#i can't do anything about the quality why is it so shitty | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

topazadine · 2 months ago

Text

Extremely controversial writing opinions that will make you mad (but I'm going to say them anyway)

I don't know why but I am in the mood to be pilloried. Before I start, I will show you a picture of my dog so you realize I'm not a heartless monster.

Anyway, obviously this is just my opinion and you are perfectly free to disagree.

None of this is some hard-and-fast rule or even a universal truth.

It is just my opinion as someone who has 15 years of experience, has written about 2 million words, has an English degree, tutored dozens of students, etc etc etc.

Even if it seems like I am universalizing, I am not. Take what you like and leave the rest. Ignore it all if you want. That's your right.

Here we go. Please, don't throw your tomatoes until the end of the post. It distracts me.

Your first book probably sucks (with caveats).

Ideas are pointless if you don't do anything with them.

You are not a writer unless you consistently write.

Making moodboards, playlists, etc, before you have started the project is a form of procrastination.

No one cares about your idea as much as you do and never will.

Most people in your life will not care about your book.

A lot of peoples' opinions about writing are useless to you.

You need to develop healthy self-esteem if you want to be a good writer.

You also need to be humble and have a beginner's mindset forever.

Being mentally ill doesn't make you a better writer. It just means you're mentally ill.

Your real actual life matters more than your writing.

You will burn out if you don't have other hobbies.

Okay, okay, let's make you hate me.

Your first book probably sucks (with caveats).

If this is your first ever long project in writing, it is likely not going to be publishable (or, perhaps, even readable). It takes years, sometimes decades, to learn how to write well.

Do not think that because you have one singular idea and have slapped a book together that you can publish it to widespread acclaim. People who do this are deeply overestimating the quality of their work, seeing it through rose-tinted glasses.

One of my first long-form writing projects as sort of an adult was utter garbage. You can read it if you want; it's a BBC Sherlock fanfic. And it's fucking awful. I had written a lot of smaller things before this, but nothing to this scale. That much is quite obvious.

I'm grateful I started my journey writing fanfic, because otherwise I would have thought this was brilliant life-changing stuff.

In fact, I actually put together a copy of all my Sherlock fanfics called 11 Ways of Playing a Stradivarius that is probably floating around somewhere on the internet (though it got smacked down for copyright infringement eventually, because I was stupid). It sold absolutely zero copies, and rightly so. It's bad.

And that is okay. Shitty writing is par for the course when you are learning. It doesn't mean you'll never be good. It just means you're not there yet.

I have, to my great relief, improved immeasurably over the years, to the point where I have felt confident selling my work for real human money. You can purchase the culmination of that hard work right this instant, if you so choose. Should you do so, I am certain you will see exactly how much I've grown as a writer.

Ideas are pointless if you don't do anything with them.

I know I have said this before but I just need to drill it into your heads. Your idea means nothing unless you actually write the damn thing.

Millions of people have story ideas. Most of them will never do anything with those ideas. At best, they'll daydream about it but make up a billion excuses why they can't. At second-worst, they will badger actual writers to do the idea for them.

At worst worst, they will use AI to do it for them and call it a day. And we will all hate them for it.

You do not need to be protective of your idea or hide it, because someone has already thought of it and then made excuses as to why they can't be bothered to execute it. You have to be the one who doesn't fall into the trap and does the damn thing.

Look, I'll give you all the story ideas I have if you want. I don't care. In fact, I share them frequently and encourage others to give it a shot if they want to.

I'm not hiding any ideas because I know you will not do it exactly as I will. My voice is unique and it doesn't matter if there are dozens of people with the same idea: my story will be mine, and no one else's.

You are not a writer unless you consistently write.

This doesn't mean writing for five hours every day, or even doing 100 words every day. When I get to the tail end of the project, I tend to start slowing down because I have to think more critically about how to tie everything together. During the active drafting phase, I might do 2,000 words per day, but things ease up at the end, both because I'm sad that this phase is almost over and because I don't have much left to do.

But you don't get to call yourself a writer if you write like 100 words a month and spend the rest of the time doing moodboards and talking about your ideas. Whatever your rhythm, you need to stick with it and develop discipline, or you just have an idea and nothing else.

Making moodboards, playlists, etc, before you have started the project is a form of procrastination.

Note I said before you have really gotten into the meat of your project. Moodboards are a great way to promo your project and get peoples' attention, because visuals are more interesting than a wall of text. (That's why I start these kinds of posts with a picture.)

Oh, there's another one!

The thing is that a lot of would-be writers get trapped by the "oh this is research, this is plotting, this is giving me ideas, this is inspo." It's not. It's visual daydreaming and nothing more.

Any time that I have done a moodboard before starting a story, I give up on that story, because then I feel like I've done most of the work when I categorically have not. When I do moodboards once I get to the halfway point, I'm already in the home stretch and have no reason to stop. When I do a moodboard after I am already done and in the revision stage, then I'm good to go and building hype for my project.

Do not waste your time doing moodboards and playlists and visuals before you do the real stuff: worldbuilding, plotting, hammering out characterization. Get started before you start playing around with pretty pictures because it's not really getting you anywhere.

No one cares about your idea as much as you do and never will.

This is pretty self-explanatory so I won't expound too much. Your writing is the most important thing to you, but everyone else has their own stuff going on. If you're building hype with other writers, they have their own projects and are not going to be your free promotional team. They want your attention for their stuff, not yours.

Most people in your life will not really care about your book.

Again, everyone's got their own things going on. Also, most non-writers don't really understand how difficult it is to write a whole book. They are consumers and see the finished project; it's content to them. They care about you, to be sure, but your book doesn't really click as a big accomplishment because they're not familiar with the process.

You may notice, and seethe slightly, that relatively mundane things like weddings, graduations, and baby announcements will get WAY more attention than your book. A friend showing their ultrasound pic will get dozens of likes and comments and congratulations, while like 1 person will say "good job!" when you announce your book.

This is because these kinds of announcements are more relatable to the average person. They may have gotten married, or graduated, or had a baby (and of course probably know dozens of people who have) so they are aware of the challenges and joys.

Unless you are friends with exclusively other writers, your achievement is abstract, and your friends can't really sympathize. Your book is just a way to pass some time.

A lot of peoples' opinions about writing are useless to you.

I do not really like getting beta readers from places like r/betareaders because I have no idea how much that person actually knows about writing. Being able to visualize and suggest ways forward requires an understanding of the craft, but many people think that because they like to read, they know how to critique, when they are completely different skills.

Yes, unknowledgeable beta readers can give you a "man on the street" perspective of your book, but they tend to forget that beta readers are meant to help you fix your book as it is. Not turn it into something they personally would enjoy reading if they are not the target audience.

This requires recognizing audience and putting aside one's own preferences to focus on how the book would come across to an imagined ideal reader. Not everyone can do this. Actually, most people can't.

Some of the dumbest comments I've gotten about my work are from people who want to wrest control away from me and make it their preferred genre/plot/etc. These are useless suggestions.

Wonderful beta readers help to enhance your story, and they are golden. Instead of demanding you do something different, they offer their honest reactions of the work as it is and suggest opportunities to enrich the writing, tweak it, deepen the characterization, and so on.

Helpful beta readers are typically other writers regardless of their specific writing level. Newbie writers can be an excellent resource! And you're helping them, too: they will see your mistakes and know what not to do, and they can learn from your strengths. It's a positive experience all around.

Writers must come to understand what is good advice and what is not. Essentially, anyone who suggests things that are completely out of left field and totally unrelated to what you're trying to do is giving bad advice, and you should ignore them.

You need to develop healthy self-esteem if you want to be a good writer.

When you constantly put yourself down, complain about how bad your first draft is, say you have no idea what you're doing, and insist that no one will ever enjoy your work, guess what: you're right.

But you're right because you're essentially telling other people that your work sucks and they should not give it a chance. What you say about your writing will influence how readers interact with your work. You are priming them to dislike your writing and telling them what to think.

Imposter syndrome strikes all of us at times, but you need to push through it. One of the best ways to do so is to just continue writing. Keep going. Soon enough, you will develop experience, and experience will create confidence, and that confidence will shine through in your work.

When you consider saying something self-deprecating about your work, stop. You're going to make it come true.

You also need to be humble and have a beginner's mindset forever.

Doing so means understanding the difference between being self-deprecating and being humble.

Self-deprecation is when someone says your work is great and you immediately go "oh you're saying that to be nice, it's awful, I hate it."

Humility is when someone says your work is great and you go "Thank you!" and leave it at that.

You're not gloating or bragging by saying thank you, but you're also not cutting yourself off at the knees and making people uncomfortable by self-flagellating.

Honestly, the best thing you can ever say when you get a compliment about anything, including your writing, is just "thank you." Nothing else. Maybe an "I appreciate it" or "I'm glad you think so!" You don't need to go into detail.

But humility also means acknowledging that no matter how long you have been writing, there is always something you can do better. You will always be learning and making mistakes. Thinking you've peaked is when your writing gets stale and boring.

I have been learning rock climbing, and one of my favorite things to do is to watch pro climbers critique their own technique. They're not self-deprecating or saying they're horrible, but they're also not claiming they are perfect and can never do anything better.

Magnus Midtbø is incredible because even though he is a truly masterful climber, he posts a lot about his fails or when other climbers make him eat shit. This is an amazing video of him getting wrecked by an Olympic climber and taking it on the chin! He doesn't whine about how bad he is, he's just like "hmm, yeah, I can see where I screwed up, I'm so glad that I got to watch you climb, this is an honor."

That is the perfect blend of confidence and humility. He knows he can improve, but he doesn't deride his own skill. This is the mindset you need as a writer.

Being mentally ill doesn't make you a better writer. It just means you're mentally ill.

Anyone can be a good writer. Mental illness does not give you a super-secret advantage. It actually puts you at a disadvantage because your brain is expending so much energy staying stable that it does not have the same capacity as other people.

Fix your mental health issues instead of using them as a crutch or deluding yourself into believing they make you special. Like half of the population will develop some type of mental illness during their lifetime, and insisting that you need your mental illness to write is trapping you by making you not want to get help.

I have severe bipolar. This does not necessarily make me a great writer. In fact, it can make my writing suck ass if I am not stable. And no, you are not somehow exempt from having consequences for refusing to take care of your mental health. I promise you that you will be a better writer when you have sorted out your mental health issues.

Your real actual life matters more than your writing.

This is related to the above point. Your mental health, your stability, your social circle are all crucial elements of being a good, productive writer, and you can't ignore them in favor of suffering for your art.

The quality of my work has skyrocketed at two significant points in my life: once when I got out of a relationship that was hurting me and once when I ditched a toxic friend. The first one was when I started writing fanfic again, and the second was when I finally began The Eirenic Verses.

I would not have written 2 million words if I still had those nasty influences in my life, and I would not be living my best life. I likely never would have found my favorite hobbies and started going to therapy if I was still trapped in those negative cycles. Attending to my real-life problems both enhanced my writing and made me a better, more likeable, more functional person. I expect you will find the same thing.

You will burn out if you don't have other hobbies.

Hobbies. I cannot stress enough how important it is to have other hobbies that have nothing to do with writing. Yes, it means you have less time to write, but it also means that when you do sit down and write, you have better focus because you've fulfilled your other needs.

I picked up horseback riding again in February of this year and go once a week. I can't stress enough how good this has been for my writing and for my overall well-being. I have pretty bad agoraphobia, but since I started riding again, I have been less scared of leaving the house and less worried about what people think about me. My world has become larger and friendlier.

Now I'm doing rock climbing too. The physical and mental stimulation helps me focus better when I write, and I get way more done in less time. Plus, the quality of that writing is better because I'm getting more bloodflow into my brain and nourishing the tissues. There's also the fact that when I do have time to write, I'm not burned out and frustrated because all I've been doing all day is writing.

I look forward to my writing sessions more because they feel like a treat, and I have gotten a self-esteem boost by doing well in the gym. I am happier, calmer, and sleeping better due to the exercise.

Well-adjusted humans need social outlets, physical movement, a strong support network, good nutrition, and opportunities to relax. Our horrible capitalist system makes it very hard to balance all of these, but you must at least try.

Your hobbies don't need to be expensive. It can be something as simple as drawing, or going for a long nature walk, or learning origami, or buying a used camera and learning photography. Go to your local library and take a free course! Join a cheap gym and go a few times a week. Teach yourself something using YouTube. Buy secondhand equipment on Craigslist. There are so many affordable options.

Again, caring for your overall well-being is a true godsend when it comes to writing. Having something else to fulfill you will help you push through those hard days when nothing is coming to you, and it offers your brain a break from plotting, writing, revising, etc.

So that's it. If you read this to the very end, you're quite the gem; I know this was excruciatingly long. And mean.

Since you're here, maybe you will consider purchasing my debut novel, which was written by applying all these tips. (And not using AI - fuck off, NaNoWriMo.)

9 Years Yearning is a coming-of-age gay romance set in a fantasy world with poetry magic. It follows two young men as they grow from sorta-enemies, to frenemies, to friends, and finally to lovers.

If you do read it, please don't forget to leave a review!

Even if it's mean. Don't worry, I won't be mad. Reviews are essential to getting visibility on Amazon, so every single one is golden to me.

50 notes · View notes

abrcmswrld · 2 years ago

Text

Talk to Strangers

Edward Nashton x Coworker! Reader

━━━━

Word Count: 4,951

Warnings: smut (18+ only MDNI), stalking, unprotected sex, angst and fluff and smut, a decent bit of tears, obligatory mentions of murder

Summary: You’ve warmed up to Edward despite his cold nature, but what happens when the puzzle pieces start to fall together and you can feel someone watching you in the darkness?

Authors Note: I actually tried so hard on this yall, I posted this to my ao3 page first so I am sorry if the formatting is all kinds of messed up on here :( This is my first fic i’ve posted since 2017 so I sincerely apologize if it’s meh, i also don’t have anyone else proofread my fics so i apologize for any errors i missed! enjoy!

Ao3 Link

He's arrogant. Oh so arrogant, and you can't fucking stand it. You watch him every morning as he strides in, past your desk at reception, white button up shirt, clear framed glasses, shaggy hair that falls over his forehead . He's certainly not a hit among the office, so maybe you're not wrong in your feelings. Though your other co-workers generally regard him as a pushover- not a self-absorbed asshole. He's good at what he does, sure. He's earned his spot, but he often brings a shadow into the rooms he walks into. A presence that you can only describe as infernal.

You don’t know much about his story. You generally pride yourself on getting to know the people you surround yourself with, but he has never let you get close enough to find out. Maybe that’s why you find him arrogant. He thinks he’s too good to speak to you for more than two sentences related to files he needs you to fax for him. What you do know about him is that he’s been at KTMJ for longer than you have been- maybe 5 years more. You can still remember the first time you met. You were fresh faced and eager. Seeking validation, in desperate need of some stability.

You extend your arm for a handshake. His hands are slightly clammy as he accepts your handshake. And though you had greeted him with your brightest smile (might as well go all in if you ever wanted to be anything other than a receptionist) he hadn't smiled back. He'd kept a rather straight face as he gave his brief introduction. "Edward."

Now you have a sense of stability. Sure, the quality of life in Gotham is subpar and you still haven't received that promotion, but you make enough to live comfortably in comparison to others in the city. You try to count your blessings.

