#high key more invested than i am

[manilovecapybaras]

making blueberry jam because i have to leave this man on delivered is INSANE

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: You once again found yourself face-to-face with Eddie not even twenty-four hours after he checked into the motel, and your interactions left you with more questions than answers. (3.8k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, drug use, parental conflict, poverty, grumpy Eddie, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter two: here today

Bzzzzzz!

Your alarm clock blared its tinny ring at 1 PM. The sun was bright, a welcome change from yesterday’s overcast skies and steady rainfall.

You stretched as you awoke before shedding your oversized shirt and shorts, padding over to the shower and waiting a full five minutes for the cold water to turn lukewarm. The thinning bar of soap formed sad suds in your palm, and you lathered your skin as best as you could.

Despite your best efforts, you kept thinking about your encounter last night—that morning, really—with Eddie Munson. There was a cocky edge to him, evident by his initial refusal to put out his joint, but at least a shred of humanity; after all, he did eventually comply. There was even a semblance of…something that’d you’d shared in your brief interaction.

Or maybe it was just your imagination, the summation of your exhaustion and his high.

The towel scratched as you dried the water droplets from your bare skin, and though the cloth dampened, you could have sworn that it wasn’t wicking any moisture. Dad had been saying for years that he’ll invest in new linens “as soon as business picks up.” But business never picked up enough to do anything more than barely break even for the year, so the ancient towels stayed.

Picking the lint off of your purple T-shirt, you tucked it into your jeans and shoved your feet into your sneakers without bothering to unlace them first. One look in the mirror determined that you definitely needed makeup to look half-decent, or at least awake. There was no earthly way you would sacrifice a minute of precious sleep, so you swiped on some mascara in favor of an intricate routine and quickly fixed your hair. 

You plucked a granola bar from the stash on your dresser: your usual breakfast, tossed into your backpack as you headed out the door towards the lobby. The bus would be arriving in about five minutes, giving you just enough time to get to the stop before the doors closed. Barring any traffic, it followed a consistent schedule; one of the few certainties in life. 

“Hi Dad; bye Dad,” you called out, stopping in your tracks when you saw an obviously irritated Eddie standing in front of the desk, his arms crossed over his chest and his foot anxiously tapping. At least he was fully dressed this time, clad in a faded band t-shirt, ripped jeans, and the same denim jacket he was wearing last night when he’d first walked in. “Everything okay?” 

Dad motioned to Eddie. “Our guest is having some issues with his TV,” he said, his raised eyebrows indicating that the guest was being quite persistent about the matter. “Can you help him?” Before you could answer, he looked at Eddie and explained, “my daughter’s better with this technology stuff than I am.”

There was a temptation to argue that it was probably just a matter of smacking the side or replacing the remote batteries, but you didn’t have time to waste. “Yeah, sure,” you relented, turning to Eddie and waving him over. “Come on.”

Eddie waited to speak until the two of you were completely alone. “That was your dad?” 

You nodded, shoving your hands in your pockets and keeping your walking pace until you reached his room. 

“So what’s the problem?” you asked as he turned the key in the lock. It stuck for a moment before it fully unlatched, and he opened the door with a shove.

“The reception’s shit,” Eddie muttered, keeping his fingers splayed on the door so you could walk in first. “Every time I try to put on MTV, it’s all static. Tried it last night, too, but I figured it was because of the storm.” He gestured to the now-sunny skies. “But that shouldn’t be affecting it anymore.”

You offered a wry smile, the way you always did when delivering bad news to a guest. “Nothing’s wrong with the reception,” you explained, “there’s just no cable.”

“What?” His brows shot up in disbelief. “How is that even possible?”

“It’s simple.” You shrugged. “Cable costs money, we don’t have money; ergo, no cable.”

Eddie raked a hand through his messy curls. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” His feet could have worn holes in the floor with the way he was pacing. “Where can I watch MTV around here? Like, is there a bar or something?”

“Yeah, I mean, there’s one right down the—” You turned to the window but stopped mid-sentence, your stomach sinking as you watched your bus fly past. You heaved a dejected sigh as tears prickled at your eyes embarrassingly, and you blinked them away. 

It’s okay; I haven’t been late at all this semester, you silently reminded yourself. You could take one of the dollar cabs that runs up and down Jamaica Avenue. It wouldn’t get you exactly where you needed to go, but it would be close enough.

Eddie remained oblivious to your inner turmoil, eyes trained on the TV. “Fuck,” he grumbled, sucking through his teeth. 

“The clock radio plays music,” you offered as you hiked your backpack higher up on your shoulder. “I know it’s not the same as watching videos, but–”

“It’s not about the stupid videos!” he snapped, curling his palm into a tight fist and biting down on his forefinger knuckle. Dark eyes exuded distress, and you couldn’t help but think that his sheer panic mismatched the problem’s minimal severity.

You recoiled at his sudden outburst and took an instinctive step back. He noticed this, his expression instantly softening. His hand unfurled and fell to his side. 

“Shit, I–”

“I’m gonna be late to class.” You composed yourself, straightening your posture and forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “But the bar is right on 144th and 89th.”

He sputtered as he searched for the right words to apologize and explain himself. If you had time, you’d wait for him to unscramble his thoughts, but you were already behind schedule now that your bus was long gone.

You strode across campus like you were on a mission, feet flying over the pavement. The cab had left you at another bus stop closer to school, and that bus had thankfully arrived on schedule. At this rate, you would only be ten minutes late to class. 

Sweat trickled down your back from midday sun’s warmth and your fast pace, but you kept walking until you reached the lecture hall’s double doors. This class was a smaller one, only twenty or so students, so there was no sneaking in unnoticed. 

You shot your professor an apologetic look that she accepted with a polite nod, sliding into your usual seat next to your friend Nora. 

“Is everything okay?” Nora whispered, moving her own bag from the chair. The concern on her face was palpable; if you weren’t able to make it to class, you would have called her. 

“Yeah, just stuff at the motel going haywire as usual,” you reassured her with a small smile, digging out your notebook and a pen. You flipped to the first blank page and scribbled today’s date next to the right-hand margin. “What did I miss?”

Nora shook her head as if to say, nothing. “She just gave back last week’s homework. I grabbed yours, too.” She handed you a sheet of paper with a bright red A+ on top. “I figured if something had happened to you, you could be buried with your most recent perfect paper.” 

She winked, and you rolled your eyes to mask your burgeoning pride. 

Truthfully, you’d worked hard on the assignment. You might have already been accepted to graduate school, but NYU’s prestige didn’t come without a hefty price tag, and you still needed to apply for scholarships in order to afford it. 

Now was not the time to slack. 

You tried to pay attention to the lecture, but your mind constantly drifted to the way Eddie had behaved in his room, having a meltdown like an overtired toddler. The man who had lost his temper over a television channel was starkly different from the one who had readily swapped playful jabs with you the night prior. 

Maybe whatever buzz he’d managed to acquire before you’d interrupted him had made him uncharacteristically pleasant, and today’s outburst was indicative of his true self. 

You bit the inside of your cheek and willed yourself to focus on the case study being presented on the board rather than your own personal Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. 

Try as you might, you couldn’t shake the mystery that was Eddie Munson. Guests had had their choice words with you before—there was a reason why you had pepper spray at the ready—but this felt different. When most guests screamed like he had, they were specifically angry at you; it was the reaction you had expected when you’d told Eddie that he couldn’t smoke pot in the motel. Others simply were not in their right minds and didn’t realize that they were shouting at a random woman and not their mom or childhood bully or the monster under the bed. 

Eddie differed from both categories in that he’d recognized his mistake. That he was frustrated at the situation, not at you. That he had started an apology that he might have finished If you had stuck around.

Or maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe he would have continued yelling, face growing red with rage. Maybe he would have stopped his tantrum but stormed out to the bar without a second thought. 

You looked down at your notebook page, still blank except for the date. 

Maybe you should stop playing this game of what-ifs and actually listen to the lecture. 

After your professor handed out the rubric for the final paper and dismissed the class, you and Nora made a beeline for the food cart outside the building. Dining hall food was too expensive and bland; besides, Niko knew both of your orders by heart. 

He greeted you with a chipper smile as soon as you approached the cart. Bacon sizzled in its own fat, drowned out only by the sound of the chopper scraping against stainless steel as Niko scrambled the eggs.  

“Better enjoy this nice weather while it lasts,” he said, fuzzy gray brows pinching together. He grabbed two styrofoam cups from a stack and filled them with coffee. “Temperature’s s’posed to skyrocket this summer.”

You grimaced, pulling a few bills from your backpack’s front pouch. “If food service doesn’t work out for you, Niko, you should look into meteorology.”

He brushed off your sarcasm and adjusted his apron over his protruding belly. He added cream and sugar to the coffees and slid them towards you. “Been doin’ this a long time,” he said, gesturing to the food cart set-up. He took your four singles and handed you back two quarters, doing the same for Nora. “Longer than you two’ve been alive. And some things never change: you kids always have somethin’ smart to say.” 

Your mouth watered as he toasted the rolls and added a slice of American cheese to yours before combining the ingredients into hearty sandwiches. He carefully wrapped them in tinfoil and handed them over. 

You smiled, uncovered the sandwich, and took a hearty bite. Melty cheese oozed out from the roll and clung to your lip, and you collected it with the tip of your tongue. “At least we’re consistent,” you teased, waving goodbye as you and Nora walked to the bus stop. 

“What went down at the motel today?” Nora asked, chewing her food as she spoke. “I mean, I’ve seen you get to class early during a blizzard,” she added with a knowing grin. 

You remembered that day, February winds whipping around you and cutting through your layers of clothes like a knife. The snow stung your nose and cheeks and made it nearly impossible to see three feet ahead of you, but you’d made it to class before the professor had even arrived.

“Nothing really,” you tried to say nonchalantly, taking another bite of sandwich to keep your mouth busy. You don’t want to think about the way Eddie had raised his voice at you this afternoon; more specifically, the shame that tugged at you for being disappointed. You’d had one decent interaction with him and you’d foolishly assumed some kind of mutual respect had been built, but it all boiled down to the basics: he was a guest at the motel who would be checking out on Friday, and then you’d never see him again.

Nora wrinkled her nose, not quite believing you, but any further interrogation was interrupted by the bus squeaking to a stop. You dropped the five quarters into the tray before squeezing your way through the aisle.

