch and ended up doing something stupid that got me arrested. He bailed me, a perfect stranger, out of jail because he said I was "the most interesting person around." We've been best friends ever since.

- The price for the condo was around 250,000$. I paid 3/4th of it using most of my savings, and I don't regret it one bit. He paid what was left, in an exceptionally generous display (for him).

- L was a private investigator G hired to spy on me (long story) at a time where I wanted to get away from him. They became sort of friends, but we hadn't heard from him in a long time before finding out he was in a relationship with C.

- C cares for him, but she is also at a spot in her life where she wants stability. She is a single mother with a daughter to care for, and she wants to be with a man whom she can rely on. What with G's history, I can't blame her for not acting on her feelings.

It doesn't mean I can't be mad at her for hurting him, though.

Edit 2:

Yes, G and I are close. He's the only person who truly gets me and doesn't put up with my bullshit. He's the worst and the best friend I've ever had.

Edit 3:

Stop asking me if I'm in love with my best friend. We're both straight, we've both been in very commited, serious relationships with women. He doesn't see me that way, no matter how many gay jokes he makes.

Edit 4:

C found out someone had bought her dream condo, and was pretty mad. I won't lie, I acted all chagrined on her behalf but I feel pretty damn good about it.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Strand to find later: 🏃‍♀️ 🚓 🔥 🏦🔥

AITA for helping my mother ostracize my father from the family?

My mother has been a stay-at-home parent my entire life. She’s also been entirely responsible for me since day one, while my father would attend his job, come home, eat dinner with us and then retreat to watch videos on his phone and then go to bed at like 8:30. She has been responsible for 99% of the cooking, cleaning, and housekeeping in additional to being my emotional/physical support while sacrificing her own emotional well-being. She has no real friends in this country, all her acquaintances are known through my father (I. E. Wives of my fathers friends and colleagues etc), and can’t really leave since she’s financially dependent and America is EXPENSIVE to live in. And she wholly resents this situation. (he also not-so-subtly operates under the assumption that he’s the only one who works in the house, and my mother has it easy. I would like to point out that the man has never lived independently once in his life. He went ~10 years into the marriage before learning how to use a washing machine)

recently they’ve hit a rough(er) patch in their marriage. He’s gotten a promotion, and she feels bitter about the fact that he is getting more money while she still wouldn’t be able to independently if she wanted to. she has resorted to taking it out on him (and me) more often in the form of verbal assaults. The slightest thing can set her off and make her start screaming. Or, Whenever he’s around (talking to me OR her) she gives him the silent treatment and starts to slam things down (I. E. Throwing plates into the Dishwasher, slamming doors, muttering angrily). So my father had started to avoid any interaction with us entirely and spend his days in his room, only leaving it when it’s lunch or dinner. This makes her angrier since the whole reason she’s pissed is because he’s not pulling his weight as a father and basically ignoring me, so it just perpetuates the cycle. (I would like to point out that I am also not making things easier for him. Although I had never really noticed his absence until it started being brought up verbally— my mother was always there so it was less noticeable— I still react bitterly and try to avoid any interaction with him).

the way she treats him (and me, whenver he’s not available) could be described as verbally abusive but I struggle to feel any sympathy for him. Abuse implies control, and she is certainly not the one in control here. He can leave whenever he feels too oppressed (and he has— he has gone to live in another house/state for several months, more than once), and the rest of us are very much stuck there.

we’ve (mostly her, and me by extension) started to hide things from him (snacks, movies we’re watching, any interaction) to avoid having him join in on any family activities. We sometimes go weeks without saying a single word to him (and him to us). I am aware that this is only perpetuating the cycle (again), and is probably psychologically damaging.

so am I (and mother) the assholes? (For the isolation bit— I am aware that she is definitely TA for the abuse (?), since it’s not a valid move esp. when communication is RIGHT. THERE. But alas she’d rather die before calming down when it come to him. I’m not that much better)

What are these acronyms?

[moonlight-prose]

✧ WRETCHED AND JOYFUL ✧

a/n: this was meant to be posted yesterday, but i could not for the life of me write anything. my brain was stalled and kind of broken. kinktober has really gifted me with a different kind of burnout. but in a lovely turn of events i managed to finished off two fics last night to catch up! i hope you enjoy this one.

day twenty-two - dom/sub + rough sex | kinktober 2023

summary: "he would be your end and all that came next. he’d be your consequence in a world that sought out punishment rather than forgiveness. your small slice of joy in the wretched ways of reality."

word count: 1.9k+

pairing: tommy miller x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, dom!tommy, sub!reader, breeding kink, oral (f receiving), religious trauma cause it was that kind of night, the aftereffects of listening to hozier, angst, fluff, rough sex, tommy can't shut the fuck up for the life of him but we love him for that, dirty talk, aftercare, not edited or beta read, we live and die by this fucking pen.

You always thought he’d be the one to stop your heart. The one who could bring you to the very edge of existence and push you over. A fate that had always been solidified in stone. Like the prayers that came before—the belief that had once lingered on the Earth. He would be your end and all that came next. He’d be your consequence in a world that sought out punishment rather than forgiveness.

Your small slice of joy in the wretched ways of reality.

And there you stood at the edge of it all, taking in the view, and willing to fall if he asked.

There was comfort in his promises that he often whispered to you at night. Speaking of a time where neither of you would have to suffer. Where you could live peacefully together, possibly grow together in a way you couldn’t there in the middle of nowhere. In a spot on the world where you were simply two people clinging together. All with the lingering hope that the words he spoke would one day come true.

He spoke them even now, whispering them against your skin with each kiss. The tenderness in their soft brush. His lips held you captive, stuck in the place beyond pleasure—turning you pliant beneath his touch. Eventually his lips would find yours again in the lantern lit room, but for now you allowed them to drag along your stomach, finding the patch of curls where you needed him most.

“Gonna build you a home one day,” he murmured, fingers spreading you gently. As if he was about to partake in something sacrilegious that deserved the tenderness of a sinner.

“Tommy,” you gasped, fingers delving into his curls and tugging when he sucked one of your lips into his mouth, moaning at the slight taste that spread across his tongue.

“It’ll be big and beautiful.” His tongue slid through your folds, grinning at the broken high pitched cry that echoed in the room. “Lots of room for us.”

He ate you like you were the apple fallen from the tree. Sweet enough to cause him to sin and if you were to say the word he’d do it. He’d kill for you—he had killed for you. He allowed blood to cover his palms to keep you safe in the hopes that he’d be able to worship at your altar. To taste the sweetness that emitted from your body—drinking you down as if you would heal him from his past. And perhaps you would. Tommy liked to believe that you were without even knowing it.