━━━━

You had already been having a shitty day. Your landlord had informed you of an increase in rent rates by slipping an envelope under your door. Sure, it sucked to be asked to pay more for an apartment that could be deemed shitty by any normal person with a pair of eyes, but it was the lack of communication that got you. Not even the decency to call your residence and tell you with their own voice. Just a slip of paper under the door.

But you tried to bring a good attitude to the office. You hate being the one to damper the mood. You would rather leave that to him. Always him. Never smiling back at you as he walks through the door, never meeting your eyes to acknowledge your presence, nothing. And you were used to that. It would be okay, if it weren't for the stack of papers that laid on your desk when you got in. Neatly stacked with a green sticky note reading "Need copies. -Edward" scrawled in messy handwriting. You immediately feel the flames rise into your chest.

It's a quick stride from your desk to his cubicle, stack of papers tightly tucked into your fist. You slam them onto his desk as soon as you reach it, and he raises an eyebrow at you in response. "What the hell is this?" He glances at the papers and back at you. "The copier isn't working. I wrote what I needed." You sigh, annoyed at the fact that he doesn't understand.

"You couldn't have waited for me to get here and brought them to me yourself? I would really appreciate it if you would treat me like a human being every once in a while, ya know, actually acknowledge my existence." You realize how dramatic you must sound, but in all honesty you've been thinking it for years, it was only a matter of time before it came out. "I needed copies. I didn't think my acknowledgement meant that much to you." He holds his hands out in defense, feigning that he actually cared if he had hurt your feelings.

"I think you think you're smarter than everyone else here." You plant a hand on the table in front of him as you crouch to his level.

He sighs and you can see the corners of his mouth twitch. "I do. Is that so bad?"

"It makes you an asshole."

He finally faces you.

"Better to be an asshole than to be an idiot."

His voice doesn't carry any malice, yet the words feel like a slap in the face to you. It leaves you scrambling for a response, opening your mouth only to close it a second later. Until you decide to merely respond with a nervous chuckle. Sure, you thought his response showed his ego, but you had to admit. He got you. He faces you once more at the sound of your light chuckle, green eyes meeting yours completely. "I guess you're right."

You catch the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

"If it means that much to you, I will greet you next time."

━━━━

And he does. Greet you that is. You find yourself talking to him more and more. Sitting in the break room with him at lunch, looking over his shoulder at the crossword puzzle he works on at his desk and giving your best shot at an answer, relishing in the furrow of his brows as he turns to look over his shoulder at you. He's an asshole. He's arrogant. But there's something about him that's drawing you in. Sometimes you feel like a fish caught in a net. All those moments he'd brushed you off and yet you find yourself repeating the little quirks of his soft smiles in your head. You hate the term "work husband", but it seems that Edward is slowly becoming the very definition of that.

You don't speak outside of the office, but you find yourself gravitating towards him when you're stressed. You tell him about your landlord and the reason you had gotten so defensive with him. He understood.

"It's a cesspool here. None of these people actually care about people like us, not the landlords, not our coworkers, certainly not the politicians." He had said in that moment.

As October rolls around and the leaves begin to fall, you find yourself beginning to bring two coffees to work, one for you, one for him. He always shows an appreciative nod. But the moment you start to think about asking him to actually go out with you for coffee is like being the fish pulled out of the water and accepting it's inevitable fate. You were gonna let him drive you insane.

You're sure of it as you are caught up in the nerves and find yourself softly grabbing his hand to stop him outside the front doors of the office. You quickly pull your hand from his. no doubt blushed a deep red. But he just stares, waiting for you to speak. You clear your throat. "I- um- Sorry, I was just gonna see if you had plans now." And it pains you the way he doesn't speak, just continues to stare.

"There's a diner on the corner near here. I think they have decent pie."

He loosens the tension in his shoulders and looks down. "Oh. I'm actually sort of drowning in... paperwork right now." He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. God, you hoped you hadn't made him uncomfortable. "I'm sorry."

You quickly shake your head and let out a breathy laugh. "Oh no! It's totally fine, I probably have paperwork to finish too." You hope it hides the pang you feel in your chest. "I'll see you tomorrow." You swiftly turn and walk away before he can respond.

━━━━

But you wouldn't see Edward tomorrow. Matter of fact you wouldn't see him for the next three days after Halloween. You try not to let it bother you.

It's the beginning of a cold November, he's probably just sick or desperately needed a vacation. Or perhaps you'd seriously fucked it all up and he couldn't even stand the sight of you. You can't stop the deep sigh that comes from you as you rest your forehead in the palm of your hand. Embarrassingly, you ask Zach if he's heard from Edward. Not that you expected him to be particularly helpful. "Are you guys, like, fucking?" You are stunned and stammering your words. "Wha- No! No. I just worry about him."

"Look, I wouldn't worry about him too much, I mean the guy's basically a fucking recluse. When do you ever see him outside of here? Maybe it's good that he's somewhere besides here."

Still, there's no chance of you actually focusing on work and you find yourself aimlessly scrolling through news headlines, before one in particular catches your eye.

'Mayoral Incumbent Donald Mitchell, Jr. Murdered in his Home on Halloween Night.'

Holy shit.

━━━━

Edward is back at work after three long days, and despite your worry of his annoyance and anger, he is oddly elated.

It's the first time he approaches your desk. Leaning against it, coffee cup in hand, and flashing an awkward smile before asking, "So did I miss anything?" It leaves you a little taken aback, but it's a relief to see him approach you willingly after your last conversation.

"Um yeah, Zach was a total prick as usual- Oh! And our mayor was murdered."

He raises an eyebrow and takes a sip from the coffee cup. You feign annoyance, "No but seriously where were you? I started to wonder if that psychopath got you too."

He smiles. "Just sick. November weather and all."

━━━━

The first time you see the green mask you are in a huddle of coworkers around a computer screen.

'Police Commissioner, Pete Savage, Murdered. Killer Leaves Shocking Confession.'

"My God. What a sick freak." Zach interjects.

You can barely stand to watch. The video is hardly graphic aside from the disturbing voice of the masked man, but the implications of what happens when the video cuts off leaves your stomach turning. You walk away. Desperate for some space, but also desperate for a distraction. Edward sits straight in his office chair across the room. You hesitate slightly before striding toward his desk and leaning your weight against it. You can feel the sweat beading at your forehead as you lightly brush hair from your eyes. "Shit."

It's merely a whisper to yourself, but he turns his head to face you. For once his face shows concern towards you. Yet he still says nothing, only looks. Observant as always.

"Sorry. I needed to get out of that." You gesture towards the group of coworkers still huddled and murmuring among each other. He glanced back, before turning back towards his work. "The news?" He inquires quietly.

"Yeah. It's a little too much for me to stomach." There's a little pause as if he is hesitant to say anything before finally replying, "They were pricks. Don't you think they kind of deserved it?"

You straighten up, looking at him with shock. "I think they were still people with families." He frowns at you before you finally walk away from his desk to make your way to the restroom. You needed to get a grip.

━━━━

Edward apologizes for his insensitivity after work. You had stayed with him outside of the building long after all of your other coworkers had left. "It's fine." You refuse to look at him as he lights a cigarette and gets in a few quick puffs. You're being mean. But if you're honest the combination of his rejection and his comment earlier in the day had set you off. "And I'm sorry for last week." Only then you look up at him.

"I've had a lot going on, and it feels a little unfair to bring you into all of that."

"This feels like an excuse to let me down easy. It's okay if you just don't want to go on a date-"

The feeling of chapped lips on your own stops you mid sentence. He tastes of coffee and cigarettes and you crave more, but he pulls back quickly. His free hand remains at your cheek, holding your face in a gentle caress. "It's not an excuse. Things are just complicated for me right now." His eyes never leave your face. It's the best look you've gotten of them. Of him. His features are gentle behind shaggy hair and acetate glasses.

Something feels wrong and eerie in the back of your mind. Like seeing him this close gave you a sickening feeling of deja vu. Things were definitely complicated. The bags under his eyes were showing his exhaustion well, he had gone from elated to unwell since his return. He seems like a broken man, but he'd never let you close enough to find out why. You can't help but feel the connection, like he deserved a shot even if he didn't want it. Even if he thought he was smarter. Even if there's a side to him that could hurt you. You push down your feelings of uneasiness.

You press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

"When you're ready."

━━━━

You're awake nearly all night the next weekend. Spending the entire time digging through news about the figure known as The Riddler, his possible next targets, possible identities, and most importantly all of the video footage he'd put out in the last few weeks. It's certainly not healthy. You generally steer clear of these sorts of things. Years of therapy had gotten you far and you would rather not ruin it by desensitizing yourself. But you can't help it. You find yourself going deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole until you find yourself tuning into his streams late at night.

He speaks with such a confidence in himself. As if he has all of the answers, and is just waiting to enlighten the world. His followers are even more terrifying. They'd do anything for him. You wonder how low a person must be in life to resort to this sort of behavior. But, you're not a psychiatrist. Who are you to speak on these people. These strangers.

"We are going to cleanse this cesspool of city."

You slam the laptop shut.

Sleeping isn't easy after this sort of activity. You should've known. You turn on a show you don't actually care about to give yourself some sense of security in background noise. And soon you find yourself drifting asleep. It's not great sleep. You can sense yourself tossing and turning, but you can deal with it. Everything is fuzzy until you find yourself on your back.

Paralyzed.

It's not uncommon for you to experience sleep paralysis, but you've experienced it less after your time in therapy. You try to keep your breathing steady, trying to convince yourself that whatever you see is merely a hallucination.

Shh. Shh. Just breathe.

But the figure that appears is familiar. That's what scares you the most. The green coat and mask is horrifying as it inches towards the bed, and you can't scream. you can't move away. You can only watch the blood drip from his gloved fingertips onto your floor as he stares. Tilting his head at you slightly, as he brings a hand up to his head. You can hear your heart pounding and you are practically internally begging yourself to wake up. The latches on his mask pop open and you're horrified to find that the face underneath is so familiar. A slight smirk on lips you have kissed before. Blood dripping from a hand that you've held before. You try to scream. Tears falling down your temples until he is suddenly gone and you shoot up in your bed.

You can't hold back the cry that escapes your throat. It wasn't real, he's gone, and you're safe in your room.

━━━━

Until suddenly the safety of your room begins to feel a lot less safe. You hear it. The creaking of the floorboards at night, the slight tapping against the glass of your bedroom window. The slight squeak of leather rubbing and rustling together. You're too scared to open your eyes those first few nights. You'd rather be blind and take your fate than die in paralyzing fear.

But you know it's him.

It was never unclear what was staring at you in the night. Maybe the nightmares of the leather gloves touching your skin hadn't been nightmares at all. You want so badly to be sickened. To run into your bathroom to empty your stomach out of panic and fear. Instead you feel a strange mixture of annoyance and arousal in your gut.

He thinks he's smarter than you.

You find yourself playing into his games.Attempting to one up him. To show him you aren't scared of him. That you can keep up. You begin to deliberately change in front of your window. Letting lacy fabric hit the cold floor and standing just a tad longer, stalling before covering yourself back up.

You hope he's watching when you peel off your work tights. You hope he's imagining himself on his knees tearing the delicate fabric from your form, only to be blocked by a thin pane of glass. You wanted the upper hand.

You hope he's watching as you sink two fingers into yourself, thinking about crisp, white button ups and clear framed glasses.

━━━━

The next few weeks are tense at work. You heard the news of what happened to Gil Colson at Don Mitchell's funeral. Edward would walk in everyday, and attempt to greet you, only this time it's you who is short. You have a little hope that he can't see straight through you. But you can see it in the way that he looks at you that you're an open book. Who's to say that he won't just watch, but actually kill you to keep you from talking. But deep down you both know your lips are shut tight.

So you work through the days, just ready to get home. You can hardly stand to look at him. It makes you feel like you're an accomplice. A sitting duck for a man who probably doesn't even care about you, withholding a tip to the police because deep down you really do like him. And you had hoped he liked you too until things got complicated. Now you think it would just be best if he abandoned you right where you were. But he doesn't. In fact, he suddenly has more courage than you'd ever seen from him. It's evident as he catches you by your arm and pulls you into the alleyway beside the office after work is over. It's dark and you'd be lying if you said you weren't scared, but he kisses you like nothing is wrong. Like he has no clue. Like nothing has changed.

You pull away from him, wide eyes staring back at him. "Are you okay?" He asks quietly as he brushes a hand up your arm. You can't help the break in your voice. "I know, Edward."

He just stands and stares. "What?" You take two steps back. "You're killing people." He continues to stare. He drops his hand from your arm. The silence scares you more than anything. But he simply sighs.

"I think you should go home and get some rest."

And before you can argue he walks away with a quickened pace.

━━━━

So you do. You return to your shitty apartment and try to compose yourself. What would he do now that you said that? Maybe you were wrong. Maybe you had accused him of something he genuinely didn't do. But it didn't feel wrong. You sigh as the hot water hits your back. You had hoped a shower would help you feel refreshed, but for the first time in a while, it feels like a chore. You can't enjoy it, so you rush through it. As you step into your bedroom you stop in your tracks. The window is slightly ajar, a cool draft flowing in tingles your bare legs. And then you see him. The figure in the darkness of your room. This time you're not dreaming.

He's in your room. You're paralyzed. The position you swore you'd never let yourself be put in. He's got the upper hand.

He just stands there. A part of you wishes he would attack you. Kill you. Anything just to break the still silence. You realize you're shaking. You agreed to play his game and now you're trailing his lead, allowing yourself to be beaten.

"Edward."

It comes out as a shaky whisper, but he visibly takes it in as he steps toward you to close the distance. You can see his eyes crinkle at the corners through the green mask. He's smiling. And he reaches a gloved hand to your face, cupping one cheek. You can feel the warmth radiating from his hand even through the glove. So, he is human. The Riddler has a beating heart and flowing blood. He is not a cold, lifeless monster. His stoic frame you had become so familiar with at work was gone. He catches a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

He is terrifying.

"No more through the window. I'll be gone soon."

Before you can entirely comprehend the statement and it's implications, your brain forms the word that leaves your mouth. "Gone?"

He simply smiles again, this time reaching his hands behind his head to abandon the mask he had come in with, and there he is. Cherubic features glowing under the street lamp light that flows in from your window. "I watched you live for a month. I watched you eat, sleep, undress, touch yourself. But you knew that right? Otherwise you wouldn't have put on such a show."

You attempt to struggle away from his grasp in disgust at his words but he holds you tight in front of him. "But that's alright. I'll tell you the truth because I hate liars. I liked knowing that you were doing it all for me. I wanted nothing more than to cleanse Gotham, to give them true salvation, but you put a dent into that plan. You became a distraction that I foolishly indulged." The soft light is hitting his features just right. He looks like an angel in devils' clothing. And his tight grip is right back to a gentle caress. His hand reaches the small of your back and you're sucking in a shrill breath.

His kiss is soft, inexperienced. Much like the other times you had kissed. But he is treating you like glass that might break. You think it might be the first time you've seen him relax enough to be seen as a particularly gentle being. He's ditched his looming, arrogant behavior you're so used to just to show you his utmost affection. It's the first time you have seen him like this since the first time you had kissed.

