#i haven’t scroll through my dash yet

[mydaystan]

so mh hi guess who’s back (day6) (day6 is back)

[diviinedogs]

NOT THE PO/RNBOT ASKS……

[arecaceae175]

Hello! I noticed that some of your fics on Ao3 are tagged "Screen Reader Friendly," and I wondered what makes a fic screen reader friendly. Is it just about formatting, or does content matter too?

Hi, thank you so much for asking this question!!! Disclaimer I am not visually impaired so all of this information I have learned by seeing blind or visually impaired people talk about this issue.

It’s primarily formatting! I’ll list everything I do to try to make my fics accessible here.

Line breaks!!! Use the ao3 line break code instead of adding a bunch of symbols. This is the biggest thing I had to change once I realized my fics were not screen reader friendly.

HOWEVER some screen readers won’t pick up on the horizontal line, either. Another good option is to use a short series of symbols, for example: “~~” or “- - -“

Basically, just don’t use more than three symbols in a row. I used to use “~~~/\~~~” with a delta symbol in the middle to look like the triforce, but a screen reader would see that and say “asterisk asterisk asterisk delta asterisk asterisk asterisk” which is pretty annoying lol

Most screen readers don’t differentiate between regular text and bold/italics. It’s fine to have those in your story, but if the bold/italics significantly changes the plot or the implications of a sentence then it is not screen reader friendly

Screen readers can’t describe a line break that is just an empty space. For example, in one of my fics I have a character reading a note, and I have an extra ‘return button’ space before and after the note to make the note distinct from the rest of the text. To make that fic more screen reader friendly, instead of just an empty space, I wrote “[Line Break]”. That way, a screen reader can say “line break”, and readers still recognize it as a line break

If you have any sort of chat fic (AND this goes for hashtags on tumblr too!) with screen names, be sure to distinguish the separate words in the screen name. You can do this with by capitalizing the first letter of each word like this “ScreenNameHere” or with dashes in between each word “screen-name-here”. That helps screen readers and also people with things like dyslexia who have trouble distinguishing words if they aren’t capitalized or separated in some way.

Screen readers can read image emojis like this smiley face 😁 because they have embedded alt text, but they can’t read text emojis as an emoji, like this one “:D”. If you use any of those in your fic, add a description like this: “ :D [Image description: text emoji of a smiley face with a big, open mouthed smile. End description].”

Also, this one doesn’t have to do with a screen reader, but if you have an image embedded in your story, keep these things in mind:

Be sure to describe the image so anyone who is blind or visually impaired can still experience the image. I don’t think it’s possible to add alt text to the actual image, so I usually put this below the image: “[Image ID: description of the image. Note the important details, but be as concise as you can. /End ID]”. Including the image description instead of some sort of alt text is good for DeafBlind people who can’t see the image well enough but don’t use a screen reader.

Some blind or visually impaired people don’t use a screen reader and instead zoom in on the text. If an image is embedded in the story, be sure it is sized correctly. If it isn’t, it can make scrolling sideways to read zoomed in text more difficult because it makes the webpage much wider than the text itself.

Not all my fics have the screen reader friendly tag because 1. There might be a few I haven’t updated yet, and 2. I didn’t include the tag on fics that have weird formatting or are accent heavy. For example, in Kinship I wrote Twilight’s dialogue to represent his strong accent, and those kinds of things with apostrophes and half-words don’t come through well with a screen reader.

I personally don’t think it’s good practice to include a ton of apostrophes or shortened words to distinguish an accent. Even for people not using screen readers, it’s hard to read. For me, if I see a fic with things like that, I won’t read it. Maybe try having a few words that the character’s accent comes through on, or write something about their heavy accent outside of the dialogue.

The “Screen Reader Friendly” tag isn’t an officially recognized AO3 tag yet, but the more people who use it, the sooner it will be!

Those are all the things I can think of right now. If anyone has any other tips to add, please do so!!

[onlystylesangels]

Silent Struggles

Anon: I might have a request … :) so what if harry found fem!Y/N’s pack of cigarettes and he didn’t know she smoked bc she never mentioned anything and he talks to her bc he’s concerned?/ Anon: H's girl seems to be acting off and he confronts her and it turns out she's been dealing with some depression and anxiety and she's been to scared to let anyone in or... reader seems to be going through something and hasn't told anyone about it and starts smoking cigarettes; dealing with her problems alone.

Warnings!!!: talks about anxiety, talks about depression, smoking, fluff, Harry being a supportive boyfriend, reader feeling insecure

A/N: Hello!!!! I know it's been a very long time since I have posted a new Harry writing. But here it is, lovies! I hope you enjoy this one. !!!***Before you read I want to start by saying that you are loved and you're precious to this world. I love you, yeah, you the lovely person that's reading this. I care about you and there are so many people around you that care for you too. Please if you're going through something, don't fight alone. Please tell someone what you're going through. Please be safe. -A <3

It happened as always. At night you would wake up from a nightmare, open the drawer from your nightstand and rummage for your new pack of cigarettes, the plastic wrapper still intact. You took two cigarettes out and grabbed your lighter. You walk into the balcony and start the fire. You inhale a sharp breath and let out the hollowing contents of nicotine. It felt nice. Feeling the nightly fresh air hit your exposed arms, goosebumps adorning your skin as you puff out smoke from your mouth. It happened as always, as a freshly new night routine. 

The next morning you woke up with the bitter taste of nicotine filling your senses and feeling a bit dizzy when you sat up from bed. You quickly grab your phone and look at the time. It was already 9am and you were positive that you were going to be running late to the local bookstore. 

So, you take a shower and put on clothes that may or may not have matched together to create a decent outfit, but fuck it. You were about to be late so you had to work with what you had. You quickly dashed to the kitchen and prepared a quick breakfast and made sure to message Harry. 

“Hi bubba! I’m heading out to work. I’ll see you later today, okay? Love you.”

“Sounds good, love. I love you too. Make sure to drink enough water!” 

Harry, always the caring type. You loved that about him. Having a person loving you for you and always making sure that you were doing okay was one of the blessings that you took for granted. If only it were that easy to show that same love to yourself.   

“Richie! Did you get a chance to call Davy? His favorite book just came in and he had first dibs on the book” You shout out to your coworker who always seems to be too busy to work as he is sitting at the back corner of the bookstore, scrolling through his phone. Pesky phones, fucking culprits of rotting out your brain.  

“Haven’t gotten a chance, Y/N. Why don’t you call ‘em?” Richie sends you a head nod and immediately looks down at his phone. Fucking twat.

You roll your eyes and walk towards the front desk and call Davy. But before you start pushing down the buttons on the phone you see someone come in.

“Hey Y/N! Has that book come in here yet?” The man of the hour. Davy, the active reader and loyal customer of the Blues Blues Bookstore. 

“Hey there, Davy. I was literally just about to call you. I got that book reserved here for you. Hold on.” 

You walk towards the back of the store and retrieve the book that had a bookmark with his name plastered on it. You walk towards the entrance and hand it to him. He quickly takes the book in his hands and begins turning the pages. 

“I love it! Thank you again, Y/N! Glad I got here as quickly as possible.” 

You turn towards the computer and begin typing away, clearing the book for Davy.

“My pleasure, Davy. Just make sure to always come back. You’re keeping us in business, remember?” You joke, making Davy laugh and giving you an eye roll.

“Yeah, yeah. I recommended some people to come by to the store. Not sure if they found their way in yet.”   

“Haven’t seen any new faces lately. I would ask Richie, but that twat doesn’t do anything here, so I guess no new customers.”

“Hmm, you should bring that up to Daya. I’m sure she’ll fire the guy.”

Firing Richie, tsk, that guy is literally family to Daya. Even if you tell her that Richie doesn’t do anything in the store she’ll find a way to defend him and tell you off. There is no way that you would ever start a conversation regarding firing Richie to Daya; she’ll never believe or listen to you. 

“We’ll see.” Is all you say as Davy puts his new book in his satchel.

“I’ll see you around, Y/N.” Davy says as he starts walking towards the doors. “Oh, and tell that boyfriend of yours hi. I haven’t seen that English man in a while.” 

You smile at the thought of him bringing up Harry. 

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll tell him you said hi. See you Davy.” You wave goodbye to him as he does the same. 

During your break time you try to sneak in some time to smoke a cigarette and make sure that the door you come out from is shut tightly. You feel dumb for hiding your recent cigarette intake from people, but then again, people see you as the nicest and innocent person on earth. Yeah, sure. But you kept thinking about the deadline. Your personal deadline that you set yourself to meet someone at the law college that you have been researching on. 

For a couple of months now you’ve been thinking about applying to a local law college in your city and were afraid to continue the process. You continuously had non-pep talks about how you would be a terrible law student and that you may not make it to getting accepted into the college. This and telling anyone about it was just too much for you to handle. You didn't even tell Harry yet. You knew why you didn’t want to tell anyone; you didn’t want to burden them with your problems. Problems that you knew were affecting you mentally and emotionally. 

= = = 

After the break you couldn’t stop the thoughts running through your mind. The mere thought of reaching out to the law school representatives and going to that mandatory interview to see if you were worth being a candidate for their college was already too much to think about. And so you continue your work in the bookstore. Putting new books up on the shelves and welcoming customers into the bookstore. Parents accompanied with their children as you reach for the candy jar under the front desk to offer to the children. You liked your job at the bookstore, but you felt like you needed a change of scenery, especially after working there for four years. And the thought of leaving this job and trying something new frightened you.

A couple of minutes before you were off. There was a ding heard at the entryway.

“Sorry, we’re closed. You can come by tomorrow at-” You look up from the front desk and notice that it’s Harry. Carrying a bouquet of flowers in his hands. His hair started to grow from the buzz cut he got months ago. Gray trousers and loose fitting t-shirt that was starting to rip at the neckline. You told him to throw that shirt away but he always replied by saying that it was his lucky shirt. Did you believe him? Of course not, but if he claims it is his lucky shirt then it’s his lucky shirt.

“Harry!” You run towards him ignoring the stack of books that were in front of you that needed price tags. 

Harry smiles and hugs you back as he kisses your cheek. “Hi, my love.” You walk back a bit and finally take notice of the bouquet of flowers in his hands. 

“And these?” 

“Oh, I got ‘em for Richie. You know that marvelous coworker of yours,” He lies through his teeth, your eyes rolling at the mention of his name. He notices your change of mood and lifts your chin with his thumb. “Hey, lovie. I’m joking. These are for you. I saw them at the local flower shop and thought that you would like ‘em.” Your lips start curving into a smile and you give him a kiss on the lips.

“Thank you, Harry,” you smell the flowers and softly touch the flower petals, “They’re gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome, my love.” Harry follows you as you go towards the backroom. Retrieving your things and ready to call it a day at the bookstore. 