“Fuck,” you moaned, the sound dragged out and low when he sucked your swollen clit into his mouth.

“You taste delicious.” He’d barely gotten a taste and sounded drunk. As if he couldn’t get enough of everything you could give him—willing you to take it for him until you couldn’t anymore.

“Fuck me,” you whined, tugging at his hair. “Please Tommy. Need it baby.”

He sucked in a breath, fingers digging sharply into your thighs. “Yeah honey? You need my cock?”

Clambering to his knees, he dragged your thighs around his hips, watching in awe as the slick across his fingers spread along your skin. A shiny picture of debauchery. The breath caught in his throat, eyes darkening at the sight of you spread out beneath him—mouth open in a soft silent moan as his fingers dipping back into your slick. Swirling around your clit and causing your body to jolt.

“What if I just make you cum like this huh?” His cock twitched at the thought. “Get myself off til I’m ready to fill you up.”

Your breath hitched, heat pooling in your stomach. “I-I need—”

Grasping onto his cock, he tapped it against your clit, smiling at the sound that tore from you. “You need it baby I know.”

His other hand reached up to palm your breast, tugging at your nipple and watching in rapture as your back curved up. Pressing your body further into his touch. His head spun at the sight. Completely at his mercy and begging for more. It snapped something in his brain. Bringing forth feelings he didn’t know existed. He wanted to watch you beg, hear the sweet sounds of your need echo in the room until it burrowed in the depths of his chest.

Tommy wasn’t a cruel man. But for this…he’d take.

“You gonna beg me for it?” He slid his cock through your folds, biting back a groan at the wet heat of you. Although the words weren’t coming from your mouth, your body was indeed begging him. “C’mon honey. Use your words. Tell me what you want.”

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting the dark black of his. He was five seconds from being completely gone. Ready to fucking devour you as if you were the remedy to his need. The one thing that could satiate the hunger in his body. He wanted to hear you beg so you did exactly that. You covered his hand still on your breast and dragged it up to your throat, allowing his large palm to cover the warm skin there.

“Want you to fuck me full of your cum baby,” you breathed, face warm from the words that came from your mouth.

“Jesus,” he whispered. “You’re fuckin’ filthy aren’t ya honey?”

You nodded with a whine, hips canting up as he dragged his cock through your slick once more. “Need it.”

“Yeah baby?” He notched the head of his cock at your entrance, fingers flexing around your throat. “You need me to fuck you full? Want me to spill out of you for days?”

Before you could even get the answer out, he thrust into you smoothly. Listening to the cry that bounced off the walls around him. He felt the way your walls clamped down around his cock, dragging a low growl from his chest. A sound that you felt down to your toes. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for his body to calm down slightly, but there was no use.

Neither of you would last very long.

He pulled out, the tip resting at your entrance before he slammed back in. The sound of your cunt sucking him back burned up his spine. It broke the thin strand of control he had left, the ability to go slow and savor his time with you. Tommy was starving. A man whose sole purpose was to watch you break, to flood him with your pleasure.

Gripping onto your throat, his eyes met yours, teeth bared as he bit back his release and set a pace that nearly had you jolting up the bed. His cock rammed into you, the wet sounds of your slick slicing through the cold night air. Each thrust sent a mewl up your throat, your fingers digging into his forearm as he used the hold he had on your throat to pull you back on his cock. He grunted with each shift, the pool of heat in his body nearly suffocating him.

But none of that deterred him from staying silent.

“‘M gonna fuck you in our house,” he grunted, dragging your hip even higher up his hip. “Make sure we fill it.”

You gasped, eyes rolling back. The thought of Tommy wanting to fuck you so full that you had his kid rewired something in your brain. Setting your entire body alight. The need to please him overwhelmed you, body moving to meet his thrusts with small ones of your own.

“You like that huh honey.” He grinned at the way you keened for him—the head of his cock grinding against your walls. “You want that? Want to fill our house?”

“Tommy!” You scrambled for purchase along his body, nails scratching along his skin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pounding into you until the bed began to ram against the wall. “Can feel you fuckin’ leakin’ for me. My good girl. Perfect baby.”

His thumb found your clit, hand pressing down on your throat until your body went taut. There you were at the very edge of the cliff. Willing to fall, but you couldn’t. Not until you heard the three little words that would consume your body in the flame that you longed for. He pulled you up slightly, contorting your body until you were nearly bent in half—his lips finding yours in a punishing kiss. One that stole all the breath in your lungs.

“Cum for me,” he rasped, cock dragging along your walls right where you needed, nearly kissing your cervix with each sharp thrust. “Soak my fuckin’ cock baby and I’ll give it to you.”

As if he held control over your body, you felt the dam burst. A burning pleasure flooded every one of your senses until you could barely hear the words he continued to speak. Gripping onto his curls, you kept his lips on yours, moaning when his tongue slid along yours, tasting the desire that was prominent in your mouth. He grunted roughly, his hands holding you so tight the skin would be tender, as he took his own pleasure.

Until he was just as sated as you were.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he moaned, hand moving to find yours and slam it against the mattress, fingers interlocking tightly. “You want it baby? Want my cum?”

Nodding frantically, you tightened your legs around his hips. “Fill me up Tommy. Give me all of it.”

He cried into your mouth, hips stuttering as he broke. Spurting harshly into your cunt until his head went fuzzy and body nearly gave in. He felt you reach between your body, fingers trailing through the trail on his stomach, until your fingers wrapped around the base of his cock. Massaging him gently and making sure that every drop spilled into you. That you would be full for days to come.

Kissing you messily, he felt your spit trail down your chin, eyes fluttering open in a fucked out daze—lips curving into a smile. “Thank you baby.”

His cock twitched, a punched out groan tearing from his chest. “You’re tryin’ to fuckin’ kill me,” he huffed.

You wrapped your arms around his body, letting him fully sink into your warmth with a soft hum. His lips still attached to yours. There was a tenderness there that still remained despite the rough way he broke you. A gentle piece of his soul that had survived the brutality of this world. Even though you thought yourself lost to the darkness, willing to survive as a broken shell of who you used to be. Tommy managed to bring you back to life.

He nudged his nose along yours, fingers trailing gently along your cheek before he moved. Dragging you up with him even though you still clung to his broad shoulders, a soft whine of disappointment echoing in the back of your throat.

“C’mon honey,” he said softly, leading you towards the small tub in the corner of the room. “Let’s take a bath?”