“Just…” Nora dropped her voice to avoid drawing the ire of your fellow commuters, grabbing onto a pole to steady herself, “you didn’t need to break out the pepper spray or anything, right?” 

You gave her a grateful smile. “Nothing like that. I promise.”

“Good.” She reached over and gave your hand a small squeeze, careful not to brush up against anyone else. “Because I need my study buddy in one piece.” 

“I’m fi—” The bus lurched forward suddenly, the driver slamming on the brakes just as the yellow light turned red. You tightened your grip on the pole and planted your feet into the floor to keep your balance until coming to a complete stop. The other passengers grumbled and groaned as they shifted, leaving trails of mumbled sorry’s in their wake.

The Metropolitan Transit Authority would likely cause your demise well before any motel guest could get to you.  

It was barely after six PM when you got back to the motel. The sun began to creep down from its pedestal into purpling clouds and teased dusk’s beginning. Horns honked as rush hour traffic dragged along the expressway as though their cacophony would make the other cars evaporate into thin air. 

You had about four hours before your shift started; it was just enough time to work on the paper, take a quick nap, and boil water in your electric kettle to make some Cup Noodles. 

“Hey.”

You looked up to see Eddie leaning against the wall, a cigarette burning between his pointer and middle finger. It was freshly lit, but he still extinguished it under his foot before stepping closer to you. His brown eyes flickered from the ground to your face and back down again. 

“Hi.” Short but polite, your customer-service smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. You could see Mom through the glass door, leafing through paperwork that was almost certainly a stack of past-due bills. 

Eddie shoved his hands in his pockets, scuffing one Reeboked heel against the pavement. “I went to that bar you told me about.” He said it all in one breath as though he expected you to take off running. 

“Oh.” One corner of your mouth quirked up in a hesitant half-smile. “Did you, um, did you get to watch your show?”

He nodded, a forlorn look clouding his eyes. His right incisor dug into his lower lip. “Yeah. Thanks.” He paused, and you started for the door once again before he spoke up. “Sorry, I—you said you had a class today?” he asked, clumsily tripping over his words.

There was no sense in lying; not with your backpack hooked over your shoulders. “Mhm.” 

“Were you…” His tongue swiped nervously over his lips. “Did I make you late?”

You shook your head. “I got a dollar cab.” Not quite a lie, just omitting the truth. At this point, you were willing to let him smoke weed again if it’d result in easy conversation.

Eddie bit the inside of his cheek, head tilted slightly as he assessed your response. He seemingly accepted it at face value, exhaling a quiet, “that’s good,” and fumbling in his pocket for another cigarette. 

You took that as your cue to leave and ducked into the lobby to greet your mom with a quick wave. She returned it with a weary smile, eyes creased at the corners. The soft lines etched into her forehead had deepened over the past few months. The Reagan-Bush trickle-down economy era might have come to an end, but its remnants still affected small businesses and the even smaller people running them.

“How was class?”

“Good.” 

The usual exchange, no real information revealed. The mother-daughter song-and-dance performance of the ages. As long as neither of you disrupted the routine, the music played on.

Ten PM rolled around too quickly, and you plodded into the lobby with a stomach full of sodium-drenched noodles and your tote bag full of books. A street light flickered outside, more off than on, illuminating the sidewalk in a hazy glow every so often.

Mom handed over the register keys and placed a kiss on your cheek before she left to go to bed in the room she shared with Dad. Nighttime was the only time they got to be together uninterrupted, and it was spent sleeping.

That wasn’t what you wanted. When–if–you found somebody to share your life with, you wanted to have conversations with topics besides financial upkeep. You wanted to talk about meaningless topics and make each other laugh. You wanted to lay with your head on their lap, gazing into their eyes and revering in the beautiful silence. Nothing forced or planned. Just being.

You positioned yourself behind the desk, spreading your supplies in front of you. You’d managed to draft the opening paragraph for your essay before sleepiness overtook you and you’d had to nap, and your goal tonight was to revise it to perfection. The upcoming weekend would be spent at the public library, nose deeply buried in every psychology book they owned while you outlined the body.

Red pen marked up your page, commas added and removed three times over. Arrows shifted sentence order, while some sentences were altogether crossed out with heavy lines.

It was perfect. It was all wrong. You loved it. You hated it.  

Maybe I should scrap it altogether and start over. 

Your palm pressed to the notebook page, ready to tear it out and crumple it into a ball with jagged edges that would dig into your skin. 

“Hey.”

In your intense focus, you hadn’t even heard anyone walk in. A rookie mistake; somebody could have snuck up on you and you’d be none the wiser.

Eddie stood there, a folded one-dollar peering out from between his thumb and forefinger. He shuffled to the desk and held out the money, his eyes offering a silent apology. 

“I owe you for the, uh, cab,” he mumbled, lips forming a tight, nervous smile. “And don’t argue with me. I know my bullshit made you late, so…” He flitted his free hand as if dismissing potential concern.

You clicked your tongue in mock disapproval. “You’re not from New York City, are you?”

Eddie shook his head with a laugh, fingers scratching at a stubbled patch along his cheek. “How’d ya know?”

“A New York man knows better than to tell a New York woman not to argue with him,” you teased, capping your pen. “Also, you tried starting a conversation with me earlier, and any New Yorker knows that’s a cardinal sin.”

“Having a conversation?” 

“Making small talk with a stranger.”

His nose crinkled in adorable bewilderment as though the thought never occurred to him. “We’re not strangers. We met last night.”

The innocence of his remark drew a genuine laugh out of you. “I see the same people on the bus every day,” you told him, “and they’re still strangers. Being more than mildly aware of someone's existence doesn’t mean I know them.”

“Fair point,” Eddie conceded, leaning in slightly, “but I’d argue that we know each other’s names, so we’re not total strangers.”

Humming your acknowledgment–but not necessarily agreement–you plucked the dollar from his grasp and tucked it into your back pocket. “I’ll put this towards your bill.” 

“Oh, yeah. About that.” Eddie cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Are there any pawn shops around here that’ll buy a guitar?”

“No, sorry.” There had been one down the street but it had already been shuttered for a few years. Guests would go there all the time to hock whatever they could to pay for another night at the motel.   

He let out a long, disappointed sigh. “Shit. Okay.” The playfulness behind his eyes faded. “Um, thanks anyway.”

He turned away from the desk, shoulders slumped. You knew that look all too well; it was the stance of someone who just needed life to cut them a break.

“Eddie?”

He swiveled back around, his curls a half-second behind. “Yeah?”

“Do you know how to re-wallpaper a room?”

“Huh?” Your question caught him by surprise, and he took a moment to collect himself. “I mean, yeah, kind of. I did it for my uncle’s trailer once. But I’m not, like, a professional.”

You smiled. “No professional experience necessary.” You gestured to the various spots on the wall where the paper was cracked and peeled. “If you can make this look presentable, you can stay a few more days. Free of charge.”

His expression immediately darkened, eyes narrowing and crossed arms closing off his body. “I don’t need charity,” he asserted through a tensed jaw.

“It’s not charity; it’s a favor.” The harsh reaction caught you off-guard, but you refused to let him unsettle you again. “Look around: do you really think we can afford to hire someone to install new wallpaper?” 

You didn’t bother to wait for his response before continuing. “We need to fix this place up, and you need a roof over your head.” Shrugging casually, you held onto the hope that he would also view this as a mutually beneficial offer and not a pity handout.

Eddie just scoffed, a rejection in itself, compounded with a growling reprise: “I said, I don’t need charity.” 

Spikes jutted out from his words and pinched your skin, each one a reminder of your uncanny ability to worsen every problem you tried to solve. 

Offering a job to someone you barely knew? He gave you a buck to pay for the cab you only had to take because of him—not exactly the best character statement. The man could be a serial killer who preys on low-budget motel owners and you’d be none the wiser, signing his checks like you weren’t his next victim. 

Maybe next week, you could hire Ted Bundy to change bed linens. 

“Understood.”

He looked at you so intensely his pupils should have bored a hole right through you. Behind his eyes wasn’t an ounce of hate or even anger. 

It was raw shame. 

I’m sorry got caught in your throat and didn’t reach your tongue until he had disappeared back down the hall, out of sight. 

--

taglist:

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98 @squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @chrissymjstan @loves0phelia @kthomps914 @aysheashea @reidsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock @ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @bewitchedmunson @foreveranexpatsposts @mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank @sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl @fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

[lovelytsunoda]

don't go breaking my heart // lance stroll

soft moments stolen between wedding and reception

weddings are joyous and festive, but can be stressful for introverts like lance and his wife. so when they were able to steal some moments with each other in the peace of his aston martin between the ceremony and the venue, they know these are the moments they will treasure the most from that day.

pairing: lance stroll x newlywed reader

warnings: just fluff, a minor minor allusion to sex.

author's note: i have no idea why i have written so many wedding things for this man, but i think it's because he is the raw definition of husband material. thank you and good night lmao.

“don’t go breaking my heart…I couldn’t if I tried”

elton john and kiki dee crooned over the speakers as lances aston martin drove through the quebec countryside. it was a quiet night, stars high in the sky as he ran his thumb over his wife’s thigh.

“I love you.” he hummed, daring to look over at the love of his life as he took a corner too fast. “my darling darling wife.”

she smiled, meeting his gaze. “eyes on the road, handsome. you’ve got the rest of your life to stare at me. I love you too.”

the wedding had felt like a blur, maybe because of how wired they both felt. it should have been a smaller ceremony, in all hindsight considered.

it was an odd thing: you want to celebrate your love around all these people, but then the day arrives and suddenly you feel anxious at letting them see you pledge your heart to another.

lance and y/n had always been the quiet, soft couple. the one evoking ‘awe’s and heart eyes from the groups around them. they knew each other like the backs of their hands, better than any track map or textbook.

“enjoy the quiet while it lasts.” she hummed, nimble fingers gently easing the pins for her white lace veil out of her hair. “is it bad that I’m dreading my own reception?”

lance laughed. "nope. because i am, too. i know it's all about us and all that, but i hate being the center of attention. i would have rather had a dinner party."

she snorted. "technically this is really just a rather large dinner party."

"i mean, there's food and wine, you picked a damn good throwback playlist. dinner party." lance shrugged, taking his foot off the gas, headlights illuminating the empty road ahead.

lance had decided to take the scenic route, savoring this moment alone, this little bit of calm before the storm. before the party, the noise, the people.

just him and his wife, falling a little bit more in love with each other every day.