But some part of you is burning. He's not your prince charming. You know exactly what he is capable of, you've seen it. You're not glass. You're not a damsel. This is a man who has watched you undress for him through your window for weeks. This is a man who has killed. And it shouldn't bring heat into your core the way it does. Perhaps it's the thrill of the danger.

You kiss him so hard that your teeth clash. It stuns him as his hand lifts from your body momentarily before finding purchase at your hips. He's inexperienced, but the desperation coming from both of you is enough to cover it up.

The warmth and weight of his tongue in your mouth is intoxicating. The little sparks of guilt and shame that flash in your stomach are quickly subdued by his nimble fingers caressing under your nightgown and up your thighs to hook in the waistband of your panties. You can't help the pathetic moan that escaped your mouth as he slowly drags the fabric down your legs.

"I wanted to do it right. Wanted to take you to that diner, buy your food, take you home, and act like I hadn't thought about fucking you into your mattress every single night."

It's almost strange to see him on his knees. He has built himself up to be godlike. You were sure he wouldn't mind you on your knees in front of him. Absolutely worshipping him. The warmth of his tongue swiping over you has your thoughts lurching, and yes, god, he is divine.

"But it would be wrong to pretend to be someone I am not. I'm not a liar."

You can't help but tangle your fingers into his beautifully unkept hair and pull. He is ravishing you. Sinking two fingers into you until you feel the heavenly curl right into the spot that makes you whimper. "Eddie-" He swallows your moans in a desperate openmouthed kiss. His fingers are working you open, you can feel tightness build in your stomach. Like a rubber band ready to snap. But it's ripped away from you as he pulls his fingers out of you and swiftly pushes you to the bed. The sounds of his belt buckle coming undone has your heart racing faster than it already was, your stomach fluttering.

He buries himself inside of you with no hesitation, no time to adjust. It hurts and his inexperience is noticeable, but the look of bliss on his face and his slight whimpers has you ready to cum before you've even started.

You're gripping onto the back of the green leather parka, reminding yourself of who you're with. Who you're letting fuck you right now. But those green eyes bring you back to all those times he'd flash a slight smile your way in the office. He'd try to hide it but you're the only person he showed fondness towards in that hell hole of a workplace. Thinking back to the night he had kissed you has tears welling up in your eyes again. He notices.

He slows his pace momentarily, letting his short thrusts turn into long drags. A gloved hand wipes tears away once again and you meet his concerned gaze.

"Does this not make you happy?"

Your hands move to cradle his face. A move that he's certainly not used to as his thrust halt for a moment in surprise. "I am happy. But what comes after this? Am I supposed to ignore you and pretend I know nothing about you? That I feel nothing for you?" He stops his movements completely now. The room has fallen silent apart from the heavy breathing between you two.

"I have to mean nothing to you. Momentarily."

You knew the answer before you asked the question, but it hurts just as bad anyway. You don't take your eyes off his. The Riddler's facade is cracking before your eyes, you can see his eyes becoming glossy. It's almost like he's turned into a completely different person. He kisses you. Deeply, but not rough. There's so much pent up feeling behind it, you could sob even harder. But you don't and he keeps kissing you as he resumes his movements.

You're not using any protection, but you're too blissed out to care. You crave that feeling of warmth. "Eddie- I-"

His hips start to stutter as he cuts you off and buries his face in your neck. " I love you- please God- just say it back to me. Tell me you love me." You hold his face in your hands guiding his gaze to meet yours again. "Edward, I love you."

That's all it takes for him to fall apart. His whimpers and cries are like music to your ears and the feeling of warmth as he releases everything he has into you is blissful. You both have to take a second to recover, foreheads pressed together. But eventually he rolls off of you carefully and tucks himself back into his pants. The silence is deafening. You said it to push him over the edge, but was it true that you loved him? The idea of falling in love with Edward was easy in your mind, in a perfect world the idea of settling down somewhere else and waking up next to him felt good. But this wasn't a perfect world. Edward killed people, powerful people, and the chance that he'd get away without paying for it was slim.

"I'm gonna turn myself in in a couple of days."

"Okay."

"You should leave Gotham. It's not going to be safe for you here. If the cops ask you're visiting a friend in Bludhaven."

His hand grips yours as he looks at you.

"I promise if I ever get out, I'll find you."

━━━━

You do as he asked of you. Got a hotel in Bludhaven and in the next couple of nights you watched the television endlessly, waiting to see his face. The night you finally did, you cried yourself to sleep, gripping the hotel sheets as you buried your face into your pillow.

But you held yourself together and did as Edward asked.

When the man in the bat suit showed up at your hotel door a week after the flood you give your best answers.

"I'm visiting a friend, but the flood has kept me in town."

"No, I didn't know him well, we just worked together."

"I mean he was a little strange, but I never thought he would murder someone."

“I would never have expected it to be him.”

"I hope he gets the help he needs."

#edward nashton #dano!riddler #dano riddler #paul dano riddler #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton x you #dano!riddler x reader #paul dano #danonation #the batman #edward nashton smut #edward nashton fluff #edward nashton ily forever -abram #gonna log off for the night to keep my nerves down i think

992 notes · View notes

nekropsii · 6 months ago

Text

Atomic Ask Bomb... 2!!

Hello, all! We are back in the mines immediately, because you all love me and my inbox so much. I still have 200+ more asks to sort through after this and that is not hyperbole!! Oops!!

Content Warning: Long, and Cronus is There.

You can be both. I am both. I think Terezi's easily in the Top 3 of Best Written Homestuck Characters, no competition. AND she compels me.

Mituna Fans and Terezi Fans flocking together like how Gays and Lesbians are supposed to.

------

He doesn't have a Recuperacoon. He doesn't NEED a Recuperacoon. Who needs a Recuperacoon when you have a bathtub? You pile a bunch of slime in there, and then you can pop the drain open in the morning and take a shower right there where you just got up. It's convenient. And not at all sad. It's not sad guys.

Let's pretend for a moment that either Vantas would have regular bathing habits for the sake of this joke.

------

Even if that's the case, it really doesn't change anything. Insecurity doesn't justify literal actual sexual harassment and sexual assault. What?

People will do anything to excuse random shitty men for being shitty. Sympathy is the favorite weapon in Fandom Misogyny's arsenal. So often will fans pull some random bullshit out of their ass just to say that it's fine that a male character is abusive, especially if it's to women, because "He's Sad", so he should never face criticism or punishment for his actions.

We should all start putting people in blenders. We've let these arguments go on long enough. People are far too bold in their abuse apologia. We need to kill them.

------

Yeah. Like, he interests me a lot, he's one of the characters I take the most interest in out of all of the Alpha Trolls. I literally write sov!Cronus. I hate his guts, though. It really is just that easy to be a fan of a character and also fucking hate them. Not once have I ever made an excuse for him. The goal Hussie set out for when writing him was making him inexcusable and irredeemable, down to Cronus literally knowing what he's doing is bad and hurts people, and simply just not caring.

Cronus is genuinely fucking evil. That's the whole point. If you make him misunderstood, if you make him mean well, if you make him lack self awareness, if you make him sympathetic, if you give him any redeeming qualities at all... You are missing the point completely. If you want a sympathetic asshole character, you want Vriska. The point of Cronus is that he's The Worst Character In Homestuck, and that he has zero redeeming qualities and trying to fix him or redeem him is a Hopeless venture. He is beyond saving. Don't you dare even think about trying - to try to make him palatable is to erase Violent Bigotry, Incest, and Child Sexual Abuse. Just don't. Enjoy him as he is, do NOT defang him.

------

He truly is the worst! I think we should explode all depictions of fanon!Cronus. Forever.

------

Yeah, there's a huge reason why I do not say I'm a fan of Cronus or call him a favorite character of mine or anything. It projects a certain... Image. The wrong one. There's just such a strong precedent for anyone saying they're a Cronus Fan or calling him their Favorite Character being a person who just completely fucking ignores everything about him, or even pardons it, saying it's fine, actually, because He's Sad, or that it's Not That Bad, actually. I can't stand it.

I'm aware there are Cronus Fans who are totally normal, but I cannot help but immediately be wary of them, or flinch for a moment even when they offer the reassurance that they know better. It's a natural response, having been here for around a decade and having been a Mituna Fan the whole time.

Liking characters who are terrible people is fine. Based, even, in some cases. But... It's truly difficult with Cronus, because so much of that fanbase relies on excusing/minimizing/condoning abuse and bigotry. I don't have any qualms with people liking characters that suck, but when a fanbase for a character is so heavily focused on pretending that character isn't a horrible, terrible, awful person who abuses people - even children, even people they're related to, even children that they're related to - for nothing but their own sexual gain... I start having issues. That sets a pretty dangerous precedent, to me.

------

It's crazy to me how so much of the apologism is because he's hot. Because he literally isn't. You all have terrible taste.

Let's all appreciate for a moment just how fucking ugly he is. The fan art is lying so bad. He needs a haircut. His shirt doesn't fit him, and honestly looks like women's clothes - you know those women's shirts that have the sleeves that stop halfway down the damn shoulder? He looks like a 16 year old. He's so skinny, and his shoulders are so... rounded and small - which are fine traits to have, but literally every piece of fanart portrays him as broad-shouldered and ripped when the literal opposite is true. You just know he has too much product in his hair. His actual sprite is even worse.

The way his fly doesn't even go all the way up. The way his hair clips into his face. The way he's slightly yellow for literally no reason. The shitty belt. This fucking sucks. He's so ugly. He isn't even hot.

------

Mituna having Memory Loss as a result of his TBI is literally a myth invented by Cronus to emotionally manipulate Mituna and perpetuated by Cronus Fans. I think if they were friends in the past, Cronus's actions would be worse, actually.

Could you imagine getting sad that your friend doesn't remember you because of a Traumatic Brain Injury, and your response to this sadness is to abuse and sexually assault them on the regular? What, is that Just Bro Things now? Cronus literally says he targets Mituna because he thinks he can get away with it due to his struggles with communication. The thing about them being buddies in the past was one of his trademark Lies. Because he is known to do that, specifically to manipulate people. Because he is known to manipulate people. Emotionally. Because he is abusive. And terrible. And not redeemable. This isn't rocket science! It isn't rocket science to say that pushing the fault of Mituna's abuse onto Mituna is Victim-Blaming!

------

Positively fucking ridiculous that so many people did not recognize their romance within the comic. If they were boys, there'd be no god damn question about it. It'd be up there in everyone's OTP list alongside DaveKat.

I think they're adorable. They're one of my favorite pairings.

------

It's great in the source comic, especially during earlier phases of its existence, but the quality deprecates drastically the further you get from that point. I hate it in Fanon and in Dub/Post-Canon.

It's a great off-screen pairing for a lot of lore reasons - namely it being great to let Dave slowly allow himself to love and be loved in private, with no fear of eyes on him. He's never really been able to have privacy before, with all the cameras and eyes on him all the time, and he's never been able to really let his guard down and be vulnerable. He's never been able to love and be loved, safely. I ultimately think they should've kept their relationship mostly private, even after Dave's recovered quite a bit, because sometimes having something just for yourself without that need to perform it is healing in itself. Mental health maintenance.

In Fanon, it seems like pretty standard yaoi, though. Boring. Tired. Literally everywhere. Voyeuristic as always.

------

Thank you! My Inbox generally really isn't that bad at all, honestly! Most people are pretty cordial! Anon Hate for me is pretty rare. Thankfully, the Delete Ask button exists, so I don't have to worry about those Anons for very long, lol.

------

I hate to say this, but back in my day, plenty of people actually did do that. In fact, people only knowing Homestuck through fan material and then still calling themselves a fan is a big reason why old Homestuck fanon was so bad and so far off the mark!

I have a name for those kinds of fans, because it was such a frequent occurrence it begged for a title. I call them Secondaries. Like "Secondary Source"!

------

World's most based triad, I think. Should be real. It's real to me.

7H15 15 MY 91RLFR13NF, L47UL4. 4DN 7H51 15 7UL45 9R1LFR13ND, P0RR1M.

------

I think everyone should start watching actual horror movies. I think these people should watch Re-Animator and Bride of Re-Animator. I think this would fix the fandom, because a lot of people are just posting about horror movies without realizing they're posting about horror movies. Go watch a horror movie. They even have more and, frankly, more interesting gay representation than... Whatever Dirk and Jake have going on. Sorry.

If you're a gay man, get some hair on your chest and watch a bunch of horror movies. There's more in this life than anime twinks and skinny white pixel men. There's BlackRom Old Man Pet Play (The Lighthouse, 2019), there's Tormented Huge Dirty Bear (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning, 2006), there's The Bisexual Psychological Torture + Betrayal Chamber (Saw, 2004), there's Dysfunctional Gay Marriage Disputes (Re-Animator, 1985, Bride of Re-Animator, 1990). And way more other ones than I can really list. Expand your horizons.

------

Not much. It's a bit mysterious. Here's what Aranea had to say about Mituna in general, which gives us most of the crumbs we have:

The Heir of Doom was once a powerful psionic. He had much to say when it came to warning us a8out the path of doom and destruction we were all headed for, 8ut no one took him very seriously. 8ut one day he lost all those abilities when he 8adly overexerted himself. It's hard to get any specifics from him, 8ut indications are that he applied every last 8it of energy he had toward some great act of heroism, saving us all from some looming threat. Not only did his exertion permanently 8urn out his psychic a8ilities, 8ut it left him somewhat... er. Incoherent. The entire incident is shrouded in mystery. From his limited and scattered accounts of what happened, it seems very likely that Kurloz was with him at the time, as the only eye witness. And of course it's impossi8le to get any relia8le information out of him. I guess we may never know, sadly.

This does say quite a lot, but not really anything specific. We've got some stuff about how he's the session's Cassandra, the fact that the GAoH was NOT an accident (this is the misconception that pisses me off the most, I think - I hate when people call it an accident), the fact that he was protecting everyone from something... The fact that he DOES remember it, the fact that Kurloz was there, as the only eye witness, and refuses to talk about it.

It leaves plenty of room for speculation. A little too much room for me, honestly, but that's fine, I'm not really pressed about it.

------

90 notes · View notes

pedroshotwifey · 1 year ago

Text

Joel Fucking Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader (Can be pictured as either HBO or Video Game version)

Word Count: 8.1k

Tags/Warnings: NO use of Y/N, Smut with a lil garnish of angst, kinda mean Joel, Borderline Dark!Joel, but consent is given at a point, one singular spank, rough piv sex, exhibition kink, slight humiliation/degradation, possessive behavior, enemies to lovers-ish?, reader is a menace but we love her, spit kink, anal play, this is pure filth and I'm not sorry

Summary: You and Joel Miller have been sworn enemies from the very start, both of you at each other’s other's throats since the first glance. What he can't know is that you have been harboring a stubborn crush on him this whole time---It’s not until he has you up against a wall that you realize he feels the same way.

A/N: Now that I have all of my one-shots posted, I'm going to start posting my ongoing stories as well as some new works. I'm almost finished with the Frankie Sex Pollen fic so that will be posted sometime this week. I will also be working on creating both a masterlist and a recommendation list, so hopefully that should be done soon too. Thanks for reading!

***

Today has been a shitty fucking day—no pun intended.