Smiling, you allowed him to prep the water, never straying from you for too long. As if he was tied to your very being, forever a part of your soul. Or perhaps he’d been there all along. Perhaps the world had been biding its time waiting to gift you with his presence. All to give you a chance at happiness once more.

To once again find the lost joy in this wretched world.

[reine-du-sourire]

-

Cheslock spends a long time in the shower. 

His hair is damp and slightly fluffy when he finally emerges, free at last from the smell of smoke. 

He doesn't make eye contact with Edward at all as he dumps a pile of linen onto the dormitory floor and starts shaking the blanket out.

“You can have my bed,” Edward offers, knowing full well that it won't do any good. “I don't mind taking the floor.” 

“No,” Cheslock mutters flatly. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

“Share with me, at least.”

“No.”

To Edward's left, he can see similar scenes playing themselves out across the dormitory; displaced Wolves nesting down next to the Lions. Some of the Green House students have managed to give up their beds to the guests. A few have elected to share. Three younger boys are curled up in a blanket-and-pillow pile on the floor with two upperclassmen and are sleeping already. 

Competition between houses or not, Edward's proud of the inter-school unity shown tonight; it's the kind of true gentlemanly behavior to be proud of. He's sure the other dorms are extending the same hospitality to the Purple House students.

“Everyone's all right, aren't they?” he asks, just to make sure. “With places to sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Violet?”

“With Greenhill. And Redmond. And Bluewer. In Redmond's dorm.”

Cheslock slides under the covers and pulls the blanket up to his chin, rolling over to face the wall and pointedly making an end to the exchange.

Edward wakes with a start. 

A sliver of moonlight shines weakly through a gap in the curtains, playing across the beds and the lumps of blanket all over the floor. 

Instinctively, he glances down.

For the amount of space he takes up when awake, literal and figurative, all loud gestures and larger-than-life personality, Cheslock all but vanishes while asleep.  Edward can barely detect a body beneath the covers at all, and even then only when it shifts and a puff of tousled white hair emerges from the blanket shell. 

Cheslock raises his head, sniffles, and swipes his wrist angrily across his eyes. 

Edward can see two wet patches on the pillow just before Cheslock turns it over and slumps back down onto it.

When he wakes again, it's to find his nose buried in that puff of white hair, Cheslock's head tucked under his chin and his body ensconced in Edward's arms. 

Dawn's pale fingers have begun to creep through the window. Edward isn't sure when they'd gotten there, or how he'd gotten here. 

His pillow is slumped haphazardly over the edge of the now-vacant bed. Blankets trail from the mattress onto the floor, one end twining around Edward's leg, and the floor really isn't very comfortable. 

He shifts slightly, prompting his armful of Cheslock to stir. 

The Wolf's morning voice is gravelly and rough. “You snore in your sleep, Midford.”

“I do not,” Edward mumbles back. 

“Do too.” Cheslock makes no move to pull away. 

Too tired to argue, Edward lets his eyes fall shut again. 

“Best lullaby I could ask for,” he hears softly, a moment later, or thinks he hears, and a feather-light hand comes to rest just above his heart as Cheslock makes himself comfortable. “That ‘n this.”

[silverware-drawer]

It's interesting to me seeing all the discussions about the current direction the qsmp is going and so on. All the takes I've seen have been chill and interesting, it's just a very different perspective to the one I default to.

The general vibe I've gotten is that lots of people feel like the story is going through a rough patch, or losing focus, or having growing pains. Maybe those things are true. I haven't thought about it all that much.

I think, however, it's important to remember that it will never be the same. As in, every single story I've ever loved has had a point where I've looked at it and gone "I miss when ________." That's just how stories work. If you've ever enjoyed the Lord of the Rings trilogy, you'll probably understand what I mean when I say the first movie has an aura that makes me homesick the second I finish watching it.

There's always going to be a period of the story that you feel was its peak, and you're always going to wish that the whole thing could feel like that. But—at least from my experience—I think what we really miss is the experience of experiencing it for the first time, and there's no way to change that. That's just how stories work.

The nature of life and the core of storytelling is change, and that means leaving behind things that you've done badly and also things you've done well, because you've done them. It's very tempting to want to cling to things that felt right, but you've got to change. I think it always hurts a little bit and that's okay.

Maybe that's just part of caring about things.

[scrubbinn]

Slime HRT 3 Months: First changes

Omg omg omg!!! My first real change! It finally happened! Ok! Ok. Ok, let’s start at the beginning, I need to temper my excitement a little bit. To start from the very beginning, the past month I've been drinking so much water lately. I've always been drinking three bottles a day at work but now I’ve been drinking nearly all the time. I was told that was the first sign everything was working. Becoming fluid requires fluids if you can believe it. I have to avoid coffee and tea now, which has been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done in my life, but the caffeine in both can actually be really damaging to your new slime cells apparently. It’s pretty much room temperature water or non-caffeinated energy drinks only. Still, if I need to constantly drink water then at least that means the medication is working.

My skin has gotten so smooth too, it feels like I’m made of warm ice. There's still a lot of hair, and there's still some rough patches on my body, but the hairs and rough spots should disappear after a few more months. It really is just my limbs that have gotten smoother so far, which sadly includes the soles of my feet. I actually ended up slipping on the floor and crashed into the kitchen and directly on all the pots and pans. I was more panicked about if I'd broken anything around me rather than if anything about me was broken! I didn’t break anything, utensil or bone, but it’s clear I need to take more deliberate steps plus socks on if I want to make sure being a soapy slime isn’t going to send me to the hospital.

 It would be worse if I can’t phone anyone to take me to a clinic in the first place. I've heard that after a while you start to lose the ability to use a smartphone since it can't read your fingerprint or something. There's a few people that have made money off making fake fingers for those of us who no longer have skin. It's kind of gross, but my ADHD is definitely not going to survive without constant internet access, it's just another expense of perfecting my life I suppose. All of this new equipment I’ve been looking into has been starting to add up to a lot of money. Does everyone who takes animal HRTs go through this? I’ll need to waterproof my bed, buy a lint trap for cleaning out dust stuck in slime, and buy clothes designed not to sink into me. I don’t actually know if I need those things since it sounds like I’m going to have some kind of membrane, but this is a brand new medication so I don’t think even that doctor knows how things will go for me.

But ok, the big change. Just this morning I was eating a breakfast sandwich and had trouble biting into it. My teeth went rubbery! There's a blue tint to them too now. It's going to be a pain eating food now, I had to pull apart small bits and swallow them whole, and I just gave up on the bread. But now I've been experimenting with them. They aren't like a gel and there's still a few hard ones, but now that I know, I find myself constantly poking them. It just… makes me feel happy when they bounce back. Oh, but if my teeth are like this, I bet it means there's a lot of changes going inside my bones. Though it is concerning how I'm going to be able to stand after a while.

