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the-californicationist · 8 months ago

Note

Lost the post but it was so good and I'd love to get your take on it!

Price getting videos of you playing from home while he's deployed, and you aren't exactly quiet. Well, the boys hear it and it leads to them watching it at some point (with your permission of course!). I thoroughly believe Price loves showing off what's his and is comfortable in your relationship to consider sharing you with his team, maybe even in more ways than 1?

Maybe Price and reader record themselves a separate time to show the boys? I don't know I'm frothing at the mouth thinking of Price showing you off!

I am slowly making my way through these asks!! Thank y'all so much for being patient. As soon as I clear out my list, I'll turn the ask button back on.

This premise is so hot! Hope this is sort of what you were looking for?

Show and Tell

Price opened your video in the middle of Ghost’s briefing presentation. Luckily, only the task force was in attendance, but as he played the clip, your lust-filled moans echoed throughout the small conference room, unmistakable. All eyes turned to him, and Ghost halted mid-speech.

“Uh, sorry…” Price muttered, quickly swiping away.

“Fuck, Cap. I know you showed us her photo, but she is damn fine,” Gaz chuckled, leaning over his commander’s shoulder to try and look at the screen.

“Eyes front, Sergeant.”

“Only seems fair to share, mate,” Johnny quipped, a gleam shining in his eye.

Ghost put his hands on his hips,

“If it was important enough to interrupt my presentation, maybe it’s important enough to share with the class… sir.”

Price sighed and sent off a quick text. He was asking you for permission to share. It wasn’t the first time that he’d asked you, but all the others had just been the odd picture here and there; a fancy neglige, or a holiday swimsuit… it was harmless. But, this was something else. To his surprise, you messaged back with an affirmative “Yes!” and a winking emoji.

“Fine.”

Ghost held his hand out and beckoned for the phone,

“C’mon. We’ll put her on the big screen.”

Reluctantly, and a little worried things had gotten fully out of hand, Price handed over the phone. Your enthusiastic response was the only thing propelling him forward at this point. He wasn’t possessive, but he wasn’t much of a sharing man.

But, then, there you were… in all of your beautiful glory. You were using your vibrator and sitting on the tile floor of your bathroom, burying a thick silicone dildo in your pussy to the hilt. Your moans echoed through the room again in spectacular 4k.

“Mmm! Oh! Fuck… John, fuck me. Please! Yeah! Mmm. Just like that. Ungh!”

And then the video replayed on its loop. Every time, your shining lips would buzz with the whir of the vibrating wand, and your pink pussy would stretch to accommodate the toy that you were fucking yourself with, slicking it with your fluids and making it gleam. Your tits were bouncing as you rode it up and down, and your head was thrown back in beautiful abandon.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Price decided.

Ghost handed him back the phone with a sly smile,

“Holy shit, Cap. She’s quite the little spitfire.”

Soap’s hand reached into his canvas pants and obviously adjusted himself, hardening like a stone. He let out a low, approving whistle.

“She let you share that?” Gaz asked in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Price nodded, not sure what to say.

“I want to see more,” Soap put a hand to his forehead in shock.

“Well, that’s all,” Price shrugged, and then added, “...for now.”

The whole room shifted a bit. Everyone was on edge. The rest of the briefing went by as quick as a flash, but before everyone left the room, Price suggested,

“You know, it would only be polite to send one back.”

Later that night, he got three enthusiastic notifications. In each one, his men were jacking off to her, complimenting her, talking about what a pretty pussy she had, thanking her for sharing with them. Unzipping his pants, Price decided to add one of his own.

As his hand worked him hard, he watched your video over and over again. He imagined how your tight little cunt felt around his cock, and how sweet you tasted. He imagined how you liked to whisper naughty things in his ear, talking to him about sucking him off in front of his task force, making them watch. Price knew you wanted to do more exhibitionism, and he encouraged you when he thought about how hot it would be to watch you discovering that pleasure.

His cock throbbed in his hands, and he whispered into the phone as he videoed himself,

“Such a naughty girl, you were, showing yourself to my men. We put you on the projector. You looked incredible, missus. You always look incredible. Had all of us achin’ for you. Thought Soap was gonna come right there. Ungh…”

Price tightened his grip and thrust into his palm, rubbing his foreskin up and over his swollen head, slicking himself with his precome over and over and over until it became almost too much. He told you,

“So, we decided to pay you back. For your gift. Hope you send us some more, baby. So fuckin’ hot. Mmm, fuck… my cock misses you, love. So bloody much. F– Fuck!”

Price’s orgasm erupted from his body, coating his belly in white, creamy liquid. He just kept coming and coming, thinking about how you would look with all your pretty holes filled twice. Stuffed so full with no escape.

He sent off the files one by one, starting with his own, and he waited for your reply.

The next morning, he woke up to two messages. One was a text, and the other was a video. The text just said: Wish you all were here with a heart emoji. When he played the video, he realized what you meant.

You had lined up your toys, four of them, all in a row on the bed. Price pressed pause and went to go find the boys. He decided it might be better if they could all see your performance together. He set you up on the projector again, and his men filed in one by one, eager to see what you’d sent.

“She said she wished we were all here, so I thought you lads might want to see what she sent.”

“Fuck yeah, we do,” Soap sat front and center, wiping a hand down his face, eyes glued to the screen.

Ghost chuckled,

“You’re a lucky man, sir.”

“That’s the fuckin’ truth, innit?” Gaz agreed.

Once everyone was settled, Price pressed play.

You were wearing a little black bodysuit made of silk and lace, and he could see your dark nipples through the fabric. He knew which one it was. It was crotchless, and just the memory of fucking you in it made him hard.

You sat on the bed, the four toys spread out in front of you, and you picked up the first one gently. You grabbed some lube from off-camera and squirted it all over the toy and leaned forward, squatting over it, working it into your asshole in tight little thrusts, moaning ever so sweetly as you let it fill you up.

Then, once it was fully sheathed inside of you, you reached for the two toys in the middle, using the lube that was left on your hands to make them slip against each other. You used one to rub through your pink folds, teasing your hole with the head of it, and then — inch by inch — pushed it into your wet pussy. You took the second one and, with quite a bit of difficulty, tried to fit it in next to the first, stretching yourself out even more than you had in the first video, even with these much smaller toys.

Price couldn’t believe his eyes. You were like some sort of sex goddess, showing off skills he didn’t even know you possessed, and your screams of pleasure were making him drunk with pride and lust. He heard a zipper go down and watched as Gaz started fucking his own hand, right in front of him.

“Sargeant,” Price admonished him, but Gaz just shrugged and kept jerking off his long dick,

“Sorry, Cap. Can’t help it.”

Another long moan from you drew Price’s attention back to the screen. You were reaching behind you, wrapping your arm around your body, and fucking yourself in the ass with the largest toy, calling out to him,

“John… please. I need your cock… I need all of your cocks… ungh, fuck. Fill me with your come. Every hole. Please?”

Then, for your final performance, you used your free hand to feed the final toy into your throat, gagging on it and letting your drool run down your chin. Your legs were shivering, something that Price knew wasn’t easy to achieve. You must be so damn horny. He smiled, palming himself over his jeans, so proud of you for bringing yourself such pleasure like that.

Ghost grunted, and Price looked over to see him hunched over, spilling his come onto the floor of the office.

The video ended, and in the silence, the captain heard the wet milking noises of his men fisting their erections, trying to come to your incredible performance.

Soap gasped breathlessly,

“Hit play again, Cap’n. Please…”

Price smiled, looking down at his team in all of their sex-addled joy, and pushed the replay button.

"Maybe we should all put in for some leave, hm?" Price suggested.

He was met with a very enthusiastic round of approving moans, and he felt the excitement rush across his skin like wildfire.

His pretty girl would have what she wanted, and he would make sure of it.

If you liked this story, you may also like one of my other fics: He Shows You Off! But, please heed the tags.

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #cod #john price #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #call of duty

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irabelaswriting · 2 years ago

Text

halcyon 1/2

pairing: morpheus x f!reader | rating: E | words: 5.2k | ao3

tags: #1 emo boy’s coping strategy being avoidance?, checks out, halloween party, the mask comes off, pining, angst, jealousy, possessiveness, semi-public sex, exhibition kink, fluff, no use of y/n,

summary: Getting ghosted by a literal dream felt... very small. A niche subgroup that you couldn’t really turn to anyone about – and that you’d rather not even belong to in the first place.

That time Morpheus doesn’t keep his promise.

Until he does.

a/n: the sequel to influx is here! tags will be updated when part 2 is posted. hope y'all enjoy, let me know what worked and what didn’t<3

The party has been going on for a couple of hours now. Your friend has all but abandoned you to go after some situationship, leaving you with acquaintances who you barely recognize beneath the layers of greasepaint and masks of different movie slashers.

Weight shifting on your feet, you look around.

The guy your friend has roped you into seeing rounds the corner, mask tilted to the side as he grins at you. He’s dressed as that slasher from Friday the 13th; or at least, you think so. A hockey mask sits tilted to one side of his face, jaw and jowls smeared in sticky fake blood, costume haphazardly put together with a bloodied orange prison uniform.

Everyone needed a costume to get in – your friends had made sure you weren’t able to sit this one out because of a lack of it. And so, you got put in a deliberately skimpy outfit — bare shoulders with a low cut, and stay ups.

Pretty. Flattering. Inviting.

Even if it still was up to interpretation as to exactly what you were supposed to be.

“Thought I lost you.” He holds out the can of generic brand hard seltzer towards you, smiling.

That was unlikely. You hadn’t moved on an inch from where he’d left you, and you fight the urge to raise a doubtful brow.

You don’t really remember his name (was it Josh? John? James? … Jason? the outfit would be eerily fitting, in that case, maybe even on the verge of bad taste), just that he’s shown interest before at some mutual event. Hung around, asked about you, added you on your socials afterwards. Liked every picture posted and swiped up on every story, heart and fire emojis in abundance.

You’ve blown him off with that easy, breezy way that you use on people you have no real interest in. Let him down easy, not wanting to cause a scene. He is, after all, on the fringes of your friend group, and it would be sad to make that circle any smaller than it already is.

So, you’ve let Josh put his hand on your hip, fingers splaying out against the small of your back. Let him get a good look down your cleavage every time he so much as turns to look at you. Let him guide you into conversations with that hold on you, like you might vanish into thin air if he lets you out of sight, or as if you might get stolen away by some other adversary.

With a small thanks, you accept the drink. The crack and fizz as you open it and take a sip fills the void for long enough that Josh starts talking again, ushering you back into the crowded living room with his hand on your hip, too low to just be friendly.

And why not? It wasn’t like Morpheus had been around.

At first, the visits had continued. As he had suggested.

Morpheus would appear at the oddest times – in the middle of your living room, or in your bedroom. One time, you’d stepped out of the shower and gotten a real fright, much to his smug amusement.

And it wasn’t as if he’d just show up and fuck you through the nearest available surface, as you might’ve suspected first. No, he was good company, too.

If you offered dinner, he’d accept, even help (he would, however, not eat much, only poke the food around, despite trying everything). If he was still around in the morning, you’d wake up with his arms around you. It had even gone so far that you would make enough coffee for the both of you in the mornings – a new addition to your daily routine.

Perhaps you had grown a bit attached, as he had alluded to. More days than not he would come around. And you had certainly grown accustomed to having him around; that there would be twin pairs of cutlery and plates in your dishrack at the end of the day.

And if you didn’t want to… well, you hadn’t found yourself in that particular predicament yet.

If you asked, he’d even come along on errands. He wouldn’t say much to anyone else – just listen in on your interactions with cashiers and clerks, observe those around you with a slightly guarded expression. One time he had even joined you on some silly little non-errands; collecting parcels and treating yourself to coffee and cake.

Hadn’t even protested or pulled away when you wrapped your arm around his on the way home. You had, of course, done everything to make the gesture seem natural and not the carefully planned and orchestrated action it had been, heart thumping in your chest the entire time.

In fact, you had thought he looked rather pleased at the casual affection.

After getting home that day, he managed to run up your water bill some more. Barely let you get into your apartment before he was on you.

Hair wet and clinging to his face, eyes glimmering up at you as he let you dangle on the precipice of yet another orgasm.

You wet your lips with another sip of your drink, trying to rid the image of Morpheus on his knees in your shower.

It was as if he had vanished without a trace. Slipped through your fingers like sand.

A month had passed. From the beginning of October to the end of it — only really dragged to this particular Halloween party by your friends because you were a moping mess most of the time that refused to elaborate as to why your mood was so depleted.

Morpheus had used you. It— it had worked. You were out of his hair – no longer his problem. He had taken back what had been unwillingly bestowed upon you at that first meeting, so many weeks ago, and left you high and dry.

It had been what you wanted; the ability to get your rocks off had definitely returned. But now, you acquired another, different, problem. Every orgasm was fueled by thoughts of him; making up for lost time, masturbation statistics shooting up faster than rent in a gentrified neighborhood. All of them subsidized with new fantasies, no– memories replaying across your retina.

Still quivering from the comedown, Morpheus lodged inside you, grinding deep, almost too deep for comfort. Lean arms wrapping around your torso, slender fingers digging into the softness of your sides, pulling you down in union with his raised pelvis. Hips pistoning, tapping repeatedly upwards, until you wail into the crook of his neck, unable to do anything but letting him take what he needs.