Not to say every day isn’t shitty here in the QZ, but this one really takes the cake. To start your fabulous day, you woke up an hour late, making you one of the last people in line to pick up jobs. When you got to the assigning station, you found that you had been left with two options for the week: janitorial service at one of the mess halls, and sewer duty—where you literally have to shovel shit. The only card left for the mess hall was an all-day shift. You took them both.

That's why you find yourself here now, below the city, finishing up sewer duty, covered head to toe in stench and sweat even though it’s the middle of winter. You’re pretty sure you are the last one down here; it’s been a while since you saw or heard anyone else. You aren’t surprised. You’re used to being the only one who cares enough to actually finish whatever job you were tasked with that day, no matter how repulsive it may be.

You don't take pride in much, but you are willing to admit that you admire that quality about yourself. You are a damn hard worker and you aren’t afraid to show it. You have no idea where it stems from, maybe your stubbornness, or possibly your inner perfectionist. Whatever it is, you find yourself often wishing that more people would have the same mindset. God knows it would make your life easier at the very least. In the time you have spent in the Boston QZ, you have only had the pleasure—or maybe you should say displeasure—of meeting one other like-minded person.

You became acquainted with Joel Miller within the first day of being in the QZ, which was about three years ago now. The first glance you got of him was as you were being hauled through the gates, lucky enough to have not been shot on the spot when a couple of FEDRA officers caught you hiding out in the woods. Your eyes met his before they met anyone else's, and he’d held your gaze, his expression anything but welcome, as if he were trying to evaluate you with one look.

By the looks of it, he had to be at least a couple of decades older than you, but that didn’t stop the heat that started to simmer between your legs at the first glance you got of him. When his eyes didn't leave yours, you took it as a challenge and forced yourself to keep your gaze on him until he was completely out of sight. You knew what you were doing, and so did he, both of you deciding on the spot that you would be enemies until one of you either died or left.

Sure, you knew that it probably wasn't the best idea to piss people off before you made any allies, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. From the first second you saw that man, you knew that one way or the other—one of them being a heated feeling you chose to ignore—he would be trouble. As per usual, you were right. If you didn't know any better, you would have said that he was dead-set on following you around, bumping into you at almost every job you took. At first, you had been convinced that he had been doing just that.

The first couple of times it happened you considered it some stupid coincidence, some twisted kind of unluckiness. Granted, it wasn't every time, but it was more often than not, and that was more than enough for you. By the fifth or sixth time out of ten, you waited until the very end of the shift, until it was only Joel and yourself left working. You kept a close eye on him, and as soon as he started wrapping up, you cornered him. That had been the first time that you had ever actually spoken to each other instead of tossing nasty glances back and forth.

You had immediately gone to work with your rushed interrogation, demanding him to tell you why he was following you, to tell you what his problem was. The most frustrating part of the whole ordeal was the way he had sat back, leaning on one leg with his arms crossed, his expression bored as he waited for you to finish. He said nothing until he was positive that you had nothing more to say.

“I ain't followin’ you, kid,'' he had said, his voice deep and more pleasant than you would have liked it to be. His tone was hard, as you had expected it would be, but the tangy southern drawl and depth of his voice took you off guard, an unwelcome heat suddenly forming between your legs—which only pissed you off more.

The stone-cold look in his too-pretty eyes only worsened the feeling, and suddenly you found that you weren't able to speak; you didn't even know what you had come up to say at this point. “Don’t fuckin’ bother me again,” he muttered and pushed past you before you could realize you had been staring.

***

“You just gonna fuckin’ stand there all day?” A much too familiar voice pulls you out of your thoughts and back into reality. Speak of the fucking devil.

“Just finishing up, Miller,” you spit, not bothering to look in his direction. You can hear him start to walk up to you but you ignore it, opting instead to actually finish what you had been doing. It only takes a few more seconds, and by that time, you can practically feel Joel staring a hole into your back, no more than a few feet behind you now.

He doesn't move, so you continue to ignore him and start walking to the ladder so you can get out of this literal shit hole. You only make it a few steps before you realize that he is moving with you, following at the same distance he had stopped at before. Your jaw ticks as you spin around on your heel, so suddenly that Joel almost knocks into you.

“Is there something I can help you with?” you ask him as sweetly as you can manage, the fire in your eyes contradicting your tone. His own eyes narrow as he takes a step back, crossing his arms in his usual fashion.

“Maybe you should learn how to help yourself first before you go offerin’ it to other people, princess.” He says the name as an insult, and you have to bare your teeth to keep your composure.

“What the fuck is that even supposed to mean, old man?” You ask him, taking a step toward him. He doesn't back away this time, instead taking a step toward you in reciprocation. The two of you lock gazes and stare at each other for what could have been ten seconds or ten days before Joel breaks the trance and shoves past you instead of answering.

You just stand there and let him climb the ladder to the street above you. You can see right through him, the asshole wants a reaction, and you're not going to grant him that satisfaction—not this time anyway.

You wait for a few minutes until you can be sure that he's long gone before you grit your teeth and turn on your heel, walking to the ladder and hoisting yourself up. As you reach the surface you catch a whiff of yourself and scrunch your nose. You need a fucking shower.

***

The next day, you wake up in a sour mood, already dreading today's job—janitorial services. At least it's not scooping shit this time. You’re the first one there, as per usual. The hall is a mess after breakfast and you take a deep breath as you think about the fact that even after you scrub it spotless, it will be trashed again by the end of lunch and then again after dinner.

To top it all off, it's ridiculously cold in the room, the fire lit in the back of it not doing much to increase the temperature. You look down at your white cotton t-shirt under your flannel and find yourself wishing you had put a thicker undershirt on.

There aren't many people working with you on the first shift, only the usual other three this morning, not that you're complaining of course, it just means fewer people to get in your way. You keep your eyes to yourself most of the time, only looking at someone if they address you to ask for help or to comment on something. Before you know it, lunch has come and gone and you are preparing for dinner.

You notice halfway through that time that your friend is working the second shift, and she approaches you so you can work together for the rest of the time, though she only has the after-lunch shift. Rachel is a hard worker for the most part, though she likes to slack off a lot, but you appreciate the help while you have it. The two of you gossip and joke quietly until it's time for her to leave and time for you to sit back and wait for the dinner crowd to flood in.

***

It feels like a week has passed by the time the last person clears out after dinner, and you breathe a sigh of relief—you’re so close to getting back to your apartment and into your welcoming bed. You immediately get to work on sweeping up the trash that collected underneath the tables, eager to get out of here.

There are only two other people working with you this shift, which is weird because FEDRA usually has at least four people on each job, but you brush it off. They seemed to know each other and they blab amongst themselves as they work. At least the couple seemed like they were in the same mindset when it came to getting this job done, so you didn’t mind the fact that you are missing a crew member.

Halfway through your sweeping, you hear the door slam open, startling you and the couple that is now busy with taking leftover dishes into the kitchen. The chill that sweeps through the large room makes you assume it was just a gust of wind, probably blowing snow into the doorway.

Great, something else to clean, you think as you huff an annoyed breath.

When you turn to face the sound though, you find yourself wishing that the problem had been snow, but of course, when did anything ever go your way? The supposed gust of wind is actually Joel fucking Miller.

Your mood immediately sours and you have to fight not to roll your eyes as you watch him slink into the room and follow the couple into the kitchen. You hear the girl inform him that he was late—as if he didn’t know, or care for that matter. He only grunts in response. You don’t bother to stop your eyes from rolling to the back of your head. If Joel sees it, he doesn't say anything.

***

An hour later, Joel hasn’t bothered you, much to your relief. The only time you have to look up from your work is when the couple from earlier bids you farewell before they walk out the door. There is nothing left to do but scrub the tables, which you are doing now.

You only have two to go, and then you’re free for the rest of the night. Now that you're the only one left, the room is almost eerily silent, the only sound being the drip of water as you dip your sponge into the bucket and wring it out. After the table you are working on is thoroughly cleaned, you move on to the last one. It sits right next to the busted window, and you shiver as you walk past it.

“Cold, sweetheart?” The baritone voice sounding from behind you just about causes you to jump out of your skin, the bucket of water in your grasp suddenly spilling over your front. Of course, it was a huge fucking bucket, so it was enough water to coat almost your entire body.

The white t-shirt you have on under your thick flannel is soaked through so that it’s practically transparent. Dropping the now empty tub to the floor with a loud clang, you swivel on your heel to face Joel, who is leaning against the wall to his right, arms crossed.

If he sees the fire in your eyes, he ignores it as he smirks at you, obviously humored by your reaction—and likely by the fact that he can see your bra. Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly, every expletive or reprimand that comes to mind doesn’t seem to cover what you want to say.

As you stand there soaked in dirty, soapy water, you find that you can do nothing but stare. Your gaze is stuck on the man still standing in front of you, not a twinge of empathy in his own, which he has trained on you in return. You have no idea how long the two of you stay rooted to the same spots, staring each other down, but it must have been at least a few minutes because you can feel your body start to involuntarily shiver as your drenched form begins to freeze.

Of fucking course you had to have been standing right next to the broken, half-assed boarded-up window, and not by the fire that still rages into the chimney on the other side of the room.

The cool air sweeping in seems to trap you in its frigid grasp, threatening to turn the grayish liquid that covers you into ice. You can't help it as you finally move, bringing your arms up to cross over your chest in a feeble attempt to warm your rapidly cooling body and cover your exposed undergarment. You flinch as your arm presses the freezing fabric closer to your skin.

The action seems to break the invisible spell that had set over the two of you because Joel takes that as his queue to take a step back off the wall and lift his chin. The movement makes him look bigger and you have to lift your own to look into his eyes again. You can only hope he sees the fury that burns on your own. If looks could kill, he would be dead on the floor right now.

“You’re fucking joking,” you are the first to break the silence. The quiver in your voice would be embarrassing if not for the fact that it was placed there out of anger. The asshole who put it there must know it too because you can see the way he swallows as if trying to rid himself of his guilt, though if that’s what he is feeling, he doesn’t show it any other way.

You can expect that the action will be the only sign of such a thing—if Joel Miller doesn't want to feel a certain way, he doesn’t, simple as that. You have never once met a man more rude, nor stubborn as the one currently in front of you.

“Didn’t realize I was bein’ funny,” he says, straight-faced with that stupid southern drawl that you have come to despise. You don’t reply as you continue to stare daggers at him, and you can't tell what’s making you shake more at this point—the layer of fucking ice about to coat your body, or the unmatched rage that brews in your mind.

Right now, you would place your bets on the rage, considering it’s actually starting to warm you up. The sight of Joel, arms crossed to mimic your own, still staring down at you like he's some fucking god, only fuels the feeling. Sighing quietly, your eyes shut as you try to calm yourself down before you say something you would really regret. It only takes a few seconds until you speak again, which might not have been long enough, truthfully speaking.

“That was pretty fucking shitty, even for you, Miller.” You manage to get the sentence out through gritted teeth, but it sounds strained. Anyone would agree that it sounds like you are trying your best to contain yourself, though it’s obviously a task you are struggling with. He says nothing, and his body gives nothing away, so you speak again. He knew exactly what was going to happen if he snuck up on you like that, and he probably didn’t even give it a second thought.

“I mean really, how fucking immature can you be? You really thought scaring me while I was holding a tub of dirty water was the best way to get my attention?” Your mouth starts to let words out before you can even think about what threatens to escape, and there is nothing you can really do but allow it to happen.

Your lips are moving far too quickly for your brain to comprehend at this point, your anger completely taking over. As hard as it can be to hold yourself back from an argument sometimes, you always managed—but this was the last fucking straw.

“And why the fuck are you even here? You obviously don’t have anything left to do.” Your voice is quickly raising but you doubt you could do anything about that even if you wanted to right now. Of course, it doesn’t matter how loud you get, you could probably scream right in his face, it never seems to affect him.

“Seemed lonely,” he says simply, shrugging and shifting off of the wall. He looks at your bewildered expression and decides it would somehow make it better if he elaborated, though you both know that he only does it to dig further under your skin.

“Never got anyone around, s’ all. Too fuckin’ stubborn n’ self-absorbed to make any friends.” His tone is condescending and nonchalant at the same time, like he is both stating a fact and trying to beat you down. You continue to stare at him as he finishes. This is a whole new level, one you wouldn’t even have assumed Joel would ever jump to.

You’ll admit it, he’s managed to find one of your most delicate insecurities, and he knows it, too. Even before the outbreak, you always had trouble making friends, your anxiety and general mistrust always got in the way. Every time you thought you were getting close to someone, you would push them away. It was your biggest fear, being betrayed by someone close to you—a worse fear, you decided, than being alone.

To this day, you have only ever let one person really get to know you. When you met Rachel during your first week in the QZ, she showed you a sort of open kindness that let you know she was a good one. You knew then, and you know now, that she would never do anything to hurt you in any way.

In the time that you've gotten to know her, she’s become the best friend you’ve ever had, and the only one you wanted. But she is only one person after all, and she can’t spend all of her time with you, so you find yourself on your own most of the time—and of course, Joel Miller, of all people, would pick up on it.

“You are such an asshole, Joel,” you spew out after a moment. “And you have the audacity to call me lonely?” You can't help the tears that start to blur your vision, so you ignore them as you continue to rant, your hands now flying wildly. The pit of insecurity in your stomach is starting to grow to the point where you feel like it will swallow you whole.

“You act like you’re so much fucking better than me! Who do you have?” Through your watering eyes, you can see the way Joel flinches slightly, and as much as it pleases you that you seem to have finally found a soft spot, it also eggs you on. You recognize it and think to yourself that he's a fucking idiot for pointing out the fact that you don’t have anyone in your corner when he has the same exact problem.

“Huh? You say I'm alone, and maybe I am, but I’ve never seen you with anybody.” Your vision starts to clear as you feel hot tears begin to streak down your already-soaked cheeks, allowing you to see the deep scowl set on Joel's face. It almost scares you how mad he looks, but it's too late to back down now.

You stare at him for a moment, waiting for him to say something, but it never comes. His silence only encourages you, and you know you probably seem immature as you continue to insult him, but it gets pushed to the back of your mind as you quickly realize it’s the least of your worries right now. Your tears are streaming freely at this point, your breaking point finally has been reached. The words are coming out faster than you care to stop them.

“You have no fucking friends, Joel,” you spit out. That one definitely struck a nerve, and you watch as he takes a step towards you, his face giving you a warning expression as if he already knows what you are going to say next. You know his history, and you know it's a bad idea, you know it is, but you say it anyway.

“You have no friends…” You pause, your brain subconsciously trying to talk you out of what you’re about to do. Of course, you don't listen. “...and you have no fucking famil-” you get cut off as Joels hand makes contact with your throat, his grip crushing your windpipe as he pushes you back until you hit the wall and lifts you onto your toes so you are looking into his rage-filled eyes.

He says nothing for a moment as he lets you struggle in his firm grasp, watching you writhe and try to gulp in air. The panic that courses through your body is almost paralyzing, sending a hot flash throughout your entire body as your brain catches up with what's happening.

You find yourself panicking even more when you realize that fear isn’t the only thing your senses seem to be overwhelmed with as his hand tightens around your neck. The wetness beginning to gather in your panties is suddenly the biggest problem you are faced with, an unwelcome feeling or arousal suddenly making itself known.