One big downside was that this meant I had to schedule a doctor's appointment. Normally doctor visits are fine for me, you go talk to someone you'll forget in a day and get some blood taken, but I had the feeling this wasn't going to be like that, and I was pretty much spot on. As soon as I entered his office, he just looked at me. Like that kind of look you get when faced with a disapproving parent or a teacher when you forget to turn in your math homework for the eighth time. Same doctor as before, I think there are assistants that handle certain cases but I got stuck with the guy you see in all the magazines outside his office. He asks how things are progressing and I showed him everything that's changed. He looked concerned, but most people can't wiggle their teeth, so that checks out. He mentioned my dosage was going to be increased, and that I should start taking a new medication alongside it. Some newer drug that's supposed to lower my level of humanity and make me more malleable. He told me I would probably see another change soon and then said three months was too big a gap and I needed to write a new entry in this thing, or whatever. Maybe I'll sit tight for four months next time just to show him.

Though the biggest downside of my new self was that one of my roommates had noticed what was going on with me and confronted me about it. Yeah so, I may have forgotten to mention to everyone other than my girlfriend that I was going through with this procedure at that point in time. I was going to tell them eventually, when I was more slimy, probably. They got mad at me for not telling anyone else, but especially not either them or my other roommate. Said it was important for everyone here to know what changes could affect the living situation. Like me being happier is going to hurt anyone. They said they weren't upset about the treatment and just the fact I didn't tell them… But for some reason it still hurt, like they were upset about the treatment. Sometimes that’s just how it is. Someone says the wrong thing and it just breaks you. Slime shouldn’t break, it’s supposed to bend.

I'm going to focus on the changes and avoid bringing up my new self with other people. A few online friends I told are supportive but god forbid what might happen if my family finds out. I'm sure they'll accept me eventually, but they aren't the type to accept change pleasantly. Change. That’s a loaded word for me. I knew there would be some rough spots, but I didn't think things could go this badly for my mental state, this was supposed to be a happy entry. Oops, sorry future me when you look back and read this, haha... I guess I can try to find something happier to write about next time. I think I'm done for tonight. I want to cry. I could really go for some coffee.

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Thank you everyone for the support on the last chapter, the amount of likes and reblogs are insane. Seriously, thank you everyone. Apologies for the sudden dark shift in the tone but I’d like to make this a story of self acceptance rather than just a list of changes.

At list (for anyone who wanted to be mentioned)

@a-shramp

We now have a special announcement. Due to some recent events, we have discovered we're plural. We're still trying to figure out this revelation and it has been stressful for all of us. We don’t know if we wish to include our plurality into this story. It's all very new to us. We’ll be taking some extra time from Slime HRT to learn about our system and make an introduction post so you know who’s who. We're very new to this world so any support would be appreciated.

[stardustizuku]

PART 2: What is Cinderella?

So, what exactly do I mean when I say “All Girl Dream of Cinderella”?

“Cinderella”, huh.

That’s obviously going to get some eyebrows raised. Because while, yes, Cinderella is a very popular story, it still very much is a western one, isn’t it? Why the universality of “every girl dreams of Cinderella?” How can I be so sure of “all girls”.

For starters, I’m not literally talking about the 1950 Disney’s Cinderella.

I’m more so using Cinderella as a signifier. A symbol. Something a bit bigger than Disney.

Truth is, there’s thousands of variants of the folk tale, which expand all over the world. Cinderella just happens to be the French variant.

But it exists in other countries outside of Europe: The Tale of Ye Xian, is Chinese; Tám and Cám, is Vietnamese - with the only noticeable difference being a goldfish instead of a fairy godmother and golden shoes instead of glass slippers. Korea has Kongjwi and Patjwi, which curiously enough, extends after marriage. The Iranian versions is called Moon-Forehead. The fairy tale has an extensive history and it expands far beyond western ideals. It exists in fairly different contexts.

So, I’m not literally talking about Cinderella, the Disney Movie.

I’m talking about the idea of Cinderella. What it represents.

At its core, Cinderella represents the idea of “something rightfully yours to have, being taken from you [Cinderella had a good life until her dad died], having to endure a lot of pain, but because you endured it gracefully, you gain the affection of others [enduring the abuse gets you help from animals and your fairy godmother], and because you’re such a good person you get a happily ever after [the prince]”.

If you switch around the parts and increment things here and there, you’ll find that most, if not all, cultures have something similar. For good reason.

It’s the idea that, even if something you have is taken from you, the universe will help you set everything in place. It’s the idea that good people succeed, and bad people suffer. It’s a good children’s story, that’s why you see it everywhere. The good will triumph over evil; you will get your happy ending.

But what happens when you grow up? Well, you start questioning the world, obviously.

You become a teenager.

You get sick and tired of Cinderella. I mean, who gets to decide what is good or bad? Why is my dream a man? Can’t I be an imperfect bad and messy girl, and still find a happy ending?

You’re exploring the world, so what’s the point of staying trapped in a story where the prize is a man? What’s the point of dreaming of princesses and castles, when there’s a city right outside your door?

So, you do what all teenagers do. You expand your horizons. You look at more nuanced material, you indulge in stories without happy endings, and maybe you experience some yourself. You face the world, you get heart broken, and its-

Exhausting. The world is chaotic, it’s confusing, and you’re suddenly not a wild and reckless as you were at thirteen.

You are tired.

You’ve seen pain, you’ve gotten hurt, you’ve fought, and you’ve bled, and everything is too much.

YET. You still want a happy ending.

And suddenly, you get Cinderella.

The exact same premise of, “your life was good, now it isn’t. But it should. And the universe will make sure you get a happy ending”.

But now, it hit harder. It’s much more real.

And before long, you indulge in it.

Cinderella is just that. The idea (and illusion) that there’s a clear right and wrong, a good and an evil. And, someday, the universe will reward you for being “good” by putting everything in its place.

That’s how stories like this become popular. Specially with older women and teenagers going through a rough patch in their life.

And while I say Cinderella in a very cishet view, there obviously are queer variants. (Trust me, there are plenty BL and GL Cinderella variants, but that’s an entirely different genre so we’ll put it aside for now). The flavor doesn’t really matter here. But the idea that “everything made wrong, will be put right in the end”.

It’s self indulgence, in its most raw form.

That’s why all girls dream of Cinderella.

It’s not that they dream of this Cinderella.

But they do dream about what it represents.

