#i get so many comments where people are afraid to reblog because it says do not repost

[blushnik]

is younger generation on Tumblr not aware of the difference between “repost” and “reblog”?

Guys, hitting that arrow-arrow thingy button so it’s shared to your dashboard is VERY MUCH APPRECIATED, THIS IS CALLED REBLOG (like retweet)

Something totally different than downloading art and posting (reposting) it as your own sdkjsjada PLEASE REBLOG ART, IT SHOWS LOVE! EDIT: Since this post is somehow picking up, let me clear some confusion! When you REBLOG (hit those two arrows following each other), the post appears on your blog but all the comments and likes and whatever it receives – the AUTHOR RECEIVES TOO. Tumblr doesn��t let you repost someone’s stuff (post as your own) unless you take the effort to download it and post it YOURSELF (you know, like a dick).

EVERY. INTERACTION. IS. TIED. TO. THE. AUTHOR✌️

REBLOGGING means showing off the amazing thing you’ve found while literally sending all the traffic towards whoever made that post. So in short, NOBODY CARES YOU LIKED SOMETHING, WANNA SHOW LOVE?

PS: Fuck “X” for confusing y’all but if you are on the former Twitter and not call it “retweet” anymore just cause the stinkyman said so, then goodbye, we’re done talkin’

[antiquarianfics]

The Best Things Take Time

Bucky has a code. You manage to crack it.

A/N: This took me so long because I wasn't really sure how I wanted to go about it. I'm pretty happy with it, I think. Also, my first request! I hope I did your brain-child justice. :) Warnings: Mild language. Based on this request. Note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to repost or translate my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and/or reblog.

----

Bucky Barnes decided early on in his life as a free man that he wasn’t going to try and date—even with Sam and Yori pushing him all the time. His triggers are gone, yes, but he is starkly aware that he still has a long way to go before he might be considered ready to give time and energy to another person on a daily basis. However, if there is anyone in the world that makes him reconsider his own rule, it’s you.

The two of you first formally met when Steve, Sam, and yourself finally tracked him down. You were kind to him, but you kept your distance. He never made many attempts to speak with you, but the short interactions he did have with you were short and clinical. He never asked, but he’s pretty sure you’re afraid of him—of what he’s done.

Despite this assumption, Bucky takes note of the way you drop everything to help him time and time again. You back him in Washington, you back him in Siberia, you back him in Wakanda, and you back him in Washington in the second go-round. He is appreciative—very much so—but he keeps his distance regardless. After all, he shouldn’t risk losing an ally by something as silly as small talk.

Things begin to change, though, when he runs into you at the airport. Both him and you felt the need to get on Sam’s back about giving up the shield.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, a little indignantly. You cringe a little at your tone, but you brush it off nonetheless.

Bucky shoots you an annoyed look before turning to Sam.

Throughout the mission to track down the Flag Smashers, you and Bucky bicker (even more than Sam and Bucky do). You challenge him on every opinion he shares, poke fun at every misstep he takes, and side with Sam for the sake of disagreeing with him. He returns the favor, and he ignores the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth.

Your interactions are not particularly pleasant, sure, but they’re existent—which is progress.

—

“Does he always stare like that?” Walker asks Sam, eyeing Bucky uncomfortably.

“You get used to it,” Sam replies.

You glare at Walker. His attitude towards you and your boys bothers you. His entitlement to Steve’s shield and name bothers you. He bothers you.

“Does she always stare like that?” Walker asks, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Only when douchebags harass my friends,” you deadpan.

You are plenty aware this is the first time you’ve called Bucky your friend, and you can tell he is too by the way his eyes shift from Walker to you. You’re not aware, though, that your concession of friendship serves as the push he needs to talk to you more.

—

It takes time, but over the next few weeks, Bucky manages to get you to open up. He’s surprised with himself by how he’s willing to talk to you; after all, people are usually trying to get him to talk.

Bucky finds out that you’re actually not as reserved as he thought, but you had heard both Steve’s stories of before and multiple people’s accounts of after. Your distance, you admit, was a consequence of you trying to give him space when everyone else was crowding him. Your teasing and bickering with him was a consequence of trying to create said space. The revelation makes Bucky’s heart clench: no one has made him feel so cared for in a long time.

Bucky sticks by his no dating rule, though. After all, you may be friends, and you may be acting nicer to him lately, but there’s no way you like him like that.

Or, at least he thinks so until Louisiana.

—

“Hey, Sarah,” Bucky says, flashing a charming smile at her from where he sits next to Sam and yourself on the dock.

“Hey!” You smack his chest with the back of your hand. “No flirting with Sam’s sister.”

He lets his attention shift to you, and he can’t help the surprise. He’s aware that you could just be enforcing Sam’s demand from earlier, but you’re so adamant. He thinks maybe he sees a flash of jealousy in your eyes, but he thinks, too, he might just be seeing what he wants to see.

Sam and Sarah continue to bicker before she shoos the three of you away from the boat. Sam and Bucky step onto the dock and begin to walk away before you, and they keep walking even when Sarah stops you.

“Subtle,” she says, smirking at you. You wave her off, your face heating up with a blush.

“Shut up,” you say, embarrassment entwined with each syllable.

Bucky thinks maybe—just maybe—you might like him back.

—

Looking back on the last few years, Bucky can hardly believe the journey you and he had been on. Being so distant most of your time together in the first few years, and then being so rude to each other the next few, and then needing a push from the Wilsons to actually do anything about your feelings… it was interesting, to say the least.

He remembers the day you agreed to leave Louisiana with him. It was an impulsive decision, but it led to the first time the two of you had truly been alone together. It led to inside jokes and deep conversations. It led to a genuine friendship.

“I’m headed out tomorrow,” Bucky informed you and Sam.

The three of you were sitting on the porch of Sarah’s house, conversation flowing from friendly jests, to Karli, to the boat, to whatever else. Your head shot up to stare at him, eyes widening.

“What? Why?” Your tone was a little panicked. Bucky raised his eyebrows at your tone. Sam laughed, and you shot him a glare.

“I don’t want to overstay my welcome, Doll,” he said. Ever since the incident with Sarah, he’d let a few pet names for you fall from his lips, and he smugly noted the way they made you squirm.

“Oh.”

“Well!” Sam exclaimed, clapping his palms on his knees as he stood. “I’m gonna go check on Sarah and the boys while you,” he pointed at the two of you in turn, “figure whatever is going on here out.”

You protested, but Sam was gone without another word. Neither one of you spoke for a moment, and you chewed on your lip.

“You’re really going?” You asked shyly.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“You can come with me, if you want,” he offered before he can think better of himself.

Your eyes shot to his, analyzing his face for any sort of jest. He seemed sincere, and once you decided he wasn’t pulling your leg, you responded.

“Okay.”

He remembers the day the two of you finally addressed that you were more than friends. Bucky, of course, has a no dating rule, and you? You had no such thing, but you weren’t dating either. In fact, you hadn’t since before Karli and the Flag Smashers showed up.

Bucky and yourself were at a bar, drinking and laughing with one another. He was sober, of course, but you were a little tipsy. You had a dopey smile on your face that he thought was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. He still thinks your smile is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

That’s when a young woman sauntered up to the bar. She was gorgeous; her long, black braids reached her waist, her lips were painted a bright red color, and she wore a halter top that left little to the imagination.

“Hi,” she said, grabbing your attention, shooting you a flirtatious smile.

“Hi!” You said, the alcohol making you friendlier than you usually are.

“I saw you across the bar, and I was jus’ wonderin’, would you wanna grab a drink with me? Maybe dance a lil’?” Her eyes dragged down your body and back up to your eyes.

Your eyes widened and you blushed.

“Oh, uh! T-thank you! I’m flattered, but, uh, I got my guy right here, and I kinda like him too much to date!” You sort of yell-whispered the confession to the girl.

She glanced behind you to Bucky whose eyes had also widened in shock, his mouth hanging open a little. The woman laughed and touched your shoulder comfortingly.

“‘s alright,” she assured. “Was worth a shot, though.”

She turned to Bucky then.

“Yo, congrats, man. You’re a lucky guy once you two talk that through.”

With that, she had left, and you turned around to Bucky.

“Look,” you said, more sober sounding than you’d been since the two of you arrived at the bar. “I don’t know what you think this is, or what you want it to be, but I’m all in if you are.”

Bucky leaned forward and kissed you without a second thought.

And he remembers the moment he decided he was going to marry you, if you’d have him.

The two of you were sitting on the couch in your shared apartment; after about two years of dating, you insisted you live together.

“Buck, you’re always here. All your stuff is here. I don’t think you’ve stepped foot in your apartment in a month. You’re just wasting money on rent at this point.”

You were leaned into his side, eyes glued to the tv screen. The two of you were watching The Princess Bride (it’s one of the many movies you insisted was so culturally significant that he had to see it). It was the way you would turn to him at your favorite parts, gauging his reactions to see if he loved it like you did; the way you would mouth the most iconic lines along with the characters; and the way you would sigh contentedly and cuddle further into his side at the romantic scenes that really pulled the realization from deep within him. And, perhaps, it was the way you produced the most ridiculous voice to say "Mawwiage! Mawwiage is what bwings us here today!" that truly brought the idea of marrying you to the forefront of his mind. Regardless, he knew he wanted you around for the rest of his already over-extended lifetime.

—

Bucky Barnes decided early on in his life as a free man that he wasn’t going to try and date, and he decided late in his life as a free man that he wasn't going to ever try and date anyone other than you. So, here he finds himself, kneeling on the ground in front of you with a ring extended towards your person, and hoping you'll say yes.

"Sweetheart, I know we've had a lot of ups and downs. We met when I wasn't truly myself, we got together when I was still figuring out who I am on my own—without Steve, without HYDRA—but no matter what, you've been there for me. You're still here for me.

"You deserve the world, Doll, and I want to give it to you. I want to be here for all your ups and downs, and I want to spend my life being to you what you've already been to me.

"You're my partner, you're my best friend, you're the love of my life. And if you'll have me, I'll be your king, if you'll be my queen. I'll be your husband, if you'll be my wife.

"Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?"

You let out a laugh through a sob, pulling your hand to your face to quickly wipe your tears away, and you nod vigorously. You drop to your knees, pulling Bucky's face into your hands, caressing his cheek gently. Smiling, you respond.

"James Bucky Barnes, of course I'll marry you."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Home Away From Home 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, jealousy, mentions of loss, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki, Peter Parker (tall!reader)

Summary: You’ve been friends with the Odinsons since childhood. After years of separation, you reunite on Midgard after the destruction of Asgard, but find yourself caught between your old and new lives. 

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“That was so cool when you threw me,” Peter nearly hops to keep up with you. He might be small but he is fast. He is big in spirit. “And then I hit that guy with the elbow drop. Just like Macho Man.” 

“Macho Man?” You repeat curiously. “He is a friend of yours?” 

“Ha, no,” he shakes his head. “He was a wrestler. Real famous.” 

“A wrestler? I wrestle too! In Asgard, we always do so after a big feast.” You explain. 

“Really? Like you have a ring?” He asks. 

“Ring?” 

“Yeah, like where would you wrestle?” 

“On the floor...” you squint at him. His hair is still tussled and he still wears his funny red suit. 

“Mm,” he hums and nods. “You wrestled Thor?" 

“Oh, many times but he is a difficult adversary.” 

“What about Loki?” He wonders. 

“Once or twice, but only when he imbibed overly much. He thinks it’s unseemly,” you say. “Though I think it is because he doesn’t like to lose.” 

“Probably,” Peter snorts. “Would you wrestle me?” 

It’s your turn to laugh, “that’s very amusing to think of but I think we are outmatched.” 

“I can hold my own. You’ve seen me fight,” he argues. 

“Yes, I have, which is why I am deferring,” you say. “I’m afraid I’m known for my brute strength rather than my speed. I couldn’t keep up with you, dor-dígull.” 

“Hm, okay, well, I guess you’ve never seen Midgardian wrestling, have you?” He asks. 

“No, I haven’t.” 

“Ooh, I can show you my favourite matches,” he chimes excitedly. “I bet they're way more flashy than your Asgardian ones.” 

“Show me?” 

“Yeah, I have the videos. You know, we have wrestling shows,” he explains. 

“Ah, yes, the living pictures. I want to see it.” You agree. 

“Awesome. How about tonight? I’ll get us snacks.” He offers. 

You stop and face him. The rest of the team goes about their business without notice. You’re happy that they don’t seem to mind you. Especially since Thor couldn’t be there. Peter helped you feel a little less out of place. 

“Tonight,” you agree with a coy look.  

You don’t know much about Midgardians but you’ve been learning and you think you know what he’s asking. You’re not appalled at the idea. You’re even a bit flattered. He might not be built like an Asgardian but he is formidable nonetheless. 

“I’ll text you,” he grins. 

“And I will try to respond to your text,” you affirm. 

“Awesome!” He exclaims then calms himself, smoothing his hair. “You know, it’ll, uh, be fun.” 

“I’m certain it will,” you nod. “I should go report back to my people.” 

“Tell Thor I said hi? Oh, and Loki too,” he says. 

“Certainly,” you agree. You leave him as he runs after the blond-haired Captain and the man with the dark mop on his head and the black metal arm.  

You can’t deny your own excitement. Since Asgard turned to cinder and you became a refugee, since even before that, you’ve not had much opportunity to indulge in anything careless. You could do with a release. 

You weave your way through the tower. It hasn’t lost its shine. Everything is sleek and refined in that Midgardian fashion. And the people in their straight-cut clothing and tall shoes are amusing. You might go and find some of those for yourself. 

As you come into the lobby, a green flicker limns the edge of your vision.

You sigh, “Loki, where’ve you been?” You ask. 

“I assure you I've been doing more important things than playing games with Midgardian pretenders,” Loki drones. 

“We did good, Loki. We helped people in a big sandy place called Ar-i-zon-a,” you pronounce it deliberately. “You needn’t be bitter.” 

“I’m not bitter. You always were so presumptuous. You act as if you know me to the bone.” 