Everything seems to be happening in slow motion as you feel your hands start to claw at the one wrapped around your neck, no doubt leaving raised scratch marks across his wrist. The man doesn't wince or falter though, as you struggle to try to pry his hand away. You can feel your mouth opening and closing, though you’re unsure of what you are trying to say. You suspect it's something along the lines of “Please”, but no sound comes out.

Eventually, after you realize that nothing is going to come from your struggle, you let your body fall limp, the only movement left is the tears that still crawl tauntingly down your cheeks. Though some of them may still be from the anger that had overcome you before you felt his large palm on your throat, most of them are now evidence of your shame.

Logically, you reason that there is no way for him to know what kind of response his aggressive actions pulled from you, but you can't help but feel like somehow, he can see right through you.

Upon seeing you submit, Joel lifts you more until you are close enough to feel his hot breath fan across your face. He loosens his grip enough so that you are allowed to catch a breath, but not enough for you to fall away from him. He starts to lower his arm, letting your feet hit the ground, but he leans his body down with your own so that his face stays less than an inch away from your own the entire time.

You know that realistically, he only had you in the air for a few seconds, but it felt like an hour with the fear—and unexpected lust—that was coursing through your veins. Though you are still trembling with the silent threat he delivered, you seem to be able to calm down a little as his hand loosens and slides around to the back of your neck, only holding you in place.

You stare into his eyes because you have nowhere else to look, and are almost surprised to see the array of emotions on display. You see anger, impatience, annoyance, a hint of restraint, but the one that seems to dominate them all is the one that takes you aback the most. You see in his eyes, what must be a reflection of your own.

Your mouth drops open again as you begin to place the look of longing and desire that burns in Joel's gaze as he stares you down, his mouth just centimeters from your own. You take a chance and allow yourself to look down at the way his lips almost brush yours, his own mouth parted as you both try to calm your ragged breathing.

You have no idea why you suddenly feel this way—well, you do, you just refuse to admit it. You hate his fucking guts because he is the only man that has made you feel something since before the outbreak. Every time you look at him, it is evidence that you are still capable of letting your guard down, that you are still weak.

You promised yourself the first time you understood what the potential problem with Joel Miller could be, that you wouldn’t allow it to become one. But this god-damned man makes it so fucking hard to keep that in check when he is staring at you like he wants to ruin you.

You feel his hand tighten around you again, and you snap your eyes back up to his, suddenly blushing as you realize that you have been staring at his lips for far too long. For once, you are at a loss for words, you have no idea what to say that might save your ass from looking like you had been doing exactly what you had. Thankfully, you don't have to wonder for long because Joel cuts right back to the chase, seemingly shaking himself out of his own thoughts as he speaks again.

“You want to try that again, little girl?” Fuck. How the fuck are you supposed to ignore the pit forming in your stomach when he says shit like that? You are too caught up in thinking of a response to answer him immediately, and he clearly doesn’t appreciate that as he shifts his position, pushing you back further into the wall behind you.

When he moves, you realize that one of his legs is slotted between your own, and your eyes widen as you feel how close his thigh is to your center—one little movement and you will give yourself away. You must be dripping at this point, and if he's not close enough to feel the heat coming off your cunt from where he stands right now, he will be if he moves any closer.

Steeling yourself, you opt not to speak as you bring your hands back up to grasp at his wrist again. Joel watches as you struggle to get a grip before he growls and uses his free hand to grab both of yours and place them on the wall above your head. Your eyes somehow widen even more and you want to shrivel up into a ball as you feel the blood rush to your cheeks.

You need to move now. You can't let this man see what he does to you, the way your body reacts to the way he so easily dominates you. You know that you have no time to plan anything out, so you do the first thing that comes to mind—you try to tug your hands out of his grip and you lunge to the side.

You’re not sure why you even attempt it, you know that it won't get you anywhere, but you do it anyway. Of course, he overpowers you once again, and nothing changes but his grip, both of his hands tightening as he leans in even closer to you. The new position causes his thigh to crush into your throbbing clit, and before you can stop it, a whimper breaks through your lips.

Nothing is said for a moment as you stare at Joel with shame, and him at you with a newfound amusement. You can feel yourself melting on the spot, and you let your head hang in humiliation, your eyes trained on the ground next to Joel, who is now smirking as he stares back at you. You feel his thigh crush into you again, deliberately this time, and you have to bite your lip and close your eyes in concentration so as to not give away any more sounds.

You hear Joel chuckle darkly above you, and the sound goes straight to your pussy. How are you supposed to resist this man when he sounds like that, when the rough denim of his jeans is rubbing you in all the right places as he begins to rock his thigh back and forth, making you bite your lip even harder. The hand on your neck suddenly releases its grip and you feel his thumb come to your mouth, tugging your bottom lip until it falls away from the punishing bite of your teeth.

“C’mon now, princess,” you hear Joel speak again and you can't help but moan softly as he sets his hand on your hip, starting to guide you across his firm thigh.

“You’ve given yourself away now, you ain’t gonna get outta this one.” His tone is taunting as he presses down on your hip, bringing you down harder against him.

The pressure on your clit is almost overwhelming with pleasure, and you find yourself moving on your own, beginning to chase the orgasm that has suddenly come within your grasp. You can’t help it with the way your wet jeans rub you just right and the firmness of his thigh is just enough to push the seam of them onto all the right places.

“F-fuck you, Miller,” you say, opening your eyes and bringing your head back up to look into his eyes, hoping the anger is apparent in yours. He stares at you for a moment before he speaks again.

“Yeah, I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he moves his hand down to where your cunt meets his thigh, and places his thumb right on your clit, rubbing quick circles. The touch is all you need to send you over the edge, becoming a moaning mess under Joel’s body. He’s right of course, you want him to fucking ruin you. God, you hate it when he’s right.

He continues the circles on your clit as you come down from your high, riding you through it. When you are finally able to catch your breath, you look him in the eye to find him staring right back at you. His gaze is intense and full of want.

“You want me to quit, darlin?” You can tell by the way he says it, that he asks genuinely. He would stop if you said the word. As much as you want to hate him, you know that he is respectful enough that he wouldn’t do anything to that effect without your consent.

Joel may be an asshole, but he would never put his hands on a woman in that sense if she showed any sign of resistance. Though he didn’t seem to have a problem with wrapping his palm around your throat.

“I can give you more, all you have to do is ask,” Joel says after you don't answer him. His gaze is hungry as he waits for your consent, his eyes slowly tracing up and down your body, taking you in. When he looks back to your face, you nod slowly, watching as his already blown-out pupils seem to take over his irises.

“I'm gonna need to hear you say it, darlin,” he says as he brings his chin up to the side of your head, nibbling your earlobe and making you shiver.

“P-please, Joel,” you say, giving up the act. You know you want him, he knows you want him, and now you know he wants you, too.

“I need you, please.” At your signal, he doesn't wait any longer as he starts to pull you away from the wall, his free hand traveling back to the back of your neck, the other still grasping your wrists. Before you can figure out where he’s moving you to, your chest slams onto one of the tables, the force almost enough to knock the wind out of you. You had expected him to be rough, but not this rough… not that you mind. He’s clearly done with being gentle with you now that he has free reign.

“Jesus, Joel,” you say, throwing him a look over your shoulder as much as you can with your neck still being pinned down.

“You fucking mind?” You hear Joel chuckle behind you and feel him step closer to you, pressing himself against your ass and leaning over so that his chest is flush with your back.

“Nope, not at all.” His breath tickles your ear as he whispers into it.

“Now I'd be quiet if I were you, girl,” he tells you, his tone almost threatening. “Unless you want to wake the whole town, of course, cause now that I’ve started, I ain't gonna stop.” Your eyes widen and a whimper falls from your lips as he finishes his threat and pushes his top half off of you.

“Maybe you’d like that, huh, little girl?” he pauses his sentence to rip your pants and panties down in one fluid motion, making you cry out.

“Let the whole town watch me fuck you, show everyone who you belong to, who this cunt belongs to.” He knows you too fucking well, knows that you’re thinking about it now, salivating over the thought of someone walking in on you like this, your pants around your ankles, him, balls deep inside of you, taking what he wants.

“Dirty little girl, out here whorin’ herself out to me so quick. Slut’s just damn desperate for some good fuckin’ cock.”

You hear a sharp zip from somewhere behind you and you struggle out of instinct, pushing up on the hand holding you down. He ignores your protest and slams himself into you, sheathing himself in one fluid motion, giving you no warm-up or time to adjust.

You expected him to be big, but you weren't expecting this. He's fucking huge, stretching you out and reaching depths you didn't even know existed. You scream out at the sudden burning intrusion and Joel moves the hand that isn't on your neck to your mouth, silencing you halfway through the outburst.

The tears that fall from your eyes catch on the palm of his hand as he brings his cock almost all the way out before slamming himself back in, setting a brutal pace.

“Tha’s alright baby, Ima take good care of you,” Joel assures you through gritted teeth. “Make you feel real good creamin’ all over my fat cock.”

Your fingernails scrape the surface of the table once he releases your hands, scrambling for purchase as Joel slams into you without remorse. You’re almost surprised at how quickly you feel the knot in your stomach start to build back up, the pain promptly turning to pleasure as Joel brutally shoves his cock into your already-sore pussy.

The sounds of Joel's grunts, your muffled sobs, and the squelching of your cunt quickly fill the room, you would be embarrassed if you weren’t so cock-drunk on Joel. Right now, the only thing you can focus on is the way the head of his dick slams into your G-spot with every harsh thrust.

The way his dick drags against your walls makes you clench with every swift pass. That combined with the way his hips slap against your ass might just be the best thing you’ve ever felt.

Your body begins to go slack, your stomach and chest pressing harder into the table, you barely even register Joel's hand being removed from your mouth until you hear your unfiltered moans break through.

“Jus’ wait one second, darlin,” Joel's voice is strained as he talks. You try to nod back at him but find that it's a bit hard when your bones have melted. His pace never falters as he reaches down to where he pulled his pants down just enough to free his thick cock and heavy balls.

When his hand finds the open buckle of his belt, he tugs it through the loops and uses the edge of the table to fold it once before bringing it to your lips, pushing it toward you until you bite down on it.

He tells you something, by his tone it sounded like a command, but you can’t seem to make out the request. If you weren’t drooling before, you certainly are now with the taste of leather on your tongue. Joel smirks to himself as your moans quiet down with the help of the belt.

“There ya go, such a good girl holdin’ on t’ that for me,” he runs his fingers through your hair as you keen at his praise. He can feel your cunt tighten around him as your second orgasm approaches once again and he has to steel himself so as not to come right then and there like some teenager. Instead, he brings his hand down to touch your clit again, not with his thumb, but with his middle three fingers, rubbing up and down, immediately setting a furious pace.

The new sensation combined with the pistoning of his hips pushes you over the edge and you have to bite down on the belt so you don't scream as you receive the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had. It's like nothing you’ve ever felt before, the white-hot pleasure almost blinding you, and the force of it almost pushing him out of your cunt.

You sob as you listen to Joel talk you through it, telling you how good you're doing for him, how you were made for him to stuff his cock into. His pace never falters as you gush around him, but he does push himself further into you so as to not be forced out of you.

The strength of his thrust is enough to surge you forward, the table screeching on the concrete floor below you as it too is moved forward slightly. After you come down completely from your high, he grasps your hands and tugs them behind your back for leverage, fucking down into you to chase his own pleasure.

“Goddamn, darlin, tight, young, little cunt, squeezin’ the fuckin’ life outta me.” His dirty words are almost humiliating as he throws them out, but you love every moment of it, the way you clench around his cock giving you away quickly.

“Oh, you like that, little slut?” he almost sounds surprised as he continues rambling.

“Filthy little thing, lettin’ some old man stuff his cock into your sweet little pussy. ‘F you didn’t take dick so good I would think you’d be a damn virgin.” You whine beneath him as much as you can with the leather between your teeth, a shameless request for him to keep talking.

“Yeah, you like that, huh, little girl?” He grants your wish, spewing more filthy comments every few thrusts. “Like bein’ told what a f-fuckin’ whore you are f’ me?” You keep, drooling on the belt trapped between your teeth.

Suddenly, you feel the large hand that was pinning your neck disappear, only to reappear on your ass, making your eyes widen as Joel quickly slides to your other hole, his thumb right above the tight ring of muscle.

Usually, you would want to struggle, but for some reason, the thought of Joel taking you there is something you find yourself wanting. He feels you squeeze around him again and he chuckles at your desperation.

“Now, you’re just full of surprises, ain't ya, princess?” He says, his voice even more strangled than it was before. It almost sounds like it should be painful for him to talk. He stops talking for a moment to allow his saliva to drip down and slide down your ass crack.

“You’d let me fuck you here, wouldn't you, little girl?” Fuck this man, you both know the answer to that.

“Put my dick in this pretty little ass?” When you don't object, you feel him spit on top of his thumb again before pushing it into you.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and your toes curl as he slides his thumb into you until he can’t anymore. The intrusion triggers your third orgasm, your body melting into the table as you press back into him. It’s less intense than the first two, but you are still fully consumed by the waves of pleasure that wash over you.

If you had been standing, you would have fallen to your knees. You’ve never felt so full in your life, the feeling almost overwhelming as he leans on top of you again, continuing to whisper filth into your ear. You can tell he’s getting close by the way he lets go of your wrists and tangles his fingers into your hair, slamming himself somehow even deeper inside of you.

“Tell me who these fuckin’ holes belong to, princess,” he spews out through gritted teeth, pulling the belt away from your mouth and throwing it somewhere off to the side.

“Who makes you feel good, makes these little holes feel good?” When you don't answer immediately, your unleashed moans and whimpers making it almost impossible, he uses the hand that’s not fingering your ass to deliver a sharp slap to your left cheek.

“Fuck, fuck Joel it’s you,” you practically sob as you tell him what he wants to hear, what you want him to hear.

“T-these holes are yours Joel, you make them feel so good, they belong to you, all yours,” you cry out frantically. Satisfied with your response, he rubs over the red spot on your skin before returning his hand to your neck.

“That's right,” he praises you softly and you soak up every word. “Such a good fuckin’ girl, knowin’ who she belongs to.” He thrusts into you half a dozen more times before his pace finally starts to falter.

“W-where do you want me, sweet thing?” As he asks you, all you can think is “fuck this man for being respectful with shit like that.” If he hadn’t asked, you probably would have shoved him away, but instead, you make another stupid decision—why the fuck not at this point?

“I-inside, Joel, inside me, oh my god, fucking c-come inside me,” you’re only slightly aware of how desperate you sound as you beg for his cum, but again, you can’t seem to find it in you to care. You let your cheek rest on the cool surface of the table and close your eyes, too exhausted to hold yourself up any longer.

You hear Joel groan and start to say something above you, but he cuts himself off as he releases inside you with a strangled moan, almost like he is biting down on his lip so as not to shout.

A stream of curses laced with your name spills from his lips as he twitches and pulses inside you. The feeling of his hot cum spilling into you is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. It seems like forever before he stills, practically collapsing on top of you, his cum dripping around his softening cock and down your thighs.

Despite his weight on top of you, you think you could probably manage to fall asleep there. Your body has never felt so spent and tired, every muscle sore in one way or another. Joel waits only a minute before lifting himself off of you, and you attempt to lift your head to follow his movement, only for your cheek to be gently pressed back onto the table by his palm.