They dream about their rags turning into dresses. Maybe not literal dresses. But they do dream that they’ll look in the mirror and love what they see.

Maybe they don’t dream about a night at a ball, but they dream of night where they can go out and enjoy themselves. Maybe a nightclub, maybe a concert, maybe a bar, or even just an outing with a group of friends where they let loose.

And maybe they don’t dream of a Prince Charming - but they dream of love. Maybe they dream of companionship. Or the financial stability that comes with it. Or maybe they just dream of having an ending where everything feels right.

Every Girl Dreams of Cinderella - doesn’t mean every girl dreams of a cishet wedding; but they dream of a happy ever after where everything feels right. Whatever shape that takes.

Villainess stories, or in general Isekai shoujo and romance novels, are exactly that. A happy ever after, where everything works how it’s supposed to work. It functions in the way that you, as an AFAB person, were taught as a kid that the world works. Where there’s a prince, where there’s a wedding, and where there’s a dress.

While people write the story, I think it’s important to analyze what that story says. What is exactly that “dream” that was sold to us? And what does it mean that we dream of it as adult women, (and sometimes not even women, or women who like princes anymore)? That what Media is for. What is it that we find comfort in, why, and what does it say about us?

That said.

I find most disappointing, when people with the empathy of a straight white man start to talk about it this genre with contempt. Specially, romance literature aimed at older women.

Because while literature can risky, a point and deep and deconstructive - sometimes that’s not what the audience wants, or even needs.

Sometimes, tired women, want to be able to read stories where the obviously good girl wins, and the obviously bad one loses. Where a big strong man takes all your problems away, and you have the fantasy promised to you since you were a kid. Where, you get to sit back, relax and read about how the wold is okay. It’s right. About how things are working they should.

Men get a chance to do that with blockbuster movies, why can’t women have that too?

Are there things to criticize about them? Yes. That’s partially what I’m here to do.

But you also need to do this with compassion and understanding.

This is not a multimillion dollar film, so you (and I have to stress this with permanent market) CANNOT, approach them with the same cynicism you would a video essay about how the transforms franchise is sexist crap.

In normal life, no one will bat an eye about a guy liking the Fast and Furious franchise. But a woman liking Fifty Shades of Grey, or any of those raunchy pulp novels they sell at a discount bin in Barnes and Nobles - is very much mocked. Made fun of. And the same goes for shitty villainess webcomics and novels. Even a teenager liking shitty romance novels.

I mean, just look at the way people treat Twilight, Colleen Hoover books, heck, even Ali Hazelwood’s books are mocked sometimes. And if you turn to see the contempt many have for women publishing they Reylo Fanfic that, in no way affects others, it’s very obvious the scrutiny through which romance novels are put through - even when they’re meant to be thoughtless self-fulfilling fantasies.

For some reason, there’s this expectation that women have to have the moral high ground. All they consume must be perfect. Not raise eyebrows, not be provocative, and definitely not controversial. While men get to ogle at Megan Fox on 4K at a booked-out theater.

It is not an even playing field.

And you have to acknowledge it, before doing any sort of analysis.

Because the literature that women like, is always considered a lesser form of art (sometimes even compared to world war 1, in case you think I forgot about Twilight), the same criticism said, will have a different impact.

If someone points out that Sixteen Candles is kinda creepy, everyone ignores it. If someone points out Twilight is creepy, it causes media to run a hate campaign against teens who like it.

So, I wanted to make that clear.

While what I will talk about in the next few chapters is important, always bear in mind that: It’s not exclusive to the genre, and not a problem only women have to solve.

It’s also important to recognize that individual authors may not even be aware of what they create comes across. Not to say that they’re all completely blameless, but that the fault sometimes lies less in the individual and more so on the broader trends that permeate literature. Which, in turn, are a reflection of our societal expectations and constructs.

In a more digestible example: A single author writing about how the evil character is ugly, may not be bad. But if multiple authors start doing it, it may mean that we, as a society, apply moral values to beauty. And that must be examined. It’s also important to recognize what exactly makes this character “ugly”, and if that’s born out of our standards of beauty, hidden racism or ableism, and what can we do about it? How will you change based on that information?

It doesn’t mean that the author has any moral failing. They’re telling a story. But it’s our job as literature analysts, to decode what that says about us. As a society. And what it means that it became so popular.

I have this disclaimer because we will inevitably confront the ugly side of this analysis. And I have seen people get very weird about them. Rather point fingers about what author is or isn’t racist, or if their work is or isn’t sexist - to me is far more productive to look at it and ask: Hey, if this is popular, what does it say about us? Why do I like it? What ugly truth am I looking at, in this mirror I’m holding?

I do not wish to appoint moral value in what I’m looking at. Not right now. Because if you do, you throw everything into the garbage and say “it’s bad”, “it’s problematic”, or “it’s gross”. It limits your scope.

The scope I want is not to tell you, “this is good” or “this is bad”. I want to discuss the way that certain tropes originated, what this “Dream of Cinderella” means, and how it can potentially impacts us when we read it.

So, to start talking about this “Dream of Cinderella”, first we have to ask:

Well, who is Cinderella?

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[nogacheloveka-blog]

Horrorgaze

"I'm not very good at speaking and writing in English. I did my best to make the text understandable, especially the jokes, but I may have been mistaken in this. If you see any serious mistakes, don't hesitate to write about it. You will help me a lot. Thank you.

Pairing and Characters: Killer/Nightmare, Horror/Cross, Killer/Cross, Cross, Nightmare, Killer, Dust, Horror

Other Tags: only Horror point of view, no sexual scenes(i think so), a lot of reflections, some memory lapses, weak sexual dimorphism, pairings hinted at in general

Description: Horror lives among variations of himself. He can think a lot and say little. He is also a nearsighted stalker.

Notes: All "Sans" in the text belong to Horror. According to my headcanon, he looks somewhat frightening and beast-like, with fangs and claws, keen hearing and smell, but extremely nearsighted. He is also "older" than Killer and Dust: Horrortale moved forward in time, while the universes of these two remained frozen in repetition.

***

Sans often gnawed on things. This habit remained from the hungry years in the Underground: to suppress the gnawing feeling of hunger, akin to the birth of a black hole below the sternum, he would scrape his teeth against his post in Snowdin, the resinous bark of trees, boil pine needles, and the hard-earned fish. He chewed on thin children's bones.

After Nightmare gave his world a chance to survive, Sans had to keep an eye on his habit. It would be rude to leave marks on someone else's territory, right? But even so, the pens and pencils that came into his possession, as well as the mugs with cutlery, suffered. All his belongings bore the imprint of his sharp-toothed jaw.