“I admit, Loki, I don’t know you as well as I once did,” you shrug as you push through the glass doors. “I don’t think anyone does, but if you gave anyone a chance...” You suggest. “Have you talked to any of the people? The women here are rather attractive.” 

“Women?” He spits. “I will not be languishing in the arms of a mortal.” 

“Or the men? It might do you well. To release the levee,” you nudge him with your elbow. 

“I don’t need—quiet. You shouldn’t speak of such things to a prince,” he hisses. 

“No, not anymore?” You wonder. “As right as ever, my prince, I do not know you as I once did. You should find one of those things... a hobby?” 

“I read,” he sniffs. “But their literature is so simplistic.” 

“Mm, they have sport. Oh, the little spider told me they have wrestling. They have shows you could watch. Or you could join in?” 

“These flimsy men would break,” he insists. 

“There are others here. In New Asgard. You could ask them.” 

“I don’t want to wrestle. It is a drunkard’s sport.” 

“Hm, yes, you were never much on it. Well, they have living pictures,” you point to one of the big signs on the side of the building. “You like theatre.” 

He huffs again. His defiance is irritating. As if anything you say will be wrong. He does that often to his brother. Well, you are not Thor and you will not let him spoil your day. 

“I will let you figure it out upon your own, then, for surely I know not of what I speak,” you say. “I hope that do find something to keep busy tonight.” 

“Tonight? You speak as if you are going somewhere? I thought we could find some activity. You seem more acquainted with this cursed place than I.” He says. 

“I am occupied. If you do not like the living pictures, they have stages, you could get a ticket,” you suggest. “Or perhaps you could ask your brother.” 

“I’d rather a crow pluck my eyes out.” He sneers. 

I’d rather one did too, you think to yourself. You stop and face him. You show your hands helplessly. 

“Tomorrow, prince. When I can avail myself to you, we will go around the city. There is a market I wish to peruse.” 

He stares at you dully, “fine. I suppose I can wait.” 

“You never struggled to amuse yourself,” you retort. “I’ve got to get going.” 

“You do? Where?” He asks. 

“I am no longer a ward of the crown,” you say. “I needn’t say.” 

“But I am asking,” he growls. 

You laugh, “you have not changed so much as you think.” 

You grin and spin away, strutting down the sidewalk. His sigh evaporates into another green hue at your back. You’ll deal with him tomorrow, once you’ve dislodged the thorn he’s poked into your side. 

[sinisterexaggerator]

Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

Summary: You are important to John Hancock; there is a radstorm brewing. As a skilled and reformed scavver, you’re after a part for a decommissioned lounger—it belongs to Doc Amari’s famed Memory Den.

Hancock's tense; he should have gone with you, but it’s not too late to search you out. He would be glad to have you home safe in his arms, only things don’t always go as planned, nor do you go unpunished for your negligence.

Explicit: NSFW / 18+ for PWP, PiV sex, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, whump / hurt and comfort, angst, gun violence, light bondage, praise, light sub/dom undertones, edging, use of chems, alcohol, foul language, and canon-typical violence and behavior. Other worthy mentions include fluff, romance, a worried and protective Hancock, and love confessions.

Notes: I am normally a Star Wars writer. This is my first time writing for Hancock, and my first fic for the Fallout fandom. I see Hancock as multifaceted, which I am having fun exploring. I have many ideas, but one fic can only contain so much! I used a few lines of dialogue from the game because they stuck with me T__T. I will also most likely try my hand at Nick Valentine at some point, (and maybe even Coop), but this ghoul stole my heart.

6.8k+

Feedback appreciated. Like? Reblog! <3 Requests accepted!

Eyes as black as tar pits searched the ground at his feet, though no answers would present themselves, the cold, grimy filth of the Commonwealth something he could relate to on an atomic level. Flecks of barren soil and bits of detritus vaulted upward in a stagnate aggregate of dust, cavalier leather boots—having seen better days—leaving a swirl of varied particulates in their wake.

Hancock paced, the Mayor of Goodneighbor impatient as a hungry mole rat, the man left to stalk before the door that led to the Financial District. A dreary, dark green pall signaled to anyone with brains that there was a storm looming on the horizon, and yet you had not returned.

“Where the hell is she?” a raspy voice asked its sparse audience, two ghouls dedicated to his cause doubling as bodyguards, though if he felt safe anywhere, it was here among his brethren.  Besides, it wasn’t his safety he was worried about, it was yours, and he wasn’t afraid to convey his feelings to the whole of town.

“Startin’ to get antsy. Gotta hand it to her, she’s got me sweatin’ like a whore in church over this. Hope she’s havin’ fun at my expense.”

Scavenging was lucrative, or it could be if you managed to score the right loot. You had to know where to look, or where not to look; danger was always in the cards. It was a game Hancock didn’t like to play, and especially not now, not when lightning streaked the sky, rain clouds pregnant with radiation threatening to burst open like a feral’s head looking down the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun.

He knew what it was like to be forced to scour the bare bones of buildings, filching anything that was ripe for the picking. A single find could feed a man for weeks, and places like Goodneighbor just didn’t just build themselves. People needed things. Lucky for them, Hancock was able to provide. It was his one claim to fame—his rep was solid—but he didn’t look down on you for being one to scout for buried treasure.

“She’ll turn up,” one of his companions offered. It was a piteous attempt to console him, Hancock all but ignoring his dismissive comment. He felt his concern was obvious, yet his bedfellows were none of their business. Either way, he brushed it off like a decent man instead of snapping like he wanted to—the guy’d done nothing wrong.

Thunderclaps echoed through town, the first of many droplets pelting his marred face, the ghoul’s faithful tricorn not doing much in the way of shielding him from the dirtied water that had begun to trickle down onto its weathered surface.

He rued allowing you to go out on this wild-mongrel chase to begin with, not to say that you weren’t capable. What he might say is that you’re too good for this world, too good for him, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling head over heels.

You weren’t anti-social like most of your kind; you had a good heart, gave paying customers fair deals, and somehow you had kept the ruins from tarnishing your cheerful outlook; you sported a chipper disposition even at the worst of times.

In other words, you were his little ray of sunshine; Hancock had no qualms with telling you that to your face. And things as precious as you were to him? They needed protecting. It was becoming more obvious by the minute that he should have done the job himself.

“If this is her definition of ‘fast,’ we’re going to need to have a little chat to clear a few things up. Should have fucking gone with her, don’t know what I was thinking,” fried vocal cords scratched out, words tinged with worry as he made his way to the reinforced slab of steel that was Goodneighbor’s single entry point, not counting the alley behind Rexford.

“Maybe you weren’t thinkin’ at all, John…” that little voice inside his head nagged at him, reminding himself at every turn of the ways he’d failed, this on the verge of being one of them.

“Want us to look?” the other rejoined, aware you had been sent out on a job to find a replacement circuit board for Doctor Amari, as one of the memory lounger’s had been marked out of service. The doc would pay you well; everyone’s gotta eke a living somehow. Hers was made by sellin’ a man’s own memories back to him, and yours was made by sellin’ spare parts.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t have skipped out on his Mayoral duties for one evening, Hancock mentally scolding himself, his sentiments leading him toward the need to kick his own ass.

Quick, adept and clever, he had no doubt you could pull it off, but you were used to traveling in a group, used to back up and a lookout. You had willingly ditched your crew and settled here for him, making Goodneighbor more or less your permanent home. He couldn’t help but feel like he was ultimately responsible for you and your well-being—so far, so good. He’d be damned if anything happened to you on his watch.

The coming radstorm was starting to sound like a stampede of angry Brahmin. Not even those of his ilk should be out in this mess. Technically immortal, sure, but not immune to accumulating all that bad stuff brewing in the atmosphere; he was comfy right where he was, but not without his lady by his side.

Their self-elected leader ignored the question, reaching into the confines of his red frock coat to unveil the firepower hidden just out of sight. His break-action, double-barreled 12-gauge had most of its stock removed for easy concealment; he knew better than to step foot outside Goodneighbor without packing heat.

“No, you might say this is a personal problem. Not to say she wouldn’t make a damn fine Ghoul,” he stated with deadly calm, kicking the door open with reckless abandon despite his unflappable demeanor, not caring what awaited him on the other side.

“I’m going with you, ain’t safe,” words spoken over harsh winds, a breeze not in the least bit refreshing having descended upon the Commonwealth as Hancock slipped out into the mounting tumult, both men following close behind. Truthfully, he was grateful for their loyalty.  

“Suit yourself, but don’t go gettin’ yourself killed. Would defeat the purpose of a search and rescue, ya feel me?”

A question not needing a response, he ventured forward, running headfirst into the growing tempest, chaos reigning overhead in the form of a blinding light show.

Hancock called out for you, yelling your name over the deafening commotion that was going to get worse before it got better, not about to go home empty-handed, even if it took the whole damn rest of the night. He hoped you were smart enough to know when to quit, or that you’d taken those Mentats he’d stuffed in your pocket on the way out.

“Get back here, scavver!”

Footfalls echoed in the dark, brisk in pace, inky, depthless eyes narrowing as the ghoul searched out the source. He had taken no more than half a dozen steps before he was forced to witness you at a full-fledged run, two burly raiders belting out insults and expletives hot on your trail.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, but he was stone-cold sober, time standing still as you dove into Hancock’s open arms.

“There’s my girl,” the scoundrel purred into your ear, sinewy limbs enshrouding you as the sound of gunfire and discarded ammo casings nearly went unnoticed. Hancock let his own weapon fall to the ground to accommodate you, your pursuers dispatched like the trash they were. The members of the Neighborhood Watch who had accompanied him outside the walls made short work of both men; they deserved a drink and some chems on his dime.

“John,” you breathed out, smiling up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth as you held up that piece of scrap you were so proud of. His name off your tongue was musical, a warm sensation spreading through him like wildfire, better than drugs—it was a high he would never come down from.

“I—I got the part,” you spoke softly, your tepid breath tickling the remnants of a disfigured ear.

Hancock almost shivered.

But oh, no. He wasn’t about to let you off that easy, not when he’d felt that pang of anxiety and the sickening feeling in his gut like someone had shanked him with his own knife. He held you back by the shoulders, breaking your embrace, his face taking on a displeased, stern shade.

“What’s wrong with you, huh? Makin' me all kinds of nervous. Scarin’ me half to death. And some might say I don’t look too far off.” He breathed in nice and slow, exhaling through exposed nasal cavities, Hancock emitting a sigh to emphasize his disappointment. “Can’t be doin’ things like that, or you’re liable to give this old ghoul a—”

“—Sunshine?” His heart sank, as if the universe was out to prove he had every right to worry, Hancock’s attention inexplicably drawn to the red staining your fingers—it neared the color of his coat. You only now seemed to notice, that radiant light swept from your beaming face as you acknowledged the presence of your own blood on your hands; no wonder it had been so hard to take those last few steps.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, eyes blown wide as you apologized for upsetting him. You would collapse into a heap, the adrenaline that had carried you home seeming to dissipate all at once—at least your fight-or-flight response had done its duty.

---

“Move over, out of the way. I ain’t askin’ twice,” Hancock seethed, the distraught man’s threat to bowl over anyone who stood in his way not to be taken lightly, though his tone was traitorously even and his despondency well-masked. He stormed the Old State House, ascending the spiral staircase to the second floor, carrying your limp body to a tattered red couch.

Refuse and empty Jet inhalers, along with half-drunk bottles of alcohol and boxes of Mentats, were all swept aside, Hancock throwing open cabinet doors and dislodging drawers in his haste.

“Oh, you’re really in it now, aren’t you, sister? Just had to make a few extra caps!” he chided, the ghoul’s husky voice rising in volume as he took to another part of the room.

Having not yet succumbed to blood loss, you were barely cognizant as you fought to stay awake, your beloved Mayor nothing more than a blur of motion and splotches of red as he systematically searched every nook and cranny for the syringe that would save your life.

“Hang on, dollface, you’re not dying today. Not if I have anything to say about it—and you know how much I love to run my mouth.” Hancock spoke to reassure you and himself, filling the silence with something other than the curses he wanted to dish out every which way to the wind. You couldn’t help but to smile again despite your predicament, eyelids drooping as you thought about the idea of sleep.

“There you are,” he growled, your vision starting to glaze over, though you were aware Hancock had come back to your side. His scarred, yet deceptively handsome face hovered inches above your own; it was an acquired taste you had no trouble in accepting.

“This is gonna hurt, but it’s better than the alternative,” he provided in short warning, withered fingers fumbling to unbutton your top, exposing first your sternum, your ribs, and then your belly.

“Shit, they got you good,” Hancock grumbled, your hand rising to cradle his jaw as he had peeled back the flaps of fabric to inspect the wound in your side. You were surprisingly calm, thinking that if today was your last day on Earth, at least you had been blessed to experience his company. 

“I’m glad it’s you here with me,” your voice, meek and mild, declared. Hancock hesitated for one precious second, caught off guard, but pleasantly so.

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me! Ain’t like these are your final moments or nothin’,” he assured, an audible tremble causing his words to waver, voice rising in pitch. He went on to stab you without ceremony, the needlepoint of a stimpak and its revitalizing medicine at once injecting itself into your damaged flesh and pulsing through your bloodstream.

You moaned in pain, hips arching as you lifted slightly up off the cushions before you settled once more, allowing yourself to finally relax as Hancock watched the regenerative process take hold, much to his relief.

---

You awoke, finding yourself supine atop a mattress, with Hancock crossed legged on the floor beside you. He had brought it down from upstairs, wanting you to have somewhere more comfortable to recover; the drifters weren’t using it, but he was sure he could scrounge another one up should the need arise.

The door was shut, the rest of the room empty, the man teetering off the edge of a high he wished he could prolong; he had pumped himself full of all those things that made him feel better. Riddled with guilt, he had imbibed both chems and alcohol, his body slightly swaying from left to right as he could not sit entirely still, yet he was too far off in his own head to notice you had come back to him.

You shifted, realizing he had draped his frock across your body to act as a temporary blanket. This simple gesture caused a flutter behind sore ribs, biceps activating so that you might push up and rest on the flat of your palms.