"if scotty throws his back out dancing to 'suicide blonde', i'm not fucking helping." y/n laughed, reaching for the stereo to flip to the offending inxs song. "i still cannot believe that this song was about kylie fucking minogue."

"there's a reason we invested in the mocktail bar."

"you know most of the guys have flasks hidden in their suit jackets, right?"

she would have preferred something low key, but her family had wanted the big party. it wasn't all bad. she got to pick the food (pasta bar, anybody?), the drinks, the decorations, the music. she'd made a throwback playlist of all her favorite happy songs, all the ones that made her feel alive, giddy and in love, ranging from inxs to def leppard to kesha.

she'd waited twenty-five years for this moment, so why was she suddenly getting this bad feeling about going to the party that followed?

the event venue slowly came into view over the distance, the white brick building with it's pillars and vintage charm, the walkway to the door lit up with fairy lights. the small parking lot was already almost full, the rest of the guests waiting inside for the happy couple. lance parked his car furthest from the door, but kept the engine running.

he took her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. "we can turn around and drive away." he was dead serious when he looked over at her. "i'm serious, we can run and go get burgers and milkshakes and see a movie and then go back to the hotel and not sleep a minute because we are too busy having the goofiest, most romantic sex of our lives. i just want you to be comfortable."

"i know. and that's why i love you so much, lance." she sighed, a smile blooming on her face. "but our friends are in there. our parents are in there. hell, your dad is probably trying to sell my dad on buying a time share villa in biarritz."

lance laughed, leaning over the center console to kiss her forehead. "whenever you want to leave, you just tell me. if you need a minute to yourself, just shoot me a text message and i'll come and find you. or don't, if you just want a walk in total solitude. i'll probably need one of those at some point, too."

"i knew there was a reason i married you." she joked, tilting her head up to press her lips to his. "i love you to the moon and back, lance."

"you wanna go inside?"

"we might as well."

lance took his seatbelt off, shutting off the car and sliding out of the driver's door. her dramatically slid across the hood, earning a laugh from his wife as he skipped towards her door, opening it for her before extending a hand for her to take.

"beautiful girl, love of my life, may i help you out of this shockingly low car?"

she laughed, slipping one of her hands into his warm one. "yes, my beautiful husband. yes, you may."

she stepped out of the car, the hem of her white silk dress dusting the gravel in the parking lot. a breeze ran through the area, making the hair on the backs of her arms stand up.

"love, you're shivering." lance said softly, slipping out of his suit jacket and draping it over her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she put her arms through the sleeves, wrapping her arms fully around her husband. "i love you."

"i love you, too." she took a minute to stand there, her nose in his dress shirt, breathing in his cologne. bath and body works, today. she liked that. something playful and romantic instead of the heavy, stinging designer scents he usually wore.

"we should go inside." he whispered, their bodies swaying together in the silence, her skin warm against his.

"or we could stay out here just a little longer."

and who was he to argue with that?

"you get five more minutes. i'm starting to get hungry and the pasta bar has my name written all over it."

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @cartierre @diorleclerc @httpiastri @silverstonesainz @lorarri @twinkodium

[seat-safety-switch]

Orbital mechanics: not my cup of tea. Don't get me wrong, I like it when things go around and around in a circle. The faster the better. Key word there is "circle." Orbits involve that oh-so-complicated third dimension, and that's one dimension more than a tire has. Or, at least, a new tire, not that I know what those are like.

Out there in space is another one of those tragedy of the commons deals. Folks park their garbage in low- to medium-orbit, it sails around, sometimes it clonks into other stuff. Scientists are afraid that if too much stuff clonks together, then there will be an impenetrable cloud of rocket-shredding dust surrounding the planet and we'll never be able to leave Earth ever again. Parking. I know a lot about parking, I told myself, so I drove over to NASA to help them out with the whole thing.

"Space Junk Removal" is what it said on the side of my battered 1993 Econoline E250 as I pulled onto the sidewalk outside the JPL and left it running. You really don't want to shut off a van like this, not when it's been on the highway for this long, because the battery is more than a little flat and the chances of the engine ever restarting are just slightly smaller than that of discovering extraterrestrial life. In the back of my van are several 1980s Shop-Vacs, American civilization's sole contribution to humanity. These babies are great: they will suck up a puddle, or a mouse nest, or a bunch of spilled gasoline, or empty a bee hive if you get the little narrow cone attachment for it.

Of course, the modern Shop-Vac sucks ass. It was sold to a foreign investment firm, at which point they started to lose every feature that made it good except for the name. A new one will last you about twenty minutes, which means it's definitely not appropriate to chuck onto the top of a departing heavy-lift rocket, hence the classics pulled from my hoard. This kind of knowledge, and this sort of procurement, is what they pay high-powered government consultants like myself to take care of.

As I show the assembled scientists, who assuredly do understand orbital mechanics, I see that I am winning over the crowd, little by little. Even the most skeptical math-haver is realizing that my strategy of "put a rubber band around the power switch" is totally plausible. By this time tomorrow, we'll have just one last piece of space junk up there in orbit, and it's bright yellow so it'll be a lot harder to hit. If we can find a long enough extension cord, we should be able to tug real hard on it and reuse the Shop-Vac for the next mission, too, as long as someone's willing to catch it.

[formulawolff]

🏎️ the garage 🏎️

this is where i am going to keep all of my upcoming works! they will be sitting in the garage, waiting to be released out onto the grid! <3

✧˖ ° key ✧˖ °

in the garage - upcoming works to be posted sometime this week

at the paddock - upcoming works, more than likely posted within the next one to two weeks

residing at team headquarters - ideas i have brewing, perhaps potential series or fic ideas, a lot of rambling more than likely, fics to be posted at some point in time

˚∘⊰ in the garage ⊱˚∘

mile high club -> mercedes driver!reader x toto wolff

the gray areas -> team principal!reader x toto wolff

first time for everything -> virgin!reader x toto wolff

{untitled} -> student intern!reader x toto wolff

what they want -> mercedes driver reader x toto wolff {angst + smut}

˚∘⊰ at the paddock ⊱˚∘

driver!reader x fernando alonso -> enemies-to-lovers vibes where the reader gets into a crash and nando comes to visit

girlfriend!reader x toto wolff -> haunted house special!

sugar baby!reader x toto wolff

reader x toto wolff -> social media stranger au

just one date -> part ii. of toto wolff x horner's!daughter reader

oscar piastri x reader {new driver unlocked!}

gf!reader x toto -> toto takes the reader on their first date as a couple. all of the fluffiness and goodness in the world!

˚∘⊰ residing at team headquarters ⊱˚∘

reader x toto wolff -> inspired by too sweet by hozier

dcc reader x kimi räikkönen -> kimi will not stop yapping about his beautiful girlfriend & the grid wants to meet this "absolute smoke show of a woman"

gf!reader x toto wolff smut -> toto making you walk around the brackley home naked so he can have easy access whenever he wants

reader x seb vettel fluff -> cute moments over the radio hehe

{untitled} alkaline spin-off -> where gg wins in austria and toto rewards her

{untitled} alkaline spin-off -> the one where gg is pregnant and toto is the best dad & attentive partner ever

{untitled} alkaline spin-off -> where gg introduces toto to her parents

fernando x actress!reader -> smau

female!driver x grid -> where the grid reacts to her not having a definitive seat for next season

olympian!reader x toto wolff -> the reader is the goat but is a little upset toto wants to keep their relationship under wraps. after a huge fight, toto comes to the realization that maybe she deserves to be shown off

olympian!reader x danny ric -> danny is so stoked to show off his stud of a girlfriend

toto being obsessed with reader's chest -> a oneshot of toto invested in some tatas

singer!reader x checo -> sometimes internet sleuths can expose someone's biggest secret, no matter how famous they are

enemies to lovers -> toto wolff

{untitled alkaline spin-off} -> the one where toto has a massive breeding kink

{untitled} driver!reader x joe burrow

{untitled} engineer!reader x josh allen

reporter!reader x toto wolff — based on the infamous football interview moment

alkaline spin-off -> gg gets in a crash and susie helps out for toto

just a reminder that my requests are always open! if you would like to see your idea come to life, feel free to send a message in my inbox! <3

[floralcyanide]

˚₊✩‧₊◜kinktober 2023! ―

― day six ⛧ degradation

Sub!Jonathan Crane x Dom!Reader

Jonathan is starting to think he's on his high horse too much. He smarts off at you, making a big mistake. You take advantage of degrading and belittling Jonathan, and his ego is brought down to shallow depths.

warnings: smut, degradation, spitting, finger sucking, insults, dom/sub, sex toys, anal sex, anal fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), face-riding, cum eating, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, touchless orgasm

word count: 2208

author's note: yayaayay day six!! I love writing sub men especially sub jonathan ugh. please. my weakness. anyway, I hope everyone enjoys (; remember to read the warnings carefully before proceeding. (:

kinktober masterpost | kinktober taglist form | main masterlist | main taglist form

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛ��ʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

Jonathan has noticed that lately, he’s been a little snarky and bitchy- more than usual, anyway. He was bratty by nature, but he’s had an ego boost since snagging you. You’re perfect to him, and the fact he has someone as unique as you really gets him going. But it’s starting to exhaust him and cause issues at work, especially with colleagues. And the situation with this Rachel Dawes girl. Jonathan is sure he sent her to her death at the hands of Falcone and realizes that maybe his ego needs to be deflated. Especially if he feels challenged by a 20-something-year-old woman. Being in his thirties, Jonathan clearly knew better, especially as a professional. He brainstorms all day at the asylum, thinking of how to calm himself down and make his ego bruised to bring him down a notch. But he hits a wall, unable to come up with anything worth his time.

When Jonathan gets home, he’s frustrated with himself. He usually has great ideas, especially when it comes to degrading others and making them scared. But he can’t seem to come up with anything for himself. He grumbles as he hangs up his coat, tossing his keys into the dish by the door. He spots you curled up on the couch, reading a book. Jonathan notices the dishes you've yet to do in the sink from last night, and he rolls his eyes.

“I thought you were going to do the dishes today,” he frowns at you.

“Sorry, hon. I got invested in this book and haven’t thought about them,” you say sheepishly, “I’ll pop the dishes in the dishwasher after dinner tonight, okay?”