All his belongings, not himself.

Sans noticed a bite on his left hand while cooking, surprised by its presence. It was not painful at all, but deep enough to still be visible. It crossed the malicious "U" of his metacarpals and slid into scratches along the heads of the proximal phalanges, becoming particularly deep on the middle phalanx of his pinky finger. Sans himself could not have forgotten to bite himself this way—such an awkward angle.

The injured head made itself known. His memory sometimes failed to retain recent events. It was not as dire as with the Multiverse Defender, as he did not forget his daily routine. Only incidents with strong emotional outbursts, moments of excessive tension, became heavily blurred and slipped away, leaving gaping holes behind. He remembered things in fragments, from the words of those around him or by finding himself in similar situations, but he never had a complete picture. Life now presented itself to him as a series of calm days with patches missing during certain missions—when something went wrong, he had to operate at maximum capacity.

All attempts to recall the nature of the injury were unsuccessful. He remembered a vague excitement and an unclear obsessive desire, as his hands were tightly wrapped around something thin, like tree branches. No, no, wait, it was round and rough. And fabric. The claws on his right palm had definitely snagged something made of dense fabric, digging in, and it had torn under pressure, but it hadn't split apart. And he sank his claws deeper, simply because it felt good to have that sense of power.

His soul raced slightly even at the attempts to remember. Sans swallowed.

Judging by these scant fragments, it seemed he had been holding someone. Perhaps Nightmare had tasked him with stirring up trouble in some place, and he had gotten carried away? That seemed quite plausible. In most universes, just the sight of his massive, twisted figure in the middle of Snowdin or the New Home was enough to raise the level of negativity. Usually, during such missions, time did not particularly constrain him, and he allowed himself to chase the locals, driving them through the woods or engaging in extortion. He loved hunting too. It reminded him of the old days, but now he was full and could do it for fun, like someone of royal blood. Nevertheless, Sans did not like to kill—this did not apply to variations of Undyne—and he had a good sense of his opponents, which was why Nightmare appreciated the work he did.

Horror glanced at the calendar. He marked the days when he experienced memory loss, just to ask the others for details later. Or they would tell him themselves if they saw a new note. The bite had been less than a day ago. Meanwhile, the events of the current day seemed quite coherent, and Sans had noted the second half of yesterday. It seemed unlikely that this was a task from Nightmare, and he would remember many more details if that were the case. Perhaps it was related to someone here at home. In that case, it definitely wasn't Dust: he had left for a mission three days ago. He had seen Killer this morning, bored in the living room, and he looked the same as usual. Judging by the feelings from the memory, his victim should have been pretty battered. And it definitely wasn't a boss. Simply because it's hard to imagine how Lord Nightmare would bite him in self-defense rather than leave him with yet another hole in his skull.

Then Cross…?

He hadn’t seen him today, so that made sense. Did he get into a fight with Cross? Should he...

…The strong, white radial and ulnar bones in the grip of one of his hands, due to the splayed fingers, look like maple branches. Almost dazzlingly white compared to the grayish-yellow of his own bones. They are beautiful. Their color is indistinguishable from the snowy white of his clothing; even the scars do not mar them. Sans sees a brief flash of fear and how Cross freezes, pinned to the floor by his weight. He takes a breath to ask something…

...bring him some healing food?

A brief flash of memory pierces through like a spark.

…Sans covers Cross jaw with his free hand, not allowing a sound to escape. Cross's head is now pressed to the floor, revealing his beautiful profile and the white pupil widened in confusion at what is happening. From this angle, the strong cervical vertebrae, usually hidden by clothing, are visible. They are as lovely as blank sheets of paper and white, sweet marshmallows. He wants to bite-

His heart races from the unclear images. Sans runs his palm over his face. This is just disgusting. Yes, Cross is definitely beautiful, but that’s no reason…

…Hypnotized, he releases the other’s wrists and places his hand on the warm side. Cross flinches. Sans's claws dug into the layers of clothing, tearing through under pressure, but not splitting apart. And he sank his claws deeper, simply because it felt good to have that sense of power. He feels a smile stretching across his face. He wants to purr from the intoxicating sensation…

...to pounce on bones like a hungry dog. Sans wants to be dusted right now. No, no, first he needs to check on Cross's condition, to do everything he can to atone for his disgusting act — whatever it may have been. And then he’ll go impale the remnants of a skull...

…Suddenly, his victim kicks out and bites the hand on his face. He blinks sluggishly, and that moment of confusion is enough for Cross to slip away and disappear in a flash of shortcut teleportation...

...on something deadly.

Okay, fine. Great. He just scared him. The collar of panic and guilt around his neck loosened.

He will get up now and make a coffee pot of hot chocolate. And he will go talk to Cross about what happened. Apologize. Maybe he’ll try to…

It’s painfully shameful because Cross is really too good for all of them.

***

Sans remembered how Nightmare brought in a creature that smelled of dust and human blood. It was like a ghost: a silhouette near the occupied sofas in the living room, disappearing food from the fridge, the scent of cigarettes in empty rooms. One-word answers and silence to personal questions.

It was acutely aware of monster magic — Killer was openly losing at hide-and-seek.

It only yielded to Sans himself in the real hunt. Sans even managed to remember its scent of death before it turned back.

The frightened expression of the skull reminded Sans of his own past when he looked at his changing body in the shards of a mirror. Back then, he saw living emotions. And how much effort it took him to discern in it the almost defeated self from the past, the one who needed help.

Hunger, long-standing trauma, and LV had long ago twisted Sans's bones, making him more dangerous, like a wounded animal. Dust's LV hung around like a heavy, biting cloud, constantly warping his mind, turning him into a madman, quietly begging the empty corners for either forgiveness or help. Horror caught snippets of phrases as he silently passed by. The addresses to Papyrus particularly pierced his soul. Sans remembered the times of the eighth human's fall and all that exhausting dance with timelines. In Dust's case, the hopeless conditions of the game broke him so much that he couldn't hold on. But it must be said that guy was holding up pretty well now, albeit with disgusting methods.

Dust's refuge was not far from Sans's own room, and at night, his keen hearing picked up unsteady footsteps, while his sensitive nose detected the alcoholic haze, in addition to the usual smell of the dust old attic. Horror was wildly glad that the skeleton didn't use shortcuts in such a state. Sometimes he heard the footsteps stop at his door. From that side came whispers and sobs, provoking a strong desire to grab this dummy by the scruff of the neck like a wayward kitten and carry it to safety.