John was idle, near-dead to the world, eyes closed as he kept up that gentle rocking, back and forth, as if lost in music or in deep meditation. You only desired to watch him, studying the intricate, striated patterns of his ravaged flesh, gazing over the hollow of his once human nose, and admiring his sullied, foppish tunic that was a part of his infamous ensemble.

While some might consider him a monster, he was a being of light. He had superficial, obvious flaws, but he was no more guilty of sin than anyone else in this day and age. He was a beautiful soul, inside and out, and your opinion was the only one that mattered to you. Hancock always tried to do the right thing—it’s what drew you to him—even if that meant taking out a few loose ends. 

Your heart stirred, natural chemical processes taking hold that would prompt you to touch him, your hormones dictating that you wanted this man carnally.

The ghoul’s eyes bolted open as you shuffled forward on your behind; you set his coat aside almost reverently, folding your legs like his, knees brushing as you leaned forward to kiss his wiry lips. Soft flesh against textured skin, rough in comparison, felt no less wonderful, Hancock groaning out a throaty sound of appreciation as he slowly shut his eyes again.

That was all the encouragement you needed, pressing closer, crawling onto Hancock’s lap as his hands found the meat of your ass to give it a squeeze. “Someone’s feelin’ better…” he quipped, allowing himself to lie back on the floor. His smile was lackadaisical and content, his touch roving to your thighs as he gazed up at you, noting you were tugging off your already unbuttoned top to reveal your shapely breasts.

“How’d a guy like me get so damn lucky…” he drawled, Hancock’s normally assertive way of speaking temporarily replaced by a calming cadence—it was dreamy—his indolent tone arousing your most base instincts.

You didn’t answer at first, thinking you’re the one who’s lucky. You had wanted and needed a change of pace, not happy with the way your business partners were operating, willing to bring death to others in order to get what scrap they could. You only took things from the ruins, or from those who deserved to be robbed, the idea of senseless violence proliferating thanks to people like your ragtag group something you decided you couldn’t live with.

You’d come to Goodneighbor looking for work; Hancock had been willing to give you a chance, and you didn’t disappoint. After a few heady conversations and risqué flirtations at the Third Rail, you had wound up in his arms—a place you found yourself never wanting to leave.

“I could ask you the same question,” you finally muttered, grazing his mouth, kisses repeating, small pecks placed from one side to the other in a physical show of adoration. The ghoul laughed a wry, salacious little laugh, head turning to allow for this impromptu bout of affection, stretching one arm out behind his head to act as a pillow as he relished the attention.

Then, his smile faded, the chem’s effects lingering like background radiation, less intense than before—the high lasted mere minutes if that, his faculties gradually returning. The hand left free gingerly touched your side, just below where he had administered the stimpak hours earlier. Concern was apparent in glistening eyes, so dark and lovely, starry pupils reflecting the faint luminescence of his surroundings.

“Not lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he promised, every shred of levity fleeing to be replaced by austerity, low, somber notes causing a visceral reaction as the onset of something warm and fuzzy spread throughout your core.

“Bein’ out here with me? Means you don’t gotta work, but I should have had your back, sunshine. Ain’t got no excuse.”

“You can have me on my back,” you playfully retorted, the simple suggestion unleashing a purr from the bowels of the ghoul’s throat. The idea of being a kept woman pleased you, but you were more interested in pleasing him.

“You better watch your mouth, or I can’t be held responsible for all those things I’m going to do to you,” Hancock countered. He talked big game, but he was still feelin’ shook. He didn’t want to risk getting too frisky on the off chance your body needed more time to heal; you were only human, after all.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” you simpered. Hancock was quick to snark back.

“I know that’s a lie, ‘cause you’re not wearing any.”

You gasped as Hancock flipped you without warning, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He drank in the smooth, supple flesh of your curves, hungry eyes making damn sure to get their fill.

He couldn’t stop himself, exploring the swell of a perfect tit, Hancock’s mouth becoming newly acquainted with the sensitive flesh of your nipple. He flicked its pert tip with the point of his tongue; you brazenly rolled your hips as you tried to contain the lewd sound that threatened to escape you.

“I double dog dare you, ” you tempted, not in the least bit afraid of what he might have in store.

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t want to hurt you, love, but let’s say I give it to you nice and slow… Or as slow as I can give it; hard to keep promises, lookin’ the way you do,” he argued, ruined lips applying pressure as he began to suck, his growing erection gently grinding into the meat of your thigh.

“You won’t hurt me.” You shuddered as he pulled back, gazing into murky, otherworldly eyes, their glow hypnotizing. You half-assed a struggle, wanting to pull your hands free if only to touch him, Hancock chuckling mildly at your efforts.

“Don’t be so sure, ‘cause I got a hankerin’ for human,” his voice dropped emphatically lower, toying with you, his dire inflection sending tingles down your spine. Coming from a ghoul, most people would run the other way, but you knew from experience, Hancock had a twisted sense of humor—it was something you loved about him.

“Eat me,” you jeered, snapping your teeth playfully like some creature that roamed the wasteland, Hancock pulling his head back just enough to satisfy you, as if he had a nose to bite off to begin with.

“That’s the plan, sister,” he snickered, finally releasing his grip on your arms.

You took the opportunity to take hold of Hancock’s already tousled vest, guiding him down to meet your lips. Your fingers busied themselves with its unbuttoning as the ghoul had his hands full, cradling the plump, healthy tissue of your blushing cheeks in the crooks of his palms.

Hancock fed a grating moan into your mouth before asking a pointless question he already knew the answer to, not one to miss out on a chance to have his ego stroked. “Somethin’ about me.. turnin' you on? Don’t know why you’d go for this ugly mug,” he conceded, fishing for a compliment. 

“You. You turn me on,” you whined plaintively, “everything about you,” you confessed, furling your tongue around his, willing him to shut his trap long enough for you to kiss him properly. He aided in the undressing, whipping his sash off in one fell swoop, an idea blossoming only to come into fruition shortly thereafter.

“That why you’re actin’ so desperate for me?” Hancock laced that bit of ragged flag around both your wrists, constricting them once more, his own arm extending to tauten its hold. He wouldn’t give you the chance to kiss him the way you wanted to, cinching its loose ends around the legs of the coffee table just behind your head, giving it a good tug to make sure you couldn’t break free.

In reality, it would have been easy to wiggle loose, but he knew you were the type to play along.

“What are you doing?” you asked, feigning alarm. The ghoul only grinned a shit-eating grin, crawling backward across your lap to adjust to a better position for his next course of action. 

“Makin’ sure you can’t skip out on me,” he said matter of fact, a mischievous lilt to his voice, “gonna have to punish you for all that worryin’ you made me do.” 

“But, Hancock—” you protested, realizing he was barring you from the one thing you wanted—full access to his person, unable to grope and caress all those parts of him you were so eager to touch and kiss.

“—Hmm?” he hummed, the bastard having the nerve to stand. He left you in a recumbent position with hands tied, unable to do anything but gaze up at the seductive set of motions he was now subjecting you to.

The ghoul painstakingly unfastened the remainder of his buttons, wizened digits fondling each in turn, his manner suggesting something that for now would remain unspoken. Then, Hancock shrugged his vest off, allowing his arms to hang as the garment dropped silkily to the floor. It was followed by a festooned shirt, leaving the man bare chested and amused; he wasn’t sure you had blinked even once.

“Like what you see?” he asked lazily, tracing a line across his gaunt pecs toward his navel with the curl of a finger, black eyes glinting impishly at the sight of you jostling your wrists as you failed to liberate yourself.

“Yes,” you breathed out shamelessly, unable to deny the effect his little striptease had on you. This in and of itself was torture, finding his brand of punishment entirely unfair.

“Good,” Hancock crooned, doing the unthinkable as he vanished from view. He even went so far as to walk beyond your peripheral vision. Instead, you were reduced to listening out for him, the ghoul shuffling around somewhere behind you. 

“John,” you whined, sitting up and scooting back against the coffee table the best you could. You endeavored to crane your neck, hearing the clink of glass preceding other innocuous sounds, the gentle thud of Hancock’s boots echoing across the rotting floorboards as he made his way back around. 

“You can say my name all you want to, princess, but it ain’t gonna change a damn thing,” Hancock stressed, words clawing their way out of cracked pipes as he nudged your knees apart with his foot; he knelt between your legs, a dispenser of Jet in one hand, and a dose of Rad-X in the other. “Open wide,” he instructed. 

You should have known what he’d been after, the drug-addicted ghoul popping the lone anti-radiation capsule inside his mouth after dispensing a heavy spray of the illicit substance into his lungs; its potency was limited in his case, but you were easily susceptible to its high. 

You gratefully obeyed, wanting any excuse to be close to him, Hancock’s silver tongue molesting you as easily as it had persuaded you to listen. He deposited the pill into your mouth, kissing you deeply, your beloved Mayor giving you a shotgun of thick, odorous chems without so much as a single protest on your part. 

Your heart thrummed, Jet leeching its way into your bloodstream to trigger a bodily response via your nervous system. In the meantime, you had almost forgotten to swallow your dose of Rad-X, Hancock prompting you by trailing the full length of your throat with a single, sallow finger. 

He massaged it down, feeling for the activation of those muscles that would help ferry it along, his thoughts drifting to the memory of his cock once upon a time being slopped on by the wet whorl of your tongue. His prick had throbbed almost painfully, sequestered snugly inside your zealous gullet, the powerful suction of your hollow cheeks threatening to wrench his soul from his body, or it sure as hell had felt that way.

He was drawn back to the present moment by the look in your eyes, your pupils dilating to rival the circumference of dinner plates. You gazed at the man before you; Hancock pulled back the edge of your bottom lip, exposing your gumline, the ghoul snaking another of his fingers inside your partially open mouth. 

The slender extremity would bypass your blunt teeth, saturating itself in your saliva. Even in this state, you had the wherewithal to pucker up, intaking that explorative digit to the knuckle, your plush maw behaving like a deluxe pre-war vacuum cleaner. 

The ghoul shuddered, though keeping his cool intact, lost in the depths of your unwavering stare. He slowly slipped back out, releasing your lip for it to snap gently back into place, Hancock satisfied with the knowledge you had swallowed the pill.

“Look at you, bein’ such a good girl for me,” Hancock praised, speaking in a low, sultry whisper. You did not reply, your desire for the man at its all-time high, that warmth in your belly having spread to complement the unparalleled ache of your loins.

“Hancock,” you whimpered, once more tugging at the cloth that bound you. You felt delirious with longing, your heart racing as you saw stars, euphoria overtaking all of your senses. You pushed forward, halted partway by that fucking flag that had you fettered like some common criminal, too blazed to even think about squirming loose. 

“Please,” you begged, lips reaching for his. Hancock evaded you, trailing a divot devoid of cartilage across your sateen cheek, directing it toward your lovely, intact nose. 

“Please, what, sister?” he ruthlessly teased, watching as your tongue tried to skirt his teeth; its vertex barely met its goal. Still, Hancock would return the gesture with a sweep of his own, flitting his against yours, inhaling deeply the scent of Jet off your breath as he was suddenly consumed by an almost feral need to taste your neediness—it was nearly palpable. 

“Please.. touch you? Please kiss you? Please.. fuck your pretty little hole?” he asked in a derisive tone, though his movements were languid, Hancock in no rush to oblige you, even as his veiny hands glided over every inch of your sleek skin.

“Is that what my little ray of sunshine wants?” the ghoul taunted, moving to unbutton the clasp at the top of your pants, then pinching the pull of your zipper, teeth parting to reveal clean cotton. You were nearly embarrassed by how damp your panties were, the chems only making your arousal ten times worse; Hancock wasn’t helping matters, a lecherous moan reaching your ears as the man slid back and realigned himself, bending forward to bury his face in the moist outline staining your skivvies.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet—” he marveled breezily, “—is it all for me?” Hancock rasped, nipping you through the fabric, a desiccated finger tucking itself into its elastic hem. Hancock dragged it down just far enough to expose your sweet-smelling sex, the ghoul’s tongue slithering easily between slick folds. 

You inhaled a disjointed gasp for breath, voice cracking as you cried out in ecstasy, Hancock having barely swiped your thrumming clit. That alone was almost too much, your hips bucking beneath him of their own volition as you pleaded with him to keep his promise.

“Don’t tease,” you sighed, naked breasts rising and falling with every labored breath. Hancock’s eyes traveled up your fine as fuck body before meeting your gaze, a twisted hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his ghoulish mouth. 

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he snickered, fingers grasping the entirety of your waistband to help you shimmy off your bottom layer of clothes. Your hips wriggled all too desperately, overjoyed to finally be free of their constraints. 

“But that’s not fair!” you entreated, unabashedly spreading your legs in the hopes of providing him a suitable meal, ready and willing to be devoured if you could only convince him to take the plunge.  

“And why not?” he asked in all seriousness, nuzzling into the lush flesh of your labia as his silky tongue entombed itself, gathering your moist heat from its source. He dipped back out to your chagrin—you had inhaled sharply in preparation only to be left disappointed—Hancock licking a stripe to the cusp of your throbbing bud. 

“Because I’ll die,” you replied, overexaggerating, writhing in bliss, albeit temporary; Hancock seemed out to drive you mad, retracting once more to glance back up at you, reedy lips downturned in a disapproving frown. 

“No, you won’t,” he asserted, voice taking on a sobering, sincere quality; even if you were being hyperbolic, after the events that had just transpired, Hancock didn’t find it funny, resolving to dine on you good and proper, as if it would be the thing to save your life. 

“I—” You were cut off mid-thought, lightning crashing thunderously outside, the ghoul introducing two coarse fingers into your clenching cunt as the radstorm raged on. Hancock’s neck sank low as you arched your hips, the flat of a thick tongue bringing you toward rapture as he succinctly lapped your clit in delicious combination, playing you like some Old World violin. 

“Aren’t you glad you’re trapped in here with me instead of out there cookin’ alive?” Hancock asked offhand, digits curling to find the seat of your pleasure, warm, wet muscle dancing slow, precise circles across your sensitive nerves. You halfheartedly yanked at your bindings once more, wishing for nothing more than to ravish him like a woman starved, deprived of sustenance. 

