#i might just reblog this post here with any further comments though

[skydigiblogs]

oh, okay, i see tri actually doing a little cooking on the stovetop with like, one of tai's first character moments after the intro being "oh yeah that assignment where i write a list of future goals... i didn't do it."

kizuna definitely expands on that point but i didn't realize that tai's lack of future plans had a seed planted way back in tri

[myownwholewildworld]

12. MORNING DEW

chapter 11 | ao3 | series masterlist | chapter 13

pairing: post-outbreak!joel x f!reader. summary: you and joel need to discuss what the future might look like for the both of you. whether that's together or on your own. a/n: HI! please accept my apologies, i know it's been like a month since i last updated this series. but fret not, here's chapter 12! hope you guys like it. as always, i appreciate comments, reblogs and likes, they keep us writers well fed and motivated! take care, lovelies <3 x warnings: 18+, mdni. fluff, some angsty hurt/comfort. smut because i got my period halfway through writing this. fingering. handjob. oral (m!receiving). edging. soft dom/sub dynamics. brief references to attempted suicide and attempted SA. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 37. no use of y/n.  joel’s and reader’s pov. and a special guest’s pov too 👀 dividers by @\saradika-graphics w/c: ~6.5k. taglist aka the drama wagon at the end of the chapter (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!)

It never seemed to be the proper time to speak to you, Joel thought. Ever since his fuckup last night, he had struggled to find the words, to explain what his thought process was. A few hours ago, he had talked himself into ripping off the plaster and apologise to you, but when he called your name and you turned around with a composed expression, he froze in place.

He didn’t want to lose you too. Joel was afraid he would say something wrong again that would push you even further away from him. And then he would truly be alone, all because of his own actions, his own words. That fear clamped around his throat, preventing him from saying anything. From reaching out.

It was stupid, really. He knew that. Knew you were expecting him to say something, anything. Your blank expression was just a façade, a wall you had built around your heart so he wouldn’t hurt you anymore.

Joel hated himself for it, for your concealed hurt. Hated he had broken that trust between you two and made you feel like he was no longer on your side. He was, always had been, always would be. But he had let fear come between you, an abyss so vast he didn’t think it was salvable. It had to be though ― couldn’t be any other way.

The possibility of being a father again laid in front of him like a path full of dangers. Joel understood how much he could lose, because he had already lost Sarah. How suffocating that experience had been ― still was, every single fucking day.

He was frightened to go through it all over again. Having to hug another dead child of his; having to witness the light flicker away from her eyes. Sarah had been his everything ― his hope, his pride, the love of his life, the reason he would wake up in the morning to go to work, counting his blessings. And it didn’t matter in the slightest how good she was ― she was taken regardless. This world was cruel and unjust and greedy.

But there was also a sliver of hope, of dull excitement, shimmering underneath. One he wouldn’t allow himself to feel.

He still felt like a failure of a father who could not protect his baby girl when she needed him most. That emotional baggage would forever be with him. And he wanted it that way, because it meant he still remembered. This grief he carried was a reminder of the love he held. And he hoped it stayed with him, that she would stay with him.

Joel could still vividly remember digging with bare nails the grave Tommy had prepared for her. Elbow’s deep in the dirt, his fingers reaching for her as thick tears blurred his vision. The wails ripping his lungs apart, leaving his throat raw and tender. And Tommy hugging him from the back, arms clamped around his shoulders ― crying, begging him to stop.

“Little Sarah is resting now.”

“Let her be, Joel.”

“Stop unburying her, dammit!”

“I’m sorry, truly sorry. God I can’t―”

“She’s at peace now, Joel. No more suffering.”

Tommy’s slurry voice still filled his ears. His little brother had tried his best to comfort him, but at that moment in time, Joel had been too blinded by the gut-wrenching pain, the unbearable loss. He never really thanked Tommy for that. Never thanked you for stopping him from killing himself either.

Being an ass to the people he loved, apparently, was his only strength. Just like he had been with you when you needed him most.

Joel watched you as you struggled to unzip your sleeping bag, the soft material catching on the serrated teeth. You yanked the pull, almost snapping it from the slider, mumbling something to yourself.

He covered your tiny hand with a broad one of his, lightly squeezing your fingers.

“Let me help,” he muttered as you leaned back away from him.

Your subtle physical rejection stung, but he knew he deserved it. His hurt was nothing in comparison to yours.

Letting go of the bag, you faked looking for something in your backpack, avoiding his eyes when they searched for yours. Joel felt that the void between you only grew and grew, like darkness gaining ground to the light outside.

Could he mend your relationship? Your trust? Your love?

With careful hands, Joel managed to release the pinch on the fabric and tested that the zipper worked how it should do. When he glanced up at you, handing over the sleeping bag, Joel caught the rawness in your eyes, the slight dampness clinging to your eyelashes like morning dew on a petal at dawn.

It was now or never. He was hurting from seeing you hurt. Couldn’t take it any longer, he just had to say something, apologise to you. Ask to start the conversation all over again. One more second of this and he would lose his goddamn mind.

“Sweetheart, I―,” he managed to say out loud.

“I’m tired, Joel,” you quickly interrupted him. “Just wanna go to bed now, if you don’t mind.”

Your words were like a sobering, cold shower after a few beers ― stopped him right in his tracks before he could even begin to express what he wanted to say. Slightly shocked, Joel watched you fiddling around with your sleeping bag before you got inside it and turned around, facing away from him.

His slack jaw was soon gritting. But that brief anger quickly shimmered away when reality started to set in.

Perhaps he had misread the whole situation; perhaps you were not waiting on him to talk.

Perhaps you were past that ― past him, his bullshit and his doubts.

Perhaps your relationship was truly beyond salvation.

He paled in the face of such possibility, his hands shaking as they gripped his own sleeping bag.

Joel was up almost all night, eyes transfixed on you as his brain worked out all scenarios.

You faked falling asleep, but rest evaded you for hours until you finally gave in to exhaustion. Didn’t last long though, because a couple of hours later, you were, once again, wide awake.

The whole situation with Joel was overwhelming. You had hoped he would come to the car as soon as you left him behind, but he didn’t. Then that night you waited for him to say something, anything, and yet again, he didn’t. Not a fucking word when you both woke up this morning either, except for your name falling from his lips like a regretted whisper. Then complete radio silence and nothing else.

The silence treatment he had given you today was unbearable. Even if your doubts had lingered, pushing you to postpone the inevitable, deep inside you had hoped his reaction would be different. Shocked, yes, but then he would be… perhaps not happy, but at least a bit more excited? And after the shock had worn off, he would have soothed you, calmed you, told you everything was gonna be alright.

Maybe you had expected too much of Joel, your little delusion blinding you. After all, he had already lost Sarah. So now, in retrospect, this announcement might have unearthed bad memories, but especially regrets.

Was that it? Had you unburied his most primal fear? You had been so focused on what laid ahead, you had not stopped to consider what laid behind ― what this would mean for Joel. You had briefly contemplated he could perhaps see this as a blessing or a curse, but didn’t dwell too long on the thought, preoccupied as you were with other pressing matters.

You felt sick and it had nothing to do with pregnancy.

And then, when he had tried talking to you before going to bed, you had shut him down. But you were so tired, so mentally drained, you didn’t have an ounce of energy left to deal with a conversation like that. Because you truly didn’t know what he would say ― he wore such an impassive expression on his face, it was really difficult to tell.

You turned on the hard, creaky, wooden floor and faced Joel. One of his arms was resting on the wooden planks, extended towards you, as if he was trying to reach for you in his sleep.

You were in an abandoned cabin just outside Oswego. It was bare and completely stripped of furniture, but at least had a roof that would protect you from the cold, wet weather outside. It also had a covered chimney, but being so close to civilisation, it had to stay put out. Sleeping in the bag was not ideal, but it kept you warm.

Taking a deep breath, you then felt some sort of cushion under your neck that had not been there before you fell asleep. By touch, you realised it was one of those inflatable travel neck pillows that you had seen people use in airplanes. Frowning, you gathered Joel must have found one and tucked it under your head in your sleep.

You carefully studied Joel’s handsome, weathered face from the safety of your sleeping bag. Even in his sleep, his eyebrows were bunched together, a deep wrinkle ploughing through his skin almost permanently, giving him a worried look. His aquiline nose was buried in the fabric of his sleepsack, his long eyelashes caressing the top of his cheeks.

He would roll his eyes at you every time you called him “gorgeous” or “handsome”, but he really was. You loved to tell him, to help him see through your eyes. You knew he sometimes needed to hear it, to remind him of his own humanity. It was normal to lose sight of it in the current world you lived in.

And you loved him, the whole of him and his ghosts, even though he was a tactless prick sometimes. You had come to learn that when cornered, Joel could react like a beaten dog ― crouched back and showing teeth, ready to bite at the slightest provocation. Couldn’t blame him, even if you tried.

Feeling restless, you carefully unzipped your sleeping bag, not wanting to wake Joel up, and put your boots on. God knew you both needed some rest. Silently you stood up and stretched your back and arms, then one hand mindlessly stroked your belly. It wasn’t swollen at all, but the idea of a life growing inside you sat snugly in the back of your mind.

“What are we going to do, little one?” you whispered to yourself before grabbing your coat.

Needing some fresh air, you walked outside in the middle of the freezing night. It had been snowing, because there were at least three inches of white fluff blanketing the ground. Which meant the car battery could quickly drain and leave you stranded, so you went to check on the hidden Jeep.

Joel’s body jerked uncontrollably, one leg shaking as if he was falling off a cliff. Instantly waking up, he nervously looked around him, trying to recall where he was.

His hand patted the wooden floor in the dark, and when he located your sleeping bag, his breathing hitched at finding it empty. Then he heard the front door creaking, a sliver of moonlight coming through.

Were you leaving him in the middle of the night? Had he completely broken your trust, your relationship? Had he no chance of mending his mistake? Were you so hurt you would go without a word, without saying goodbye?

God knew he deserved it. He wasn’t cut for a relationship; he always ruined it. Should have known better than falling for you and giving in, but you were so warm, so effortless to love, so natural… How the fuck could he not? He was only human after all.

With a deafening pulse in his eardrums, he kicked the sleeping bag off as he got up with jerky, edgy motions, running towards the door to stop you from leaving him. For you he would fight, he would give you a whole motherfucking speech of why he loved you and how sorry he was. He at least had to try.

Joel swung the door open, and a frosty breeze greeted him, his skin bristled almost painfully at the feeling of frostbite.

You were walking through the snow, wrapped in your coat and with the hood on ― you looked so ethereal, your side profile bathed by the moonlight like a night fairy. Your features glowed under the lunar lustre, and he couldn’t help but fall for you even more.

Barefoot he followed you, his soles numb after a few steps through the snowy mud.

“Babe, wait,” he muttered, one hand reaching for your elbow.

You startled at his touch, and Joel didn’t know if it was rejection or that he had surprised you.

Your big, beautiful eyes widened when you saw him there. You wore a tired expression, and he knew himself the culprit.

“Where are you going?” he questioned in a whisper, heart still and lungs empty.

“I―”

“Please don’t go, don’t leave. I can do better. I’m sorry,” Joel stumbled with his words.

Had never felt this exposed as he was about to split his core in half, to undress emotionally in front of someone, allowing himself to be hurt by the only person it mattered.

But it had to be done to keep you by his side. So he did.

“I panicked. I wasn’t expecting― it didn’t even cross my mind that you… well, could be pregnant. It caught me so off guard, the news didn’t sink in. I’m sorry I reacted like a fucking idiot; I know I’ve disappointed you because of it. It’s just… ‘s hard, you know?” Joel swallowed to dissolve the dense knot forming in his throat, “I already had a shot at fatherhood, and I fucking blew it. I couldn’t protect her despite loving Sarah with all my heart, so the possibility of having to go through all that heartache again… I just, I don’t―”

Joel took in a deep, trembling breath as he unconsciously palmed his broken wristwatch, trying to soothe himself. He attempted to read your expression ― your lips pursed and eyes teary. Was he breaking your heart even further? You were about to cry, and he didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad one.

Anxiety was taking hold of his throat and gut, strangling him.

“Look, I’m not gonna lie to you. I’m fucking scared, so scared I don’t think words do it justice. But I’m also thrilled, baby, I swear I am. I owe it to you, to myself, to this baby of ours… I ain’t going nowhere. Wherever you go, I’ll follow you both,” he husked, almost breathless. “I’m sorry I said what I said. Neither of us have a choice, but even if we did… I wouldn’t change a thing. This baby is happening for a reason and whatever that is, I’m all in, come what may. I love you, I really do, and I hate myself for having hurt you like this. I just suck at expressing my feelings and―”

You placed a gentle hand on his naked forearm, which made him lose track of what he was saying. Your fingers gently squeezed his cold flesh as you took a step closer to him. Your free hand slid across his left hip, dipping under the tee shirt he was wearing, until it reached the small of his back and you pushed him towards your body.

His taut muscles visibly relaxed at your touch and hug, his lungs filling up as he drew in the deepest breath of his life. Wrapping his arms around you, he held you close to his chest, chin resting on the crown of your head.

“Joel, I wasn’t leaving,” you murmured, cheek nuzzling against him, a tentative smile lingering on your mouth.

Joel’s eyebrows knitted together. From his perspective, it was more than obvious that you were actually leaving.

“Oh? I thought―”

“I was just going to check on the car battery since it’s freezing out here,” you interrupted him, glancing up at him.

Joel pursed his lips together, then licked them nervously.

“Well, everything I said still stands. I am truly sorry, sweetheart,” he said, mouth lightly pressed on your forehead.

A deep sigh after, you took a step back, your hand travelling from his forearm to his fingers, intertwining them with yours. Your palm was so warm in comparison to his, he just realised how little clothing he had on.

“For being a man who “sucks” at expressing his feelings, dare I say you’ve just spoken like a professional orator?” you jested, a grin curling the corners of your lips. “And I am sorry for not being straightforward with you. I was afraid of how you would take the news, and, well…” you shrugged, “you can’t blame me, can you?”

Joel shook his head vehemently. He definitely couldn’t ― the proof was there for both of you to see.

“But I understand how frightening this is for you. I can’t even begin to comprehend how you must have felt when… when Sarah left us. I was so blinded by my own insecurities, I didn’t dwell for too long on how this would affect you emotionally. So I apologise and―”

“Don’t. Don’t apologise, please. That’s a pain for me to bear, you shouldn’t have to think about it.”

“But I do, Joel. I want to bear it with you, so you don’t have to do it alone. That’s the whole point of this, of us. After all, we are going to be a family now,” your voice dropped to a low hum.

A pang of nerves traversed his stomach. No, not a pang, more like… butterflies? Joel had not felt that―the purest form of ecstasy―in a long, long time. The idea of being a dad… it always called him, always felt like that was what he was meant to be, nothing else. Sarah had been the center of his world and while no one could ever change that for him, the possibility of having another child to shower with the love he had buried… it was so overwhelming it brought tears to his eyes, his breathing shallow.

“A family,” he repeated, voice raspy with emotion.

You nodded and laughed, teary eyes too.

“A family, Joel. You’re gonna be a dad,” you snickered, now sobbing.

He couldn’t help but join you, draping his arms around you to bring you against his chest.

He didn’t deserve you, your forgiveness. The second chance you were offering him, in all the senses. A second chance with you. A second chance to form a family. A second chance in life, really.

Joel cradled your flushed cheeks, tilting your face up so his mouth hovered over yours.

“I can’t believe my fucking luck, honestly. You, the mother of my child…” he didn’t finish the sentence because he would choke on his own words if so. Took a second to compose himself. “If I’m ever such a dick aga―”

“Are you planning on being a dick often, Joel Miller?” you said playfully with a cocked brow.

He laughed, feeling completely at ease.

“I hope not. But if I ever attempt to be, just kick me in the balls so I may come to my senses quicker, please,” he replied with a lopsided grin.

His thumbs caressed the apples of your cheeks before bowing down to kiss you. A slow, loving stroke of his tongue over yours and he felt everything was right again. Your sweet taste soothed him, his mind finally at ease. How you achieved that for him with the mere brush of your soft lips, he didn’t understand.

You were the one to break the kiss, pecking his lips a few times before finally taking a step back.

“Let’s go back inside, you must be freezing only with those sweatpants and a shirt.”

And with that, all the anxiety, the mental struggle, was forgotten.

Joel took your tiny hand in his broad one and led you back inside the cabin. Dried off his feet quickly before helping you out of your winterwear and settle back in in the sleeping bag ― his sleeping bag. Luckily it was big enough for the both of you.

You hugged each other, trying to get back to sleep, but both of your hearts were fluttering so hard, it was difficult to ignore the excitement.

“I’m so thrilled right now, I don’t think I can go to sleep just yet. I can’t believe this is happening,” you whispered with a beautiful grin.

Joel couldn’t help but notice how you were beaming now, how much worry you had carried the last couple of days because of him. He felt infinitely better now that the joyful spark had returned to your eyes.

Dragging his thumb across your jawline, tracing an invisible line on your soft skin, Joel tilted your face towards him, his heart swollen with love. He hadn’t felt this alive in ages.

“Neither can I,” he admitted in a rasp.

His right hand roamed your body under the sleeping bag until it found the perfect spot to rest: your belly. Joel splayed his fingers over your lower tummy protectively, wanting to shield you both from any harm.

You hovered one of your hands over his, your palm stroking the back of his hand in a light caress. It felt like such an intimate moment, a respite among all madness and darkness, that he knew he would treasure it forever. When days would become hard, he’d only have to think back to this exact moment in time ― both of you cocooned in a sleeping back, warm and loving, calm and happy.

Fuck, was he happy and grateful. It still felt like a dream, but this was real. You were real. Yes, he was fucking scared out of his mind too, but the joy he was feeling right now eclipsed everything else.