On one of those days, Sans realized that he simply couldn't ignore his younger and more confused version. He had something to offer him. He did what Sanses did best:

“Knock, knock,” the knuckles rhythmically tapped against the door from the inside. There were doubts about the success of this plan on the first try, but at the very least, it would let him know he was open to company.

“ Who… is there?” The voice sounded uncertain from the other side, as if it were trying to remember the beginning of such jokes. Or preparing for an attack.

Sans was still glad to hear a response.

“A liver,” his large, clawed hand slowly unlocked the horrifically creaky door, creating a small gap. He could distinctly hear a shaky step back from the other side. A faint light streamed through the small opening into the dark corridor. Sans saw half of a skull, a swirling two-colored pupil beneath a disheveled hood, and an elbow frozen in a defensive gesture. The air smelled of fear.

“What… liver?” came the quiet mumble.

“Delivery,” Sans replied with a satisfied rumble, extending a Spider Donut.

It reminded him of how he used to lure children into traps in his Underground with bright sweets wrappers. In any case, the sweets had never been a trick — a really nice scream. He wasn’t a complete fiend.

Dust looked unusually bewildered. But he took the donut. What a good boy. Sans's hand itched to pat him on the head. But he had to hold back.

“Knock. I’m usually here. I’ll open up and help if you need it.”

Dust didn’t knock. It was as if he had completely evaporated. The need to find him and make sure he was okay left Sans restless. But there was no shuffling around and emptying the stock of strong alcohol in the kitchen either. Not for a while.

One calm day, early in the morning, Sans woke up to the sound of something falling outside the door. Could that be considered a knock? Yes? Definitely, yes.

Dust lay there without lights in his eye sockets, like an old, slippery, dusty rag that had wiped up a puddle of absinthe and hadn’t been wrung out properly. Sans took him in. He stripped off the stale Dust's clothes and the only remaining slipper, wrapping the unconscious bones in a blanket. After a moment’s thought, he brought an orange and a glass of water from the kitchen.

He would take care of him.

***

Sans stared blankly at the bare bones, unsure of what to do with himself. Scored with scars and illuminated by the poisonous crimson of the target's soul, they couldn't hide the gentle curvature at the joints. The light, elegant rib cage, with its lovely splay of collarbones, emphasized the fragility of the shoulders. The spinous processes of the vertebrae, unlike the others on the team, were not spiky like a gnawed fish spine but rounded, like feathers on a bird of prey. He had forbidden himself to look below the lumbar region of the spine, but even so, he counted three large vertebrae. The black tears of hatred, it turned out, concealed the subtle differences in the facial bones and jaw. Until that moment, Sans hadn't realized how nearsighted he was. Not just him, but everyone on their team of world evil.

Killer tilted his(?) head questioningly at Sans's confusion. The shattered radius seemed to bother him(?) not at all, just as the broken false ribs didn’t; he(?) was playfully swinging his(?) legs while sitting on the table amid the rubble of bones, like an unfinished cookie. A bit of bandaging and some healing food. That was all. Sans managed it in a couple of minutes, under the mocking, uncomfortable squint of the chocolate-black voids of eye sockets.

It was a pity that sorting out mixed feelings wouldn’t be so easy. He was somewhat old-fashioned about such matters. Sans was so flustered that he didn’t ask anything or request to cover up. Why did none of the guys react to—

But on the other hand, Sans reacted normally to other variations of himself. Himself who killed his brother. Himself with four tentacles. Himself in a blue neck scarf. Himself as a creator, himself as a destroyer. Why did he only short-circuit at the thought of himself

as a girl?

Their kind had weak sexual dimorphism, and the presence of an ecto-body reduced the natural sex to something akin to hair color, essentially a joke. It was a remnant, considering the overall bisexuality. In his time in Horrortale, there had been other skeletal beings — not that Sans “shared a closet” with any of them — who helped him a lot by looking after Papyrus and providing both brothers with an education when their father to vanish into Core oblivion. At the very least, he knew how the females of their kind differed from the males (a couple of anatomy atlases from the Surface had lived under his bed throughout puberty).

Sans decided to observe.

All previous interactions with Killer had not revealed any concern: his(?) clothing was unremarkable, he(?) didn’t try to cover his(?) nudity (Sans realized he hadn’t really noticed nothing during those times), he(?) spoke firmly in the masculine form, teasing without hesitation. Even the tone of his(?) voice (Sans had to listen closely to all the nonsense that came out of that voice) hinted at nothing. The only thing that distinguished him was his(?) fighting style, where Killer preferred to use his(?) natural flexibility and show off in close combat, impervious to pain. And, damn, it was beautiful. Inventive. Next to Killer's deadly tango, Horror felt like a clumsy bear.

The others also didn’t react. Only Cross occasionally grumbled about the need to constantly heal Killer’s fractures, to which the latter shrugged, saying, “It’s so you can touch me a little more, Crossy.” Dust was irritated to the point of cracking with barely restrained magic. Their LV didn’t allow for any other kind of communication.

It became amusing that in all their variations of unfortunsanse outcomes, the conversation about pistils and stamens would only be his. Nightmare clearly had no intention of changing the current state of affairs. Although Sans had seen how disapproving he looked at the flirting from his protégé. To be honest, he himself also looked at it disapprovingly — Lord of Negativity was too old for Killer.

In the end, Sans resigned himself. Killer had socialized as a guy for too long, so even the sudden news that his body was somehow different and that he had to behave differently wouldn’t affect much. If someone suddenly told to Sans, “Hey, buddy, you have feminine bones,” he would shrug it off and do nothing. But Killer could throw something unexpected (in a bad way) in response. So he needed to take his gentlemanly instincts and shove them far up his backside.

Killer was a guy. Conversations about his body being female wouldn’t change anything — they were, for star's sake, made of bones that were covered in magic when it was really needed, with open interpretations the rest of the time. Case closed. Apparently, the long-simmering tension made him worry about trivial matters.

“Been a while since you ran from me, big guy,” Killer said, playing with a knife. “Thought I’d lost my charm with you.”

Sans snorted softly. He had only been thinking about him these past few days.

“I haven’t fought in a long time.”

“Ah, that’s it. Then…” His bored expression shifted to childlike joy. “Hi there! I’m Kill the Killer! Want a little LOVE from me? I share it through my little, pointy ‘friendly knives’!” And with a laugh, he launched magical attacks that appeared in the air, not particularly aiming.

***

Lord of Negativity was strange.

But that was somewhat pleasing, as he didn’t respond to “Sans.” And his brother didn’t respond to “Papyrus.” The body made of black sludge was strange too. Theoretically, it was the same substance that flowed from Killer's eye sockets, which explained the latter's attraction: a part of the substance inside him longed to reunite with its source. Or something like that.