“Jus' hold on a second, princess.” His tone is softer than you’ve ever heard it, and it makes your heart warm, but you can't resist the perfect opportunity to tease him as it presents itself.

“You’re happier after you get your dick wet,” you say with a small smile as you follow his request, letting your eyes close as you bask in the feeling of euphoria that’s taken over your body.

At your snippy comment, you expect him to scold you, or maybe to swat your behind, which is still presented for him. What you don’t expect is to feel his tongue on your spent cunt. Your body jolts and your eyes snap open at the unexpected feeling, your reflexes causing you to try to sit up again, only to be pushed down by Joel’s hand on your lower back.

“I said to wait a second, darlin’,” he says as he pulls away from you, his tone more stern now. He waits until you nod your head to return to your pussy, dipping into your hole and lapping up your mixed release. You shudder as his tongue grazes your overstimulated clit, but do your best to hold still for him.

After he seems to have gotten his fill, you feel him pull away again and stand up to lean over you. His hand suddenly grabs your chin, making you twist your neck slightly so that you are looking up at him. He keeps his mouth shut as he brings it to his own before squeezing your cheeks, making you open your lips, and drops his jaw open.

You gasp as you feel the combination of his spit and your cum mixed with his own slowly spill onto your tongue. He keeps his eyes open and locked onto yours as he keeps your lips together and lets the liquid drip into your mouth. When he pulls away, he replaces his lips with his hand, forcing your mouth shut.

“Swallow,” he commands. You obey without a second thought and let the substance slip down your throat. He smiles when he's sure you’re done and moves his hand, motioning for you to open up. You do, and he smirks as he sees every drop gone.

“Good girl,” he mutters as he lays back down on top of you, and you let your body rest on the table again, enjoying the feel of his body on top of yours. As the two of you stay there, catching your breath, you feel Joel's chest start to vibrate against your back in silent laughter. You furrow your brows and attempt to stand and roll him off you, but only succeed in the latter, your legs failing as if they were made of jello.

Joel stands back and tucks himself back into his jeans as you slump back down on the table, temporarily accepting defeat. You see him take a seat in the chair next to you out of the corner of your eye, his chest still rattling the slightest bit.

“What the fuck do you find so funny, bastard?” You slur your words, your tone is a lot less fierce than you had wanted it to be. He looks at you before answering, and you feel your both heart and your cunt clench at the almost adoring look in his eyes as he meets your gaze. Maybe the asshole will try to be decent for a moment, his expression promising.

“Looks like your gonna have t’ scrub this table again, princess,” he says, his tone toeing the line of playful. You feel your lips tug up into a smile as you recognize the fact that this is probably Joel being friendly. Or at the very least, he’s not at your throat at the moment—in a bad way anyway—so you’ll take it. Upon seeing your smile, he sits back further and allows himself a small smile of his own as he continues to watch you sink into the polished wood beneath you.

“Fuck you, Miller,” you say. You erupt into a quiet yet delirious fit of exhausted giggles, Joel following soon after with his own gentle chuckle.

“Might have t’ give me a second for that, princess.”

*****

Pt. 2 here

#joel miller #fan fiction #pedro pascal #ao3 #smut #pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #bless this mess #the last of us #tlou #we likey?#exhibition kink #enemies to lovers #dark!joel miller

344 notes · View notes

brucewaynehater101 · 7 months ago

Note

i've been chewing over the tcf!tim au a lot these past few days and this is what my brain came up with: 1. jack and janet aren't really present in tim's life- not out of choice, but out of necessity: see tim had been affected with a curse (similar to that on the tcf protagonist) that made it so that he would eventually lose anything precious to him

2. after they find out, jack and janet decide to physically distance themselves from him (though they can't bring themselves to do so emotionally) while at the same time going on archaelogical trips in hopes to find a way to solve the curse. this way they would hopefully live long enough for tim to be old enough to take care of himself before the curse took them away from him

3. in the meantime, they plopped him in gotham to hopefully slow down / weaken the curse (due to how cursed the city already is, it probably acts like fighting fire with fire or poison with poison, also you can't convince me that as rich as they were they wouldn't have chosen to settle down in any other city if they had other options) and hire a revolving door of nannies (the good ones tim gets attached to often experience unfortunate circumstances that made them have to leave their post, while the bad ones get found out and fired by his parents)

4. tim still gets attached to dick at the circus (and then dick's parents died, and tim lost dick's smile that he liked)

5. tim gets attached to batman and robin -> dick and bruce fight and the og dynamic duo fall apart

6. tim gets attached to jason -> jason gets murdered

7. tim pulls batman out of his spiral and ironically, bruce's prickliness delayed tim getting attached to him, which meant he got to stick around (until he got better, then he ended up being yeeted through time)

8. that whole lead-up to brucequest where he lost a whole bunch of loved ones in quick succession? yeah, the curses of gotham are struggling against his (quantity vs quality)

i just think this idea is neat. and tim's guilt would be growing out of control once he finds out about the curse (why didn't anyone else notice before? because everyone assumed gotham folks are just cursed in general)

it also means he gets a fun (angsty) new motivation to avoid his family post-regression: he doesn't know if the curse is still active and would target them, so he plays the asshole to ward them off so that nothing worse would happen

Well, fuck.

I do love the Good!Parents Jack and Janet in this. It's a bit hard to make Jack or Janet decent parents to Tim while also affording him the independency his character typically has.

The curse is a cool addition to the tcf!Tim au that adds more reason to Tim being an asshole. Him not knowing if he's cursed or not is a great angst plot point, especially because it would be very easy for him to find out. He knows countless magic people that could tell him. Constantine would do it quietly for a quick buck. If Tim continues to not know despite his ability to, that's because he simply didn't want to find out. Dealer's choice on whether that's because he was scared or he wanted an excuse to self-destruct (i.e. cut himself off from his support groups).

The real shitty part about curses that seem like bad luck (or that cause bad luck) is that you can't be sure what is the curse and what is life being shit. Tim will probably blame himself for every horrid thing that has happened to someone after he entered their life.

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #thank you for the ask!!!!

49 notes · View notes

somethingsomethingwords · 8 months ago

Text

Hello y'all. Here's another little thing I wrote. This time it's just dialogue, because why not ig. Lance is not kind to himself in this one, but that's what Fernando is there to do. Enjoy 💜.

"You know I like you, right?"

"... What?"

"You know I like you, right?"

"I mean, I surely hope so after what we have done tonight"

"No, what we do is great, but I like you"

"I'm... really not following"

"Lance, you're not just a pretty face or a bed warmer, you are more to me, yes?"

"Oh, I didn't think..."

"Why, because am the bad guy? Just using the innocent boy?"

"Ok, first of all calm down, I'm anything but innocent. Second, I know how I am. I didn't think anyone would like me"

"Lance, what are you saying?"

"I mean, I have Esteban and Mick, and I have friends, but I never thought you would like me"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Mhhhh, because I'm the spoiler kid who you are literally paid to endure?"

"LANCE, is that how you see me?"

"No, of course no. You are Fernando Alonso, 2 times world champion, hungry and focused and magnificent"

"So, is that how you see yourself?"

"I mean, that's who I am, no?"

"No Lance, not even close. You're wonderful, and full of talent, and kind and brave"

"I don't understand, we are already fucking, so why are you trying to butter me up?

"Cariño, this is not about the bed. This is about who you are"

"Am I not my father's son? Or the kid who gets what he wants easily? They are right about me, you know it"

"No Lance, they don't know the real you. They don't know that every father would do what Lawrence does, if they could. They don't know how hard you work and how hard you are on yourself. They don't know shit. And if you think they do, you also don't know shit"

"Oh and tell me, oh mighty one, what is it that I don't know?"

"You don't realise how lovely you are, and how easy is to love you"

"If I was, there would be proof. But there is none, so..."

"Just because other people are shitty, doesn't mean it's on you"

"Ever considered I am the shitty one?"

"Never, not for one second"

"Why?"

"Because I see you, even when you hide yourself, when you lose yourself, when you don't know anymore. I'm always there"

"You really are, aren't you? But why?"

"Because I love you"

"Don't play with me, Nando. It's one thing to think I have some redeeming qualities, it's another to lie"

"There is nothing to be redeemed. And am not lying"

"I don't believe you"

"You really mean you can't believe me. But that's ok. I am patient. I can wait for you, and in the meantime show my love for you"

"I don't know if I can..."

"Is ok. We have all the time in the world to figure it out, no?"

"Yeah, I guess so"

"You know I like you too, right?"

"Mhhh?"

"The other day? We moved past it, but I wanted you to know that I really really like you"

"Ah, is it so?"

"You don't have to be a dick about it. But yeah, I like spending time with you, I like talking with you, I like sleeping with you. Yeah, both ways, not just sex you asshole"

"Wasn't going to say anything"

"Sure you weren't. Anyway, I just wanted to say it explicitly. I like you"

"You are the sweetest, Lancito. Come here, and show me how much"

"Right now it's close to zero"

"Of course it is. What about now?"

"Co... compelling argument. Tell me more?"

"Claro que sí"

"So, that was intense"

"Yep"

"...Is it too soon to say I love you"

"Probably, but who cares. Tell me"

"I love you. For a million reasons, but mostly because you are you, and I am who I am"

"M... Would you believe it?"

"What?"

"I love you for the exact same reasons"

#strollonso #fernando alonso #lance stroll #grumpy cat boy x besotted old man #i love insecure but sassy Lance so much #so does nano by the way #they love each other your Honour

64 notes · View notes

camels-pen · 11 months ago

Text

warning: eating disorders/food issues

"Something wrong with it?"

Usopp startled and snapped his head to the side. His nose jabbed Sanji's eye and they both hissed. Usopp jerked away to rub the tip of his nose.

"Fuck, I forgot about that," Sanji grumbled. There was a contrasting, fond smile on his face as rubbed his eye. "Anyway, the food?"

"What about it?"

"What's wrong with it?"

Usopp turned his gaze back to his plate. Plenty of pork chops piled high- at Luffy's request for a meat-filled dinner- and mashed potatoes with green beans on the side. His mouth salivated again just staring at it.

"Nothing," he said. "Just taking my time."

He could feel Sanji's unimpressed stare. "You've been 'taking your time' through the whole dinner. Everyone's already finished and left. The moss ball even finished the dishes, and we both know how he likes to dawdle."

Despite himself, Usopp giggled quietly. When it was his turn to do dishes, Zoro always took his time, waiting for Sanji to get frustrated with his speed and leave him to finish it alone. It was the perfect strategy to steal booze when Sanji wasn't looking, but it seemed Usopp had unknowingly thwarted his first sake stealing attempt after their reunion.

As if reading his mind, Sanji said, "I let him steal that alcohol, you know. I'm not that stupid." He huffed, voice sounding like he was pouting as he added, "It's the only damn way I can keep an eye on his shitty drinking habits. He'd constantly drink us dry otherwise, that damn mossheaded bastard."

Usopp giggled again and made the mistake of glancing up at him. Sanji was staring across the room at the kitchen, probably the place he'd put all the good booze. He'd confided in Usopp, once, that he had two hiding places for drinking alcohol: one, more obvious place, by the fridge for the cheap stuff, and another, hidden somewhere he wouldn't say, for all the more expensive and high quality stuff. He'd confidently crowed, on more than one occasion, that despite the cheap stuff always going missing, he'd never lost a drop of anything else. He always looked so smug saying that, and well, Usopp now knew why.

But then his eye- the left one now, and despite looking right at it, the change had still caught him off guard more than once- turned to Usopp and Usopp clammed up. Sanji stared at him, his eyebrow- this one curled on the opposite side, closer to his nose bridge than his ear- raised high on his forehead. "If you're well enough to laugh at Zoro, it can't be that bad."

Usopp gulped. Looked away. "I'm not sick," he said quietly. "The food looks great, Sanji, really. Eating is just..." He trailed off. Neither of them spoke for a long moment, only the sounds of their distant crewmates enjoying the sight of their descent to the ocean's floor filling the galley.

Sanji's arm slowly, hesitantly, laid on the back of his chair- Sanji didn't used to hesitate, but, he supposed, things had changed. He settled himself in the chair next to Usopp, rather than continue to lean over him, and said softly, "Eating is just...?"

Usopp stared at the grain on the table, studying the lines and deviations with an intense and sudden fascination.

"Usopp."

"It's hard," he mumbled.

Another silence, this one less expecting and more confused. Awkward.

"You ate fine at breakfast...?" Sanji said, voice lilting up at the end, almost in question.

Usopp snorted. 'Ate fine' was a kinder way of putting it. Usopp had demolished breakfast, nearly rivaling Luffy with how much and how quickly he ate. The usual sense of desperation had dimmed slightly, now that he was with his crew, but it was still there, dictating his eating habits. He would've felt more ashamed if he hadn't seen Luffy, Franky, and Brook eating in the exact same disgusting manner. Instead, he felt right at home.

He had wondered, privately, if something similar had happened to them. Had tossed around the idea of asking them about it. Then he would think back to how they used to eat, before. How it was exactly the same. How they had all basically cried that they'd so dearly missed Sanji's cooking. He couldn't blame them, he nearly sobbed over Sanji's pancakes- and then did sob over his hashbrowns.

"The island got hungry at dawn," he started. Stopped. Stared at the little vase of daisies at the centre of the table that Robin had gathered from her garden- now shared with Usopp. "It would close up. Then open. After, everything was... safe. For a little while."

He gulped again, cringing at his dry throat. He stared at the glass of water, a little wet stain under it. Luffy had bumped his glass earlier when he stole a few chops off of Usopp's pile.

Usopp didn't reach for it.

"You know, I was expecting grand stories of your heroics when you finally talked about where you were." Usopp shrunk in his seat. "No- no, come on I didn't mean it like that. I was just trying to make a joke."

"You should leave the jokes to the experts." Usopp's lip quirked. "Even Brook's better than you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sanji scowled. "Brook wouldn't know a good joke if it kicked him upside the head."

Usopp giggled again, relaxing. "Admit it, you missed his skull jokes."

Sanji huffed. "...Maybe a little."

In the background, they could hear Zoro talking about taking a swim followed by a familiar thud and Nami yelling at him. They both giggled this time, leaning into each other.

"God, I missed everyone. I missed-" Sanji cut himself off and Usopp turned to look at him. There was a wobble to his lips and his visible eye stared intently at him. Usopp would almost say Sanji looked longing- yearning, even- if he didn't know better.

"I know," he said. "I missed everyone too." Sanji's eyes pinched a little at the corners, but Usopp didn't know why. He didn't linger on it long though, what with Sanji's smile as he pressed his temple to Usopp's for a moment. Usopp's heart would've beat wildly two years ago, but now all he felt was warm and content.

Sanji hummed in agreement and pulled away. Patting his pockets, likely for a cigarette. Usopp pulled the one tucked behind his ear, admiring the feel of soft blond hair a moment too long before handing it to him. Sanji chuckled and accepted it with a quiet thanks.

He lit it and sat back in his chair, relaxing with the first inhale. "Back to the important stuff." Usopp would argue all of that was important stuff. "You only felt safe to eat breakfast?"

Usopp shook his head. Then tilted it side to side. "No- well, sort of. It was never really safe, but..." He rolled the words around his mouth, feeling out the right ones while discarding others. "It was... easier. To eat a lot in the morning. Gather food later in the day. Then sleep when I got hungry closer to sunset."