Thighs rubbing together, you shift on your feet, inhaling through your nose, steadying yourself from thinking more about any sexual ventures.

As the days turned to weeks with no further call or interaction from Morpheus, not even the merest whisper in your dreams (that had all returned to the same boring routine of your teeth falling out or other mishaps) that he cared, you had started to suspect that he... had forgotten about you.

Used you for the purpose he had stated and then left. That you were nothing more than a means to an end.

And sure, that happened. Not like you’d been a virgin, or even inexperienced in the one night stand department—

It just—

He had not seemed like the type to instill false hope into you.

But as time passed you couldn’t help but feel as if that was the case.

Why had he stuck around then?

Getting ghosted by a literal dream felt... very small. A niche subgroup that you couldn’t really turn to anyone about – and that you’d rather not even belong to in the first place.

Was it something you said? Something you did? You had recounted every interaction, every exchange like a heartbroken teenager, trying to find a reason for the abrupt end. Even shed a few tears about it in the dark of night.

Maybe it had been true, what he had called you – lonely girl. So desperate for a connection that this mere fling of intimacy had your heart soaring, had brightened your days enough to make you actually look forward to them.

Suddenly despondent, you take another sip of your drink, feigning a smile as Josh finishes yet another story that has the cluster of people surrounding you laughing. Again.

Really, you had thought you’d even gotten better at reading Morpheus’ cues. The little telltale signs that he wanted to touch you, wanted you to touch him, that he needed to leave or that he found whatever it was that you dragged him along to was particularly amusing. Even with your limbs entwined in bed, you had gotten better at figuring out his cues – exactly how he wanted to be kissed, wanted to have you.

Had you been wrong all along?

Perhaps it was the same as what you were doing to Josh. Leading him on by not swatting away his hand the moment it landed on your hip, by laughing along at a bad joke he told. Instilling him with hope, the promise, that you would go home with him, maybe even let him pull you into one of the many vacant bedrooms on the floor above and let him do as he pleased.

Maybe you were the same as Morpheus.

Maybe you deserved what he’d done to you – how he’d left you. Alone and hoping. A thin layer of something like sand in his wake you’d spent the good part of two days finding scattered across your apartment and which you had subsequently vacuumed up, cursing him under your breath the entire time.

Thoughts turning dark, you zone out all the noise, the music, the people, around you; the bass is the only thing you feel, thrumming through your system.

In the peripheral of your vision, something moves. Barely, you turn around in vice like grip Josh still has on your hip, eyes searching in a crowd of muddled and masked faces–

A person, dressed in all black moves through the crowd, just a few feet away. A mask so unusual that it’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen before covers their face; made up of a long, boney appendage and tinted pieces of glass shielding the eye sockets. Around you, people stop and stare, almost startled as they’re passed by. No one makes any moves to approach the mysterious figure, letting them pass by as if all they’re seeing is a mere stranger on the street.

The stranger doesn’t seem to mind, no– notice, any of the odd looks.

Instead, the scarlet glass covered eyes lock with yours, eerily familiar.

A shiver races through your system.

As if nothing has happened, noise fills your ears again, loud music reverberating through your system, everyone around you seemingly forgetting the sight of the wispy form of a stranger.

What was that?

“Just gonna get another drink,” you mumble, barely giving any mind to pleasantries for the moment, untangling yourself.

“You just got one.” Josh’s brow furrows momentarily. Instantly, you’re reminded that he was the one who got the can for you, that hurt tinges the fringes of his voice. Like he’s a puppy you’ve just kicked.

“Not a big fan of cherry.” You lie on the spot, scrunching your nose up and shaking the can back and forth. “I’ll be right back,” you add over your shoulder, hitting him with the most charming, reassuring smile as you leave to investigate.

The eyes that you feel lingering over your rear are unmistakably his.

Quickly, you act, intent on not losing track of the figure.

You don’t know what you saw — just that you feel inexplicably drawn to it. The mask was weird, in an uncannily familiar way; as if you’ve seen it somewhere, passed it by in a shop window without sparing it a single thought. With its giant bug eyes it would’ve looked like an overgrown dragonfly if it wasn’t for the spine-like mouthpiece – and surely, you think you would remember seeing that.

Getting through the crowd is easy; and as you move into the hallway you swear you catch something moving towards the end of the staircase.

Tendrils of black smoke lick at the varnished wood posts going up to the second floor. They curl upwards and inwards like tails, a soft beckoning motion, before vanishing into thin air, one after another.

And like a dog on a leash – you follow.

The last wisp of dark shadow sneaks around the bend, just enough that you don’t miss it. Drink willfully abandoned at the bottom of the stairs, you start the climb upwards.

A long corridor greets you, filled with large wooden doors in the darkest of oak, dimly lit and foreboding.

Hand on the stair post as you twist around, already forming a plan to start your search at the shorter end of the hallway when you feel it.

Maybe it’s some primal instinct from when humans were prey more than predator – but the hair on the back of your neck prickles, feeling the weight of a presence behind you.

Your breath hitches.

Slowly, as if any sudden movements would scare them off, you turn around.

Your own reflection stares back at you, painted red like guts. It’s even stranger up close, the mask; all metal and stone, glass and bone. Much more of a helm than a mask, you note.

“... Morpheus?”

A ruby dangles around his neck, crimson like thick blood.

“Take off the mask, it’s creepy.” You say, suddenly uneasy at seeing yourself in the bugeyed reflection. “You look like the cryptkeeper.”

“That’s my sister.” The voice is distorted through the helm, but sure enough – it’s him, the baritone familiar, intimately known to you. And he obliges, hair even more tousled than usual as he removes it.

“...What?” You blink, shaking that off as you take him in. Despite it all, he’s still gorgeous – the mere expanse of his neck sends a tingle through your body, trying your hardest not to stare at his Adam's apple, the lips you know are soft, that you know has kissed parts of your body that even the skimpy outfit isn’t showing off. “W—what are you doing here?”

“Attending the party.” Morpheus motions to the helmet in his hands.

“No— very funny,“ his reply shifts you off key, like it’s impossible that he would be here for that simple reason alone. Regaining your footing in the midst of emotions filling you is harder than it should be, and all you manage is a scoff, shrugging. “I wouldn't know. Not like you’ve been around.”

His eyes roll over you, taking in the costume, the carefully guarded tone you’ve chosen, before he replies. “Circumstances have gotten… complicated.”

By your sides, your hands form fists, jaw clenching.

“Great fucking excuse,” you smack a hand into his chest. Him being here doesn’t make you feel any less jilted, any less upset–

The impact doesn’t even seem to faze him, only meeting the resistance of his chest, but momentarily, his dark brows pull down. “I do not expect you to understand.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol in your system making you braver, angrier, but you voice raises above the conversational volume you’ve kept, no longer able to keep the hurt in your chest contained–

“Understand? How hard is it for you, of all people, to let me know in a fucking dream or whatever that you didn’t want more than—“

From the foot of the stairs, someone calls out your name.

You’ve taken too long. Now, Josh is looking for you, intent on leading you towards the end he has imagined all evening.

“It’s Josh,“ your whisper sounds panicked, even to your own ears as you turn towards the sound.

“A friend?”

You don’t hide your eyeroll at his terse tone. “Just some dude—“

Morpheus scoffs.

At once, your head whips back to meet his gaze.

He’s frowning at you, like a skulking child.

“Are you serious?” You’re still whispering, and you’re not sure why. “You can’t be seriously upset that I– that I–”

What was it that you were doing, really? Replacing him by leading along a guy who's had it bad for you since the moment he laid eyes on you? At the realization, the way you’ve clipped your own tongue, you decide that you don’t particularly feel like talking to Morpheus anymore.

“You left me.” You simply hiss, turning back to hurry down the stairs.

You’re gearing up to answer Josh’s call, air rushing to your lungs – when slender fingers wrap around your elbow.

Instead, all that leaves your lips is a startled sound as Morpheus shoves you into an empty bedroom, seemingly exerting no strength while doing so.

“Hey!” You protest.

Morpheus hushes you, actually hushes you, as he leads the way with you in front of him, out on the bedroom's adjoining balcony.

Below, the garden is alive with people. Fairy lights twinkle, people in masks and costumes laughing and drinking, music still loud enough to be heard outside. The lights are a bit redundant; a full moon sits fat and round in the sky, illuminating the scene in pale light – a perfect addition to the Halloween party. No one thinks of looking up – or at least, you hope so as Morpheus presses you against him, your back to his front.

Now, he was the one with a front row seat to look down your cleavage.

“Stop,” your fingers snag around his wrist, about to struggle to get free, to make the distance more controlled, “let me go.”

“Quiet,” he retorts, “they’ll find us.”

“It’s all your f—“ the words are cut off as his fingers smarts a garter against the soft plump of your thigh.

You gasp, momentarily stunned before you’re readying up to turn around and smack him again when his grip tightens.

“Quiet.” The command is repeated in a whisper right by your ear, punctuated by a pinch to your thigh. Pulling you tighter against him, slender fingers digging into the natural curve of your waist, making sure the two of you are shielded from the inside of the bedroom.

Warm fingers soothe the hurt on your thigh, even warmer breaths hitting the soft skin of your neck. Gods, you’ve shivered for less.

And, you feel compelled to listen to him, heart beating at the pit of your throat, adrenaline surging through your system.

Like a bloodhound on a trail – Josh has followed you.

Even from out on the balcony, you hear him in the hallway, looking for you, accompanied by someone.

The hands on your midriff move upwards.

“Where could she have gone?” Josh’s weary sigh is audible enough that you realize he’s right outside the bedroom door now.

Fingers with light pressure behind them trail up against your ribcage, taking their time before reaching their goal.

“Not over ‘ere,” responds the other voice, slightly slurred.

Tucking his head against your shoulder, Morpheus’ hands curve up from below, cupping your tits in his broad hands. Pushing them up like the most scandalous push-up bra would, molding them against his hands as you wriggle in his hold and you think you could curse him now. Heat starts flowing through your veins, and he has to know, feel it through the layers of clothing separating you, embarrassment and want stoked like a fire by his attention.

“So responsive,” he whispers, a thumb following the natural curve on the underside of one breast, a hot trail left in its wake, testing the plumpness of you with easy pressure.

Deftly, the soft pads of his fingers shift ever so slightly, hooking in the hem of your already low neckline, and slowly, slowly, drags the fabric down.

Stiff and aching, your nipples tighten even further as your breasts spill out and meet the cold night air.

Finally, you gasp out loud.

Anyone could look up from the garden below, see you–

Morpheus tuts, right by your ear, a quiet reminder of his earlier command.

The door handle to the bedroom is pulled down.

At once, you freeze.

You hear Josh tentatively call out your name again, peeking around the room.

Warm hands move downwards, gleaming eyes following the path from the valley between your bared breasts.

“Do you think she ran away?”

Beneath the layers of your skirts, fingers ghosts over your mons pubis, stroking your innermost thighs with a soft touch, until he’s cupping your cunt in his hand. Toying with the crease of wetness that’s obviously there, that has the gusset of your underwear sticky, fingers skirting against your folds as his palm grinds down, pressure applied to your clit.

“Be just like her to just vanish, wouldn't it?”

It feels so good, warm honey spreading across your limbs, and you’re hazy with want, body reacting with a full body rush as his touch ignites your body, a thin sheet of sweat breaking out across your skin. Even when your hand grasps around the wrist moving under your skirts, it’s half hearted – you don’t actually want him to stop. He knows exactly what makes you tick, what makes you putty in his hands.

Perhaps it would feel like losing a battle if it didn’t feel so damn good.

His touch has that effect on you – soothing the anger, overpowering it with pleasure.

The conversation, the noise, the people below in the garden, is all buzzed out from his hands on you.

Someone sighs something – and this time you hear nothing, only the small huff from Morpheus by your shoulder, the low whisper of your name as your legs start to tremble.

His head buries into your neck – incisors finding soft skin and biting down, tongue slowly alleviating the trail of stinging sharpness he leaves in his wake. A large hand comes to rest against your sternum, keeping you to him tightly, fingers tracing against your collarbones, thumb slowly drawing circles at the divot of your throat, protective, possessive.

A digit strokes around the perimeter of your still covered core, but stays withholding. You bite your lip to keep from whining, eyes squeezing shut as you swivel your hips, trying to entice it to enter you, give you anything to clench down on.

If they– if they stepped closer to the balcony, leaned out the expensive lead framed windows, they would catch you. They’d find you entangled with a stranger; one of his hands tucked under your skirt, tits out on display like a heathen. Embarrassment courses hotly through your veins, the mere prospect of getting caught making a new rush of wet soak Morpheus’ fingers.

It’s not something you should want – but it’s been part of your daydreams enough time that Morpheus has to know, has to be intrinsically aware of what this does to you, the thrill of being seen. Just how little he seems to care if someone catches you is only reinforced by the press of a digit to your center, willing you to come apart under him, coaxing– no, daring more sounds to spill from your lips.