“Yes, yes— please, just like that,” you answered, urging him on, the man encouraged to keep at it, long, languorous strokes titillating you toward release.

Then, he simply stopped, fingers glossy upon exit, Hancock sucking your slick clean off with a scarecrow smile, tilting his head like a curious animal as you bemoaned your plight, left to suffer on the edge of an orgasm. 

“Relax, I ain’t through with you yet,” Hancock remarked, lifting himself up to a seated position on his knees. You whined indignantly, made to watch as he unbuckled and unzipped his own pants.

The rogue stood completely, giving you another show, kicking one boot off after the other before slinking out of the rest of his clothes. 

You took a moment to admire him, skin pockmarked with scars, deep pits of tissue missing where cells had inevitably healed all too quickly, John a mosaic of gnarled, misshapen flesh and keloid. Yet he was so handsome, charming, and cavalier, the man leaving nothing on but his tricornered hat, returning to his previous enterprise by way of interring his roiling tongue into your aching center. 

“Oh, John,” you murmured, voice hushed, the man’s thumb working itself concentrically atop your little pearl. 

For once, he was quiet, his strokes inside you meticulous, the nearly silent room filled with a plethora of obscene sounds as he feasted on you like a Yao guai over a fresh kill. Just a little attention was all it took, nails digging into the palms of your tied hands as you twisted beneath him, vocalizing loud enough you were sure the whole State House would hear.

A shiver rocked you to your core, riding out your climax for as long as you could stand it. You were unable to push Hancock’s head back even if you wanted to, the ghoul finding a new way to punish you, continuing to stimulate your already oversensitive clit. 

“Hancock, please—” you begged him under different circumstances, the ball of your foot gingerly pushing against his blatant hard-on. The ghoul finally let up just enough to chortle dryly, obviously nonplussed.

“Done already? Thought we were just gettin’ this party started,” he flouted, sitting up properly, probing fingers caressing the curve of your slit as they trailed upward, ghosting over your navel to tweak your nipple. They didn’t stop there, reaching just behind you to nab a cigarette off the edge of the coffee table, your expression giving away your confusion as he struck a match to ignite the end.

“No, John— you’re supposed to fuck me!” you berated, another devious little chuckle let loose from wilted lips. The ghoul inhaled a deep drag of nicotine laced with radiation, though the amount contained therein was so trivial he didn’t bat a lash—not that he had any.

He gazed at you through a thin veil of smoke exuded from eroded nasal passages—a short burst of pressure from his lungs propelling it outward—a freakish sight to some, but you had grown accustomed to it. 

“So, that is what you want,” Hancock digressed, snubbing the end of his cig on the floor after a few more laggard puffs. The Jet was wearing off, Hancock having already sobered completely, its side effects leaving you feeling used-up and exhausted. Hancock had forgotten what it felt like to come down from such an intense high; you pouted pathetically up at him.

“Baby,” you whined, immediately capturing Hancock's attention. He dropped the act, eyes softening around the edges, colorless voids somehow the most expressive you had ever seen them.

“What is it, sunshine? Feelin’ all right? Need somethin’ to take the edge off?” he asked gently, concern present in his tone, the ghoul finally being kind enough to reach over your head to free you from your bindings. 

“I need you,” you implored, your speech sounding childishly irritable, tired, heavy arms lifting to wrap themselves around John’s neck; you couldn’t help yourself, having been prohibited from touching him for what felt like hours, when in reality it had only been a short length of time. 

“I’m all yours,” Hancock vowed, whisking a stray strand of your hair away. A soft kiss was pressed into even softer lips; the man was two sides of the same coin, like night and day. Part of you prayed you would never cross him, his temper volatile, like an active volcano lying dormant until such a time the right conditions were met, inevitably causing an eruption. 

But he was also kind, genuine, and a good person, only wanting to make the Commonwealth a better place; he held within him a righteous anger, and for good reason, determined to stick by him through thick and thin. 

"Nice and slow?" you asked, bringing the conversation full circle, ushering the ghoul down on top of you as you laid back, gazing up with heavy-lidded eyes. He searched your face, as if double-checking for something, needing to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing was wrong—you were only sulking. 

“You got it, sister,” Hancock replied coyly, the fullness of a finger returning to you as he tested the waters; you were still so unbelievably wet. It was a stark contrast to the dry, desolate landscape that stretched for miles just beyond his little town, the ghoul humming in gratitude as you kissed him once again. 

You wasted no time, slipping your hand between the depression of your bodies where hip meets hip, his weight a warm, inviting presence that comforted you like nothing else. Your fingers toyed with his variegated shaft, thumbing a bead of loosed pre-cum to moisten its tip; Hancock moaned lustfully as he buried himself deeper into the column of your throat, teeth raking tender flesh, barely withholding the intention to bite.

“I’m thinkin’ you must be the single best thing to ever happen to me,” Hancock confessed in a dulcet whisper, voice quavering with emotion as you carefully escorted his cock inside you, one delicious inch at a time. Jagged breaths found their way into your ear, distorted, ribbed flesh, more than adequate in length and girth, stretching you open, a subdued sound of longing and relief birthed from parted lips. 

“I love you,” you blurted out, unable to keep your feelings at bay, any and all movements ceasing before they had wholly begun.

You had closed your eyes; they fluttered open, fear wheedling its way inside your heart as Hancock gazed at you in silence. You cursed yourself, having never before expressed such a sentiment out loud, unsure how the man would take it, or if he even felt remotely the same—all signs pointed to yes, but you refused to be presumptuous. 

Then, he pushed up into your tight cunt with one slow, smooth stroke of his cock along your anterior walls, stimulating your G-spot. Pleasure radiated through you as you emitted a stilted breath, Hancock cradling your cheek, resting his forehead against yours to stare penetratingly into your eyes.

“Took you to be smarter than this, but I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that,” he breathed against your lips, slipping a motile tongue into your mouth, wanting to desperately deepen your connection. 

You readily accepted, your own tongue writhing and contracting in unison with his, heart beating fervently behind a wall of blood and bone. Your fingers clawed and grasped at his narrow shoulders and the tendinous flesh of his back, exploring every inch of your ghoulish lover, from head to jutting hipbone.

Hancock drove his cock into you, back and forth, keeping a steady, equal rhythm like the beat of a drum. “Why now?” he asked, voice tempered, each pump of his thick prick inside you unhurried and sensuous.

“Nearly dying may have had something to do with it,” you jested in-between indecent, muted moans, Hancock’s deliberate pace driving you toward orgasm. The arm not supporting his weight curled tightly around you. He clutched you to his chest, and you wrapped your thighs around his waif thin waist in return. 

“Mmn.. that it?” Spindly fingers moved to grip the back of your head, digging into tufts of your hair; your back bowed to support you in joining with him more fully, Hancock massaging your scalp as he massaged your insides, debauch, rich sounds filling both your ears.

“And because I have nothing to lose,” you reluctantly answered, breath picking up speed as you pushed back against firm, rawboned pectorals with the palm of your hand; you had the intention of arranging yourself at just the right angle to please— a simple slant of your hips would make things all too easy.

Within moments, you came, pinpricks of light overwhelming your senses. You were elated, as if your consciousness had been overtaken by a nebulous cloud of love and electromagnetic radiation, a soul set adrift in a swirling haze of thoughts, feelings and emotions that would amalgamate into something beautiful—it caused you to cry out a sound of intense, heartfelt bliss. 

Your mind went blank, only registering that John had simultaneously shared in the experience. It would take you both a moment to calm.

Then, you squeezed Hancock tightly between your legs, a signal for him to not withdraw, but to stay awhile, the tension in your body settling as you laid back down.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Hancock would smother you with his scant weight, caressing the point of your chin, his thumb snaking across your bottom lip. He gave a faint exhalation of breath, the concave outline of his nasal cavity grazing the convex shape of your nose; it tickled.

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

[sixosix]

END NOTE | THAWED

a little love letter to my readers

to start off, i know that the series is based off the entire reputation album, but i like to think that this whole series was written around call it what you want.

how it started LMFAOOO

This was previously titled ‘melt’ before i was like ‘nah ill make it, like, thaw” and earthtooz went, “Thawed?” little did earth know,, that name would literally take over my docs,,, my tags,,, my ENTIRE account

A message to my readers: From the bottomest bottom of my heart, if you have reached this series until the very end, thank you so, so much for reading. Read that sentence again. And again, until you realize how grateful I truly am as a writer. Thawed is such a big project that I still can’t believe I was able to even start. I genuinely never thought it would garner this much attention, and in all honestly, I was intimidated by it, because I had no idea what I was doing, and I was afraid I would disappoint.

This entire project was intimidating, and I considered so many times to just drop it and end it on chapter five. I struggled so badly to write after I introduced the characters, and I thought: “well, that’s it. I guess it was fun.” I even told my friends that I would do that; and yet 14 chapters later, look at where we are now 😭

Writing it was so exhausting. Working on a series while studying as a student really makes it difficult to remember details about my own story T__T I had to reread Thawed so many times to the point where I don’t even like it anymore.

But I know the reason why I decided to continue it! It sounds so horribly cliche, but it’s true. It’s thanks to all your overwhelming support :( Each ask, comment, reblog—they all fueled me more than you think. All those replies of even incoherent gibberish made me realize that, ‘hey, someone read it and liked it enough to send an ask about it. Maybe I am doing something right!!!!’

some thawed extras for readers who are interested

If you haven’t noticed, the chapter titles aren’t actually accurately about the chapter. Those titles were taken from the songs in the Reputation album, in order. And the chapters are loosely based around them!

reputation is, like, widely known as the edgy album from taylor, but in reality its such a big love letter and i know that other people noticed that, too! i think it’s very fitting to the story of thawed: it’s dark and messy, but at the end of the day, it’s a love story. do you get what i mean hehe. i hope that’s how the series came across…

im sorry if aether doesnt appear in the last chapter :( in my head, mc is coming home. and by then i dont think aether would be in fontaine at all! but rest assured they definitely have met up twice or thrice while in the other regions heehee. Also aether will ofc be there for their weeding. 🙏

i have nothing much else to say aside from thank you for reading! i hope u enjoyed thawed as much as i did

[the-power-of-stuff]

The Live-Action Sukka Manifesto that I Just Couldn't Keep in My Head

So I've been marinating in my live-action Sukka thoughts for the past three days, and when someone sent me an anon asking if I had any thoughts about the changes, at first I went, "DO I EVER?!" and proceeded to dump my entire brain on the page.

But then I worried maybe the anon wouldn't want to see my entire brain and figured I'd make my own post with my Many, Many Thoughts, and reel it in a bit when I answer the ask. And then link here if they're interested in the dissertation.

I'll put all the excessive details and spoilery stuff under a cut, but I'll start by saying, I didn't hate it! And I was afraid that I would.

There were things that I was bummed or had mixed feelings about, but there was also a lot that I genuinely enjoyed. All the Sukka interactions were cute and still had some decent character development, and I had fun with the episode overall (I've watched it thrice mind you, and definitely have not given the rest of the series that kind of attention). And I didn't necessarily dislike the differences from the original; I think I've just taken more of a "that was an interesting interpretation" approach.

But I better start that cut now, because I'm about to go on and on about this. I'd love to know what others think, though!! Even if the opinions aren't the same as mine! Please feel free to comment, reblog, shoot me an ask. If nothing else, I'm excited that the LA has gotten people talking about ATLA again.

So, I want to start with Suki’s characterization, which overall I found to be delightful, even if it was a bit of a watered-down version of her animated self.

In the original show, Suki is confident, sassy, and doesn’t take shit from anybody. She’s proud to the point of almost being arrogant, and even a little mean. What we get in the LA is someone who’s still confident in terms of her status and her skills, and still proud of her heritage and her role in her community, but with significantly less sass. And while LA Suki still seems like someone who wouldn’t take anyone’s shit, we don’t actually see LA Suki deal with that much shit from anyone (because Sokka isn’t really giving her any). 

There is one moment in the show where her interaction with Sokka is a little contentious, which is when he tries to relate to her as a fellow guardian of his people. I think Suki’s question to Sokka about how is he protecting his village if he’s not there is meant to be a challenge to his swagger. However, the line is delivered with a softness that makes it seem as though Suki is, at least in part, genuinely curious. (This curiosity makes even more sense when we consider the fact that Suki’s eventually going to leave Kyoshi Island so she and her Warriors can take part in the war effort, and that she will have to contend with the question of “how do you do that without abandoning your people?” when coming to that decision. The LA lays a lot more of this groundwork than the animated show did: Suki outwardly expressing her desire to see the world, her mother’s secretive looks every time Suki gazes longingly at Sokka the possibilities…)

Compare these two moments, for example. These are both scenes where Suki expresses disbelief at Sokka's claims about his warrior-hood. But in the LA, Suki speaks rather quietly and mildly, in contrast to the brash sarcasm of her animated counterpart. LA Suki is also tilting her head down and away, looking at Sokka indirectly. OG Suki is leaning in close, getting in his face, smirking derisively with her hands on her hips.  

I think there’s something to be said about the LA in general smoothing away certain personality traits that could be seen as negatives but that are actually strengths that are so narratively well-developed they occasionally show up as flaws (for instance, Katara’s fury, or lack thereof). Animated Suki is prideful and stubborn; she berates Sokka until he gives her sad puppy-dog eyes and has zero hesitation about making an example of him in front of her whole class. It’s a little ruthless, but these traits are also 1) what gets through Sokka’s thick skull (he, too, is prideful and stubborn), and 2) what makes her such a dedicated ambassador of Kyoshi and such a strong leader of the island’s Warriors at such a young age. I feel like the LA writers were afraid of making any of the protagonists seem too abrasive—everyone in the LA has had their edges sanded down, including Zuko, including Aang—and in general this tends to lead to less realistic representations of humanity and conflict, less satisfying character development arcs, and fewer opportunities for reflection and learning. 

That being said! I went into watching the LA with negative expectations about what we would see in terms of character development, and thus was pleasantly surprised. 