“Ready?” Harry asks you. You smile in response and immediately grab his hand as he leads you both to the exit. You lock the doors to the bookstore and leave walking hand-in-hand with Harry.

You reach your apartment and unlock the door to your little home. You walk in along with Harry and make your way to the sink and grab a vase under the sink cabinet. Harry watches you as you fill the vase with water and stick the flowers in it; he admires your acts and just leans his weight on the kitchen island and stares at you as if you were this beautiful undiscovered galaxy. 

You catch him staring and you get shy all of a sudden. You get a bit self-conscious, but then that feeling goes away when Harry walks towards you and cups your cheeks. 

“You’re so pretty, Y/N.” You feel your cheeks get hot and you quickly turn your head away from his gaze; not even hiding the smile that you had. Harry chuckles and swiftly turns your head back to his gaze. “Don’t hide from me, love. It’s just me.” Harry teases, the back of his hand smoothly running down your cheek. 

“You make me nervous, Harry.” You confess, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you making me shy.” 

Harry picks you up and walks towards the couch. He keeps you on his lap as you continue hiding away from him. You both have been dating for over a year and so you must’ve at least gotten used to all those times that Harry gets you all flustered, but you haven’t yet. It’s like falling in love with him for the first time. That’s how you feel right now. Your body is so close to his and his arms wrapped around your body as he just holds you. Appreciating your presence; he held you in strong arms as if he was afraid to let you go. And he was.

For the rest of the evening you both order takeout from two different restaurants because you were craving two of your favorite foods. Harry happily ordered from the two restaurants as he left you in an excited mess. Excited that you were finally going to eat those foods that you craved for so long. The food doesn’t take long for it to arrive at the apartment and so you and Harry eat on the couch and watch some movies to pass the time. You both joke around about the characters from the movie that you were both watching and made the night pleasant. 

As the night went along, you were laughing along with Harry and enjoying being in each other’s company. You wished you could be there on the couch all night, but you were starting to yawn and your eyes starting to droop from how sleepy you were. Harry noticed and turns off the tv and grabs your hand and leads you both to your bedroom. He lets you go into the bathroom first to start your night routine as he lies down on the bed scrolling on his phone. 

You walk out the bathroom and stand over the bed and lean down to meet Harry’s eyes. He plops his phone down on his stomach and you take this opportunity to kiss his pink lips. 

“Mm, I don’t want to shower anymore.” He whines in between kisses. You chuckle and grab both of his hands and try your best to lift your boyfriend up from the bed. Jeez, you weren’t an active gym-rat, but from just lifting up his body you felt like you did a whole workout.

“Damn, Harry.” You swipe a hand over your forehead. Harry laughed in response. 

“My bones are heavy, love.” He simply responds as he walks towards your dresser and opens up his designated drawer that has some of his clothes in it. “Be right back, lovie.” He looks behind him and sees you starting to make yourself comfortable on your side of the bed. 

“Don’t take too long.” You respond

“I’ll try not to.” He walks to the bathroom with a new pair of clothes hanging on his shoulder. He leaves the door open; the showerhead turning on.

A couple of minutes pass and Harry walks back into the bedroom; drying his hair as best as he could. It was easier for him to dry it now that it was shorter. You lift up the bed covers inviting him inside the warm cocoon. You both lie together, Harry spooned you from behind and as you brought one his arms up to your chest. You both fall asleep into a quiet slumber. 

But you wake up after a couple of hours. You didn’t even bother to check the time as you opened your eyes and slowly removed Harry’s arm from hugging your body. You sit up and walk towards your bedside drawer; already knowing your nightly routine. You grab the pack of cigarettes that were hidden under some of your favorite books and miscellaneous items that you kept forgetting to get rid of. You also get a lighter that was stashed inside your purse and go outside to the balcony.

The butt of the cigarette blazes to life as you take a breath in of the substance and slowly let a breath out. Your thoughts once again start to disappear with every intake of breath you take. It numbed them, made them disappear, but only temporarily. You knew that smoking was making your lungs get sore and your nose wrinkling still not getting used to the smell of the smoke, but you didn’t care at that moment. It numbed everything, it numbed your problems and it made everything feel-- better.

As you continued puffing out air of smoke you continued looking up at the sky, stars aligning the horizon randomly. With each puff of smoke you felt the anxiety slowly go away. You were almost down to the brim of the cigarette, so you could comfortably go back to sleep. Once you were about to inhale one last breath of nicotine you heard footsteps making its way towards the balcony. You freeze and hold the cigarette in your  fingers, bringing your hand to your side. 

“Y/n?” Harry says as he rubs the sleepiness out of his eyes. “What are you doing out here, it’s la-” He stops himself once he notices what’s in your hand. He looked confused, he didn’t know you smoked. 

“Harry.” You reply. The cigarette is still in between your fingers, burning away. 

“I- I didn’t know you smoke.” Harry begins slowly walking towards you, concern sketched in his eyes.

You look down at the cigarette that continues to burn away and you feel tears start welling up in your eyes. You bring the cigarette up in front of you and stomp it on the floor, watching as the smoke starts consuming your nose. Regret. Regret is what you were feeling as you turned to Harry’s presence, his demeanor causing you to feel like a deer in front of headlights. You’re sorry. Sorry that you never told him that you picked up smoking because of not having anything else to control your anxiety. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Harry runs to you and embraces you with all his might. “Oh love. Come here.” You snuggled into his embrace and began crying. You held onto his arms so tightly that you were clutching onto him afraid of him letting go. Letting you go.

“I was scared. I just wanted to help… myself.” You mutter.

Harry held you as he ran his hands down your back. He would occasionally massage your head. “I promise you baby, I am going to be here for as long as you want me to, then you can let me in and help you.” He held onto you tightly and he kissed the side of your face. Harry let you cry on his chest as he rubbed your back soothingly, trying best to comfort you.

“I just felt alone.”  

Harry steps back a bit and looks you in the face, concern written all over his green irises. He held your hand in his and met your eyes filled with tears.“You have me, darlin’.” Harry said, his fingers lightly brushing away the stranded tear on your cheek. “I’m right here, Y/N.” He reassures you. Bringing you close to his body again.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I’m sorry.” You let out, Harry cupping your cheeks trying to calm your nerves. 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. You have nothin’ to apologize for, lovie.” He looks at your bloodshot eyes. Seeing you sad like this he felt broken. Broken that he didn’t know how to make you feel better, broken because he hated seeing you without a smile on your face. Broken that he wasn’t aware that you were hurting. “Is it okay if I ask what’s going on?” He said with a soft voice. 

“I– I just been sad and overthinking, okay.” You let out, your hands coming up to cover your face. You felt ashamed, as if a parent just witnessed the most disappointing act from their child. You hated feeling insecure in your own skin; you felt worse that it was Harry that was looking down at you with concern in his eyes and his body weight shifting to softly take your hands in his and seeing your face. 

“Hey, hey. Y/N, baby, you’re scaring me. What are you sad about,” Harry steps back a bit giving you room to speak and mostly giving himself self-control from forcing you to share what’s been making you sad. “Baby, I’m right here, okay. It’s just me.” 

You slowly turn your head away from his gaze and look at the sky. Your hands no longer covering your flushed face, but now twiddling with your shirt, Harry’s shirt. You feel bad that you now created droplets of tears on the collar of his favorite shirt. 

“I just have been dealing with a lot of negative thoughts and I just… sniffle… I didn’t want you to worry about me.” Your hands constantly were moving from your face down to your shirt. Harry catches your little antics and walks towards you, slowly, making sure that he has a good distance between you two before he starts again.

“Y/N. I had no idea that you were going through something. I had the feeling that you were acting a bit different, but never thought that something was affecting you,” He waits for your permission to come in closer and so he takes no time and has his hands cupping your cheeks. Tears staining your beautiful cheeks that he so dearly loved taking his time in kissing and feeling your soft skin against his ring-clad fingers. “I wished I knew you were going through something.” He confessed, sensing a feeling of regret that he felt for not seeing the signs of you feeling depressed and not being your energetic-self. Now as he looks back, he noticed your change of behavior. Being a bit more reserved, but still communicating with him which led him not sensing a shift of you. 

 “You always told me that it was your period messin’ with ya mood. I was so stupid to believe that. Baby, I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you.” 

It’s true. You shared to him that the past couple of months when he would suggest going out to shopping outlets and going out for dinner you would simply reply that you weren’t in the mood to go out in public. That your period was getting the best of you and drained your energy. It was true that you had bad days when you were on your period, but you made him believe that it was your menstrual cycle being the culprit of you feeling drained. 

“I’m sorry, Harry.” You cried out, his hands holding your head as he hugged your frame and landed kisses on your head. 

“It’s okay. I know now that you haven’t been feeling good. Jus’ let me help you, yeah?” Harry looks down at you, your eyes bloodshot as a soft smile creeps up on Harry’s lips. You follow suit and slowly mimic a smile back. 

Harry leads you back to the bedroom and lets you sit on the edge of the bed. “‘M going to start a bath for you. Is that okay?” 

You nod in agreement and he starts turning on the bath faucet, making sure that the water is warm enough to calm your body and hopefully make you feel a bit better. As he is sure that the water is at the right temperature he comes back to the bedroom where you are still sitting on the bed. He kneels in front of you and looks up at you, his hands running up and down your arms gently. 

“The water is almost ready for ya. I’m gonna get those bath bombs you like so much and light up some candles.” He says, reaching towards your head and landing a kiss on your forehead. You softly smile at his action and continue looking at his beautiful eyes that you could never get tired of looking at. 

He goes back to the bathroom and takes a blueberry muffin scented bath bomb and throws it inside the bathtub as he watches the water fizzle and quickly change into a dark blue hue. He then lights up a couple of candles and sets them on the sink cabinet.

He comes back to the bedroom and Harry motions for you to stand up and you do and follow behind him making your way to the bathroom. He’s about to leave you alone in the bathroom for you to get undressed, giving you privacy.

You quickly reach towards his hand and he stops from walking out the bathroom. He looks back at you waiting for you to say something. 

“Stay, please.” You mutter softly. His hand slowly intertwines with yours as he shuts the door behind him and walks towards you. Nodding in agreement as he follows suit and starts undressing. You motion for him to help you unclasp your bra and he quickly does it with ease. 

You step into the warm water and instantly feel the water relieving your tired muscles. You didn’t even realize how tense your muscles were. Harry then follows you and lands both feet on the warm bathtub. He lies down first and motions for you to lie down against his chest. You carefully situate your body close to his and feel his thick thighs wrap around your own legs, his arms wrapping around your mid area. Your breasts touching his forearms. Your skin sinking into the warm embrace of the scented water as you shiver, goosebumps trailing on your skin yet again from the cool air coming from the bathroom. Harry cups his hands into the water and brings it up to splash water on your chest and remaining skin that has yet to make contact with the warm water. You smile from his gentle mannerisms as you lean back into his chest, your head cradling on top of his chest. You look up at him as he smiles down at you, dimples on full display. 