Jonathan doesn’t say anything and instead sits on the couch on the opposite end of you, flipping open his own book. You stare at him momentarily, waiting for him to say something. When he doesn’t, you clear your throat and resume reading. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, you finally sigh.

“Are you okay, Jonathan?”

“I am perfectly fine, dear,” he replies exasperatedly, with a hint of sarcasm.

You purse your lips, becoming slightly impatient with him.

“You don’t seem fine, but alright.”

Jonathan looks over at you with a sassy look on his face before he turns back to his book. You raise an eyebrow.

“Did I do something to piss you off, mister brat?” you ask snarkily, closing your book and crossing your arms.

“Of course not,” Jonathan says, more sarcastic this time.

You huff, snatching his book from his hands and slamming it onto the coffee table.

“Watch your attitude,” you say blatantly.

“Or what?” Jonathan scoffs, yanking his book back with an attitude in his movements, “You won’t do anything.”

“Says who?” you chuckle darkly, crawling onto Jonathan’s lap and straddling his hips.

“Says me,” Jonathan gives you a closed-lip smile, “Now hop off. I’m trying to read.”

You scoff, tossing his book on the side of the couch where you were previously sitting, “How about you lose your attitude?”

“Or what?” Jonathan asks sassily, tilting his head.

You reach a hand up and grip his throat, your thumb and fingers pressing into the sides of his neck as you lean close to his face, “Or I’ll fucking make you.”

Jonathan gulps, unsure of how to react. You’ve never taken control before. You have a dominant side to your personality, but you’ve never dominated him sexually. Maybe Jonathan being dominated would knock him down a peg?

“Oh really?” Jonathan breathes, “You won’t.”

You growl, shoving two fingers from your other hand into his mouth, squeezing his neck a little harsher to prove your point, “Shut up, little boy. You’re nothing but a brat, you know that?”

Jonathan says nothing and willingly takes your fingers into his mouth, sucking and licking around them with doe eyes. You thrust your fingers in and out of his mouth, glaring at him as he hollows his cheeks, the sound of him suckling your digits a delight to your ears.

“Now, be a good boy and lay on the couch, then take off your pants and underwear. I’ll be right back. Don’t touch yourself,” you threaten, climbing off Jonathan’s lap.

Jonathan nods, scrambling to lie on the couch, moving his book. You hurry upstairs to grab something and return to the living room. Jonathan is lying on the sofa, his legs spread to reveal his hardened cock and his plump balls to you. You smirk as you put your toy on the coffee table, Jonathan’s eyes widening a little at the item. You resume your place on his lap, opting to sit on his bare, milky thighs. You give his cock a few pumps, spreading the leaking precum around his tip. 

“So worked up from just me shutting you up, huh?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” Jonathan gives you a closed-lip smile, and you lightly slap him across the face.

“Don’t be rude,” you scold, “Or I won’t touch you at all.”

“No,” Jonathan says quickly, “Please touch me.”

“Why should I? What do you have to gain from it, hmm?” you slow your pace of moving your hand along his shaft.

“Because I’ve been bad,” Jonathan says bashfully.

“You’ve been a little bitch is what you’ve been,” you chuckle, “And little bitches get fucked until they learn their lesson.”

Jonathan gulps as you reach for your vibrator and sit it beside you, planning on using it later. You trace Jonathan’s face with a light finger before moving it to his lips, prodding them open to put your fingers back inside his mouth. 

“Suck. And get as much spit on them as you can,” you demand, pumping Jonathan’s cock faster with your hand tight around his length.

Jonathan nods vigorously, lapping his tongue around your digits and coating them with his spit. But it’s not enough.

“Open your mouth,” you say, removing your fingers.

Jonathan obeys, and you gather your own spit in your mouth before you spit it onto Jonathan’s tongue. He twitches in surprise but graciously accepts your saliva before you shove your hand back to his lips, letting him cover it in your added spit. 

“Good boy,” you whisper in awe at the sight of him closing his eyes as he bobs his head along your fingers.

You climb off his legs, shimmy off your shorts and underwear, and sit back down on his pelvis. Nudging one of Jonathan’s legs off the couch, you push his leg up and outward, “Grab your thigh, Jonny. And hold it open for me, okay?”

Jonathan follows your instructions, and you rub your clit to make yourself a little wetter in order to take him without a hitch. You grab his length and guide it into you as you lift your hips, moving them to suck him in to the hilt. You moan at the feeling of Jonathan filling you up, and you start riding him slowly. Spit still on your fingers, you circle Jonathan’s entrance slowly and daringly, turning around to gauge his reaction. His eyes are fluttered shut, his mouth agape as he breathes heavily. You circle his puckered hole faster, teasing it with the tip of your finger. Gently, you coax his asshole open with your index finger, pushing it in very slowly. Jonathan whimpers from behind you as you continue to slowly bounce on his cock. With your free hand, you massage his balls as your finger sinks deeper inside him. He squirms slightly, letting himself clench around your finger. 

“Taking my finger like such a good boy,” you praise, “Can you take another?”

Jonathan mewls, “Give me a second,” he gasps as you hook your finger slightly.

“Take your time,” you say sweetly, stretching him softly with your digit, pushing it in and out of him.

Jonathan moans as you fuck him harder with your soaked cunt, slowly entering another spit-coated finger into his tight ass. You manage to push it all the way in after a few moments, Jonathan a mess underneath you as his hips stutter. 

“So good,” you say, pussy clenching at the sight of Jonathan taking your fingers so well, “Finally shut you up, hmm?”

Jonathan moans in response, and you slowly hook your fingers inside him, scissoring your digits apart to stretch him out. Your boyfriend whines under you, his cock twitching pitifully inside your cunt. Grabbing the vibrator from next to you, you stick it in your mouth and suck it, letting your saliva coat it graciously. Pulling your fingers from Jonathan, he cries out from the lack of fullness. But you’re quick to press the toy against his hole, pushing it in slowly. 

“Fuck,” Jonathan moans pornographically, and you push it further inside until it hits his prostate.

You fuck him with it gently, letting him get used to it before turning the vibrator on. Jonathan yelps, his hips bucking into you harshly. Rocking your hips at a quicker pace, the sensation of the vibrator filling him up, as well as you fucking yourself on his cock, sends Jonathan reeling. He’s an absolute mess beneath you, wishing he had kept his sassy mouth shut because of the overwhelming feeling of pleasure. But also, Jonathan doesn’t regret the dramatic death of his ego right now. In fact, he’s relishing it. 

“How does it feel to be fucked by me?” you ask, breathless as you watch the vibrator go in and out of Jonathan’s tight hole, “To be humiliated and used like a little slut?”

“S’ good,” Jonathan manages to make out, bearing his hips down on the toy as you fuck him with it with vigor. 

You turn up the vibration setting two notches, and Jonathan twitches inside you, cumming hard and suddenly. His cum paints your puffy walls, filling you up. You turn off the vibrator and remove it from Jonathan, and he groans at the loss. 

“Bad, bad, bad,” you shake your head, tutting at your boyfriend, “I didn’t say you could cum.”

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan says quietly, tears pricking his eyes from the intense orgasm and the shame of cumming so soon.

“Now, you get the pleasure of me riding your face until I cum. Since I didn’t get to cum around your poor little cock,” you mockingly pout, pulling yourself off him and watching Jonathan’s cum weep from your pussy, “You’re gonna eat your own cum and like it. How does that sound?”

Jonathan wordlessly nods, unable to form a coherent thought in his head at the moment.

“Use your words, Jonny.”

“S-sounds good,” he says meekly.

You slide upward to rest your cunt on Jonathan’s face, and he immediately attaches his mouth to it, lapping up the mixture of your arousal and his cum with his tongue. He circles your clit, suckling on it as you let out a soft moan. You buck your hips to establish a rhythm with Jonathan’s tongue as he fucks it inside you. Jonathan starts to grow hard once more, and you watch as his length becomes slowly erect against his stomach. 

“Aw, is Jonny getting hard just from eating pussy? How cute,” you coo, “I bet you’re gonna cum all over yourself like the pitiful thing you are.”

Jonathan moans into you as a bead of precum leaks from his tip. You ride his face faster as the familiar warmth of pleasure spreads throughout your belly. You grasp your breasts, tweaking your nipples as your boyfriend skillfully nibbles your bundle of nerves. 

“Just like that, fuck,” you praise, tugging hard at your sensitive buds as your orgasm creeps on you, “Gonna make me cum after all, baby.”

Jonathan hums, the vibration sending you over the edge. You cum all over his face and tongue, and to your surprise, Jonathan’s cock spurts its own hot white load all over his stomach and chest. 

“I can't believe you just cum without me even touching you,” you chuckle, “How pathetic.”

You lean over and lick up his mess, playfully licking and biting his hardened nipples before dismounting his face. You take a deep breath before gathering the toy and telling Jonathan you’ll return in a second. When you return to the living room, Jonathan still lies haphazardly on the couch.

“Are you okay?” you ask, picking up your underwear and sliding them back on.

“Yeah,” Jonathan sighs, “I needed that.”

“I can tell,” you smirk, “You’ve been a dick lately.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says, “I was thinking about it earlier and couldn’t come up with a solution to bring me back to earth. But it seems you came up with a solution on your own.”

“Sure did. Been thinking about doing this for a while anyway.”

“I didn’t know you were into being dominant,” Jonathan raises his eyebrows, and you offer him his underwear to put back on.

“It’s not something I do a lot, but yeah. I think it’s hot,” you grin, sitting on his lap.

Jonathan exhales through his nose, studying your face. He smiles briefly before stroking your cheek, “How about we take a bath and go to bed, hmm?”

“Sounds good,” you say, “Gotta get your bitchy self all clean.”

Jonathan snorts at that. Dinner and the dishes are long forgotten, and a nice, warm bath is drawn.

taglist:

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[andreafmn]

Kinktober ⛓️ Day 12

Word Count: 2.4K Paring:  Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Prompt @kinktober2023: Costumes WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ (minors DNI), oral (female receving), dom/sub subtext, p-in-v sex

Summary: Spencer's love for Halloween knows no bounds. He plans his costume weeks in advance, he hosts parties at his apartment, and decorates everything, even his desk at work. (Y/N), on the other hand, couldn't care less. But for Spencer, she'd do anything. Even if he goes incommunicado during a case.