With rough lips, he coaxed yours apart, the tip of his tongue tentatively swiping your teeth so you would let him in ― the place where he felt most at home. And you happily complied with a subtle sigh. Your tongues curled around one another, your sultry taste and sweet scent overtaking all his senses.

Joel felt your hand dragging his downwards and only took him one second to catch on. Soon his fingers were buried under your panties, his hand cupping your mound possessively while his middle finger dipped in your slit ever so slightly to faintly stroke your hooded clit.

Just one stroke.

“Joel,” you cooed, and he inhaled your breathless plea.

“I know, baby,” he hummed back, gifting you with another light stroke.

Your thighs trembled around his hand, and you parted them involuntarily, your body telling him everything he needed to know.

So he obliged, his finger slipping from your clit to your crying hole, gathering the wetness on the tip to bring it back up to your sensitive nub. With languid touches, Joel paid precise attention to your bundle of nerves with his thumb, while his index and middle fingers rubbed your dripping furrow incessantly, his fingertips hitching in your entrance from time to time.

You gasped, chest heaving and back arched, when Joel finally dived those two fingers in your slick, warm entrance. He groaned at your responsiveness, your eagerness, always ready for him. He could never have enough of you; of that he was fucking sure.

Joel nipped your neck, his stubble tickling your skin, then lapped at it while the rhythm of his hand increased. He knew you loved it when he curled his fingers, stroking that heavenly spot that would drive you wild with lust.

Then he suddenly stilled and you grinded your wet pussy against his palm, desperate for release, your hips tilting underneath.

“Joel, please,” you begged in a whisper, your walls clenching around his digits.

“Please what, sweetheart?”

“I wanna come, please let me,” you pleaded with half-lidded, glassy eyes, melting under his touch.

“What a good girl, asking for permission,” he grazed your slack jaw with his bare teeth, then soothed the bite with a kiss. “No, not a good girl, a good momma, aren’t ya?” he corrected himself, his erection swelling at the thought. “Not yet, baby.”

He teased you a bit more, dragging the pleasure, letting it build and coil inside you the way he knew you liked it.

“F-fuck… Joel…” you moaned, his fingers still and deep buried inside you, your hole squeezing uncontrollably.

Your pleas worked, because soon enough Joel was fingering you relentlessly, pumping in and out of you fast ― your gushing cunt making obscene, squelching noises under the sleeping bag. Your moans grew louder as the pace between your thighs increased, your back so arched Joel feared you might break it.

“You can come now, baby,” he spoke softly, knowing you were holding back until you got his permission.

Then your walls furiously fluttered around his digits, choking and clamping and clutching. And Joel fucked you with his fingers through your orgasm, his thumb smothering your clit, applying the right amount of pressure. You keened, breathing heavy, as you came down from your climax, eyes shut and mouth agape.

Joel leaned to kiss you, his wet, pruney fingers still embedded in your leaking hole while your hand teasingly caressed his tummy, his muscles straining in anticipation.

“Feeling calmer?” he asked, the tip of his crooked nose nuzzling your ear as his fingers slid out with a pop.

“Mhmm, way calmer now,” you husked, tipping your face to trap his mouth with yours. “Let me help you relax too, gorgeous.”

A deep rumble coursed through his chest as your tiny fist dove and wrapped around his swollen girth, your thumb gently caressing the leaky head under his underwear.

He was ready just by working you, that was the power you held over him and Joel was fully aware of it. And he didn’t care one bit, he loved that you could get him hard just like that. It was lust, but it was love too; a deep, shared connection ― something he’d not felt before with anyone else.

You pumped him slow at first, your teeth scraping the skin over his Adam’s apple, then his jawline, until you hunted down his lips, swallowing his gruffy moans. Your playful hand stroked him faster, your fingers gripping harder, and he was close to losing his mind.

Then you licked his neck and nibbled his earlobe, and Joel had to summon all strength he could muster to not come there and then. You giggled at his intense reaction ― his muscles so tight he could snap at any moment, his breathing heavier and erratic.

Your hand imposed a devilish pace upon his throbbing cock, jerking him off fast and furious now, seeing how far you could take him before he broke. His balls felt tight and heavy, ready to spill his warm load on your hand.

Joel couldn’t stop groaning even if he fucking tried ― it had only been five days since the last time he fucked you, but those were too many days already. He pursed his lips together, eyebrows knitting in concentration to not come yet, while your mouth ghosted his. A few moans ended up slipping out and you breathed them in as you masturbated him with a tight grip.

And whatever cue he gave you, you knew he was close ― his orgasm imminent. Swiftly you dived your head under the sleeping bag and Joel lost sight of you. You freed his erection and a second later he felt your plump lips seal around his mushroom head.

His hands curled into tight fists, your little licks, taps and laps maddening. Then you suckled the swollen tip as if it was your personal pacifier.

“Holy fuck,” he huffed, shutting his eyes, as your wicked tongue commended him to come, your hand working his shaft dextrously.

Joel couldn’t hold it any longer. With a deep moan, he blew his sticky load in your mouth, and you drank eagerly from him. He felt your plush lips pecking his balls, then his column, and finally the tip, showing gratitude to his softening dick. Tucking his cock back into his underwear, you patted his bulge, gently, for a sweet second.

Then you popped your head out of the sleeping bag with a sinful grin, your thumb swiping across the corner of your mouth to gather a drop of his cum and guiding it back inside. Joel cupped your chin to bring your face closer to his.

“Thanks, baby. Always so thoughtful,” he joked before tasting himself on your tongue.

“Anytime,” you snickered.

You settled across his chest, warm bodies and calmer hearts, and a comfortable silence filled the room. Soon after that, you both fell into a peaceful slumber.

You woke up first, Joel’s arms draped around your shoulders in a solid hug, almost suffocating you. The first morning light filtered through the bare window, casting elongated shadows of the trees outside across the floorboards. Morning dew condensed on the windowpane, frozen like tiny, sparkly snowflakes. Some birds chirped, their melody pacifying. The whole scene was so tranquil, you didn’t want this moment to end.

Loafing about, you nuzzled Joel’s sternum, his thorax slowly rising, then coming down. His heart beat steadily too, so calming it almost lull you back to sleep. Something about Joel sleeping so profoundly made you feel at peace. Both of you had a very much needed rest after a tense couple of days.

You stroked the hairy trail down his belly button absentmindedly.

Joel grunted and stirred under you, his curved eyelashes fluttering a few times before his beautiful brown eyes stared at you. A boyish smile curled the corners of his lips before he closed his eyes again, hugging you closer. Joel buried his nose in your hair, then inhaled audibly.

“As much I’d love to stay here forever with you, I think we should get going,” you laughed, palming his chest.

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his aquiline nose. He wasn’t a morning person.

“Alright. I’ll get up just ‘cause you’re asking nicely,” he conceded, one hand reaching out of the sleeping bag to unzip it.

The cold air hit you both and you regretted your decisions, but if you wanted to find Tommy soon, you were not going to achieve that from this cabin, as idyllic as it felt to be here, in your bubble with Joel.

Half an hour later you were both up and fully awake. Joel was packing away the sleeping bags when he suddenly stopped.

“Fuck. You didn’t check on the battery last night, did you?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

You bit down your bottom lip and shook your head no.

“Shit. No, I didn’t. I, well― got distracted,” you replied apologetically, a nervous chuckle slipping.

“You mean I distracted you, right?” the teasing edge to his voice made you smile. “Don’t worry, love, ‘s alright. I’ll go check on it before we go into town.”

Joel brought you in for a hug, his hands lacing on the small of your back. He brushed his lips against yours in a chaste kiss and you wanted to laugh so badly, you sniggered. This man, pretending to be so decent now.

“What’s so funny?” he enquired, a cocked brow, not letting you go of his embrace just yet.

“You being so gentlemanly and proper now with your decorous kissing, as if you didn’t make me come with just your fingers last night. As if I didn’t eat yo―” you jested bluntly, butterflies filling your belly.

Joel growled at your provocation, interrupting you, his hips flush with yours.

“That nasty mouth of yours is gonna be my downfall one of these days,” he muttered. Then he kissed you, his tongue quick and ravishing. “Enough. Stop being so damn tempting.”

He let go of you, taking a step back and turning around. You took the opportunity to smack his ass before he walked off with a smirk on his lips.

You stayed inside, gathering all the bits and stuffing them back in your backpacks. You were going to venture into Oswego today again, stake out the town and the area where Joel thought Tommy and his group would most probably be.

Shuffling through your belongings, you found the pregnancy test you took a few days ago. The digital screen was still displaying the positive result ― one you dreaded, but then embraced.

In the span of forty-eight hours, you thought your relationship with Joel had crumbled down and reduced to nothingness, to then come back stronger like a phoenix rising from its ashes.

The look on his face when he thought you were leaving him still haunted you ― you hoped he would forget that feeling sooner rather than later. His confession had tugged at your heart so much, you had forgiven him after the first sentence. But you had let him keep on talking, because the self-indulgent part of yourself wanted to hear him say all those things. It wasn’t often that Joel Miller would make use of his mouth to verbally express his feelings.

You smiled to yourself, tremendously happy with how the situation had turned out in the end.

Throwing your backpack over your shoulders and Joel’s hanging from one arm, you walked outside with the pregnancy still on your hand, daydreaming ― your grin now permanently sculpted into your features.

Then you heard a voice you quickly recognised.

Tommy’s.

You froze halfway through the three steps on the porch, your gaze scanning the area until you found them.

Joel had a very schooled expression, almost blank, while Tommy frowned, gripping a shotgun close to his chest.

“You’ve been following me?” the younger Miller asked, visibly upset.

“Yes, we have, you dickhead,” Joel replied, his voice restrained. “You just left a―”

“We?” Tommy scoffed, taking a step back. “You’ve not ditched her body yet?”

Joel’s hazel eyes found yours, still glued to the steps. A silent plea for you to go back inside, sensing this would not end well. And you tried ― you took a step back to run back into the cabin, but Tommy was quicker.

Tommy turned around and almost jumped back as if he had seen a ghost. Probably because he thought he had.

You raised your hands up, showing him you were no threat.

“Hey, Tommy,” you greeted him with a feeble smile. “If you keep pointing that gun at me, I’m gonna start thinking it’s personal,” you joked to diffuse the situation.

“Tommy,” Joel’s firm voice made his brother looked at him askance, his pupils fixed right back on you. “Hey.”

Joel’s fingers wrapped around the barrel, pushing it down so it wouldn’t point at you anymore. You could see Tommy’s stiffness from the distance, ready to do whatever it was necessary.

When Joel yanked at the shotgun, Tommy broke eye contact with you to stare at his brother, not letting go of the shotgun.

“How’s she alive?”

“It’s a long story, bu―”

“She’s fucking infected. You’re fucking infected!” he screamed in a panic, stumbling back with his own feet and then directing the gun back at you.

Joel tried to approach him while you stayed as still as possible, your breathing hitching. Would he shoot? You hoped not, but he looked scared enough to do so.

“Tommy, listen to me―” Joel attempted to talk to him again.

“What’s that you’re holding?” Tommy snapped at you, ignoring his brother.

You paled. You had forgotten the pregnancy test was on your hand, lost as you were in your train of thought when you had walked out of the cabin.

No words left your mouth ― your orbs quickly found Joel’s. Both of you, frightened to death. Not for yourselves, but for your baby.

Tommy wouldn’t hurt you, would he? Unconsciously, your free hand dropped to your belly, wanting to protect this new life you were harbouring, growing.

Tommy’s façade fell, his jaw slack.

“You’re PREGNANT?!”

Joel reacted first, standing in the way, the barrel kissing the center of his chest. Then he pushed Tommy back, his composed expression gone. He was angry, you could tell. Really angry. You had only seen him that irate the night those two men almost raped you.

“If you ever point that gun at her again, I swear to fucking God, I’ll kill you myself with my bare hands, Tommy,” he growled.

Tommy blinked rapidly, his resolution coming back as he cocked the gun again.

“You both have lost your fucking minds,” Tommy scoffed, walking backwards towards the woods. “Don’t follow me anymore. Leave me the fuck alone.”

A minute after, the younger brother disappeared between the trees and Joel rushed to your side, his anger transforming into urgency.

“We gotta go.”

His words were impregnated with the same panic you were feeling.

Unbelievable, Tommy thought.

Had his brother gone mad? What the fuck was he thinking? And how were you alive? What kind of sinister magic was that?

He had so many unanswered questions, his head throbbed with an impending headache. Tommy needed the distance and the time to think this through. At first, he had been elated at seeing his brother after so long, but the excitement quickly shifted the moment he saw Joel accompanied by you. And fucking pregnant, by the looks of it.

Shaking his head, Tommy hooted like an owl, letting the people keeping watch know that he was approaching the two houses they all had been living in. The two buildings were on the forest boundary, far enough of other homes but close enough to town.

Bursting in through the doors, Laney met him in the corridor, hands on hips.

“So?”

“They are here. And what’s worst, she’s alive and pregnant,” Tommy almost spit the last word out.

Laney’s scowl deepened.

“Pregnant? Like, with a fucking zombie-like monster growing inside of her?”

The emphasis on that specific word made Tommy frown. He wouldn’t go as far as to say that. Laney could be a little dramatic sometimes.

“Well, I don’t know. No, I don’t think so? I mean, she looked fine, so I guess―” Laney walked past him, interrupting what he was saying. “Where are you going?”

“On patrol. Need to go into town for some supplies.”

“Need a hand?”

“No. Stay here, keep watch.”

And with that, she stepped out and closed the door behind her, leaving Tommy in the middle of the hallway with a nagging doubt picking at the back of his brain.

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981 @fancyyoouu

@smolbeanzzz @guelyury @bishtrouille @harriedandharassed

@thepalaceofmelanie @eternallyvenus @theoraekenslover @vickie5446

[stellar-skyy]

hihi! an iced english breakfast tea with father figure blade?

“iced english breakfast tea here, for... ah, who was it? Oh, of course! Blade!”

☆ — if you're craving a drink, make sure to stop by the teashop!

i. SUMMARY: While on a trip, you receive a letter from a certain Stellaron Hunter. ii. CWS & NOTES: no warnings applicable. PLATONIC blade & gn!reader, brief silver wolf & reader, kafka & reader. father figure!blade. found family fluff. 0.5k words. iii. A/N: hi anon! this request was actually much further in the queue, but i finished it quickly so i thought i might as well post it now.

The letter is penned on bright white paper, covered in small creases that have been smoothed out. The writing on it is small, with some parts crossed out and rewritten, filling the entire page. In the corner is a small series of doodles in purple ink, crude drawings of the three Stellaron Hunters and you. The envelope is beside it with the wax seal broken, smelling faintly of spider lilies.

Inside, it reads:

[Name],

I hope this letter reaches you well, if it reaches you in the first place. I must admit I am skeptical of the effectiveness of the intergalactic postal system, but it isn’t as if there is another way to contact you, aside from tossing the letter into outer space and hoping it finds its way to the planet you are currently on.

I think this is the longest it’s been without seeing you since you were young. It is much too quiet without you around; Silver Wolf has attempted to fill the silence, but I hardly understand what she is talking about half of the time and I do not care to ask. When you return, you will have to inform me what ‘dps’ and ‘maxed out’ means, because I know asking her now will only give me a long-winded spiel about those video games she is obsessed with.

Despite you being gone several weeks now, it’s still been difficult to adjust to having one fewer member of the group. I have been turning the corner, expecting you to be there waiting for me, but I am constantly finding myself alone. Kafka tells me it’s the mother hen instincts, but she doesn’t know what she is talking about.

Silver Wolf has been asking about you non-stop, telling me she wants her Player Two back. She made me play with her for a bit, but according to her, I’m so terrible at the games that it isn’t even fun to beat me. I’m not sure what she means, she beats you all the time anyway, but when I told her that she just rolled her eyes.

Kafka misses you too, though she’s at least got enough emotional maturity to admit that out loud instead of sulking. When she found out I was writing this letter, she made me promise to tell you she can’t wait to see you again, and you’d better be taking care of yourself. I think she feels the same as I do, even as she teases me for it. Things just aren’t the same with one less person.

I know you’re wondering about me, but I’ll keep it short—I’m fine. My condition is no better than you last saw me, but it is no worse either. You don’t have to worry, and I mean that with honesty.

I trust you are using this well-deserved break to its fullest, taking in the sights and not causing any excess trouble. Elio doesn’t allow vacations very often—it’s a wonder he approved this one, with all the missions he’s sent us on lately—so make sure you take advantage of it. If you are in a tough situation, you only need to remember what Kafka and I have taught you: hit them fast and hard, and don’t leave any witnesses.

Be safe. I’ll see you soon.

Blade

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

[sashaisready]

This Must Be The Place: Chapter 17 - You got a face with a view

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: None, bit angsty

This is a Bucky POV! Bit of a shorter chapter but I thought it might be nice to get some of his insight before we hurtle towards the finish line…

Just to let you know I’m going on vacation early next week for a week, so I’m not sure when the next update will be – so please bear with me! If I don’t manage before, I will post once I’m back w/c 8th July. As always, your reblogs and comments mean the world – thank-you for coming along for the ride!

Bucky sighed heavily as he watched your car become a small dot on the horizon. He couldn’t believe he had found you out here, he was only passing through after dealing with some MC business on the edge of town. What were the chances it would be him to find you, of all the people who drove by this way?

He had been confused to see a car parked up in the middle of nowhere, miles from anything, only to feel bile rising in his throat when he recognised that distinct Mustang.

He thought something might have happened to you, relief crashing over him in waves when he saw your bewildered face staring back at him through the window. He managed to maintain his composure even when he saw the beginnings of a bruise on your cheek, despite the rage that simmered in his body. But he could see you were upset, maybe even a little scared, so he managed to push his own feelings aside. He didn’t want to distress you any further, but had a strong idea of who might have led you into this precarious position...