The LA removed the need for Suki to be as ruthlessly stubborn as she is in the animated show because LA Sokka’s skull is not so thick (and I'll get into that a bit more later). So what we get instead is a sheltered Suki with a helicopter mom who is so hilariously awkward that she has no idea how to interact with other humans. And, to be honest, I enjoyed this version of her so much that I even thought to myself, “I wish I’d thought of that!”

Suki is a straight-up weirdo in the LA and I love that for her. The way she puts Sokka in a chokehold and then looks at him after she sets him free like, “That was good flirting, yes? Would you like to be my boyfriend now?” And then her disappointment when Sokka walks away as if she’s thinking, “Why didn’t that go well, I thought boys loved getting put in chokeholds?” She is so precious, I just want to put her in my pocket. And this characterization might even be more broadly relatable than a super-confident Suki brimming with sass. Who among us hasn’t made a complete fool of ourselves in front of a crush by coming on way too strong and having no idea how to flirt? I mean…real. 

And because Sokka is also mostly just making a fool of himself trying to impress a pretty and talented peer (instead of covering up his insecurities by wrapping himself in misogyny) this leaves room for the two of them to be attracted to each other right off the bat and for their interactions to be more overtly romantic throughout the entire episode. Which, avid shipper that I am, I have to admit I have been gobbling up for the past three days straight. This episode was an IV drip of romantic tropes hooked straight to every Sukka shipper’s veins. 

Shy glances from across the room? Check.

Walking in on the other person half-naked? Check. (Y’all, Suki looks Sokka up and down for a FULL TWENTY SECONDS yes I timed it from the moment she appears in the background, yes you should count it to see how long that really is. Talk about awkward.) 

Tripping so they end up falling into each other’s arms? Check.

Wide-eyed shock that turns into surprise thirst after being pinned to the ground? Check.

Shooting each other satisfied smirks as they kick ass side-by-side? Check.

Jumping in front of literal fire for each other? Check and check!

Like, I could live off this for the rest of the year. 

But look, there’s a lot that I love about the way Sokka and Suki’s relationship is portrayed in this episode besides those romantically indulgent tension-creating moments, and it has to do with Suki’s admiration and validation of Sokka. 

Suki really looked at this boy with his mouth stuffed half-full of steamed bun and went, “Must have.”

With the removal of overt sexism from this episode (for better or worse), the story focused much more heavily on Sokka’s development as a leader. He still has that sort of posturing display of self-confidence that comes from inexperience and trying too hard to prove oneself (“Ferociously…deadly tiger whales…”), and while at first Suki seems put off by this and his attempts to liken himself to her (“I’m not just a warrior, I’m a Kyoshi warrior”) it doesn’t take her long to decide (*cough*after seeing him shirtless*cough*) that she doesn’t actually mind this behavior (and in fact maybe she kind of likes it because maybe it means he likes her and maybe it means she can show him how much she likes him by slicing the tops off all those melons with her fan). She seems genuinely interested in his boomerang and impressed that he hunts, and then later, she immediately takes interest in training him in the Kyoshi Warrior style. 

After they spar, she casually refers back to the fact that he’s his village’s protector, and this time, she does it without the disbelief and defensiveness. Because he’s finally stopped posturing. He opened himself up and gave himself over to Suki’s expertise, and in that way he proved that he has the will and desire—the heart—of a warrior. And Suki tells him so while touching him gently and gazing at him longingly in the soft golden glow of the late-afternoon sun. And as a die-hard Sokka stan, I love seeing him loved and appreciated like this. Adamantly. Ardently. The Sokka cheerleader in my head is going wild. “YEESSSS!! Our boy deserves this!!” Because we know that, in the animated show, he goes through a lot more struggle and self-doubt before he receives this kind of external validation. And while we also know that this makes for an incredibly satisfying growth arc, I gotta admit that it’s a fun bit of indulgence to watch Suki talk Sokka up directly to his face and then want to kiss him really bad. Y’know. As a treat.

That said, I'm very attached to and appreciative of the way their relationship is framed in the animated series. I love that their respect and affection for each other grows even after the disaster that is their first few interactions. In the LA, they are drawn to each other immediately, and the only barrier seems to be a bit of awkward stepping-in-it-ness. In the original, they have legitimate conflict, and they both have to give a little—Sokka becomes more humble, Suki becomes more tender—before they get to that point of potential romantic interest. And I think it says a lot about Sokka’s character and his desire to learn and grow that he is willing to humble himself in front of someone who, as far as he’s seen, has very little regard for him (slash has a good deal of animosity towards him). Giving himself over to Suki’s expertise costs him more in the animated show. But once he does, he and Suki learn and grow together. He shows Suki who he really is, shows her how dedicated and determined (and fun and a quick learner) he is, to the point that, by the end of the episode, she can allow herself to be vulnerable with him. And she does validate him in the original Kyoshi Warriors episode, just less directly than the LA. Her kiss on his cheek and “...but I’m a girl, too” is about forgiveness and acceptance and acknowledgement and respect, as much as or even more than it is about affection. There’s a little bit of romance, too, but it’s just little baby seeds of it, and it feels very natural to let those seeds germinate over time until we see Suki again later in the series. 

Which brings me to the live-action kiss. 

I’ll be honest, I was a little on the fence about the kiss. I want Sokka and Suki to kiss as much as possible in every conceivable universe. So there’s a part of me that was banging on the table and whistling with obscene joy. But the other part of me thought it was too much too soon. However, my hesitance pre-supposes some things about the second season (not least of which that there will be one), namely that it will handle the reunion with Suki and crossing the Serpent’s Pass anything like how it was done in the original. (Of course, one thing we now know for certain can't happen in a hypothetical LA season 2 is Suki pranking Sokka at the ferry station because he doesn't recognize her without her makeup. Do I love the expression on LA Sokka's face the first time he sees Suki's? Yes. Am I sad that this completely ruins their whole "You don't remember me? Maybe you'll remember this!" game? Also yes. But truthfully, I don't know if LA Suki would've been up to the prank, anyway. Not sassy enough. ;))

The Serpent’s Pass is one of my favorite episodes of all time, and that moment on the bluffs when Sokka and Suki are talking around Sokka’s loss, with the moon shining down on them all the while, and they almost kiss with the moon hanging between them in the background, and then Sokka pulls away without any other explanation besides, “I can’t”? That scene is so absurdly powerful and beautiful and an amazing moment of character development for them both, and I feel like it loses a lot of impact if they’ve already made out once. The fact that they kiss for the first time after that moonlit moment, when Sokka realizes that Suki doesn’t need protecting the way he thought she did, and in fact she was there to protect him, and he can finally just let go of this burden that he’s been carrying with him since Suki first mentioned she was joining them (slash since his dad put him in charge of an entire village at 13), and then and only then can he open his heart to what he feels for Suki, and in fact opens it so wide that he just cannot help but jam his mouth onto hers before she’s even finished talking…? I mean. C’mon. That’s poetry. But, again…loses impact if they’ve already had a first kiss.

But who knows what, if anything, they’ll actually do with that storyline. So for now, I’ll just enjoy my live-action Sukka kiss because, honestly, dream come true.    

Or almost a dream come true. Because there's a huge camelephant in the room that I haven't addressed yet, isn't there? The lack of Sokka in the Kyoshi Warrior uniform...

And I don’t think we can talk about the omission of Sokka’s Kyoshi Warrior uniform without talking about the omission of Sokka’s sexism. Because if Sokka isn’t sexist, then why do you have to put him in the dress and makeup of traditionally female warriors to make a point about how women are strong and capable, too? So here’s what I’ll say about that (and I know there’s a lot that people have said already, so I’ll try not to belabor the point.) I don’t think leaving out Sokka’s sexism was necessarily a detriment to his character arc. I do think, however, that leaving out Sokka’s sexism was a detriment to the message the show was trying to convey about sexism. 

Now, in the Northern Water Tribe episodes, the LA still gives us a message about fighting against the kind of systemic, institutionalized sexism that you might not be surprised to encounter within a very old-fashioned society or from a very old-fashioned gray-haired man. But what about the off-the-cuff, everyday kind of sexism that you might experience from an otherwise good person who is close to you? A person who loves you and would do anything for you but who gets carried away teasing you about “girly” things because of intrinsically-held biases that they’re not even that conscious of having? 

I think it’s important and meaningful for male and female audiences alike, and everyone in between, to see these different forms of sexism and misogyny—to see them, to recognize those behaviors in others and in ourselves, to be able to name them, and to have examples of fighting against them. We see the former kind—institutionalized, systemic—in Pakku. And we did see the latter kind—familiar, personal—in Sokka. And now that’s lost.

Not only that, but there’s the form of sexism that says boys aren’t allowed to do feminine things lest they relinquish their maleness. And in the animated show, we got to see Sokka combating this form of sexism, too. Not only does Suki show him that girls can be fierce warriors as well as boys, but he learns that wearing makeup and a dress does not make him any less of a young man.  

So, yes, I think the lack of Sokka in Kyoshi Warrior garb was a missed opportunity. And not just because Sokka looked really good in uniform and we all should have had the chance to see that, including and especially Suki. 

Alright, this is more than long enough, so I'll leave off with a moment from the LA that gave me great pleasure.

I needed this moment, y'all. And I was so afraid it wouldn't happen. I needed Sokka being protective, I needed him using his newfound Kyoshi Warrior skills to fight, and I needed him jumping in front of fire for the girl who'd taught him. If we couldn't have Sokka in the Kyoshi Warrior uniform, at least we had this.

[ouralcohol]

Let You In

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x fem!reader 

Summary: what happens when Bradley finally lets you in?

Tags: angst, lots of angst, 18+, allusions to sex, soft, maybe some fluff if you squint your eyeballs

Author’s note: I saw a gif and immediately got inspired. Some people inspired this too... enjoy... comments and reblogs make the world go 'round.

This was the first time you had done this with him. You didn't think that you would have gotten this far with him if you were being honest with yourself. Bradley Bradshaw always had a line of women lined up around the corner whenever he was in town. The reason you knew this was because for as long as you could remember, he always had some kind of arm candy with him whenever he went to the local bar while he was in his hometown of Virginia Beach.

From the last couple of years that you had known him, you never thought that you would get here. More specifically, get here with him. You had always wondered what it would be like to be with him underneath the sheets. Anyone that had eyeballs and a sense of taste would agree. So, what had changed? What had made the line between friends to… whatever this was, blur? You weren't exactly sure, perhaps it had to do with his near death experience? Or was it your signature sundress that you happened to wear every time he strolled in?

The dress was bunched up somewhere on his apartment floor right now… not that it mattered. What mattered was that you were here with him.

Out of all the girls he could have chosen-- he chose you.

You never asked him how long he was here, but you did notice that he was coming around to the bar more frequently. The fact of the matter was that Bradley was good, he was very good in bed. The naval aviator had made you see stars in a manner that you never seen them before. Everything was different with him.

There was some faint music that hit your ears. You stirred from your slumber as your hands rubbed the tiredness from your eyes. This had been one of the most restful sleeps you had gotten in a long time. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Stress was never your friend and you hated it. However, on this particular night, you had slept like a rock. It took you a couple of seconds for your brain to register where you were. The surroundings were not familiar, but you felt at ease. The photo frame on the nightstand made you smile as the moonlight shone upon the frame.

You were in Bradley's bed in his Virginia home. You noted the owner was missing. Ah, so that must be the source of the music, your brain thought as you looed around for your underwear. And idea sparked as your eyes saw that one of his Hawaiian shirts was also on the floor. Contrary to popular belief, you had come to find out that he only owned four, maybe five shirts in total. Your hands grabbed it as you ever so carefully slipped it on, afraid to wrinkle it even more. You didn't even bother to button the oversized shirt. It didn't reveal anything-- maybe some side boobage, but rare if that. Your feet carried you out into the hallway and walk closer to where the music was coming from. The melody that was playing was very different from the lively jigs that the common folk were so attuned to. It was a much slower and softer tune, melancholy even. Curiosity filled you as you inched closer, the music getting louder.

There were many sides to Bradley. People only saw what they wanted to see. People only heard what they wanted to hear. Everyone saw him as an energetic, happy-go-lucky kind of guy, but there were fleeting moments where you happened to glance his way and he was staring off into space for a brief second-- lost in his own thoughts. You never made any mention of it as it wasn't your place to ask. You were friends, but you didn't feel like he was comfortable enough to let himself be a certain way with you.

You being you, wanted to know everything about him. You wouldn't lie to yourself and say that you weren't infatuated, because you were. Every girl at the bar was infatuated with him whenever he walked in. The music factor was a bonus and caused them to leave their tongues hanging out. The way some women gawked at him was incredible. You didn't understand how you could feel this way toward someone that you hardly knew. If you only knew.

Once you had stepped into the small open space and saw his broad shoulders hunched over the piano, your body instantly relaxed. You hadn't realized that you had been nervous, your heart beginning to hammer in your chest with anticipation. You should have known what to expect, but you didn't know exactly what was in store. It's not like you slept with every guy… and it only made you wonder how many girls he had brought home. Seeing his fingers touch the keys so fluidly reminded you just how skilled he had been a few hours ago while making you see heaven on Earth. He wasn't wearing much, only his boxers-- he didn't even have to try to do anything and he looked so handsome. With his locks a little messy, but still so good that made you want to run your fingers through his hair like you had done a while ago.

The image floated in your mind which made you squeeze your thighs together before making your way to where he was sitting down. You had your hands behind your walk while you stood next to the piano. Bradley immediately noticed you, his eyes stuck on your face as his fingers continued to move across the keys so effortlessly-- a softer tune now, "Sorry if I woke you up." Bradley uttered. "Couldn't sleep?" You asked suddenly feeling shy, exposed even. You felt like you were invading his personal intimacy with his piano. Bradley Bradshaw's eyes did not stray from yours, not even for a second. His fingers came to a slow stop-- the ringing of the notes lingering in the air.