Blood pounds in your ears, almost deafening, shutting out everything around you, making you careless–

Before the first, proper moan has time to make it past your mouth Morpheus has it covered with a hand, as if he had felt it vibrating in your throat. The ministrations between your legs don’t even pause, no reprieve awarded you. Two fingers even make it past your lips, pressing down on your tongue, muffling more sounds – it’s mere instinct, but you still suck on the digits, wrapping your lips around them.

You melt into it, into him, a puddle of want as he unravels you, working you like only he knows how to.

The click of the door shutting reverberates through the room.

Instantly, Morpheus' hand is off your mouth.

Gossamer spit still connects your mouth to his fingers. He presses them together in front of the both of you, spit glistening as he inspects them.

“You were saying?” He breathes by your ear.

The haze that’s settled over your mind is dispelled.

“Forget it.” You pull away from him with a start, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand, tugging the neckline back up over your bare chest. In the stark moonlight his eyes glimmer as if there’s stars in them as he watches you right your clothing.

“It seems you have moved on.” He remarks, too casually. As if he deliberates on congratulating you on finding someone interested in you.

“Stop it. You’re the one who hasn’t—“

A million demands for explanations, reprimands and sour, hurtful words fill your mind, all of them sitting at the tip of your tongue. A hot sting of tears also tetters dangerously on your lower lash line, ready to burst through – you force that down deep, deep inside. Gods, were you that desperate? Maybe that was why you’d thrown yourself at the first person to show you an ounce of attention as soon as the realization that Morpheus had left you settled in.

Except… he hadn’t.

He was standing in front of you, on the balcony of some Halloween party you got dragged to. Even brought a mask for the occasion.

The cold breeze lightly tousles his dark hair as he peers down at you imploringly. You knew what that hair felt like, the texture of it, had wrapped locks of it around your fingers. Had run your fingers through it, tugged and tousled and smoothed it and done everything in between to it.

Wrapping your arms around yourself now that his heat isn’t there to shield you from the chilly night air, you start again. “Is that why you’re here? Because someone took your spot?”

You wish you could text him, or had some way of contacting him that wasn’t dependent on him being receptive to your advances (or on him simply making those advances first). All this had done was leave you with a feeling of being stranded – no way of knowing when or even if he was coming back. Stuck in a rowboat in the middle of the ocean.

You huff. “It’s not like I can get a hold of you.”

“I am not available at mosts’ beck and call.” The way he says it makes you feel like you’re getting a parental scolding. “My realm is vast, my duties never ending. Other matters have needed my attention–”

Nails dig into your palms. Imprudent, you cut him off.

“If you wanted to, you would.”

He looks like he’s never been interrupted in his entire life. Probably hasn’t – being who he is.

What he is.

Oh–

Where he came from is the place between the stars and the sky, the unexplored trenches of the sea, the still hidden places of this earth that you knew nothing of.

Endless, an ebb and flow you can’t even begin to comprehend. Millenia of consciousness in one person– no, in one being.

Suddenly, you feel stupid. Infinitely small and insignificant. An amoeba in the grand scheme of things.

The tears feel a lot closer to spilling over your lash line than they did before.

“And,” Morpheus finally says, as if he’s been privy to the thoughts racing through your mind, “I tend to forget how differently time is perceived by mortals.”

It’s not an apology. But you feel as if he’s admitting something he never has to anyone else, ever.

You fight away the unbidden fat tears with the back of your hand, voice only wavering slightly. “How– how did you know where I was?”

“I haven’t been completely idle in seeing to that your well-being was kept,” he pauses, scowling at the wetness of your eyes, words hanging in the air before he continues, “up to standards.”

Not that you’ve been well – he’s not using that particular terminology to describe the state you’ve been in. Because well, you hadn’t. Probably, he knows exactly how mopey and depressed you’ve been, sitting around waiting for him to arrive, to make good on his promise.

It– it must’ve been something urgent needing his attention if he didn’t come to you, didn’t let you know, despite that.

Intuitively, you sense that he doesn’t want to discuss that with you, what had caused him to be so swallowed up he couldn’t even bother giving you a dream version of a wyd? – atleast, not now. No matter what kind of talents you may have acquired for the arcane, there were many things you didn’t understand, that you didn’t know about Morpheus.

“How?” You ask instead.

“A raven.”

“A raven?”

CAW

As if on cue, a raven takes flight. Almost silent, the large wings spread out as it takes off, the leaves from the tree it had been perched in parting softly to let the watcher in the canopy pass.

“His name is Matthew.”

The raven circles high above you, cawing again in greeting, corvid outline stark against the brightness of the full moon.

“I’ve never met a crow named Matthew.” You say, eyes stuck on the bird in the sky.

“I’ll have to introduce you.”

You laugh at that – the first unfeigned laugh of the evening, of the past weeks.

Morpheus’ face cracks, if only slightly. A secret uptick of his mouth as he takes in your smile, the sound of your joy.

Without any further prompting, you feel your walls fall. It’s disarming, seeing him again. Hearing him. Being near him. It’s as if your magnetic field shifts – you want to orbit closer to him, want to stray from your already pre-designed course if it meant being just an inch closer to him. A gravitational pull as natural as the ocean’s ebb and flow controlling the tide.

Slowly, you inch closer to Morpheus. Arms wrap around his narrow middle, pressing closer, resting the side of your head against his chest, nuzzling into the dark fabric, the feel of coarse fibers against your skin a reminder that it’s real. He feels warm — decidedly warmer than the chilly, almost November air.

You whisper into the textile, voice small as you speak, as if he’ll disappear if you let him go.

“I’ve missed you.”

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then, his arms circle your frame, keeping you tight against him.

It feels wonderful, being in his arms, being close to him after so long. Breathing in his scent, as ineffable as everything about him.

The full moon sits fat and round in the sky, painting the both of you in pale light. It frames him well, you think, enhancing the dark of his hair, his gleaming eyes. The cloak, almost night itself, shields you from some of it, covers your sides as he cages your form, envelopes you.

If someone looked up from the garden, they would only see two lovers embracing.

Quick, and before you lose your nerve, you rise up on your tiptoes, giving him a peck on his chin, soft and unassuming.

At once, Morpheus has your face cradled in his hands, thumbs tracing against cheekbones, brushing away remnants of wetness still lingering, lips ghosting over your forehead, before he leans down and finally, finally, kisses you.

The wind tousles both of your hair, chilly and cold. You don’t notice it, barely feel the icy needles digging into your exposed skin – only feel the fire inside you, the molten core reginiting, atoms vibrating from the exchange of heat between you, returning the kiss in kind.

You think he missed you too.

thank u all for the love on influx<33 i am so happy so many of you liked it! please let me know your thoughts, i love comments and tags and hearing your opinions, it fuels me. let me know what worked and what didn’t.

#morpheus/dream x reader #the sandman fanfic #morpheus x reader #morpheus smut #dream of the endless #the sandman #halcyon #my writing #yes influx got a sequel. i am possessed by the spirit of this emo boy and he will not leave me alone #yes there’ll be a part 2. yes there is so much angst in here but also so much smut and fluff.#mdni

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all-the-things-2020 · 9 months ago

Text

Late Night Talking - Chapter Seven

Summary: Emily goes back to work and Dieter comes to spend the weekend. Chaos ensues.

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 6780+

Tag list: @rhoorl @avastrasposts @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @gwendibleywrites

The first day back on campus was always full of boring staff meetings and, for those of us in the library and textbook room, a daylong parade of teachers with requests for books. It was exhausting but gave us a chance to catch up with everyone. It also meant the Nosy Parkers were out in force, sniffing out the best gossip to spread around campus. Who went where on vacation, who didn’t go anywhere, who got married or engaged, who got pregnant, etc. I knew that it wouldn’t be long before word got around that I was dating someone; I was friends on Facebook with a few of my coworkers, and although I hadn’t posted many clear photos of Dieter or mentioned his name, I had made a few posts referring to “my boyfriend.”

As I settled into a seat in the auditorium for the all staff kickoff meeting, I was simultaneously distracted by my phone buzzing in my pocket and my least favorite coworker, Eileen, latching onto my arm. She was nearing retirement age and every year the rumor went around that she wasn’t coming back in the fall, but every year, there she was.

“How are you, sweetie?,” she asked. “Did you have a good summer?” I could tell that she’d already heard something from the way she smiled so insincerely.

“I’m good. Summer was good,” I replied, digging my phone out. “Excuse me, let me check this.”

As I suspected, it was a text from Dieter

DIETER: Happy 1st day back. Break a leg or whatever you say for luck in a library. Break a spine??

I was surprised he was up so early. He must have set his alarm so he could text me. I smiled to myself and texted back.

ME: Weirdo. Just starting all staff meeting aka most boring two hours of my life. Talk to u later, k?

I put my phone back in my pocket and reluctantly turned to Eileen. Before she could open her mouth, my phone buzzed again and I pulled it back out, mouthing “sorry” at her.

It was a video of a duck with cartoon arms running around a dog.

DIETER: If meeting gets too boring watch this.

He added several smiley face emojis, a dog, a duck, and his favorite, the grinning purple devil. I shook my head.

“Bad news?” Eileen pounced on the slightest whiff of intrigue or gossip.

“No, just a dumb video my boyfriend sent me,” I said without thinking. Oops.

“Boyfriend? Really? Congratulations!” She sounded sincere, but I’d endured enough snide remarks over the years about my single state to know that she was inwardly lamenting the loss of something to pester me about.

“Yeah,” I said off handedly. “We met this summer. Oh, there’s the principal. Meeting’s about to start.” I had never been happier to see Dr. Osuna climb the steps to the stage and make her way behind the beat up old podium that had been used by every principal since the school’s founding over 60 years ago.

As various administrators droned on about vision and aiming for lofty goals and hitting our target numbers, I surreptitiously peeked at my phone, which kept buzzing. Dieter was sending me GIFs and cartoons and video clips about surviving meetings, and more birds with arms, which he’d found out never failed to make me laugh. Finally, I texted him back.

ME: Stop. People are staring at me. Supposed to be paying attention like a good little drone.

Truthfully, no one was paying any attention to me except Eileen. Everyone was either on their own phones, ignoring admin completely, or pretending to be captivated by every word. Some teachers were even taking notes, but they were just trying to score brownie points. Eileen, however, was watching me like a hawk, a small frown on her face. She was the sort of employee who was more concerned about keeping track of everyone else and making sure they weren’t slacking off than in doing her own job. Unfortunately, she was also very efficient and had no problem doing her own job and sticking her nose in everyone else’s business.

The meeting finally ended and I made sure to hop up quickly and head out of the auditorium before Eileen could corner me again. It was only a temporary reprieve, since her office was located inside the library building, but I’d take what I could get.

“Emily!” I stopped on my way out of the auditorium lobby to let the speaker catch up. It was Simone, my favorite English teacher. She was a huge book nerd and was our number one customer in the library. “Girl, slow down!”

“Sorry, friend,” I told her. “I was trying to get away from you-know-who.”

She nodded knowingly. “Gotcha,” she said. When she’d caught up, she steered me out a side door, which meant we’d take the long way to the library. Eileen would make a beeline for her office so she could have a front row seat for the parade of teachers, so there was little chance of running into her as we walked.

Simone gave me a look and nudged my shoulder with hers. “So …,” she said. “Who’s the guy?” She was friends with me on Facebook, and she’d liked several of my posts over the summer. “And why haven’t you posted very many pics? Dude is hot!”

I stopped walking and took a deep breath. Part of me didn’t want to say a thing, and another part (the part that had never really left high school) wanted to squeal and show her the approximately seventeen thousand photos of Dieter on my phone and brag about how I was dating a freaking movie star.

“His name is Dieter,” I said. “We met at a bookstore in L.A. back in June.”

“Dieter? Unusual name.” Simone prompted. “What does he do? Where does he live? Come on, I need details!”

I pulled out my phone. “He’s an actor. And he lives in L.A. so it’s kind of a long distance thing.”

“A real actor or one of those waiters who says he’s an actor but never actually does anything,” she asked, her head tilted to one side. I remembered her talking once about a guy she dated right after college who claimed to be an actor but really waited tables at an Applebee’s in Burbank and tried to slip headshots to studio execs.

“A real actor,” I said proudly. “He hasn’t waited tables in years.” I laughed as I opened up my photo gallery and pulled up the most recent picture. Dieter was leaning toward me across the table at a little bistro we’d had lunch at on Saturday. His hair was messy, as usual when he didn’t have a stylist to tame it, and he was wearing an old t-shirt that had a small hole near the collar. But he was giving me one of those smoldering looks that could so easily turn into a goofy face or lead to a passionate kiss, depending on his mood.

“Whew!” Simone said, fanning herself. “I can see why you want to hide him. Post too many pics like that and everyone will be crawling out the woodwork to try to steal him.”

“What you looking at?” It was Tyler, another of my favorite teachers. He also taught English and I’d gone to happy hour a few times with him and his wife, who was a graphic artist who dreamed of writing a graphic novel someday. She was also a big sci fi nerd, just like Tyler. He was more into Star Wars, while Sofia was more into Star Trek, but they loved both.

Tyler peeked over my shoulder at the phone. “Oh, hey, good taste,” he said. “Sof is crazy about him, too.”