A/N: I'm trying my best to get back on track, but life... this past weekend really killed all my writing inspo. Food poisoning is no joke.

<- Previous | Next ->

All Hallows Eve was a day that Spencer Reid enjoyed to no end. A day when anyone could be whatever they wanted, hiding behind masks and costumes. There was a thrill to seeing people let out a side they normally would keep hidden. Between the spooky decorations, the scary movies, and all the terrifying marketing surrounding the holiday, Spencer couldn’t think what the best part was. 

Unfortunately for the young doctor, no one in his close circle shared his love for Halloween. Not even his girlfriend, (Y/N). Having grown up in a very religious family, she missed out on all the fun of being a child during the holiday and had found it too much work for one day in her adult years. Meeting Spencer had only made her excited about movies and candy, but her enjoyment never reached Reid level. 

After two years of relationship, though, (Y/N) thought it was time to put in a little effort for her boyfriend’s favorite holiday. While he was away on a case, she decked out their apartment with cobwebs, skeletons, and anything else she could find. She changed lights to colored lightbulbs, changed beddings and decor pillows, and even went as far as to buy a costume. It wasn’t clever or scary, but she had to admit, it made her look unbelievably good.

It had been a week since she had decorated the apartment, and Spencer still wasn’t back. And with Halloween day approaching, she was growing discouraged at all her work. So much invested for no one to enjoy it, she thought.

At least she had somewhere to wear her costume to. Her coworkers had invited her out to a bar on the eve of Halloween where they would give out a round of free drinks to anyone who came in costume, and maybe she had never gotten the chance to go trick or treating, but she didn’t mind free drinks. Maybe Spencer wasn’t home yet, but there was no reason she couldn’t have some fun. 

She had slipped on her green vine short dress, accompanied by a red wig and knee-high boots, and her Poison Ivy costume was complete. With her friends, she danced and drank, ate and sang, pushing her worries and concerns to the deepest corners of her mind. If Spencer didn’t feel the need to call, she didn’t feel the need to leave another single voicemail. (Y/N) would have fun and forget that it had been three days since her boyfriend had felt the need to check in. 

Hours passed, and finally, she felt the urge to go home. She was already sobering up, and the loud music and chattering were getting to her. Her costume gripped at her sweat-covered body, and her wig made her scalp itch. It all made her wonder how people could endure being dressed that way for more than a night. 

With sleep heavy in her bones, (Y/N) turned the key to her apartment’s door. Her cold and lonely bed was calling for her, and she would answer. 

“Spence,” she gasped as she noticed the figure standing in the middle of the dimly lit living room. “You’re back.”

“I am,” he chuckled softly. “And I owe you an apology. I didn’t have cell reception those last couple of days, and I didn’t get a chance to send an email, baby. I know it’s no excuse, but I did try to call you as soon as we landed, but you weren’t answering.” 

“My phone died. I was out,” she said matter-of-factly. “Some friends invited me out for drinks.”

“And you went out in costume?” he smirked. 

“Costumes got us a couple of free rounds,” she shrugged. “It was supposed to be a surprise for you. I went through all the effort of decorating the apartment and inviting our friends over for tomorrow night. But I was mad you weren’t answering, so I decided to use my costume tonight.”

“I really am sorry,” Spencer said, slowly closing the distance between them. “And for the record, you look ravishing as Poison Ivy.”

“I looked better a couple of hours ago,” she pouted, crossing her arms around his neck as he snaked his onto her waist. “Now I’m all sweaty and tired. But I am relieved that you’re finally home.”

“I’m home, and I’m really, really sorry,” he smirked, kissing her softly before whispering in her ear, “and you are making me very hard.”

“Are you serious, Reid?” (Y/N) chuckled. “The only reason I didn’t think you were dead was because no agents had come to our door yet. And I find you here, after days of no communication, and you’re telling me you’re turned on?”

“What can I say, baby?” he grinned mischievously. “Something about you in this costume is doing things to me.”

“So a cheap wig and a green dress is all it takes to get you in the mood, huh?” she snickered. “That’s good to know, baby.”

“With or without a costume, you can get me hard in a second, (Y/N).”

“Doctor,” she gasped as he kneaded the skin of her ass. “You’re being quite riské.” 

“I am in my home. With my beautiful girlfriend. Surrounded by amazing Halloween decorations. And an erection that is making these pants more uncomfortable than normal.”

“You’re so dirty when no one can see you,” she teased, kissing him and taking his bottom lip between her teeth. “What do you think your coworkers would think if they knew their resident boy-wonder was a dirty, dirty boy in private?” 

“They don’t need to know,” Spencer smirked, his hands running up and down her body, feeling her curves under her dress. “There is only one person that I care about who knows how I am in the privacy of my home, and she already does.”

“You’re right about that,” (Y/N) sighed contentedly. “But I’m tired tonight. I was thinking of heading into bed.”

“And waste this masterpiece you have on?” 

“Well, it was supposed to be a surprise for my boyfriend, but he kind of wasn’t returning my calls, so I spent all my energy tonight,” she sighed. (Y/N) wanted to tease him, though. If he wanted to take her to bed that night, she would make him work for it. She ran her hand across his bulge, squeezing his length. “I went out dancing and drinking, so many Batmans and Robins trying to get handsy with me. Even a few Harleys tried it.” 

“And why didn’t you go home with any of them?” Spencer asked, his voice strangled as she continued her strokes. “I’m sure they would have definitely answered your calls. Not like that dumb boyfriend of yours.” 

“Mmm, well, he’s good where I need him to be,” she grinned, nibbling on his ear until he winced. “Although, I do agree that with how he acted this week, he should be punished.”

“He should,” he panted. “He really should.” 

With a devilish grin on her face, (Y/N) pushed Spencer’s body down to the ground so his face was directly in front of her weeping cunt. She spread her legs far enough to fit him between them and pushed his mouth onto her aching bud. 

Spencer knew exactly what he had to do after he slid her panties down her legs. As soon as his face was buried between her folds, he stuck out his tongue and got to work. He traveled across her entrance, separating her labia, and landed on her clit. He sucked and lapped, he circled and pulled, all in an effort to hear the enchanting mewls that left her mouth.

One of her hands snaked into his hair, taking a handful of curls tightly between her digits. She pushed his head further into her, cutting off his air, just like he liked. Only when she came around his mouth would he be able to come up. 

“Oh, baby, keep going,” she moaned, her grip tightening around his hair. “I’m so fucking close.” 

Spencer hummed in approval against her, the vibrations sending shivers through her body. His mouth worked on her as adeptly as always, finding just the right spots to make her quiver under his touch. He could feel his mind growing hazy from the lack of oxygen, but it was only her pleasure that mattered. He has messed up, and he’d do anything to show her how sorry he was. 

In moments like those, he was thankful for his training. He could last minutes without his breath. And for her, he would last hours if necessary. He knew (Y/N) would keep him there until she thought it was right; she would go without her climax until she decided his penance was enough. 

And minutes that felt like hours were time enough for (Y/N). As Spencer’s jaw grew tight and sore, the woman above him finally let herself unfurl on his tongue, wailing out his name as she came. 

“Good boy,” (Y/N) panted, using a finger under his chin to bring him back up to her face. “At least I know you’re good at doing as you’re told. Now, let’s go to the bed. I think you might deserve a treat this Halloween.”

“Will you keep the costume on?” Spencer asked, trailing along behind (Y/N) like a lost puppy. “Please, will you keep it on?” 

“It wouldn’t be a treat if I didn’t,” she smirked. “As much as I would love to take this off, I love what it’s doing to you so much more.” 

(Y/N) pulled Spencer to their room, letting go of his hand as she laid her body across the bed. After she rested her head on her pillow, she would not move another muscle. Spencer knew that. He knew it was his job to bring her to absolute pleasure. And only when she allowed him to would he join her in the bliss of his climax. 

The woman spread her legs just enough to fit her boyfriend between them. Sluggishness was rapidly taking over her, but she fought against the grasp of sleep. It had been a week without him, and she wanted to enjoy every second awake. Well, for as long as her mind would let her. 

Although, it wasn’t like Spencer was about to take his time. 

With his eyes firmly set on her, Spencer removed his clothing quickly, layer after layer. He didn’t care where they landed. All he cared about was the quickness of his moves. There was a tiredness they both shared, exhaustion from an already long day. But one climax was all he wanted. It was all he needed. 

Spencer crawled up her body, careful not to disturb a single leaf on her dress. Once at sue level, he cradled her cheek softly and pressed his lips to hers. He savored the taste of cheap alcohol and mixer with the cherry taste of her lip gloss.  

“Baby, hurry up,” (Y/N) muttered against his lips. “I’m not gonna last much longer awake.” 

“Your wish is my command,” he chuckled before kissing her again. “I’m close to passing out, too.”

He reached a hand between their legs, grabbing his cock and lining himself up with her entrance before sinking into her warmth. Spencer sighed as he felt her walls hugging him, welcoming his length like he belonged there. 

His hips moved slowly into her, calculated and angled. He knew exactly what she needed to reach completion as quickly as possible. On any other night, Spencer would have been striving for longevity. Calculating the best way to make their time last. But at that moment, they wanted good, quick, and easy. 

It wasn’t long until they were both panting, the tempo of his thrusts slowly increasing as the minutes passed. A thin sheet of sweat had formed on their skin, glimmering under the soft light of their bedroom lamps. Their breaths and their hearts were synchronized, the moment unifying theme as one. 

“You’re close, baby,” (Y/N) chuckled softly. “The vein in your forehead is pulsing.” 

“That’s because I’m focused on one thing,” he responded. “And you always make it hard on me.” 

“Well, you can always do what you want,” she smirked. “But you know you’ll be punished later.” 

“And that’s supposed to be a bad thing, right?” 

“It can be.” 

“That still sounds good to me.” 

“That’s because you’re a sucker for pain, my darling,” (Y/N) snickered. “Now, hurry up and make me cum. Because you can’t until I do.” 

With a focused stare sewn into his face, Spencer moved even more determinedly. He propped his body up with one of his arms, using the other to find (Y/N)’s clit, maneuvering the swollen bus until the moans that left her throat were strangled and consistent. He knew every part of her body, and it was impossible for him to forget how to work around them. 

Spencer continued his attack, using only some of his strength to hold off the explosion that wanted to exit him. All he needed were a few more thrusts and a few more circlings of his fingers to have her come undone around him. 