Sanji blew out a puff of smoke. "You didn't have anyone to watch your back while you were eating?"

"I did." Usopp nodded, a sense of pride filling him as he puffed out his chest. "Heracles'n was a great friend and teacher! We took turns watching out for each other and, well, he's the reason I survived that island in the first place." He flexed one of his biceps. "He also helped me get a whole lot stronger!"

Sanji pursed his lips around his cigarette. "But you didn't eat dinner. Or lunch." Today nor in nearly two years, though Sanji likely meant the latter.

Usopp deflated, arm settling back down in his lap. "We couldn't stop moving until sunset. By then it was better to sleep and eat heap loads in the morning rather than risk dinner and not getting enough rest." He sighed. "Heracles'n was always telling me to eat more berries and fruit throughout the day, but..."

Sanji stared at him. "You had this-island-is-too-scary-so-I-can't-eat-anything-itis?"

Usopp scowled. "I'd like to see you keep up an appetite when you're constantly running and hiding from giant-"

Sanji used his arm to tug Usopp closer, so their sides were pressed together. He pressed his nose to Usopp's hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"What for?" Usopp whispered back.

Sanji didn't answer, his breaths warming Usopp's head. The galley had grown silent when he finally spoke, the others having found quieter activities or retired to their rooms.

"If I was stronger then- or quicker-"

"Sanji," Usopp said. "There's no way you would've been able to beat Kuma, back then."

Sanji shook his head. "I know, but maybe we could've been sent somewhere together."

There was a bittersweet, choking feeling in the back of Usopp's throat. A burning in his eyes. "You wouldn't have liked it there," he said, laying his head on Sanji's shoulder. "You would've hated it, actually."

"But I would've been with you."

Usopp laughed, the sound wet and brittle. "I wouldn't wish that island on anyone, Sanji, but least of all you. I'm not worth-"

A hand cupped his face, cutting him off as he was turned to face Sanji. His nose was bent, pressing against Sanji's cheek. "You worth a lot, Usopp. You're worth it to-" Sanji's cheeks dusted pink all of a sudden and he looked away. "You're worth a lot. And it would've been nice if I could have watched your back. Made sure you were eating well."

At a loss for words, Usopp turned back to the table, staring at his plate. The mashed potatoes were surely cold and hard by now and he was fairly certain a thick pork chop wouldn't stay down.

The green beans, maybe. Those could work.

He picked one up. His stomach rumbled. He lifted it to his mouth.

His hands shook.

He gulped again. Stared at his hand intensely.

Sanji's hand covered his own. A sudden, terrible spike of anxiety overwhelmed him and he held his breath, hoping Sanji wasn't going to just force him to eat it. He hated wasting food after all and it was already in Usopp's hand and Usopp himself just needed to quit cowering and just eat it already-

Sanji pulled his hand away from his mouth. The tension left Usopp in a rush. Shame took up where anxiety had left, but he forced himself to meet Sanji's eye. He knew what came next.

Before Sanji could say anything, Usopp blurted, "There was food. On the island. Not just fruits and berries and whatever game we could hunt. Pre-cooked food, I mean." Sanji's brow furrowed, but Usopp continued on. "There were these plants- and rivers- that had cake and burgers and ramen and- well, you get the idea. And the closer you got to the centre of the island, the more tasty the food got." He gulped. Coughed a little. Sanji reached for his glass, but Usopp grabbed his wrist in a tight hold. If he didn't get it all out now, he never would.

"I didn't meet Heracles'n immediately. I was on my own at first and- and I didn't completely trust him at first either." He laughed, the sound as self-deprecating as it felt. "The centre of the island, that's where its mouth is."

Sanji's eyebrow furrowed further. "So when you said the island 'got hungry'..."

Usopp nodded. "It was a trap to lure in prey." Quietly, he added, "Like me."

Sanji gasped, his eyes darting down, and wow, Usopp really should've re-thought the whole 'show off his new muscles by going shirtless' plan. He pulled away from Sanji, and pulled up the waist of his pants. "Staring at my stretch marks isn't going to change anything, y'know."

Sheepishly, Sanji said, "Sorry- sorry, I should know better." He held out his arms, with a sad little pout. "Come back?"

Usopp held out for a few moments, glaring at him, but he sighed and eventually gave in. "I hate you," he mumbled into Sanji's shoulder. Sanji patted his back in response.

The two of them sat there in silence once more. Usopp savoured the contact between them, like he had always dreamed of on Boin.

"You had to train yourself to avoid delicious looking foods, then," Sanji said quietly. Usopp nodded. "That makes sense. But then, breakfast?"

A new wave of shame, far heavier than the last. He dug his forehead into Sanji's shoulder. "I don't want to talk about it."

He didn't know how to explain how he had become some kind of wild animal during meals and he didn't want to explain. Heracles'n was already one person too many and earlier, the entire crew had seen him. His heart beat hard and fast in his chest at the reminder, a belated rush of fear to make up for his single minded focus at breakfast.

"Then I won't ask," Sanji said. "You should tell Chopper though-"

Usopp grimaced. "Eventually, but..."

Sanji sighed, pressing his cheek to Usopp's hair. "Okay, but can I make you something? Just a snack or tea or...?"

Usopp huffed. "Sanji-"

"I know, I know! But letting you go to bed hungry is..."

"Hard," Usopp finished for him, pulling away. "I know."

He wasn't going anywhere before Sanji fed him, of that he was sure, but it made Usopp's stomach queasy just thinking about all the snacks Sanji used to make before they were separated.

Some of it must have shown on his face too, since Sanji was already holding up his hands and starting to look even more concerned. "It doesn't have to be anything special. I could just peel a tangerine for you or slice up some apples or juice some pears- I mean oranges! Why would anyone juice pears- oh, hm, I should check that sometime; remind me to write it down. Oh and maybe I could steep a really bitter tea, so you don't have to worry about drinking too much because I know you hate bitter things-"

And Usopp couldn't help himself. He laughed.

Sanji deflated, his brow furrowed in confusion, or maybe it was concern. Usopp didn't know, he was too busy laughing at the absurdity of Sanji being so anxious and speaking every rambling thought. It was adorable and Usopp couldn't help but reach up and squish Sanji's cheeks.

"I lo-" Sanji's eye widened and suddenly, Usopp didn't feel brave enough. "Lost my notebook. We'll have to use one of yours."

"O-Oh, yeah, sure." Sanji nodded, voice slightly muffled by his squished cheeks. He stared at Usopp, his eye asking another question.

Usopp looked away, his eyes landing on the fruit bowl on the bar counter. There were apples, bananas, and pears. He pulled his hands away. "...Nami will be mad at you." he said quietly, weakly.

Sanji sighed, a shaky, relieved little thing. He wrapped his arms around Usopp's middle, crushing him to his chest. "I think she'll forgive me," he said.

Boldly, Usopp added, "What if you made coffee?" The only coffee in the pantry was a fancy jar brought along from a Revolutionary base near a village that prided themselves on their harvest.

Sanji chuckled. "Robin would forgive me too."

Usopp hummed. "You seem awfully confident."

"I am," he said, pulling away completely, his chair squeaking against the floorboards as he stood. Sanji held out a hand, a smile on his lips. "If you don't believe me, let me show you."

And right here, Usopp could've chosen to laugh it off. Said something about not wanting to face Nami's wrath, much less Robin's. Fled the galley completely with an excuse or three and sleep in his workshop while ignoring any and all feelings of guilt. It would've been easy.

But he'd already accepted it. Acknowledged the inevitable consequences instead of turning down those anxious suggestions. How could he do anything else, in the face of such genuine care and concern? To leave now would just hurt them both and the last thing Usopp wanted to do was hurt Sanji.

And, well, he trusted Sanji, to do what he couldn't. Planned to trust him with his heart, at some point.

Trusting him with his stomach, in comparison, was as easy as breathing.

So, Usopp placed a steady hand in Sanji's own, a small, teasing smile on his face, and said, "Lead the way."

#one piece #sanuso #sanji #usopp #meant to be pre-relationship but can be read however #nemo the writing ho #side note: dear god this ended up way longer than intended #had a nice time writing them being gay though 💚#gotta remember to put this on ao3 later #belated tag i forgot to add but this was inspired by redriotinggg's post the other day #i was POSSESSED with the need to write after reading it lmao

119 notes · View notes

blakbonnet · 4 months ago

Text

[graphic by @ofmdlovelyletters]

AUTHOR OF THE WEEK: @monksofthescrew

Our final feature of this week's AOTW is the lovely and always kind Hugo ♥️ Getting to know her these past few weeks has been such a joy and it's so not a surprise that they're such an earnest and fluffy writer, with oodles of love for their friends and the show. Please read on to find out about Hugo's secret sorrow (the word she thinks she uses a lot):

What's your writing process like? Do you start with the beginning or the end? Do you write in order or as the scenes come to you?

I generally start with the beginning and write forward, but then I like to outline retroactively and see if there are any chunks that would be better suited elsewhere in the story. I sometimes have to scribble down an idea for a later scene when it comes to me, but then I sometimes forget to return to it, or figure out that it doesn't fit after all. And sometimes it's not so much a scene as it is a *vibe*, and sometimes it's just, like, a mini-revelation about the emotional arc, or some other little tidbit. I'm definitely still trying to find the right process, though, because mine is absolutely unreliable and I haven't finished anything at all or even really managed to work meaningfully on anything in an age and a half.

Favourite Ed or Stede characteristic or mannerism that are dear to you (Ed liking marmalade, Stede and burying his feelings, etc)?

Yes, Ed's sweet tooth is important to me. Yes, Stede saying one single, heavily veiled thing once and being like, "I have now bared my entire soul to you, right?" is important to me. Ed's brilliance is non-negotiable. Their mutual softness is very important to me. Yeah, their shitty fucking dads are really important to me. Both their childlike qualities and their age. Shearwater pointed out that Stede has so much love to give that he's never been allowed to give before and Ed needs so much love and never having had anyone to give it to him, and I can't stop seeing that now. The way they instantly know one another on a level neither of them has ever experienced before.

What is the one word that you think you use a lot?

HEEDLESS for fucks' sake. Also STEEL as a verb. Is it the double Es? Why am I like this?

Do you have a beta reader? Have they made you a better writer?

YES. I have been swapping betas with @xoxoemynn for, oh my god, two years this August (happy almost-anniversary, darling) and not only has Marianne made my writing better (it was at her prompting that I ended up writing some of my very favorite paragraphs I have ever written) but beta-reading *her* writing has made me a better writer, and also a better thinker. Marianne is absurdly generous with the sandbox that is her brilliant mind and her open heart, and thinking and talking through ideas and theories with her has taught me so much about storytelling.

Why OFMD?

I think the characters, both as written and acted, have so much complexity and nuance, and there's so much room for interpretation, which makes this such a fun sandbox to play in. The canon can support practically any reading. Also, this fandom boasts a really mind-boggling amount of talent, and some of the absolutely loveliest people I've ever had the good fortune to meet.

Please head over to @ofmdlovelyletters and send your love for Hugo and all your favourite authors (and authors of the week 😈 watch that blog for some special letters coming your way)

#artist of the week #author of the week #aotw #ofmd #our flag means death #writing

21 notes · View notes

thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 1 year ago

Note

Which cullen would fall prey to an mlm scam first

You mean a pyramid scheme?

Well, the trouble with pyramid schemes, is they can be surprisingly tricksy even if you know what to look for. They're very good at reeling you in and convincing you it's different somehow than a pyramid scheme. See, it's shaped like a funnel and not a pyramid! Or you earn income based on how much you sell and then you can enter another tier!

A lot of people who would think they'd never get roped into a pyramid scheme can end up sucked into one if they're not wary.

But alright, let's do it.

Alice

Alice doesn't fall into this for a few reasons.

The first is that her gift stops her, she sees this venture won't make her money but will get her saddled with a shitty product she can't peddle fast enough to break even.

Alice is perfectly content playing with the stock market.

The second is that Alice wouldn't be interested. She has her own way of making more money than she could ever hope to being a salesman and she'd have no interest in selling the kinds of products that pyramid schemes usually do (which are generally mass produced, cheap, and rarely have any quality to them). Alice wouldn't think they're good products and would have no interest in trying to market them herself and sell them to others.

Bella

Doomed.

Give Bella the right pitch, (and many of these are aimed towards women trying to support themselves), and she's there selling what she believes is a great makeup product/clothes line/what have you and refusing to believe she's made a terrible mistake and been conned along with all these earnest other women.

Edward I imagine has to get rid of the product for her and get her out of the hole (Bella's pride never lives this down).

Carlisle

Carlisle's been in the human world long enough, interacted with it more than the others, and is generally very particular about how he should be viewed and seen that I don't see him biting.

"I am human doctor man" Carlisle says, and has no intention in pursuing any other means of income or anything that would make him not look like human doctor man who is definitely 39 why do you ask?

It's not even a matter of him being swayed or not, he's not listening close enough, and likely makes his earliest escape.

Edward

Edward's actually in a little danger in part because of his gift. The thing about pyramid schemes is that those in the lower tiers (even the mid tiers) aren't in the know. They may suspect it's a pyramid scheme, and that they're in too deep to get out, but it's the ones at the top who really planned the thing. The very low-level grunts generally believe it's a real company (it's how they get hooked and sucked in).

If Edward were to meet someone trying to hook him in (as you generally get rewards for recruiting others) then there's a chance.

Now, the chance is small, because like Alice, Edward's comfortable with his money and has 0 desire to work or be a salesman (notice Edward just goes to high school, then university and never goes off on his own or with one of the others to get a job).

That said, I could see Edward being tricked into believing it's a good product, a good cause, and more by people who earnestly believe it. More, because Edward doesn't really doubt his gift, it might not occur to him that these people are also being lied to or else are lying to themselves.

Edward also believes himself intelligent enough that he'd never fall for a pyramid scheme and so would be less wary of it.

Basically, still unlikely as Edward would never get dragged to one of these meetings or into it, but not impossible and much more likely than Alice.

Emmett

Doomed.

If he was taken to the right pitch, for the right product, even though he himself would never use it he'd think it'd be so cool that of course he should sign up. Hey, then he can make some dough for a change, how about that Alice.

It doesn't last long, though, as Rosalie tells him, "Honey, this is a pyramid scheme".

(It also doesn't last long as no one would ever pitch Emmett as he looks fucking terrifying and he's huge).

Esme

Esme's so nice, I could easily see her being essentially bullied into joining. The thing is, she actually doesn't get in too deep because she never depletes her initial stock and has no hope of doing so. Esme doesn't go out enough or interact enough with others to actually sell the product so the terrible makeup brand just... sits there...

She's out some amount of money, but she won't dig herself into the hole that usually happens in pyramid schemes where, with the taste of initial success, you just keep going.

Jasper

Jasper's too scary. The others are all too scary but Jasper's really too scary. He's never approached and if he was I imagine him staring dully at these human products not sure what he is supposed to do with them or how he's supposed to sell them with his face.

Renesmee

Doomed.

Renesmee has no idea how anything works and is ridiculously sheltered by the Cullens. I doubt 'theft' is even a concept she understands nor is 'money' for that matter. Now, this might help her, as she has no idea how to sell anything, but like Esme she probably gets conned into signing the dotted line and making the initial purchase because the nice salespeople tell her it's a great idea.