You wouldn’t let him help you. He had half expected it, but he still scoffed that you’d rather stay out here alone than take what was being offered. But…he also kinda got it. He was stubborn too. He understood that you didn’t want to be vulnerable in front of him, didn’t want him to think everything between you would now be forgiven.

He didn’t push you. He knew you well enough to understand that badgering you would only strengthen your resolve to stay put.

He just wanted you to be safe.

It didn’t even occur to him to leave. That was never a possibility. He did consider calling the guys and arranging a tow for your car, or for a ride for you, but he thought you might not want him meddling without asking. And he knew you wouldn’t want your car taken back to his auto shop, wouldn’t want another link to him – and you might think he’d done it on purpose to get you to talk to him.

Fixing Sally at roadside was his best bet. Then you would be alright but could still leave on your own accord. He’d tell Steve to bring his toolbox and he’d try his luck with you in the morning. Maybe Steve could throw in some food and water, too. You’d need it after sleeping in a car all night.

He had grimaced about his bed (or lack thereof) for the evening, but he’d done worse. It was one night. And it was worth it for watching over you and keeping you safe.

He wasn’t worried about passersby or getting jumped, his reputation preceded him enough that nobody within a 100-mile radius would dare even approach him if they saw him here.

It had sucked. It had been shit. He probably got two or three hours' sleep, max, but he’d done it. And as you gawped at him the next day, still beautiful in the morning light even though you were bruised and dishevelled, he knew it had all been worth it. And it had warmed him slightly that he’d caught a glimpse of awe in your eyes when you realised what he’d done for you.

Every part of him wanted to follow you as you got back into the car, to tell you how he really felt and how deep his feelings really were. Your casual relationship was never just casual to him. He had fallen for you, hard, maybe since day one. He had tried to fight it, tried to remind himself that it always had an expiration date and he shouldn't fall too deep... but being with you was the most natural thing in the world to him. Watching you smile at the bar, stolen glances across the room, waking up with you in his arms…they were some of the happiest days of his life.

That was partly why he was so upset when he thought you’d stolen, it had broken his heart as well as his trust. He’d always had a problem with impulsivity, with flying off the handle, giving into urges and emotions without thinking it through. Maybe part of him wanted to sabotage what the two of you had so it would be easier when you eventually left him. He had a few ideas like that, but still didn't fully understand why he did it. But he knew for certain, checking that purse was the biggest mistaken he’d ever made. He had to live with that. He understood that.

But maybe he should tell you all this. What did he have to lose, really? You were leaving, anyway. Once that house was on the market it was game over. It would be snatched up quickly, and then you’d be gone from this town, and his life, forever. At least he’d know if he’d done everything he could, he wouldn’t be an old man on his porch years later wistfully wondering if things could’ve been different had he told you the truth.

No. That wasn’t fair. To truly love you means respecting your wishes, and letting you go. Even if it hurts every fibre of his being to do so. Even if he’s desperate to grab you and kiss you every time he’s in close proximity to you. It would be selfish of him to dump his feelings on you like that. If he’d learnt anything from the misery of the last few months, it was that he needed to put you first – even if it wasn’t what he wanted.

He could live with the pain. He’d managed it so far. He had suffered and he would continue to suffer. This was his punishment, for not trusting you, for not believing you. It would follow him to his grave.

There had been nobody else since. No Amber. None of the girls at the bar. Sure, he’d had offers, but he simply wasn’t interested. They’d only remind him that they weren’t you.

When he heard about Quill, it felt like he'd taken a bullet to the gut. Actually, it felt worse than that. Bucky had been shot a couple of times and he'd happily take another bullet over that specific brand of pain. It was more painful than when he lost his arm. He nearly vomited on the spot when Steve told him. Since then, he had been a shadow of his former self, even if he (mostly) put on a good front to continue his role as President.

None of it mattered. You were selling up and moving on, and all that was left to do was let you go. You can’t keep a bird in a cage just because you don’t want to lose it. Keeping something that doesn’t want to be kept means you never really had it in the first place.

He had told you he wouldn’t touch Quill, but he seethed inwardly as he thought about the unsightly bruise and how it got there. How you ended up in your heels and evening dress at the side of the road. You had warned him not to do anything, and he wouldn’t. He respected your wishes. But once you’d gone? Well. That might be a different story. He already knew where Quill worked. Where he lived. Where he hung out. Who his friends were. The statute of limitations on Bucky’s promise to you would run out the day you left him forever.

He cranked his aching neck and pumped his metal arm back in place as he got back on his bike. Life must go on.

But he had one thing left to do.

[brucewaynehater101]

hii i just wanted to ask about the accuracy of the statement of "Talia abducted Jason during when he was arguably at his most vulnerable cuz catatonic and took advantage of his state (+no Bats knowing Jason came back to life) to indebt him to her and a cult + groom him to be a tool for whatever goal she had in mind" or if it's fanon and your opinions on this idea (+ actual canon if this statement is in fact fanon)

but just like how we play with the scale of good parent, bad parent Bruce we could also fuck around and do so much with this concept (fanon or not)

Hi! I'm not as familiar with this, so let's do the research together ^^ It's gonna be a long post!

I've heard many many many people curse out a few writers (I'm shitty at remembering names) for being a racist pieces of shit. I've also heard of Talia being thrown under the bus by a lot of writers. Here's a link to a wonderful Tumblr post that goes into Talia and how writers fucked over her character.

There's other posts, but this one quickly summaries what they did to Talia and briefly mentions the assassination of Ra's character as well.

Here's a post that goes further into Ra's character.

On that note, I have seen a few fics play around with two ideas that were (as far as I'm aware) retconned: Damian's conception being unconsensual and Talia having sexual relations with Jason.

As long as you keep in mind that these were retconned and come from racist, sexist, or both connotations, it's okay to explore the impact these actions would have on all characters involved (especially if we're utilizing the reasoning that Talia wasn't in her right mind during those actions).

That's a basic summary of why there's heavy debate around Talia and the al Ghuls as a whole.

Now! Let's get into Talia and Jason specifically!!!!

The comic run we want to look into is Red Hood - The Lost Days. I am unsure if there are any other comics that cover post-death Jason but pre-Red Hood. If anyone has any other canon material that covers or mentions this time period, feel free to comment, reblog, etc.

This is Talia's initial reaction to hearing about Jason:

She expresses concern, worry, and grief for Bruce

She then has spies give her updates on Bruce's situation. Everyone else states Bruce is "stepping up his game." She calls them fools (since Bruce is obviously just hurting)

Very quickly, we get into her discovery of Jason Todd:

So. Jason's catatonic and Talia was ordered not to inform Bruce. Regardless of if she wanted to, she would be betraying her father if she told Bruce

Then I'm just going to drop all of these panels:

This shows she somewhat cares about him. Whether that's for Jason or because of Bruce, that's irrelevant. She still cares and wants him to get better. She wants him to go home.

Talia only pushes Jason into the Lazarus Pits because she's run out of time

Now... she may be an unreliable narrator. She states she's doing this for Jason's sake, but it does seem like it's more for her own. Regardless, she doesn't have ill intentions.

Talia dips Jason in the Pits and then tosses him out

That line of hers seems suspicious, but I see it more as her trying to hide the fact she had Jason for so long. It's less "go be mad at Bruce" and more "gods, what is Bruce gonna think of me if Jason shows up on his doorstep?"" Selfish, but not in the way fanon characterizes it.

She had trackers on the bag, though. She just needed him away from Ra's

Ra's tells Talia she fucked up, Jason tries to blow up the batmobile, and then tries to tell Talia he didn't lose his nerve for revenge against Bruce

Talia realizes that reviving Jason with the Pit might have fucked Jason up

Jason asks Talia for her help with revenge against Bruce. Talia did not set that up. Jason was the one to suggest it without influence

Talia obviously does not want to be helping Jason right now. She still agrees, though

Let me just toss this here too:

So... She's not doing this completely because she cares about Jason or that it's the right thing, but she also sure as hell does not want Jason to be going down this revenge path

Despite all of this, there's this:

They then proceed to fuck.

Which is gross as hell, and how some people can say that she took advantage of him

I think them fucking got retconned, though....

So, it's slightly complicated?

In my personal opinion, the final answer is: "It is fanon!"

There may be some truth or canon behind it, but that most likely comes from more racist characterizations of her character. However, the canon material that explicitly covers this topic makes it clear:

"Talia was selfish with her help to Jason. She wants Bruce to love her. She thus ends up hiding Jason's existence out of fear of Bruce's reaction. She does not want Jason to be mad at Bruce or fight his dad."

This also matches the other characterization I've seen of this: "Talia uses the distraction technique to try to hold Jason back from murdering his own father. 'You can't murder Bruce without training, Jason.'"

To continue, whether Talia should've told Bruce or not is an entirely different matter. Sometimes, I've avoided telling people shit out of fear, which made the situations worse. It wasn't great of her to do that, but in no way should this villainze her. I also 100% love that this gives her a flaw. People make mistakes. She's trying. She may have gone about it poorly, but she did what she thought she could. It was selfish, but I don't blame her.

She could've also convinced Jason to give up his mission entirely right before they fucked. That's where it gets murky.

You are absolutely correct that we can use the fanon idea of the al Ghuls manipulating Jason. On the other hand, I haven't seen enough fics where Talia treats Jason like an unruly toddler instead.

"No, Jason. We can't murder Bruce. Obviously, you need training first." Her visible reaction is a motherly rolling eyes. Internally, she's just panicking ("fuck fuck fuck fuck. How do I curb bloodlust? How do I stop patricide? Procrastination!!!")

Anyways, thanks for bringing the question up! It allowed me to look into it and put my thoughts in order ^^

Feel free to read the rest of the run!

[reverie-obsessingtime]

Why I think Sparkle is a maladaptive daydreamer coded character and who it plays part into her character as a whole: from a maladaptive daydreamer (and a character analysis)

(Ok folks, this turned out rather long so get your popcorn and water at hands reach!.....trust me.)

Hi!!!! :,D This is my second post here and it feels like it's been a decade but here I am again haha...

This time I'm here with something I'm more confident in exploring as, I myself, am a maladaptive daydreamer! :,)

And because of that Sparkle hit me like a TRUCK and her MADD (mal. daydreamer for short) coding makes me love her and go insane about it at the same time.(it means a lot to me ok?😭)

Sooo I'm here today to expand and shine light on it to the rest of the masses as there isn't much appreciation for Sparkle (which is understandable cause she is a character not everyone can savor) and I feel like her maladaptive daydreaming can help understand her way of thinking.

comments, reblogs and likes are VERY much appreciated if you would like to see more of my billion cents and share with others to further show me support :,)

if you have any disagreements, corrections, different opinions or such that you would like to discuss I'm always open to further discussions as I would love to receive back engagement with these posts (as long as it is in good manners)

Enough talk from me though, let's get into it already:

What is maladaptive daydreaming?

Throw the google definitions out the window, let me give you a gist of it from someone who has it:

it's a coping mechanism turned addiction that can develop from loneliness or trauma (it is also common in people with ADHD). It helps you deal with the current reality you are in by offering escapism but it differs from normal daydreaming because it becomes maladaptive (as the name suggests).

What that looks like is being addicted to escaping reality through it by daydreaming, which can make you want to trade time forming human bonds, hanging out with friends, doing tasks you should, even taking care of yourself (etc.) with daydreaming. Most of the time you don't even need to do it but daydreaming is so much more fun and entering than ur current boring life that you keep doing it anyway. It can isolate you and make you lose touch with reality (from one degree to another depending on the individual).

But people with MADD DON'T ACTUALLY BELIEVE IN THEIR DAYDREAMS. They KNOW they aren't real. Some might willfully want to believe in them but at the end of the day they know it's all made up. If you are a MADD but get serious delusions about it you might want to check more into that cause something is overlapping.

Maladaptive daydreaming is MUCH more immersive and vivid than normal daydreams (what can I say, practice makes perfect🤭). Some MADD will stim while daydreaming in various ways that have to do with whatever they are daydreaming for enhanced immersion (some will pace around the room, some will make facial expressions, some will catch themselves talking, etc)

The daydreams each differ from individual to individual and can be classified in multiple types, some make OCs while others imagine a different version of themselves or make a character similar to certain degrees to them.

We are very much fictional-stories-makers nerds no matter to be honest

Now that we got the explanation out of the way:

Why do I think Sparkle has MADD?

🎇Proof number one: her character story IV

..... *POINTS AGGRESSIVELY* like?? COME ON!! (my "she is just like me fr!!!" moment and what made me want to make this whole post)

Ok, ok, let me try to be serious about this 😮‍💨

Analyzing this alone:

"It's truly addictive to me" maladaptive daydreaming is a behavior that is addictive to the individual (du uh)

"The more I imagine, the more I get absorbed in those characters" Getting absorbed into your daydreams (and it being addictive) is a core part of MADD and what differentiates it from normal daydreaming.

"the wonderful and tragic situations I create for them, and the emotions they experience in those circumstances..." Here, Sparkle is talking about the characters she makes and how by acting them and playing their roles and their stories, she enjoys herself and is entertained by them.

From my perspective, Sparkle is an individual who finds the emotions of others and how each reacts put in various situations, fascinating, entraining and enjoyable to witness, observe and ponder on more than an average individual.

Which I think is something all of us MADD, writers, OC makers, character analyzing enjoyers and fic writers can relate to ( "no"? ok. now tell me your OCs tragic backstory come on~ come on~ ik you have one. No? Ok then tell me through what psychological horror you want ur fav to go through~ Ik you know that you want them to get tortured by the writers at least just a tiny bit....I know what you are.)

🌸Further more quotes from her character story IV:

"Lies? Come on, I'm not trying to tell a grand story or fabricate an eye-catching experience... I'm wholeheartedly exercising my imagination for my own sake. I imagine various lives, seek excitement, and then recreate them as best I can, and pump the brakes on my imaginative balloon just a second before it bursts."

.... genuinely what do you want me to say honestly, that's SUCH a MADD to say, pls reread how many times it takes to get it. Everything in that is just PEAK maladaptive daydreamingness. Genuinely I don't have anything to add that won't sound like "Water is H2O and 2+2=4" 🤷

"Seriously, having a script is far from enough. First and foremost, I must wholeheartedly believe that the character I'm portraying truly exists. Then, I need to imagine the other stories where the character would appear. I always need extra information to make their motivation logical and emotional."

Sparkle seems dedicated to portraying, grasping and understanding her characters by IMMERSING herself into them as much as possible. Going the EXTRA mile, such as imagining other stories they could appear in, making herself believe the character TRULY exists and informing herself about them to portray them the best.

Which, again, all writers, OC makers and fic writers who actually give more than two dice about their character can relate to as we want our characters to be most accurate and well written and for that we do all Sparkle said.

The "I must wholeheartedly believe that the character I'm portraying truly exists" strikes a chord in me because it's such a ??? NON MADD ARE NOT THAT DEDICATED TO IT JSJSKSJ THAT'S SUCH A MADD MILDLY CONCERNING BUT MADD THING TO SAY SKDHSKSN IK WHAT YOU ARE!!!

OK OK.

I can hear you going "but she is an actor, it's just part of being an actor". Ok Sherlock, but Sparkle is not your average actor. Case and point:

Sparkles love for the stage of acting and how it ties into her MADD:

🎇Who is Sparkle an actor for?

Herself.

Saying "she is so matriculated and dedicated because she is an actor" is only half way true.

Sparkle's love for acting and her maladaptive daydreaming are things that can coexist at the same time. (just like being a writer and MADD for ex. (yes, some of ur fav writers could have been MADD))

Which got born from which? We don't know but both are proof of how much she loves the other.

("But you said MADD develops from trauma or loneliness" YES!! And we still have no real idea about Sparkles backstory but ik damn well a "normal" person with an average fine life doesn't end up like Sparkle.)

(Also no, her character stories 1,2,3 and be at most half trusted as she says she makes them up for each individual both in her char. story 4 and a voice line.

They could either be total nonsense or parts and truths of her past but altered/heavily exaggerated and metaphorical. Pick ur fighter tbh.

"There are a few versions that are particularly popular." "Liking and believing are two different things, but people are more likely to believe in their favorite stories." "Lies? Come on, I'm not trying to tell a grand story or fabricate an eye-catching experience... I'm wholeheartedly exercising my imagination for my own sake."

She is basically toying with everyone who asks including the player for her own amusement and, honestly? Iconic.)

🌸She acts for her own entertainment.

Wealth, status, power... None of this matters to Sparkle. The only thing that can lure her interest is "amusement". (from her twt intro)

Her doing all this. Immersing herself into characters so deeply. It's all for herself and her own enjoyment. Just like MADD is for us and our own enjoyment and entertainment.

Not to be the greatest actor or for others recognizing her. In her introduction on twitter, she says: "I'm not exactly a person loaded with cool skills, and dreaming big isn't really my thing." Which says enough to contradict such ideas.

Yes, some MADD might go on to become writers or actors but some don't. And those who don't could still want to improve their characters FOR THEMSELVES because that will bring them more enjoyment, because they love what they do and their characters for one reason or other and want them to shine like they see them could.

🌸Sparkles elation is acting and MADD.

Elation: great happiness and exhilaration.

What makes her feel elation? Acting. What is her heavy immersive acting that is all for herself to feel elation intertwined with? Maladaptive daydreaming ✨

(wow, shocked, ik)

Sparkles Myriad Celestial Trailer: Behind the Curtain

Next, I want to talk about both her Myriad and Character Trailer through a MADD lens, starting off with her Myriad Celestial Trailer:

What struck a chord in me with it is her "conversation" with her mask. What is her mask really representing for her? The way I see it: it's her MADD and also, Sparkle.