“Oh, fuck, Spence,” she cried as her back arched away from the bed, her nails digging into the soft skin of his arms. “You can come,” (Y/N) panted. “Go ahead, baby. You can come.” 

It was just the instruction he needed to paint her walls white, shooting strand after strand of his seed deep inside her. “I love you, (Y/N),” he panted as he restated his forehead against her. “And I really am sorry for not calling sooner.” 

“It’s okay, Spencer,” she smiled softly. One of her hands raised to caress his cheek, pressing her lips tenderly on his. “You made up for it. But the next time, I won’t be so… giving.” 

“I would never dare,” he grinned. “Or maybe I would. It’s not like I don’t enjoy my punishments.” 

“Oh, you kinky doctor,” she chuckled as she played with a curl that had fallen over his eyes. “Now, help me get out of this costume. It should be illegal to sell something so itchy.”

“But you’ll still wear it tomorrow, right? I mean, it is Halloween day.” 

“You and your Halloween fever,” she laughed. “Fine. But you’re gonna clean up the apartment after. November first is officially Christmas.” 

Next ->

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[connorsnothereeither]

So like, a while ago I did a little update on the Brink fics, and I figured it was worth giving a kinda sad update on my other Fable fics as well.

At this stage, there are no plans to continue or finish Your Skin Beneath My Teeth (the second book in the Blood series).

I know this is probably disappointing, because I know a lot of people really loved the Vampire AU. But from a personal writing level, I’m just sort of unhappy with the direction of the books, and I don’t have the time to commit to rewriting them. I’m not invested enough in my own story, and while that’s a shame, I don’t know if there’s much I can do without just giving myself time to stew on it.

There’s also a logistical side to things as well. Fable is coming to an end in less than a month. I feel like it’ll probably take me months to finish the Brink series still first, which are the fics I’m personally more passionate about. And at a certain point, I don’t want Fable to be the only thing that consumes my writing for the next year+. Not to mention the time I want to dedicate to other SMPs and creative projects I’m involved in, like Cantripped, Bound SMP, and Terramortis, with even more stuff in the works.

On top of all that like… I’m just a guy, ya know. I’m a full time student, work part-time most days of the week, commute between 2 major cities regularly, and I have other things that just deserve my time more.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been in fandoms for years, I know it’s shitty when fics you enjoy never get an ending. But I hope that like, people get where I’m coming from with discontinuing it, I guess.

Besides, there is, technically, an ending for Blood. I’ve had the ending written since the end of the first book (it’s just getting there that’s the problem) and so if people would like, as some sort of closure for the story, I would be happy to release that here on Tumblr or on my Kofi or something. Maybe I’ll make a follow up post with a poll.

I might as well mention that there is likewise no plan to “finish” the Band AU, but since that was always a collection of one-shots, there was never really a plan or end for any of it. It was always kinda disjointed without an end in sight lol.

I’m not saying that I’m NEVER going to go back to these fics. Just that it’s unlikely. But who knows, maybe someday I’ll crawl out of the dirt to finish them-

If you did only follow my Fable fics for the Blood books though, I’m sure some elements of my other fan works might appeal to you, if you want to give them a go! The horror/contemplations of humanity are the key theme of Brink, and the mystery/thriller, high stakes political conflict mixed with interpersonal melodrama is the focus of Cascading Skies, my new Bound fic. And of course those and so many more things are just key elements to like all of my storytelling my canon characters lol. But if none of that ticks your boxes, it was great to have y’all along for the bloody vampire ride :D

Anyway this was me getting sappy about setting aside a project I worked really hard on lol. Sometimes you gotta do that and sometimes that’s okay, and that’s an attitude I struggle with but am getting better at. I know don’t owe y’all any kind of explanation for this, I could have just stopped and let it die, but I wanted to give one. More for me personally really; I needed to say something about it publicly to like… fully cement in my mind what I decided on a long time ago. Anyway, catch y’all later when I’m not incredibly tired, and hopefully with a more silly goofy post ✌️

[zoloteh-volossya]

I love your reblog on that Astarion post! What do you think is the best way to recruit Minthara while aiming for a more positive outcome for her? Personally, my favorite approach is "accidentally" destroying the grove by stealing the idol and then reluctantly aligning with Minthara. It feels like the character is acting out of confusion or desperation, not malice. This way, you still get that pivotal moment where she feels safe with your character and begins to break free from the Absolute. (and when you rescue her later she still hoped you would save her)

I'm basic - I personally prefer the knockout method. It's a pity that you miss the discussion after the sex scene and the romanced version of the conversation at Moonrise - it was a gifset of that conversation (see my pinned post) that grabbed me by the heart and dragged me into this fandom, after all.

But to me, it's important that Minthara isn't special. Her life isn't worth more than Alfira's or Dammon's or Mol's, ultimately. I personally care about her more, am more invested in her character, but struggle to justify the deaths of the refugees in the stories I want to tell. It's a different story, the act 1 scene, but to me the meat of the Minthmance happens once she gets her mind back so it's an acceptable loss.

(Of course, in my personal Mintharamance playthrough, I did commit Grovicide. My Dark Urge Krov was largely uninterested in getting involved in other people’s business, so I engineered the Worst Possible Grove Visit. She entered the grove, got robbed, didn’t step up for Arabella so she died, got poisoned by (then killed) Nettie, got arrested for trespassing in the kids’ hideout to get her stuff back, broke out, talked to Sazza and freed her, got the hell out of town, and then ended up murdering Alfira that night anyway. When Minthy told her to help raid it she was like, might as well, fuck that place, the only person I liked there is already dead by my hand.)

I think that triggering the Grove's violence via following Mol's request makes a lot of sense! It's definitely the way I'd go in a fic if I were writing a scenario where Tav/Durge romances Minthara in act 1.

In my fic ideas, I 'justify' the nonsense knockout option in different ways.

With my good bard Tav, she infiltrates the goblin camp for several days, slowly pitting Dror Razglin against Minthara (using Gut's death to stoke tensions between them). She was hoping to have the two sides fight it out and then have her team sweep in and clean up the survivors. However, all the goblins side with Dror. So then she just focuses on buffing and healing Minthara, figuring that the more goblins she kills the fewer the Tadfools will need to deal with. To her surprise, Minthara both wins and is genuinely grateful, tending to Tav's own wounds. In return for this unexpected kindness, she helps Minthara escape when 'adventurers' attack the camp, promising to distract them and then meet up with her at Moonrise later. (This fic idea began before the knockout method was added to the game, so you can tell I've been on my bullshit for a while.)

With my neutral ranger Tav, she doesn't infiltrate the camp at all. She sneaks into the camp via the other bridge, gets to high ground, and starts an outright assault. By the time Minthara is informed that the camp is under attack, everyone outside the shattered sanctum is dead. The bulk of the battle happens in the throne room, with all of the goblins and True Souls mounting a desperate defense against a two-pronged attack by Team Tadpole. They lose, but Minthara is able to overwhelm my Tav (mechanically much weaker than her) and make an escape, and the team is too exhausted to give chase.

Both of these have a very different dynamic with Minthy than a Tav/Durge who romanced her in act 1, of course. With my bard Tav, there's a preexisting connection, but also a betrayal - Minthara was used by this person, unknowingly danced on her strings. Regaining trust after that is a key plot point. With my ranger Tav, the arc is more one of coming to trust a former enemy (and dealing with the repercussions of becoming a drider, but that's unrelated.)

Thanks for the ask! That was... a very long answer. Hope you enjoyed it, at least.

[olderthannetfic]

ONTF, you're older than I am, you're highly media literate, maybe you'll know: what was the appeal of the Joss Whedon style of writing to begin with? Everyone whateverishly wording their phrasey bits in that very Whedon-y way never did anything for me, positive or negative, and the constant need to have comedy during serious moments or interrupt a serious moment with either snark or a remark that nods towards tropes diffuses the tension to the point where I can't get invested. None of his characters ever felt capable of having sincere moments like most characters in other things I watch, and the few moments of that they did have would get undermined by one of the aforementioned flaws.

I do think the "omg worst writer EVER!" crowd is a bit much, because I've seen things so bad that Whedon looks like Shakespeare by comparison. But my half-sister, who is 25 years older than me and thus in her late 40's, swears Joss' style is revolutionary and deep. And frankly I've been wrong about a lot of media I used to hate and I'm open to the idea I'm missing something. It's super likely given my limited media exposure, though I am admittedly trying to work on that and branch out into more genres of media and more formats so I don't become that 'guy who has only seen Boss Baby thinks every movie has Boss Baby vibes' meme.

So. What am I missing? What's the context I'm missing and the key here that will allow me to appreciate the appeal of and enduring fandom for Whedon's work? I am admittedly a fandom baby but I am willing to learn.

--

I mean... I despised him from the get go, other than the Buffy movie, which I still quote that death scene from regularly, so I'm probably not the best person to describe what's appealing about his style.

But one-liners during action are a common taste even if I'm fonder of the sorts of homoerotic 80s trash Ruthless Reviews used to cover.

Ironic distance is also popular and easier to swallow than earnestness for a lot of people.

However, I do think Buffy's original audience was connecting with it emotionally. Look at the part where Buffy's all upset after the most clownishly 1980s take on loss of virginity and heavyhanded metaphors for guys being jerks that just made every writer involved seem excessively middle-aged and out of touch Giles asks if she has any idea what could have happened to Angel. For people who weren't going to high school in 90s California, that bilge was apparently very moving. Certainly, there are parts of Buffy where the quips die down for some actual emotional moments.

People like style. Something that commits to being aggressively stylized will often stand out from the bland clones that surround it. Look at Wes Anderson (another creator I don't particularly like). Whedon's godawful faux-witty dialogue did sound different from other things on TV at the time. He also lets women say some of the one-liners, which is sorely missing from most media.

But mostly, he was formative for a lot of people, and I had to live through many, many years of them earnestly entreating me to give his shitty writing another chance because this time I would somehow connect with this sex-negative parasite and his casting aesthetic that I didn't find hot or interesting.

(I like dumb and campy things. I just like them to star a bunch of body builders from New Zealand, not waifs.)

People always hold up the things they imprinted on as more revolutionary and deep than they seem in retrospect. In Whedon's case, his already obnoxious style suffers from having been copied so much since, but even if he weren't famous or popular, if you were talking to that one person whose adolescence was defined by their love of him, they'd say all this same nonsense your sister does.