Simone frowned. “How does Sof know Emily’s boyfriend?”

Tyler laughed. “That’s the guy from Cliff Beasts 6,” he said. “Dieter Bravo, right?”

Simone’s eyes got huge and she smacked my arm. “Get out! You couldn’t lead with that?”

Now Tyler’s eyes got wide. “Are you shitting me? You know him?”

I felt my face go hot. “Um, yeah,” I stumbled. “We’ve been dating for about two months.”

Tyler got a goofy grin on his face. “This is the mysterious boyfriend you mentioned on Facebook? Oh, Sof is going to freak out. Wait until I tell her you’re fucking Dieter Bravo.” He froze. “You are fucking him, right? I mean … two months …”

Now I was mortified but also secretly pleased. “Yes, Tyler, not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I am sleeping with my boyfriend,” I said after I’d regained a bit of composure..

“Well, you are now officially the coolest person I’ve ever met,” Tyler said. “And you’ve gotten me a couple of degrees closer to George Lucas.” He winked. He’d once told an entire bar that he was only four degrees removed from the creator of Star Wars because he was cousins with someone who worked with a guy who did electrical work on the set for Empire Strikes Back and had taken his orders from a guy who got his orders from an assistant director who reported directly to Lucas. “I mean, you’re sleeping with a guy who did a movie with Darren Eigan, who interned with George.”

Simone rolled her eyes. “You are so weird,” she said. Simone was more into historical fiction, mysteries, and thrillers than sci fi and fantasy, but I knew she had a soft spot in her heart for the Lord of the Rings films and had admitted to watching Game of Thrones, although she hadn’t read the books. “But seriously, Emily, I’m happy for you.” She glanced at her watch. “Oops, department meeting in five minutes. I’d better hit the bathroom. Talk to you later!”

She and Tyler hurried away toward their building and I headed for the library building. Time to face Eileen’s interrogation.

**********************************************************

By the time I got home, I was mentally exhausted. I’d managed to dodge most of Eileen’s questions, giving her only the basics: I was dating a guy who lived in L.A., we’d met over the summer, he worked in the entertainment industry. She’d find out the rest of the details eventually, but I decided to make her work for them.

I spent the day reconfiguring the textbook checkout schedule as teachers changed their minds about which books they needed and which days they wanted to bring their students for checkout. The spreadsheet was morphing into monstrous proportions by the end of the day, but our textbook clerk wasn’t as proficient in Excel as I was (which wasn’t saying much) so the task always ended up in my lap.

I got home, kicked off my shoes, put my hair in a messy ponytail and poured myself a glass of wine. Normally, I waited until Fridays to indulge, but the first day back was always an exception. As I flipped through my mail (all junk, of course) my phone buzzed on the coffee table.

“Hey,” I said as I swiped to answer.

“Hey,” Dieter said. “I take it you survived.” He chuckled. I’d texted him at one point lamenting the brain cells I was losing trying to juggle the schedule.

“Barely,” I said. “Thank goodness for wine.”

I settled back against the couch cushions and told him about my day. It was weird, after being off work all summer, to not only be back in my normal routine, but sharing it with Dieter. So far our relationship had been very relaxed and I was still afraid that it would end up just being a summer fling, once the responsibilities of work and life started to assert themselves.

“I wish I was there to give you a back rub,” he said when I’d finished venting. “Or foot rub, or whatever’s hurting you rub.” He sighed. “I have an interview at two on Friday but I’m heading out as soon as it’s over.” We’d agreed to alternate weekends; this would be the first time he was coming to my place, and I felt a frisson of fear and excitement. I’d been at his house so much over the summer, mostly because there was nothing interesting to do in my neck of the woods, but partly because I was hesitant to bring him to my modest condo.

“Are you sure you don’t mind driving out here on a Friday night?” I asked. “The traffic will be horrible. You could wait and come out Saturday morning.”

“No!,” he said immediately. “I want every minute I can get with you.”

I smiled and sat my wineglass down. I curled up with the phone. “That’s sweet,” I said.

“It’s the truth,” he said softly, his voice dropping to a sexy growl. If we’d been in the same room, this was about the time he’d slide an arm around me and lean in for the first of many, many kisses. “I can’t believe how much I miss you, and I saw you yesterday.” Then he proceeded to tell me exactly how much he missed me, and what he planned to do when he saw me on Friday. Needless to say, I didn’t get around to fixing myself some dinner until much, much later than I’d planned.

****************************************************

Friday finally arrived. I was completely exhausted by the time I got home. I knew it would be another couple of hours before Dieter arrived, and I told myself I was just going to sit down for a few minutes to rest before I cleaned up the place. The first week back was always hectic and I hadn’t done any household chores all week, except for a quick sweep of the kitchen floor after I spilled a box of rice on Wednesday night.

I slipped my shoes off, sat down on the couch and put my feet up on the coffee table. “Just five minutes,” I told myself as I closed my eyes.

The next thing I knew, there was a knock at the door and I bolted upright, drool dripping from the corner of my mouth. “Shit, shit, shit,” I mumbled as I lurched to my feet. I hoped my face didn’t have creases on it from being smashed into the couch cushion but I didn’t have time to worry about it as I fumbled with the deadbolt and pulled the door open.

Dieter stood on the doorstep, overnight bag slung over his shoulder and a bottle of something in his hand. He broke into a huge grin and threw his arms around me. “You weren’t kidding about the traffic,” he said into my hair. “Fuck, that was a mess.” He pulled back enough to kiss me on the lips, then hugged me tight again.

“Come in, come in,” I said, when he’d loosened his grip a bit. “Sorry the place is a mess, I fell asleep when I got home.”

He made an “are you kidding?” face and dropped his bag next to the couch. “It looks great,” he said kindly. “And I’m sure you were tired after such a busy week.” He sat the bottle on the coffee table and I could see the label. It was a top shelf brand of tequila. He shrugged as he saw me looking at it. “A friend gave it to me and I thought we could toast your first week back at work. Or get drunk enough that you forget all about it, depending on how bad it was.”

He plopped onto the couch and pulled me down beside him. “This was the longest week ever,” he said as he slid his arms around me and started nuzzling my neck.

“Tell me about it,” I said, playing with his hair. “But at least this year I had you to look forward to at the end of it.” He hummed in agreement and we stopped talking for quite a while.

Eventually, though, my stomach growled. Our lunch break during textbook checkouts was ridiculously early so we could deal with the hordes of students who stopped by on their lunch break to pick up books they’d forgotten to get earlier in the week.

“Okay,” Dieter said. “The stomach has spoken. What shall we have for dinner? Any good restaurants around here that deliver?”

Now I was really embarrassed. “Not really,” I admitted. “Mostly fast food and a few chain restaurants out by the mall. Um, there’s a nice deli near the grocery store I go to, but I think they might be closed already.” I glanced at the clock on my wall and sure enough, it was well after six o’clock.

“I did see an In-n-Out from the freeway a few exits back,” Dieter said hesitantly. I had already teased him at least once about his seeming addiction to Double Doubles and animal style fries.

“There’s one about five minutes from here, actually,” I said. “That’s one decent thing around here. Come on.” I stood up, adjusted my disheveled blouse and held out my hand. I grabbed my purse, dug out my keys and led Dieter outside to my car.

Ten minutes later, we were in line at the drive through at my local In-n-Out. As usual, it was packed, with both order lanes practically out of the parking lot and threatening to spill onto the street. Still, it had a much bigger lot than the one near Dieter’s house and no cars were actually blocking traffic.

I pulled into the lane that went on the left hand side of the building, since I had a passenger. It was usually a bit shorter than the other one, since anyone driving alone had to use the other lane. Still, there were several cars ahead of us as the order taker bounced back and forth between both lanes, tapping away at his tablet.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Double Double and animal style fries, right?”

Dieter arched an eyebrow at me. “Actually, no,” he said primly. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

When the order taker got to us, he came up on Dieter’s side. “Double Double animal style,” Dieter said. “Cheeseburger, grilled onions. Two orders of fries.” He turned to me smugly. “What do you want to drink, babe?”

“Iced tea,” I said.

He shook his head. “Regular iced tea and a chocolate shake,” he said, completing our order. After the order taker read it back, I put the window back up and poked Dieter in the side.

“I knew it,” I said.

“What?,” he said innocently. “You said a Double Double and animal style fries. I ordered regular fries and an animal style burger. That’s totally different.”

Now it was my turn to shake my head. “Still.”

He shrugged. “They have like two things on the menu, there’s not much room for variation.”

He insisted on paying at the window, much to the delight of the girl working the register, who clearly recognized him and giggled a little when he handed her a twenty. She very carefully placed his change in his hand, letting her fingers linger just a bit too long.

“Stop flirting,” I stage-whispered at him while we were waiting for the food to come up.

“I’m not flirting,” he said. “I’m just being polite. She’s the one who's flirting.”

I shook my head. “You just want extra ketchup packets,” I said. “You’re such an In-n-Out whore.”

“I admit it,” he said proudly. Just then, the window opened back up and the girl handed out our drinks, followed by an iconic white bag.

“Have a great evening!,” she said.

“Thank you, you too!” Dieter said. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he’d winked at her because she giggled again.

I smacked his arm as I pulled away. “Behave yourself,” I said, “or you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

He was busy peering into the bag. “Ha, it was worth it. She gave us ten ketchups.” He pulled out a few fries and shoved them in his mouth. He turned to me with them hanging from his lips. “Wan’ som’?,” he mumbled.

“Of course,” I said. I opened my mouth and he carefully placed a couple of fries between my lips. “Oh, yeah, that’s the ticket,” I moaned as the crispy potatoes hit my tongue. I was a bit of an In-n-Out whore myself.

**********************************************

We ate at my dining table, leaving behind a mess of burger wrappers, crumpled napkins and empty ketchup packets. I scooped it all up into the bag and shoved it into my trash can, which was already full and needed to be taken out to the garbage bin, but I was too tired to do it that night. I just pushed it down enough for the lid to close and walked away. I’d deal with it in the morning.

We retired to the couch, where Dieter started scrolling through the cable guide. “Um, is this all the channels you get?,” he asked. When I nodded, he gave me a scandalized look. “No HBO? No Netflix?”

“No, just basic cable,” I said, taking the remote away from him. “I don’t watch a whole lot of TV during the week and if I want movies, I have some DVDs.” I waved the remote vaguely at the cabinet next to the TV stand. Dieter got up and opened the door, staring into it like it was a fridge and he was looking for a snack. Finally, he turned back to me.

“Your selection of films leaves much to be desired,” he said solemnly.

I’d figured as much. He had an extensive DVD collection as well as several streaming subscriptions. My meager collection of favorite rom-coms and musicals, with a sprinkling of sci fi and fantasy (I had the original Star Wars trilogy and the Lord of the Rings extended editions) was severely lacking in comparison.

“Sorry,” I said. “Next time you come over, bring some DVDs.” He sat back down next to me and took the remote back. He scrolled through the channel guide again, finally settling on an obscure film noir on one of the classic movie channels. I snuggled up against his side, only half paying attention to the film. I was still tired, despite my nap, and had a full stomach. My eyes slowly drifted shut.

I woke up to the sound of Dieter’s soft laughter. “You were snoring,” he said quietly when I looked up at him. “Maybe we should go to bed.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, yawning. “I’m not much fun right now, am I?”

“It’s okay,” he said. “We’ve got the whole weekend.” He hugged me close and kissed the top of my head.

“You can stay up and watch TV if you want,” I said. It was barely eight thirty and I knew he was used to going to bed much later than that.

“Nah,” he said, clicking the television off. “Not much on anyway.” He smirked and I swatted at him.

“Jerk,” I said. “Making fun of my cable selection. Not all of us have Hollywood money to finance our movie obsession.” I tempered my words with a kiss pressed against the grey spot in his patchy beard.

I got up and headed for the bedroom before he could respond. I grabbed my nightshirt from the dresser and went into the bathroom to change. When I came out, Dieter was already in the bedroom, getting undressed. Unlike me, he had no qualms about removing his clothes in front of me. I busied myself turning down the bed, which I’d made up with fresh sheets that morning, even though it had made me ten minutes late for work. Dieter had a lovely, comfortable king size bed, while mine was a serviceable full size, big enough for two people, but just barely.

“Ahh,” he said as he slid under the covers clad only in a clean pair of boxers. “Nothing better than fresh sheets, am I right?”

I slipped in beside him and turned off the bedside lamp. “Especially when you’ve just shaved your legs,” I said.

“Well, I’ll take your word for that,” he said with a laugh. He pulled me close and slid one foot up and down my calf. “But it does feel nice to me.” His hand began to trace patterns on my thigh, creeping slowly up toward my panties. His other hand cupped the back of my head and he began to kiss me gently but urgently.

After a few minutes, he stopped. “You’re not really into it this evening are you?,” he asked. It was true; I was not very enthusiastic in my responses but I was willing to keep going for his sake.

“No, it’s okay,” I said. I ran my hand through his hair and pulled his face close, kissing him deeply.

“No, it’s not,” he said when I pulled back. “You’re tired. We can just go to sleep.”

“I told you to just wait and come in the morning,” I said, feeling miserable. “You drove all that way in horrible traffic for nothing.”