The thick tension that caused all of this to happen between you both, had returned. It enveloped you and him in an imaginary bubble. You swallowed thickly as you felt his hand circle around your wrist to bring you in front of him. Your body was encased between him and his piano. Bradley's big strong hands held you in place, eyes still locked on yours. "No. I can never sleep anymore." The pilot whispered to you. You let out a slow breath. He was letting you in. "May I?" You gently queried as you brought your hand up to his face. Bradley nodded, "Close your eyes." You told him with a quiet voice. He did as you asked without hesitation, his body tensing.

You shifted your body slightly-- hitting some random keys in the process so you could have better access to him. You placed your index finger on his neck and ran down his scar ever so delicately. Some would say it was a featherlight touch, you just didn't want to overwhelm him with the sensory that was going on. He wasn't a porcelain doll by any means, but you also felt like he didn't let people touch sensitive areas that reminded him of his past. Bradley inhaled sharply and you hesitated for a split second before continuing. Moments that only took seconds felt like a complete eternity to you, maybe for him too. Everything happened in slow motion for you. The area surrounding you both dissolved and you felt like you were floating and all of time had stood still with Bradley in front of you. Once you finished tracing that scar, you transitioned to the ones on his chin. The contrast of your soft skin against the stubble of his was making your insides melt. You noticed that Bradley was very still. A part of you wanted to tell him that it was okay, that it was just you. However, something inside you refrained you from doing so, though, a little voice in the back of your head was telling you that this silence was exactly what he needed. You took your index finger back and used your pinky to touch the scar on his lower cheek near his mouth. Then the one near his ear. The pilot let out a shaky breath through his mouth, as he opened his eyes, still fixated on yours. Your heart was going a mile a minute, hand slightly shaking from the sensation that this caused you.

He was giving you a tender look, almost like he could finally breathe again. "Moonbeam." He said, "Bradley." You responded with your hands still on his face. The nickname had stuck after a second meeting, something he had never clarified with you. It wasn't common, and you didn't question him. You waited for him to speak, for him to say anything.

He turned his head face down and pressed his forehead against your abdomen, the grip on your hips tightening as he said something that you couldn't make out. "What?" You gasped before you could stop yourself. You felt the air he was breathing linger in your lower abdomen, as he spoke a little louder, "You make me feel less lonely." Once your brain registered the words that had been told, you wondered if he had brought anyone here. "Oh?" You queried him, hopefully not pushing him too much. Bradley picked his head up again as he looked back up at your face, "I don't bring people here. There's so much… but.. with you.. things feel easier." He managed to say, his voice slow and even. You could tell this was taking a toll, but you waited calmly. Your heart was instantly breaking and re-stitching itself as the words echoed in your brain.

Bradley Bradshaw was a sweet man. Bradley Bradshaw was someone that deserved to be love just like anyone else. Your thumb began to caress this cheek as he inhaled again, breathing you in, taking all of you and getting drunk from your scent alone. "I'm the first person you bring here?" You asked unable to stop yourself as your other hand went to the other side, now cupping his face. He nodded slightly, "I'm always moving about, but you've been the one consistent person here in Virginia… the bar is consistent, I wasn't expecting you to be there every time either." Perhaps, that was the catalyst of this all. You were usually there with friends, but tonight had been different. You were alone. Bradley was alone. Two people alone together was better than one.

This man was telling you everything with his body language, and you were listening very intently. "How are you feeling now?" You asked curiously as your lips pressed to his forehead. Your body began to feel at ease as his words continued to flow out of his mouth, "At ease." A scrunched up smile filled his features as you let out a soft laugh. The next movement surprised you, causing you to sit back on the keys while Bradley stood up, towering over your body as his hands went down to the hem of his shirt and dipped under to touch the soft flesh that was your skin. You blinked a couple of times as you said, "Why moonbeam?" You sputtered out, almost unable to form a coherent sentence. The pilot then brought his forehead to the crook of your neck, "…it's stupid." He whispered against your skin, causing goosebumps to rise and an involuntary shiver to go down your spine. "It's not stupid if I like it.." You remarked as your hands fell to your sides, your head tilting back to allow him more access your hair falling behind you cascading on top of the piano. "Whenever I leave for a mission or I'm gone for a tour… I just look at the moon and think of you." A shy boy spoke to you, but you didn't care, "You think of me?" You queried him again. The questions were pouring out of you now. You didn't know when you would get another chance like this and you would take it with everything you had.

His head snapped up to meet your gaze again, his hazel eyes boring into your own. Bradley then grabbed your hand and placed it over the erection in his boxers, a gasp leaving your mouth, "Don't you see what you do to me? How could I not think of you?" He asked, sounding equally as shocked as you were in asking, "I don't know, Bradley. Tonight was our first time together.. and I was just never sure, I guess." A small shrug followed your words, but you couldn't think anymore as he fiercely grabbed you by the hips and set you down on top of the piano before his hand wrapped around your neck. Your lips made a little oh face as his index finger trailed ever so slowly down the front of your body, between the fabric that was his shirt. You felt yourself arch your back in response to his advance while closing your eyes, thinking of the bliss that he was going to cause you again.

Your feet hit another set of random keys as you planted them on there, his mouth on your belly button while he distinctly said, "Make me forget again. Give me euphoria." Bradley Bradshaw told you. You frantically nodded as his hands pulled down your panties. You got the sensation of the cool air, but didn't budge.

Your questions would be answered later. For now. You would get lost with him in the bliss that you both created when two lonely souls met.

This was were you belonged.

[stellaluna33]

What do you make of that car scene where Rory is ranting about Jess and how she "doesn't like the things she does" with him? I was always confused by it because what things? Going to a party and making out on a stranger's bed? Going to a concert without telling your mom? Because those things are very tame compared to what she later did with Dean and Logan, yet we don't get such a scene with them even though it would have been so much more fitting. Jess antis point out this scene to show how the relationship was toxic but I don't see it, it just seems like the show is telling us one thing but showing something completely different. Yet on my new Rory poll, so many people reblogged and commented that they started disliking her when she fell for Logan and saying that was the moment her character went downhill! Not Jess. Do you think the writers originally planned for Jess to be the big mistake Rory makes, but then decided to add Logan as an afterthought in her college years because they didn't know what other storylines to give her? But even so, Jess and Rory didn't get nearly enough scenes exploring their relationship before Rory suddenly crying that she doesn't like who she became around Jess, and we don't see her acting out of character around him ever, so it all just falls flat.

Yeah, I don't know, honestly. My best guess has always been that she was expressing frustration with the way she tended to be too timid to confront Jess about the things that bothered her, which actually IS something that was a frustrating change from their PRE-dating relationship to their DATING relationship. Rory used to feel comfortable telling Jess when she was unhappy with what he was doing (and he tended to respond well, even! That's part of how they grew closer!). But, for some reason, when they started dating, she started feeling afraid to bring things up. She left him that impulsive, angry answering machine message, yes... But then when he showed up, she chickened out and asked him to delete it without listening to it (who knows if he actually did, haha!) and I think THAT'S what she hated herself for (not going to the concert)- that she felt afraid to rock the boat. And then after the disastrous party, there's that whole sequence where she wants to approach the diner to talk to Jess, but then chickens out (and Jess does the same). For whatever reason, she was afraid to tell him how she felt, and he wouldn't tell her how HE was feeling either!

That's something that actually really frustrates ME about their dating relationship too, so it's interesting to think about the possibility that Rory was ALSO aware that she was doing that, and was frustrated by it, but maybe couldn't understand why she was acting that way. I don't necessarily think that means that it was Jess's FAULT either, but it was something that was broken in their relationship.

I don't know if the writers intended to make any comparisons to OTHER relationships there, either? It might have just been about them. Milo was leaving, so Jess had to leave, so the relationship had to be sunk, I don't know. But it is interesting that Rory does ALSO compromise herself for the other guys- and in larger and more catastrophic ways- and yet she didn't seem to see it that way with them (maybe her rueful "despite all the bad he's done, I'm in love with him" is a similar sentiment?). I really don't know. Maybe the other guys were just more likely to talk her round to a particular point of view, which made it easier for her to rationalize it with "It made sense at the time" afterwards. Kind of ironic.

[errorryx]

I've been listening to so many female artists lately, it's gotten to the point where they're consistently outnumbering male artists in my playlists. It's an incredible feeling to have successfully re-centered my focus and appreciation on women instead of men, and I wish everyone could feel this kind of joy. So I'm gonna try to do something about it.

If you're into music, I'd really love it if you took the time to reblog this post with your favorite female artists/female-led bands in the tags, comments, additions to the main post, whatever you want. I want the notes to be a resource for people to find new music if they don't know where to start. Most of us have probably listened to Mitski or Florence before (though I love both of those artists, don't get me wrong), so I'd love to hear about some lesser-known musicians. I don't know if this post will take off, but I really hope it does!

A small selection of my personal recommendations:

The Narcotix: they're an incredibly talented and criminally underrated duo. I shout their music out every chance I get because I've never heard anything else like it and I think everyone should give them a chance. They make complex, beautifully orchestrated music, described by their website as psychedelic art-rock. I think folk music fans would probably eat this up.

Thao: formerly of Thao & The Get Down Stay Down, she was the subject of an intense hyperfixation of mine last year. She started out doing Appalachian folk-rock and pivoted into indie music with some more electronic elements. I love her to death and it's hard to condense that adoration into a brief summary, but suffice it to say she's an amazing musician.

Japanese Breakfast: I think she's pretty popular actually, but I need everybody to hear the above song. It's been driving me crazy for months now. She's got a very distinctive way of climbing up to high notes that just sounds heavenly, and it really shines through on this track. (If you're more into bouncy pop music, check out her song Be Sweet, you'll love it.)

If you're looking for more specific recommendations anywhere in the realm of indie, rock, or folk music, please don't be afraid to send me an ask or a message! Let me know what you're already listening to and I'll do my best to throw you something I think you'll like. And if you're thinking of adding your own recommendations, don't limit yourself to those genres just because it's what I happen to like. All types of music are welcome.

[willtheweaver]

Writerly questionnaire

Thanks for the tag @thatuselesshuman @the-golden-comet @the-letterbox-archives @theink-stainedfolk

How long have you had your writing Tumblr/ Writeblr? A fast and loose estimate is fine!

I’ve been on Tumblr for five years, although only two of those have been as an active part of Writeblr.

What led you to create it?

There really aren’t that many places where I can go off about my writing. Most of the people I know have moved all over the place.

What’s your favorite thing about the Writeblr community?

All the support from fellow writers. It’s validating to know that there are those out there who enjoy your work, and that you made the right decision in pursuing writing.

What’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you?

I am always open to asks. Ask about my writing, world-building, OCs, advice, writing tips, I’m open. I do my best to answer, but some stuff I don’t want to spoil just yet.

Is there anything more you’d like to see on your dash?

Nothing I can think of.

WIP it good

Which Works-In-Progress (WIPs) are you noodling about lately?

Right now focused on A Feather in the Forest. Drafting is done, and now I’m doing editing and revising.

How long have you been working on them?

Eight months.

Do you remember what inspired them/ what got you started?

I had a vague idea in my head for a story. Just some thoughts that I thought could be made into something cohesive, and so I jumped in.

When someone’s asks the dreaded “What do you write about,” question, what do you say?

Whatever is in my head.

What do you want to say (if it’s different from what you say)?

I said what I said, and I stand by my words.

Let’s rotate Blorbos

Name any character you’ve created. Side characters, protagonists, antagonists, characters who’ve never been written, the first original abomination you’ve pulled out of your ass: whomever you like!

Are you sure about this? Very well then…here are some off the top of my head:

Fen, Playa, Opal, Sorrel, Caine, Leif, Ivy, Nettle, Rail, Quill, Volt, Halley, Hesper, Grey, Reed, Dirge, Zephyr, Cya, Gale, Morgan, Clio, Talvi, Marigold,Freya, Squall…(continues until the heat-death of the universe)

Who’s the most unhinged?

None so far, but there is more than enough time for screws to come loose…

Who comes the most naturally for you to write?

Whichever I’m in the mood to write.

Do you ever cringe at them?

On occasion.

How much control do you feel you have over your characters? AKA do they ever “write themselves” , refuse to cooperate, or do things you didn’t expect? To what degree? Are some less cooperative than others?

Do the gods hide because they are afraid that the mortals are tired of their little games and are plotting to destroy all deities? That’s how it feels sometimes.

Do you enjoy people asking about your characters? And do you have a preferred means of receiving said questions? For example, as Asks, as Replies, as Reblogs, as tags, as comments on AO3, etc.

I do. Always feels good to have someone to talk to about OCs. As I am active on Tumblr and not on AO3, any and all asks, replies, reblogs and tags are welcomed.

On Writeblr Engagement

What makes you want to follow another Writeblr account? Do you follow ‘em as you see ‘em, or take time to scoop out the blog to make sure it aligns with its contents? Do you follow based on WIPs, or vibes?

I check them out before I jump in. Call me weary, but I like to get a good feel for potential moots. If I feel like they are a good fit, I jump on in.

What makes you decide against following?

Unnecessary negativity, AI content, hate, bigotry, overly political content all turn me off.

Do you interact with non-mutuals often?

I do whenever I have free time. If anyone wants to ask about my WIPs, OCs, or tag me in tag games, I do my best to respond.

Do your mutuals’ characters occupy a space in your noodle?

Yes. A memorable character always sticks with you.

Do you interact with your mutuals often?

As often as I can.