[aldritch-ao3]

Hey op I am very fascinated by the theme of bad people trying to do better in your work. It is very cool👍👍👍

Do you think in an alternative reality Kenjaku could have ended up being a better person? Maybe like a distant advisor on Jujutsu that comes and goes from Jujutsu High randomly? Or something. If yes, what do your think would have had to happen for that outcome?

i think it's more worth assessing kenjaku not as a bad person, but as a selfish person. playback is about selfish or self-absorbed people, more than 'bad' people (this isn't a jab at your choice of succinct language i understand entirely what you mean), because the flaws and cruelties of these people stem from their selfishness rather than an intrinsic badness.

i think the key difference between kenjaku and jian is their connection to other people. jian's flaws may not be as apparent as kenjaku's since we view things largely from his perspective, but don't let that fool you. he is a deeply flawed man, in the end. he plays god with the lives of other people, he makes key decisions about the future of the jujutsu world to benefit those he cares about solely on his own authority, he keeps secrets and sacrifices the people he doesn't care about pretty freely. he's a hypocrite, but he's still acting largely in society's best interest because of his love for the people who are a part of that society. kenjaku is bored, discarding projects before even seeing their conclusions through, because they have no investment in either end result. no conclusion of their experiments will ever satisfy them because in the end they don't care either way. yuji seems to be the sole exception here, because kenjaku cares about yuji. maybe not willingly but the care is there and it matters, it factors in.

not to be cheesy, but we even see it in canon. the catalyst of change in kenjaku is a connection with another person, someone who truly entertains and impresses them. in many instances, the ancient sorcerers are changed by forming a respect or appreciation for the modern ones they face off against - even sukuna, even uraume, even kenjaku. i think kenjaku could be a better person in this reality, or at least a less selfish one, if they were able to form connections to people like takaba and regain some of their passion for the world by loving the people in it. this wouldnt undo their crimes or make them kinder, i don't think they'd suddenly gain a sense of empathy (because having empathy does not make you good, and lacking it does not make you evil), but i think it would change them all the same. what would change with them and how they interact with society? maybe nothing, maybe everything. maybe they would be pushed to reconcile with their sister, or maybe they would disconnect from jujutsu entirely and pursue comedy or whatever their other hobbies are.

playback is a story about selfishness and a story about learning to love other people, i think. its about a lot of other things too but in the end its a story about love. and even if that love doesnt save the day or fix anything it matters that it was there.

[disease]

HUMAN // THEORIES

Humans, or modern humans (Homo sapiens or H. sapiens), are the most common and widespread species of primate, and the only surviving species of the genus Homo. A great ape characterized by their hairlessness, bipedalism, and high intelligence, humans have large brains, enabling more advanced cognitive skills that enable them to thrive and adapt in varied environments, develop highly complex tools, and form complex social structures and civilizations.

I. SPECIES OF PRIMATE – in terms of biology, we fall under the classification of animals. we share more similarities with fellow species under this classification opposed to less similarities. study the behavior of fellow animals, limitlessly, and focus your attention on that of their primitive states-of-being. apply these tactics to our advanced state of multi-faceted intellect, and learn from them.

II. HIGH INTELLIGENCE – a privilege amongst humankind that, to an exponential degree, fails to be utilized by the masses. success in relation to survival is largely attributed to this level of intelligence on a day-to-day basis. with the exception of cases linear with cognitive neurodiversity—excuses against the enrichment and manifestation of this attribute remain impotent. failure to both utilize and acknowledge this predisposition will only lead to mortal sterility.

Humans are highly social, with individual humans tending to belong to a multi-layered network of cooperating, distinct, or even competing social groups—from families and peer groups to corporations and political states. As such, social interactions between humans have established a wide variety of values, social norms, languages, and traditions (collectively termed institutions), each of which bolsters human society.

III. HIGHLY SOCIAL – as if an art form opposed to a science, one must not only enforce to find a comfortable balance regarding this subject, but also attune themselves into the identification of natural compatibility, emotional maturity, and self-interest of individuals they encounter. if one chooses to form a social attachment with a subject who’s imbalanced in any aforementioned concepts, a state of emotional/energetic hemorrhage may occur. ideally, one must invest the majority of their energy into those in which form a unified duality of mutual restoration with oneself; opposed to the inclination of self-sacrifice, fueled by a multitude of various factors. one must vigilantly prioritize themselves as to not grow tarnished in an act of preservation for not only themselves—but for the consistent nourishment of their otherwise deep-rooted connections in which an active catalyst has been established. avoid social martyrdom.

Humans are also highly curious: the desire to understand and influence phenomena has motivated humanity's development of science, technology, philosophy, mythology, religion, and other frameworks of knowledge; humans also study themselves through such domains as anthropology, social science, history, psychology, and medicine.

IV. HIGHLY CURIOUS – passions, as sacred as they can be bewildering, [sub]consciously occupy the largest percentage of our time. to be mystified by that of which is misunderstood may be one of life’s most-precious offerings. our pursuits in creativity reward us with a key which unlocks subliminal facets within our psyche, only to be comprehended at a later point in time. these lay the foundations at our primal core, and, as a divine mission which one chooses to either ignore or commence upon, choosing the latter inevitably trails the path toward self-actualization. a probable reason why we exist—without the ability to reference some comprehensive manual—is to polarize us toward what we will produce as an earth-bound monolith to perpetually inspire future generations of those impassioned by the very same mystical essence that once lay dormant within ourselves.

As of January 2024, there are more than 8 billion humans alive.

you uniquely represent 1 amongst eight billion.

radiate your inner light for those blind to the dark.

[lola-andheruniverse]

Hi Lola!

Do you have any advice for overcoming writers block? I've tried a few methods out myself. Can't seem to get myself out of this rut lol I really admire your dedication to promoting fanfic so I thought I'd pick your brain! :) I mainly dabble in Caryl but I've ventured out into other fandoms I like. Caryl is where I am stagnant right now. Thanks a lot for any words you can give me lol Caryl on!!! :)

Hi, anon! Thanks for sending this ask, I love to talk about all the things fanfiction and writer's block intersect with my real life job too so we can kill two birds with one stone. 😊 First, since you write for other fandoms, it might be interesting to try to understand why you're particularly stuck with Caryl. You might be very invested in writing for our ship and that can be triggering anxious responses that make it hard to concentrate in your task. Or you might being affected by the emotional roller coaster our fandom is currently experience. Switching between highs too high and lows too low is emotionally exhausting and affects our disposition to do everything, including things we love like writing. Taking a time away from the fandom can help with that. Re-watching caryl scenes or re-reading your favorite fics (and here you can definitely include your own work) can help to restart the joy. Second, there are practical things you can do to help with your block. I'll list a few that work for me: 1. Try to establish a writing routine that makes sense and works for you. You don't have to write everyday or for the same length of time every time, but you can do little stuff that signal to your brain 'hey, it is time to write'. For example, setting a timer so you can write uninterruptedly for short amount of times; listening to a special caryl playlist to get you in the mood or white noise if you get easily distracted with external noises; having a glass of water and a snack right from the start with you so you don't need to get up when you feel thirsty/hungry; creating a comfortable environment to write by sitting in a good chair and having adequate light; 2. Write those scenes that you are dying to write for first. You know those scenes that are the heart of your chapter/one-shot, that you keep daydreaming about? Write them first. Put what brings you joy about your story right on paper and, then, later, fill up with every other scene that leads to it or comes after it. This might be easier than trying to write in the right order, because opening scenes can be very difficult and the main scenes will help set the tone of the rest of the chapter/one-shot;

3. If you're having a hard time describing images or voicing your character's voices and feelings, write the dialogue first. It will help to establish rhythm later when you get back to it to fill the blanks. You can do something like this: [description of the cabin Carol and Daryl are, the sofa is still plush and of a faded pink and there's dust everywhere] " What about this room?" Daryl asks [need to indicate later that he's feeling frustrated but with another noun]. " It'll do for tonight." 4. If you can't put anything at all on paper, you can brainstorm with yourself (or a friend) and write key words that will help you later when you're feeling more inclined to write. Same example than before: evening - abandoned cabin - just a light little coming from outside - lux pink couch - daryl frustrated - carol feelings - small talk - elephant in the room about major plot point You can elaborate as much as you want, turning keywords into key phrases, writing a sentence or two and building on that. 5. Okay, not even key words are working? Get your phone and record what you are imagining on an app that translates audio to text. Come back and edit it later, turning it into workable prose.

I hope these tips help you out, anon. Thanks again for the ask. If you manage to finish writing your caryl fic, no matter who short it is, please let me know so I can read it? It will be a pleasure, I'm sure of it.

[perplexedflower]

Running Out Of Steam

Fandom: Professor Layton.

Category: F/M.

Relationship: Hershel Layton x Female Reader.

Type: Mini one shot.

Words: 979.

Summary: Working as Hershel's assistant is challenging, and when exhaustion finally catches up to [Y/N], her sleepiness leads the two of them to share a very special moment inside the Laytonmobile.

Chronology: Post-Unwound Future/Pre-New World of Steam.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Well, my dear, I must thank you. Your suggestion to get acquainted with the neighbouring village was brilliant, it has provided us with crucial information regarding this case."

Sitting in the passenger seat, [Y/N] blushed lightly upon hearing Layton's praises.

"Thank you, Professor. I am more than delighted to know we have made significant progress."

Not long after the words had left her mouth, she quietly yawned, followed by a sigh.

"So am I, [Y/N]." He said with a smile. "But there is yet a lot for us to uncover, let us not forget."

As the engine of the Laytonmobile purred gently, she rested her head against her seat and closed her eyes.

"The clues we were able to retrieve today are evidence of it, in fact." He continued. "Both cities are intricately connected in ways one could not have imagined... How fascinating. Surprising, too. I hadn't considered such a possibility and failed to detect it upon our arrival in this town, yesterday. But, in retrospect, it should have been obvious. I must be getting rusty: there once was a time I would have taken notice of a piece of the puzzle this important within a matter of only a few minutes."

[Y/N] listened to him ramble on to himself and found comfort in his voice, in his words, wrapping around her as she began to doze off.