Harry kisses the top of your head and you close your eyes and smile in response. His soft touches always make you feel relaxed.

“You want to talk ‘bout it?” Harry asked, his hands making small circles on your belly.  

“No. But I need to talk about it,” You reply, holding onto his free hand that’s holding onto the tub. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that I have been thinking about going back to school. Law school.” You confess, playing with Harry’s fingers and tracing his knuckles.

“That’s exciting, love. I’m happy that you’re thinking about going back to school.” He soothes your belly some more. 

You turn your head just enough to catch his gaze. “Yeah, but I know how much you want to move in together. I want to move in together too, but law school isn’t cheap.” 

“We’ll figure it out together. I can always pick up extra shifts at the tattoo parlor and maybe sell some of my songs on the side.” Harry assures you. 

“But, I don’t want you working too hard for my sake. That’s one of the reasons why I was afraid to tell you this.” You turn your attention back to Harry’s freehand and continue tracing his knuckles. 

Harry catches this and softly tilts your head so he could see your eyes. “Hey, lovie. We’re in this together. If you have dreams of your own I will stand by you and help you achieve those dreams. We’re a team, yeah?” 

You smile up at him. Tears slowly start to blur your vision. You have always been like this. When new problems would arise you would shut-off, you wouldn’t tell anyone about what you were going through and it was hard for you to ask for help. You were that friend that always told people to reach out to you if they were going through something, but that’s the exact thing that you don’t do. Leaving yourself to fend for yourself; self-sabotaging yourself. 

You look away and land your hands on your knees, feeling tears starting to slide down your cheeks again. “I feel like such a loser. Why is this small thing bothering me so much?” You quietly say. 

Harry shifts his body just enough so he could see the state that you’re in. He moves a couple of your wet strands away from your face and tucks it behind your ear. “Hey, don’t call yourself that. You’re not a loser. You’re my beautiful girlfriend who's the strongest person I’ve ever known.” 

Pfft. “Strong?” You repeat, feeling an urge of disgust with yourself. 

“Hey, whatever you’re feeling, we’ll get through it together. You’re strong for sharing what you’re going through.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Harry.” You turn your head and stare at his eyes. Wanting to feel his lips against yours.

“It’s okay, baby.” He kisses your shoulder and notices how your gaze looks at his lips. He meets your eyes and leans close to kiss your lips. You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his body closer to yours, feeling his body heat. Your arms run down his tattooed arm and leave his lips wishing for more as you start kissing his swallows on his chest. 

He brings your face close to his. “We’ll do this together, lovie. I promise.” He says through kisses, kissing every crevice of your face, making you smile from his facial hair tickling your skin. 

As you two finish up bathing and drying your bodies and changing into clean clothes; you started to feel better. You weren’t sure if it was because you finally told Harry what you were going through, or if it was because you had Harry with you being that only person to see you at your lowest and comforting you. You didn’t know, but you felt good.

You both get ready for bed. Harry finishes brushing his teeth and putting a serum on his face that you recommended him to try. You lay down on the bed waiting for Harry to walk into the bedroom. He discards his shirt and throws it somewhere in the bedroom. Thinking about that in the morning he’s going to be looking for that garment all morning. The thought of it makes you smile. 

Harry walks to the bed and lies down. He motions you to climb on him and you do as you carefully situate one of your legs to be between one his legs. You look at him to check if he looks comfortable.

“Is this okay?” You asked, he nods and slides a hand under your shirt, his hand running up and down your back. He kisses the crook of your neck. You lie your head on his chest and hear his heart beating in a steady rhythm. With the thumping of Harry’s heart you begin drifting off into sleep. 

“Goodnight, lovie.” Harry whispers to you. But you were already out. Harry takes it as a clue that you have already called it a night when you didn’t respond back. He smiles to himself and continues running his hands over your back, feeling your body relax to his soft touch.

That night was the first night that you felt good, happy even. You felt relieved, this was one of the first nights that you slept through the whole night. You didn’t wake up to a nightmare clouding your unconscious mind. You had Harry next to you, hugging your body, feeling his warm breath hit the crevices of your neck, feeling his arms wrapped around you as if you were his only safe haven.

The next day…

“You want me to be there with you while you fill out the college application?” Harry asks you as he takes a sip of his tea. 

You hold the mug of freshly brewed coffee and smell the vanilla hazelnut creamer and instantly making you melt. 

“You would do that?”

“Of course. I want to be in every step of the college process, if you let me.”

“I would love that, Harry.” You smile as you set down your mug. 

“Okay, my love,” Harry kisses the top of your head and whispers "I love you” to you. “I’m going to get something for us to eat. I’ll be right back.” He takes his wallet and spare keys into one hand and leans towards you where you sit in the kitchen island. “Kissy?” 

Kissy. A cute little phrase that you would both ask each other to ask for permission for a kiss. A phrase that started since you two were dating for five months. A little phrase that was childish, but you both didn’t care. It was cute. 

You smile up at him. As you took another sip of your coffee, then another one. Teasing Harry as a pout started to appear on his face. He then started blinking his eyes furiously making you stop drinking from your mug. He got you there.

“Kissy.” You lean over to him and kiss him. You cup his cheek and run your freehand into his hair. He moaned into your touch making you smile in response. 

“I’ll be back, yeah?” 

“Okay. I love you Harry.” 

“I love you.” 

He walks out the door with his spare keys being the only thing you hear as he makes his way down the corridor. Leaving you alone with your mug of coffee half-way filled in front of you. You walk to the living room and grab the laptop that was on top of the coffee table and bring it back to the kitchen island. You set it there and wait. You stare at the black screen of the laptop as your reflection looks back at you. You continue taking small sips of your coffee and wait until Harry comes back. 

////////

“Hey, darlin’ I got your favorite snacks and lunch from that Vietnamese restaurant you like.” Harry enters into the small apartment and takes you by surprise. You were reading a book that you always put off. He walked towards you and set the bags of food on the kitchen island in front of you. 

“Are you ready, lovie?” 

As time passed you completed the university application and stopped yourself to double check on every detail that you added on the application. You felt nervous, anxious about completing the whole college application process, but you knew that it was going to be worth it in the end. You were glad that you had Harry with you filling the application, because you wouldn’t have had the courage to fill it out on your own. You were happy that you were accompanied and had his support. Harry didn’t ignore the anxiety and the way that you would play with your fingers while filling out the online application. This was a lot for you and he understood that you needed a well-deserved break. 

“Hey baby, take a small break,” Harry grabs the laptop and closes it, but making sure that he saved the application before doing so. “Here, get some foodsies.” Harry passes you the large bowl filled with your favorite pho. 

You take a mouthful of the delicious seasoned soup and sigh as you feel the warmth of the soup comforting your body, leaving you in a relaxed state. “Thank you my love,” you take a napkin and wipe the corners of your mouth. “I missed pho so much.” 

Harry smiles in response as he takes a bite of his own pho. He sits closer to you as his knees touch yours. He gave you frequent glances as a way to know that you were eating well and keeping note of your reactions. You were comfortable which made him happy. 

The night went along well. You finished applying for the university and only waited to get a response back. A couple of weeks it would take before you would get a response. So you continued going to the bookstore and you were starting to share more things with Harry, something that you didn’t do before. You shared more about your past, your family. He knew about your parents and other closer family members, but you never went into depth with other important people that you grew up with back home. You were happy to share more of your life with Harry. 

You both spent more time with each other more often. If you called Harry that you were feeling down, Harry would drop what he was doing and quickly get to your apartment as fast as he could. If you were on your period and Harry knew about it he would stay the whole week to make sure that you were taking care of yourself and to obviously spoil you. Just because flowers were his favorite habit of showing you that he loved you and would randomly gift you little crochet stuffies from a local independent shop. He eventually got you so many that you were running out of spaces where to put them, but you loved every little crochet plushie, they were just so cute! 

The more time that you spent with Harry you hadn’t picked up a cigarette. After Harry found out that you were smoking to relieve what you were feeling he didn’t judge or tell you that you had to stop smoking. Instead, he didn’t mention it, but acknowledged that it was something that you picked up when you were feeling depressed. So, you were grateful that he was there with you along the way of you figuring out how to slowly stop smoking. 

Weeks later…

And so you waited two weeks. In those two weeks a lot happened. Harry was getting his stuff ready to officially move in with you. Nothing much happened, just helping Harry move in his boxes and get him situated in your now shared apartment. He was excited to start living with you and as he said it “Happy to wake up next to my lovie every mornin’.” You were ecstatic to live with Harry, and, well, he already was living in your apartment when he would stay some nights, but this was going to be different. You were going to wake up next to him every morning and being grumpy on Saturday mornings because Harry would wake you to go on morning runs. On a Saturday out of all days! But you were getting too used to him living in your shared space.

Later that week you received an acceptance letter from the university that you applied at. When Harry came to the apartment from work that same day you told him out of excitement. He hugged you tight and gave you so many kisses that overwhelmed you, but you didn’t care you were too happy. The following week you spent a whole week getting school supplies. Harry came along of course picking out the most random things that he swore that you would use in college. Who needs three white boards and two big packs of big sticky notes? You were content in getting one white board and one big sticky note pack just to make Harry feel better. 

“But you’re gonna need two of ‘em, lovie.” 

You chuckle at his antics, “Why two Harry? I just need one.” 

Harry stares down at the plastic covered white board in his hands. “Cause ya gonna need to jot down our date nights. You can’t fit everythin’ on one white board.” He reminds you.

“Bubba, one is enough.” 

You take the white board and pack of stickies with you along with some other supplies. Harry followed behind as he kept putting in colorful markers and journaling stickers in the cart. He definitely made that shopping trip amusing. And you loved every moment of it. 

Four years later…

You sat at every class lecture and followed along what the professors talked about. You were present, you were dedicated and it paid off. There were times where you had breakdowns because of the workload that law school brought to you and it was a lot to handle. The anxiety that was kept at bay was slowly creeping onto you during those troubling school semesters that were always heavy with coursework, but you always had Harry there to guide you through breathing techniques. It was a lot, but you were happy that you were pushing through those semesters for you, for your future and Harry’s. You were proud all those days that you showed up to class prepared to learn the material and to later take the bar exams.

Those four years really did pay off. Cap and gown on and a smile on your face as you waited for your name to be called on the intercom. You walked onto stage as you had the urge to cry, but you stopped yourself because you knew that this was your moment. You were ecstatic that you finally met your goal. Going to school and having Harry and your close family members with you during this long journey. Happy that you were no longer alone… well, you were never alone, but you finally knew what it felt to let people in, let people care about you and let them hear your struggles. You were no longer suffering in silence. You were now walking down the stage with a diploma in your hand, holding onto your biggest achievement and you were excited to see what the future held for you. You knew that whatever life would bring you, you would no longer fight it alone, because you had people and you were no longer going to struggle in silence.