Tagging @kaylinalexanderbooks @mk-writes-stuff @xenascribbles @words-after-midnight @nczaversnick

@bookish-karina @paeliae-occasionally @poethill @jay-avian @riveriafalll @lavender-gloom

@the-ellia-west @autism-purgatory @duckingwriting and open tag

[kxngkasper]

INTRO POST

————————————

Some random ghost tells you about themselves (it’s me guys i’m the haunting spirit)

GREETINGS TUMBLR !!!!! here you will find my bips and bobs of what I do and how i’m working this whole blog thing

Please note that i’m new to this whole blog thing and didn’t really get into tumblr until a bit into this year so i’m still trying to learn how to do things

About me:

I’m kasper, Mostly known as Kas, I go by He/It/She pronouns and am aroace. I’m an artist and animator with dreams of becoming a storyboard artist. My focus is mainly on my health and school so if I cease to exist for a couple weeks that is probably why but other than that i’m trying to be as active as I can since I love sharing my art with people. I’m Neurodivergent, tone indicators are appreciated but not always necessary. My interests are minecraft, Mumbo Jumbo, TØP, Sherlock and Co, Cult of the lamb, Sky cotl, Pokemon, Ponytown, Music as a whole, animation, and OCs :]

My time zone is EST! I’m a first generation Mexican-American and the youngest of 2 other siblings. Yes, Hablo Español pero no soy tan bueno para escribir lo (I am bilingual)

uhhh i’m a furry boo be afraid rahh what else do i put here uh im 5’8 (1.73 meters) my birthday is january 7th uhhh UHHH OH SPEAKING OF BIRTHDAYS AND AGE

I’m a MINOR please refrain from commenting or saying suggestive things to me or about my content it makes me uncomfortable

I’m in the age range of 15-17 take that as you will.

My content:

I stick to posting full pieces and sketchbook stuff on here usually gonna do with my special interests but if you wanna see just vibe w me and see WIPS, reblogs, yaps and such then you can check out my side blog

@princepasker

don’t know why that won’t tag

Where can you find me besides tumblr? Bam I made a linktree because you can find me in too many places https://linktr.ee/kxngkasper

PROGRAMS I USE: Procreate, Medibang paint, Iartbook, Toonsquid, Capcut, Alight Motion, occasionally flipaclip (limited vrs)

TOS (TERMS OF SERVICE):

Please do NOT repost my work, I kindly ask that you don’t use my fandom work in Edits nor reupload them on any other platform. I run my own pinterest, I do not want to see anyone stealing what’s mine for no point when it’s already uploaded.

Using my art as reference is perfectly fine as long as I receive credit. If you wish to trace my work for learning purposes it’s fine but please keep any studies private, thank you.

Ask box:

My asks are mostly always open! You can leave doodle requests in there but I won’t guarantee I go through with it. Questions are also always welcome, I love to see em don’t be discouraged if I don’t get to it right away!

Mutuals feel free to goof off in my ask box

Random stuff:

spam liking is ok !! idm

Alright cool uh that should be it? If I remember anything else i’ll come back and edit this post but for now i hope yall have a good day :]

IM ON PONY TOWN!!

[stabbyfoxandrew]

FAQ

Hi guys! Sometimes I get repeat questions so I thought I'd make this FAQ post. I think I've covered everything. If you think of anything else that needs to be added, please let me know! <3

What is WIP Wednesday? It's a little game I started doing because of Ash, aka jtl-fics. It’s sort of a way to motivate me to write. And this way I’m able to release tiny little installments each week instead of having to finish whole chapters before I post. It's been so helpful. I've written more since last August than I had in years.

Okay, cool. So, how does WIPW work? When Wednesday rolls around, wait for my WIPW post to appear on your dash then you can send me an ask with your request. After I get done writing, I'll answer your ask with a snippet. :)

Please note: ~ I only take WIPW asks on Wednesdays, hence the name. ~ My ask box button will say either ‘wipw open 🔓’ or 'wipw closed 🔒’. Please do not send asks after it’s closed. ~ I do not answer asks in order anymore. I answer all of one AU’s requests, then move through the rest until I’m done. ~ The length of the snippets varies, based on how the POV changes or how the scenes fall. It also depends on my mental health. ~ Please be patient with me. I’m just a little guy. ≽^•⩊•^≼

What fics do you work on for WIPW? I have six ongoing projects to choose from, they're listed on my pinned post.

Can I send more than one request on WIPW? Please don't, unless I've said otherwise! Getting too many asks stresses me out and if I allow one person to send multiple, I have to let everyone. So, just pick your favorite please! Someone else will ask for the others.

Are your WIPs ever going to be on AO3? Yes! When they're closer to being finished I plan to tidy them up— make minor edits, check for continuity problems, grammar, etc— and post them to AO3! This won't be happening for a long while, so please feel free to go ahead and read them here if you're interested. :)

How do I read your AUs in order? Each of my AUs has a 'masterpost', a post where I link to each and every piece ever written. You can use it to click through and read each piece in order. Alternatively, if you're brand new to my fics you can click the link on the masterpost for a chronological view of the AU's tag! :)

Can I reblog WIPW posts? Absolutely! It makes me really happy when you do!

How can I leave comments on WIPW stuff? You can reblog a post and put comments in the tags, reply to the post, or send me an ask with questions or comments about my AUs! Though I might not answer every comment I receive, I appreciate them all so much. Y'all don't even know.

Do you like fanart? Yes. I love it. I adore it. I will give you my firstborn child. You don't even understand. I've received fan art from three or four people and I still think about them every single day. That being said, if you do make fan art please tag me in the post (@/stabbyfoxandrew) or send me an ask/ message with the link so I can see! 🥺 I'll also link your art in the masterposts so everyone else can find it! <3

Okay, okay. That's all great but do you have any finished fics? Yep! There's several oneshots on my AO3! :3

When are you going to update cosmic lost and found?! I don't know. TwT It got so popular (to me) so quick and I got freaked out and I haven't worked on it in ages. I'm sorry. :( I have the fic planned out, through to the end. But working on it is so hard for some reason. I shouldn't have decided to rewrite canon. :')

Can you tell me about your OCs? Yes. 🥺🥺🥺 I'm dying to tell you about them. If you'd like to know anything about my OCs please, please, please send me an ask! I love talking about them but I'm so afraid of getting on peoples' nerves. :')

Why are you taking so long to answer my ask? Because I'm just a little guy and sometimes I don't have the energy to reply right away. TwT

Can we be friends? Maybe! :) If we're mutuals and you'd like to talk to me, please feel free to send me a message. I must warn you, I'm a lot more awkward in messages than I am in my askbox. I don't know why. I'm sorry. TwT

Do you write for any other fandoms? Not at the moment. (RIP to my klance fics.)

Do you have fic recs? Possibly! It depends on if I've been reading much. You can always ask. I might have to tell you no though. :')

Do you allow translations of your fics? No.

What about podfics? Yes.

Is your name really Aerie, you know that's a clothing brand and also means bird nest? Yes. I thought I made it up when I was like 13/14. Was very distraught when I found out that wasn't true. :') But yeah. Aerie is my name and I love it.

Who's Jess? My younger sibling.

Who's Rascal? My very old cocker spaniel and the best boy ever. :3

...What's wrong with you? Oh. Many things. Some of them probably don't even have names yet.

Thanks for reading my FAQ, if you still have a question please feel free to ask! <3 aerie

[sorcerous-caress]

hey I’m glad you’re not weirded out or anything by the tickling stuff (I’m the anon by the way) I might write something with my tav after I’m done with the “my tav as a companion” part 2 with the list questions you made after my first one but I don’t how long that’ll take since I kinda feel weird writing about my tav in that way since they are based off myself not that I don’t want to do it I would like to write stuff like that for an OC I’ve never done it before but it kinda feels like I’d be doing something “naughty” which I guess I would be but anyways I’ll write something I’m gonna try and get over the awkward feeling so I can go more in depth with the “my tav as a companion” romance part because I feel like I can touch more on that

(sorry for ranting, longer than I thought it’d be)

I get what you're feeling exactly, and my only advice to that is to embrace it.

All writing in some form or another, is based on yourself. Every character you've written fanfics about, every OC you've made, every small headcanon, all of them are connected to you.

All of them, hold a small part of you in them, a small truth that you might not be unaware of. Writers can only write about their own experiences and emotions, even in fantasy and imaginary scenarios, you have to base it around something you're familiar with to be able to comprehend it.

I'm aromatic yet I write romantic stories, I have never felt romantic love so I base all of my romantic stories on how platonic love felt to me and mix it with what I think romantic love should be like based on what other people said.

I get the feeling of vulnerability when revealing things about an OC that holds a lot of your own cores as a human, that was based on your own image. That's why it's good to remember that everything else was also based on your own image, you just weren't aware of it. You've left a trace of your personality and your fingerprints on every character and subject you've touched.

Honestly, I am not in the best state health wise to answer this, but I didn't want to leave it sitting for long.

There is a fear of being cringe, I genuinely truly get it. I still feel it too a lot of times, fear of being too weird or off putting. It's so easy to tell someone to "just express themselves" until that self expression manifests in a way that doesn't fit the socially acceptable ideas of other people.

Who gives a shit if I don't like tickle stuff? What right do I have to judge you? What right does anyone have to judge you? None of us matters when it comes to your own writing and self expression, only you matter.

Likewise for me, I like cringe worthy stuff too! And I subtily microdose them into my writing because I don't have the courage to come outright and say it. I am afraid. You are braver than me in that aspect and honesty kudos to you for being yourself unapologetically.

I had an old writing blog where I only wrote tame fluffy stuff that everyone wanted, only expressed myself within social acceptable limits, only showed the most clean and sanitized versions of my art.

And you know that phrase about if you don't like what you're writing then other people won't? It's a huge fucking lie. That blog was so much bigger and more popular than this blog in a shorter amount of time.

I had triple the followers I have now, so many nice comments and reblogs, too many requests than I could keep track of. People loved the sanitized version of my writing.

I didn't, I hated it. It was empty and souless and I had to force myself to sit down and write it. Scrub away all traces of my own personality from it and make it the most appealing to the general public.

Words never flowed like they do to me now, I dreaded opening my requests back then, I dreaded checking on my notes.

And so I left it at the height of its popularity, didn't even say a thing just slowly ghosted away.

Don't do what I did, is what I'm saying. You have a lovely OC and if you want to put more of your own self and your own interests in them then so be it. I promise other people won't know and even if they connect the dots, they'd have to be actual weirdos to make judgments on a real human being based on an imaginary doll they move around.

Give Sean the tickle kink if you want that's perfectly okay. Base all of his companion answers around yourself if you want, make him an extension of you. Maybe he will slowly take what you've given him and evolve to his own character, maybe he will always remain a beautiful reflection of you, both of these outcomes are welcomed as long as they make you happy.

I did it with Sol, bpd isn't the best, and making an OC that represents all the worst traits I saw in myself and showing them love and care helpled me unimaginably. And fuck yeah I definitely base their answers around myself, every writer bases their writing around themselves, how else are you supposed to create originality? Your mind is the only completely original source that only YOU have access to!

It's a fucking gold mine, an exclusive library of experiences and moments that no one else but you know about. And you want to ignore it and put 13 layers of irony between you and everything you create? For whAT?

Kids love plushies and get attached to them because the plushies are their own OCs in a way, the dolls represent an extension of their inner psyche. So when kids hug and shower their plushies with love, or even get reinact a dramatic sad story with their dolls, it's them talking to themselves.

Art is communication, whether it be with an audience or with yourself. self-indulgence is the thing that makes art worth making. It's what gives it a soul, it's what sets it apart form AI bullshit.

And some people will see themselves in Sean. Did I tell you that the tickle fic requests I wrote had likes and reblogs from other people? I would've never imagined someone would like it besides the requester yet there were others.

We're all really weird, inside. If you're going to be original and create art that you like then it will be weird and cringy, same goes for me, same goes for everyone.

Embrace it, peel the layers of irony, be yourself unapologetically. You are worth it.

And side note, I really enjoy your requests and reading what you send me about Sean. But my own enjoyment always comes after your own comfort and boundaries. You don't have to answer any questions that make you uncomfortable in the "as a companion part 2" list.

I will always view these answers through Sean and as a reflection of him, never a reflection of the author. That's a right only you have and a line only you can draw.

[quotidian-oblivion]

20 questions for writers

(I'M GONNA CRY, I'M GONNA SCREAM, I'M GONNA LAY ON THE FLOOR AND STAB MYSELF WITH A STRAW, I GOT TAGGED BY THE AUTHOR OF THE FICS OF ALL TIME, I'M GONNA CRY-)

I got tagged by @wesslan for this writer tag game!! (I'M GONNA SCREME, LET ME JUST SAY HOW MUCH I LOVE YOUR CARDS ON THE TABLE FIC AND THE GOTHAM WATER TAP ONE AND-)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

62! I'm still in awe of the number. But then I look at the wips and unposted fics in my folders and then die

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

Hmmm, I have-

oh.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Batfam! On the majority. I've written quite a few BBC Merlin ones as well, and there's a Gravity Falls one roaming around somewhere. I'm hoping to write for the Ninjago fandom too and I already have a Danny Phantom wip too

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

My School’s Local Mafia Boss (expected, i'm still so proud of this one) Sometimes You Have To Find Your Own Genes (also expected, because of the multiple chapters thing, it appears more and more and its also one of my very first ones on here!) Phone Alarms (I love how it makes everyone laugh ^^) The Client (I was not expecting this one lol, dunno why, but it's a cute thing) Greet Me With Open Arms (makes sense because it's a composition of everyone's prompts in one fic!)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yeah!! I used to reply to every single one, but as time went on, I got more burnt out and more and more busy cuz school became more and more harder. So I'm taking A While to get to comments cuz I don't have the energy and time, and though I read and love and snuggle the short comments too, I don't answer them nowadays unless I have the energy to at the time

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

*CACKLES*

Let Me Die, Let Me Drown, Lay My Bones In The Ground

*CACKLES HARD* >:D

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I write so many sweet endings, I'm not entirely sure. In my opinion, true happy endings in stories are the result of what has gone down in the plot. So based on the plot and the results it has given in the end, I'd say it's either Loving In And Against A Storm or Let Them Be Family. Because the characters really deserved the ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

'Course

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Depends on the crossover. My very very first fic (not on ao3, on wattpad ugh) was a crossover between DC and Marvel lol. I haven't written any crossovers right now, but I have a Danny PhantomxDC one where Danny meets Tim while he's searching for Bruce.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yeah, actually. It was my wattpad one. Idrc about that, but I haven't found any of my ao3 ones stolen (thank God), and if I do, I'm going to be tearing someone apart with my teeth.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, I'm afraid. I've had people leave comments in other languages on my fics, so I suppose there are people who have been translating the page to read it which makes me very honored ^^ and it makes me want to translate a fic myself too if not for the fact that I'm bullshit at my other languages just as I am with English lol

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Plenty! I love co-writing with people! Let's see...