"I am well aware there are still many dark corners of the neighbouring village left for us to explore, but do not fret: we shall continue our investigation there in due time. For now, I wish for us to return to the town. You see, there is something I would like to show you... I wonder, [Y/N], do you—"

But the Professor suddenly cut himself short when he felt her head drop on his left shoulder, and for the first time since the ride had started, his eyes left the road to look down at her, but only for a split second.

It seems she has fallen asleep...

He tried his best to keep his composure, despite the faint blush spreading over his cheeks.

It would not be proper of me to continue driving under such circumstances... The risks of distraction are too high.

The car started to slowly lose speed, until he reached a part of the country road that allowed him to pull off to the side: with his foot off the gas pedal and the ignition key turned, the inside of the vehicle turned silent. Hershel looked down at [Y/N] and felt his face redden further as he listened to the calm and slow sound of her breathing. Then, in a quiet and steady but hesitant motion, he brushed her hair out of her face to tuck it behind her ear, his fingertips gliding over her skin.

For a moment, he stared at her tenderly, admiring her peaceful expression as he succumbed to her charm the longer his eyes stayed on her.

[Y/N] never ceases to invest a lot of herself in every adventure she partakes by my side, and I know things have not been easy for her since Luke has left the country. Now that she is my sole assistant, she feels she needs to take on every task that comes her way... but it pains me to see her overwork herself to the point of exhaustion. Once we return to the town, I will wake her up and take her back to her room in the inn for her to continue sleeping. But for now, I shall let her rest just a little longer, though I need to readjust her on her seat if I want to ensure I drive safely.

Delicately, he rested his hands on her shoulders and gently moved her body in an attempt to make her sit straight; but before he could do so, she seemed to have woken up just slightly, just enough to feel Layton's hands on her, and she instinctively leaned forward, her head now against his chest and her hands just barely clinging to him.

Not knowing what to say or do, Layton remained quiet as he stared down at her, eyes wide open, his cheeks overheating.

"Hmm... Professor... why did you stop?" She asked in a mumble, half-asleep.

"Well, I pulled the car off to the side of the road because you fell asleep, [Y/N]..." He replied awkwardly.

"No... I mean... Why did you stop talking?"

Puzzled by her unexpected question, he struggled to come up with an answer while she snuggled closer to him.

"I love to hear your voice." She said softly with an endearing smile, her eyes still closed. "It's soothing... and calming... and charming. I feel the same way when I look at you, too..."

A flustered, blushing mess, Layton found himself at a loss for words and sensed his breath quicken.

"... You're very comfortable, Professor..." She said in a sleepy voice. "I know... I shouldn't... but I want to sleep here... for a while..."

Although flattered, he could not help but feel bashful at her words.

"[Y/N]... my dear... Would you perhaps not be more comfortable in a bed?"

Slowly, she shook her head against his chest, and, finally, she opened her eyes slightly, her gaze hazy but affectionate.

"No... As long as you are beside me, I will always feel comfortable, and everything will always feel... just perfect..."

He stared down at her, at her face, into her eyes, and his own illuminated with the same loving glow; with a shy yet tender smile taking shape on his lips, he circled her body with his arms, keeping her close in his embrace, lulling her back into sleep.

"... Then, I will hold you in my arms for as long as you need me to... and I will always watch over you, [Y/N]."

[anonymousad]

read MORE carefully when you feel attacked, not less

I honestly wonder about the reading comprehension of some people because some of the reactions to my posts seem to go like this:

me: I think pancakes are better than waffles other person: WHAT THE FUCK, WHY DO YOU HATE WAFFLES

and... no, that isn't what I said?

I didn't say people don't deserve to be compensated for their work, I said that you can't be trying to pay people like it's a salaried job without having that kind of stable and consistent business income. that's literally how businesses go bankrupt all the time.

I also didn't say that you can't/shouldn't be able to make money in audio drama, I said that you need to do it SUSTAINABLY. off the top of my head I can name several shows that do just that (WOE.BEGONE and Malevolent being two I've mentioned in the past), not to mention people like Lauren Shippen. timing and luck have a lot to do with success, absolutely, so that isn't to say it is easy or guaranteed if you follow in those kinds of steps, but it does show that it can be done in ways that are self-sustaining rather than constantly asking for large cash drops to stay afloat.

speaking of, I didn't compare Harlan to JK Rowling, I pointed out how "death of the author" has been deployed by people who don't want to face HER hatefulness while still engaging with Harry Potter (I know many people like this as we all do I'm sure) as an example of why you have to be cautious when throwing it around as an excuse.

and I definitely didn't say that a Black woman was hoarding resources by having a crowdfunding campaign with a high goal??? very weird assumption for you to draw from what I actually WAS talking about, person on Bluesky. almost like you didn't actually read and understand that whole section before trying to jump down my throat about it.

I have found, both in writing this blog and generally in life, that the more people feel defensive the less they are able to engage with what is being said. anyone who has ever tried to argue for trans or gay rights with a right winger has experienced this, it's the reason that "debate bro" types are so successful. you pick out the parts that make you feel angry and you go on a tirade about them, rather than stepping back and trying to synthesize the whole message.

not once has one of the people defensive about the crowdfunding stuff addressed my key point of it being "unsustainable" in their responses to it. that is literally the thesis, sidestepping it does not make it go away. it just reinforces to me and others that you are not thinking long-term about what will and won't work for us as a community.

I should also say that none of what I post comes just from me. every single thing I've said on this blog has come from at least a few different people. it is not a one-person opinion party, something I'm not sure I've ever said outright. especially with the crowdfund stuff I have had conversations with at least a dozen showrunners who all think the current methods do not work, are not sustainable, and are only benefitting the same people over and over. I have these conversations with my "colleagues" (because I can't think of another word) in the space because I find it interesting and important and valuable. I am engaging with these conversations outside of this blog because I have an emotional investment in us as a community figuring this out so that we can thrive.

I still regret not making this blog when I first desperately wanted to to talk about The Magnus Protocol campaign. (I do have thoughts on the TMA ttrpg though, as a general thing that exists and also based in some basic understanding of how the selected system was a bad choice for what people will be hoping to get from this thing so people will likely be disappointed once they actually play it)

anyway, that's all I have to say on that right now.

tldr: I know my posts are long and there is a lot to get through sometimes. but if you are going to fixate on one sentence and ignore the larger context you are setting yourself up to misunderstand the actual point being made. and yes, there is usually a point, one that I find important enough to bother writing about in the first place.

actually, I should also say that I would be more than willing to have a conversation with Tal or someone else from that part of the community who believes that the current crowdfunding model is working and will continue to work in the long run. seriously, if I am missing something obvious then explain it to me so I can understand what about this is working. and I don't just mean working for you, I mean working for the community and creators as a whole. because I still see a lot of campaigns fail for much less, even when following the vague tips being handed out about how to run a successful campaign.

[lilithsaga]

Happy Birthday to the lovely Lilith Saga! (aka me) 🥳

I dont have much to offer other than sincere gratitude for everyone who supports me. Thank you all so much! 💜

That said, here is a short lore/origin excerpt of my story:

Or, better yet, feel free to read it below!

In my darkest moments, when everything seems hopeless, the one thing that consistently saves my life is a good story. This doesn't apply to every good story out there, of course; everyone has their preferences. I'm not going to pretend my tastes are better than anyone else's. But the kind of stories I appreciate are heart-touching enough to rip out dormant feelings that were buried deep, awe-inspiring enough to keep me invested in a lifestyle I never knew I needed to learn about, and thought-provoking enough to shatter my world to pieces and mold a new one from the remnants of what once was.

My name is Lilith Saga. I am a writer, succubus, and PNGtuber. I'm sure these titles that I label myself as seem a little strange at first. How can an introverted, shy, bookworm writer be the same as a sexy, alluring, tantalizing succubus? It's simple. Contrary to popular belief, succubi and incubi consume strong emotions to live.

Given our indecent reputation, desire and arousal are considered the most common emotions to consume because of how powerful and simple they tend to be. But for those of us who don't wish to get involved in that way, we also collect other human emotions. Anger, sadness, fear, disgust, joy, etc. The triggers for these emotions are different for every person, and are never guaranteed to work the same for everyone. However, there is one tried and true method that never fails to evoke deep emotions.

Storytelling!

So, for me personally, I prefer to say that I consume stories.

My heart swings against my rib cage when a story captivates me and takes my breath away. I adore listening to tales that make me laugh, make me cry, and keep me intrigued in a person and their world. Often times, when someone is telling their story, they go through the highs and lows of emotion when relaying it to me. Hearing their tale sparks a connection of mutual understanding, and we tend to grow a little closer because of it.

It's become an addicting feeling, one that I can't help but chase. If I had more time, I would spend every day searching for new stories to consume. Books, movies, TV shows, stage plays, musicals, comics, poems, songs, podcasts, fanfiction—every available format possible! There are so many different stories to consume that it can be difficult to keep up!

But... I know I can't.

I can never consume them all.

I'm not as healthy as I once was, not as happy, not as free. The older I've become, the more responsibilities I've acquired. More responsibilities mean more busy work. And more busy work means less time to indulge in stories. I feel as if I'm stuck in a cage where I'm so busy with mindless work that I neglect to take care of myself. I never found the key, nor do I expect to anytime soon. But, despite this, I found a warm blanket to make my stay more comfortable.

"Hellooooooooo Everybodyyyyyyyy~!"

This is my reality.

Channeling my creativity into YouTube like this was the best decision I've made in centuries. What started as an impulsive decision after getting laid off from my day job, turned into an outlet for me to enjoy storytelling once more. Currently, I play visual novels and RPG Maker games. Then I upload my playthroughs to YouTube. It allows me time once a week to go down the rabbit hole and experience stories I've always wanted to explore.

At first I thought it would be fun to document my journey to hold myself accountable, making sure I kept to this new habit. But then I noticed something. I wasn't the only person watching my videos! It never occurred to me that other beings around the world would tune in to my commentary and find it entertaining. I was just a silly succubus enjoying stories from games. And yet, without realizing it, I found a way to share these stories with others and connect on how the story impacted me.

My mind escaped to a world of creativity that I've been longing for. I've learned how to do social media, branding, public speaking, networking, project management, the list goes on. I have story concepts reaching me like how they used to when I was younger. I can feel this invigorating energy coursing through my veins. There's nothing in this world that can stop me-

Bzzt.

Oh yeah. Time. My mortal enemy.

...

Well, let's get to work, shall we?