At first she says it keeps on smiling even when she doesn't and that she can hide under it. While in reality we might not be able to smile all the time. Escaping into our daydreams through characters who can helps. The use of a veil to describe it can also be interpreted as choosing to hide your true emotions from yourself and others through emulating a characters happy emotions and state of mind.

Second, she says the mask imitates her face, her emotions, like a mirror showing her own reflection. When writers come up with characters, some might be similar to them through a degree with or without the creator even realizing. This can happen to MADD more since we are creating characters for ourselves and its a coping mechanism so emotions seep through unless we make a character/s that we want to share with others. It's also a way you can understand and grasp yourself better. In this particular setting, I think she means how through some characters she acted as (made by others) herself and emotions shines true,like that character and her acting were a mirror.

Third, it takes a darker turn, "when I'm smiling, you're screaming. When I'm angry, you're crying. When I'm sad, you're smiling". This could be her MADD taking a tool on her.

"When I'm smiling, you're screaming" like when you are content with reality but your addiction's screaming at you to be noticed, like an icky who wants to be scratched. The urge to do it despite not needing to.

"When I'm angry, you're crying" This is her "mask" empathizing with her, weeping for her anger and understanding it like no one else could.

"When I'm sad, you're smiling" this could be the situation from the first instance, but it takes a darker turn so I think the "mask" smiles because it knows that her sadness assures its existence.

Addiction is dependent on your sadness because you do it to comfort you through that sadness. Her acting and MADD is both her addiction and her elation.

From Sparkles tone, she might even be surprised at how, despite her deep sadness, the mask can still smile.

"You're like a face, steering at me" she says at the end. It brings back in mind the imagery of a mirror/reflection. But instead of a reflection, it's a different reflection, still a reflection, but not.

It reminds of when I see characters being depicted as steering into a mirror and they are smiling but their reflection reflects how they truly feel inside (emo ik)

I think that's what it's supposed to mean. Your true self steering at you, it's uncomfortable and penetrating.

Or maybe it's a blank face being unsurprised or just lacking any emotions or maybe the face itself is empty waiting to be drawn on an expression.

It's a very vague sentence, and I don't want to pretend like I 100% understand the meaning behind it, because it can be interpreted in very different ways and only an explanation by the one who said it can give us a sure answer. Maybe it's something we can't even understand with the info we currently have on her.

Overall, she holds positive feelings about her mask but she also recognizes it's kinda fcked up but she still chooses it at the end of the day for the elation it gives ("I am elation" ok girl.)

🌸In this section, I also want to come back to her:

Oh who is she?🎶~

Actually? Good question! :D

I think it was Sampo who commented that Sparkle's name is probably made up (which du uh)

But that is fascinating as well.

We see this girl at first in her trailer looking soft and innocent, nothing like the more.... eccentric person we know today.

If you look closely, she DOESN'T have the butterfly/flower(?) symbol in her eye at the start but she DOES at the end. Which to me represents how she and Sparkle were separate at the start.

"It doesn't matter how I am off stage.

When I'm on stage, I'm just Sparkle"

With the end of this video, this whole thing might be made up go, but that would be too pointless and annoyingly stupid so I'm inclined to believe she isn't fckin with us in this one. (for the most part)

That said, it seems like the girl Sparkle was before was performing for her love of acting, her madd, and for the audience.

But as time went on, doing all of this for an audience over and over lost its meaning (and probably drove her insane a little)

"When I realized that life was just a play, I wanted to leave the stage.

Because off stage, there is a even bigger stage"

Her acting, madd and elation shapes her way of seeing life and others. Why confine yourself to a stage when you can take yourself and your characters to the big stage of life itself and have fun with it the absolute bonkers way you want?

She is very much a Shakespeare truther, as he put it:

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts."

That's how her acting made Sparkle see things (to an extreme )

🌸Another thing is this scene:

"Im.... I'm not Sparkle

No, I am Sparkle"

Both in her Myriad and Character Trailer, she is actively conflicting with herself.

In this moment. She shows opposition to "Sparkle". The physical constraint is interesting imagery as well. Maybe she feels trapped by "Sparkle"? Like "Sparkle" is against her? Why is she? Because she doesn't allow her to be Sparkle(/herself/her true self)?

She separates herself from Sparkle at the start but becomes her after and laments that she isn't her than at the end, and only then, her eyes have the same symbol this big eyes have in the back (Sparkles) eyes and she becomes Sparkle.

Which, um, IS SO INTERESTING!??!?!?!

I think at the end, she gives into her want to be Sparkle and fully embraces it. Fully embraces the path of elation.

And I don't think Sparkle isn't her. I think it's still her, just more free, unrestrained version of herself that doesn't hold back when the rest of society those.

Think like how different someone with social anxiety disorder is when they feel comfortable with summon and lets out their weirdness for example. We hold back on many actions because of societal perception but she stopped giving a fck and WILL set up a hundred "bombs" on a ship to fck with people for her own amusement.

Seeing life as a stage comes with seeing the absurdism of if all and choosing to stop giving a sht and have your own fun and entertainment. Play the roles you want to play instead of playing the part.

🌸As for my take on this part?

Yeah, maybe the whole thing wasn't her true backstory, but I think it's not 100% false either. Or maybe it is and she sees it as her playing another role. The role of her past self how is so so different it's her own character at this point, right? :))

It sure was more realistic than all the other stories going on in the background (like come on, Harry Potter, Sparkle playing Herta)

"Who is the real Sparkle"

Maybe the answer is all of the Sparkles are Sparkle.

Am I gonna elaborate? Mmm, nope. :)

--------------------------------------------------------------

*cracks knuckles* OOOOOKKK this turned out quite long Jesus (never put me to write something about a fictional character in a few paragraphs, that's physically impossible for me)

Don't worry though, I'm probably gonna make a part two soon 🙃 (analyzing her Character Trailer, her design, her in game animations, who knows what ales, etc etc~) (no we are NOT done, we. are absolutely. NOT done.)

Soooo can you tell how much I like Sparkle? She lives rent free in my mind actually.

There isn't enough talk about her more deeply despite how MUCH there is to ponder on so I have to take it upon myself to do it 😮‍💨

If you made it here..... will you marry me?🥹💍

NAH NAH NAH JUST KIDDING 🤭

But if you did then thank you for giving me the time of day and I hope this post spark(l)ed some curiosity and interest into this little hedonistic gremlin! :D

(also no, I don't ignore, justify or support her racist remarks)

I do these posts mostly for myself but someone else to respond back is really nice! :,)

Ok, I'm signing off for this one. See ya in part two 👋:)

[nanjokei]

further guidance for newcomers coming from reddit

hi arriving redditors. here are some things i don't see most posts mention. this is for people who conquered the baby steps of joining the site. i think they're pretty important! also me clarifying on some stuff i've seen people word very vaguely consistently in their guides

under the cut because it's a chunky set of bullet points! with a few that also discuss how to keep yourself in a safe and fun browsing environment for yourself and others (mostly quality of life)

if you have any questions either send me an ask (anonymously is ok too) or reply to the post

you can enable a custom theme that shows on the web in your blog settings, if you so wish (blog settings > visibility) and then (custom theme toggle to on) this is the classic tumblr experience, but it's ok to want to hide your blog from the public. however you won't be able to link stuff on your blog to people without tumblr accounts

you can find custom tumblr themes by searching resource blogs like theme hunter or just in the tags in general (like "tumblr theme" or just "theme" and see where the other tags you may find to refine your search takes you)

tumblr is currently trying to enact changes to appeal to "new users" that make the website less friendly to its current inhabitants, such as fucking with quality of life and muscle memory and even stuff integral to the culture of the site. if you see people complaining, i highly advise against going "this sounds kind of nothingburger" and assisting in sending tickets to support the drive against such changes

there is a 250 post per day limit. you probably won't hit it though.. maybe? but people used to make post limit blogs (seperate email) for that. but that is for heavy usage users.

you can make as many sideblogs as you want. you are free to divulge whether or not it's you. of course use common sense to gauge whether or not it matters. but side blogs can be anything: maybe you want to categorize things, maybe you wanna make one into a huge fan page/blog for a specific hobby/celeb/show/game/etc, maybe a quieter space, maybe posts you feel don't belong on your blog, maybe even a blog where you reblog resources to exclusively. the possibilities are endless! (maybe not for porn, it's a little harder to skirt by these days even with muh community labels)

a lot of posts are incredibly vague about whether or not you can leave comments on reblogs. i think it truly depends. for example, if it's praise for artwork, i feel like it is truly best left in the tags. the artist can see it still! it shows up in their notifs when you reblog. in comparison, when it comes to funny text posts and pictures, you can comment as you like, but consider TPO (time place occasion). it helps to check the notes (comments only filter) to see if the quip or comment you wanna make has already been made or if OP made further comments later. again, it's a call to use your judgement and everyone has a different tolerance for this kind of thing

i see many people or perhaps most came from LGBTQ+ centric subreddits so i am surprised i'm not seeing this mentioned often: there are unfortunately a lot of terfs here. please stay safe. install shinigami eyes and engage in blocking sprees whenever possible.

in account settings, not blog settings, there is a section called "content you see". it has filtered tags and filtered post content. the difference is filtered tags is specifically for tags, for example, if you want to hide a certain show you don't like, you can have the site apply a peek-a-boo filter on it (this content contains #TAG, as in click to view). you ask, what if the person on my dash doesn't tag it as that? that's fine! it also takes into account the original poster's tags. the OP didn't tag it? then filtered post content might help. MIGHT. it's pretty helpful and unlike twitter's mute list, as far as my experience, it is not broken. for example, if you write [SHOW NAME THAT YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE] in plain letters (with aliases as seperate entries just to be safe) it will filter any post that has the words in the body of the post. pretty useful! use this to curate your dash further or even filter out triggers.

speaking of tags. a lot of people are also vague about this. i'll say it clearly. you can add whatever tags you want to a reblog. there's no limit (aside from character lim per tag)! there's no social faux pas, unless you're being backhanded at someone's creative work, like reblogging just to dunk on it or going "i like the art but not the character" etc. when it comes to your own posts, try to avoid tagging irrelevant tags (for example, if you're making a lot of posts that are tangentially about cardcaptor sakura, think about if it belongs in the tag or not. think of it as whether or not it deserves an OC flair on reddit). again, people's tolerance differs, but especially on older media and slow tags people do not appreciate random tangential text posts (for example "i wanna watch ccs!" and nothing else)

in terms of culture, tumblr has a weird balance between "you can ask for context" and "lurk for 10,000 moar years". i would not know myself. i've been here for 12+ years *shrug* you'll have to gauge it for yourself. most things you can google "[tumblr user] callout" and figure out from there LOL (yes that's usually what happens). i DO encourage trying to garner it from context, especially for terms.

due to the looser moderation(?) on here, LGBTQ+ and other minorities use their own discretion reclaim slurs freely. join in, or put the slurs in your filters. it's fine not to join in as that's your personal comfort, but this is a heads up that the culture is like this since i'm not sure how the moderation is in places like r/196 are. (sorry i used reddit for entirely different things ><)

DO NOT TAG D0NATION POSTS WITH #D0NATION OR ANY OTHER VARIATION. this is SO important. it's best not to tag donation posts AT ALL. tumblr internally flags them and suppresses the post. just reblog silently (d0nate if you can) and move on (censoring just in case lol)

search is useless for finding specific posts. give up before you even try. your best bets are google, asking for help on the dashboard, or just hoping it shows up on your dashboard one day (it probs will, maybe not immediately when you need it though)

i called old tags "slow" but not dead earlier: tags Do Not Die (though some just kind of randomly get wiped or lose posts, idk, it is some post-2018 indexing weirdness) so you can find fanart and posts from 2012 and it's ok to reblog! the essence of tumblr is the continued circulation of people's creations

please do not repost screenshots of tumblr posts unless they are no longer accessible (reblogs locked for example) 😭 i am seeing this happen already. this is the one thing from reddit you're gonna have to let go of. twitter and other place screenshots are OK (probably, some people don't like them). but don't let your page look like one of those r/(etc) post aggregate bots on twitter is what i'm saying. once you explore a tag enough times you'll know what is usually appropriate to post (usually derivative meme templates are OK, but don't overdo it (tho this just falls under "dont spam") (also this is MY personal preference, so if the climate of the tag houses a lot of memes, go ahead!)

in general reposting content that isn't your's is kinda eh. especially reposting people's art without explicit permission. there are art reposters who in the modern day usually ask for permission, of course there are internet spelunkers who repost content from old web and dead sites. there's a lot of nuance, but i highly discourage reposting things you didn't make yourself unless it's stuff like official art and whatnot. photography and other stuff from other people, use your judgement. and as an aside i know "stolen memes" are r/196 and other meme subreddit cultures but it's not exactly appreciated here and i feel like if the reposting gets out of hand tumblr users might get real tired of it. the humor isn't really the same here in that sense, i suggest posting them in a sideblog that archives such things so they aren't lost and/or keeping them in your community tags. ofc no one can stop you!! but the whole highly derivative fried meme thing is very reddit. the culture could not be more different even if we are similar in many ways. i mean this in the nicest way possible >_< if you're not sure, DON'T REPOST.

this is just advice from me, but when liveblogging a show, it's nice to tag it with a unique tag, such as #[your name/nick] plays [game]. i find it's ok to tag series name to some posts that are more substantial, people are happy to see others enjoy what they love, but using a unique tag also helps people track YOUR liveblog since they may save the tag to look at :)

put your age or whether or not you're an adult somewhere where people can see, (and your pronouns too or lackthereof). whether or not if it's on your bio, or an about page, or a carrd. please. it's a matter of curation and safety. some people don't wanna follow minors by accident and vice versa, just as a means to curate their space

people write alt text and image descriptions in the post bodies pretty often. yes it's built into tumblr, but either some people forget or the feature... refuses to work that time. yes it's BROKEN. if you feel like you can contribute alt text for an image in an adequate fashion, go ahead!

try not to reblog people's personal posts. asking people never hurts!

you can restrict non-followers from replying to your posts, or turn off replies all together. as far as i know it's not possible for seperate posts unfortunately, just a blog-wide toggle. when replying to someone specifically, be sure to @ them so they can see it!

for a long time, only the first 5 tags you used in an original post mattered. a lot of people still repeat this, but in my experience this seems to have... changed?? i can't say for sure, but my posts appear in tags beyond the first five. just to be sure, tag the most relevant things first! (or not, if you have your own strategy LOL)

you're free to not tag trigger warnings (it's nice to do it for others tho especially if they ask) but please tag flashing images as such. #epilepsy warning, #flashing, #flashing image, #flashing, etc.

REPORT BOT BLOGS. it blocks them for you anyway. just blocking doesn't do anything for anyone

you can add other people to a sideblog to make it a group blog. this is how blogs with mods work, or even collectives, it has a lot of uses in general so have fun with it! be wary it requires getting someone's email so be safe about that and try to do it with people you trust.

this is advice from me since i noticed after publishing this post that a lot of reddit users don't tag things. you don't have to btw!! but my advice that brightens up the website: if you reblog cool art, writing, music or photography (taken by OP) and you like it a lot, i highly recommend leaving compliments in the tags. we live in an age where creative creation is increasingly unappreciated and people are quiet silent— creators get no feedback therefore no encouragememt to keep creating. this is more like a personal plea, but like to reblog ratios have become DIRE. people are apathetic and scared to interact with people's creations even though on here they are actively ecouraged to. if you like art or fic etc i even more highly recommend you reblog it. likes don't do anything! reblogs = more eyes on it. let's support each other's creative endeavors 🩷

don't fall for the trap of trying to make tumblr into reddit, or trying to recreate the feeling of a subreddit. it's not gonna work. try to adapt. it's easier said than done but lol. rome wasn't built in a day. operate your blog like your own space rather than trying to recreate a hub. the tolerance for trying to change tumblr culture is super low and a lot of people who are much meaner than me will probably try to bully the idea into the ground. and people DO get mean. (like playground namecalling, but people have no reservations about it, so it's stuff that would probably get you banned on reddit)

if your post gets traction and the note notifications annoy you, deleting the original post will make the notifs stop coming. a lot of people reblog the post to keep it on their blog then delete the original to effectively "mute" the notifications permanently.

[inkyshark3]

I've decided to not put this on my talking blog because it's a little bit different than just to talk about but I'm going to be talking about heavy topics for a while so here's the trigger warnings

Tw: suicide, depression, possible child neglect, bullying on and off the Internet, possible incest, and a lot of reading but please read it

Please reblog this!!!!!

This story is not about me in any way I just relate to it a lot

So without further ado heres my discussion about rorochan_1999

Rorochan_1999 was a 13-14 year old girl who sadly ended her life on a live stream around 2013.

She would normally dance and play the piano in her Livestreams and would normally wear a mask to hide her identity

(There's no confirmation on what she actually looks like I didn't know her personality because I was still a little child when this all happened and didn't know what suicide even was)

Rorochan even posted on more than just YouTube she also had a Twitter page and would post there quite often she even posted what she was planning on doing in one of her posts she couldn't decide on the 18 or 14th floor she would jump off of but she eventually did jump off of the 13th floor and passed away on Livestream

(I won't put the link or even put what some other people found when looking into this I would rather not because I'm already crying while typing this)

Rorochan aside from dancing and playing the piano she would also talk to her viewers on the Livestreams one of her Livestreams though she just kept repeating the word dietiy (sorry if I spelled that wrong) which means "hold me" when translated

Some people suspected that it was meant in a more sexual way (I personally think people suspected this is because of one of her posts on Twitter says "incest brother" when translated)

She would also do some daring like things

She would run into moving traffic dodging cars and traffic she would also dodge moving train cars (I believe I'm not too sure though)

She would also dangle her legs off of tall buildings and would think about jumping

The reason why she did this is because she was obsessed with becoming a legend, she eventually took this too far in her last Livestream where she took her own life

The reason why I put those two together is because the comments on that stream were just heartbreaking

People were saying

"do it!" "She won't do it" "become a legend"

And there were some people who actually had sanity saying

"don't do it!" "Please don't jump!" "It's not worth it" "you're so young don't do it!!"