“Not for nothing,” he said. “We’ve had several hours together already. And I got In-n-Out. I think that’s worth the drive.” He kissed my forehead. “We’ve got the whole weekend to fool around. Don’t feel bad. I’d never want you to just go through the motions because you feel like you owe me.” He rubbed his hand up and down my back. “Just relax and get some rest, okay?”

I nodded against his chest, my head tucked under his chin. “Okay,” I said. “But I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night.”

“You’d better,” he teased, his hand sliding down to gently cup my ass. It was still there when I fell asleep a few minutes later. Maybe sharing a full sized bed instead of a king wasn’t so bad after all.

***********************************************

I woke up slightly disoriented. For one thing, it was nearly nine thirty, and the sunlight was streaming through a gap in the curtains, hitting me right in the eye. For another, there was something heavy squashing me into the mattress.

I squirmed out from underneath Dieter, who was face down, sprawled across three quarters of the bed, and snoring softly. “Whatsit,” he muttered as I slipped out from under the sheets.

”Morning,” I replied. “Gotta pee.”

“What time’s it?,” he sighed.

“Nine twenty six.”

”Shit. Gotta get up then.” Dieter had an unspoken rule. Despite his love of sleeping in, he had to be up by nine forty five or the day was shot. Even if he’d been out until three the night before, if he wasn’t up and dressed (approximately) before ten am he felt like a failure.

”You’ve got a few minutes,” I said, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “I’ll run to Starbucks and get you some coffee as soon as I get dressed. Breakfast, too.”

I didn’t drink much coffee and so didn’t own a coffee maker. Fortunately, like most places in the free world, there was a Starbucks roughly every three blocks even out here in the IE, and I knew of at least five within a ten minute drive of my house. One was even close enough to walk to, except Dieter was in no position to walk any further than the bathroom without a caffeine infusion.

Dieter mumbled something that could have been “thank you” or possibly “fuck you” — it was hard to tell with his morning incoherence. Whether he was thanking me for braving the world or cursing me for not owning an espresso machine was a toss of the coin. Either way, he’d forget all about it by the time I got back.

I threw on some shorts and a tank top. August was brutal and with the sun already up, I knew it would be at least 80 degrees outside, if not hotter. “You want hot or iced?” I asked, poking my head into the bedroom before I left.

Dieter made a vague waving motion with his hand. “I need more than that,” I said.

“Hot,” Dieter said through the pillow. “No, wait.” He rolled halfway over. “ S’August, right? Cold.”

By the time I’d driven to Starbucks, ordered his four shots of espresso over ice, my iced tea and two breakfast sandwiches, and returned home, Dieter had managed to put on a t-shirt and stagger out to the couch. His hair stood up in all directions and his eyes were barely open, but at least he was sitting up.

”Give,” he said, reaching out for the coffee. He’d downed a third of it by the time I handed him his sandwich. “Thank you,” he said. “The elixir of life.”

It was strange to be sitting on my couch, in my living room, with Dieter beside me. Saturday mornings were normally my alone time. After a long week at work, they were my quiet bubble of peace, before I started running errands and doing chores I hadn’t had time for during the week. My routine was completely shattered and I didn’t know what to do.

”Um,” I said, after I’d eaten about half my sandwich. “So, what do you want to do today? I usually do my shopping and stuff on Saturdays, but I can put it off until after you leave tomorrow. I don’t want to bore you.”

Dieter took a long sip of coffee. “Whatever,” he said, which wasn’t helpful at all. “It’s gonna be hot, so maybe we could stay in? Watch a movie? Fool around?” He raised an eyebrow suggestively, which would have been hot if his hair hadn’t been doing the Alfalfa thing.

”Netflix and chill, except without the Netflix,” I mused. “Sounds good to me.” I ran my hand over his head. “But you need to at least brush your hair first. Kind of hard to get turned on when you look like a giant toddler.”

”This giant toddler is going to rock your world,” he growled. When I didn’t respond, his face fell. “Too weird?”

”Extremely weird,” I replied. “Even for you, Deet. Please cross ‘giant toddler’ off the list of fantasies you have in your head.”

”Done,” he said.

“And brush your teeth before you kiss me, Coffee Breath.”

He groaned and collapsed against the cushions. “Too many rules! Comb your hair, brush your teeth … I thought you were fun.”

“I am fun. I’m also a grown-ass person and I have minimum standards of hygiene.”

*************************************************

Sex with Dieter was … interesting. He was vastly more experienced than I was — I suspect he’d been with more men than I had — but he was the king of consent. He asked permission before doing anything, even if we’d done it before. And he was surprisingly polite. “Oops, sorry,” was more frequently said in his bed than any other phrase.

“I’m not a porcelain vase,” I told him when he apologized for gripping me a little too tight. “I won’t break.”

”But I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, kissing the tip of my nose. “I never ever want to hurt you.”

”Believe me, if you hurt me, you’ll know,” I assured him. “I won’t hesitate to scream.”

He arched his brow. “The only thing I want you screaming is my name.” He burrowed his face into my throat and peppered me with kisses.

Then the smoke detector peeped.

”What the fuck?” Dieter’s head popped up.

I sighed. “Smoke alarm. It wants its battery changed.” I had a running feud with the unit. I invariably decided its battery was too old in the middle of the night, and because it was located about a foot away from the bed, that meant I had to drag out my step stool in order to access it. The step stool that lived in the closet next to the kitchen.

I slid out of bed, grabbing my robe off the floor. “I’ll be right back,” I said. “There’s a new battery in the drawer of the nightstand. I’m going to get the step stool.”

”I might be able to reach it …” Dieter was saying as I left the bedroom. He was tall but he wasn’t tall enough to reach the alarm without assistance, so I continued toward the kitchen, rooted around in the closet and pulled out the step stool.

I returned to the bedroom just in time to see a naked Dieter teetering on the edge of the bed, his fingertips almost reaching the smoke alarm. “Be careful!” I cried.

”I’m fine,” he said. “Just need to get a little bit closer …” His foot inched toward the edge of the mattress and it all happened in slow motion. The mattress gave way, he lost his balance and fell, hitting the nightstand on the way down. The lamp fell with him and its glass base shattered. Then Dieter landed on top of it.

”Shit!,” he yelled, as time returned to normal speed. “My ass!” A shard of glass was embedded in the muscle of his right butt cheek.

“Don’t panic,” I said, my heart racing. I wasn’t entirely sure if I was talking to him or myself. “It doesn’t look too bad …”

Dieter pulled the glass out of his flesh and it started to bleed. A lot. “It hurts, Em. Oh, shit, it hurts.”

I grabbed the first thing I could find — his dirty t shirt — and pressed it firmly against his butt to stop the bleeding. “I think … I think we need to go to the emergency room,” I said. “It might need stitches.”

”No way,” he said through gritted teeth. “I am not going to the ER. Last thing I need is word getting out that Dieter Bravo went to the hospital because he had something stuck in his ass.”

”You’re bleeding, Deet,” I said. “And that gash is pretty deep.” I peeked under the wadded up t shirt. “I don’t think it’ll close up without stitches.”

”Shit, shit, shit,” he said. “Okay, but I’m using a fake name.”

”Your insurance card has your real name on it,” I reminded him, as I helped him off the floor. He grimaced in pain as he sat gingerly on the bed. “Let’s get some clothes on you and I’ll take you to the hospital.”

The ER was packed because it was a Saturday night. I tried to explain to the nurse at the desk that Dieter was bleeding, in pain, and didn’t want to be recognized, but he simply shrugged and said, “We have to triage everyone based on the severity of their injury. We’ll get to him as fast as we can.”

Dieter was whisked into a back room for vitals and then sent back out to the waiting room with me. “My butt hurts,” he whispered in my ear as he sat carefully in the chair next to me.

“Duh,” I replied. “Try not to think about it.” I looked around the room. There were several people with bloody rags and bandages pressed to various bits of their anatomy, but Dieter seemed to be the only one with an injury to his bottom, except possibly the guy who kept running urgently to the restroom.

”It’s throbbing,” he said, pulling his ball cap further down onto his forehead. He was also wearing sunglasses, which only made him stand out further considering it was after midnight.

”I can’t kiss it and make it better,” I told him. “I wish I could.”

He snorted. “You just admitted you want to kiss my ass,” he said. At least his sense of humor was still intact.

“Who doesn’t?” I teased back. “You’re Dieter fucking Bravo.”

Fortunately, no one recognized him (or at least, no one acted on it if they did) and we only had to wait about forty minutes before a nurse called him into the back.

”Can she come with?,” he asked.

”Of course,” the nurse said. “Right this way.”

We were led to a curtained off bed tucked in a corner of a busy room. People were moaning and cursing and crying, some tucked behind curtains, others slumped in wheelchairs. Dieter winced. “I hate hospitals,” he whispered.

”So do I.” I’d spent far too much time in them when my parents were ill, and the memories were always lurking just beneath the surface. I focused on Dieter and willed my stomach to unclench.

A doctor breezed in and quickly examined Dieter. “Ooh, nasty laceration there,” he said. “But we’ll get it cleaned up and stitched in no time. It should heal up easily. You might have a scar but who’s going to see it?”

”She will,” Dieter said, nodding toward me. “And maybe the whole world if I have to do a nude scene.”

The doctor tilted his head and frowned, then it hit him. “Oh, you’re that Mr. Bravo. Wow. Wouldn’t have expected to see you around here.”

”Girlfriend,” Dieter said, wincing as the doctor dabbed at the wound with antiseptic. “Lives. Near. Here.”

“And it says you fell on a broken lamp?”

Dieter groaned, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t because of his injury. This doctor was going to have a great story to share with his friends and colleagues — and possibly the gossip websites.

”Look, I was trying to change the battery in a smoke alarm. I fell off the bed, broke the lamp, landed on it. Please, don’t spread it around. I feel like an idiot.” Dieter gave the doctor his best puppy dog eyes.

”I’ve seen weirder stuff,” the doctor said, preparing a hypodermic needle of local anesthetic. He jabbed it into Dieter’s butt. “I could tell you stories �� but that would be unethical. And I won’t tell yours, either.” He patted Dieter’s rump. “Give that a moment to kick in and I’ll start stitching.”

I held Dieter’s hand as he laid on the bed, grunting now and then as the sutures tugged at his skin. “This is humiliating,” he muttered.

“It’s character building,” I said, squeezing his hand. “You’ll be a better man after this.”

He squinted at me. “How could I possibly be better than I am right now?”

”Maybe the doctor can trim your ego while he’s at it,” I shot back.

”I hate you,” Dieter said.

“No, you don’t,” I said. “You’re just in pain. A pain in the butt.”

”Literally,” he said, wincing as the doctor tied off the last stitch.

”There you go,” the doctor said. “The local will wear off in a bit, but we’ll get you some pain killers so you’ll be more comfortable.”

Dieter bit at his lower lip and shot me a look.

��Um, maybe we can just do something over the counter?” I asked.

“I’ve been in rehab,” Dieter blurted out. “I don’t want narcotics if I don’t have to.”

The doctor nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll give you a shot of toradol and you can use Motrin or Tylenol once that wears off. And stop by the pharmacy to get one of those donut pillows. Then you can sit without putting direct pressure on the wound. You’ll be fine in a few days, a week at most. Check in with your primary care physician as soon as you can, and make an appointment to get the stitches removed in about ten days.”

**************************************

By the time we got home from the hospital, it was close to 2 am. I helped Dieter out of the car and back to the bedroom. “Sorry about all this,” he said as he got undressed.

”It’s okay,” I said. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah, but this hasn’t turned out to be the romantic weekend we thought it would be.”

“It’s okay,” I repeated, not sure what else to say. The weekend had turned into a bit of a shit show, but it wasn’t his fault. It was just bad luck. I got him into bed and then fetched a dustpan and broom to sweep up the shards of broken lamp that still littered the floor. Thank goodness I didn’t have carpeting, or it would have taken me much longer to clean up.

Dieter was dozing off by the time I changed back into my night shirt and crawled in beside him. “Thanks for taking care of me,” he said sleepily.

”Of course,” I said, snuggling against him. He was lying on his left side, facing me. His breath was warm on my face. “What did you expect me to do, dump you off at the ER?” I was teasing, but he was serious.

”No, I mean it,” he said. “Thanks for not complaining about having to drive me there, being up late, cleaning up the mess … I really appreciate it.” He kissed my nose and then pressed his forehead against mine. “It’s nice.”

I knew a little bit about his past. I figured this had something to do with his mother. He’d alluded to her being a bit aloof. She wasn’t a very nurturing mother, from what I’d gathered. I could imagine her complaining about having to drive her son to the hospital.

”You’re welcome,” I said. “Now get some rest. Your body needs to heal.”

”I broke my butt,” he said, laughing gently. “My butt needs to heal.”

”Poor broke-butt man,” I said. “Go to sleep.”

”Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled, nuzzling against my neck.