[jewish-vents]

first - i just want to say thank you for making this blog. it’s so important to know that we aren’t alone in the many things we’re experiencing and feeling right now, especially when so many of us have become painfully isolated as of late.

i apologize for how long this one is going to be.

i’ve been feeling so, so alone recently. my tumblr dash has been cut down to just a handful of jewish blogs that i can trust to be kind and understanding and nuanced, but it means that the majority of the content i see is about antisemitism and the war. after a while, it becomes draining to scroll through what feels like endless sadness. i turned to looking at fandom tags instead of following fandom blogs, but it makes me feel equally as insane to click on a blog about race cars and immediately see a post with 60k notes calling what’s happening in gaza “the new holocaust”. i started going back on twitter, but fan accounts on there too are only safe for a day or so before the account owner shares some awful antisemitic tweet from an account known to be an anti-jewish extremist. i went back on instagram briefly, but i was soon afraid to look at people’s stories for fear i’d see something terrible and lose yet another trusted person from my life.

in person, i have to walk by signs saying “zionism = genocide” and hastily scribbled palestinian flags with the colors in the wrong spot on my way to class every day. a wall across from my apartment says “BDS” in giant letters. i haven’t opened my curtains in months because of it. a “protest” of about 25 people stood in the center of campus and yelled and waved their fists in passing students’ faces, so jewish students didn’t go to class on any of the days they gathered. i only have one non jewish friend left at school - the rest abandoned me because i either called them out on antisemitic rhetoric or refused to go along with the idea that anyone, palestinian or israeli, muslim or jewish, is less than human. i had taken several of them along to our hillel’s seder in the past. i don’t know who i can safely go with this year. i have a few jewish friends, of course, but i love bringing goyische friends with little connection to judaism along to experience how joyful and loving jewish holidays can be.

it feels like there is no escape from this fucking war. it sickens me that it’s the only thing people pretend to care about - where is the attention for sudan, ukraine, armenia, uyghurs in china, syria, guyana? how is putting an emoji in your twitter bio or putting a translucent overlay of the palestinian flag on your tumblr icon any sort of real activism? how have we gone from “antisemitism is wrong” to “(((zionists))) control the world media”? it seems like the war is a fandom to these people. it seems like nobody cares enough to fully read and think critically about what they share, let alone do real research beyond looking at an infographic somebody shared on their instagram story. they’ll add on “don’t forget your click today!” to an unrelated twitter thread that went viral, flip the bird at the local starbucks, and put “won’t you free my palestine” on their instagram stories. they’ll anonymously tell a jew online to commit suicide. they’ll feel secure in the knowledge that they’re the perfect leftist, that this is somehow “good trouble”. all this praxis, and nothing to show for it but massive surges in hate crimes against jews. good job, guys! you singlehandedly saved every innocent person in gaza!

it’s isolating. it’s scary. jews can’t mourn. jews can’t be angry. jews can’t disagree. jews can’t suffer. jews can’t be whole, complex people with diverse beliefs and experiences. suffering is a game, and the goal is to hurt the most, scream the most, die the most, all to appease western leftists whose closest connection to war and violence was reading the hunger games in middle school.

i’m tired of it all. i want a peaceful and just resolution to the war. i want the mindless hatred everywhere to stop. i want to be able to scroll through social media and see nothing but fandom. i want to walk through campus with my magen david showing and all the friends i lost by my side on the way to the hillel seder. i want to open my curtains again. i know the experience of one diaspora jew is nothing compared to what people living in israel and palestine are currently going through, yet i still need this all to end. i don’t think any of us can go on like this, but we must, because we have. for thousands of years, we’ve gone on. that still doesn’t mean it has to be this hard all the time.

all i can think is “now we are slaves. next year may we be free.” now we are slaves to hatred and violence and suffering. next year may we all be free. next year may we all be in jerusalem.

.

[writing-for-life]

Tags, Glorious Tags

Some encouragement to follow and check them more consistently…

So I did a little experiment: Tags with under 1k followers don’t get their numbers shown on Tumblr. I put the Sandman characters through the search, and while there were no big surprises (if we think about the main fandom demographic), the numbers were still staggering.

I tried all sorts of different iterations, too, and included the higher/most frequently used ones:

Note to self: “Lucienne the librarian” is not a popular tag. Welp, I shall tag differently in the future.

Two outliers because people will also follow these for the Lucifer/Hellblazer series/comics, not The Sandman:

That’s it. All other characters have under 1,000 followers. I’ve also added the shipping tags to the bottom of this post. Read them and weep/laugh/whatever feels right.

Even if we take into consideration that the characters who already made an appearance in the series will get higher numbers than the ones that non-comic readers haven’t met yet (because let’s be honest: This is currently largely a TV-, not a comics fandom):

Where is Desire (I find that really surprising considering I constantly read how much people love Mason)?

Where is Despair?

Where is Calliope (she has a tag, but that’s in no way Sandman related. All Sandman ones are under 1k)?

Where is Johanna Constantine (also extremely surprising to me)?

Where is Rose Walker, who had a whole arc?

Where are Fiddler’s Green, Unity (both too old presenting, I get it, but it’s just driving the point home that it’s not about narrative importance but having the hots 🤣), Gault, Nada, to just name a few?

This has nothing to do with screen time allocated to characters, as should also be obvious. Even Matthew is more popular than other (mostly female) characters who drive the story, or are at least a big part of it.

It would be easy to say, “Well, these are just the favourites, nothing we can do about that.” And while that’s true, it’s also not quite as simple…

Fandom favourites vs checking the tags

As someone who runs a Sandman blog that tries to cover all characters (and of course I cover some more than others, so it’s definitely not about that) and isn’t too interested in shipping, I can see how the reblogs stack—they come through people’s mutuals, not through tags (bar the popular two or three).

But if we really love a character, we need to check and follow their tags consistently, and I can tell that’s often not the case but for said popular two or three. Posts for those tend to get default engagement because even people who don’t follow me check these tags, and they reblog straight from there (i.e. not through a third person). Other characters though? Only if someone with a relatively popular blog reblogs (and that hardly ever happens, and if it does, it’s usually for Death, Delirium and maybe Lucienne). It never happens straight through the tags.

Which also makes it somewhat worth thinking about that we, on the one hand, bemoan that no one cares about certain characters while at the same time heavily relying (maybe not even consciously) on mutuals who do check tags to feed that stuff into our dash (and we probably often don’t scroll down very far either). I see those little fandom bubbles very clearly because my blog is pretty broad (as in not ship-centric) and I notice, on the regular, who kicks off the chain for those underappreciated characters no one but them goes into the tags for (you’re doing the Lord’s work 🫂).

This is not about saying some characters should be more popular or others shouldn’t, because people like what they like, and that’s okay. Morpheus is and always will be my favourite, and apparently, I’m in good company 😉

But I also love other characters of narrative importance, and if we want to see their art, their fics, their metas, we need to follow and, above all, check their tags. Regularly. Because that stuff is there. Maybe not quite as plentiful, but the problem is also: If no one interacts with it, people just give up.

But we need to actively look for it ourselves, not just through our mutuals. We also need to think about reblogging more. Liking is great but doesn’t quite cut it for the characters we want to see more of. It’s not how Tumblr works.

And if you create, it’s also good to keep in mind that some people will occasionally say they like or even love those characters, but they factually don’t love them enough to follow their tags. There’s nothing wrong with that per se, but the pipeline maintains itself fairly effortlessly while left field stuff is definitely more and harder individual work. And I get that it can feel tiring at times (ask me how I know).

But long story short: Please don’t let it discourage you so it turns into a vicious cycle. Keep on checking the tags, because there are people who create for them. Don’t just like but also reblog. Keep on tagging your stuff so people who love other characters than the main two or three, and those who ship rare pairs, can find you. (Remember that only the first five tags show up in tracked tags and only the first 20 will show up in searches, and that reblogs show up in neither.) It’s hard to cut through the popular tags, but it becomes even harder if fewer and fewer people are trying.

Plus: If you check the character tags outright, you don’t have to wade through everything else. The Sandman doesn’t just consist of its main tag.

And because it’s actually quite funny, I’ll just let the shipping tags speak for themselves (I just picked a few of the most “popular” ones in their different iterations, because if the stats for more popular ships already look like this, we don’t even need to think about rare pairs):

Corintheus: <1k

Morphienne: <1k

Morphanna/ConstantDream: <1k

Dreamuse: <1k

DreamingStar: <1K

Hellmuse: <1k

Gaultienne: <1k

Dreamling:

Even compared to individual character tags, the only one outshining Dreamling is the good old Dream Lord himself. Plus the main Sandman tag (but only #the sandman, because #sandman comes in at a comparably paltry 9.9k). Any questions left as to why most people are here? 😉But again: There are others. Follow and check the tags.

[fintan-pyren]

HELLO LOVE! ITS ME ITS KIMBER (used to be bianavacker-is-bi-as-hell) OML it’s been such a long time since i’ve been active in this fandom i haven’t read stellarlune or unraveled and ive been scrolling through the kotlc tag today and??? i missed a LOT y’all 😭😭😭 the gays were acknowledged??? sophie hasn’t been born yet??? keefe has taylor swift merch???

(i am. truly deeply deeply sorry if i overwhelmed you with this ask 😭💀 it’s so nice to see u on my dash again <3)

Oh wow, it's been a while! Great to see you.

You should read the newest books. I've been bitching about certain aspects of Unraveled, but they're both really good books. Gay people and Swiftie Keefe, as you've seen, plus some interesting views on the human world from Keefe.

Stellarlune is particularly good. Lot of new plot-related information revealed, and some fun things too (Fintan canonically loves gardening, and Bronte's hair is curly).

There's also a new (relatively speaking) short story from Marella's POV that I suspect you might like.

[dark-rx]

Spiderwebs of Desire

I.

I see you standing in line at that quaint little café on the corner, the one that never quite knows if it wants to be Parisian or Brooklyn chic. You turn your head toward the window; a flicker of delicate confusion crosses your face. Is it the swirl of roasted beans that captivates you, or is it something else—perhaps someone else—just out of view? You scan the faces behind the glass, searching. The wind is a little sharp, your hair dancing against your collar. You smooth it away with quick, precise movements. Graceful, yes, but also guarded. Already, I can sense your tension, your hesitation. You’re not sure exactly what you’re looking for, but you can feel it. Something is changing in the air, stirring. Maybe it’s me.

II.

The moment our eyes connect—though I don’t believe you’ve actually noticed me yet—I understand it. That spark of interest you can’t quite name. You want something thrilling, something that takes you out of the safe patterns and monotony of everyday life. I see how your fingers drum anxiously on the edge of your phone, your lips parted as though tasting the possibility of words you haven’t yet dared to speak. And I stand at a precise angle by the window, sipping a latte I barely taste, orchestrating this accidental glance. If I time it just right, if I align myself with your line of sight, you’ll feel my presence.