At The Drop Of A Hat I did with @tristicorde

I feel so broke up, I wanna go home I did with @wakkoroni

Chapters Capture and Grok along with 4 Times Jason Hid His Trauma + 1 Time Tim Helped Him I did with @cygnusdoesthings

And @sardonic-sprite and I have a fic in progress.

Broken But Not Beyond Repair is something Sprite, Vibey @foursixtwonineoh-pieces-of-lego and I scribbled around on tumblr reblogs then Evie graciously made it into an actual fic and posted it on ao3, praise be.

Vibey and I also have a batfam DEH AU collecting dust in our foldes. I also employed Tristi's help and @tireddruid in a 60 fucking chapters of a Merlin fic which isn't going to be written in a LONG ASS WHILE. @mispeltnostalgia is supposed to be looking at a de-aged Tim fic with me, but her role has become a beta/alpha reader role and I'm attending to other wips rn.

So yeah! I know for some people writing together isn't their cup of tea, and that's understandable lmao. I personally I love writing fics with people. It's... it's kind of a love language for me? It's much fun seeing how our writing styles meld together but are also distinct enough that you can still spot it. I also love the clash that explodes into a google doc with pages and pages of us ranting about ideas and plots in different colors texts. It's so cool.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

I don't ship publicly

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

Ahhh. Idk tbh. Any WIPs i have, I am hell-bent on finishing them until I have. And if I can't I just toss them in the scrap pile and never look at again. So idk if I have a wip I want to finish but won't.

Although the 60 fucking chapters of Merlin looks very appealing to abandon. But no. I've done too much work on it to just forget about it, unfortunately. I've worked too hard.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Right now, I'm feeling very down and flat and not finding any strengths at all 😭

It's been months since I've written an actual fic cuz I went on a break recently and I'm like... how do i- how do I write. how do I. words? where words?

In all seriousness though, I believe I can come up with Plots. I'm a mystery fan, so any fics I write, I make sure to have character motivations, purpose, plot, drive, foreshadowing, characterization, reasoning, etc. in it. Even in a oneshot. Even if all the literary devices are used in a shallow way, I use them. I like my stories having a purpose or a lesson to them. I can't write something which doesn't have one or both. I've also been called out /pos on my attention to detail. Sure, yes, some things do slip by. I am human after all. But yeah, on the most part, I like tightening all loose threads ^^

And I think dialogue's one as well. Because when I write, I actually picture everything I type in my head. So my writing is pure grains of imagination on paper :D, it's the only way I know how to write tbh. Which is why I struggle so much with reading or writing analytical stuff which sucks bc, school.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

EVERYTHING 😭

Well, right now anyway. I'm still recovering from burnout and mental breakdowns.

But there are weaknesses in my strengths. My dialogue can get lost sometimes and soon you'll be staring at just half a page of just dialogue. Or sometimes, I read back and realize that the dialogue I've written has no context and only makes sense to me.

I lack description in my settings and appearances. I struggle to describe things which are plainly obvious but aren't as obvious to the reader. Because of the whole imagination thing, the things that need description are all in the background, so when I write, I mostly assume that the backgrounds have already been established, so readers are left with faceless feelings most of the time. I'm practicing though! I'm practicing and I think I'm getting better at it!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

LOVE LOVE LOVE!!

I love adding representation of my culture and identity everywhere I go. My fics have Muslim characters and poc characters who speak Arabic, mostly. I'm also working on adding bits of Mandarin (thanks to lovely @birdybat who's helping me with that) in my current wip and hopefully in future wips as well. I know I've added Urdu and Hindi to previous fics which are not on ao3. But yeah! I love adding bits of cultural representation everywhere!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Marvel and DC lol. The crossover.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH WHY TF WOULD YOU ASK ME TO CHOOSE BETWEEN MY BABIES?

The most work I've put into a fic is Let Me Die, Let Me Drown, Lay My Bones In The Ground. I put tons and tons of work in it and reread after reread after rereads. I had Sprite, Tristi and Joan look over some parts and reread it too so it would be perfect. Every little detail is present in it and as you read for a second or even third time, you'll find more and more hidden details and symbolism present in it, like-

Literally. There are so many tiny details which all lead up to the final conclusion at the end and it all connects with the overarching theme and the purpose and the moral and lesson and comes together for the conclusion and I just-

I put a lot of work into it. only to get a couple hate comments on it Soooo, yeah :)

~

Thanks for the tag wesslan, I appreciate it very much (AND AM SO HONORED I LOVE YOUR FICS I'M GOING TO STAB A WINDOW-)

Gonna tagged everyone who I've already tagged in this post already if you write fics lmao + anyone else who wants to have a go!!

[majorannah]

Can't reblog a really good post about Zuko taking shots at Aang's culture, so I'll just copy-paste it:

ok this was just meant to be a silly post, but might as well get into it. It's not that I can't understand why Zuko being racist is realistic, I know it is, but what value does it have to the story genuinely?

I was talking to another fan, apart of another fandom, about racism portrayed in fiction. Writers love the "realism" of racism esp from their "redeemed" characters spouting racist remarks to their new found family. But what about the "realistic" reaction of those on the receiving end? Y'know the victims? Do they not get hurt? Do they never punch back? We go from a group of heroes fighting against injustice, to them twiddling their thumbs as their new "friend" calls them slurs as a nickname (and yes, I've seen it in atla fandom).

And that's how I feel about Zuko's racism in the show. It's actually frustrating cause every time fans bring up that aspect of Zuko's character, it always get redirected to "it's good for his arc! Its benefits for his character!" What do I care! I'm not bringing up his racism to center him. Where's the focus on how it's good for the other characters to suffer like this? Does it benefit their arcs?

The scenes I was thinking of when I wrote this post was when Zuko diminished the role the monks had in Aang's life (right after finding out they all died) compared to his biological father (lol), and when he mocked Aang's culture again in TSR. And you know what I think? That's there's barely a difference between these scenes.

The things he says is never addressed outright. His attitude is never confronted as a genuine issue. And it's wild because the gaang reacted far more to less injustice in the past. These kids would be angrier at being teased by their friends and weren't afraid to put their foot down at outright discrimination, only to be made "diplomatic" towards their so called "reformed" member. While we're taught Zuko is changing and to keep less expectations, are we also taught you can't call out your friend or be angry whenever they insult your culture?

You said so yourself, the show didn't have any time to dive into it (say compared to issues he had with his family) or get him to actually CHANGE. And if Zuko is becoming a better person (a bit late if he's pulling this crap all the way to the finale) then why not have him face consequences of his words? Why not have him outcasted by the group momentarily and have his views be challenged, why not show him struggle with criticism and then learn to accept it? Y'know, if he really wants to change?

so yeah @ I agree, there's a racism problem in the fandom. I was actually thinking a while ago, about some fans that believe Zuko's in the right for what he said, for whatever justifications the plot has. So why have they not questioned the fact that the writers choose to write a victim of genocide be ignorant and wrong for holding onto his culture, and that he should get reprimanded for it by the prince of the nation who committed said genocide? But instead we get fan headcanons of Zuko teaching Aang how to "correctly" be a monk, by knowledge he stole from the air temples when he was still in pursuit of the avatar, intending to finish the genocide for once and for all.

The problem with Zuko's portrayed bigotry in the later season is how people focus on his feelings first and that the audience and the characters should be considerate towards him, instead of the characters on the receiving end of his comments and how they are allowed to react. How we naturally expect grace and forgiveness from them so it can be a teachable moment for Zuko, or else, if they had reacted in angry or annoyance, they simple wouldn't have been good victims. How so many of the "brilliant moments" to show Zuko still needs to unlearn his mindset has him insult the gaang while they remain deaf and don't react at all to what he's saying or doing.

But I think it would be better in the future if fans stop using a character's racism to center them in discussions, and instead think how it's good or rather necessary for the characters involved. Enough of hearing fans saying they see themselves in "redeemed" characters, and more questioning if it was worth having fans of color to go through the show with discomfort without any resolution or condemnation from the narrative.

(Just to be clear @ I'm not annoyed by your response (it's better than most), I'm actually glad cause it gave me an opportunity to talk about this.)

#and there are other instances of zuko acting out of pocket with other characters not just aang#like calling people peasant or dirty or talking down to suki and katara as 'little girl'#but i always felt unlike the b1 circumstances that show he clearly in the wrong and needs work#b3 has him repeat his actions with no consequence and now its like ok…..#maybe showing him change should have taken priority! before telling us he should rule the fn lol#this is critical to both the fandom and the show#cause its silly that they had the time to put racism in but not enough time to actually confront it#…i guess it wasn't that great of an b plot after all 😔#atla#retracing atla#zuko#racism#no fn character is exempt

[autumntouched]

Since yesterday, after I read your post about interaction/engagement, I‘ve been trying to figure out how to reach out to you… been trying to find the „right“ words, even if I know that that is impossible. I‘ll try anyway…

I completely get how you feel.

I‘ve been very insecure about my own writing since I started posting chapters of 5 years back in september and didn‘t get many interactions. A few likes here and there, some lovely comments (that I cherish very much!) but not more. I started second guessing my skills, started regretting the decision to publish the story in the first place, etc. It basically ended in a downward spiral where I considered taking it down and wished for the ground to swallow me whole because I thought I was so bad that people don‘t even want something to do with me. Sometimes, that wish still sneaks up on me. But then I get the loveliest comment from one of my regular readers and I think: Hey, that person still reads the story, that person still waits for an update, etc. and I get a new spark of motivation that keeps me going. I know it‘s hard and it‘ll keep being a challenge to find joy and motivation in the interactions of the regular readers, but I guess we‘ll just have to learn to do exactly that. Maybe it helps to know that you‘re not alone in facing that challenge. I‘m right at your side🥰.

On the other hand, I understand the POV of the people with social anxiety. I‘m suffering from that too (first and foremost when I‘m face to face with someone) and it‘s awful. Regarding the internet, I started overcoming it by joining the TGM fandom here on Tumblr. Before summer 2022, I would have never dared to comment on a story, let alone reblog it. I thought I‘d be too invasive, I‘d annoy the creator etc. But one day, I decided to shoot blind and wrote a message to @bradshawsbaby . I swear, I‘m not kidding when I say that my heart threatened to beat out of my chest😅. I was so afraid that she would cringe about that message, but boy, was I wrong! She wrote such a cute and sweet reply that almost made me bawl my eyes out🥹. And from then on, I kind of „realized“ that there are real humans behind all these amazing accounts, yours included, that can feel my love for them and their creations that I try to express in my messages/comments. But it takes a lot of courage and the will to step out of your comfort zone and I get that some people maybe aren‘t ready or just not willing to do that. Of course, that doesn‘t make it easier for creators, but no one can be forced to do something they don’t want to do.

I dare to claim that it‘s safe to say that it‘s a frustrating matter for both sides. The creators who wish for feedback to improve their writing skills to make their readers happy and the readers who feel pressured to do something they‘re not comfortable with. I‘m not sure if we‘ll ever be able to work it out so it works for both sides, but perhaps every side can define their boundaries more clearly so that everyone knows where they stand…

Anyway, I hope this message isn‘t embarassing🫣😬. I just tried to express how I see things regarding this topic, but I‘m just a 19-year-old girl who has no knowledge of anything😅🤷🏻‍♀️. Please, let me know if I embarassed myself with this.

Many hugs and so much love to you💗!

BB 😭❤️ you said this so much better than I could and wow I so appreciate the time and thought you put into this 🥹 thank youuuu

These messages are bringing me so much clarity, and wow like even if I disagree with some things people have shared I still appreciate everyone taking the time to write out such long and detailed responses because it sounds like there are definitely things I could be doing as a writer to make this space more accessible for people in a way that works for everyone, I have a much better understanding of the issue from both sides, and I’m just genuinely grateful this could be a conversation

To your first part, it is so scary as writers to put ourselves out there and whether we want to or not, we can get in our head about things 😭

And in general, I manage my expectations around interactions. I know and respect that everything I write is not going to be for everyone nor is everyone going to want to interact. But I am here to engage and get to know people so quality (in whatever way works) is important to me. And at this point, I really am just here answering Hannix asks 😂 😅

And primarily with writing that responds to asks, I do have anxiety here and I’m not going to minimize that part even while I am learning that it is something I need to work on. I grew up in a home where people were emotionally unpredictable and withheld affection and emotional validation in order to control my behavior. When I am giving someone something that was asked for, that is emotionally vulnerable (writing in general), and it feels like there’s little to no response I go into full blown panic that I’ve done something wrong or made them unhappy with me. I actually seize up because what I learned as a child is that I could be emotionally and physically punished if I don’t recalibrate. I start triple guessing and overanalyzing and that’s not really a place to write from. I could close my asks, say no more Hannix Football Rivalry. But it does *seem* like that makes people happy, that it’s something they love and I love giving people that. But it was taking a toll on me and I wanted to see if there is a solution instead of automatically shutting down

This is not a call for everyone to comment or reblog or dm or trigger their own anxiety to engage. But if someone was not understanding what was happening on my end and is like oh yes, happy to do that so we can all continue to enjoy this universe (or explore other ones!) then that is so so appreciated

Because no, I don’t want to be on here triggering other people’s anxiety 😭 And maybe it’s those people responding because there’s a shared understanding of what that experience is like, how out of control it can get even when you present yourself with logic or try to reason your way out of it

I think while there is frustration, there is also the shared experience of wanting to be recognized for our whole person even when we’re operating as writer and reader and I think Tumblr does give us a chance to recognize ourselves on a deeper level than we may in other interactions. So I do want to take care with that for everyone

No one should be forced to do something they’re uncomfortable with and you are spot on with defining boundaries!! This is not engage or get out or I’ll hold my work hostage. It’s more like, I’m struggling and asking for help if someone can give it because I want to keep giving you something you love and makes you happy. It didn’t seem fair to set boundaries without understanding where everyone is coming from