As he fell asleep, the thought came into my head like a bolt of lightning. I love him. I ran my fingers through his hair, relishing the feel of his silky locks against my skin. I love this man. I wondered if he loved me, too.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x ofc #the bubble fanfiction #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fluff #late night talking

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aj-lenoire · 1 year ago

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welcome, twitter refugees!!

here's a quick and friendly tumblr how-to:

DOs & DON'Ts

DO reblog posts!! regardless of whether or not you add a comment, either in the post itself or in the tags, the OP will get notifications of everyone who likes the post via your reblog and who reblogs it from you! comment as much or as little as you like

DON'T repost things! fanart, fanfiction, etc. this is different from reblogging, a repost is when you copy/save the work to your computer and reupload it in a post of your own, rather than reblogging it

DO follow tags as well as other blogs!! really like one specific character from a tv show? a certain ship? search their name and follow the tag, and you'll see posts that mention or tag them even if you don't directly follow the person who made that post

DON'T rely too much on the search function, it's broken. if you want to search someone's blog for a tag, you're better off going to the URL: tumblr.com/[blogname]/tagged/[tag]

DO tag liberally! you can use the tags to add comments that you don't want to directly add to the post, to make it easier for people to search your blog, or to make it easier for yourself to find things later on

DON'T use tiktok censorship speak when tagging things!! it will make it actively more difficult for people seeking to avoid certain topics. instead of "tw: abu$e" just tag "abuse" and anyone who has blacklisted the tag "abuse" will not see your post.

similarly, DON'T tag things like "epilepsy" - instead, tag "flashing lights" so people can still use the epilepsy tag to discuss epilespy without risking seeing triggering flashing lights

DO use the follow and the block buttons liberally! this site has absolutely no algorithm, so it is entirely up to you to curate your space exactly how you want it!

DON'T send hate to people via the askbox on their blog, either anonymously or not. just block people who annoy you or post horrible things

DO participate in polls! tumblr only got them recently, less than a year ago, and people immediately went ham. vote on stupid things like which bug emoji is superior, which ship is the best, and how much vanilla extract should go in a cake! but remember that you cannot edit the original poll after you post it

DON'T use or endorse "AI" generators like chatgpt! don't reblog AI images and or AI endings to unfinished/abandoned fanfictions

DO cite your sources if you want to educate people on something in a post, we all love to learn, and informative posts on everything from current political events to which geodes could be made into useable dildos, but misinformation is prolific, so make sure anyone reading your information can refer to a real source!

jargon

notes - likes, reblogs (with or without comments or tags) and replies to a post are all agregated to give the number of notes, which is basically the number of times a post has been interacted with

OP - the Original Poster of a post, for example, me, aj-lenoire, with this post. i am op.

hellsite - tumblr itself. this website is insane and unprofitable and broken and we wouldn't have it any other way. hellsite can be either (affectionate) or (derogatory) and often both at once

blorbo - your favourite character, your rotten soldier, your sweet cheese, your good time boyy. post about them frequently and with weird, frenzied gusto

squick - something you personally don't like, such as a ship or a character or a trope, but is not actually bad or harmful - it's just not for you. it squicks you out.

blacklisting means you've blocked a specific tag rather than a blog/person. for example, if you don't want to see anything with spiders, blacklist the tag "spiders" so you don't see any! if someone you follow reblogs a post and tags it with "spiders", or the OP of the post tagged it with "spiders" then your dashboard will hide the post from you and tell you it was tagged with "spiders" and you can choose whether or not to view it

passing peer review means you added commentary to a post in the tags, and someone who reblogged that post from you saw your tags and thought they were funny, so decided to screenshot them and add them as a comment so everyone could see them. congratulations!!

breaking containment is when a post about a niche subject and/or from a blog with not many followers gets super popular because it's funny, and often OP despairs at how their notifications become unusable from the sheer number of notes from this one post

KUNGPOWPENIS - if someone posts something bigoted, tumblr will ban together to reblog, one letter at a time, k-u-n-g-p-o-w-p-e-n-i-s. only do this when the bigot is the OP, because only the original poster will get a flood of single-letter reblog notifications from every single branch of the reblog chain

tips & tricks

pornbots and bots in general are not uncommon here. whenever you get followed by someone, check to make sure they're not a bot by visiting their blog. if they only have a few reblogged posts on random topics, or no posts at all, and their profile picture is a beautiful woman, they're a bot, and you should flag and block them

old posts can and do get reblogged and liked all the time, there's no point at which it becomes cringe to interact with a post. we even have some from 10+ years ago that're considered 'tumblr heritage'

long posts will cross your dash from time to time, the most infamous being colour of the sky. you will see it and it will madden you with how far you have to scroll - inflict your followers with the same frustration by reblogging so they can see it too!! if you're on desktop, pressing j will skip to the next post.

read more allows you to shorten a post with a 'click to read more' link that takes the reader to the root post on your blog. this is especially handy if you're publishing fanfiction or a very long analysis of something.

toggling reblogs lets you choose whether a post is rebloggable or not, for example something personal you may want to delete later, turning off reblogs means there won't be any copies floating around after you delete the root post

follower count is not visible! the only way anyone will know how many followers you have is if you tell them. follow blogs based on whether you like what they post, not by whether they're super popular or not

memes are frequent and long-lasting. tumblr plays with jpegs like dolls and there are some memes that have been here for years. a current favourite is the destiel confession meme which has warped into a shorthand for breaking weird news

important dates

tumblr loves a goofy-ass-holiday!! here are some of the standouts:

ides of march - 15th march, celebrate julius caesar getting his shit rocked

pride month - june, tumblr is generally a very pro-queer space, so expect everything to be decked out in rainbows for the entirety of june and most of the rest of the year, too!!

halloween - the entire month of october and also a week in july, this site loves some spooky scary skeletons

destielputinelection - 5th november, reminisce about the absolute chaos that gripped the internet during the 2020 usa presidential election

blog recs for new users

to each their own, and a main draw of tumblr is that there's something for everyone, down to the very, very niche. so, search for stuff that interests you and follow those blogs! however, here are some blogs that are fun for everyone:

heritageposts - your one-stop blog for all the best, weirdest, oldest tumblr posts will all the drama, expect to see a lot of destiel

staffs-secret-blog - (not actually staff)

one-time-i-dreamt - full of weird and wonderful posts, made all the better by the fact that no one reads usernames here, so inevitably there is panicked confusion over what the fuck is going on

biggest-gaudiest-patronuses - one of tumblr's most ubiquitous shit-posters

aj-lenoire - that's me!

that's pretty much the basics, but most people here are really friendly, so if you're unsure, just ask someone! have fun!!

#tumblr etiquette #hellsite (affectionate)#Tumblr #twitter #aj-abstractions

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ihavemanyhusbands · 2 years ago

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Ettie. she/her. 26 year old Mexican virgo who has a myriad of obsessions such as film, TV, literature, and horror.

Multifandom. More under the cut:

Currently writing for: Midnight Mass, Polar, Fallout, and Hannibal. Will potentially write for more!

REQUESTS: OPEN (BLURBS/DRABBLES ONLY)

ABSOLUTELY DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, OR STEAL ANY OF MY WORK. THE LEAST YOU CAN DO IS ASK FOR PERMISSION FIRST.

KEEP IN MIND -- I reserve the right to refuse anything I don't want to write or that makes me uncomfortable. If I don't respond, it likely means I will not be writing it. Sorry about that!

—— Emoji Anons (ask to join!): 🎀, 🪼, 🔮

➺ Find my ULTIMATE MASTERLIST here!

➺ My AO3: SweetVenus

-- Things to know --

➺ This is a side blog, so I cannot follow back from this specific account. If we become mutuals i’ll lyk my main’s url, but I don’t follow back everyone who follows me.

➺ Mostly writing Fem!Reader or MMF content (i love throuples <3), but i can write GN too. However I won’t do male/masc reader sorry! (Not rlly sure how to)

➺ Please ask me for permission before adding to my blurb/headcanon/concept posts.

➺ I DO NOT write underage reader inserts, even if it's something platonic. Instant block if you ask for this.

➺ I also WILL NOT write ddlg/abdl content, necrophilia, bestiality/zoophilia, cheating, rape/non-con (cnc and dubcon fine but on thin ice), intentional OOC, ED content, pegging, tiktok/social media related, yandere (i tried and it wasnt my thing), pregnancy/parenthood, hyperspecific/nitpicky requests, (this list might continue to expand).

➺ Don't like my content? Don't read, simple as that! :D

➺ Since I’m Mexican, I love writing for my fellow Latinas AND especially with Spanish included <3 <3 same "don't like, don't read" rule applies to this. Any extensive Spanish dialogue will have translations and the post will be tagged with #spanish tag.

———

#intro #navigation

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pomrania · 9 months ago

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I'm planning to do "cats in wizard hats" again, and the current intention is for requests to be open for that 24-25 February 2024, that's the weekend, which according to my polls is the two-day span where the most people are going to be online. As always, that's just when REQUESTS are open; once requests are closed, I'll still be drawing them, I just won't be adding any new ones to the list.

I keep having to say this: it is absolutely OKAY to put in a request for this event, it doesn't matter how many times I've already drawn stuff for you; there'll be a limit of "one request per person", but that's FOR THIS EVENT SPECIFICALLY. Think of it this way: if you're at a potluck and they don't allow seconds (because they want to make sure everyone has a chance to get something), you're still allowed to have your FIRST serving of food, even if you've been at the potluck last year.

Also, PLEASE don't say "it's okay to not draw my request if you're busy (emoji)", because that always makes me feel both guilty and infuriated. Listen. If I make a post that says "I will draw XYZ for you if you make a request for it", that means I'm willing to do so. If I didn't feel up to drawing things, I wouldn't say "hey I can draw things if you ask me to". Plus, when you say something like "you don't have to draw it if you don't want to", that places the burden on ME, to reject you specifically; and if I hated you that much that I'd be okay with doing that, then I'd already have you blocked. If you want a request, and I have requests open, then make a request, and don't feel ashamed of it.

Also, once you've made a request, don't delete it; because that messes with my whole system, and it makes me feel bad the rest of the day.

...yeah, that's a lot of ranting, but it's stuff that KEEPS HAPPENING so I keep having to try and prevent it.

Rant out of the way, what else do I have to say here... oh yeah. THIS IS NOT THE REQUEST POST. This is the post where I'm telling you about an upcoming event, because I don't want anyone to be like "oh damn I missed it again this year".

If you don't think you'll be available for the listed dates, get in contact with me ahead of time, and we can work something out. Afterwards, I'll make allowances only in exceptional circumstances, like if you were in hospital for the whole time from when I announced this to when requests were closed; but if it's BEFOREHAND, I can't think of a reason I'd say no.

I'll likely be posting about this throughout the week, to make sure everyone knows it's coming up; hopefully with less ranting in it.

#no fandom #not a reblog

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drdtfuitgumies · 5 months ago

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season 1 summary: may 2024

i've hit 30 situations! this summary is mainly for my personal documentation (i like documenting stuff), but i thought i'd post this in the blog too just in case anyone else was interested!

STATISTICS

to the surprise of absolutely no one, whit got first place, appearing eight times throughout may 2024! however, his first place is because of a technicality, since i counted the pinned post for this season. otherwise he'd tie with second place and our recently crowned "invasive species", arei, who appeared seven times. i know i encouraged you people to let her commit crimes, but it appears i have underestimated the fandom because there's STILL people telling her to steal even MORE stuff in the inbox. third place is charles, appearing five times, three of which happened in the span of five days. bullying him (and making arei and whit bully him) is really fun though!

also, i think now is a good time to talk about how i "plan" out the situations. i try to draw at least one situation a day as a "warmup" before i draw... Other Stuff, and i try to stock up at least a week's worth of doodles, just in case i become unavailable for whatever reason. i also try my Absolute Best to ensure that everyone* appears at least twice a month, whether by picking requests wildly out of order or taking matters to my own hands through the original situations, though a bias for whit really can't be avoided...

*mai and monotv are excluded from this "rule", though i bring out monotv often when i need a casualty. take arei and whit stacking things and arei and j playing mario kart, for example!

PERSONAL FAVORITES (in chronological order)

1) Motivational words from Min

I still consider this one of my greatest creations in my mortal life. maybe i should reblog this on main everytime i procrastinate on something. i'm sure there will be always someone who needs the encouragement

2) Charles holds Eden's yuri manga hostage

this headcanon sucker punched me on what was a normal afternoon, but i'm glad i realized it to this world... even though i barely read new stuff in the first place, let alone yuri. maybe one day i'll find something that caters to my oddly specific tastes, but for now i'll enjoy the yaoi vs yuri memes from afar and let those more qualified than me to verify how true himejoshi eden and himedanshi charles are

3) A regular "PMD Club" meeting

i am an autotroph and need to create one oddly specific self-indulgent situation per month to sustain myself and the joy i have for drawing. i promise this Will happen again. i might even outright sneak in some of my aus, out of context...!