But she eventually did and even though I never knew her personally or anything I still feel sad that she died

I understand what she was going through and I understand her thoughts and her posts

(I'm not trying to make this about me I really think we should get more information on rorochan and shed some light on her death I'm just saying that I relate to her)

After she jumped the Livestream ended and was on the news for a while but eventually disappeared and the case went cold and no one really remembered it or knew it existed until someone made a song about her called Shinsei Kamttechan

Which I will put a link to because the song shows a little bit more light on rorochan and what she might have been going through

In with that is the end of my rorochan_1999 talk I don't know anything about her family or her relatives or anything like that but if someone does find them please don't harass them about it that's just plain dumb and inhumane to do

The reason why I made this is because I want rorochan to be known and to be remembered even if I die I want her to be loved and cared about even in death

To me she had hidden depression and self hatred and didn't know how to tell or express it and just went to the Internet to escape and possibly get help or make friends but she just got deeper into depression and y'know what happened

But please just remember her and take care of her memory and let her soul live in peace and be happy even if she can't even in death

Just please remember and share her story please

[amaranthinespirit]

— guidelines and boundaries

a list of guidelines and boundaries for requesting and interacting on my blog!

— nsfw this is a nsfw blog. that being said, i do not necessarily have a massive problem with minors interacting in some cases. I ask that any minors don't interact on the nsfw posts (such as commenting), but i don't see a problem on ones that are sfw. I can't stop them from consuming the media i post, it's up to them and their parents to monitor their media consumption. my content has not reached that necessarily dark point yet, and it might not ever, however it is still 18+ i can write outside of nsfw if anyone requests, or is interested in it, but as of late, it is mostly nsfw content featured on my blog.

— characters assuming you've taken a peek at what's posted on my blog, you'll see that it's primarily simon riley, but i am not opposed to any other call of duty characters! feel free to ask!

— requests and asks are open closed feel free to send a request about any cod character with what you want me to write about! please be as specific as possible because then it helps me understand what you're wanting, and it increases the chances of making it out of the inbox (unless stated creative freedom!) and for those who don't want to send requests and just chat, please do! feel free to ask questions, start conversations, etc. <3

— emoji anons i am not opposed to anyone who wants to become an emoji anon! just send an ask with the emoji, and whenever one gets taken, i'll list it here <3

— for requests: my blog mainly focuses on writing fem readers because that's just what i do best! with more practice, i'm sure i could write it, but as of late, there are other blogs who do it best so i'll leave it to them. i'm open to writing a lot, so if you're unsure about what is okay or not, just request it anyways! as long as it's not listed below as a hard no!

— boundaries 1. there are certain things i will absolutely never write for, which are as listed here: scat, pedophilia, underage, necrophilia, beastiality, zoophilia, ageplay, race play, pet play, incest, rape (cnc is fine, nc is iffy), etc. (list is subject to additions if i see fit. just because you don't see it on here, doesn't mean i'll write it. feel free to send an ask about it, i'm always okay with clarifying!) 2. if you haven't seen your request or ask, please don't spam! i like to pick and choose which ones to do first depending on my mood, how easy it is, and what ideas i can get from it that feed my motivation. i am also writing for an entire other blog, though not as frequently as this one, i am quite busy! 3. If i don't do a request, it will just be deleted from my inbox! 4. feel free to message me whenever! i'm always open to talk to people, but if it's speed along your request, i ask that you just don't do this! i will get to it whenever i can! if i rejected your request, and you'd like to know, we can always discuss further details and workarounds!

— p!links i am open to receiving them! it's definitely something i'd like to write around, and i am open to receiving any p!links from people. i just ask they come from twitter/x, and that it's nothing extremely graphic/gore!

— reblogging i don't typically reblog because i like to keep my page mostly my writing, but i know some people have a separate blog where they do reblog content. i think that's what i'll do in the future because i see a lot of content that i really like and think about reblogging all the time! and right now, all of my likes and comments show up as my main @amaranthineghost because this blog is under the same account so i think it'd be cool to have a reblog account.

— mutuals i'd love to have cod mutuals! if you want to be mutuals, you can just ask! for other writers, there may be a chance i already follow you 🫶🏻

[sarahowritesostucky]

It made me really sad that you read and liked my story but apparently it wasn't enough for a reblog. Please start practicing what you preach.

Since this is anon, I can't be sure what story you're talking about, but here are a few things I'll point out:

It's almost certainly in my queue, Honey. That's what I do: if I like a post I heart it, and add it to my queue for later reblog. My queue is 406 posts deep right now. So you incorrectly assumed that I wasn't reblogging.

You are not entitled to a reblog, or a comment, or a like. And any one of the three from a fan should be graciously accepted, not complained about. I myself get oodles of likes without ever getting comments or reblogs from that person, and I never go around to their account complaining that they haven't reblogged.

Sure, I'd prefer they did reblog, but the amount of hubris it takes for an author to go to someone's account and accost them for not being supportive enough in the way they want, is ludicrous.

I think you're the first person on the internet I've met who was 'really sad' about getting a comment/like on your work.

I don't always comment or like. And when I do comment or like, my habit is to also queue the post (usually with the comment repeated in the reblog as well). if I like something enough to actually heart it or comment, then those are the posts I'm also definitely putting in my queue for reblogs. The only instance where I don't reblog content I like is when it has nothing to do with the theme of my blog (i.e. if it isn't about Marvel, MCU, Stucky, Chris, or Seb).

And one further thing - though this doesn't apply to me because I'm loud and proud about the type of smut I like to read and don't care who knows it - but you should consider that some readers on Tumblr are shy, and they might feel comfortable showing their support through a comment or just a like, but might want to refrain from a reblog because the story contains thematic elements that they don't want other mutuals to know they're into that.

💖Sarah

[ladamedusoif]

Visiting - Chapter 6: If You'd Accept Surrender

(Moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: It's Thanksgiving in Barrow, and Lydia and Ben try to work out each other's feelings - and (kind of!) give in...

Word Count: 7.6k

Rating: Explicit (MDNI; 18+)

Content (chapter specific): Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (Lydia turns 42, and Ben is 47); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; masturbation (F; implied M); descriptions of PiV sex; strong language; alcohol consumption; weight and body insecurity; descriptions of emotionally-abusive past relationship; liberal arts profs feeling weird about Thanksgiving, kind of; emotional insecurity; self-confidence issues; a bit of angst; a lot of yearn.

A/N: With HUGE thanks to @lunapascal for triggering a wave of late 90s nostalgia, the title of this chapter is taken from 'Walking After You' by the Foo Fighters. (I wish they would accept surrender too, dear readers.)

I don't quite know how, but this chapter just got together (ironically, given who we're writing about here) and, well, here it is. Aside from these two bouncing around not quite making contact, metaphorically speaking, Lydia learns more about Ben's family and finally visits his (very nice) home.

I had a bit of a wobble about the story after Chapter 5, and then got a wave of beautiful comments and responses to the story that made my heart sing for joy. Readers, you're all bloody wonderful and I love each and every comment and thought you've shared about these two and their story. In the words of a post I reblogged earlier this week: the love is requited. They're just idiots.

Further A/N after the chapter to avoid spoilers.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Thanks, as ever, to @lunapascal and @julesonrecord for loving Bendie as much as I do.

Taglist: @lunapascal, @julesonrecord, @cutesyscreenname, @tessa-quayle, @vermillionwinter, @iamskyereads, @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247, @love-the-abyss, @imaswellkid, @intheorangebedroom, @javierisms, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @littlemisspascal, @khindahra, @pedrostories, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @ruebyretro

It’s just over a week to go before the short vacation around Thanksgiving. The four of you - Ani, Evan, you, and Ben - are eating lunch in the main campus restaurant. The seasonal decor - Halloween ghosts and smiling pumpkins now replaced by cartoonish turkeys and cornucopia displays - has triggered a conversation about plans for the holiday. In turn, because this is a gathering of liberal arts academics and you never miss an opportunity to overthink something, the conversation has also involved grappling with the more problematic aspects of Thanksgiving.

Ani is working through their complex feelings regarding the holiday. “As a queer person of colour, the annual celebration of coloniser assholes is my kryptonite,” they mutter. “But my mom loves this shit, and I love my mom.” Ani forlornly sips their water and looks at you. “I think you might be the only one here who can mark this thing without being a hypocrite, Lyd.”

You huff a laugh. “And that’s mostly because I don’t actually mark it, right?” The holiday is not and has never been a ‘thing’ in your neck of the woods, though you were very familiar with it through popular culture, access to American children’s magazines, and clickbaity BuzzFeed articles on “The 25 Weirdest Thanksgiving Dishes EVER”. 

“So what are you planning on doing while everyone else is refusing yet more turkey leftovers, Lydia? You staying put or taking a little trip somewhere else?” Evan asks, swigging from his can of La Croix. He and David are bringing Evan’s mother to a fancy hotel in Boston for a spa retreat. Ben, meanwhile, is going to spend Thanksgiving at home on the west coast with his mom and extended family for the first time in several years. He’s incredibly excited about it, even if he needs to write a conference paper while he’s away.

You put down your fork and spread your hands ahead of you, preparing to wax lyrical about your Thanksgiving plans while everyone else is out of town. 

“Dude, I’m going to live my best life. I also have to write my paper for that visual arts conference in New York in a couple of weeks, but only after living my best life.” 

Ben watches you affectionately as you prepare to set out the details of your plans. He hasn’t told you this, not yet, but your ability to describe the most ordinary-seeming things in just the right way, with loving care and attention, is one of the (many) things he likes about you.

“We start the day with homemade blueberry pancakes,” you begin, eliciting exaggerated oohs and aahs from your friends. “Served with a scoop of crème fraîche and drizzle of maple syrup, with a giant pot of good filter coffee on the go. Then, we move on to the Macy’s parade. I’m mostly hoping for an inflatable going rogue.”

Ani laughs. “I’m going to open a book on that. A wager on whether there’s a rogue inflatable, and a sub-wager on which inflatable??”

“I will not be watching football,” you continue. “I have a better place to be. For reasons known only to themselves, the college film society has decided to take over the little film theatre downtown for a season of European classics over the vacation. I will therefore be giving thanks for Francois Truffaut and The 400 Blows, which is their Thanksgiving afternoon screening.”

Ben closes his eyes and hums appreciatively, nodding. 

“I then intend to round off the day with takeout and a whiskey sour made at home,” you conclude. “But,” and you look down at the table and bite your lip, “and not to get sentimental on main, I’ll drink it and be quietly thankful for all the good things I’ve got to experience here so far. You three, most of all.”

You lift your eyes and realise that Ben is looking right at you, eyes and expression softer than ever. 

It is just over a fortnight since your birthday. Two weeks, more or less, since he’d held your hand and spun you around on the dancefloor, making you laugh and smile more than you’d done in a very long time. No time at all, and forever ago. The ghostly trace of his touch on your waist, on your back, on your hip still haunts you. His card is still on your nightstand. 

At night, you fall asleep trying - and failing - to resist conjuring up the image of his smiling face. Your dreams about him are erratic. Some are pure fantasy, some sexual, others decidedly unromantic. In some, he evades your grasp, slipping away just as you get close. In others, he ignores you completely. Worst of all are the ones where he ventriloquises the bullying you dole out to yourself, reminding you that you are too plain, too old, too big, too much.

You get used to spending the first few minutes after waking reassuring yourself that they were just dreams. Nothing serious. Nothing real, even though you know you’re lying to yourself. After all, it was your subconscious inventing the scenarios that crept into your sleeping brain.

For all that, things have continued much as they’d always done between the two of you. Lunch. Coffee. Sometimes drinks with others after work. Silly conversations in the staff lounge that make the two of you crease and wipe tears from your eyes with laughter. He never sees the sad expression that sometimes creeps over your face after he leaves your office or disappears to a class. Never catches you tracing your fingers over the memory of his touch on your hand or arm. He never hears you crying in the night when you jolt awake after another bad dream.

You don’t bother trying to talk yourself out of your feelings. What would be the point in denial? Far better to remind yourself that you can’t - indeed, rarely - get what you want, because he doesn’t want you. Couldn’t want you. He’d had opportunities. He didn’t do anything about it. The proof of his feelings - or lack thereof - was staring you in the face.

And besides: you were only visiting. 

So settle for friendship. Settle for the warmth of a friendly glance from his chocolate eyes. Settle for a flash of that smile, for the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, for the sight of his broad outline at your office door, coffee mugs in hand. 

It would have to be enough.

The grocery store is busy with last-minute Thanksgiving shoppers, picking up essentials for the next day’s family feast. You stare at your phone, brain whirring as you try to scale down a pumpkin pie recipe and convert the frankly bonkers system of US weights and measurements and then work out exactly how much butter you need to buy.

“They bang on about having had a revolution and yet they kept this system? The metric system is right there, fuck’s sake…”

Your screen flashes suddenly with an incoming call:

Ben Morales

An involuntary flip of your stomach. You tap the button on your earbuds to accept the call, forcing a casual tone.

“Hey, Ben. How’s the Bay Area? Everything okay?”

“Hi, Lydia. Uh, can’t answer to the Bay Area. Still here.”

“Still here? Oh - oh no. Is everything okay? Has something happened? What can I do - I’ll do whatever you need, no mat-”

He inhales and exhales. “It’s fine, I’m fine, everyone at home is mostly fine. My mom’s just called me in a fury. One of TJ’s boys got a vomiting bug and, well…”

Your face falls, devastated on his behalf. He’d been so looking forward to this. “I can guess. Everyone’s got it.”

“Everyone’s got it,” he echoes. “My mom is fine - fine enough to be really angry at Dylan, that’s my nephew - but it still sounds a bit like…” he trails off, and giggles despite himself. “Like a puke-pocalypse.”

You bite the inside of your cheek but can’t stop yourself from laughing. “Shit, I’m sorry, Ben. Just ‘puke-pocalypse’ is such a fucking funny term.”

He’s laughing now, too, and you feel your heart swelling at the sound of his voice, giggling away like a badly-behaved kid.

“Long story short, I am not going to California. They don’t want me getting sick, either. Not with that big conference in Louisiana the week after.”

“I’m sorry, truly. I know you were looking forward to this.”

He sighs. “I was. But what can you do? Anyway, the longer holidays are coming up. I’ll see them then and we’ll do a video call tomorrow. And I can really focus on getting my conference paper written. It’ll be okay.” He seems to be reassuring himself more than you.

“I’m calling because I was wondering if you’d…if you would want…” He pauses again. “If you’d like to come over and watch the parade tomorrow morning? If you’d like the company of a seasoned giver of thanks.”

You smile in the dairy aisle, even though you feel a flutter of nerves run through your body. “I would really like that. I can bring over the stuff I’ve bought for breakfast and make it at your place? I’ve got enough to feed the five thousand, honestly.”

Note to self: buy more blueberries before you leave the store.

He chuckles. “I wasn’t going to mention it, but I was only after the food you described the other day. This is all a convenient ruse.”

You hum, as if trying to deduce whether this is a ploy. “I should have known. You only want me for my pancakes!”

The words are out before you realise what you’ve said. You hope to fuck he hasn’t noticed. Deflect, change the subject?

“Actually, Ben, do you want to come to see 400 Blows tomorrow, too? Or are you otherwise occupied with blueberries and batter?”

You swear you hear him sigh happily. You push it aside as a kind of aural illusion, putting it down to your overactive imagination, caught up in trying to distract from your stupid slip of the tongue. 

He doesn’t want you. He’s just being nice. That’s all. He’s just really nice. He doesn’t want you to be on your own. He’d do that for anyone. 

“I would really like that.” 

He takes a breath and continues. “It’s a d- I mean, it’s a deal. So, uh, what time works for you to come over?”

Ben being Ben, he has insisted on picking you up, to save you having to walk over while carrying the supplies for the blueberry pancakes. You aren’t entirely sure how he manages to be as attractive (if not more so) in a grey sweatshirt, faded jeans, and a cosy navy pea coat as he is when he wears a shirt and tie, but somehow he just is.

“Let me bring these through to the kitchen, and I’ll dig out the utensils and pans. Have a look around - you can judge me on my DVD selection if you want.” He winks as he totes the bag of groceries towards the kitchen. 

His house is nice. To your eyes, it’s like something from a picture book or an old movie: two stories, painted a sort of primrose yellow with white accents and sash windows. Steps up to a porch and the front door, a small but neatly trimmed lawn in front, a garage built in the same style as the house to one side. At a guess, you’d place it as dating from the first decades of the twentieth century. 

Inside, a parquet hallway, walls lined with framed posters and prints, leads towards the staircase. Two doors open up off the hall: one to a spacious living room at the front of the house, and one to a dining room at the back, which is connected to the living room by glass-panelled doors. The kitchen, adjoining the dining room, wraps around the back of the house. A small deck accessible from the kitchen leads down to the back yard. The rooms are bright and inviting. You think there might be a basement, judging by the windows you could see under the front steps. Possibly even an attic, if the small round window in the gable at the front was anything to go by.

Fuck, this is really nice. 

It’s also very him. There are little piles of books where you’d least expect them: on one of the lower stairs, on his hall table, on the floor beside the armchair in the corner of the dining room. The framed prints in the hall are clearly all meaningful to him: prints of various paintings, posters from gigs, theatre productions, art exhibitions, some vintage postcards. This is, without doubt, a lived-in home, and it’s clear that - as with his office at work - Ben is not terribly precious about everything being absolutely pristine or neat at all times. But even a cursory glance reveals something of his taste and sensibilities, and suggests the care he must have taken in picking out furniture, or even refurbishing pieces (the man clearly likes the period from the 1920s to the 1960s, you think), and making his house a home. 