III.

But I must be careful. It’s important not to startle you too soon. You see, there’s an art to courting curiosity—an art I’ve cultivated meticulously. Some might call it obsession, others might label it something darker. You want a dominant figure; you crave the edge that leaves your heart pounding. But I must ask: Do you really understand what it means to invite that kind of attention? Because I’m not just a man with a commanding voice and a confident stride. There’s a depth in me, an undercurrent of intricacy you might find… dangerous. Maybe even deadly.

IV.

I watch as you step to the counter. You order something with elaborate instructions—extra foam, a dash of cinnamon, half the sugar. You’re particular. I admire that. You’re the sort of person who knows how you want to be pleased, and how you want to be served. Isn’t that the first taste of what you call “dominance?” Let me assure you, it goes far beyond coffee orders and polite flirtations. It’s about shaping your world to my taste, influencing every aspect of your experience until you can no longer see where your desires end and mine begin.

V.

I imagine you suspect something of the darkness you’re flirting with. Perhaps you’ve read a few stories, scrolled through feverish online confessions, or indulged in fantasies where a man’s gentle but firm hand finds your throat in the dim hush of candlelight. You think you understand the tension, the give-and-take of power, the seduction in letting someone else orchestrate the symphony of your senses. What you don’t see—and what will come in time—is the extent to which I relish the game itself, the meticulous planning, the subtle control that begins long before you feel my touch. I can be patient. I can wait.

VI.

When you sit down, I note the way you hold your cup, cradling it against your palms as if it could warm more than your skin—perhaps your soul. You glance around, eyes trailing from one corner to the next. You sense something, don’t you? An intangible presence, a gaze that appraises you beyond the surface. And that faint little shiver dancing down your spine? That’s me, love. That’s me, letting you know, in the subtlest way, that I see you. We haven’t spoken yet, but we will. Eventually, you’ll find yourself compelled to speak with me, to offer me a taste of who you are.

VII.

In these early moments, I recall how others have come to me craving the same thing. How they thought submission was just a playful whim, a fleeting thrill. With them, I was… kinder, perhaps. But with you, there’s a certain promise. You’re not naive, not exactly. There’s a glimmer in your eyes that betrays a curious intellect. Like some part of you has studied the art of letting go, or you’ve spent late nights reading erotic literature that danced on the edges of taboo. You might even believe you can maintain a sense of control while letting me lead. Such a delicate balance. But oh, how quickly the scales can tip.

VIII.

I stand, discreetly pay for another coffee, and stroll past your table just close enough to catch a whisper of your perfume. It’s floral with a hint of spice, something that speaks of your inner desires: the sweetness you present to the world, and the hidden burn beneath. As I pass, I murmur a soft “excuse me,” letting your gaze flicker over me. There it is—that micro-moment of connection, your pupils widening a fraction, your body tensing ever so slightly. You might chalk it up to a reflex, a polite reaction. But we both know it’s more.

IX.

You watch me take a seat a few tables away. Now I’m the one who feels your eyes on me. The roles shift every moment, don’t they? Dominant, submissive… who’s to say it’s not a dance we both perform in secret? For now, let me lead. Let me orchestrate each step. I stir my coffee, letting the spoon clang softly against the porcelain cup. Your ears perk up at the sound. You shift in your seat as if uneasy, yet intrigued. There’s something about me you can’t quite place, something refined yet unsettling. You’re right to feel that friction—it’s real. It’s me.

X.

I wonder if you know how thoroughly I’ve already mapped out our potential future. The meeting, the conversation, the elaborate courtship of your senses. One day, I’ll invite you to dinner. Perhaps I’ll cook for you. A lavish meal—delectable courses, an arrangement of flavors that seduce the palate. It’s important to me that you experience delight in every moment we share. That you taste my meticulous devotion, and feel how deeply I value aesthetics and pleasure. And if your eyes wander to the knives on the cutting board, or the glint of steel at the edge of my domain, well, a little apprehension can be such a sweet spice.

XI.

As I rise to leave, I catch your expression in the reflection of the café’s glass door. You look almost disappointed that the moment has passed so quickly. But let me assure you, I’m not gone. I’m just allowing the tension to build. In the world of culinary arts—yes, I have my passions—you must let flavors develop, let them simmer over low heat for the richness to truly bloom. That’s what this is: our slow simmer. And when it boils, oh, it will erupt in ways you can’t possibly anticipate.

XII.

Outside, the cold air stings my cheeks. I take a measured breath, letting the crispness of winter fill my lungs. Anticipation courses through my veins. I sense you’re still inside, your mind whirling with questions. Who is that man? Why did I feel a sudden flutter in my chest? There’s a part of you that might feel foolish for being so unsettled by a mere stranger. But you and I know better. This isn’t chance. This is a carefully curated intersection of two lives. Soon, you’ll understand that you were always going to find me. Or rather, that I would find you.

XIII.

I take a short walk, deliberately circling the block. Call it a predator’s orbit if you must. I prefer to think of it as a connoisseur’s inspection. You see, I want to know the environment surrounding you. The bookstore across the street, the little antique shop next door. Each establishment tells me something about you—about your tastes, your curiosities. Will you wander into the antique store on a whim, drawn by something vintage, something historically charged with hidden secrets? Possibly. And if I happen to be there too, standing by a worn oak table, we can strike up a conversation about craftsmanship and the patina of time.

XIV.

Yes, I study you carefully. Not just the curve of your hips or the subtle flutter of your lashes, but the intangible aspects: the cadence of your step, the way you hesitate before crossing a street, the tilt of your head when you consider a new idea. These small indicators speak volumes about your psyche, about where your walls are strongest, and where they might yield. Appetite is more than just hunger; it’s a reflection of the soul’s desires. And you, my dear, are developing quite the appetite for danger.

XV.

When I finally decide to leave the vicinity, I’m certain your thoughts linger on me. Let them. Tomorrow or the next day, I’ll be the one occupying your stray daydreams. Perhaps you’ll replay the moment I passed your table, remembering the warmth of my presence, the quiet authority in my step. You’ll wonder if you should have spoken up if you should have asked my name. Yet at the same time, a pulse of relief might color your cheeks, because some deeper part of you recognizes that once you begin this dance with me, there’s no turning back.

XVI.

Evening finds me at my apartment—minimalist, but with refined touches. A single rose in a crystal vase on the windowsill, an organized bookshelf with carefully selected volumes. There is Bach playing softly in the background, the gentle chords weaving their way into my thoughts. I put on a well-tailored apron and begin to prepare a small dish. Not a grand feast, just something for myself: perhaps an aromatic lamb stew, imbued with rosemary and thyme. As I slice through the meat, the rhythm of the knife is a comforting reminder of precision, of the sweet potential that lies in controlled force.

XVII.

I find myself reflecting on what I want from you. Dominance, submission—these words are too small to encapsulate the intimacy I crave. I want the full orchestration of your senses. I want to dismantle the carefully curated shields you present to the world. Each boundary you thought was so sturdy, so definitively yours, will be tested. Where some might hide behind modest illusions—attempting to appear harmless in a bookstore or a café—I know the value of open, cultivated elegance. An invitation to dinner, a glass of wine, a conversation about your deeper yearnings—this is where I excel.

XVIII.

And you, my dear, have yearnings you scarcely admit to yourself. I sensed it in the café, the way your lips trembled slightly when you pressed your phone to them. A longing for something beyond the mundane. Perhaps you dream of relinquishing control to someone who can handle it with both tenderness and cruelty in equal measure. Let me be that someone. Let me guide you through the labyrinth of your own mind, feeding you morsels of adrenaline and delight until you’re hooked on the very essence of me.

XIX.

Time passes, and the city hums with nocturnal life outside my window. Streetlights cast golden pools on the pavement, and distant laughter echoes through the alleyways. I think of you wandering home, sipping that coffee, your heart still thrumming with unexplained tension. Do you sense the hunt? It’s almost primal, isn’t it? An undercurrent of fascination that sends your thoughts spiraling in the hours before sleep. Maybe you’ll research the concept of submission tonight, scanning articles about safe words, boundaries, and the psychology of surrender. It all seems so measured, so neatly packaged. But I’m afraid that what I offer you is far more complex.

XX.

I will not simply be your dominant in the bedroom. I intend to be the orchestrator of your days, the conductor of your nights. You will notice subtle changes in your routine—sudden invitations that feel too enticing to resist, quiet phone calls that begin with polite conversation but end with your pulse roaring in your ears. I’ll taste your fear the way I taste a finely prepared dish—appreciating each subtle note, each nuance of flavor. But do not mistake my refinement for mercy. That’s a lesson you’ll learn soon enough.

XXI.

Come dawn, I prepare for another day. A crisp white shirt, dark trousers, and a well-fitted blazer. I take pride in my appearance, though I know that real power is in the way I carry myself. Confidence is an aphrodisiac, they say. And in that sense, I want to intoxicate you. Stepping out into the morning chill, I imagine the warmth of your breath when you exhale in surprise at our next meeting. Yes, it will be calculated. All great experiences require planning, after all. Like a carefully composed culinary masterpiece, each moment must be deliberate, balanced, and unforgettable.

XXII.

Sure enough, fate—or my intricate designs—brings us together again. This time, it’s not the café; it’s the bookstore across the street. I’m browsing a particularly rare edition of Dante’s Inferno when you enter, cheeks flushed from the cold. You pause at the door, scanning the shelves. You don’t notice me immediately, lost in your own world. But then, I shift the book slightly, letting the subtle rustle of pages draw your gaze. Our eyes lock for the second time, and I offer a small, courteous smile—a gesture that is equal parts invitation and ensnarement.

XXIII.

You nod in polite acknowledgment, perhaps remembering me from the café but unsure if it’s appropriate to say anything. I make the first move this time. “Cold out there, isn’t it?” My voice is gentle, but there’s a current beneath it that makes you lean in. “Yes,” you respond, stepping forward. “I didn’t expect the temperature to drop so fast.” Such a mundane exchange, yet the atmosphere buzzes with possibility. It’s like the hush before a storm, where every breath feels amplified, every detail razor-sharp.

XXIV.

We talk about books, about how you’re searching for something new to read. I can’t help but smile at the innocence of the moment. If only you knew how carefully this scene has been staged. Perhaps you sense the subtle contrivance, but you’re far too intrigued to resist. I recommend a novel—something dark, something that resonates with the quiet longing in your soul. You run your fingers along the spine, reading the back cover. For a moment, you glance up at me, curiosity glowing in your eyes. I hold your gaze, letting you see the warmth, the confidence, the faintest shadow of danger.

XXV.

From there, it’s so easy—so natural—to invite you for a walk. We stroll through the aisles, discussing authors and ideas that shaped our perspectives. You mention you have some free time before your next errand, and I suggest a short detour to a nearby gallery. It’s a pleasant place, filled with modern art that leaves plenty of room for interpretation. I watch your reactions to the vibrant colors, the abstract forms, your expressions shifting from amused to contemplative. I find it delightful, the way your mind operates—a playful mix of sensitivity and boldness.

XXVI.

At the gallery’s exit, I gently place a hand at the small of your back. You tense for an instant, then relax into the touch. A subtle gesture of control, but also of comfort. You look up at me, a faint question in your eyes, but I only smile. “There’s a new restaurant I’ve been meaning to try. Would you care to join me for lunch?” The invitation sounds perfectly casual, but in my mind, it’s the first move in a well-choreographed dance. You hesitate only briefly before nodding. And with that, you’re stepping further into my world.

XXVII.

The restaurant is chic, modern, with an open-kitchen concept that allows patrons to watch the chefs at work. I notice the flicker of fascination in your eyes as you see knives slicing through fresh produce, flames licking at the edges of a sauté pan. You’re drawn to the craft, the artistry of cooking—a trait we share, though you don’t fully grasp the depth of my culinary inclinations. We take our seats in a quiet corner, and I order for both of us, confident in my choices. I see the slight wideness in your eyes at my assertiveness, but you don’t protest.

XXVIII.

The conversation flows like wine—velvety and smooth. You tell me about your day-to-day life, your ambitions, your frustrations. Every now and then, I interject with a pointed question that nudges you to reveal more than you intended. You speak of longing, of wanting to break free from constraints you’ve never fully articulated. “I feel like there’s something more… something I haven’t experienced yet,” you confess, eyes lowering to your plate. My pulse quickens. Your vulnerability is as intoxicating as the meal. Your voice nearly trembles with desire—desire for an unknown that you can sense emanating from me.

XXIX.

I lean forward, letting my fingertips brush yours. “You have no idea how much I understand that feeling,” I murmur. And in my mind, I am already orchestrating the next steps. A private dinner, perhaps at my place, where I can demonstrate my cooking skills in an intimate setting. Where the lights can be dimmed to that perfect level of mystery. Where the boundaries between host and guest, dominant and submissive, can start to blur in the flicker of candlelight. You raise your gaze, meeting mine with a spark of courage, and I almost pity how unprepared you are for what you’re inviting.

XXX.

Over the next week, we meet twice more. Brief encounters that bloom from orchestrated chance. Each time, I tighten the invisible threads that bind us. A meaningful compliment here, a reassuring hand on your elbow there. You begin to text me—casual messages at first, then late-night confessions of insomnia and longing. I respond with calm, measured words that soothe and intrigue. Like a skilled chef layering flavors, I add the right amount of reassurance, a dash of flirtation, and an undercurrent of dominance that keeps you hungry for more. You’re starting to realize that what you crave might be found in me.

XXXI.

Finally, the invitation arrives: a private dinner at my place. You agree, heart pounding. I sense your excitement, your trepidation. You arrive dressed elegantly but not extravagantly—a subtle, form-fitting dress, heels that click softly on the hardwood. My apartment welcomes you with soft lighting, classical music, and the enticing aroma of a simmering sauce. I guide you to the kitchen, show you around. The space is immaculate: polished countertops, organized knives, fresh herbs in small vases. You look at the knives with a flicker of apprehension. A fleeting moment, but I catch it. You swallow, and I offer a reassuring smile. “Trust me. You’re in good hands.”

XXXII.

As we cook together, I guide your hands to the cutting board, demonstrating how to mince garlic properly. My fingers brush against yours, lingering in that boundary between casual assistance and intimate suggestion. You tremble, just a little, but attempt to hide it with a laugh. I savor that moment—your subtle surrender, your willingness to follow my lead. The dish we prepare, a braised short rib with a red wine reduction, becomes a symbol of our shared creation. Each movement is choreographed to bring you closer to me, to expose you to the synergy we can create when you submit to my direction.

XXXIII.

We dine slowly, savoring every bite. The conversation weaves between lighthearted anecdotes and profound reflections on art, literature, and the complexities of human nature. You find yourself enthralled, leaning forward in rapt attention. I watch you swirl the wine in your glass, gaze drifting to my hands as I speak. Your eyes betray you—you imagine what else those hands could do, how they might feel if they captured your wrists or tilted your chin just so. You lick your lips unconsciously. I note every detail. Soon, I will make my move.

XXXIV.

After dinner, I guide you to the living area. The music changes—something more haunting, more resonant with the tension building between us. You glance around, noticing the carefully curated decor: subtle paintings, a single sculpture, the faint aroma of incense. You sit on the couch, hands folded in your lap, and I take a seat beside you. Closer than before, close enough to feel the warmth of your body. When I lean in, your breath catches. “You’ve been craving something,” I say softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you want to tell me what it is?”

XXXV.

For a moment, you can’t speak. Then you force out a hesitant whisper: “I… I’ve never really done this before. But there’s a part of me that wants—” Your voice falters. I place a finger gently against your lips, silencing you. My eyes hold yours. “You want to surrender?” I ask, my tone both tender and authoritative. You nod, cheeks flushing. “Yes,” you breathe. “But I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know what I’m getting into.” I smile—kindly, I hope, though there is an edge to it. “I know,” I say. “I’m here to show you.”

XXXVI.

Gently, I guide you to stand. My touch is deliberate, my voice calm. I tilt your chin, forcing you to meet my gaze. Your pulse flutters beneath your skin; I can almost taste your anticipation. “When you ask for dominance,” I murmur, “you’re asking for more than just a fleeting thrill. You’re asking me to delve into your vulnerabilities, to shape your desires.” Your lips part as if to protest or question, but you’re silent. “Understand that once you invite me in,” I continue, “I won’t let you hide. I’ll illuminate every shadow, test every limit.” You inhale sharply, but you don’t pull away.

XXXVII.

I press a hand lightly against your lower back, guiding you into a slow, careful dance without music. Each step is a measured claim on your space, your body. “Shall we continue?” I ask, my breath warm against your ear. After a moment’s hesitation, you nod. You have questions, fears, but there’s something about my composure, my unwavering focus on you, that compels you to follow. In your eyes, I see the swirl of conflicting emotions—excitement, fear, and a trust you’re not sure you should grant. But you grant it anyway. And that’s the key.

XXXVIII.

Time seems to slow as we stand in the soft glow of the living room lamp. I guide your hands to my shoulders, letting you feel the tension coiled beneath the fabric of my shirt. You exhale shakily, and I thread my fingers through your hair. For a moment, I merely hold you, allowing the intimacy of silence to speak louder than any words. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, I say, “Your submission doesn’t make you weak. It’s an act of courage, a willingness to let someone else take you to places you’ve never been.” You shudder, nodding into my chest.

XXXIX.

We sit again, and I take your hand in mine. “Tonight, we won’t do anything more,” I promise. “There’s no rush. True dominance is a slow unveiling, like a many-layered dish that must be savored at each stage.” You look relieved, yet a little disappointed. I find it endearing. You realize, perhaps, that I’m not just some brute eager to exploit your longing. I’m a connoisseur of the human psyche, an epicure of experience. And you, my dear, are a delicacy I intend to relish in full measure.

XL.

As the evening winds down, I call you a car. I watch you gather your coat and purse, your expression a tapestry of gratitude, confusion, and a simmering need for more. At the door, you hesitate. “Thank you,” you say softly. “I didn’t quite know what to expect, but… I feel safe.” I touch your cheek, letting my thumb graze your skin. “Safety,” I murmur. “That’s essential, yes. But never forget that danger often hides behind politeness. I’ll keep you safe from the world, yet your greatest risk might just be me.” You swallow hard, but you do not flee.

XLI.

Days pass, each one filled with texts that grow bolder, phone calls that dip into confessions of what you really desire. You tell me about the dreams you’ve started having—dreams of losing yourself under someone else’s power, of being consumed by a force you can’t resist. My responses are measured, but laced with just enough darkness to make your heart skip. I ask probing questions. How do you feel about boundaries? About restraint? About the interplay of fear and trust in the bedroom, or in your very life? Each answer you give me is a key, unlocking new passages within your mind.

XLII.

Eventually, you come to me again. This time, you’re more certain of what you want. You step into my apartment, shoulders squared, eyes bright with determination. I see a new confidence in you—perhaps you’ve read more on the subject, or perhaps you’re simply determined to confront the hunger that’s been gnawing at you for so long. I guide you to the living room, but your gaze shifts to the closed doors down the hallway, as if searching for a secret space. I say nothing, only watch the flush creep up your neck. You’re ready to explore, ready to let me show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.

XLIII.

I pour you a glass of wine, deep red and full-bodied. “It’s a robust vintage,” I explain, swirling the liquid in my own glass. “It pairs well with intense flavors.” You nod, sipping slowly, allowing the warmth to spread through you. A mirror of how you might let my influence seep into your life. With that first sip, you give yourself permission to let go. You set the glass down, meeting my eyes. There’s no need for words anymore. We both know why you’re here, what you’ve invited. And I am nothing if not obliging.

XLIV.

Leading you to a separate room, I let you enter first. Dimly lit, furnished with understated elegance. A chaise lounge, a small table with a single rose, a broad window draped in heavy curtains. The air feels heavier here, charged with unspoken promise. Your steps falter as you take in the atmosphere. “This is where I’d like us to begin,” I say softly, moving behind you. My hands rest gently on your shoulders. “Just the beginning,” I assure you. You tilt your head, trying to catch my expression. I see the question in your eyes, the trembling readiness in your lips.

XLV.

I ask you to kneel—just to see how it feels, how your body responds to a position of surrender. Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you’re at war with yourself. Then, slowly, you lower yourself to the plush rug. I circle around you, observing the delicate slope of your neck, the tension in your fingers as they rest on your thighs. You’re trying to appear calm, but your pulse is visible at the base of your throat. My hand drifts down to your cheek, tilting your face upward. “Do you still want this?” I ask, voice low. You nod. “Yes.”

XLVI.

As time unfolds in that room, I guide you through gentle exercises in trust—nothing overtly sexual just yet, more about establishing the balance of power. I ask you to close your eyes. I ask you to remain still, to focus on your breathing while I move around you. I offer words of reassurance, describing how the mind can wander, how fear can mix with excitement. Each instruction is a brushstroke on the canvas of your psyche. You learn the allure of letting someone else direct your body’s stillness, your mind’s focus. And I learn just how far you’re willing to follow me.

XLVII.

At some point, I press a single fingertip to the hollow of your throat, feeling the flutter of your pulse. You inhale sharply. The subtle tension that sparks beneath my touch is exquisite—a fleeting moment of vulnerability, of realization that you’re placing your life in my hands. My other hand cradles your jaw, lifting your face. I speak softly, each word chosen with care. “You see? It’s not simply about physical control. It’s about letting me occupy your thoughts, shape your responses. When I say ‘Hold still,’ your body obeys because it trusts me. Do you trust me?” Your only response is a slow, trembling exhalation.

XLVIII.

Finally, I draw you to your feet. Your knees are a bit shaky. I steady you, and you cling to my arm as though it’s the only solid thing in a world of swirling emotions. “That’s enough for now,” I say, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. “You’ve done well.” You blink, as though waking from a dream. There’s a softness in your eyes, a gratitude that borders on devotion. I can’t deny the thrill that courses through me. I’m aware of how your longing feeds my hunger for control. We’re a perfect pairing, like a rich sauce drizzled over the most succulent dish.

XLIX.

We retreat to the living room, and I let you curl up on the couch. I hand you the glass of wine you left behind, and you sip it in reflective silence. Eventually, you speak. “I didn’t realize it could feel like that,” you say, voice hushed. “I was… calm, but also terrified. It was exhilarating.” I take a seat beside you, close enough so our shoulders touch. “True dominance is about understanding your fears, your desires,” I explain. “It’s an intimate connection—more intimate than most realize. You’re allowing someone to see you entirely, unguarded, vulnerable. And that’s where true control—and true freedom—resides.”

L.

In the days that follow, you return to me willingly, each time surrendering a bit more. We explore the edges of your comfort, expanding them carefully. You find yourself craving my voice, the command in it, the quiet authority that tells you you’re safe even in the midst of your surrender. And I find that our dynamic feeds a deeper part of me, a place that resonates with the refined cruelty and absolute control I’ve always harbored. But in your presence, it becomes something else—something close to artistry. Each moment is a new flavor, a new note in the symphony of us.

LI.

You haven’t asked me yet about my past, or about the shadows you sometimes catch in my expression. Perhaps you sense that the answers would unsettle you. In truth, I’ve walked a path strewn with broken boundaries, with hearts left ravaged by my fervent need to possess and consume. If you knew how far I’ve gone in pursuit of ultimate control, you might recoil. Or perhaps that knowledge would only sharpen your craving. It’s a delicate question, and I suspect someday soon, you’ll find the courage to ask it. And when you do, we’ll both discover just how strong the bond between us truly is.

LII.

For now, you remain content to let me guide you. We practice small acts of surrender—your wrists loosely bound with silk, your eyes covered with a soft blindfold while I speak softly in your ear. You learn to distinguish the tone of my voice, to sense the shifts in my mood. And in your daily life, you find yourself carrying an undercurrent of excitement, a secret only we share. People notice a glow about you, an emboldened step. You smile more, though they can’t fathom the reason. They don’t know about the nights you spend on your knees, giving yourself over to my direction.

LIII.

Late one evening, after a particularly intense session, we lie together in the hush of my bedroom. The lamp casts warm, dim light across our bodies. Your head rests on my shoulder, and you trace idle patterns on my chest. “I never thought I could feel so��� free,” you confess. I brush my hand through your hair, letting the softness soothe my own edge. “Freedom,” I repeat softly. “That’s the paradox, isn’t it? You find freedom in surrender, and I find a different kind of release in controlling you. We feed each other.” You nod, eyes fluttering with drowsy acceptance.

LIV.

As you drift to sleep, I remain awake, gazing at the ceiling. My mind churns with possibilities. How far can I take you? How deeply can I delve into your psyche before you realize the true scope of my darkness? Because there’s something I haven’t revealed—something that crosses the line from mere dominance into a realm that would terrify most. Sometimes hiding behind the veneer of an earnest lover, while other times hiding in plain sight as a refined gourmet. I embody both illusions, weaving them so seamlessly that you might never see the razor’s edge until it pricks your skin.

LV.

But perhaps that’s what you want, on some level. You claim you don’t know what you’re getting into, yet you keep stepping forward, willingly. You sense the risk, the potent danger that simmers beneath my carefully controlled demeanor. Part of you is drawn to it like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the allure of being completely overpowered. And I, in turn, am drawn to your willingness to walk that edge. It’s not a game for me, nor is it mere sport. It’s an exploration of the human condition, of the extremes we reach for in pursuit of transcendence.

LVI.

When I think about the future with you, I envision a series of small, orchestrated revelations. One day, I might show you my collection of rare cookbooks, each page annotated with meticulous notes on preparation techniques, plating, flavor pairings. You’ll marvel at my thoroughness, my devotion. Another day, you might notice a photograph tucked away—someone from my past, someone who disappeared from my life under… complicated circumstances. You’ll have questions, but you won’t dare ask them, not yet. Not until the bond between us is strong enough that you believe you can handle the truth.

LVII.

Because that’s the ultimate question, isn’t it? Can you handle the truth of what I am—of what you’ve invited into your life? You desire dominance, but do you understand the scale of my hunger for control? Once you step fully into my world, you’ll find your boundaries dissolving under the weight of my attention. You’ll live for my command, for my approval, for the rare moments of tenderness that I dole out like the finest dessert. And if you ever try to break free… well, let’s just say, once I’ve acquired a taste for someone, letting go doesn’t come easily.

LVIII.

Still, I won’t rush you. Each new step must be taken willingly—coaxed, but ultimately chosen. You might call it manipulation, but I prefer to call it cultivation. You’re like a rare, delicate flower that requires precise care to bloom. And in guiding your growth, I find a reflection of my own becoming. Perhaps that’s the real reason you interest me so deeply. You see, even the darkest souls crave connection. Even the most refined predators desire an accomplice to witness their artistry. And you, with your trembling curiosity and hidden courage, you might just be the perfect witness.

LIX.

So here we stand—on the precipice. You, the eager novice, awakened to the allure of surrender. Me, the refined orchestrator, ready to wield that power with meticulous care and, if necessary, merciless intent. The question lingers: Will you one day look back on this moment with regret, wishing you’d never locked eyes with me in that café? Or will you embrace the journey, accept the risk, and discover a kind of ecstasy you never imagined possible?

LX.

For now, you rest in my arms, lulled by the warmth of our shared secret. You crave my dominance, but you have yet to grasp the fullness of my nature. That’s all right. In time, you’ll learn. And when the moment comes that you finally realize how dangerous I truly am—well, by then, it will be far too late to turn back. You’ll be bound to me in ways you cannot fathom. But isn’t that, in the end, exactly what you wanted? A force you can’t escape, an obsession that becomes your world? Yes. I believe it is. And I will give it to you—every last shiver, every last thrill—until you’re consumed by me.

Dark-RX MasterPost

[gumnut-logic]

Sweetapple Slices - Slice 2

Sweetapple | Dear Mr Tracy | Along the way | Slice 1 | Slice 2

@idontknowreallywhy asked a question and I tried to answer it, but Alex and Virgil refused to behave, so we have a fic, but no answers. Also, fic is sugary sweet goop.

Oh, and it should be noted that all these Slices are standalone fics within the universe - consider them slices of life with these two :D

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight for the read through. Again, I might need to offer her that dental plan. Also to @idontknowreallywhy for egging me on.

I hope you enjoy this romantic sugar fest.

-o-o-o-

“You know, isn’t all this stuff secret?” Alex gestured around him.

Virgil shrugged and tilted his head. “You looking to sell it to anyone?”

Alex’s eyes widened. “God, no! I wouldn’t-“

The rescue operative grabbed him by both arms. “Hey, I’m kidding. We know you wouldn’t do such a thing.”

Alex froze. “We?”

Those gorgeous biceps relaxed just a little. “You don’t think we let just anyone onto our Island, do you?” And he arched a lovely eyebrow.

“You have such beautiful eyebrows.”

Both suddenly shot up.

Oh, did he say that out loud?

Eh, blame it on the concussion…from a few days ago now. The Tracy family had shown no sign of needing to kick him, or his mum, off this amazing chunk of rock. Today Virgil was off rota and Thunderbird Two was set for regular maintenance, so he had been asked down here to ‘keep Virgil company’.

So far ‘maintenance’ had consisted of staring up at the great green Thunderbird, staring around her hanger, an extended session of smooching under her tail fin, and now he was sitting on the edge of Thunderbird Two’s co-pilot seat caught between stunned amazement and the percentage chance of another snoggy in the corner.

Any corner. There were at least four in the cockpit. Did that roof hatch open?

Honestly, he had never thought this would be his state of mind when he finally got to see all of this up close.

Of course, it wasn’t the first time he had been aboard Thunderbird Two. But last time had been sudden and unexpected and his brain had been fretting over so many things.

Now he was so happy he was likely to blow a blood vessel or something.

“Yours aren’t bad either.”

What? He scrolled the conversation back a little. Oh, eyebrows. Huh. “Never thought about them much. Yours, however, definitely require thorough consideration.” He reached up a hand, and hesitating for permission, brushed a finger the length of Virgil’s left eyebrow.

Chocolate eyes eyed him from beneath. “This is new.”

Be daring. “All of this is new.” He withdrew his hand.

“You have a point.” As if in revenge, Virgil reached up and brushed a tangle of Alex’s messy blond hair behind an ear. “I can definitely get used to it.”

He also had the most beautiful smile.

Okay, he had to stop this line of thought before he grabbed Virgil and really embarrassed himself.

“Um, yeah.” He gestured vaguely around the cockpit. “How long have you been flying Thunderbird Two?”

Virgil sat back a little and let go of Alex. “Nine years as her primary pilot. Took over from my Uncle in ‘55. Though there has been some downtime during that time.”

“And you keep her maintained?”

“Me and Brains.”

“Who’s Brains?”

Virgil’s lips twisted. “You haven’t met him yet.”

Oh.

“Don’t worry.” Virgil reached across the dash and flipped a few switches. “He tends to keep to himself. I’ll drag him out of his lab later.” His finger retreated to his jawline. “I think you’ll like him.”

“I will?”

“You’ll see.”

Okay, be mysterious.

“Would you like some coffee?”

Alex stared at him. “You’re really asking that question? Even after how many times I’ve managed to steal coffee off of you.”

Virgil smirked as he stood up. “It was really only once and you were very amusing.”

“Amusing!”

Virgil was laughing as he strode over to a corner of the cockpit, hit some buttons, and revealed the holy grail of all coffee.

Alex couldn’t help but stand up and be drawn to it. Virgil had given him the plans to this creation from heaven, but between Siliwrap and Virgil’s visits, he hadn’t managed to find time to finish putting it together yet.

Besides there was something about the coffee being handed to him by a visiting handsome rescue operative that was its own kind of addictive.

And Virgil always brought plenty.

His drug dealer of choice, apparently.

“Hey, you still with me?” A hand was on his arm and Alex realised he had been standing, staring at the holy grail like a stunned mullet just a little too long.

Virgil had that worried medical frown on his face again.

He had done that a lot over the last couple days.

The man had enough bruises on his arms and legs to pop Alex’s eyes out of their sockets - something about a roof almost falling on him during the Gisborne rescue. Yet Virgil brushed it off as a day-to-day thing.

He was ‘fine’, don’t you ‘worry’, happens ‘all the time’.

But the scattering of bruises Alex possessed, the headache that popped up every now and again, and any slight croakiness of his voice and Virgil was all over him with that yellow scanner thing.

Speaking of which…

Alex grabbed Virgil’s wrist gently as he attempted to wave a randomly appearing scanner over Alex’s head. “I’m okay, Virgil.”

The wrist in his hand relaxed and the yellow light switched off. A gentle tug and Alex let Virgil’s wrist go and the man turned away, stashing the gadget back into wherever it came from.

It was very obvious that Alex had scared him by being caught in the earthquake.

Alex took that extra step closer, slipped up behind, and slid his arms around the man’s chest, resting his chin on Virgil’s shoulder. “I’m okay.”

Heavy lifting arms wrapped around his. “I know.”

“You do realise you have brought me into the presence of the machine that makes your glorious coffee. I mean, I should be kneeling on the floor, bowing in reverence.” A smile. “Give me something to hold so I can drop it in amazement.”

Virgil chuckled. “I doubt you could pick me up.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Virgil twisted himself around in Alex’s arms until they were facing each other. “I could say that you already have, but that pun line is groan-worthy.”

Alex did groan, but then Virgil’s lips found his and he was suddenly very much distracted.

Yes, this corner would do nicely.

-o-o-o-

[slveshii]

A Whiff Of His Scent

You and Jeremy Fragrance meet for the first time and the unexpected happens…

Warnings:

sexual content and discussion, kinda weird

During your sleepover at your friend’s house, the two of you were scrolling through TikTok as the night was winding down before bed.

“Y/n how are you still scrolling? You’ve been on TikTok for 3 hours while I’ve been looks maxing in the kitchen” Your friend said, looking at you in disbelief.

“Well Gertrude,” you said playfully with attitude, “I have a date tomorrow with a man I saw on my fyp and I’ve been looking through his page”

Gertrude looks at your screen, “Is that THE Jeremy Fragrance? The number one fragrance icon that follows the teachings of Jesus Christ?”

“Yeah I emailed him and we emailed back and forth a bit, I got his Snapchat but haven’t checked to see if I got any messages from him”

You check your snapchat and notice he sent you a video snap.

“Well are you gonna open it y/n?” You look at Gertrude and proceed to press on the snap.

In the video, he appeared to be shirtless as he proceeds to say, “Hello y/n! looking at your picture i got a huge boner right now and i wanted to know if you are a virgin if not that is okay but yeah if you could send another video that would be great” You and Gertrude looked at each other in shock but yet, you sent him a video telling him goodnight and that you couldn’t wait for the date the next day and that you are indeed a virgin.

The following morning, you woke up to a good morning from Jeremy.

“Hello I am very excited for our date tonight, I am still erect and can’t wait to see you” he texted, and you replied with “Me too Jer Bear!”

Finally at 6 p.m. you arrive at his house, the two of you decided to have a movie night at his house. You knock on the door and are greeted with a strapping and dashing german man in a white suit with the dress shirt slightly unbuttoned. “Hello y/n” he said as you noticed he was erect, but you couldn’t help but ignore it, his scent was so beautiful you couldn’t get enough.

You walked in and noticed a trail of rose pedal leading to a lavish collection of fragrances. You had come over to

enjoy a movie together, but he clearly had other plans.

“Jer Bear, what is all this” you say contused,

“I thought instead of wasting our time on a movie, you could help me make videos showing off my fragrances, is this okay for you y/n?”

Your smile grew as you had always dreamed of helping Jeremy Fragrance with his fragrances and to be romantically involved. You grabbed your phone and your favorite scent, chose despacito as your tiktok audio and boom you were filming. Cologne everywhere, Jeremy dancing, it was a dream. Your fantasy came true. You knew he was the one for you.

“Y/n, you are under 32, a virgin, Christian, and you appreciate my fragrances,” Jeremy said while holding your hands, soaked in fragrances, and looking you deep in your eyes, “I want you to be mine forever” Jeremy then gets down on one knee and pulls out the most beautiful ring you have ever seen.

“Yes my Jer Bear, anything for you” you said jumping exciting and frantically putting on the ring.

You two romantically kissed, despacito playing, and the scents you used earlier prominent in the air. It was love at first sight all that was needed is a single date to ignite the spark.

Wedding part 2?

[freewayshark]

Seven-ish Sentence Sunday

I’ll start things off (and by start things off I mean I scrolled the dash for a solid minute and didn’t see any/haven’t yet been tagged) with a new bit of vampire Eddie. I originally planned for the next story to pick up a couple weeks after the first one, but the next morning was itching at me too much, so this is actually going to be a chapter two for take my hand, I’ll lead you through. It also isn’t seven sentences

Buck wakes to the soft warmth of morning sunlight caressing his skin.

He comes back to wakefulness slowly, the kind of waking up that could easily turn into another hour of good sleep if he lets himself sink back into it.

Something tickles a corner of his mind. He should wake up. It’s important he wakes up right now. But why?

Because Eddie’s home. Eddie is—

His eyes fly open.

Eddie is lying next to him in bed, flat on his back. The covers have been pushed down and his shirt has ridden up, and there’s a solid three or four inches of stomach exposed. The sunlight pours through the window and bathes him in a golden glow, kissing his skin and leaving him pristine on the sheets, not a hint of burning or even discomfort. Eddie sleeps on, his face relaxed and peaceful.

Tags @gayhoediaz (give us angst!!!) @rewritetheending @transboybuckley @megsvstheworld @fiona-fififi @panbuckley @transbuck @useramor @911onabc @colonoscopys @sibylsleaves

[shinypokemonshowdown]

I genuinely think it’s so fun whenever I check Tumblr and see you on my dash and I can be like “Oh!!!! Let me go and scroll through the backlog of what I haven’t voted for yet” like it’s such a nice few minute break I love it 😭

:D thank you! Glad it's entertaining ^^

[hangon-silvergirl]

Hiiiiiiii…….

I rarely engage on Tumblr and minimally engage on AO3, but I’ve been thinking about you as I scroll through my dash.

How are you feeling? How is life? I remember that you were feeling pretty stressed out at the beginning of the year. You haven’t written in awhile, and while I miss your amazing stories and writing, I wanted to know if things have settled for you yet. *hugs*

Well thank you, that's very kind!

Honestly, it's been a pretty miserable year in a lot of ways, and that was largely due to work stress. I had an untenable workload and inadequate support, and I was caving in on myself for a while there. I nearly went on leave, and I did go to the hospital at one point.

Which was straight-up bonkers.

So... I quit! 😊

And I just started a new job! This week 😄

That whole smoz has certainly impacted my want/ability to write. I've written some original fiction, and bits of fanfic here and there, but I haven't been in a headspace to give much to it in addition to those stressors, plus family life.

I've also, honestly, been having fandom fatigue, which is pretty standard when hyperfixations start to wane. I still love Hellcheer, and the community, but I haven't had the capacity for much beyond making my dumb memes for the last however long.

All that said, thank you so much for reaching out, being so lovely and thoughtful, and for saying such kind things about my writing. It means a lot, and I really, really appreciate it! 💕

I won't make any promises for posting fic, because I honestly don't know if/when I'll finish something. I am my own worst enemy, often.

But if/when I do finish something, what I will promise is that I'll post it for anyone who might be interested in reading it.

[swiftletinthecloud]

I haven’t finished My Journey to You yet, but all episodes have already dropped so I’m terrified to scroll through my dash or look at drama related blogs I follow in case they have any posts from episodes I haven’t watch 😭 I’m scrolling like this 🫣 the entire time. 😆

[cherubispunk]

a little update for you all from Lu,

so, I’ve had the ultimate showstopper of a week. I’m talking the whole shebang. Somehow my sister and my grandma ended up in hospital for different reasons??? 😃 aha…what? And I’ve been dealing with that on top of a load of work recently coming in and recovering from a virus (thankfully not the new strain of covid). So I haven’t been active aside from the odd scroll through my dash. I haven’t even been reading fic yet a lone writing it because I just don’t have the time right now. Which is so sad because fic is my best escape. I’m literally cream crackered when will the horrors end? 😭 😂

BUT— that being said, I am okay. I’m in a Better place compared to Monday when it all went down. Just gotta get back up and running. My work and family are my main priority at the moment. So my wips will have to wait. And for those who sent love into my inbox, I will get to replying as soon as I can. I love you all. Stay safe please xxxxx

[renegade-diamonds]

so i was scrolling through dash and then saw you reblogged the fanfic ask emoji post…

🥺😈✨🎶 🌞 💖 💌 🦅👀 🤲

hope you don’t mind how many emojis and questions there are HAHSWIHX I’m curious tbh 😅 <33

but also, no pressure on this!!

if there’s too many, you can choose only a couple if ever, i’m generally curious about any and would love to hear your thoughts on any of them in general yeeee

see you aroundd

@thefourchimes can I just begin this by saying how absolutely honored I am to be mutuals with you! :D

Hurt/Comfort never fails to put me in my feels, or betrayal/begging forgiveness tropes as well. I have a thing for the pregnancy trope as well (don't come for me, I know I have a problem).

Oh yeah, I really like angst. Specifically, the kind of angst that makes readers wanna throw their computer against a wall. I've done some evil stuff, muahahahaha.

I've been told my writing is good, so that counts as a compliment, haha!

Yesssss, I do. I love music. I've been listening to tiktok audios lately; slaughter-house 2 by zecki is a good one I've been particular to.

I write whenever the mood hits, but I guess middle-ish, when everyone else is at work. I like the peace and quiet.

Percy Jackson is what I first started writing, so I guess that did it. I'm neurodivergent, so once I hyperfixate on something, it is so hard to think about doing anything else.

I loooooooooooooooooooove comments and feedback. I neeeeed it. It's an addiction lmfao

It depends on how productive I'm feeling. I've outlined fics, but I've also winged it. My longest fic was completely winged.

My next fourchimes chapter will have a Conquest/Robin moment, so stay tuned for that ;)

10. Sure! Here's something from one my ABO works. It's tame, so nothing crazy to worry about lol

"Robin’s neck is bruised beyond belief, and the sight of it fills Nancy with such ugly self-loathing at her own perceived failure. 

They lay in her bed at the end of it all, finally resting after tending to their wounds and making sure the rest of their group is taken care of. Steve takes Dustin to the hospital to check on Max. Lucas and Erica haven’t even left the unconscious girl’s side. Nancy and Robin only left the hospital to take care of themselves. There was a visitor limit, but in the craziness following the earthquake, that hadn’t been strictly enforced. 

The tension between them melted in the wake of everything that happened. Nancy felt the embers of their attraction catch, and a slow flame was gradually gaining steam. 

It was comfortable, yet so very disheartening for it to have happened under such terrible circumstances."