The only thing that was not strange, but rather predictable, was the aura of negativity that followed him like a cool trail, displacing even the feverish, biting whispers of their colorful company’s common LV. When it was nearby, breathing felt easier. Dust relaxed his tense shoulders. The trails of eternal tears from Killer dried up. Only Cross became more serious, but he revered Nightmare.

It was no secret that he simply fed off them during such moments.

Well, so what — he didn’t consume regular food, so everyone just benefited at dinner. And dinners were always communal since Nightmare always gave instructions for the next day if there were any. He didn’t make his presence known every time, but judging by the feeling of relief, he was always nearby. Sometimes, Sans felt like he was even сhecking on their well-being during such visits. The feeling of being Checked could have just been a figment of his imagination.

“I don’t need you worrying about your problems,” Nightmare said authoritatively when he sealed their deal. “Just take care of my instructions. I take you, your world takes the food.”

At that time, his words sounded like selling one’s soul to pure evil, which doesn’t keep promises. And he agreed to it simply because everything that gave him the strength to survive was dying in his hands, turning hopes and dreams to dust. But the longer he worked under his patronage, the clearer it became that putting Lord of Negativity's concerns above his own was the best means of achieving any other goals and desires. He wasn’t senseless evil; rather, he was a spectrum from chaotic to lawful and was a personality.

It wasn’t an act of love or care.

For a knife to attack your opponent, its tip must be pointed where you want it to go. If it looks elsewhere, you’ll miss. If the knife is dull, you’ll waste your strength. If you apply constant pressure to it, the knife will break, and you’ll be left unarmed. Also, butter knives are bad for chopping trees, and axes are for social receptions.

Nightmare solved their problems if it truly required his intervention. He taught them tactics and strategy, kept the necessary books on the lower shelves (even if it contradicted the library system), and personally trained them. He gave them personal time and time for healing if it was needed. He didn’t send them on missions if it didn’t suit their abilities.

In other words, he replaced their goals with his own, didn’t let them dull, and didn’t pressure them more than necessary. A delightful approach.

And Sans was devoted to him out of gratitude.

Dream's arrows were no more dangerous to him than usual. You could say he took only half the damage from them, just like any normal skeleton*. And he calmly caught them mid-flight with his bare hands or…

“Wow, big guy, you’re completely insane!” Killer sounded genuinely enthusiastic, encouraging his ego with a peculiar compliment.

His admiration warmed the soul pleasantly, like a fletching of pure positivity warmed his mouth. The magical arrow crunched like glass under the pressure of his teeth.

Dream looked flustered. Blue and Dust even paused their fight to see how the half-broken arrow vanished into cool blue sand in the air along with Sans's 5 HP. For Nightmare, it would have taken comically more.

Horrortale made all parts of the body weapons, so there was nothing strange about utilizing everything available for Lord of Negativity. Magic wasn’t as fast.

And by protecting Nightmare, he was primarily protecting everything most precious in his life, which Nightmare also protected.

However strange that may sound.

Notes:

Horror: Well, I would be quite hot in a female body. Killer: Flirting with a 500-year-old surströmming. Horror: Damn

- In games, skeletons often have resistance to swords or arrows

[spmcomic]

What made you wanna create your comic?

to be honest, it was a combination of things!

the reason i made the first scene is because it had been a long time since i worked on an art piece, and i wanted to spend a school break creating designs for blumiere and timpani and draw a short comic with the two of them interacting. i already had everything i needed with memory 1, so i drew a few drafts of the characters, a few one- or two-panel sketches of the pair and the father character, a few thumbnails, and then put together the three-page scene.

one of my friends commented on the post on deviantart and said "great work, can't wait for the next one!" at which point i said "oh this was just a one-off, i'm not going to draw more."

we can see where that got me.

by next week, i had a notebook full of doodles, concepts for the rest of the gang, more interactions, and little plot lines. some of the mini comics were five pages long and covered the characters discussing their relationships, their backstories… stuff that looks very different in the final comic.

i guess i just ended up having a lot to say! a month later, i had a basic plot outline- a list of questions and their answers. three months later (during arc 3-ish), i had the first draft of a complete script with all the moments i wanted to include, and i committed to pursuing that plot line. six months later (during arc 4), i had an idea that i REALLY needed to share, and i rewrote all of my notes and put all of my ideas in a defined order with a set number of scenes (about 300) to make sure i could take every step necessary to get there.

i'm excited to draw every scene along the way. every page has something i love in it. this comic is a joy to create and i want to show you guys what i've been thinking about. it's been with me through a lot of rough patches in my life. it's my favorite thing that i've made, and even after six and a half years i still feel really good about the direction we're going to go in. i have a complete third draft of the script with about 276 scenes and i'm happy with it.

i found other fan works i've read over the years very inspiring… i think two major fics that found their way into my work were blue sky (portal 2) (webcomic here!!) and handplates (undertale). when i read that stuff, i think to myself "i want to make something that good and satisfying, i want to make more things like this." so i work my hardest to make stories like those.

anyway, if you got this far, thank you for hearing me out. i'm glad that the comic has resonated with a few people. your kind comments and interesting and fun questions help keep me going when i get discouraged. i know my story doesn't have much shipping in it or anything, but i wanted to tell this exact story with these exact characters and that's what i'm gonna do. i'm grateful to have anyone along for the ride, and i'm so happy that i've gotten to meet everyone i've met, and make friends along the way.

[goldenennina]

V5 is nearing completion!!

Today, I am finishing up my list of the last mods I am planning on adding to V5! This is a momentous occasion! I began work on V5 in February or March of this year, and now as it is nearing completion, I am in awe of what I have created! The Washburn Edition is EVERYTHING I wish Sims 4 had been. With a stable game, expansive and immersive gameplay, and heavily improved graphics all running on my little Samsung Galaxy laptop!

I created my Washburn Edition Mods list out of my passion and frustration with the Sims 3, and my vision and hope of what this game could become. This game has gotten me through so many rough patches in my life, as I know it has for all of you. It has been and continues to be my privilege to bring this game into the present and support it into the future!

I still have a LOT of work ahead of me. A lot of testing and fine tuning, and eventually formatting the Mods List before release. Unfortunately, I haven't had much time to work on it, make a new YouTube Video, or even play the game. I have a lot of changes going on in my life right now -all positive!- and it hasn't left me with very much spare time for my passions.

Thank you as always for all of your support on this project!

I will keep you updated as often as I can!!

Link to my most recent YouTube Video!