You try very hard not to fall for the house, too. Bad enough whatever you’ve got going on for the man who lives there. But - like him - it’s so charming and appealing that you’re fighting a losing battle.

You decide to take a closer look at the living room, admiring the fitted shelving in the alcoves on either side of the large, cosy fireplace. A small, wood-burning stove nestles in the hearth. Family photos line the mantel, with vintage railway posters advertising the Union Pacific Railroad’s Californian routes framed on one wall. The room is bright and high-ceilinged, TV in one corner, shelves of DVDs underneath. Through the glass doors into the dining room you spy a record player, speakers, and shelving holding an extremely impressive collection of vinyl records. 

Best of all, though, is the Lego model of a Saturn V rocket that you spy on top of the shelving in the dining room. You idly wonder if he’s got the lunar lander set as well.

More family photos pepper the bookshelves in the living room, alongside the occasional trinket or tchotchke. A black and white photograph of a man who is Ben’s double in almost every way, save for having straighter hair and different eyes. You guess this must be his dad, captured in his twenties or so, wearing a beautiful light-coloured short-sleeved shirt decorated with abstract embroidery. 

A small figurine catches your eye: a woman in a green mantle, with a pinkish red robe, covered in the unmistakable patina of age. You instantly recognise it as a miniature statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe, standing on a little wooden base. Its presence here feels surprising, somehow. Nothing had ever given you the impression that Ben was remotely religious, but then again - had you even discussed it?

The doors from the dining room into the living room open and Ben comes in as you look intently at the little figure. “You know who she is?”

You nod. “Apart from my professional expertise including religious art, you’re looking at the product of a Catholic education. I may not be much of a believer, but I learned a lot about iconography. And, full disclosure, I still love a holy statue.” You hold your hands up. “It’s the kitsch, I can’t deny it.”

He smiles and moves towards you. “I’m not much of a believer, either,” he says, smiling. “But she belonged to my abuela - I mean, my grandmother.” 

You nod, and a framed photo beside the statue catches your eye. In it, a woman - her long greying hair pinned up - is sitting on an armchair, holding a tiny infant and beaming. Standing beside her, a toddler - no more than two, you reckon - is scowling at the camera. He’s wearing a pair of denim dungarees and a stripy, long-sleeved t-shirt.

“Wait - is that - that’s you? That’s you, oh my god!” You look more closely at the picture and Ben puts a palm to his face. 

“Dammit, you’re too quick. That’s my abuela holding TJ, just a few days old - that’s when he’d come home from the hospital with my mom. And yes, that’s me. I was thrilled to become a big brother, as you can see.” He rolls his eyes and chuckles. 

You look carefully at the furious face of the little boy, his hair maybe a shade lighter than Ben’s dark brown locks now, but his eyes are unmistakably the same. Even the toddler’s pout is familiar. You’ve seen it in action, when the copier refuses to cooperate with him.

“You might have been pissed off, but you were still pretty cute,” you say softly, smiling at him with perhaps more affection than you might otherwise have deemed wise. 

“Cute, huh? You must be wondering what went wrong.”

You good-naturedly roll your eyes and shake your head. “Far from it. I’m sure that kid would be thrilled to know who he’d grow up to be.”

He smiles a tiny smile and blushes slightly, casting his eyes downwards. Silence, for a moment. 

“So you were close to your grandmother?”

He nods, smiling at the photograph. “She was really great. My dad’s mother.” He points to the photograph of the handsome young man in the formal shirt. “That’s him. Diego. He’s just a kid there.” He smiles at the picture, mirroring his father’s expression. It only serves to highlight the resemblance even further. 

“Dad worked long, hard hours, and my abuela took care of us when my mom had to get a part-time job to help make ends meet - used to read to us, bring me to the library, tell anyone who’d listen that I was the smartest kid in the world.” He chuckles. “Not the easiest thing being a little boy who loved books and making up stories when everyone else was sports-mad or running around in a cut-up tshirt pretending to be Rambo. But she never stopped encouraging me. She encouraged all of us.”

He picks up the little figurine. It looks even tinier in his broad hand. 

“She swore blind that nuestra señora here helped with my SATs. Or rather, her prayers to nuestra señora helped me get the grades I needed for college. Never mind all my hard work! So when I left for school, she gave me this. Said it would keep me safe.” He places it gently back on the shelf beside the picture. 

“Like I said, I’m not a believer. But the statue is a little bit of her, and how much she loved me, and I liked having that with me. You know what I mean?” He looks at you, big brown eyes soft and searching.

You feel your heart swell. Shit, Lyd. You’ve got to get over this. You have got to get over him.

“Yeah, I do,” you nod. “I have a couple of things like that - little tokens that mean so much. She must have been so proud of you when you did so well at college, got into grad school...”

He exhales. “Oh, man. She was obsessed with everything I did in college. I had to update her on my classes every semester so she could brag to the ladies at the hair salon about how smart I was.” He laughs briefly, then his face falls a little. “I just wish she’d seen me graduate. She, uh, passed a month or so before we got our final degree results.” 

He looks so sad all of a sudden. Spontaneously, unthinking, you reach out and gently touch his bicep in a gesture of comfort. 

He turns to face you, eyes widened a little in surprise, and lightly pats your hand. “It’s okay, really. Sorry. Just got a bit…melancholy there. Anyway, I’m thankful I had her when I did.”

“Ah, bringing it back to today’s theme. Nice segue, very impressive, no notes.” 

He grins. “She’d have liked you.” He’s rubbing his hands together and making a beeline back towards the kitchen.

“Okay - I can’t wait any longer. Pancakes and parade time, I think?”

You eat more blueberry pancakes than you thought humanly possible while you take in the spectacle of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade: three hours of inflatables, floats, and marching bands with special guests. Ben is surprisingly knowledgeable about the various character balloons and seems genuinely impressed when you recognise Thing 1 and Thing 2 from Dr Seuss, laughing as you point excitedly at the TV. 

“Sorry! It’s just totally new to me, and I’m basically an overgrown child.”

He shakes his head. “It’s great. Next year they need to get you on board as an international commentator.”

Next year. Fuck. There is no next year, at least not so far as this is concerned. Next Thanksgiving you’ll be an ocean away, not tucking into fluffy pancakes on Ben’s comfy sofa and picking out your favourite floats. 

“They’ll have to fly me back, I guess.”

The realisation reminds you how temporary all of this is. The fellowship. Your presence in this place. Your easy closeness to a man who, unbeknownst to himself, had stirred up feelings of affection, need, and desire in you, just when you thought they were gone forever.

The look on Ben’s face suggests that he’d forgotten this was temporary, too. You feel a surge of affection in your chest as you look at his face, a little crestfallen. 

Push it down. Push it away. 

While you’re clearing up, Ben’s phone buzzes with a message from his mom. 

“Shit, she wants to do a video call now. Is that okay?”

“Of course! God, don’t mind me. I can leave if it’s easier, let you have your time talking to your family.”

He turns, shaking his head. “I’m not kicking you out, you’re my guest.”

“Okay, but let me keep clearing up in here and you go and talk to her. That way you get privacy and it means the clean-up is done and dusted when you’re finished.”

He grabs his iPad and heads back into the living room, closing the doors into the dining area and kitchen. You continue with the washing up as Ben speaks with his family on the other side of the country, popping back to the dining table every so often to gather other dirty dishes and plop them in the sink.

Then, you hear Ben’s mom’s voice clearer and louder than before. It’s enough to stop you dead.

“Who’s the pretty woman in your dining room, Benjamin?”

What the fuck? How did she…

The doors have glass panels. Which you forgot about. You are an idiot.

She could see you popping in and out. You’re not hiding, as such. But you don’t want to provoke any awkward questions for Ben. 

“It’s my friend Lydia, mom. She’s the visiting professor this year, she’s on her own for the holiday too, so…we’re keeping each other company. I told you about her.”

He did? 

You try not to think too much about his use of ‘we’, or exactly how you would like to ‘keep him company’. 

“Well, does your” - Mrs Morales pauses for emphasis - “friend Lydia, the visiting professor, want to come say hi? Or have you confined her to the dining room and kitchen?”

Oh, shit. Shit. Could the ground just open up and swallow you, please? Come, friendly sinkhole, come.

Ben turns and looks at you over the back of the armchair, through the glass panelled doors. He raises his eyebrows, leaving it up to you to decide. 

What can you do, but say hi? 

You smile weakly as you come into the living room and settle on the arm of the chair, hoping you’re not at a terrible angle for the front-facing camera while repressing the screaming panic inside you. 

It’s your friend’s mom. It doesn’t mean anything because you aren’t anything. 

“Hello, Mrs Morales. It’s very nice to meet you. Happy Thanksgiving!”

You estimate that Mrs Morales is a little older than your own parents, though not by much. Her white hair is cut short and curls softly around her expressive face. He might be the image of his father, but he shares the same wavy curls, penetrating dark eyes, and kind smile as his mother. 

“Please, call me Ana. Are you enjoying your first Thanksgiving?” She arches an eyebrow and nods towards her son, expression deadly serious all of a sudden. “I hope he’s being a good host.”

You exchange a glance with Ben, who looks affronted, and laugh. “He’s a very good host. He’s made me feel so welcome since I came to Barrow in August.” You feel heat rising in your neck. “There’s just a really nice group of people here. Ben mentioned that you were unwell - I hope you are doing better now?”

Ana Morales smiles and brings a hand to her chest. “Thank you, my dear. It has been unpleasant, as you can imagine. Difficult when you live so far from your family, too.”

Ben huffs quietly. “Mom, TJ and Teresa and their families are like, five minutes away from you.”

His mom turns her attention back to you. “I’m sure you must miss your family too, Lydia. You’re here on your own, hmm? Sometimes the visiting professor travels over with their partner and children…”

Is she trying to suss you out? 

Ben looks slightly horrified at her line of questioning, but you nod and explain. “Nope, I’m on my own - no partner, no kids, unless I have really forgotten something at home!” Your joke doesn’t seem to land, and you try to deflect. “But I’m happy and I’m really enjoying myself here. It’s a wonderful experience and I’m very lucky. I guess that’s what I’m thankful for today.”

Oh, and I’m thankful for you and your husband because you created this specimen, congrats on the good genes guys.

She seems satisfied with your answer. This feels like a natural break in the conversation, and you stand up and start to make your excuses.

“I will leave you two, if that’s okay - I don’t want to keep you from catching up. It was lovely to meet you, Mrs Morales, truly.”

Ana tilts her head and smiles a genuine, warm smile. You notice how her eyes smile too, crinkling just like his do.

“And lovely to meet you, Lydia. Let’s hope we will meet in person someday.”

Smile, nod, wave, retreat. Wait - in person?

You gently close the door into the dining room and return to the kitchen, out of sight of the iPad’s camera, before exhaling, long and slow. 

The conversation continues in the living room, and you notice that Ben’s mother has switched into Spanish. In turn, you note that the timbre of his voice has dropped slightly as he switches into the other language.

It’s probably a good thing that your command of Spanish barely stretches to the basics - no fear of understanding what they’re saying. The most you actually overhear in spite of yourself is an exasperated “Mom!” from Ben, and his mother’s repeated use of a word that sounds like nobya or novya. Or was it nobeea? 

You focus on putting away the clean dishes and cooking utensils, avoiding the temptation to ruminate on what his mother must have thought of you.

A round of goodbyes and you hear the door to the dining room opening again, turning to see Ben standing by the table. He looks a little awkward, running his hand through his hair to the back of his neck. You can guess what’s on his mind. 

“It was lovely to be able to say hello to your mom. Really.”

“I’m sorry you got the third degree, though.” He extends his hands in front of him, as if showing two polar opposites. “This is mom and this -” he stretches his long arms further apart “- is normal personal boundaries, I’m afraid.”

You grin, relaxing a little more. “Man, if the roles were reversed, my family would have extracted full details of your blood type, social security number, and the name you chose at your Confirmation. And all in less time than I was talking to your mom.”

You can see the laughter rising from his chest through his neck to his face, and it is a comfort when you eventually hear it. 

“Are you part of a family of superspies, Lydia?” 

You pretend to think. “Hmmm. I don’t think so. But my mom would have been amazing at it. I mean, maybe she’s just in deep cover.” 

“I don’t think my mom could do deep cover,” he muses, looking up at the kitchen clock to check the time. “She’d end up telling someone before the first hour was out. Probably call her friend Julia, tell her not to tell a soul, and the entire neighbourhood would know immediately. Hey - we should probably get going if we want to make the screening.”

You nod and grab your coat and purse, tugging a soft pink knitted hat over your head as you lead the way to the front door. You wait on the stone steps outside as he locks up. 

“She really liked you, by the way,” he says quietly as he checks he’s properly locked the front door. You look at him, somewhat quizzical.

“My mom. Said you were clearly very sweet and told me I had to keep looking after you, or..”

“Or?” you offer the prompt.

“Or she’d fly over here and I would - and I quote - ‘know all about it.’” He grins. “Please use your new power for good, Lyd.”

The short winter days mean it’s dark by the time the film’s over and you leave the movie theatre, chattering enthusiastically about French cinema, the New Wave, Francois Truffaut, and the charisma of a young Jean-Pierre Léaud. You talk all the way to the Brunswick Café, a diner on Main Street that looked untouched since the 1960s - in a good way. Ben had insisted on going - best pumpkin pie in the world, apparently, and they had a tradition of opening for the afternoon and evening on Thanksgiving to cater to left-behind students and college staff. You were only too glad to continue the conversation over big plates of delicious grilled cheese sandwiches and golden, crispy french fries. 

You’re waving your hands around as you describe a day you spent in Paris as a doctoral student, tracing various locations from the film and ending with a visit to Truffaut’s grave in the Montmartre cemetery. You have completely forgotten about the french fry you’re holding between your left thumb and index finger, now serving as a kind of pointer as you detail the excitement of tracking down the locations and planning your itinerary. 

He’s listening intently with a smile on his face. 

And that’s when the bullying voice inside you decides to pipe up, speaking the kind of words you’d had thrown at you by your ex.

You’ve been talking for ages. You must be boring him by now. All you ever do is talk. All I ever do is listen to you. You’re just too much, Lydia. It’s…a lot.

You rein yourself in quickly. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been rambling away here and taking up all the space. Sorry, I just get carried away sometimes, I forget -”

Ben furrows his brow behind his glasses and looks at you, smile wiped and replaced by a serious expression. “Why did you stop talking? What do you mean, taking up all the space?”

You wave his words away, as if it was all self-explanatory. “You know what I mean, me going on and on and on. I know I’m a lot. I don’t mean to be. Just that when I get onto something I really care about I can’t stop sometimes and I’m too much. I’m sorry.”

His expression has shifted to one of confusion, brow still furrowed. He rests his palms on the table.

“Lydia, why are you apologising for being so passionate about stuff? I like hearing you talk. You know so much cool shit! You’ve done so much cool shit! Why wouldn’t I want to hear that? You hear enough from me when I get to talking about one of my ‘things’.” He’s shaking his head, an expression of his disbelief.

He pushes himself back from the table, leaning on the dark red banquette behind. 

“Lyd, I don’t want to pry but - have people told you you’re a lot or too much, or whatever, and that you need to talk less? Is that where this comes from?”

You avert his gaze. “It…it was said to me. And because the person who used to remind me isn’t, um, in my life now, I forget sometimes and get over excited and talky.”

He looks down. “Your ex?”

You nod, still unable to meet his eye. 

Very gently, he reaches over and pats the back of your hand. A tiny electrical charge shoots through you. His words are shot through with a quiet fury. “A fucking idiot, then. And don’t ever listen to a fucking idiot like that. You’re not ‘a lot’, or whatever they told you. You’re not ‘too much’. You’re - you’re exactly right just as you are.”

He moves his hand away. Now it’s his turn to avert your gaze, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. You look up and try to meet his eyes.

“Hey, Ben - hey, look at me. Thank you. That’s really nice, you know? I’m still working on believing that for myself, but it helps when you have such good -” you pause, unsure what to say in this moment of quiet intimacy, “-such good, um, friends to help you remember.”

He lifts his eyebrows and for the briefest instant you think you see a flash of sadness in his dark eyes. 

“Never say you’re ‘too much’ again.” His face is soft, and his voice reassures you in the same way as the touch of his hand. 

The urge to lean over, hold his gorgeous face in your hands, and kiss Ben Morales there and then surges in you like mercury climbing on a hot summer’s day. 

You take a deep breath and steady yourself, forcing the thought out of your mind before you do something stupid and make a show of yourself. And in public.

You’re interrupted by the server appearing at your table, her tray laden with enormous slices of pumpkin pie and a fresh pot of coffee. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Professor Ben! Long time, no see.” She beams at him. She must be in her mid-sixties, you reckon, short dark hair shot through with greys and the air of someone who has seen it all around here. 

Ben returns her smile. “Hey, Emma! I’m sorry I haven’t really been in a lot this semester. We’ve got some new courses on, and -”

Emma raises her hand to stop him. “I know, sweetheart, I know. And I guess you’ve been busy in other ways, too, huh?” She turns and looks at you, eyebrows waggling and a huge smile on her face. “It’s so good to see good people in love.”

I’m sorry - the what in holy fuck now?

Ben looks as flustered as you feel. His eyes dart over and back as he looks from you to Emma and back again. 

You try to help clarify things, words tumbling out in a rush. “Uh well no we’re not - I mean, I’m not - uh - I’m a visiting professor, Lydia. I’m Lydia. I’m a visiting professor. We -”

Ben finds his words. “We’re n-not a couple, Emma.” He shrugs gently. “I’m sorry, I know what you always say.”

Emma pulls herself up to her full height, coffee pot in hand. She looks at him sceptically, cocking her hip and raising an eyebrow. “Well, I’m sorry too. Just thought I saw what I saw from over at the counter. Didn’t say you were a couple, but…I got it wrong.” She offers a smile that seems more like a grimace. “Enjoy the pie, kids.”