4) Arei steals Charles' goggles

it really says a lot about me as a person that my personal favorites are mostly unserious shitposts, but i've been meaning to draw arei bullying charles with the nerd emoji since... a few months ago, i think? some of the situations are prompts i've always wanted to draw, but am too lazy to do in my "proper" style

THE POWER OF HINDSIGHT

sometimes i think of adding punchlines in the situations, or fix errors after i've put them in the queue, but forget to actually. do them.

after arei stole david's hairclips, emovid's debut would've been something along the lines of arei freeing him from his stage persona by taking away his hairclips. but i forgor.

monotv's body had the wrong colors this one time, but i have since decided that arei got paid by the real monotv to murder a bootleg / defect monotv

as i've mentioned in the tags, teruko on a llama at the machu picchu was supposed to be posted in ace yaps and levi listens' place, but i did an Oopsie and forgot to adjust the queue properly. out of the ~10 posts i had queued up that time, i got insanely lucky that the teruko doodle was the one that got delayed, since i forgot to draw her bandage. ultimate lucky student moment

also as i've mentioned in the tags, if my wii was still working i would've attempted to recreate an actual screenshot of j and arei playing mario kart wii

arei would've have had more time to steal even more things before i put her in jail, but i decided to give her a break this month. i assure you, she will return with a Vengeance.

OTHER REMARKS

i've gotten so, so used to drawing whit and arei. i haven't quite gotten the hang of everyone else yet, though i can draw xander, eden, and charles pretty consistently. hardest to draw is hu, but that's mainly because i can't draw straight hair

i kinda wanna add a subtle pattern to the background…? even just a grid would be fine. also thinking of changing the background color every now and then

i'd like to make an animation one day. it's definitely going to be a shitpost and a very unserious situation, but i'd like to make an animation one day

i expected struggling to catch up with requests, but i genuinely didn't expect about two new requests a day?? i really thought i had to pad out the days with more of my original situations, but i'm actually glad i have such a big selection of requests with a decent variety. Aside from arei's many, many crimes.

if you're still here... thank you so, so much! for reading until the end and entertaining my side project! i've never been a particularly "active" artist and tend to lurk more often than not, but seeing the same people regularly come and leave little comments in their reblogs does something to my heart that i didn't think could ever happen. even seeing new people excites me, because i think this is the smallest fandom i've ever been in? i hope i can keep this blog going…!

#seasonal summary

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luvsae · 2 years ago

Text

it was a bad day | karube daikichi

- short drabble | karube x gn!reader | angst but eventual fluff | no warnings :)

prompt taken from this post <3

Work was tiring, and you couldn't wait to get home and see your boyfriend, Karube.

It had been a bad day. Thinking about it could make you cry. First, it started with your boss yelling at you for spilling his coffee just a bit. It wasn't even that much, on his desk - you apologized a thousand times, but then he proceeded to yell at you to get him more.

Then, he yelled at you more when he brought in some work for you to do. It was humiliating as there were some people around you. You wanted to hide and sob, but you had to stay strong for yourself.

Now, as you're on the bus ride home, you dropped your papers in the hallway. No one helped you and instead just watched. You sighed loudly and picked it up before sitting down.

Your head rested on the window as music played through your headphones. The soft music almost relaxing your strong headache.

Just then, your phone buzzed, making you look down and see there was a text message from your boyfriend. With a smile, you opened the message.

k♡: miss you a lot. are you almost home?

you: yup! just a few more turns and im there :) miss you so much. it's been a long day

k♡: awww poor baby :( ill be here to talk to you

k♡ : 💗💗❤️❤️❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❣️❣️💖💖

You laughed quietly to yourself as Karube texted you. He always spammed you with heart emojis, and you thought it was the cutest thing in the world.

Just then, your headphones died out of nowhere. You could've sworn you just charged them today, but you guess you used them too much.

A quiet sigh escaped you. You just wanted to get home quickly.

You finally got home and stepped off the bus.

Of course, you almost tripped in front of everyone. You quickly wiped off the embarrassment and went to the door. Luckily it was opened and you silently thanked your boyfriend for leaving it unlocked.

As you shut the door, you felt your eyes starting to water a bit. All the stress was finally catching up to you after this long day.

"Baby? Is that you?" The sound of your boyfriends voice filled the house.

You kicked off your shoes and walked into the living room. "Hi baby," you said quietly. "I'm home now."

"I missed you," he smiled at you. "So much."

"I missed you too." You said, your voice slightly cracking as you tried to speak quietly.

Karube noticed your tone and facial expression.

It was the one you had on when you were upset or about to cry. He knew you too well as he walked over to you. "Baby? What's wrong?"

You couldn't hold it in anymore - the tears started to run down your face, your silent sobs taking over.

"Oh, baby.." Karube wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back as he kissed the top of your head. "It's okay. Let it all out."

You sobbed into your boyfriends chest. All the stress leaving your body as you did so. You've cried in front of him before, but you hated being sad like this.

"Do you wanna tell me what happened?" He asked.

You took a deep breath. "Are you sure you wanna hear?" You laughed sadly, "it's really long."

"I want to hear all of it," he answered. "I will be here to listen."

"Well, first it started when I got a coffee for my boss. I accidentally spilled some of his desk- away from all the important stuff and he yelled at me!" You started to say.

"That piece of shit." Karube added.

"Yeah, piece of shit," you sniffled. "Then..! Then, a few hours later, he was still mad at me, and he gave me a bunch of work, then yelled at me in front of everyone!"

"You deserve a better boss," he said. "No one should yell at you for something that small."

"I know," you sighed. "Then I dropped all my papers on the bus, then my headphones died, then I almost tripped on the way here."

Karube let go for a second to cup your face, pressing a few kisses on your forehead, lips, and nose. "I'm so sorry, y/n. You didn't deserve to have a bad day, and I hope I can make it better somehow. You deserve to at least have a relaxing night."

You laughed silently. "Thank you, baby. I just want to hug you right now, is that okay?"

"Of course," he said, wrapping your arms around you once more. "Always want to hug you."

There were a few moments of silence. The only sound peaking through was the cars driving past the house. You felt relaxed and happy to be in your boyfriends arms, but couldn't help to feel emotional.

"Please don't let go." You told your boyfriend.

"I won't, sweetheart."

#fanfic #fluff stuff #fluff scenario #alice in borderland #angst #karube daikichi x reader #karube x reader #karube daikichi #alice in borderland x reader #my fic

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mimiikah · 2 years ago

Text

Tremble (2/?)

PT. 1

SUMMARY: After a brief seemingly playful scuffle with Neteyam, you find yourself drifting behind Kiri to the Tsahik's marui pod. You're scolded to no surprise and sent to carry out punishment, followed closely by a volunteering Kiri and Spider, in the form of preparing salt crystals.

WORD COUNT: ~3655

PAIRING: PLATONIC! NAVI! reader

THINGS TO NOTE:

Tag list added at the bottom! Some, I were unable to tag (if u were one of those people, I recommend looking at this post to see why I may have not been able to tag u :( )

Just to clarify, when I tag my works with (CHAR X READER) it's indicating what pairing (romantic or not) is featured prominently for that installment (so, the first part had some Neteyam and Ao'nung bits but this part... well, you'll see :D)

As last time, Reader is written to be gender neutral to the best of my ability! I think I do sometimes slip into fem! pronouns, but hopefully I've caught them all.

As per last time, more side notes are at the end (thumbs up emoji)

Art is not mine! It’s from the Art of ATWOW book.

WARNINGS: not overly described, but in the beginning a character does go through a panic attack due to past experiences. Let me know if anything in this piece needs to be pointed for warnings

Thank you to @k----a27s for slight inspo for the direction of this part! I hope it turned out alright!!!

Through heavy gasps and kicking limbs, the two of you had found yourselves in a cycle of dunking each other; with every sharp inhale water pooled by the cup of your tongue before the immediate saltiness of the liquid caused you to reflexively spit the water back out -- and at Neteyam's face. You would say that he did the same, mouth sputtering as his own arms clawed to be closer and further from your struggling frame, but with how the steadily heating water bubbled with every flailing motion you couldn't even tell.

However, just as quickly as the battle had started, it had ended too.

Toned arms caged your surging torso, tilting your body back to prop you against their own. Your chest was heaving, sparks flickering and knocking against your ribs with every gulp of air scraping through your throat.

Before a smug grin could run across your lips you paused, captured by the expression on Neteyam's face: while he was left in the same breathless state as you, you couldn't quite tell the meaning behind that small tinge that coated his eyes. Yellow-tinted glassy eyes peered at the sky, unfocused and almost deathly accepting. His posture was torn between being strung up and limp and you'd go as far as to compare him to looking like a sea creature torn from the sea.

He looked scared.

His brother held him, cradled him, and tapping his cheek with desperation he called out to Neteyam almost rhythmically. It began to feel like time was slowly crawling by, the waves crashing against you to count every second.

Neteyam gasped, hand slapping itself against his chest.

"I'm good. It's good." As much as he was reassuring his worrying brother, he sounded as if he wanted to ease his own worries.

"No, no it's not -- you--" Lo'ak hissed in your direction, ears pinning back in aggression. "Why did you do that to him?"

Defensiveness wrapped your frame, a scoff passing your lips, eyes narrowing. "I was just playing back -- it's no different from you wrestling that peach coloured body over there."

"That body has a name--"

In a display to reassure the party, Neteyam eased Lo'ak's hands off his frame, drifting between us. "I was the one who started playing around; Lo'ak don't blame them."

"But--"

"I just accidentally swallowed some water and the saltiness caused me to panic a bit." As much as his smile was soft, pacifying, the event had surely shaken him. After witnessing the initial panic, you felt hyper-aware of every minute shift in his muscles and seeing the small tremble in his fingertips told you all you needed. He was afraid of drowning; it wasn't in the sense that everyone was innately scared of drowning when swimming, but more in the sense that he had toed that line between safety and danger and had honed out his recollection of the experience to tell the tale.

Silence drafted over all of you, a calm rushing over with every wave lapping at your skin and pulling you to shallower water. When the feeling of sand pushed itself between your toes Ao'nung's arms released you, lingering as you oriented yourself.

"You're hurt." The appearance of Tuk's mutter snapped your attention to your arms -- claw marks glowed on the surface, the skin around every line starting from a gradient of red-tinted purple to the dull blue of your skin. Glancing back at the worried gaze of Tuk, you began shifting your arms behind you.

"It's alright. Just a couple scratches, nothing much." Neteyam made the move to apologise, his forehead creasing as he pushed forward. You stepped aside, dodging Ao'nung frame as he hovered in silence by you, causing Neteyam to pause his approach. "I'll just visit the Tsahik -- Ronal likes me anyways." A laugh stuttered awkwardly past your lips, an unsure smile plastering itself on half of the group.

"I'll come with you." Kiri announced and started walking, leaving you no room to argue.

Accepting this development you moved to follow her, gaze flickering back on the group. Neteyam's siblings, with Tsireya and Ao'nung kind of loitering together muttering to each other, took to checking up on him. No claw marks were marred onto his skin, you could see that with your quick glance he was unharmed. However as you watched Lo'ak's hand press against his chest, your eyes caught a scar centring the expanse of skin-- the scar mimicked the pricked sides of a fallen star, each point connected by a single origin and a lighter, yet duller shade from his skin colour.

You had no time to mull about the scar, approaching the Tsahik's healing marui pod towed behind Kiri.

"First your brother and now you -- I don't recall your parents having any of these reckless traits when we were younger." Ronal made a point to drag you closer to her as you approached, her posture straightening and pushing out her already prominent baby bump as she turned your arms this way and that.

From the corner of your eyes, you could see your brother's slackened form lounging from behind a line of braided twine and beads for privacy; his body trembled every once in a while, air puffing past his lips as he rested a dream-filled sleep.

A pin-like crawling sensation creeped from your stomach, your chest heavy the longer you looked at him. "Just so you know, this isn't from the hunt." The clarification did nothing to stop the light blow to your head. Sinking to your knees next to her as she knelt, you continued staring at your brother. Watching. Waiting.

At a steady pace Ronal quietly ran a paste-dipped finger across the surface of your skin, scraping it with curved finger tips from a near-empty, fruit leaf lined bowl. From where Kiri stood, occupying herself through mixing more of the paste within a small stoneware bowl to keep it at a more viscous state, her eyes followed the swirling tattoos that climbed the same arm; as a part of the hunting party of your clan, your shoulders and arms were densely packed by winding waves that seemed to part at the border to your torso. You wore significant events on your sleeve, literally, from how past battle scars intermingled in a dance put on hold alongside stories of the ripping waves. Now that Kiri had gotten a good look at your face, your status of second born marred itself proudly at the tattooed pattern cupping your cheeks.

You had your history out for all the world to see, proudly displayed. Kiri felt her chest tingle, brows deepening in thought.

"Well," finishing the final smears onto your skin, Ronal blew lightly at the paste. "Now you will learn well from this experience." In all honesty, you didn't know if she was referring to the light scuffle that laid evident on your skin or the injuries your brother sustained. Perhaps she was referring to both. "As punishment--"

"Punishment?" Perking your head towards her almost incredulously, you momentarily fought a losing battle against her gaze before backing down.

"As punishment, you will go harvest the salt needed to preserve the flesh of your catch."

"But--" propping your hand under her arms, you help her stand. "I'm really bad at that kind of stuff."

Tight-lipped, she hummed nodding. "I know." She pushed you out, your body stiff as it met the warm ocean air. Shortly afterwards, Kiri stood beside you; her tail swept behind her forming almost a question mark with how the tip curved and the two of you silently stood side-by-side.

"Can… I help?" Her question was half murmured, eyes darting anywhere but your eyes and nerves on display as she brushed her fringe back before sweeping them forward to the same position.

"I mean," clearing your throat you usher her behind you. "If you want, I guess."

The clearing to make salt was further into the heart of the island, the walk made easier by a well-made pathway cleared and continuously used throughout the years. Walking at a leisurely stride through the marui pod pathway, you took your time to weave between the racing figures of adults and children alike greeting them quietly with every step. It was almost stifling, the silence between the two of you, there was no familiarity in the atmosphere, nothing blatant to tether your interests together. As far as you knew, you were a hunter through-and-through and she was clearly taken to the central island -- well maybe it wasn't as clear as you were claiming, but her atmosphere practically radiated anything but the hunter aura you and your party members exuded (and her clothing too; no evidence of animal claws or teeth anywhere but copious amounts of flora).

About to make your way through the foliage that bordered the small forest, a voice called out to Kiri causing the two of you to pause.

The soft-fleshed body bounded towards the two of you, skipping through the water like a fly trying to skim the surface. It stopped, peering at you through a quick glance before continuing to talk to Kiri. "Where are you going?"

Glancing at you, Kiri responded, "near the central islands to harvest salt."

It's face creased in a way, wrinkling in an almost contemplating manner from how its brows scrunched to the centre -- in a way, through the artificial blues smeared onto its skin and the transparent covering held over its face, you could see the very, very small similarities to your own kind.

"Can I…" he trailed off, tiny hands clasping by their front.

"The process will take all day." It was neither an okay nor a denial, a neutral ground. "If you choose to come, I will put you to work." Your treatment to them wasn't unfair; work was always split amongst parties and if you just had slackers following you, then why not put them to use to minimise the work load?

Continuing her stare down to your direction, Kiri's tail flicked.

You continued narrowing your eyes at the human, analysing it. "Are you any good at weaving?"

"I'm willing to learn." It's reply came immediately, eager to prove a point.

What felt like hours to them, was only seconds of you contemplating. Nodding, you carried on to break into the foliage. The silence was broken by the whisperings of the two trailing behind you, soft laughter and continuing conversations floating into your bubble.

Various colours bled into green from the corner of your vision, your pace mashing together palettes with your brisk speed. As forest dwellers familiar to using their stamina on land, they kept up with you comfortably, quickly.

The entrance to the clearing was indicated through the piled together tools and baskets resting against a curved tree, a worn down braided twine and frond mixed sieve laying at the top of a closed basket.

Turning to the two, you bend down to pick up the empty paysmung. "Go collect material to mend to sieve, then weave them to it leaving the smallest of gaps. I'll go get some water."

Splitting, the two of them disappeared amongst the large feathering leaves of the surrounding plants without question. With the paysmung hung over your shoulder, you stroll through the leaves to the pathway to the nearby inner island waterfalls.

Your lean over the edge, tongue slipping out to sample the water and recoil as salt slips down your throat -- perfect. You wade into the water, legs cutting through the rushing current and dip the curled paysmung into the river before hauling it back over your shoulder and trekking back to the clearing.

Unthreading the curled end, you patter through the squared land. With every step, the salt field darkens as you douse it with the collected salt water, your tail occasionally kicking up the ground with heavy swipes. The process is repeated until the water pools at certain points, reflecting the cloud tinged sky.

By now your two companions have returned, sat at the edge of the clearing and braiding and weaving newer strands to the sieve.

Dropping the paysmung by the pile of tools, you pick up two of the bunched and tied together brooms made from the midribs of palm leaves. With large steps you stand in front of the two, hand holding out one of the brooms to Kiri.

"You will scratch at the surface with me while they weave."

"I can do it," it calls from its seated position, the height difference between you two large.

"No, the broom is too heavy for you. Your small hands will be inefficient with the labour." It quietens at that, brows furrowing together once again.

You walk up to the dampened salt field, looking back to ensure Kiri is watching before lightly skimming the surface with the frayed broom -- the action breaks the surface of the sand, tiny clumps loosening with every sweep. Kiri follows your motions from the opposite side of the square, looking from her own moving hands to your own every once in a while.

The silence around you is starting to bug you, crawl at the base of your spine and settle at your shoulders feeling like the weight of several tulkuns balanced onto them.

"This practice," this is the first instance of idle chatter you have decided to initiate with them and they note this through the way they perk up at your wavering voice. "The Metkayina do not practise it for themselves often."

A hum escapes Kiri, "though, they have a section of the island dedicated to it?"

"It is because of my own clan. On top of trade, we ask they preserve space for this practise as our own soil is unsuitable for it. Our soil is too damp at all times." You clear your throat, starting your second round of sweeping. "Do… you know why we practise this?"

The peach coloured body calls from its space, voice clear through its transparent mask. "No, why?"

While it is bad to exercise excess pride, you can't help but warm through explaining your own lifestyle to such different people -- educating them on the way you live. The heat on your ears travels down your back, tickling your nerves like your parents had done so long ago when you were still a child.

"You notice how we hunt bigger sea creatures, right? We do not hunt often but when we do, we target the larger predators that tilt existing systems in the sea too extremely." The akula your party had just hunted had been one toeing too close to your clans territory for a while now, getting too ballsy with every inch and finally drawing a line with the devouring of an ilu and its baby. "We take a full cycle, seeing and living by the creatures deep under, and at the end of the cycle we decide the best predator to hunt in order to equalise what has been unbalanced--"

"How can you tell when nature is unbalanced?" Kiri's voice picked up in tone, a higher pitch in almost eagerness spilling through. Glancing at her you notice she's stopped sweeping, instead she stands gripping onto the broom's handle enough to make her knuckles pale. "What do you look for when you see nature?"

"We watch their movements, compare each days movement amongst each other. Then, we mimic, we feel." In an example, you prop you broom on the ground before motioning with your body. You picture weaving through the layered rocks and coral -- the blends of colours accented with bioluminescent tips. The peeking of other creatures as you drift amongst them, body sliding with the current never fighting the flight in water. And, as much as you enjoy the crowded sea ground -- life bounded at every surface -- you also imagine the expanse of nothingness; floating through the infinite pool of water, body not sinking nor floating up but just being a part of the cycle of water. "And we live by natures ways and feel for the feeling in our stomachs."

Your heart pounds, the memories fresh from the build-up of your latest hunt.

Peering over at the two, you notice the glossy sheen over Kiri's eyes -- her body sways, just like waves, and she looks oddly content envisioning the sights you offer. The other looks towards you, it's gaze is hard, contemplative, jealous in a way.

"Of course," you bend to pick at your broom again, continuing the motion of sweeping. "Me describing the view is different from actually seeing it."

"Can you show me, show us, one day?" Kiri's voice comes quietly.

You take no longer than a second to agree, nodding. "Maybe not so soon, but eventually. Of course, if you can keep up that is."

"We will." Kiri's brother calls.

"Then I'll take your word for it."

Following the finishing of the sweeping up of the surface, you and Kiri begin to pile the scraped ground into a larger leaf lined basket, a small hole protruding from the side with a small mesh filter covering it. The little human watches you two before using one of the spare reinforced fruit shells the two of you were already using to help scoop the sand into it.

During the process, clear water has already started to filter out and pool into a wide stone fire pot you had placed by the opening. The basket is filled, topped with heavy stones separated by a large palm leaf. It filters quickly, the two of them in idle chatter flicking between Na'vi and the humans language while you stay silent in observing the water, and as the water starts to reach the lip of the pot you quickly push another smaller pot in its place and haul the water-filled one on top of a structure to hold it over an open flame.

"Start the flame and then we shall start to boil it."

"Boil?"

Humming in confirmation, you start to stir with a carved wooden tool as the two blow at the tiny flame below the pot. The mixture sloshes, quickly reaching a bubbling state, steam wafting from it.

By now the sky has started to darken, a draft picking up and tickling your skin. The sand beneath your toes have now cooled from its once heated state, now feeling damp; every adjustment you make to your stance feels heavy, ankles aching.

When the mixture's bubbles resemble that of the aggressive underwater volcanos, you grab the sieve and gesture for the two to come closer, both sharing a grip on an additional stone bowl between them.

Heat envelops your hand as you use the long handle to scoop to the bottom of the vicious mixture, the liquid nearly tickling at the side of your fist.

A gasp, from either the two of them or both in combination (you're not quite sure with your quiet concentration), reverberates into the atmosphere as you draw the sieve out. Tiny shards of salt crystals sit cradled into your tool, rapidly cooling as you expose it to the salty air; it creates tiny tinkling sounds hitting the stone, some fragile enough to split into miniscule shards. They gaze at the sea salt as if they reflect the stars in them -- as if you have fished and hauled crystals in your calloused hands.

The process repeats, the crystal sheen reflecting at their eyes.

By the time the liquid has been reduced to the point of nothingness, the stone bowl has been half filled with salt.

"We'll grind the salt here and then haul it back to the village so we can begin the drying process while it is still light." Work is divided the tree of you as you all take longer smoothed stones to start to crush the salt crystals, stars turning into dust with every grind. It doesn't take long to reach a consistency that when picked up between pinched fingers, slip through them like sand.

The three of you navigate the forest, the bowl held by you and Kiri (a bit of the small human's strength too) breaking the tree line to scamper where a few of your clan party members are lining a large tightly woven basket with fruit leaves and thin strips of akula.

Idle chatter becomes whispers as they catch a glimpse of the strange body behind you.

"A sky person -- and such a tiny one at that."

"How much weight are they carrying of the bowl? Are they really as weak as rumoured?"

While you were also quiet baffled at seeing such a strange sight upon first viewing Kiri's brother, you were at least quiet about it -- your clan members hold no curiosity back, eyes flickering between their tasks and observing the way the flesh human hung back at their tense gazes.

"Here," you drop to your knees next to the bowl, grabbing a cup-shaped shell and beginning to load the salt onto the patted dry strips. "Pack it tight, then in two days half of us will deliver it back home."

"Will you lead the trip back?"

"Of course -- well, that's if brother is still too weak." Kiri and her brother still loiter behind you, Kiri a looming a little taller as if trying to shelter the other from the still lingering glances of your hunting party. "Kiri," you halt momentarily, tongue slipping as you try and pronounce her brother's name. "Spider," admittingly your accent is a little thick but it gets the name across as they glance up at you, surprise lingering. "Thank you both for your help, I wish you a good evening."

Turning back to the task as hand you listen for their retreating footsteps, their own 'good evening' wishes slipping through you ears. Another pair of footsteps float behind you, a hand dipping into the salt to bring a pinch to their lips.

"Perfect." Ronal nods.

TAG LIST: @eywas-heir @k----a27s @galaxyfruits @thecrazyswamp @spicycloudsalad @neteyamforlife @epicy0n

Extras:

Yall, my workshops keep getting cancelled bc of strikes so like my schedule has been messing me up lol. I normally write in the rest periods between classes or when I'm doing work on my campus library, but like bc I'm not in a studying environment when I don't go in, I'm so distracted...

That being said, REALLY SORRY FOR THE SILENCE ON MY PART ISJFIJDFIFJ idk how to run a blog...

I have other ideas unrelated to Tremble that I want to get out there, and I might work on them before posting the next part but i'll see.

ALSO! In the time I was getting support for the first part (TY BTW!!) I took the liberty to really plan and kinda bullet down the developments I wanted to make obvious of the cast of atow. If u guys r interested to see how I interpret post atwow, neteyam lives au development in the charas, I would be happy to share that in a seperate post (thumbs up x2)

I'm tempted to post this series on AO3 on the fact that... idk Tumblr was never my thing until I got thrown into Avatar ngl.

Okay so some reader notes: hopefully I can expand on their dynamic within their own clan soon, but I do hc them to be pretty nosy -- like i can see them kinda having a habit of collecting info unintentionally but not really doing anything with it. Like they're just a neutral bank of info that collects just for the satisfaction of knowing.

The desc. I write of being underwater stems from my own experience in island hopping in the Philippines and taking swimming and diving lessons for a solid 4+ ish give or take years. If u cant tell, i like swimming.

Now, why is Spider repeatedly referred to as 'it'? I (semi) write in the perspective of what the reader views in the moment, and as someone so far removed from the war between humans and na'vi (the readers clan being so isolated from land for large periods of their life), they don't really know how to view Spider. They've heard tales of the sky people and the invasion, but at the end of the day their systems never really crossed prior to the Sully family touching down at the Metkayina village. So, I guess I write half omnicient, half limited 2nd person view.

In terms of inspiration for the harvesting salt techinques, I specifically looked to this for the actual process, this for further education on another method of how salt is harvested, and this to be more aware of how certain methods affect the lives of people who are working in the field and the precausions for it. All three videos are pretty interesting and (imo) i feel only scratching the surface on what I could learn about this life style...

For learning about the process of salting fish, I looked to this and this

If you guys want to see what I watch to get a general feel and education of the ocean, I mainly use Natural World Facts and EVNautilus on Youtube. I heavily recommend it if you guys are wanting to see more sea life! On a general basis, I also recommend Odd Animal Specimens just bc their videos on preserved animals are genuinely mind capturing.

Bonus shout out to Mr.ACCORDION for their covers helping me power through the struggle of writing... I'm a Lit/Lang student, but at what cost...

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