Rosalie

Rosalie has been through a lot and is naturally wary and skeptical of others. More, while liking to be the prettiest in the room, she doesn't seem all that weak to flattery from what we see of her. Rosalie would be immediately suspicious of anyone trying to sell her anything or get her to do something as she'll be immediately wondering what they get out of this and why they're trying so hard.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #the cullens #alice cullen #carlisle cullen #bella swan #edward cullen #emmett cullen #esme cullen #renesmee cullen #jasper whitlock #rosalie hale #meta #headcanon #opinion

88 notes · View notes

sea-owl · 1 year ago

Note

I have had a shitty day today.

What has put a smile on my face is your accidental marriage trope.

Tell me, what kind of a shitshow does Phillip walk in to ag his first family dinner?

How does he top the chaos with his twins?

Not going to lie, I kinda want it to end with Violet smoking a cigarette in the garage. Trying to recover

I'm sorry you had such a bad day lovley.

Let's see, I've been debating this for a while but what if the accidental marriage also happened in the Full House au. So now we got the Crane twins running wild but they're being horrible influences on their younger cousins. Meanwhile Penelope is trying to stay calm because holy shit the random man from London aka her baby daddy was also here.

The Bridgertons descend on Phillip's home so they can work out some sort of agreement for the anullment, and they're nosy. They need to see what kind of man Eloise married, even if it's only temporary. Plus, since they're trying to stay on the downlow, it would be more inconspicuous for the family to travel separately to an unknown location to the media than to one of their homes.

One by one, the Bridgertons started to show. First to show was Sophie and Benedict, who live the closest. Anthony, Kate, and Violet were next. Violet just had to scout out the new potential grand babies. She has a gut feeling this Phillip fellow and his family are gonna be around longer than what the others think, no matter what Anthony says. Daphne and Simon follow behind. Gregory and Hyacinth drove all the way from University to see this shit show, some good quality entertainment right here. Colin and Francesca are the last to arrive.

Michael can't tell who's tenser between his two friends. He can understand why Phillip is tense. The Bridgertons are a powerful family. Hell, he remembers when John first started dating Francesca how big of a deal it was. Now, here was poor Phillip who just accidentally married in on a drunken night. Penelope has a story with these people though, he can tell.

The meal itself goes well. The Bridgertons ask questions. They learn Phillip is a botanist and a part time professor. He's never been married. He's 30. Favorite color is green. His two friends live with him mainly because he doesn't know what to do with this big house he inherited, so why not let his friends live with him. Two of the four children living in the house are his. No one admits that those children are from drunken one night stands. Better to keep that quiet.

Michael and Penelope get asked questions too. More so Penelope than Michael since Michael already knows the Bridgertons.

Things start getting interesting when they discuss the plan for Eloise's and Phillip's anullment.

"We can't do the anullment right away. The media is in a frenzy right now from Eloise's posts," Anthony starts. "That being said, they'll also be in an even bigger frenzy should we do the anullment too soon or if Eloise is spotted living with one of us. Do you mind her staying here?"

Phillip looked from Michael to Penelope. While it was his house, they lived here too, and he was always fair about them getting their say. Michael shrugged, he didn't mind. Eloise could easily keep up with the kids, and it seems like she's developing a fast friendship with Penelope, too.

"That's fine," Phillip agreed. "Just as long as the children living here are kept out of the media."

Anthony nodded. If there was one thing the Bridgertons could do, it was control the narrative. If they didn't want someone to be known, they could do it. I mean, look at Francesca, no one could find anything about her online unless she shared it. "Our family would feel more comfortable if two of us could possibly check in and keep an eye on things."

Eloise raised an eyebrow. "Are you siccing a babysitter on me?"

"I'm sending damage control," Anthony shot back. "You know Colin and Francesca are some of the best at getting the media to calm down."

"Why can't it be Benedict?" Eloise questioned.

Everyone looked towards the said Bridgerton and his very pregnant wife sitting next to him.

"Very well," Eloise muttered.

"Besides," Colin said. "We'll only be checking in. Officially, Fran and I will be visiting Benedict and Sophie to help them prepare for the baby."

Michael watched Penelope tensed further as Phillip agreed to the babysitters. He really needed to get that story out of her.

Then Violet asked to see the children. "I brought some sweets for them."

Phillip and Penelope got up to go get their respective sets of twins while Eloiseled her family to the sitting. Michael follows his friends to give the Bridgertons some privacy, and he figured this was his best chance to talk to his own little family.

Once they were far enough away from the dining room and not in hearing distance of the kids, Michael pulled his friends to the side. "You two need to relax. I don't know who was tenser between the two of you. I bet if we had put some coal in your hands, we could have made diamonds."

Phillip sighed while Penelope shot Michael a dirty look.

Michael shrugged. "Hey the scary part is over. Now we get to watch Violet get the kids on a sugar high."

Phillip rubbed his temples. "Oh lord, Amanda and Oliver on sugar."

Michael laughed. "Oh, I can't wait for my nibblings' chaos. But before that," Michael turned to the short red head. "What was with you this evening? I understand why Phillip was tense. But you were just as bad."

Penelope let out her own sigh. "Do you remember the random man from London?"

"Your drunken one night stand baby daddy? Yeah, what about him?"

"He's in the sitting room."

Both boys jaws dropped. "Which one?!"

"The babysitter," Penelope answered.

Michael couldn't help himself, he really couldn't. He busted out laughing. "So let me get this straight. The Bridgertons, one of the most powerful families in the country, the same people who gave even my perfect cousin John a hard time. You," he points to Phillip, "accidentally marry one, and you," he points to Penelope, " have babies with another. All thanks to drunk nights!"

Oh this was perfect! Michael couldn't wait to see this shit show play out. Couldn't ask for better entertainment.

"Aren't you in love with Francesca? Who's the other babysitter?"

Oh now why did they have to be rude and bring that up?

#bridgerton #philoise #polin #franchael #accidental marriage #full house au #besties michael phillip and penelope #pray for them yall #they need the singular bridgerton brain cell to work in their favor #phillip crane #michael stirling #penelope featherington

56 notes · View notes

onyourowndaisymae · 6 months ago

Text

𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 - 𝒖𝒑𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔, 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 & 𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒔

hello!

i'm alive. yay! it's certainly been a minute since i've posted anything substantial, and i'm here to rectify that. this post is long. very long. i talk about a lot here-- my absence, my thoughts on obey me nowadays, what i've experienced as a writer on this platform, and updates i'm making to the way this blog looks and runs.if you're interested in catching up but don't have the time or motivation to read all of this, feel free to scroll down to the closing remarks.

☆ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 ☆

so, i will say this unintentional hiatus was caused by three things: my health, my shaky relationship with the obey me franchise, and the growing difficulties of participating in fandom. i'll address all three in that order.

★ 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡 - my health has been shaky practically all of my adult life. i'm getting better about managing it, but even now, being twenty two years old and unable to keep up with my peers is... so exhausting. on my worst days, i am stuck in bed and distracting myself from the pain. the american healthcare system is a doozy that gives me a headache, but just know that i'm working towards proper diagnoses and treatment as fast as i can. i know that pushing myself to write for the sake of a regular posting schedule is ridiculous, so i have no intentions to do that. i will roll with the punches of my shitty health and hope i don't get knock on my ass again, lol.

★ 𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐞 - okay. hater time. i don't really like nightbringer.

i know! i know! hold your rotten tomatoes and let me make these stocks my soapbox for just a minute while i explain! i promise i'm not being a thoughtless critic!

i think the writing for the franchise has been slowly going down in quality for awhile. i'm never going to act like this is the best writing i've ever seen in a video game, but obviously season 1 of the og game was good enough to get us all hooked. the conflicts felt real, the relationships felt earned, and the lore was really interesting. season 2 of the og game has a special place in my heart. the franchise used to be romantic! dark! horny! complex! it feels like in recent months, the game has become so sanitized that it's alienating the same userbase that gave such an odd concept a chance in the first place. season 2 opened with an aphrodesiac plotline, and now we can hardly get a kiss from our love interests. i'm not saying everything needs to be graphic smut, but come on! it's a romance game, damnit! with as many competitors solmare has in the otome market right now, i don't know why they wouldn't be focusing on dynamic and interesting romance.

nightbringer itself is. whooo. a dual-edged sword. on one hand, it turned me into a solomon simp, and clearly i can't get enough of this man. it also had some really touching character moments. asmo's arc about falling and missing how things used to be was fantastic. satan's early development and issues bonding with his brothers were handled really well. but at the same time... these characters have also struggled with flat and rushed writing in this game. satan almost exclusively is just "cat guy with a temper" now. barbatos' character, while nice to finally have romantic storylines, has been butchered for the sake of making sure every romanceable character is marketable early on. characters are saying "i love you" ENTIRELY too fast. i get that this is not the og game and things will obviously be different in this timeline, but at the very least, i expect the writers to handle this stuff with care. i'm disappointed by how one-note everything feels now.

also, while i'm up here on my soapbox, i will also say: i think the events are abysmal nowadays. fucking hell. i am disappointed every time i click on a story portion and read three lines before the screen fades out and it's over! the events used to be low-stakes, interesting ways to explore the characters, but now it's just. disappointing. i think something similar has happened to the devilgrams and the romance that used to be in them, although it's nowhere near as bad.

for all of my bitching and moaning, i still clearly like this game franchise. i'm still going to write for it. but i think it's important to discuss these failings as a community. it helps people feel less alone when their passion begins to wane for something they once loved for seemingly no reason. maybe we can prevent the series from falling apart before its bitter end. it does not make you a "bad fan" to be able to critique something you love-- it means you love it enough to know when it's not at its best.

★ 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 - at some point, i found i got really intimidated by posting on my own blog. i began to psych myself out with every post, every like, every thing i got excited about. "is this good enough? do i want people to see this?" it's one thing to want to put your best foot forward, but another entirely to try to make every single thing you post perfect in an ill-fated attempt to fend of criticism from yourself of others. it's why i never took up art or music to any serious degree-- why put so much effort into something that's doomed to fail?

and then came the worry about notes and reblogs and followers. fandom should never be a numbers game, and for a lot of people it isn't. but it became a legitimate worry of mine that people would be disappointed if i didn't put out something with universal appeal, and thus, i'd be disappointed myself that i didn't live up to some unspoken expectation. i wanted to start posting for a new fandom, but then i became really worried people would feel "cheated" for following me when they expected one thing and got another.

obviously, this is not a healthy mindset. i needed to take a step back.

how did i resolve this? why didn't i just quit? well, for starters, i took some time to remember why i started posting. i have been writing fanfiction all of my life, usually shared with only a singular person and obsessed about until all of the dopamine was wrung dry from it. bringing it online was a deliberate choice. at first, it was because i was desperate for content for a small fandom (collar x malice, my beloved!) and thought "if nobody's gonna post this, i will!". but then i got into obey me, a much bigger fandom. through posting, i found a larger community of people who loved this piece of media just as fervently as i did. so many people of amazing talents dedicating their time and effort into expressing their love for this hobby. as i did the same, i began to gain a small following. one of my series blew up and gained me praise from some of my absolute favorite people in the fandom-- now, they're my friends who i adore. i began to grow proud of my writing. i'd never been proud like that before. posting on tumblr has proven to me that i'm capable of stepping out of my comfort zone and take the risk to do something, even if i'll fail. that is something i am so thankful for and can never replace.

i won't pretend fandom doesn't have its faults. every time i log on, i can scroll long enough to find something that absolutely exhausts me. labors of love are, at the end of the day, still labor, and work without appreciation is demoralizing. fandom is run by passion, but when there's a drought of people willing to put themselves out there it becomes hard to invest your energy into.

i don't have a perfect solution for this. all i know is that i can also scroll long enough to find a piece of writing or art so breathtaking that it invigorates my creative spirit. or i'll check my notifications and find a comment or reblog that absolutely makes my day. and isn't that worth sticking around a bit longer?

in the future, i'll try to be better about announcing my breaks and also just... pacing myself better. sometimes it'll be a bit until you hear from me. i hope that's okay. know i'll never log off for good without an explanation. i'd like to keep posting my silly little stories for a long time.

☆ 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 ☆

jesus. that previous section was waaaaay too long. okay. time to lock in.

★ i have a new theme! i used to have a sort of vague space-y theme, but i'm committing to the stars. do you like them? i hope so :3

★ i'm gonna get a bit weirder with the content. part of what has inspired me to keep writing is people coming up with the most off-the-wall, random, interesting ideas that i come back to consistently. that will include some dark content and the themes surrounding it like violence, horror, etc. things here will ALWAYS be tagged as thoroughly as i can. if you're not interested in reading that, no worries! hopefully something else i've written will catch your eye. (and obviously, minors, do not interact with this content. you shouldn't be in here-- my "byf" page has indicated this page is 18+ since the beginning).

★ as a general rule, i've decided that i'm no longer going to take requests. i love the enthusiasm and hearing people's ideas, but ultimately, i never end up doing them. instead, my ask box is always open for post suggestions, conversations, etc. i just don't want the sort of obligation that requests come with hanging out in the background anymore. this is, however, subject to change for special events, like that trick or treat event i did in the past and the fics for gaza event i'm doing currently, so stay tuned!

★ ... despite my in-depth obey me ramblings above, this is a multi-fandom page, lol. i will forever and always give my flowers to collar x malice. i am interested in posting occasional fics here for other fandoms in the general otome genre, so keep an eye out for those.

★ the above rule has been broken by my beloved, twisted wonderland. remember above where i mentioned wanting to post about a new fandom? yeah, it's this one. it became too much of an obsession. the new blog is centered around making night raven college an actual college, as well as just other twst content as well. the username is @daisystwistedgarden. give it a follow if you like that content! i probably won't discuss it much here, as i want the writing to stand on its own, but the pages have very similar layouts. that's me on a sideblog, don't worry :)

★ the masterlists are getting an entire overhaul and will now be organized by character. i procrastinated the hell out of these-- make overhauling the masterlists reason 3.5 for the hiatus. i will queue those up to post overnight sometime this week, so expect those sometime soon.

☆ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 + 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 ☆

if you're here, i want to say thank you. this blog, which originally started on a whim, has really done a lot for me. i love writing (even if i hate all the boring administrative parts of running a blog) and the fact that you people spare the time to read my silly little posts is insane to me. while i was gone, we hit the 2k follower mark (and the 2.1k follower mark, too!) and i'm just. baffled. thank you.

i'm back, i'm ready to write, and i'm excited to see where this takes me. give me a couple of days to fully replace all the old posts with new ones and make everything look right, but after that, i'll be posting again like normal. if you're interested in my twisted wonderland content, follow @daisystwistedgarden, and if you want to support my writing and gaza at the same time, consider donating to my "sponsor a WIP" page here.

once again, thank you for reading, for liking, for reblogging, for following, for hanging out in my ask box-- all of it. it means the world to me that i get to enjoy this slice of the internet with such wonderful people.

talk soon. (for real this time). xx

#in summary: I'M BACK BITCH #that feels good to say #sorry in advance i'm here to be annoying again #this is my blog. i get to be the menace here #blog update #blog updates #blog housekeeping #i don't remember my own damn tagging system. oh well. that's getting overhauled too

23 notes · View notes