You get the distinct feeling that Emma a) doesn’t believe you and b) feels personally attacked by the fact that you aren’t together.

Fucking tell me about it, lady. 

Ben sips on his coffee and picks up a fork to start on the pie. He pauses just before digging in.

“Hey, Lyd?” You meet his eyes. “Sorry about that. I didn’t intend to give any impression to her that we were…y’know. I’m sorry if it upset you.”

You wish you were brave enough to tell him that the only reason you might be upset over this is because you aren’t actually involved. But everything today feels like more proof that he just sees you as a good friend - including his response to Emma. 

You smile and shake your head furiously. “I’m not upset, I was just worried that you’d be upset!”

He looks up, a piece of pumpkin pie speared on his fork. “I’m not upset, Lyd.”

“Good. So no harm done. She was just eager to get you all coupled up.” You start into your own slice of pie, marvelling at the texture of the filling and the spices tingling on your tongue.

He laughs lightly. “True that. I’ve come here for years and she keeps saying it’s a crime I’m not with anyone.” 

She’s not wrong there. But only because you should be with me.

You sip your coffee. “In that case, you’ve been joined by a fellow hardened singleton criminal. Cheers.” You reach over with your mug and clink it off his. “Here’s to pumpkin pie, the French New Wave, and good people.”

He mulls it over as you walk from Main Street back towards the residential areas around campus. The same questions he’s been pondering since the night of your birthday.

What if he just said something to you? Told you how he felt?

What would you do? Would you be happy about it? Would you feel the same?

Would it ruin everything? Ruin the friendship he loved so much?

He tries to keep up the conversation but is happy to let you chat away, too distracted by the questions in his mind. He’s replaying the things you said today, looking for crumbs as to how you saw him, or saw your relationship, or hints that you might want more. 

You’d mentioned ‘friends’ a couple of times, hadn’t you? ‘Good people’. 

Maybe that’s how you see him. Just a friend. Someone you really like but - not like that.

Better not to do something stupid and get hurt. Better to insulate yourself from the possible blows.

That, after all, is why Ben Morales’ dating history seems so empty to those who work alongside him. He’s no monk - far from it, as the occasional hook-ups and one night stands (at conferences, or trips out of town, of course, because everyone knows everyone around here) prove. But better to do that than go all in, and risk his heart and his self-esteem being crushed. 

Again.

At least, that’s what he’d felt until you came along. He was happy, content with his life. He wasn’t lonely or looking for anyone.

Now, he’s not so sure if his self-preservationist approach is really the right course of action any more. Because of you, and because of what he feels for you.

He looks at you, profile peeking out from underneath your soft knitted hat and hands gesturing as you talk. 

You just need to tell her. Say it. Say the words. 

He steels himself. She’d have come on to him before now if she felt anything. Right?

He reminds himself of all the times you mentioned being ‘friends’. He pushes the feelings that swell his heart down, down deep, so that he can keep putting one foot in front of the other.

You part halfway between your place and his. It’s not very late, and you refuse to have him go out of his way just to walk you to your building.

“I know it’s the theme of the day, but - thank you. Best Thanksgiving ever.” 

He raises an eyebrow when you’ve separated, one corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. “Isn’t this your only Thanksgiving ever, Lydia?”

“And nothing else will ever compete. Pie, movies, parades, your mom saying I was sweet and pretty - what more could anyone want?”

He groans at the memory of his mother’s questions to you - and to him, though he hopes you didn’t hear and understand those. “I’m sorry. But it did capture some of the familial tensions of a traditional Thanksgiving.”

You wave away his apology. “Seriously, I’m so grateful. I hope you know.”

You move a step closer and reach out to hug him to say thanks. You can’t help but close your eyes for a moment, trying to memorise the feeling of safety and warmth that comes with embracing Ben, however briefly.

He smiles. “I know.” He turns his head to one side, as if he’s mulling something over in his mind.

“Okay, well…good night.” You lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek that’s facing you, remembering his gesture the night of your birthday.

Maybe it’s your timing. Maybe it’s the angle. Maybe you startled him. 

In the split second it takes you to move towards him, Ben turns his head. Instead of the softness and bristle of his cheek, your lips meet his.

The kiss, if you can call it that, can’t have lasted more than a couple of seconds before you break apart, startled and apologetic. 

“Oh fuck Ben I’m - I’m so sorry, I was going for your cheek and then you turned and -”

He’s blushing, eyes darting around and fingers flexing as they tend to do when he’s nervous or panicking. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, Lyd, I didn’t - didn’t mean…shit, I’m sorry. I turned and you were there and your mouth was - sorry.”

You pat him gingerly on the arm, trying to offer reassurance but terrified that if you feel too much of him, so solid and warm, you won’t be able to stop yourself going further.

“Ben, it’s fine. It’s fine.” Your tone is meant as ‘casual and nonchalant’ but is, in truth, very chalant indeed. “At least we got a kiss out of it instead of bonking our heads together and ending up with lovely Thanksgiving nosebleeds, hmm?”

He looks at you from under his lashes and does that half-smile that devastates you. “That’s something to be thankful for.” A pause. “I’d try to kiss you on the cheek again but, y’know, nosebleed risk. Need to keep at a safe distance.” 

You smile softly and start to turn for home. “Good night, Ben. Happy Thanksgiving. And good luck with the conference paper!” He grimaces, remembering that he has to write his paper, then breaks into a grin, salutes, and walks away.

Lying in bed, trying to sleep, your brain returns over and over to the moment your lips met his. Accidental and over in a flash though the kiss might have been, there was no mistaking how his mouth felt - masculine and soft, warm and inviting, still tasting of pumpkin pie and coffee. 

It was an accident. It had to be. But you knew, deep down, that when your lips made contact you’d both lingered just a second too long. You’d pressed your lips to his, and he’d returned the gesture, almost imperceptibly. You definitely weren’t imagining this. Or were you?

Should you have kept kissing him? What would he have done?

The more you thought about it, the more you reviewed every movement and gesture and moment of contact, the more your body began to ache for him. The gnawing pain between your legs demands to be relieved. You slip down your cotton pajama pants, and pass one finger over your slit experimentally. You gasp as you realise how wet and how swollen you already are, just from the memory of his mouth. His touch. His scent. The warmth of his body.

You begin to move your middle finger up and down, up and down, increasing the pressure on your clit, and he appears unbidden and unceasingly in your mind as you close your eyes, almost as real as if he was there in bed with you.

It’s him slipping a hand between your legs, splaying his fingers to create a bit more space as he strokes you. It’s his long, strong finger that’s dragging through the slippery wetness dripping from you. The pad of his thumb that begins to rub at your swollen nub in tight circles while he starts finding your entrance with the tips of his fingers.

You let yourself imagine what he would say to you, conjuring up the aural memory of his voice. 

“You’re this wet for me already, baby? Is that what I do to you?”

You can’t even form the word, so you whimper and nod.

“I think you like this, don’t you? What about having my fingers inside you?”

Your hips buck upwards slightly as you pick up the pace and try to slip a finger inside yourself. It could never be a match for those hands: so strong and broad but so gentle and kind.

You can feel the coil tightening within you as you get closer and closer to coming.

“Or would you prefer my cock inside you, my love?” 

Such is the wetness between your legs that the sound of your fingers working yourself to climax is loud and obscene. You’re so close now, getting nearer and nearer the edge as you imagine what it would be like to feel him bury himself in you, covering you with his broad body as he fucks you senseless.

The man in your head offers one final instruction to get you there and send you crashing over the edge: “Come for me, Lyddie.”

Across town, around the same time, the memory of your voice is issuing the same instruction to him as he seeks his own relief, unable to shake the lingering trace of your lips on his and frustrated at himself for not being brave enough to show you how he ought to kiss you. How you deserved to be kissed.

“Come for me, Ben.”

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more; other dividers by @cafekitsune)

Further A/N: They're getting there. Slowly. But they're getting there. All that frustration has to work itself out before the end of the semester, right? And the next chapter sees them about to head into the longer break for the holidays... ahem.

If you haven't seen Truffaut's The 400 Blows (Les 400 coups), then please track it down if you love movies. It's wonderful. If only I could go and watch it in a small college town movie theatre with Ben Morales, sigh...

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

genuine question: how can we use this website to be less annoying to others?

Glad to give my thoughts. Like I said, I’m very petty and most of this stuff probably isn’t as big a deal to most people. Anyway I’m bad at being brief so I added a readmore. Here are my personal rules:

1: Don’t add anything to the body of a post unless you have something that you really feel will add some degree of value, meaning, humor, context, or at least something to people further down the reblog chain.

This is the most important rule. Adding something to a post makes it longer, it makes it so everyone who reblogs it in the chain after you has to see it. If you have nothing to add but “wow” or “holy shit” you are lengthening the post for no reason. Those reactions can easily go in the tags.

This is also the reason I think gimmick blogs are so annoying. It’s one thing for a “heritage post” blog to reblog things related to its respective gimmick. Simply reblogging them puts that thing on their blog, so anyone looking at it or following them because they want to see “heritage posts” will see it. But they go a step further and add “X heritage post” for no real reason other than to brand the post as theirs.

When I see a post that I like that has useless additions that take up space while adding nothing I get mildly annoyed and go to the reblog of the person who reblogged it before they did just to trim the useless comments off. But if that person deactivated then I can’t trim the comment. Tumblr lets you trim to the original post without any of the additions regardless of if op is deactivated or not with the little X on the reblog menu, but only to the original post. It’s better than nothing though

This whole point is, to me, a bit of tumblr etiquette that makes it so you don’t have to see unrelated comments from someone you don’t follow just because they thought to add a pointless comment way up the chain. This definitely is petty, but if you remember how the old tumblr formatting worked, this was extremely important because each addition took up even more screen space with the line to the next persons url and squished the original post into smaller and smaller spaces. So that’s probably why I feel so strongly about it even though it doesn’t matter as much anymore.

2: The tags are mostly your free space to say what you want, BUT try and respect that OP will likely see them.

A LOT of communication done on this website is done through talking in the tags. That’s not what they were originally meant for but that doesn’t matter anymore. People will likely be looking in their notes to see tags by their mutuals.

The original poster can and will see every tag on a post, unless they delete the post or mute notifications. Mute notifications seems like it doesn’t work, but that’s because it only mutes future notifications on the post, the tags in your notes before muting will still be there regardless

This is to say that in most situations, if the op is someone like me who uses their notes to communicate with their mutuals and others in their communities, your irrelevant tags might also be there and annoy them. So use courtesy when tagging. Thankfully tumblr cuts off tags after a certain point on the notes page but still keep it in mind. I go overboard writing mini essays in the tags all the time, and while I do think that is a little annoying I do it anyway so I can’t blame people.

3: Keep blorbo tagging to a minimum if you can help it.

This is probably my most controversial stance, but blorbo tagging can be really annoying in certain circumstances.

The biggest offender to me are tagging make characters on posts about women. I don’t care that you think he’s your babygirl or whatever, I find this extremely annoying. I get it, sometimes a post fits your character really closely but the gender is wrong, but usually it doesn’t and they’re just doing this on any post even slightly related to a single aspect of a male character they care about. Often because most tumblr fandom people couldn’t be bothered to care about female characters if that was the only way to escape a saw trap alive.

There are other blorbo tag type things that annoy me, and again I’m a petty bitch, so take it with a grain of salt. But to me this one is a little personal (for lack of a better word). One of my first big posts on this blog was about wizard girls leaning in to kiss and having the brims of their hats get in the way. I didn’t mind the blorbo tagging about men that much, but they got less and less related to the post that it was annoying. The last straw before I deleted the post (back when I didn’t realize mute notifications actually worked. It might not have at the time) was a tag about their male blorbos leaning in to kiss and their belt buckles got in the way???

Idk I just find blorbo tagging in general mildly annoying and only do it when the post is an extremely perfect fit for on the characters I care about. I often block people for blorbo tagging about characters from things I dislike, I’m petty and the block button is fun for me to press, so I do that often. :)

4: NOT EVERY POST IS ABOUT YOU!!!

If you see a post that isn’t about you or your demographics or gender or whatever, you really don’t need to make it about you. That will very likely annoy op, especially because no one would have anything against you if you went and wrote your own post inspired by whatever the post in question said.

Not every post about lesbians needs to be made about gay men. Not every post about trans women needs to be made about trans men. Not every post about women needs to be made about men. And probably most important:

Not every post needs to be made about white people!

I know you might be thinking how writing something in the tags about your experience as a white person relating to what op is talking about, but I promise you they don’t want to hear it from us. They almost certainly are seeing tags from other white people because for some reason we can’t seem to see someone posting about issues of racism without having either the “I’m sorry for being white” or “white devils advocate” voices appear in our heads, just ignore it. Bite your tongue and reblog or move on for the love of god stop pestering the op.

Obviously the lesbian, trans women, and women ones are the ones I see in my notes that are annoying. But I can’t pretend I haven’t seen other white people say some really unnecessary shit in the tags / haven’t seen posts by nonwhite people who are clearly annoyed about how we always make everything about us.

Remember, you can always write your own post!

5: OP didn’t “turn off replies”

This feels like something that wouldn’t happen that often, but multiple times when I’ve made even mildly controversial takes about like video games or whatever, people will either add in a reblog or send me an ask complaining that I “turned off replies because I was afraid of hearing them disagree” usually followed by them calling me a coward. It’s very simple, I have reply settings so that people I follow and people who have followed me for at least like a week can reply, that’s it. I don’t have replies from everyone on because most people outside of those categories I don’t care about their opinions and they are annoying. If you can’t reply, that’s probably why. And if they actually did turn off replies, that’s because they don’t want replies, especially from people like the ones I just described.

6: I actually don’t have a problem with spam reblogging

This might seem backwards given my other stances on things taking up unnecessary space like useless comments, but I really don’t mind spam reblogs. I frequently do it when I see art I really like or when there’s a post that really resonates with me. Yes, it is annoying! No, I probably won’t stop. I do it so I can’t judge other people who do too. I am trying to keep it to like 5 times at most though, any more is just overkill.

7: OP is a stranger, not your friend

This one applies basically everywhere on the internet, but unless the person who made the post is someone who is like a mutual or someone that’s you’ve interacted with a lot before, they’re probably a stranger. Don’t try to be “playfully rude” or overly familiar. It’s annoying and weird and you will get blocked.

8: If you’re sending an anonymous ask, remember that OP is not going to take you in good faith most of the time

A lot of anon asks aren’t meant to be malicious, but a lot of others are. Bait, hate mail, insults, you name it, there’s a very good reason people like me assume every anon is sent in bad faith for some purpose. If you are going to send an anon ask, try to make it clear that you genuinely just want to ask a question and that you aren’t trying to trick op into saying something you can use to write a callout post against her or whatever.

You did that in this very ask thing and that’s why I’m writing out this long post instead of deleting it or letting it rot in the inbox.

9: Prev Tags etiquette / “Peer Reviewed” Tags

The usage of “prev tags” is controversial, a lot of people have different opinions on it. But with all the changes they made last year that made it harder to see the tags of the person before the person who’s reblog you are viewing, I think prev tags etiquette has changed.

My personal rules for prev tags are to copy the tags into my own tags, and then follow them up with a tag that says “<- prev tags”. Unfortunately tumblr tags convert dashes into spaces for some reason so it ends up looking like “< prev tags”. I’m stubborn and don’t want to like use an emoji arrow though. Anyway, tumblr mobile conveniently allows you to copy the tags of the person you are reblogging from surprisingly easily which I appreciate.

Unlike previous tags, which stay in the tags and don’t turn into an addition to the post, “peer reviewed” tags as they are sometimes called do get added to the post permanently for the remaining blog chain.

The unfortunate truth about this website is that some people have bad opinions on what qualifies as being meaningful enough to be cemented as an addition to the post via “peer review”. As such, the phrase “how could you leave this in the tags 🤣” has essentially become another “you sir have won the internet 🤣”

The shitty part about that is sometimes there are good and meaningful additions in the tags that are worth being added to the post as a whole. But you can add someone’s tags to a post without saying “how could you leave this in the tags”. Anyway this one is more subjective and hard to define so I hope I got my point across at least somewhat.

Anyway, there are probably a few other rules I personally follow that I’m not thinking about right now, but just follow general internet etiquette and try to keep in mind that op is a person who will likely read whatever you type, that covers most things tbh! Thanks for reading if you somehow read this far. Hope this helped! If it didn’t, oh well, I did try and warn you I’m petty and have strong opinions about things that usually don’t matter afterall

[tikus-library]

"The Weapon's Dealer"

Avengers AU - Drabble

Characters: Reader, Billy Butcher, MM, Hughie

Posted: Feb 21st

WARNINGS: offensive banter, offensive language, cursing, kissing

Like, Comments, & Reblogs are always appreciated and loved.

**Please Do Not Repost or 'Fix' My Work**

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

@witchygagirl

"You're such a pain in my ass, why don't you just end all of our suffering and just walk off a cliff like a good old boy?!"

He snorted as he leaned against the desk, eyes following you as you walked around the room taking inventory of the weapons, you were his dealer, but he only came to you on specific occasions. You had the best weapons on hand and were pretty quick to find what he needed if you didn't have it on hand, "maybe you should get laid once in a while, might help with the pent up aggression," he bit back, voice rumbling out of him, as he smirked.

"BUTCHER!" Hughie admonished.

You snorted, "I get laid more often than you do, get over your baggage and you might be able to get a little action yourself," you bit back without hesitation.

"Wow-" Hughie stepped back.

MM nodded, "they're always like this around each other, come on let's get out of their way for a bit."

It was quiet for a moment as you looked over the list Butcher had handed you, "looks like I have everything you're looking for tonight, might wanna teach the kid to not be so sensitive," you said, turning to find him standing right behind you.

"Everything?" He asked, gaze locked with yours.

You raised an eyebrow, barely tilting your head to meet his gaze, "I would offer you something extra but that is only on the plate for those that don't have ghosts following them around."

"Ahh, Y/N, when are ya gonna admit you can't wait to get a taste of this?" He asked, stepping in closer to crowd further into your space.

You grinned up at him, "I like being the only woman a man is thinking about when fucking, if you could manage that–"

Butcher growled and you let out a gasp when he reached up, hands sinking into your hair and he tugged hard, watching as your eyes dilated, mouth falling open as he dragged you into him, your hands coming up to catch his shoulders and he dipped down low, lips slanting over yours harshly, cutting off any biting remark you had planned. He moved you so that he could pin you against the desk, reaching down to lift your leg around his waist, gripping your thigh as he ground his hips into yours.

"Ahhh, Butch–" Hughie came to a screeching halt as Butcher pulled away from you to glare at him. "Whaaahhh- I mean… th-theres… imma get the fuck out of here…"

"Fucking he'll kid!"

You pushed past him, clearing your throat as MM followed Hughie in, stopping to stare at the three of you. "We interrupt something?"

"Yes-" "No," both Butcher and you answered at the same time.

You rolled your eyes and moved to grab the first load of weapons, "you still owe me for last time."

"If we could get privacy I'd gladly give you a night you won't forget."

You scoffed as you handed the load to MM, again rolling your eyes, "business and pleasure are separated, you know that, not like I'd give you the time of day though, and it would be the other way around." You sighed, "not too sure you're ready to forget anyone either."

MM snickered, "better watch it Y/N you know he's sensitive about that."

"Then he can go play in the little league, anyhow you're all the man I need," you laughed, shooting him a wink.

He grinned and pointedly looked at Butcher, "hear that? She only needs me," he cackled

Butcher rolled his eyes as you shoved a load of weapons into his arms, "sweetheart whenever you're ready."

Hughie moved in closer to take the last bit from you as Butcher sauntered out. "Sorry," he apologized, sheepishly.

You smiled, "you're alright kid. Be careful around him, watch his back for me."

Hughie nodded as he moved quicker as Butcher shouted for him.

[catalyst-fortnite]

HEY!!

The name's Catalyst (She/Her), funniest and coolest member of the fox clan (dont let the others tell you otherwise they're just jealous >:3)

Before we go anywhere further theres some ground rules I gotta place (Lame ikik)

I dont wanna be seein any explicitly NSFW stuff. Suggestive jokes n stuff is fine, but know the line and dont cross it

Usual DNIs apply here. No proshippers, Homophobes, Transphones, Antis, etc. This blog is NOT a place for hate.

As much as I love so see what different people think of me, Please don't force any personal headcanons onto me, this is my blog, not yours

I will add to this list as needed, but lets hope I wont have to too much

Feel free to talk to me through the ask box, though remember there is in fact a fox and/or cat picture tax... sorry i dont make the rules

(not rlly but they are GREATLY appreciated)

Tags

#Cataclymic postin - Posts from my own mind

#Cat-Asks - Ask box responses

#Cat-Reblogs - Pretty self-explanitory! Might have some comments from me

#Fortnite tumblrverse - [a general fortnite rp blog tag, feel free to use for your own rp blog! Mainly so I dont clog the main fortnite tag]

Others!!

@pea-bois @drift-fortnite , @montague-fortnite , @sunspot-star-boy , @king-midas-fortnite , @nitro-master-raz , @hope-cool-epic-girl-xd , @the-nitro-lord420 , @nisha-fortnite, @fortnite-machinist, @the-dons-waste , @agent-jonesy, @ringmaster-scarr, @valeria-fortnite

Admin uses He/They

I'll use blue text when speaking out-of-character, as well as adding #ooc as a tag

Dividers by @𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘺

[mrfancyfoot]

Raphael x Evie (f!OC)

Fic Rating: E/Varied | Chapter 1: AO3 + Tumblr | Master List

.

Chapter 15: (Blood)lust Pt.1 "Haarlep finds the sleeping Evie and, seeing an opportunity to disrupt their Master’s plans, decides they’re tired of waiting around. They get more than they bargained for."

< Previous Chapter: Ch. 14 Scarlet | Next Chapter: Ch. 16 (Blood)lust Pt.2 >

.

Couldn’t let anyone catch too much of a break over this little arc.

Hello, friends! This is probably the darkest dip in this direction that will be in this fic. As such, I have separated it into two parts. The AO3 version has an additional spoilered extended summary of the events for Pt.1 for those who would like a bit more help determining if they would like to read this part or already know they’d prefer to skip this and go straight to Pt.2 (which is now also posted). :)

Thank-you for reading and any likes/comments/reblogs!! ❤️❤️❤️

Please mind the tags/warnings!

.

Ch. Rating: E / NSFW Ch. Word Count: ~2.1k Ch. Tags: POV Evie; Minor Haarlep(M) x Evie (Non-Consensual) Ch. Warnings: Haarlep; Sexual Assault (Non-Consensual Touching and Kissing - Does not go further than this); Non-Con Drugging/Aphrodisiac (Incubus Venom via Spit) and Restraints; Blood/Injury

.

Read under the cut or on AO3-

Her breath caught tightly in her throat.  Gold eyes stared back at her.  Not of Raphael - who would also be alarming to wake to like this - but of that lookalike fiend that wore his skin as they lounged on the bed next to her.  Haarlep.

Evie’s mind raced to remember what had happened before she had fallen asleep.  She was still at the House of Hope…for some reason.  She had been talking with Raphael in his office when he had to step out, then she wandered around the office leaving behind a few tiny gifts for him to find later.  Someone must have moved her to a bed after she fell asleep at his desk.

It was hardly any surprise that she had fallen asleep with how exhausted she had been when Raphael had pulled her here to begin with…but she still couldn’t believe that she just fell asleep in the House of the devil.

She frowned and turned over, facing away from Haarlep in what she hoped was a clear signal of her disinterest in them.

“Aww, no need to be like that, little one.  I merely desire to get to know you.  We could be friends!  You talk to the Master so often, yet you ignore poor me every time I try to talk to you.  You have yet to even come visit!  That is quite rude!”  Why were they even here?  She remembered Raphael saying he forbade them from ‘touching’ her.  Though now that she thought about it, this technically wasn’t touching…

She could hear the humor in their lilting voice as they pivoted to a different tactic, “Did you enjoy the steamy dream?  Your lovely scent says you did!  Apologies if it may have been interrupted.  But you can tell me all about it - we can even reenact it!  Or we can do any of the other things with which I’ve regaled you while you’ve pretended you don’t hear me.”  Though they laughed, there was an unmistakable edge of annoyance that they were swift to mask.  They hadn’t liked being ignored.  “Are you attracted to the Master?  There is no reason to hide it from me~”

Evie pulled the thick blanket up over her head, and while it wasn’t enough to block out the incubus’ laughter, the darkness gave her some minor comfort while she thought of how to get herself out of this.  Again.

The dream hadn’t been her own?

That made sense.  It was rare that she dreamt at all and she had chalked up the who to be from being in his House and having just talked to him.  She hadn’t really given consideration to Raphael in that way before…  Sure, he was flirty and good looking - attractive, even - but he wanted her soul and possibly her companionship to an extent, not, well, her.  She might have been trying to befriend him, but he was a whole other league in status.  She told herself that she wasn't going to assume ill intent just because he was a devil, but it was difficult at times to tell what was genuine and what was an act meant only to pull her in.

Maybe as, like, a one time thing to satiate some thrill and curiosities of being with a devil.  Though…that wasn’t fair to him, was it?  She’d hate to lead him on even if his goal was her soul.

Magic rushed brightly to the fingertips of her unsteady hand but kept flickering out.

The weight behind her shifted and suddenly Haarlep was straddling her, their knees caging either side of her hips and pulling the blanket tight over her form.  She reflexively curled into herself as much as she could, feeling her heart and stomach meet to flutter sickly in her throat as her tail hid between her legs.  This was a mistake, this was a mistake, this was a mistake-

She should have run.

She was only a guest in Raphael’s House and didn’t know the rules around harming another, even if in her own defense.  Which fate would be worse: the incubus getting their way or whatever might befall her for attacking them?

Where was Raphael?  Maybe if she made enough of a commotion, he would come…

Their hand landed behind her head as they bent over her.  Through the plush material of the blanket she felt them trace a finger down and then up her arm.  A shiver shook her, her breaths came quick.  She couldn’t panic.  Her hands clenched tighter on the blanket when they got to her wrist and she braced herself, but the finger retreated, reversing the trace, then repeated it again from her shoulder.

Haarlep slid sideways to lie next to her, still keeping a leg slug over hers as their hand brushed along her body.  They let out a loud sigh.  “Oh, ‘She liked the story of the duergar and the salamander!’  ‘Do you think she would enjoy the one of the bard and her cursed lute?’  And I have heard everything about your time-travelling woman and her dog-devil companion.”  They poked and drummed their fingers across her waist as they drawled on and she had to fight herself not to squirm, each unwanted touch like a shock bursting through her skin.  She could feel the spark of her magic just there and struggled to grasp it.  “Raphael has gotten all excited over such silly things.  You have made quite the impression.”

Under other circumstances, she’d be over the moon to hear that.  Now couldn’t be a time to be distracted.

Her mind wavered.  Should she take the opportunity to shove herself from the bed?  She needed to.  She needed to move.

But she took too long being paralyzed by indecision during those precious seconds, the window to act lost as Haarlep slung themself back over her and sat up.

The words to ask Haarlep to get off of her - as futile attempt as she knew it would be - died as they continued, “And then I hear, ‘Bah!  The fox can never sit properly!’ ‘She is always fidgeting.’ ‘She arrives wearing rags!’ ‘Why will she not eat any of the food prepared?’ ‘What will make her sign my contract?’” The bed bounced and shook her with whatever dramatic gestures they were making as they spoke.  “And now I hear that you sat yourself upon the Master’s chair!  How familiar you are for one not even signed with him.  Tsk, tsk.  And yet!  He has generously allowed you to rest your weary little head here.”

Her jaw rigid from trying to keep her words steady, she demanded, “Get off of me!  Where’s Raphael?”

“Hm?  Off working away on something or other, I would suppose.  Seducing a potential client, demanding research from the Archivist, paperwork,” they replied flippantly, completely ignoring her order.  Their voice was then cooing right in her ear, “Would you not like to spend eternity with the Master and me?  He wants to keep you, you know?  We would be able to play together whenever we want!  I would love a cute, little, foxy playmate~  We could make Raphael feel so good together.”

Her stomach churned.  The idea of being stuck with this fiend…

“It is clear to me that you require discipline.  And I would love nothing more than to tame our naughty pup!”  Another dramatic sigh.  “It is such a pity my charm doesn’t affect you, dear fox.  It makes this more difficult than it needs to be, though the direct approach should work.  You will come to enjoy it soon.”

The blanket was yanked harshly from her hands.  She gasped, immediately lashing out to push and scratch and twist herself free from them, but they were fast to catch her hands, pinning her wrists to the mattress.

She snapped at them when they leaned in too close, her teeth clacking together so hard her jaw hurt.

“Come now, you have been so eager to show me your tongue before.”  They gathered both of her wrists in one hand and reached over her.  As she struggled and pulled, she felt metal being slipped around her hands until it shrank securely around her wrists.  They released their grip, but, in this position, the cuffs had little give to their chains that were connected to a ring in the mouth of a golden devil head embedded into the headboard above her.  “I would say I hoped these would not be necessary, but that would be lying, dear one, and we know how the Master frowns upon that,” Haarlep chuckled.

The unfamiliar rumble of a warning growl bubbled and rattled up through her throat as her fear began to give way to anger.  Anger at what she knew this fiend intended to do even if she didn't want to acknowledge it.  Anger at herself that her magic was still so weak and untrained that it was utterly useless with her inability to focus this whole time when she needed it the most.

“Aww, look at you, all grumbly and fluffy!  You can’t fool me - you are drenched in the delicious scent of your fear, little fox,” they purred, licking their lips as they leered down at her.  “But it would be even lovelier with that intoxicating arousal I smelled from you before.”

They grinned as their wings spread widely behind them.  “Your options are either to allow me to have your beautiful form - which will be most pleasurable, I assure,” they dragged a claw down her chest, the fabric snagging until they stopped halfway between her breasts, “or…I relish every moment of consuming your soul.”

“Does Raphael know what you’re doing?  Or would he kill you for daring to take it?”  Buy time, delay, stall as much as possible.

“Ha!”  They shrugged, not appearing at all perturbed.  In fact, they looked scarily smug.  “I imagine he may torture me, but he cannot kill me.  Even your soul isn't worth upsetting his dear old father!”

That was what she feared - there was something between them that made Raphael put up with the incubus.

She tried to jerk away from the hand they ran down the side of her face.

“My fox, what will you choo-”

“Go-” ‘fuck yourself’ was weird to yell here, her brain had the odd fortitude to interject, “-stick your dick in a meat grinder, you fucking asshole!”

Their hand flipped to seize her jaw in a steely grip she couldn’t shake.  They leaned in close, their nose brushing hers.  “Such language!” they breathed, their lips ghosting hers.  “I adore that spirit - though, must I gag you, as well?  Do allow me to change your mind.”

They closed the rest of the distance, working their mouth against hers as she remained unmoving.  She felt their fangs prick and nibble along her lips that she kept pressed tightly together.  Their tongue swept along the seam of her lips seeking entry.

“Open, Evie…”

Their fingers pressed increasingly harsher into the sides of her jaw but it was the hand suddenly under her shirt and skirting claws up her side that gave them what they sought as she squeaked and flinched away.

Invading her mouth, their tongue curled wetly around hers, an abnormal amount of saliva moving with it to coat everything it touched.  Though flooded with disgust, their fingers kept her mouth pried open and unable to bite down how she wanted.

She felt an alarming heat building through her body that had her rigidly trembling as she tried to both fight off it and the fiend atop her.  

“Just relax and give into it, love,” they whispered, removing their hand from her face.  She failed to notice for the molten fire scorching her from the inside.  While the burn dizzied and hazed her mind and made her heart feel like it was about to burst from her chest, Haarlep mistook her slackening and the confused whine that left her throat for succumbing to their tactics.  “That’s it…”

They eagerly returned to her mouth with a groan and a loud snarl broke from her.

Her bite caught the edge of their lip as they jumped back in surprise.  Their hand reflexively flew up and she lurched towards it, her fangs sinking into their flesh with all the strength she had until she felt a gush of blood and wildly shook her head to rip into it.

All thought ceased, her mind singularly honing on shredding apart the being screeching and flailing over her.

❤️ Thank-you for reading!! Please consider liking & reblogging.❤️

< Previous Chapter: Ch. 14 Scarlet | Next Chapter: Ch. 16 (Blood)lust Pt.2 >

[cheapshrimpysheep]

500 Followers Celebration - Requests

edited:

These Requests are now CLOSED

See the requests list here.

original:

I don't have a date to close it, but I will do it when I think I already have a good amount of requests.

(This post may change in the future)

In celebration of my 500 Followers, I thought I might open requests for TWISTED WONDERLAND and OBEY ME! for a limited time. 🥳 (Even though I already passed 500 followers a long time ago) I've never done this before so I tried to research as much as I could to make a good list of rules.

🤔 If you want to know why I don't usually have requests: I'm relatively new to writing for tumblr and wanted to write my ideas. As a person committed to finishing what I start, I knew that if I had requests I could put a lot of weight on my own shoulders. So I will only do this on special occasions.

Despite talking about "requests", I feel that I should make it clear that I won't write for all of them. I’m planing to select the ones that I think I can write something good with the idea. So, see this more as "suggestions". Which doesn't mean that the other ideas are bad. The idea might be good but I don't know how to do it. 😅 😔

✅ I only write Reader-inserts.

✅ Up to 7 Characters per request (depending on how short or long the request can be)

✅ I intend to write like I usually do, like "What if...". So Imagines and Headcannons by Bullet Points. Around 300 words maximum per character if there's too many. (let’s start short 😅)

✅ I always write Gender Neutral Reader. If you want a specific gender, I just feel comfortable writing Fem Reader, since I myself am one. BUT if I see that I can make it into a gender-neutral reader, I will.

I WILL NOT WRITE:

🔞NSFW / smut

🚫Yandere

🚫Dark Themes / Themes that require some kind of trigger warning. (Examples:  rape, suicide, eating disorders, panic attacks, abuse, etc.)

🚫Angst UNLESS it ends with fluff/comfort (exemple: my “You... Cheater?” post)

I like to read these kinds of things for comfort, so I also write to comfort the reader. So something that strays too far from that, I won't write.

😈 OBEY ME:

Characters that are part of the Intimacy System only. In Luke's case, uniquely platonic. I still don't know enough about Mephistopheles, Thirteen or Raphael to be able to write anything with them.

Please tell me which timeline you would like: Original or Nightbringer. Otherwise, I'll pick the one that I think will make the most sense.

I always follow Canon. But if you want some kind of AU, please let it be something I can adapt to some Levi’s cursed game or something like that.

🪞 TWISTED WONDERLAND:

I follow the English Server. So please don't ask me for anything about history and/or events that have only happened on the Japanese Server yet. Sorry. 😔

Students only. In Ortho’s case, uniquely platonic.

I always follow Canon. No AUs. Unless it's small things like the reader is already in a relationship with them, I don’t know. The further away from the canon the less I'll know how the heck they would behave. 😅

You can make your requests by asking me.

Even if you don't ask for any request, I wanted to say that I'm really glad that you enjoy my writing. And I am very grateful to everyone who likes, comments and/or reblogs my writing. Thank you so much! 🥰

If you landed on this post out of nowhere and want to know read some of the things I've already written, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX