#idk this accounts really just about learning how to write

[ghouldtime]

i usually don’t message anyone or anything but i just wanted to say i love your characterizations of konig, ghost, and soap very much. the love and appreciation you have for these characters really come through in your writing.

the cod fandom is full of talented writers but the majority of them write smut. it gets tiring scrolling through the tag and just seeing porn when i actually just wanna see… ppl who enjoy the characters outside of sex appeal, yk? so your blog, truly and genuinely, is a breath of fresh air.

that’s not even mentioning the ppl who write them as abusive or use them to fulfill certain fantasies. i mean i don’t kink shame ofc, but idk sometimes ppl write them in extremely degrading ways that do a disservice to their character and it bugs me a little. plus all the “innocent bimbo reader” rhetoric, idk it gets tiring.

anyway, sorry for the yap session, but i did mean everything i said genuinely !!

💚💚💚💚 Salutations anon! You really don't know how much I appreciate hearing this. Seriously, messages like this give me motivation to keep writing and to stay active on here. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU from the very depths of my heart. You've all been so so incredibly kind, sweet, and encouraging 😭 I don't know what I've done to deserve this but it's appreciated and you all are absolutely awesome. This has made my YEAR, thank you for taking time out of your day to send my silly self a message 💚💚💚💚💚

I'm so so happy my characterizations have hit the mark for some people and that I'm (hopefully) doing them some justice! I'm always worried about that because characterization matters heavily to me and I want to respect their characters and how much they mean to me and other people through it EVEN IF THE WRITERS OF THE LAST MODERN WARFARE DON'T KNOW WHAT A PROPER STORY LINE IS AND KILLED SOAP WHICH I'M NOT FORGETTING, IM NOT FORGIVING, AND IM CERTAIN NOT LIVE LAUGH LOVING WITH IT. I'm refusing to accept he's dead, no matter what they say

I love the boys all so much. They all have such interesting things about them and have a lot more dynamic to them than people think and I just want to represent them right, especially lesser appreciated characters (haven't actually really written for them yet but Keegan, Logan, Hesh, Sandman, Roach, Nikto, Krueger - legit I love them, anyone feel free to send asks or scenarios you'd like I WILL write them. Legit, y'all, you can send me asks about certain characters even if there isn't much on them. I WILL do my research and I WILL write to the best of my ability)

Oh there's many talented writers in the COD Fandom, there really are. I can't say I really know any personally seeing as I never really interact with other blogs but I've seen some reallly really nice fics with so much thought put in them. But equally, there's a lot of just... smut. Not even well written smut, I'm sorry, but a lot of it is just really, really poorly written. I'm all for do what you want, write whatever makes you happy. Freedom of speech! If it makes you happy, cool! But I'm also going to cringe cause a lot of it is... yeah, yikes

Not trying to be the smut police and say every detail must be accounted for and everyone should follow it in a certain way but plz basic anatomy 101, basic prep 101, no guy gal or enby pal will appreciate it if you just shove it in to anywhere dry and I've seen a loooot of that and other things that just hurt?????

I get it, people learn by reading/writing, but this is literally just a single search away. And common sense. There's also a lot of practices being unsafely represented (like fifty shades of gray level) and uh it's not on purpose, it's not meant to be dubious, but it just is written as that. PLEEEEASE please please do some research, the internet is right there

But I felt the same way. Like bless whatever y'all want to write, no shame and NO shade to writing smut. I'll probably eventually do it myself again in the future (undecided on that but it'd likely be a side blog if I do and would never be a main focus, I prefer story over smut action. Once again, no shade and no shame to those who don't, to each their own!). Never ever going to full on NSFW mode or only writing that, I'm always always always going to prioritize writing the characters first and trying to get more stories out there about them :D

But I got tired of opening it and all I see is just... smut, smut, more smut, extremely dubious content x 50. And maybe a sprinkle of normal things or fluff here and there. I just don't look in the tags honestly anymore, because so many people just don't properly tag it or give 0 warning at all, not even under a read more, just BAM, unavoidable unless you flat out don't look at the tags at all

There's more to the characters than just being attractive 😭and I love exploring those aspects of them and trying to figure out why they are the way they are

Also I'm ALWAYS going to have an issue with people who fetishize horrible things. When you're actively fantasizing and writing about someone abusing someone else, like flat out abuse, and being incredibly toxic and terrible to someone - just, please talk to a therapist. That's not social commentary, that's not a proper portrayal of real, HORRIBLE things that affect many people and have very real repercussions - that's perpetuating the negative narrative around a lot of struggles and setting it back by instead turning it into something that's treated as attractive. I really fully can elaborate on this and have a whole rant - but it's not cute and it's NEVER cool to fetishize actual, awful awful things that happen to people. Dead dove doesn't excuse you from judgement - especially when it's not even acknowledged. You're just saying you know what you write is probably morally reprehensible. Hey, I'm going to reprehend and won't respect you at all when you write awful things just cause and get off on it. Think people forget that. Dead dove is a descriptor and doesn't excuse you or make you instantly free from judgement or mean you're not doing something problematic/disgusting. It's just saying you know it is, that's about it.

I don't get why people do that when it's clear they have no idea what they're talking about. I've seen that a lot with the bully! Things. Like... wow, clearly some of you WEREN'T bullied and you're writing about it and it shows because if you were, hey, you know how fucking awful that shit is and how it leaves life long effects. Not saying this applies to all but there's a lot I see like that where it's just ".... wow, okay, so you don't have any idea what you're talking about, cool."

AND YEAH the mischaracterization really does do a great disservice where it's clear they're just after the characters for their physique. They just warp them so bad it's like "Are we talking about the same character?" . In AUs you get to explore that and can shape them to your wants, that's your choice! Highly recommend AU's, it allows so much freedom.

But when it's like.... regular? And it's just no where close and they're doing a 180 in how they actually are (like having Ghost flirt with strangers and be big scary daddy dom im sorry he's not at allllll) I don't get it and it's clear you really aren't writing about or for the character - at that point, plz, make your own characters. Just make your own OCs, it's great! And you can make them HOWEVER you want instead of just ignoring a character's characterization to make them fit what you want. And guess what? It's your character so you can TRULY do what you want and have them the way that you want instead of bending characters to fit a box that they weren't made for

I'm not saying you HAVE to write a character the same as me or in a specific way, but when it's a character with an established personality/backstory, the least you can do is follow that outside of AU's if you're writing for them. That's... the whole point of writing that character - I don't get why you'd write for them specifically if you're literally going to ignore everything about them

SPEAKING OF THE INNOCENT BIMBO THING, I'm also really not a fan. Once again, if that makes you happy to write or read, cool! I just am NOOOOT a fan. Why does the reader always have to be so small and so delicate and so pure/innocent? Why does the reader have to be just so UWU coded? Why are they always like "oh you're so little and small :( and just don't know any better" . It's either that or they're John fucking Wick with little in between. Pleeeease it hurts my soul

Its why I try to genuinely write a neutral geared reader with reactions that will likely fit a lot of people! I'm always taken out of a story's immersiveness when it mentions something like like your hair length or how uwu small you are in comparison. Give me just... average sensible reader. Give me reader who has realistic human reactions. Give me reader who isn't perfect, give me a reader who isn't magically special or different. Give me a reader who is just doing their best, who is THEMSELVES, with no intent otherwise. I love those fanfics so so much instead of trying to feel like I have to be something I'm not to get myself in the mindset to read some pieces NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR YAPPING. IM ALWAYS WANTING TO TALK IM ALWAYS AROUND 💚💚💚💚THANK YOU FOR THE MESSAGE IT MAKES MY HEART WARM AND MAKES ME SO SO HAPPY

[ms--lobotomy]

Would you be willing to do a peterturabo x reader or mabey a dorn x reader one shot. Or anything, honestly, do whatever you want

(cracks knuckles) (cracks back) (cracks toes) you want peter turbo? you want peter turbo??? well you're in luck because i want peter turbo too. here u go

---

summary: your planet just got assimilated into the imperium and perty would like to spend some time with you. fun?

word count: 1071

content warnings: captive romance lol, sorry if that isnt your thing ^^;

---

You ran a hand over your abdomen. The pain was still there, like someone twisting a knife in the wound. But there was something underneath the alien robe that you found yourself in. It was a bandage, and a surprisingly soft one at that.

You sighed, your hand trailing down to the cold metal seat. You used to rule a gorgeous planet. In your dull, gray cell you reminisced about your homeworld and its temperate climate and the lush meadows sprawling over the countryside. You were royalty here.

But all of that was gone now. The castle that you had grown up in was now dust on the scarred ground, and the green fields were no more. You'd finally gone into battle on that fateful day with your soldiers--no, your siblings--and watched so many of them get hurt. You watched so many of them fall.

Why couldn't it have been you?

You heard heavy footsteps approach your cell as tears welled up in your eyes. "Go away," you muttered, even though you already knew who this was. He was taller than any human you'd ever seen, even the behemoths that made up your own army. Soon, his imposing figure stood in front of the bars of your cell. He wasn't wearing his normal armor; rather, he wore a robe not much unlike yours, with yellow and black diagonal stripes on his belt. There was a bag over his shoulder as well, dark leather with an ornate pattern on it. His steel gray eyes locked in on you, pragmatic and petulant at the same time.

"You live," he said flatly.

"How do you know my language?" you asked, discreetly wiping the tears from your eyes.

"Primarch's secret," he said. You shuddered at the foreign word, alien against the language that you knew so well. He fiddled with the lock that kept you inside your cell with bare hands. It would be comically large if it weren't so hopelessly complex. After a second or so, he swung the door open.

The door was open! You hiked up the bottom of your robe and made a break for it, frenzied foot after frenzied foot. But before you were able to taste freedom for the first time in hours, you felt two hands around your waist. Your feet escaped the ground, and you found yourself pressed against the cold wall of the ship. You briefly scanned the other cells that you could see. Empty.

"Did you really think you could escape that easily?" he sneered. You were eye level with him now, your face flushed. He looked you up and down before setting you back on the cold ground, barefoot. You clutched at your waist, bent over and winced. The wound was starting to feel like twisting knives again as he dug his hand into your shoulder.

"That's what I thought," he chuckled coldly. You knelt down, almost to get out of his grip, and the hulking Primarch knelt down with you, pressing you into the ground. As he opened the back with another hand, you looked up at him. Puzzled. Processing something that you wouldn't dare admit under normal circumstances.

You liked that.

You glared at your captor. He didn't return your expression, more focused on whatever was in his bag. When he finally got it out of his bag, you recoiled, but his grip only tightened on your shoulder. "Put this on," he said, holding an iron collar attached to a chain in his hand.

"You can put it on yourself," you glowered back at him. "Why don't you just do that?"

This time he let out a full on laugh. "It's more fun to see you do it, darling."

Darling. That word came out of him as if it were nothing. Your fingers brushed up against the collar as you stared intently at it. You felt the Primarch's eyes on you, almost leering at you, almost asking you to taunt him.

"I'll be here as long as I need to," he said, his hand trailing ever so slightly lower on your back.

You let out a huff. Your planet was gone, your soldiers fallen, and you were alone with this giant... superhuman. His words reverberated in your head, eerily fluent in your native tongue. Your fingers clasped the collar gently, then firmly before you hoisted it into the air and flung it onto the cold ground.

The Primarch's eyes widened at this display for a split second before turning back to you. Glowering. He grabbed the collar with his free hand, which was unbent, though there was a dent in the floor of the prison. Roughly he pinned you to the wall and before you could speak, the collar was on you, clasped shut.

You were stunned speechless as the Primarch let go and yanked on the chain. "Come," he said. Your hands clutched at the collar, almost as if to take it off. But once again there was that feeling welling up within you, that feeling you could only describe as liking it.

He started walking forwards, almost dragging you along the dim hallway. "I don't even know your name," you hissed, trying to keep up with the Primarch's long strides. He made no attempt to slow down for you, who was roughly half his size.

"Perturabo," he replied coldly. "And I know who you are, so save me the trouble."

You walked down the halls with him, the cells unpopulated. "I'm the only prisoner you took," you choked out.

"Prisoner is a strong word," he said. "I assure you I plan on making you quite comfortable after our admittedly... faulty meeting."

You paused, trying to take in all of the information that he put forth in those short sentences. You weren't a prisoner? But what was around your neck? He wanted to make you comfortable? What did that even mean?

Before you were done parsing what he had said, you were at the door of the hallway. You saw through a small window two of Perturabo's warriors guarding the door, much taller than yourself. Your tongue caught in your mouth as you tried to say something, anything. Perturabo opened the door, and you took in the warm air and the bustle of the ship you found yourself.

"Welcome to the Imperium of Man," he said, tugging on your chain. And so you began to follow him across this strange spaceship.

[rosesradio]

.

[bi-writes]

so idk where i got this idea but mercenary!ghost x fem!reader because he's scary and mean and dangerous but then he sees some girl's ass in light blue denim.

notes about reader: as always, i tend to write readers described as curvy because im curvy and we deserve attention from 6'4 beefcakes who are soft only for us. reader is a civilian.

mercenary!ghost (part 1/?)

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, mentions of ghost's past canon trauma (domestic abuse + violence), mw3 spoilers, violence and gore + mentions of murder and extortion, mentions of reader + domestic abuse, protective!simon, size kink (reader is described as much smaller than simon, easily manhandled by him), pet names (luv, bunny + rabbit, puppy, angel face), reader learns she has a dark side and she likes it, nsfw thoughts about reader, suggestive touching (fem!receiving)

the sound of the burner phone pings on the desk in front of him. when he picks it up, he narrows his eyes as he reads the message displayed across the screen.

DEPOSITED.

when he opens his laptop, his eyes scan over the balance on an offshore account, and he relaxes when he sees the hefty balance climb just a little higher. he closes the device once he's satisfied with what he sees; and like always, he tastes the warmth of that satisfaction. it's a nice high, but it won't last, and then he'll need to feed the gaping hole that lives in him.

it remains hungry. he has never been able to close it--it has only ever gotten wider, ripped at the seams and torn at the edges every time another body close to him drops.

the high is poison. but even if it kills him, no one will miss him. so he picks up the handgun that lays haphazard on the bed, and he tucks it into the back of his jeans.

he passes by the mirror as he fits a dark denim jacket over his shoulders. he stares back at himself, a recognizable beast of a man staring right back. he pulls his hoodie up over him, and in the shadow of it, all he can see are his dark eyes, pale skin peeking through the eyeblack that has lightened up with the wear of it throughout the day.

he craves something strong and warm tonight. he itches for something soft, too, something that makes him forget the red on his ledger, even if for only a few hours.

there is nothing quite strong enough to wipe that kind of stain away. he is nothing if not a reaper, and he buries bodies with the same tenacity that he had when he wore his country's flag on his chest. this time, however, he does not take orders--he names his price.

he thinks something is wrong with him. some used to say that it was his courage that brought him back from the dead--that his heart is too strong, his will to live too much, and that is how he continues to open his eyes and live another day. but he doesn't agree with this thought, because he doesn't really think he feels anything at all.

he doesn't feel human. he doesn't feel alive. the only thing that makes him feel any sort of vulnerability is how red his own blood is when he bleeds. when his scars heal jagged and crooked, it is because there is something underneath the skin. but he feels nothing inside--no remorse, no guilt, he is not sorry.

he does not check to see if those men are innocent. he does not care about the names that end up on his list. he doesn't ask questions. and he thinks something is wrong with him because he sleeps at night just fine now; the nightmares have gone. he is alone, and it is peaceful.

there are no voices. there is only silence. and there is something wrong with him.

the pub is quiet. it is a weekday, and the only patrons are here after a long day's work, and they all look into the depths of their half-empty glasses hoping to find relief there. there is none, but they will finish their glasses hoping it might be dissolved in the alcohol.

he asks for two fingers of bourbon. it stings when it goes down, but then it settles warm. he is poured another two fingers of it, but before he can pick it up, someone else grips the glass and tips it back to swallow it down.

the glass hits the wood of the counter with an echoing thud, and you cough out a fuck as you settle into the seat beside him. you run a trembling hand over your face, and he notices immediately the red of your knuckles and the splitting of the skin there. they are fresh; the bruising is still new, and the blood is just barely beginning run down the back of your hand.

he leans over the bar, swiping the whole bottle of bourbon, and he silently pours more into the glass, hitting it towards you before picking up a new glass and filling it generously.

"who's the lucky bastard?" he asks, and your eyes flick to the cuts on the back of your hand before going back to the dark swirling colors of the drink.

"i'm sure he'll be coming in here any second to introduce himself."

the pub doors slam open, and there is a man coming in, chest heaving, dark hair falling over his forehead in sweaty curls that do nothing to hide the clear bruise on his face the split of his lip. his eyes move over the room before they settle on you, and his boots fall heavy as he makes his way over.

ghost sees his intentions clear immediately. the way his hand twitches at his side, the angry glare, the uncontrollable urge to hurt and to take and to control coming off of him like steam.

he has seen this kind of man before. this man was the one that kept him up at night as a child. this man was the one that scared his mum, that drove his brother to chase vices, that tore apart a house that should've been filled with something warm and sticky and kind into one marred with teeth, rotten and putrid and forgotten.

his hand goes for the back of your neck, and you close your eyes and tense in the anticipation, but it never comes. a strong hand grips his outstretched one, and the man cries out as ghost twists it behind his back and uses his other hand to slam his face into the wood of the bar, trapping him there.

the bartender does not even flinch, just continues to wipe down glasses. the patrons continue to stare into the abyss of their sorrow.

you jump a little, your head snapping to the side where the man squirms and sputters, his face going pale from the paw of a hand gripping him by the back of the neck and shoving his face into the counter. if he pushes any harder, you wonder if it'd splinter and fray, dig into the bones of his bruised cheek.

"this man botherin' ya, yeah?"

your eyes finally flick up. you do not know what you expect, but it isn't this. you can only see his eyes; they scare you. you do not lie because you aren't entirely sure how far his kindness will go.

"yes," you whisper, and when the man tries to spit at you, a rough gloved hand grips his curls and positions his head against the edge of the counter, forcing his mouth open until the top row of his teeth bite the wood.

"y'keep talkin' to her, n'it'll be the last time you talk, hear that, mate? y'talk to me, n'me only."

you swallow hard, and the man trembles. a strong boot hits the back of his knees, and then he's crumbling to the ground, his jaw straining as the counter is still forced against his mouth. hot, pained tears come down his face, and then he addresses you.

"what did he do?"

"bad first date," is all you can manage to sputter. he grips the man by the scruff of his neck before pulling him off to speak, tilting his head to the side as he observes the begging man on his knees.

"y'try to put your hands on'er?"

"i-it wasn't...like that! i-it was just a mis...a misunderstanding, please! please--please tell him--!"

"don't like fuckin' liars either," is the only warning given before his mouth is forced to bite the counter, and then a sharp elbow comes down on his head. you jump in surprise at the suddenness of it all, and you close your eyes when you hear the crunch of teeth being broken. his scream is enough to rattle the pub, but when you look around, it's as if nothing at all has happened. it is quiet, and all the bartender does is shake their head.

when you open your eyes, he's crawling on his hands and knees out of the pub, and what he leaves behind is a mess of blood and teeth and fluid that are splattered against the floor at your feet. you shake as you look up at him, stiff in your seat and soft tears coming down your face.

he towers over you. you have to tilt your head back between your shoulders to look at him face-to-face. you cannot see his face; he hides it behind dark fabric, but his eyes talk loud. they are dark, and they are dull, and you realize as you stare up at him that he is not phased in the slightest by what he had just done. in fact, he steps into your space, and the squelch of blood under his boot doesn't seem to bother him. he wears black, and you wonder, momentarily, if he wears such a color to hide the red hiding between the threads of the fabric. the red he can't wash away.

"let me look at ya, little rabbit."

you flinch when he knocks your knees apart, spreading them to make space for the width of him. he reaches up with one gloved hand and grips your chin, tilting your head to either side to see if you are hurt anywhere but your hand. when he is satisfied with his observations, he cups the expanse of your throat, smoothing those big fingers along the pulsing vein there and feeling the way you swallow.

so alive. so soft. a pretty little bunny, dropped into his waiting hands.

his eyes fall, and he takes you in. wide hips that take up the seat you're sitting in, hugged so nicely by light blue denim jeans. they curve over the swell of your ass, and he wonders how much of it would fit in his palm--he thinks about how it might feel to spread them apart and taste the succulent sweetness that he knows exists between your thighs and how your mouth might look slack jawed and wide open for him.

you look like a good girl, even with bloody knuckles.

then he follows the line of your shirt. it's a simple t-shirt tucked into your jeans, but the neckline gives a nice peek of you and the curve of your tits--they sit so nicely there, all perky, and ghost thinks they look lonely. they would be better off in his mouth or squeezing his cock between them or pebbling between his dirty gloved fingers.

filthy. disgusting. he is scarred all over, and you look so soft and sweet, with those tender puppy eyes and the way your lips tremble, and he bets you kiss all soft and slippery. he bets your cunt is tight and with enough coaxing, he could make you drench his skin with something decadent and slick, with whatever drools into your panties. he imagines it is there now, even as you tremble and shake and plead with your eyes for him to let go of your throat.

but ghost is not a good man. he does not feel; he is not a man at all. he is a beast in the shape of one, disguised, and he brings misery to everything he touches. he knows he will do it to you, too--touching pretty girls, he leaves them with burns. they are not the same after they are with him, and he wants to feel bad about it, he wants to feel something, but he does not. he feels nothing.

"you olright, luv?"

you nod frantically, putting a hand over his wrist that holds you, and he almost laughs. your hand is so much smaller than his own. if he squeezes his hand just a little harder, he figures it would not take much to break what lies beneath it. he leans in, and you gulp when your thighs trap his hips. he is warm, a furnace that burns, but you relax when the side of his mask nuzzles against your face.

he is a dog, and he is fond of you.

you should run. you should hit him like you hit your wretched date, and you should run, far, away from him, swear off men for good and never allow one in your space again lest they be as beastly as this. you should run while you can, but you are a bunny not yet in his trap, and you still have time to escape.

but then both of your eyes open at the same time, and his eyes meet your own, and then--oh.

the cage snaps shut. it rattles around you. it is small and confined, but you don't realize what it is yet because you can still breathe, and it is still warm, and you are still soft and alive and here.

your face softens, and his eyes flicker down to your lips as you lick them. maybe he was right. liars are bad. men like the one you were with before were scum. you had been with men like that before, you had seen the destruction they brought to those they thought they loved. when they wrought fear and made others bleed, they never got in trouble. no one cared to do to them what they deserved because they silenced their lambs and slaughtered the light out of them.

it is biblical--an eye for an eye. if they take from you, why can't you take from them?

it is brutish men like this one that do what others are too timid to. your thighs close around his hips, and you feel something digging into your leg, something metal and heavy tucked into his jeans. a weapon, but you imagine it is a mercy because you have an inkling that what he does with his hands is so much worse. bullets are clean and fast; his hands are not.

johnny would tell him to let you go. he does, over his shoulder, spitting at him to leave, to let you slip through his fingers and find your way out, to open the cage.

the wee lass--look at 'er angel face. let 'er go--not meant for this, LT. she scares. 's in 'er eyes. won't last.

but he does not feel. he is not human. there is something wrong with him, he knows it, but he doesn't care. he will ruin you, and he should feel bad, but he can't, he doesn't. and then there it is--your eyes are flickering low, eyeing the mask, and you are wondering how much effort it would take to push it up and lick into his mouth, taste him, suck the warmth of the bourbon from his mouth and replace it with your own.

he will kill again. the cage is shut, it is locked, and he is watching the bunny in its cage, watching as it becomes aware of its surroundings, takes in what is new. but just like he figures, just like he knows, this little bunny has no idea what this cage is. she has no idea she is even in one.

fuck what johnny says. if johnny was like him, if he was not skin and bone but steel and reptile, he would not have died. he would have come back. he would have moved his head, shaken the blood off, and gotten back up, but he didn't, and he's not here, and he's not real--so fuck what he thinks, fuck what he says, fuck him because he left me, and i'm all alone, and if i don't devour and eat and tear apart, i will wither away because i am not me, i am something else--

he smiles under the mask. you notice it, the slight movement there, and you smile, too, suddenly. his hand falls, and the back of his knuckles graze over the swell of your breast, down your stomach, and then he's gripping your waist. that hand slips behind you, and you brace yourself with both hands on his chest as he cups one side of your ass. possessive and suffocating--you think maybe you should run again, but you don't want to.

you want something more. you want something a little rough, something a little sharp. you want something to tell you that a little blood is good sometimes. that answering blood with a little more blood was exactly how it should be. that we don't have to be docile, to back down. you want to be told that it's okay to bite.

there is something wrong with you.

[bkd-b3ans]

You try to repair a watch, Boothill is being annoying as usual, you end up discovering his neurolink perfectly mimics human emotions.

-> Ship: Boothill X Mechanic!Reader (or just tech savvy idk the term really)

-> Rating: Safe for All

-> TL;DR: Boothill visits you after closing hours, nearly ruins a 5 million watch repair commission, stares for a bit too long while you work and overheats for a bit, ends up learning you live above your own workshop and you learn he gets flustered easy.

-> Extra notes: No idea where I will go with these, I just love writing stuff. Next one is going to be more about touching / feeling, but until then, you too can experience casual chatter. I do not proof read, whatever is written is in accordance to Ellios script, go meow at him. Take this "2nd" part as pure world-building.

-> Word count: 2k~ ish

-> First part: here

Thank you for reading and bearing with my awful English. If you have any prompts I would be more than happy to hear them.

"Pardner? Yoohooo~" Boothill was waving his arm like a manic from the front of the counter, trying to catch your attention, but you were too engrossed in your work, tinkering away with some expensive watch you were paid to fix, the tiny gears and springs neatly organized in your table in tiny boxes with labels, while you were hunched over the table, looking through a magnifying glass and listening to music, tongue almost sticking out like some cartoon character while you were trying to place the gear in its place carefully using some precise tweezers.

For all you cared, your shop was closed for the day, so why would anyone in their right mind, or that knows how to read a sign, would even bother you? Of course you didn't take into account a Galaxy Ranger that had a passion for annoying you at random times.

"Psst, hey, over 'ere..." he sighed, "Fudge this". Impatient as ever, Boothill just helped himself with one of the expensive motor oil cans in the counter and stepped around it, taking off his hat and placing it on your head.

The whole motion made you jump out of your skin, dropping the tweezers together with the very important, one of a kind gear, that you could barely notice while it was on your table, let alone on your floor, rolling off into the void like all of the pens you've lost throughout the years.

"WHAT THE FUCK, MY FUCKING WORK OF MY AEONS-" you took off the hat annoyed, hand still shaking from the scare and heart running laps in your chest. Shoving the hat into Boothills chest, you couldn't help but be angry at the man, sighing.

"Damn sugar-cube, didn't know ye were this jumpy. Ye should be more aware of yer surroundings you know?"

"What the hell does that mean. MY SHOP IS CLOSED BOOTHILL, CAN'T YOU READ??"

"Well, not your language no, it's all a bunch of jumbles and lines"

You looked confused for a moment before realizing that neither of you were from the same planet. You rubbed the bridge of your nose, trying to get rid of your furrow.

"Just, shut up and help me look for that gear. AND PUT THE DAMN CAN DOWN"

He raised his arms in defeat, putting down the can of motor oil and looking around your workbench while you were painfully looking for the gear with your magnifying glasses.

"Lotta' shiny pieces you have on the table. Are these really more important than your good old buddy, Boothill?"

"Unless you're willing to give me 5 million, then yes"

Boothill choked

"5 million?? For some beautiful watch?"

"What can I say, some people have more than they know what to do with. Now stop yapping and get on your knees, I can't see shit."

"Is that an invitation, darling?"

"... BOOTHILL!"

"Aye aye, don't get your feathers ruffled like this darling, just sit there and be pretty"

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

You couldn't help but be annoyed still, slumped in your chair, fiddling with your pen, while Boothill was looking around. How long has it been already, maybe a few minutes? Hours? Days??? Your work couldn't wait that much, and each ticking second felt agonizing. You were so close too, getting interrupted was the last thing you needed right now. You always had plans, a schedule, deadlines, you couldn't afford the unpredictability that is Boothill sometimes.

You almost got too lost in your thoughts before you heard a sudden thud, metal against wood, and a proud exclamation.

"Here it is sugar-cube, your pretty little thing... Cogwheel whatever. Now can you stop looking like someone spat in your food or do I need to repair this watch myself to make you happy?"

You could swear sometimes he was like a dog, a big doberman. For as scary as he could look sometimes, you couldn't help but be unable to push him away. All you could do was just let out an amused scoff, taking the gear piece in the palm of your hand, and gently placing it in it's box.

"No, no, you've done enough damage already. Why are you here even?"

"Just wanted to pay my best buddy a visit? What, a man can't do that no more?"

"No fixing your body? No maintenance work? Really nothing? Just a visit? Odd, thought you were a busy man"

"Oh I sure am sugar-cube, but sometimes even I need to sit down and relax."

"... In my workshop"

"In yer workshop, yes."

You sighed

"Fine, fine, stay for as long as you need, but don't touch anything that is in this-" you motion around your workbench "general area"

He tipped his hat in acknowledgment

"Aye aye, I'll stay put, fudge me, you can be very serious sometimes."

"5 million"

"Right yes, that's understandable."

You went back to work, trying to finish placing the last pieces inside that damned watch, headphones back on your ears. Boothill was simply slumped on the couch you kept around the waiting area, that barely saw any use to begin with. He was just looking around, bored out of his mind, the silence really starting to get to him. On occasion he's throw you glances, looking like a kicked puppy only to be met by your back either way. Yet he couldn't help but notice the few tics you had, tapping your foot, humming to yourself from time to time, arranging your hair by shaking your head around, and just how damn beautiful you looked in that dim warm light.

By no means we're you prettied up and groomed, after all, working with machinery all day will just lead to one always being covered by oil or sutt, clothes messy, the tools around your belt loud and heavy, but to him, it was part of the charm. The passion you had for what you did, the care you treated everything with, even his own body when it needed repairs. Sure, you two may butt heads more often than goats, but you were the reason he kept making his trips back to your workshop for any needs. He trusted you, felt comfort in your presence.

He could feel his insides start to heat up, his mind trailing off. Sure, he couldn't blush for the love of him, after all blood stopped flowing through his body long, long ago, but his body still reacted from time to time to strong emotions, and now it was no different. It felt, uncomfortable almost, a strange emptiness in his metal gut. Maybe it was the bullets he snacked in like some chips, or maybe it was more than that. He just simply pulled his hat over his eyes to focus and calm down.

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

Finally, after so many hours, you were finally done, the watch ticking gleefully, almost as if happy with it's new look. You sighed in relief, finally placing down your headphones and slumping in your chair, pulling your glasses up.

"Finally... I swear they are trying to drive me insane with all these new 'trinkets' that have way too many small pieces for their own good. How you holding up, Boots?"

"Fine as ever sugar, bored out of my mind, but rested"

"Yeah, I can see that, you've already made a dent in my couch"

"Hey, I helped ya find that gear for free, can't I get some more respect"

"And who's fault was it that I dropped it?" You said, raising your eyebrow.

"Aye aye, sorry 'bout that."

There was a moment of pause

"Say, partner, you've messed around inside my body for a while now. Do you know if there's any functions that might mimic proper human emotions?"

"Human emotions? Hmmm"

You thought for a moment, trying to remember if you've seen any kind of code that might do that.

"I don't think I've seen anything like that, but I've also never like, actually paid attention. There may be some functions that mimic that, after all, you might need them to think and work properly. Why?"

"Ah, nothing important, was just wondering."

"I can always check if you want. Of course, for a price"

He couldn't help but scoff, amused "You were never free eh?"

"Someone has to eat"

"Sure, sure. I mean why not, might as well get this mystery solved, since I'm here and have nothing better to do."

"Then come with me"

You both went inside your garage, Boothill already used to all the steps, laying down on the weird table chair as he put it while you connected the cables to the back of his neck, opening the hologram screens.

"Let's see..." you rubbed your chin, pacing around while moving around screens, trying to find anything remotely similar to what Boothill mentioned, but it was rather hard. Every line kept changing dictating different functions every moment.

"Hmm...."

"Anything the matter?"

"No, I just realized why I might have never seen that kind of function. Your neurolink is adapting to everything you do, so it's changing constantly. I think the only way to spot anything us to trigger whatever made you so curious about your 'emotions'"

"Trigger em? And how the fork do you plan on doing that?"

You thought for a moment, moving next to Boothill, dragging the screens along with you. You didn't really give a warning as you poked his chest with a screwdriver, noticing some changes.

"What in the beautiful sky are you doing?"

"There it is" you just pointed at the screen at the suddenly changing lines.

"Your body reacts to your mental state. Right now you are confused"

"I sure as warm lake I am, you're poking me around with a screwdriver."

"What else would have you wanted me to do? Touch you with my own hands?"

He was about to say something, but you grabbed one of the screens, squinting at it.

"Getting flustered, Boots?" You could almost feel your own smug smile forming on your face.

"Flustered? Please, you'd think I'd get 'flustered' from just a check-up?"

"Bashful... Interesting"

"Hey! Stop saying things and answer me, sweetheart"

"And annoyed. Yeah, you do seem to have those functions, and they're damn advanced to mimic human emotions. Guess you aren't just metal after all. You still have the ability to feel. It's interesting how this changes..."

You got too focused on the lines of code, not paying attention to how you started leaning against the table, your hand extremely close to Boothills, fingers almost touching. Sure, you were just staring at the lines changing, but Boothill was staring at your hand, annoyed almost that he couldn't just grab it, only to be confused over why he was annoyed. You just chuckled to yourself and pushed the screen away, unplugging the cables.

"Well, mystery solved, your neurolink functions exactly like a brain and it sends the proper signals, so your body will be affected by your emotions."

"Great-" he rolled his eyes, standing up and scratching the back of his head "You need a new table, this one is forking uncomfortable."

"I don't take feedback"

"Yeah yeah, whatever you say darling." he just hopped off the table, adjusting his hat.

"H-"

"1k credits"

"Damn, let me finish at least. Fine, you know the drill"

"Nah, I'll let it slide this time. Getting to check your internals can be fun sometimes" you patted his back

"I'll go home, unless you want to guard my shop, you should leave too."

"You don't just live in your workshop??"

"...what...?"

"You know, like, I've always only seen you here, where is your home even."

"Oh... Oh! I guess you can say that? My home is upstairs, I bought the whole building when I opened so everything on the ground floor is the shop, upstairs is my place."

"Ok that makes sense... Can I-"

"No"

"Fine fine, I'll go my merry way then. I'll see you next time partner, and thank you for the free check-up"

"Don't get too used to them"

He nodded, tipping his hat and leaving.

[winwintea]

stop posting about BALLER - zhong chenle

PAIRING ↬ boyfriend!zhong chenle x reader

GENRES ↬ pure crack idk... fluff, romance, some angst if you look in between the lines, chenle loves basketball more than you. unfortunately.

AUTHOR'S NOTE ↬ inspired by a fic i read on ao3, a tiktok i watched where op got mad at their boyfriend for having headphones in while making out, plus my post here. and also chenle's recent fanboying activity in la. ignore the title its a placeholder for now, in honor of my dear friend @syatchy london stop writing for chenle challenge

WORD COUNT ↬ 1.3K

Everyone had their hobbies. You knew your boyfriend liked basketball, you just didn’t realize he liked it that much. 

Making it your life’s goal to win over the heart of Zhong Chenle, you spent countless hours studying quizlet flashcards, watching a couple of basketball games, even trying to learn the sport as well. Although you were surprised when it didn’t take more than a few dates for you to begin dating. 

Your best friend Ning Yizhuo, on the other hand, had other ideas. 

“I just think he’s a big red flag. Who the hell puts “I’m always ballin’” as their twitter bio?” She’s sprawled across your bed, mindlessly stalking your boyfriend’s social media accounts. “What if your man loves another man more than he loves you?” 

You’re paying her no mind, working on a basketball basics test on your laptop. Eight teams from each of the league's two conferences qualify for the playoffs. The top two teams play each other in the conference finals, to determine the Conference Champions from each side. The winners then play in the NBA Finals. 

Yizhuo suddenly stands up, “Hello? Earth to Y/N? Are you ignoring me?” You’re about to answer your next question, until she starts waving her hands in your face.

“What the hell, Yizhuo?” You turn around annoyed. “I was locked in!”

“Studying for basketball is crazy… Just warning you Y/N. Don’t come crying to me when your boyfriend calls you Stephen Curry’s name instead of your own.” 

You punch her in the shoulder, “I swear to god-” 

But Yizhuo seemed unfazed by your attacks, continuing on, “I’m just saying from experience hon. Sports guys like him will never love you as much as he loves his balls.”

“Um.. that’s what she said.”

—

Despite Yizhuo’s warnings and what she seemed so sure of, you and Chenle clicked in a way that none of your exes ever did. If he invited you to the gym, you’d show up with a yoga mat, pretending to do Pilates while sneaking glances at him bench pressing. If Chenle said he was hungry, you’d learn how do use a frying pan, determined to whip up something edible. And if he asked you to come over, you’d throw on your best outfit, adding an extra touch of appeal, and never forget to bring a treat for Daegal.

Spending time with Chenle was easy. It seemed almost too easy, that you began to slightly question why everything seemed so perfect. 

If there were any red flags like Yizhuo pointed out, it was probably too small to see in the mix of fun times you spent together.

Times spent together usually and often ended with the two of you cuddling or making out on his couch. 

Unsurprisingly, Chenle was a really good kisser. Plus, he was good at cuddling. You had no doubts in that moment you laid eyes on him, but everything was certainly up to expectations. He knew exactly how to hold you in his arms and make you feel like you were on top of the whole damn world. 

As you leaned in closer for another this time, your hands running through his hair, you took notice of his features. His incredibly sharp jawline (mewing tutorial when?), the flushed pink splashed across his collarbones up to his cheeks, and now that he grew out his hair longer, it was much harder to see the shape of his ears-

Hold on.

You blink and then squint your eyes for a couple of seconds, hoping you’re just imagining things.

“Chenle. Are those Airpods?”

Chenle immediately pushes you off of him and then freezes.

You see every single emotion flash through Chenle’s eyes, but he’s still speechless. You’d honestly thought you’d been through the entire spectrum of men in your life, from guys who had memes tattooed on their chest to guys who brought their mother to dates to guys with an extremely interesting savior complex, but nothing could’ve prepared you for this.

Relax. You still had your dignity to protect. “What… are you listening to?” Maybe he was into listening to music while making out, maybe some relaxing sounds people used to cope with traumatic intimate experiences??? You were thinking of anything at this point, trying to brace yourself for the absolute worse. 

“Highlights” Chenle begins, looking at you nervously, “For uh, for the Warriors game.” Before you can even process the info, Chenle rambles on, “We’re so so close to a wild card spot and I wanted to turn the game on earlier, but you were talking about your project you were working on and I really wanted to listen, and right now it’s not like we’re talking about anything important, so I figured it might be alright if I-“

what the fuck… yeah shut the hell up right now please, you think as he keeps rambling, and turn around to grab a pillow behind to smack this big headed shit right in the head. 

“Ow-“ Chenle throws his hands up in defense, trying to block the pillow that comes crashing down. “What? Hey!”

“Zhong Chenle. I’m going to chop your fucking dick off.”

—

In the end, Chenle’s dick remains intact. 

After letting himself get beaten up by a pillow, he manages to get you to calm down, taking the airpods out, which makes you a little bit happier than you were before. 

Chenle leaves you on the couch to take a shower, allowing you to ponder for a bit. Were you being too restricting this way? Chenle seemed to still care about you, and didn’t want to take away time from your own interests as well. I mean… maybe you needed to get into basketball as well to fully understand. 

As you lounge on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through Pinterest, you hear the faint sound of the shower turning off. Before you know it, Chenle slips onto the couch beside you, his presence warm and comforting. In one smooth motion, he curls himself around you, arms gently wrapping around your waist as his head nestles into the crook of your neck. The familiar scent of the shampoo you gifted him lingers in the air, blending with the soft warmth of his skin. 

Your mind's racing, caught between conflicting emotions. And damn, Chenle smells incredible, which really isn’t helping right now.

A minute of silence passes before he finally speaks, his voice soft but serious. “Look, I get if you’re uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to push any boundaries. If that was too much, I won’t do it again. And if this is something that’s going to be a dealbreaker for us, I get it—we can end things here.”

“No, wait—no,” you cut in, setting your phone aside to face him. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”

Okay, it was weird. You’ll give him that. Maybe his “casual” obsession with basketball wasn’t as casual as you thought. And sure, that might be a red flag for some.

But Yizhuo’s wrong. Maybe Chenle’s got a deeper connection with his basketballs than you or whoever she’s comparing him to, but at least he’s never moaned or called you Stephen Curry in the heat of the moment.

That’s gotta count for something, right?

Yeah, maybe this wasn’t so bad. You could get used to this. Besides, he already promised he wouldn’t do it again.

Your thoughts bounce back and forth, but after a while, you break the silence with a quiet, “Did you win?”

His head lifts from your shoulder instantly, excitement buzzing in his voice. “Yeah, we did! Secured our spot in the conference finals.”

Conference finals. Oh, right. You recognize that term—studied it on Quizlet like the good, supportive partner you are.

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself, swallowing down the nervous lump in your throat. Chenle might be a bit obsessed with the sport, but he was supportive of your own goals and actually a really nice boyfriend. 

“Tell me about it.”

PERM TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @ldh0000

[probably-writing-x]

All The Firsts

Summary: Heyyyy! So, could you write something about the reader being in her first relationship with spider (hbh) and her being worried about how she’s new at this? Or just something fluff about spider? Idk if this makes sense

Warnings: Mentions of sex / sexual acts, mentions of low self esteem / self depreciating thoughts, cursing

Word Count: 6.5k

Author’s Note: Okay I loved writing this so much I’m sorry it ended up so long !! But plz let me know if you want a part 2 because I’ve got SO many ideas about reader navigating relationships etc. !!!!

Spider had a reputation. It was practically notorious. He was one of the Hartley boys that you were certain would never settle down. He made crude comments and bitter insults and there was no way he’d ever want a relationship. In fact, you were certain he’d never been with the same girl more than twice. That was just a rumour though. He’d spoken to girls for months, did all of that relationship stuff with them without it being a full relationship. Then he’d dated Missy. And that lasted a good few months, he even held her hand around school. He introduced her as his girlfriend, he cancelled plans to be with her. It was a proper relationship. But it ended after those few months. You were told that she ended it, but then Ant told you Spider had ended it, and Spider told you it was mutual. You didn’t ask again.

You and Spencer had been friends since the two of you were kids. Maybe friends was a stretch. You know that kid you’re just friends with because your Mums were inseparable? That kid you only saw because you could see his bedroom window from your own? He’d lived next to you since you’d been born and so you’d spent your baby years sharing baths and crawling around on the same baby mats, and then your toddler years stumbling around in the yard, learning to swim in the lake, learning to ride your bikes on the same street. Once you were both old enough to make your own decisions, that friendship had shifted. You two went into school together, but you didn’t interact much at school, and then you’d come back together too. He was in the popular group and you were far from it. You just didn’t have much in common anymore. Once he started driving, he’d drive you in every morning and make sure he got you home too. He never invited you to the popular people parties, and you never really saw him at weekends or anything, but he was always nice to you when you did see him. He’d smile at you if he passed you in the corridor but never say hi. In fact, you weren’t even sure if his friends knew your name, let alone that you’d seen Spider wet the bed when he’d had a sleepover at your house when the two of you were toddlers.

The older you grew up, the more you realised how different you and Spencer were. In fact, the more you realised how different you were to almost everyone else in your year at school. When that incest map got revealed, you were one of the names that wasn’t so much as mentioned. You’d looked at it too, searched for your name, even though you knew you wouldn’t find anything. Spider had a few lines drawn from his name then, but you knew it would be more if it was re-done now. And if they accounted for all the other people outside of school, there’d be even more.

“Spec? Are you good to go?”

Spencer cuts through your thoughts, snapping back to the reality of you being sat in the passenger seat of his car. He has one hand on the steering wheel and the other arm behind your seat ready to reverse from the parking space.

He never stopped calling you Spec. When you were younger you couldn’t say his name properly so ‘Spencer’ had morphed into ‘Spec’. And for some reason, a young Spencer had thought everyone had the same name. So you’d been Spec too. And it was still what both of you went by to each other now.

“I-“ You clear your throat, “Yeah.”

“Put your seatbelt on, your Mum would kill me,” He nods his head towards you, starting up the engine to reverse onto the street.

You oblige, clicking your seatbelt in and resting your head back against the chair, closing your eyes.

“Am I that unbearable?” He scoffs, indicating onto the road to the right.

“No, I’ve just got a headache,” You mumble, poking your eye open and glancing over at him, “You’re normally grumpy to be starting a school week again. What’s different?”

Spider shrugs, “I’m not at school yet, am I?”

“Fair point,” You hum, “How was your weekend?”

“I…” He stops to glance in the side mirror on your side of the car, indicating into the next lane, “I went to a party, got very pissed, and ended up arguing with Missy again.”

“About what this time?” You roll your eyes, drawing your knees up to your chest and resting your feet on the seat.

“She’s my ex, we’re always going to argue,” He shrugs, “I don’t even remember what started it this time, you know what it’s like.”

You scoff. Not exactly. But you wouldn’t say that. You assumed that Spider knew you never had a boyfriend or anything, mainly because it would be impossible for him to not know. But part of you thought he just assumed you’d at least been with guys - had people over, met people out, went on a few dates even. You didn’t exactly have the heart to admit that none of that had ever happened.

“Oi,” He cuts through your overthinking once again, “Get your feet off my seats.”

———

Your school day is relatively uneventful. Ant tried to start a food fight in the lunch hall and ended up just covered in food himself before getting sent to Woodsy’s office. Spider had started a rambling in your English class about how love is a stupid concept and Missy made a bitter comment about how it was because he was incapable of admitting how he felt. You never really asked him much about that whole relationship. She seemed like a nice girl and he seemed happy when he was with her. But maybe she was right, you couldn’t really imagine Spencer ever being able to talk properly about how he felt - and even if he did feel something, it seemed likely that he’d just try to suppress it.

He’s waiting by his car when you get out of your final class, swinging his keys around his index finger. His legs are crossed one over the other, his blonde locks falling in a shadow over either side of his forehead. He’s wearing a baggy green t-shirt over a long sleeved white top and cargo trousers that seem to swallow his form. Spider’s a handsome boy, and it irritates you that he knows it.

“Are you staring at me Spec?” He’s looking directly at you when you make eye contact with him, a smirk on his lips.

“Oh grow up,” You roll your eyes, dropping your bag down from your shoulder.

“God, you’re insatiable,” He wiggles his brows, taking your bag from you and tossing it into the back seats of the car.

“What ar-“

“Do you have plans?”

“No,” You respond, walking around to the other side of the car, a little apprehensive for what was coming next.

“Fancy a swim?”

You don’t say no, and not a single part of you wants to say no either. You liked this side of Spencer. You saw it more when the two of you were younger. He’d knock on your door with his bike and tell you that you were going on an adventure. The two of you would end up in the woods together for hours until you knew it was getting dark enough to mean that curfew was coming. Sometimes, he’d stop to go into the shop and buy you both snacks with the small allowance he had. It was always a can of soda and a bag of salt and vinegar chips. Always both to share.

Spider winds down the windows on both sides and hands you over the aux cable to put your playlist on. That was one thing he was always sure about. You were quieter than him, less popular, had less exciting stories to tell, didn’t really get into trouble like he did, but when it came to your music taste you would always one up him. His playlist was made up of at least 70% of songs that you’d recommended him - normally these little unknown local rock bands that you’d seen at a show, or a song you’d heard a snippet of and sent him as soon as it was released. Every so often it would be old songs that your Dad had brought you up on. And every single time, Spencer had to reluctantly admit that it was a good song, and days later you’d hear it blaring from the speakers in his room, travelling all the way across to your house. You’d text him to turn it down and he’d flip you off at the window and tell you this was your fault anyway. So, yes, the music was always your call.

Spider’s driving for a half hour before you get to the lake, and he parks up just by the trees. Both of you get out and he leads the way through, moving branches out of the way so they don’t hit you. Once you reach the clearing, the pair of you are overlooking the still water, stretching out for what seemed like miles in every direction. There’s a wooden pier on the close side that Spencer walks out onto.

“It’s probably freezing,” You point out, grimacing at the thought.

“I know,” Spencer laughs, tugging off his shoes and pulling down his trousers.

“You can’t be serious,” You feel your cheeks heat up, turning away from him.

“What? You’ve come all this way and you’re not going to get in?”

“I’ll sit on the edge,” You shrug, looking towards the tree line to avoid him as he stripped in front of you so nonchalantly, “I don’t even have a swimsuit.”

“I’m wearing my boxers, I don’t bring swim shorts everywhere with me,” He scoffs, evidently recognising your distaste towards the idea of wearing your underwear in front of him, “You can put my t-shirt on over you. I don’t mind.”

“I-“ You pause, “Well I…”

“I won’t look Spec, I’m not a perv.”

He steps forward and hangs the t-shirt over one of the wooden posts of the pier closer to you, stepping back. You glance over your shoulder to see him running towards the water, diving into the lake as if he had no fear at all. The splash sprays up far enough to reach you, specks of cold water dotting over your shoulders. Spencer lets out a noise somewhere between a yell and a yelp - shaking his head at the temperature of the water as he kicks back to get further in. He turns around to face away from you and raises his hands in some sort of gesture of peace as if reassuring you he wouldn’t look.

You shake your head, mainly at yourself. What was the big deal? You were going swimming. It wasn’t exactly a big thing. You take off your shoes, fold your trousers on top of them, fold your tank top over those, and hang your jacket up on one of the other wooden posts. Spencer’s clothes were sprawled over the pier without a care in the world. You tug his t-shirt over your body and let it hang over your thighs, the short sleeves dropping down to your elbows.

Spencer turns around in the water, his arms waving through the surface to keep him afloat, “Perfect fit,” He laughs, “Come on, no excuse now.”

“After how you screamed when you got in?” You roll your eyes, “Sounds so tempting.”

“Oh fuck off,” He shakes his head, swimming over to the edge of the pier as you sit down on the end, letting your legs dangle into the water.

He reaches his arms up towards you and you hold onto his forearms as his hands grip your waist. His eyes search for yours for approval before he helps lower you down, watching your face contort and grimace as the cold starts to hit you.

“Wait, wait, wait,” You shake your head as you fully hit the water, kicking your legs wildly beneath you as the water splashes over your shoulders.

Spencer laughs, his hands still on your waist, yours still gripping his arms tightly.

Your breath is shaky and you’re working a million miles a minute to catch up with it, looking into his laughing eyes as you get used to the temperature.

“Fucking hell, this was a stupid idea,” You grumble, finally seeming to relax.

“You’ll live,” Spencer rolls his eyes, swimming away from you and dunking his head under, curtains stuck flat against his temples when he comes back up.

You ease yourself into it, swimming a little further out to follow him.

Everything that Spider did, he just seemed to do so fearlessly. When he started his rants at school, when he said things nobody else did, he didn’t think about what the response would be, he just did it. When he started playing basketball, he was the worst one on the team and he still showed up every week. Now he was easily one of their best. Whenever you’d heard stories about him asking girls out, it was always him approaching them, asking the question and not being scared of the rejection. Though you weren’t sure anyone had ever outright rejected him yet. Maybe Amerie did, once, but you’d never asked him about that.

“So I heard something interesting at school today,” Spencer begins, turning around to face you.

“Go on.”

“You know that guy Malcolm?” He continues, a smirk tugging at his lips, “He did butt stuff with Suzie Cho.”

“Oh god, Spec, is there anything else you could’ve said to describe him?” You grimace, “Like literally anything else.”

“He did butt stuff with one of the Sarahs?” Spider shrugs, “Is that better?”

“Okay, okay, just carry on.”

“Well, apparently, Malcolm has a bit of a crush on you,” Spencer grins widely, “He was asking Ant who the chick is that I drive to school every morning.”

“Wh-“ You shake your head, “That’s probably not… I mean, he probably doesn’t like me, he might just want to know why you’re with me all the time.”

“Please, he wouldn’t be asking if he wasn’t interested,” Spider shakes his head, dots of water spraying from his hair, “So, do you want me to give him your number?”

“No!” You’re quick to respond, probably a bit too quick, “I mean, I don’t know, I barely know Malcolm.”

“What else is there to know? He likes butt stuff, he… okay yeah that’s pretty much all I know about him too, but he seems like an alright guy,” Spencer continues, “Why not give it a go? What’s stopping you?”

“I-“

Despite the cold, you can feel your cheeks heating up. Like you’re under pressure. And you’re not sure if your heart is racing in the cold or just because it’s trying to help your brain think of any response.

“Is there another guy?”

“No.”

“Are you batting for the other side?”

“Spec.”

“Valid question, no judgement here,” He raises his hands, “What then? You’ve not done butt stuff? Because seriously, there’s a first time for everything and I’m sure Malcolm’s into other stuff too or-“

“Spencer.”

He stops then.

“I haven’t…” You shake your head, “I don’t have any experience like that.”

He frowns, “What are you talking about?”

“Exactly what I said. I don’t have any experience. No relationships, no dates, I’ve never slept with a guy, I’ve not even fucking kissed a guy.”

“Wha-“ Spencer half-laughs, “Are you serious?”

“And this is why I didn’t tell you,” You roll your eyes, kicking your feet to swim away from him.

“No, wait, (Y/n)!”

You push yourself out of the water and back onto the pier, hurrying over to grab your things together. Your whole body is shivering now, the material of Spencer’s top clinging to you all over and itching at your cold skin.

“(Y/n) stop come on!” Spencer clambers out of the water behind you.

“Can we just go home, please? I shouldn’t have said anything and we should be getting back anyway and-“

“(Y/n), please,” His hand reaches out and grabs your forearm, “Just stop for a second.”

Spencer turns you around to face him, sighing as you finally seem to accept a bit of defeat.

“I didn’t mean to laugh,” He says softly, sincerely, so much so that you believe him, “I just… Im surprised, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well,” You shrug, looking down at the wet patches on the floor to avoid his eyes, “That’s why I don’t talk about it. It’s weird. I’m seventeen and I’ve never done anything romantic with a guy, haven’t had any guy be interested, not even slightly. I’ve never,” You laugh nervously over your words, “I’ve never even had to reject a guy because they’ve not even been interested in me in the first place. So yeah, I guess you have every right to be surprised.”

“No, not like that,” Spencer shakes his head, ducking just slightly to try and meet your eyes, “I just mean… I don’t know what I mean.”

You look up to him, drawing your arms around yourself as if aiming to avoid the embarrassment as much as possible. Maybe if you did it for long enough you’d just disappear in front of him, he’d forget it ever happened.

“You’re not…” He stops himself, “There’s nothing wrong with you, (Y/n)… before you start thinking that, I mean. There’s nothing wrong with you not doing anything like that, you know.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t always feel that way.”

“Look at you, (Y/n). Any guy would be lucky.”

You roll your eyes, “Being nice doesn’t suit you, Spec.”

He outwardly laughs, “And she’s back.”

You smile at him faintly and a small fraction of the worry in him seems to ease. He just needed to see that at least a bit of you was back. He hated the idea of you hurting, and hated even more the idea of him being the one to hurt you. He’d meant what he said. Any guy would be lucky. And the thought of you not knowing that seemed to just repeat in his head. He’d known you since the two of you knew anything, and he’d grown up with you since then. Even when he was a cunt, when he was the most hated person in school, you were always there - waiting to go home with him, eventually waiting at his car for him to drive you home. He woke up in the mornings and looked for your bedroom curtains to be open just so he could see you. He’d wave or flip you off or try to mouth something you couldn’t understand. He even found himself checking late at night sometimes that your light had gone off so that he knew you weren’t staying up late worrying yourself over something. How would any guy not want a girl like you? Spencer hadn’t given it much thought until now. He’d just assumed other people saw what he saw - he’d never considered that they hadn’t been seeing you at all.

“Can we go home?”

Spencer nods, “Yeah, let’s go.”

You both change, damply, back into your clothes, and walk back to his car. Spencer takes back his t-shirt and rings it out, throwing it into the trunk with his gym bag. You sit into the passenger seat and put your jacket beneath you to not make his seats wet. He climbs into the driver’s seat and starts going without a word. You don’t play any music this time, your mind already felt loud enough.

Within the hour, he’s parked back in front of his house and you unclip your seatbelt.

“Um,” You clear your throat, “You can give Malcolm my number… if he wants it I mean.”

Spencer looks at you and raises his brows, “Yeah, yeah, okay, if you want me to.”

“I just… I’ve never… I wouldn’t really know what…”

“Then I’ll help you,” He shrugs, “What are friends for, right? I can help you get ready for a date with him, at least.”

“Thanks Spec,” You nod, “Good night.”

“Night, (Y/n),” He says softly, watching as you get out of the car and walk the few steps towards your own house.

He sits there for a moment longer, letting you disappear before he makes any other movements. And, when he walks into his house, he smiles at the sight of the light on behind the curtains in your room, smiles even wider when he turns up his speakers to play a song you’d sent him last week. His phone pings with a text from you only moments later.

———

Malcolm asks you on a date for that Friday. You’d been speaking to him all week, like you’d actually been able to keep the conversation going for that entire week. He was funny, he was charming, he asked you questions about yourself, he was sweet. Spider had been asking you about how it was going every day, he tried to get more information out of you - what had Malcolm said? what had you responded? were you any good at flirting? had he been weird yet?

“Okay, so, it’s Friday, what’s the date plan?”

“I don’t know, Malcolm said he’d plan it,” You shrug, scrolling down your playlist to find a song.

“What?” Spencer exclaims, “You don’t know?”

“Yeah, is that weird? He just said he’d plan it.”

“No, no, it’s not weird,” He assures you, “I’m just surprised you’re so chill about not knowing what’s going on, normally you’d be stressed about things.”

“Well I’ve never been on a date before so there is no normally.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, “You know what I mean Spec, you just get worried about things quickly and I thought this would be the same. But I’m glad you’re not. So, what are you going to wear for your hot date?”

“Ew I’m not talking about that with you.”

“Oh come on,” He laughs, the corners of his eyes creasing the way they always seems to do around you, “We’ve shared a bath together (Y/n), there’s no boundaries anymore.”

“For the last time we were like two when that happened! Stop bringing it up!”

———

Spencer drives you home that night and wishes you luck at least five times before you get out of the car. He tells you to text him as soon as you’re home.

You shower, get changed at least four times, do your makeup and then wipe some of it off when you think it looks like too much. And you’re sat on your bed ready a full ten minutes before he said he’d pick you up. You hadn’t heard from Malcolm for an hour or so, but you didn’t think much of it. Maybe he was getting ready too. You notice he’d read your last message, though, and think that texting him wouldn’t cause much harm, right? What’s the policy on these things? Should you let him know that you’re ready or would that be too eager? Should you maybe double check the time, or just make sure that he definitely knows your address?

Ugh.

Maybe dating was stressful.

You spend a full ten minutes debating over whether it’s a good idea to text. Nothing wrong with a text. And then you spend another ten minutes wondering what exactly you should write, only then realising this now meant that Malcolm was late and you still hadn’t heard from him. Now should you be worried.

Okay, fuck it, just send the text.

Hey, are you on your way?

He reads it almost instantly. Can’t be on his way then.

Sorry, (Y/n), I can’t do tonight. It’s complicated, sorry again.

You feel a lump form in your throat, a twisting in your stomach, a sickness that only came from this sort of gut wrenching moment. He’d cancelled on you. Did it even count as cancelling if you had to ask him first? He didn’t even give an explanation. Was he just hoping you wouldn’t ask? Was he hoping he could just pretend like he’d never asked you out in the first place?

You feel tears bubble in your eyes and instantly hate the idea of you being sensitive about this. Was it dramatic to be upset? No, you were upset. Not just because he’d cancelled, not just because he’d been shitty about it, not just because you were actually looking forward to your first date. But because it confirmed every worry you’d implanted in yourself about this whole thing. It confirmed every time you’d been nervous and panicked and stressed that these good things would never happened to you. It reminded you of every time one of your friends got asked out and you got swiftly ignored. It reminded you of every party you’d been told about where it sounded like everyone had got with someone there. And yet you were sat at home while it had happened, telling yourself that you didn’t like parties anyway.

And so you let yourself cry, the kind of cry that shakes your shoulders and lets mascara run down your cheeks. The cry that releases the tension in your chest and untwists the knot in your stomach.

—

Spencer didn’t want to text you whilst you were in your date. He’d told you to have a good time, he’d told you to text him if you needed anything. He should leave you to it. But your bedroom light was still on. You always turned it off before you left, it was ritual. In fact, you’d even hurry back inside to make sure it was off.

He hadn’t heard a car outside, either. Had Malcolm not picked you up?

He felt the worry spiral inside of him. Maybe he should just text. It would be easy, right? Just a quick text to make sure the date was going okay.

How’s the hot date going?

He stands at his window as if hoping to see no signs of movement on the other side. Please, God, tell me he hasn’t cancelled, he thought.

Does it count as a hot date if he doesn’t show up?

He feels his stomach drop, a pit forming at the thought of anyone thinking it would be a good idea to cancel on you. What was wrong with this boy?

Without a second thought, he’s running out of his room and practically tripping over his own feet to get down to the front door as soon as he can. He opens it at the same moment that you open yours, both of you stood across the driveway from each other. You’re still dressed in your outfit for the date, a blue sundress with tiny yellow flowers. Your makeup has been stripped off and it seems a million tears have ran down your cheeks and yet you still try to force yourself to smile at him when you see him.

“(Y/n),” Spencer practically sighs over the word, like he can’t think of anything right to say in the moment.

He crosses over the few metres between you and wraps his arms around you, holding you against his chest.

“He’s a fucking cunt, okay?” He mumbles into you, one hand holding your head and smoothing over your hair, “He’s a fucking asshole, this isn’t you, okay?”

You step away from him and wipe under your eyes, “I’m being stupid, I know. It was only a first date, I don’t know why I thought-“

“No, no, you’re not doing that,” Spider shakes his head, “This isn’t your fault. And you’re allowed to be upset. He’s a cunt. Do you understand me?”

You laugh a little, “Thanks, Spec.”

“I-“ He scans you as if he wants to check you’re okay, looking for signs that he’d made anything better, “Come on, come round and watch a film at mine. We can order food. I don’t want you to be on your own.”

“No, come on Spider, you don’t have to do that-“

“I don’t have to do it,” He interrupts, resting a hand on your back, “Come on.”

His hand remains there as the two of you walk over, barefoot on the concrete between the two houses. His Mum is downstairs when you walk in, watching something on the TV in the lounge.

“Spencer?” She looks over the back of the couch when he walks in, “What are you- Oh! (Y/n)! What are you doing here?”

“We’re just going to watch a film, Mum,” Spencer speaks through a clenched jaw.

“Oh I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages!” She hops up from the sofa and hurries over, “You look pretty! I love this dress!”

“Oh, yeah, thank you,” You smile politely, glancing over to Spencer as if you’re not sure what to say.

“I’ll order us some pizza,” Spencer nods, his thumb brushing over the skin of your back before he lets his hand drop.

“Yeah, okay, yeah, I’ll have a-“

“I know.”

He smiles as he walks away, leaving you in the company of his mother. You’d known her all your life but that wasn’t to say you were her biggest fan. She’d always treated you like the daughter she never had. In fact, sometimes it seemed like she cared more about you than she did her own son. She repeatedly told your own Mum that she wished she’d had a daughter. You knew her and Spencer didn’t have the best relationship but he never spoke about it much. Whenever you’d seen him with her, he was always polite but you knew he’d argue with her at home. Sometimes you could hear them yelling from across the way and then you’d hear him return to his room and slam the door.

“I didn’t know you two were… hanging out,” She says suggestively, “Is there something me and your Mum should know?”

“Oh, no,” You half-laugh, shaking your head, “I just… No, I mean we’ve always been friends.”

“Oh of course you have, but I think you were half this height when you last came round to the house like this,” She chuckles, “Just be careful with him, you know what boys can be like.”

You’re thankful when Spencer rounds the corner back into the hallway.

“Pizza’s on the way,” He says, “Want to go upstairs?”

“Yeah,” You let out a sigh of relief through the word, “It was nice to see you Cait, I’m sure Mum will have you over soon.”

You follow Spencer’s steps up the stairs and into his room, where you’d once played games of Prince and Princess, or ones where you pretended to be soldiers or spies or superheroes. Where you’d once brought round your toys and swapped them with his. You can see your own window from the view through his just before he closes the curtains and it somehow eases a bit of the anxiety in your chest. He’d always been here.

———

The pizza arrives twenty minutes after and Spencer goes down to get it, leaving you sat on the edge of his bed in your dress. You felt overdressed and uncomfortable and it felt too tight on your skin when you thought about it too much.

“And dinner is served!” He smiles as he comes back into the room, “What’s wrong?”

“Um,” You look up and return his smile, “Any chance I could… I mean, do you have a… Can I borrow a top to wear?”

He laughs, “Yeah get pizza sauce down one of my tops instead of your dress,” He jokes, “Take whichever one, I won’t look.”

You flick through a few in his closet and then reach for one of the white ones, a graphic flower print on the back. A man of his word, Spencer faces the wall as you change, the dress pooling on the floor by your feet as you fit his t-shirt over your matching underwear set.

“Okay, done.”

He turns back around.

There was something about it. You in his clothes. Spencer felt like the blood had just rushed out of his head. Like his heart had forgotten to take a beat.

“Alright, I’ll find us a film to watch.”

He puts on Superbad and you both chat the whole way through it. He quotes it every so often because you were certain he’d seen this film more times than he could count. You both eat your pizza and he steals a slice of yours. He gets tomato sauce on his cheek and you laugh at him until he tells you to wipe it off. He tells you that he used to be scared of seeing a monster in his closet when he was a kid and he’d once tried to pull the doors off to stop them from being able to hide. You tell him you already knew that. You tell him that you wanted to be a vet when you were a kid and he reminds you that you once tried to do surgery on one of his teddy bears and ended up ripping the ear off. He still had that bear.

Eventually, the two of you are laying back on his bed watching the second film of the night. Your choice this time. 10 things I hate about you.

Somewhere in the progress of the night, Spencer found it impossible to take his eyes off of you. You were laying on the pillow next to him with your hand resting on your stomach with the other one down at the side beside him, your head angled towards him to see the screen. You laugh at something that one of them had said and he realises he hasn’t been paying attention to the entire thing. His hand falls down by his side and he feels it involuntarily inching just slightly closer to you. He felt like a kid again. His childhood crush in bed beside him and he felt like he had no idea of what move to make next.

And then it’s there. His fingertips brush against one of your hands. You flinch just slightly but you don’t pull away. And he laces his fingers with yours quickly before he overthinks it enough to regret it. You don’t pull away. You don’t want to. The contact seems to shoot a bolt of electricity through you, glancing to him to see him looking right back at you. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. His lips curl up into a small smile and he watches as you shuffle closer to him, his hand slipping out of yours to instead wrap around your back as your head rests on his chest, hair splaying. His heart is pounding underneath your head but neither of you say a word, both turning your focus back to the screen. He could feel the blood coursing through him, trying to relax into your touch despite how nervous he felt.

Had he always felt like this? Had he always been waiting on you? He couldn’t think. You’d just always been there. He looked forward to the mornings when he’d see you again. He looked forward to the end of the day when he’d go back to you. He looked to make you laugh, to make you smile, to make you feel better, to keep you safe. And you’d always felt like you were something that nobody else could ruin. You were in his life from the moment he could remember and he couldn’t imagine being at a point in his life where you weren’t there.

When he looks back down to you, your breathing has steadied and your eyes have fluttered closed against him, fast asleep against the rise and fall of his chest.

He brings a hand up and brushes your hair away from your face, fingers delicate to not disturb you.

Oh god, was he in love?

———

You wake up early the following morning, Spencer asleep beneath you, your head still on his chest. The sunlight is spilling through from the slight gap between his curtains.

“Wh-“ You mumble to nobody but yourself, propping yourself up onto your elbow as if you’re trying to assess the situation.

Spencer groans and his arm tightens around you as if he instinctively wants to check that you’re still there.

“What time is it?” Spencer mumbles through tired lips, his eyes still shut.

“I-“ You clear your throat, “I don’t know. I should probably get back.”

You scramble to get off of the bed, looking around the room for your shoes and your dress as if this was a one night stand you wanted to escape.

“Woah, woah, woah,” He groans as he’s forcing himself to wake up, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry about last night, I shouldn’t have… and we shouldn’t… I don’t expect…”

“What are you talking about?” He half laughs, propping himself up on his elbows, blinking away from the sleep from his eyes to let you come into focus.

“I just… I don’t want you to think that I thought anything of last night,” You breathe out, “I totally get it, I was upset and you were being a good friend and-“

“(Y/n),” Spencer gets up from the bed and steps forward so that he’s standing directly in front of you, “I don’t think that.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, looking up at him like he wasn’t the boy you’d always known.

“What I do think…” He takes a breath this time as if he’s trying to suppress his own nerves, “Is that we had our first date last night.”

“First date?” You half laugh, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks and that same bolt of electricity as his hand reaches out to lock with yours.

“Well, there was food, and a movie… two movies actually,” He points out, lifting up his other hand to brush your hair away from your face, “You even stayed the night. That sounds like almost a full date to me.”

“Almost?” You half-whisper, like you’re worried something’s going to ruin the moment, “What’s missing?”

“This.”

He shifts his hand to cup your cheek, his thumb shaping around your jaw to bring your lips to his, soft and yet somehow so certain of themselves. This was the first time anyone’s lips had been on yours, the first time you knew what it felt like to be kissed. And your heart seemed to soar at the idea of Spencer being the one to show you.

When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours like he is desperate to hold onto some contact, like he can’t imagine being apart from you.

“I-“ You swallow the lump in your throat, “You…”

Spencer’s lips curl into a soft smile, “I’d say that’s a pretty good first date.”

———————

(Any of y’all want part 2????)

[egcdeath]

making a racket

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

warnings: social media au, dates aren’t really relevant but are there for formatting purposes, mentions of a sex tape but nothing explicit, drama, no use of y/n, usernames are random, grammar isn’t the best because it’s social media, angst, fluff, more drama, twitter, gossip websites, reddit, text messages, emails, deuxmoi, so many headlines.

summary: as a celebrity, you often can’t control the narrative. you find that out the hard way when you enter a relationship with an infamous retired tennis player.

word count: 5k

author’s note: this fic was inspired by this request and was so fun to write! also, i apologize in advance if i somehow tagged you because of your username!!!

key: DM = deuxmoi (a celebrity gossip account on instagram)

CDAN = crazy days and nights (a website with blind items)

blind items = basically a riddle for celebrity gossip

EGOT = Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony Awards

🎾 future EGOT winner updates - @popculturelvr9

UPDATE: today thee tennis princess herself followed retired tennis player patrick zweig. he has not yet followed her back.

[alt text: screenshot of mother following patrick zweig on instagram]

6:07 PM 8/12/22 From Earth

cleo - @filmsn0b

@popculturelvr9 could it be for that new biopic abt the tennis player?

6:08 PM 8/12/22 From Earth

🎾 future EGOT winner updates  - @popculturelvr9

@filmsn0b god i hope so. it’s about time she brought home an oscar. 

6:08 PM 8/12/22 From Earth

🎬🎾 - @lalalanding

@popculturelvr9 @filmsn0b it’s not a biopic fyi but that makes sense. they just started production a few days ago so he’s prob helping her learn how to play

6:10 PM 8/12/22 From Earth

🎾 future EGOT winner updates - @popculturelvr9 

@lalalanding @filmsn0b like i said….. the Oscars are not ready for her. 

6:10 PM 8/12/22 From Earth

——

tara 🦋🐬 - @profhater

GUYS you will never guess who i just met

10:30 PM 8/22/22 From Earth

🎬🎾 - @lalalanding

@profhater who?

10:32 PM 8/22/22 From Earth

tara 🦋🐬 - @profhater

see for yourself

[alt text: me with the queen herself AHHHH]

10:32 PM 8/22/22 From Earth

🎬🎾 - @lalalanding

@profhater @popculturelvr9 LOOK

10:34 PM 8/22/22 From Earth

🎾 future EGOT winner updates - @popculturelvr9 

@lalalanding @profhater OMG

10:42 PM 8/22/22 From Earth

🎾 future EGOT winner updates - @popculturelvr9 

@lalalanding @profhater what did she say to you?

10:42 PM 8/22/22 From Earth

tara 🦋🐬 - @profhater

@popculturelvr9 @lalalanding i told her i loved her work then made some random guy she was with take the picture lol 

10:55 PM 8/22/22 From Earth

🎾 future EGOT winner updates - @popculturelvr9 

@profhater @lalalanding ugh i wish i was you

10:42 PM 8/22/22 From Earth

----

@deuxmoi - 9/13/22

SPOTTED

let’s see what your favorite celebs have been up to since last week

hi! i served (no pun intended) that former tennis player patrick zweig and that one actress from that one dramedy show that swept the award circuit last year at the country club i work at this weekend. they were super nice and tipped very generously! idk if they’re dating but they were definitely wearing matching outfits. 

not the first time we’ve 

heard she’s a good tipper

—-

@deuxmoi - 9/25/22

Sent via form submission from Deuxmoi

Pseudonyms, please: COURTING her

Email: balls@aol.com 

Subject: award darling and no one’s darling

Message: i work on the set of the production for a very highly anticipated movie for next summer and a leading actress and her “personal trainer” have been getting awfully cozy. we’ve caught him leaving her trailer a number of times. he definitely doesn’t fit her sweet girl persona. 

——

Blind Item #13 

This newly critically acclaimed TV actress has had her head in the clouds lately. After various reports of spotting her making quite a Racket with a consulting crew member, her publicist has been scrambling to put out fires and advising her to move on, but she insists on seeing him. 

Someone call HR.

October 3, 2022

——

r/Fauxmoi

u/aintnodiva

I know it’s not from DM but does anyone know who this might be?

[alt text: Screenshot of Oct. 3, 2022’s Blind Item #13 from CDAN]

⬆3 ⬇

u/sinkingships212

Racket makes me think of tennis, tennis makes me think of that one upcoming movie, so I’m gonna guess Patrick Zweig is involved somehow. 

⬆15 ⬇

u/aintnodiva

No wayyy is he with the lead actress then?

⬆5 ⬇

u/sinkingships212

I doubt it. Their vibes seem totally mismatched lmao. Besides, she’s in too good of a place in her career to be with a guy whose dick pics are one Google search away.

⬆8 ⬇

u/teaspilllllt

did anyone else see that submission to DM a few weeks ago about the production for that movie? it basically said the same thing

⬆3 ⬇

u/sinkingships212

I forgot about that. It’s probably just speculation then.

⬆6 ⬇

——

🎾 future EGOT winner updates - @popculturelvr9

UPDATE: it looks like the tennis movie has wrapped! this is queen leaving the set today

[alt text: paparazzi picture of a beautiful gorgeous radiant woman getting into her ride tonight]

9:45 PM 10/15/22 From Earth

🌸💐🌺 - @floraflorals

@popculturelvr she looks so sad omg who hurt her 😭

9:46 PM 10/15/22 From Earth

🎾 future EGOT winner updates - @popculturelvr9

@floraflorals idk who did but i need to fight them

9:47 PM 10/15/22 From Earth

🎾🎬 - @lalalanding

@popculturelvr9 @floraflorals girl probably patrick zweig

9:47 PM 10/15/22 From Earth

🌸💐🌺 - @floraflorals

@lalalanding ew

9:51 PM 10/15/22 From Earth

🎾 future EGOT winner updates - @popculturelvr9

@floraflorals @lalalanding she’s probably just sad to be wrapping honestly 

9:52 PM 10/15/22 From Earth

🎾🎬 - @lalalanding

@popculturelvr9 @floraflorals i still blame That Man

9:53 PM 10/15/22 From Earth

----

Blind Item #7

This highly anticipated movie featuring a highly in-demand prestige actress had a particular crew consultant stay far longer than what was necessary. From consultant, to trainer, to fuckbuddy? With production wrapping, these coworkers are not so sure where they stand. 

Someone should’ve intervened months ago. 

November 16, 2022

—--

Blind Item #4

The holidays are coming around, and this couple who are more like a double still don’t know where they stand. Maybe asking someone allergic to commitment to come to Thanksgiving was a mistake. 

November 24, 2022

—-

Instagram

@finstalice: holiday photodump!

1 hour ago

@spammmacy: i’m dead why was that tennis guy at your thanksgiving 💀

45 minutes ago

@finstalice: @spammmacy lololol a friend brought him over for friendsgiving

40 minutes ago

@spammmacy: did he do any tennis tricks for yall

37 minutes ago

@finstalice: @spammmacy ik ur joking but after a few drinks he literally did. u should’ve seen the girl who brought him 😭 she was so embarrassed but went right back to smooching him after

33 minutes ago

@spammmacy: how did she not get the ick

31 minutes ago

@finstalice: @spammmacy love is a mysterious thing

22 minutes ago

——

The Independent 

December 13, 2022

Former tennis star Patrick Zweig and up-and-coming actress cozy up at intimate dinner

On Friday, the pair grabbed Italian at a notoriously hard-to-get-into restaurant. The couple shared dishes and drinks and seemed to be enjoying each other’s company. 

Zweig, 29, recently retired after a season that ended in injury. His retirement came after a series of scandals, most notably being a risqué leak of his camera roll. 

At 29 herself, she is coming off the heels of a very busy award season. Taking home her first Best Actress Emmy and BAFTA awards, she also recently received her second ensemble cast award.

The two seem to be an interesting pair, having finished wrapping a movie they were both working on in late October. The unlikely friendship comes on the heels of murmurs about a potential relationship.

“They’ve been enjoying their newfound friendship. It's rare for her to find someone with similar life experiences that she can genuinely bond with,” an insider told us. 

We have to wonder what they discussed over dinner. 

——

Buzzfeed

January 1, 2023

Cheers to the New Year! 5 Celebrity NYE Parties You Wish You Attended. 

1.Forget Kim Kardashian—If you weren’t at this rising star’s NYE party, you weren’t living!

Attendees included fellow co-stars from her critically acclaimed show, cast and crew from her recently wrapped tennis-themed film, and Patrick Zweig, who she’s been spotted with a number of times. Are they our newest OTP? Vote for your favorite speculated couple in this poll here. 

——

Daily Mail

January 14, 2023

Method Acting? Two-time Emmy winner laughs with friends at Australian Open.

The television star, who hasn’t shown interest in the sport prior to her casting in her upcoming film, appeared to be relaxed and laid back with friends. Former tennis professional and new tennis consultant, Patrick Zweig, appeared to explain the ins and outs to her. The pair seemed particularly close as they shared concessions and laughter. 

Her team declined to comment. 

——

🎾 future EGOT winner updates - @popculturelvr9

UPDATE: mother was spotted looking absolutely splendiferous at the Australian Open today. 

[alt text: queen with some of her friends and that tennis guy]

10:45 AM 1/14/23 From Earth

🎾🎬 - @lalalanding

@popculturelvr9 awww she’s so cute

10:47 AM 1/14/23 From Earth

sage ❄️ - @sagingthetl

@lalalanding @popculturelvr9 and of course he’s just there

10:48 AM 1/14/23 From Earth

💐 - @zweignatorrr

@sagingthetl @lalalanding @popculturelvr9 can we please just be honest with ourselves and acknowledge that they’re together lol

10:51 AM 1/14/23 From Earth

sage ❄️ - @sagingthetl

@zweignatorrr @lalalanding @popculturelvr9 i mean yeah obviously they are but i don’t like him

10:55 AM 1/14/23 From Earth

🎾 future EGOT winner updates - @popculturelvr9

@sagingthetl fair but you have to admit they’re a cute couple 

10:55 AM 1/14/23 From Earth

sage ❄️ - @sagingthetl

@popculturelvr9 no i don’t

10:56 AM 1/14/23 From Earth

——

r/TennisGossip

u/makearacquet

AITA for shipping Patrick Zweig and that actress???

I just saw a very convincing timeline on Tumblr. They’ve been distracting me at the Open. Kinda cute if they’re actually dating. Really weird if they’re just friends.

⬆-45 ⬇

u/backhandedd

YTA for not posting about the actual Aus Open during the Aus Open.

⬆48 ⬇

——

TMZ EXCLUSIVE: PATRICK ZWEIG AND MYSTERY GIRL SPOTTED GETTING FRISKY IN ALLEYWAY

January 15, 2023

Looks like today's Australian Open winners weren’t the only ones who got lucky. 

TMZ obtained an exclusive photo of retired tennis player Patrick Zweig getting hot and bothered in Australia. Though we haven’t identified his mystery woman, there’s speculation around the woman being former fling and fellow retired player Tashi Duncan, who was also spotted at the Open, or a new coworker, who Zweig was spotted sitting next to yesterday.

Zweig’s team declined to comment. 

—-

Professional Mess Cleaner: Hello?

Professional Mess Maker: hi what’s up??

Professional Mess Cleaner: Don’t even what’s up me right now.

Professional Mess Cleaner: Are you serious?

Professional Mess Maker: yes lol what’s wrong

Professional Mess Cleaner: tmz.com/patrick-zweig-and-mystery-girl-spotted-getting-frisky-in-alleyway/02948289339

Professional Mess Cleaner: THIS IS WHAT’S WRONG!!!!!

Professional Mess Maker: shittttt

Professional Mess Cleaner: Is that all you have to say for yourself!!!??? 

Professional Mess Cleaner: I hope for both of our sakes that your stupid boyfriend is cheating on you.

Professional Mess Maker: rude

Professional Mess Cleaner: I’m going to fistfight you.

Professional Mess Cleaner: You’re lucky none of these pictures show your face because it definitely shows his hand up your skirt. 

Professional Mess Cleaner: You couldn’t wait a few hours to go somewhere private?????

Professional Mess Maker: i told him we should wait.

Professional Mess Cleaner: TELL HIM HARDER NEXT TIME

Professional Mess Maker: sorry :,(

Professional Mess Maker: patrick says he’s sorry too

Professional Mess Cleaner: Apology not accepted. Especially not his.

Professional Mess Cleaner: What happened to being an easy client??? Are you getting your rebellious phase now??? Are you gonna be doing drugs on the front page of TMZ next week???

Professional Mess Maker: obviously not???? 

Professional Mess Cleaner: This week then??

Professional Mess Maker: i am not on drugs!!!!!

Professional Mess Cleaner: I wouldn’t know by the way you’ve been acting lately!!!

Professional Mess Maker: you can’t even tell who he’s making out with pls unclench

Professional Mess Cleaner: Please share who else it would be. So someone else’s publicist can deal with it. 

Professional Mess Cleaner: And if you tell me to unclench again I will quit right this minute and let you deal with this yourself. 

Professional Mess Maker: the article does mention tashi duncan by name but not me

Professional Mess Maker: but you’re so right i’m so sorry we will do better next time 😇

Professional Mess Cleaner: You better, or there won’t be a next time.

Professional Mess Cleaner: I’m serious.

——

🎾 future EGOT winner updates - @popculturelvr9

UNOFFICIAL UPDATE: this is definitely them making out lol

[alt text: patrick zweig making out with we know who]

10:51 AM 1/15/23 From Earth

ZWEIGNATORS - @zweignationupdates

@popculturelvr9 how romantic

10:53 AM 1/15/23 From Earth

💐 - @zweignatorrr

@popculturelvr that’s so invasive pls delete

10:58 AM 1/15/23 From Earth

—

@deuxmoi - 1/28/23

Sent via form submission from Deuxmoi

Pseudonyms, please: ace

Email: lovelovelove@aol.com 

Subject: DEUCE

Message: this athlete and actress have been giving it their all to stay away from each other. they’re both pap magnets which is a nightmare for people trying to keep their relationship secret! we’ll see if they make it to valentine’s day.

—-

@deuxmoi - 2/14/23

SPOTTED - V-DAY EDITION

let’s see what your favorite celebs have been up to since last week

i saw patrick zweig in trader joe’s buying a bunch of flowers and chocolates.

anon pls

chivalry is not dead

—-

Blind Item #9

This newly critically acclaimed actress has run into some conflict with her otherwise smooth sailing secret relationship. He’s tired of staying quiet and she’s not ready to come forward. She really believes that bringing him as her plus-one to this major award show will heal all wounds. Only time will tell.

March 13, 2023

—

Buzzfeed

March 21, 2023

Our Top 20 Best and Worst Dressed at the 2023 Oscars

Not everyone can be a winner in this prestigious award show. Not everyone can be a winner when it comes to outfits, either. 

Best

9. This beautiful gown, which was worn by the talented Emmy winner, was only made better by the help of friend Patrick Zweig, who helped fix the train a number of times on the red carpet. 

—

🎾 future EGOT winner updates - @popculturelvr9

UPDATE: THE QUEEN HAS ARRIVED AT CANNES FILM FESTIVAL

[alt text: mother looking resplendent while getting out of a car]

10:51 AM 5/15/23 From Earth

tara 🦋🐬 - @profhater

@popculturelvr9 she’s glowing!!!!!

11:00 AM 5/15/23 From Earth

🎬🎾 - @lalalanding

@popculturelvr9 i can’t wait for the first reviews of her movie

11:00 AM 5/15/23 From Earth

🎾 future EGOT winner updates - @popculturelvr9

@lalalanding they’re saying this is gonna get her the oscar and i’m not even being delusional

[alt text: a review posted on instagram that says “she’s a powerhouse in this film and is arguably the emotional core of it. her performance is subtle, but moving. her physicality and delivery is like nothing i’ve ever seen before. definitely a contender for next year’s oscars.” the post was liked by her mom, her stylist, that tennis player, and thousands of others. ]

9:05 PM 5/15/23 From Earth

💐 - @zweignatorrr

@popculturelvr awww patrick is so cute for liking! such a supportive bf 🥹

9:38 PM 5/15/23 From Earth

🎬🎾 - @lalalanding

@popculturelvr9 @zweignatorrr we don’t care about that man

9:44 PM 5/15/23 From Earth

—-

@deuxmoi - 7/19/23

Sent via form submission from Deuxmoi

Pseudonyms, please: double fault

Email: morelovelovelove@aol.com 

Subject: pen pals

Message: this athlete-actress couple whose relationship is an open secret are very sad to be parting ways. she’s going on a month long press tour and he’s staying behind. they have plans to meet up at a few locations, but she’d rather be with him than promoting her movie that’s getting SERIOUS oscar buzz.

—-

From: Gone Fishing (gonephishing@iclouud.org)             June 22

To: FishersPrice (fishersprice101@iclouud.org)

CC: BaitnSwitch (baitnswitch@iclouud.org) 

Subject: How many strokes?

Price & Bait, 

Remember how we logged into that tennis guy Patrick Zweig’s iCloud? More specifically, how he wasn’t able to fully kick us out??

You’d never guess what we just found.

Regards,

Fishy

From: FishersPrice (fishersprice101@iclouud.org)         June 22

To: GoneFishing (gonephishing@iclouud.org), BaitnSwitch (baitnswitch@iclouud.org) 

Subject: RE: How many strokes?

Please share.

Thanks,

Price

From: Gone Fishing (gonephishing@iclouud.org)               June 22

To: FishersPrice (fishersprice101@iclouud.org), BaitnSwitch (baitnswitch@iclouud.org) 

Subject: RE: How many strokes?

📎 TAPE

See attached. 

Regards,

Fishy

From: FishersPrice (fishersprice101@iclouud.org)           June 22

To: GoneFishing (gonephishing@iclouud.org), BaitnSwitch (baitnswitch@iclouud.org) 

Subject: RE: How many strokes?

Fuck. We’re gonna be millionaires. 

Thanks,

Price

——

TMZ

June 23, 2023

TMZ EXCLUSIVE: PATRICK ZWEIG SEX TAPE LEAKED… AGAIN!

Someone hasn’t learned his lesson.

The lengthy video also features a two-time Emmy award winning actress, although it didn’t seem like she was doing much acting (unless she’s better than we thought.)

The pair briefly talk and giggle before getting straight to business. The video is as sweet as it is hot— and though they’ve insisted they’re just friends, their breathy love confessions say otherwise. 

Both parties declined to comment. 

—--

ZWEIGNATORS - @zweignationupdates

was not expecting to see patrick’s racket on my tl first thing in the morning but ok. good morning i guess. 

9:34 AM 6/23/23 From Earth

nasty girl - @matchmyfreqk

@zweignationupdates sorry but like…... link 

9:36 AM 6/23/23 From Earth

ZWEIGNATORS - @zweignationupdates

@matchmyfreqk check dms

9:40 AM 6/23/23 From Earth

nasty girl - @matchmyfreqk

@zweignationupdates why was that kinda beautiful 

10:25 AM 6/23/23 From Earth

ZWEIGNATORS - @zweignationupdates

@matchmyfreqk that’s what i said! like the hand holding?? the love yous?? when he said he was gonna miss her?? i didn’t realize it was like that for them

10:36 AM 6/23/23 From Earth

—-

CLOSED - @popculturelvr9

not an update but please don’t send us or ask us to talk about the tape. it’s a gross violation of privacy and it is honestly none of our business. 

11:23 AM 6/23/23 From Earth

CLOSED - @popculturelvr9

@popculturelvr9 if you bring it up you will be blocked btw! 

11:23 AM 6/23/23 From Earth

🎾🎬 - @lalalanded

@popculturelvr9 i swear it’s my whole timeline rn. i feel so bad for her

11:26 AM 6/23/23 From Earth

CLOSED -  @popculturelvr9

@lalalanded for it to happen right before the press tour is so bad. sending so many good vibes her way

11:26 AM 6/23/23 From Earth

🎾🎬 - @lalalanded

@popculturelvr9 i’m sure it’ll blow over soon

11:28 AM 6/23/23 From Earth

—-

r/TennisGossip

🔴HOT TOPICS

The tape. Let’s talk about it.

u/sinkingships

Is it really any of our business? Stuff like this happens all the time and as far as sex scandals go this one’s quite tame

⬆-2 ⬇

u/Tennisfan233445

Upvote if that was one of the hottest things you’ve ever watched. Downvote if you’re a liar. 

⬆564⬇

u/NothingbuttNet

if this showbiz thing doesn’t work out i think they have a solid backup plan 👀

⬆339⬇

——

Your Fav Femininity Coach - @putmeincoach

This tape is a perfect example of why I always tell my clients not to mess with men who are above them. Super promising career down the drain over some guy.

12:02 PM 6/24/23 From Earth

User 16363627919 - @user16363627919

@putmeincoach Obviously you don’t know what you’re talking about Patrick Zweig is a fucking tennis legend and that girl is nothing.

12:34 PM 6/24/23 From Earth

🎾🎬 - @lalalanded

@putmeincoach @user16363627919 NOTHING???? how many prestigious awards do YOU have, User 16363627919?? i don’t think they give awards out for being a misogynistic loser

12:44 PM 6/24/23 From Earth

🎾🎬 - @lalalanded

@putmeincoach this is such a dramatic take lol everyone’s gonna forget about this in a week when something else happens 

12:44 PM 6/24/23 From Earth

Your Fav Femininity Coach - @putmeincoach

@lalalanded We’ll have to see. Still, you shouldn’t settle for someone who makes you act out of character like this

1:08 PM 6/24/23 From Earth

🎾🎬 - @lalalanded

@putmeincoach do you know her personally? not everything is so black and white and obviously they both consented and thought this would be private. 

1:41 PM 6/24/23 From Earth

—-

@deuxmoi - 6/25/23

Sent via form submission from Deuxmoi

Pseudonyms, please: breakup

Email: goodbyelove@aol.com

Subject: Cumming and Going 

Message: Apparently, this former tennis star and actress are going their separate ways after an intimate video leaked. She’s worried about the damage it might do to her career and her ability to be taken seriously. He just wants her to be happy. Her publicist has been letting interviewers know that there will be no questions answered about the tape, but this will not be a fun press tour for her.

——

Blind Item #2

The damage has already been done for this athlete-actress pair. Still, she insists on suffering through a break up on top of this scandal. 

June 28, 2023

——

Blind Item #8

This retired athlete has received countless offers from the adult film industry in the last week. This scandal is somehow even more humiliating than his last five. He says he doesn’t care, but he does. A lot. 

June 28, 2023

——

Blind Item #11

She’s losing brand deals and partnerships left and right. If she makes it through the next week alive, let alone through her press tour, it’ll be a major miracle. 

June 28, 2023

——

DailyMail

June 30, 2023

Full of Regret: Actress spotted leaving her apartment with red-rimmed eyes

Just days after a scandalous tape was leaked, we’re receiving our first sign of life from the actress. 

According to insider DoorDash drivers, she has been a very frequent customer as of late, ordering comfort food and pints of ice cream and leaving very generous tips. 

She seemed to be waiting for the storm to blow over before reentering the public, but with her and her partner’s name trending on Twitter for the past several days, it seems unlikely that it’ll happen any time soon. 

——

Professional Mess Cleaner: Just checking in. How are you feeling today?

Professional Mess Maker: even worse than yesterday

Professional Mess Maker: i want to say something but i don’t know what

Professional Mess Cleaner: The gossip cycle has already started to move on, but if you really want to say something, I can draft up a response. 

Professional Mess Cleaner: The ball’s in your court ❤️

Professional Mess Maker: no more mention of balls please 

Professional Mess Cleaner: Sorry. Got it.

Professional Mess Maker: maybe you can just say something about not letting my own decisions impact the cast and crew who worked really hard to make the film happen

Professional Mess Maker: speaking of which, have you heard from patrick?

Professional Mess Cleaner: Do you want the truth or to protect your peace?

Professional Mess Maker: things can’t get any worse just give it to me straight 

Professional Mess Cleaner: I hear from him every few hours. He wants to know how you’re feeling. 

Professional Mess Cleaner: And if you’ll take him back. 

Professional Mess Maker: ugh

Professional Mess Cleaner: You know you don’t have to be separated if you don’t want to. The cat’s already out of the bag. A united front might be better for this kind of thing anyway. 

Professional Mess Cleaner: I know how much you care about him. You don’t have to go through this alone.

Professional Mess Maker: i’m not alone though <3

Professional Mess Cleaner: You know that isn’t what I mean.

Professional Mess Cleaner: He loves you. You should reach out to him.

Professional Mess Maker: i will

Professional Mess Maker: eventually 

——

Blind Item #6

Rumor has it that this pair, who were previously attached at the hip, haven’t said more than a few words to each other in months. That doesn’t mean the feelings stopped being there. 

September 15, 2023

——

DailyMail

September 27, 2023

Tension at the world premiere?

This weekend marked the world premiere of a film that has been generating a lot of Oscar buzz. The first reviews have been mostly positive, despite the very large elephant in the room.

The average onlooker couldn’t help but notice the physical distance between Zweig and the principal actress in the film during the premiere. Despite both being there, neither were photographed together throughout the entire event. The distance feels particularly charged, considering the pair made a movie of their own not too long ago. 

——

DailyMail

October 10, 2023

PATRICK’S NEW DOUBLES PARTNER?

Late this Thursday, Patrick Zweig was spotted leaving an intimate dinner with a female friend. This is the first time he’s been spotted since the leak of his now notorious sex tape. We would be remiss if we didn’t mention that the woman he was spotted having a romantic dinner with was not the same woman from the tape.

At least she knows what she’s in for.

——

DailyMail

October 12, 2023

Actress spotted on a date with ex-boyfriend

On Wednesday, the pair were seen holding hands as they walked through the park. 

She has not been spotted with her ex-boyfriend, who she starred in her prestige dramedy television with, for almost two years. Are these two getting back together? Or simply making amends?

——

@deuxmoi - 10/15/23

Sent via form submission from Deuxmoi

Pseudonyms, please: rebounder

Email: tape@aol.com 

Subject: kiss and make up already!

Message: this broken-up couple, who have been making headlines for the most innocuous things following a rather romantic scandal, very obviously miss each other. their friends know it, their coworkers know it, even their ‘rebounds’ know it. they think the other person is better off without them in their life, but that’s simply not true. 

——

@deuxmoi - 11/8/23

Sent via form submission from Deuxmoi

Pseudonyms, please: love

Email: tellingall@aol.com 

Subject: podcast

Message: i’m friends with a friend who knows the editor of a certain podcast that’s having a very highly anticipated guest do a tell-all about a scandal very soon. here are some of the things she addresses:

there’s nothing wrong with consenting adults doing consenting adult things—but you still need to be cautious

it’s nice to have some things for yourself but when you’re a public figure you don’t always get that

and finally…. she regrets how things played out in her relationship.

this should be a good episode. 

——

Blind Item #17

This DIY Filmmaker couple are FINALLY reconciling. They won’t be making any more home movies together anytime soon, but it seems like they’re picking right up where they left off. 

November 16, 2023

——

Buzzfeed 

December 5, 2023

Top 5 Dates to go on in New York City, According to our Favorite Celebs

3. The Brooklyn Botanic Garden

Following a major scandal and radio silence on the status of their relationship, these two were finally seen together in public at this garden. They both looked genuinely happy for the first time in months. If these two can make their rocky relationship work during a date like this, you can too. 

——

oscar campaign era - @popculturelvr9 

UPDATE: GUESS WHO MADE THE OSCARS SHORTLISTTTTTTTTTT

6:35 PM 12/22/23 From Earth 

oscar campaign era - @popculturelvr9 

UPDATE: the happy couple were spotted wearing matching ugly christmas sweaters today! i suspect they’re going to the annual christmas party she mentioned on Fallon. i hope they party hard and celebrate her making the shortlist!

8:21 PM 12/22/23 From Earth 

sage ❄️ - @sagingthetl

@popculturelvr9 ngl he’s growing on me!

8:25 PM 12/22/23 From Earth

oscar campaign era - @popculturelvr9 

@sagingthetl i agree!

8: PM 12/22/23 From Earth

—

Blind Item #4

This athlete-actress couple have had quite the year. It’s only fitting that he proposed to her at the end of it. Expect to see more pictures of her hiding her hand in her pocket.

January 1, 2024

—

@deuxmoi - 1/2/24

SPOTTED - NEW YEAR EDITION

let’s see what your favorite celebs have been up to since last week

I served Patrick Zweig and his actress girlfriend at the diner I work at yesterday. They both looked very hungover and I’m 97% sure I saw her wearing an engagement ring. They were very sweet and left us a really big tip. 

—

r/TennisGossip

u/makearacquet

Has anyone checked up on Patrick Zweig and his girlfriend? I haven’t heard anything about them in kinda a while 

⬆13 ⬇

u/topspinbackspin

It’s so funny you say this. I have a friend who works for the production side of one of those really big entertainment magazines who does those roundtable for actors who are in talks for receiving awards. His girlfriend was just in one, and my friend told me that he was there and super supportive the whole time. Like, bringing her coffee the way she likes it, hyping her up during the photoshoot, and everything in between. Obviously we saw the worst of them a few months back, but they’re a pretty cute couple. I also heard somewhere that they’re engaged? But I don’t know if I believe it. 

⬆36⬇

—-

oscar campaign era - @popculturelvr9 

i’m shaking in my boots for the best actress announcement.

10:45 PM 3/20/24 From Earth

🎾🎬 - @lalalanded

@popculturelvr idk i feel it in my bones she’s gonna win.

10:45 PM 3/20/24 From Earth

oscar campaign era - @popculturelvr9 

OMFG

10:55 PM 3/20/24 From Earth

🎾🎬 - @lalalanded

OH MY GOD

10:55 PM 3/20/24 From Earth

cleo - @filmsn0b

NO WAY

10:55 PM 3/20/24 From Earth

sage ❄️ - @sagingthetl

I KNEW IT LETS GO

10:55 PM 3/20/24 From Earth

tara 🦋🐬 - @profhater

IM SHAKING

10:55 PM 3/20/24 From Earth

oscar campaign era - @popculturelvr9 

SHES OFFICIALLY AN OSCAR WINNER I FANT BREATHE

10:55 PM 3/20/24 From Earth

sage ❄️ - @sagingthetl

AWWWW THE KISS THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SM

10:56 PM 3/20/24 From Earth

oscar campaign era - @popculturelvr9 

i’m sorry i literally cannot process anything rn did she just say thank you to her FIANCÉ

10:57 PM 3/20/24 From Earth

oscar campaign era - @popculturelvr9 

guys this is way too much. 2 awards left for her EGOT AND she’s engaged??2?3):7.8 i’m malfunctioning

10:58 PM 3/20/24 From Earth

oscar campaign era - @popculturelvr9 

who would’ve thought that a random instagram mutual follow would get us here. omfg. i love love. 

10:59 PM 3/20/24 From Earth

[lewkwoodnco]

the tortured poets department - george karim x reader

George stiffened and shut his eyes regretfully as if he couldn’t bear to see that look on her face. A faint flush started creeping up his throat, peeking out from behind his starchy collar. “Don’t,” he whispered.

“Tell me,” she pressed, taking yet another step closer until their noses were barely an inch apart, “who else is going to know me? Truly know me?”

He let go of the breath he was holding and it fluttered across her cheek like the ghost of a kiss. They were venturing into intolerably intimate territory, and she could feel her pulse racing under the distracted brush of his thumb on her wrist.

a/n - HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH thats it thats the a/n also happy birthday to ali hadji-hesmati ia m NOT late shut up

tropes/warnings - slight nsfw towards the end (idk tho??), angst (what else is new lmao), tw slight mention of suicide, ft locklyle wedding (a bit) happy ending tho, i am very sick wrote this entirely on my phone and cannot be held accountable for any of this

word count - 3.7k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Who uses typewriters anyway?

That was what she had mouthed at her friend from across the Fittes office. They were brand new hires; scribes assigned to different researchers under an apprenticeship programme. Things were off to a rougher start than she had expected. From what she could see, her friend had been assigned to a perfectly normal-looking researcher who, now that introductions were complete, was explaining his filing system to her.

On the other hand, the first thing her oddly intense researcher had asked was if she knew how to use a typewriter. She had laughed, thinking it was a joke, before very quickly realising that he was being perfectly serious. He started explaining how the contraption worked far too quickly for her to catch anything, and she had taken the chance to shoot her friend a look.

“L/N?”

She whipped her head back around, immediately apologetic. “Sorry. I think I get how it works now.” Really, it was just bad luck that she had gotten the short end of the stick.

The next thing she learnt, over many months, was how to pick up on and decrypt George’s nonverbal cues. Namely, knowing what his every sigh, muttering or frown meant. While it had felt frustrating similar to banging her head against a wall in the beginning, he started to grow on her. Learning how George Karim ticked was like figuring out an intriguing puzzle all on her own. Besides, he wasn’t unkind. He could be understanding, so long as he had the patience for it on that particular day.

But there were times when she decided that no, he wasn’t all that compassionate of a coworker. Particularly on nights when he’d have her write up chapters worth of research summarised from his scrawled notes. And woe betide her should she make one too many mistakes.

Who the hell uses typewriters anyway?

"Do you ever think about leaving Fittes?"

Her typing stopped abruptly, her flickering train of thought completely demolished by George's appalling suggestion. They were sitting at their adjacent desks at the Fittes office, her typing up the previous night's case report while George twiddled his thumbs and fiddled with a pen in increasingly creative ways.

"Leave? And go where?"

She followed the line of his hateful stare towards one of the thick metal doors along the corridor which led to a more restricted part of the offices. Like most others, she felt no pressing inclination to snoop around and stumble upon information she would rather not find. But for someone like George, she could practically see how it gnawed at him - libraries of secrets just begging to be known.

Her gaze flitted anxiously between his face and the door. It was both a frightening and thrilling thing when George decided to put his mind to something, using his brain at its full capacity in some sincerely earnest hunt for knowledge. It was also the thing that was going to get him killed sooner or later, mesmerising as he was. It. Mesmerising as it was.

"Start our own agency. Play by our rules."

She laughed nervously, too artificial even for her own ears as she wrung her stiff hands. George's voice had a distant quality to it that told her he was on the way to making some very bad decisions if she didn't step in soon. "Oh, George, you say the…the darnedest things. You're no Tom Rotwell, you know."

"You're not Marissa Fittes yourself, either."

"Rude."

His gaze flickered to her at that, the barest hint of a smile ghosting his lips as the tension in his shoulders dissolved. She visibly relaxed as well, satisfied that it would be a decent while before he once again latched onto this bizarre notion.

Which was why his abrupt switch in employment to some small, crumbling agency had left her more than shell-shocked. Coming into work on a normal, gloomy Monday and seeing George's desk cleared out and painfully sterile of the ideas and theories he buzzed with left her feeling lost at sea in the worst way. And he didn't bother to reach out to her either - not a call, not a letter, not a visit.

That is, not a visit until he turned up at her door in the middle of the night, pale as the Visitors that skulked outside her door.

"Sorry.”

For one stupidly miraculous moment, she thought he might be apologising for a month’s worth of grey days and sleepless nights.

“I know it’s late, but I think I left my typewriter here."

She felt stupidly disappointed.

"You're making a mess of my - what are you doing?"

George had located his otherwise untouched typewriter positioned at one corner of her dining table and was now furiously typing away, a sickly, pallid sheen to his forehead.

"Don't worry, I'll be qui -"

"Karim."

His typing faltered, and for once he had the decency to look marginally embarrassed.

“Sit down. Start from the beginning.”

So he did. He told her everything about some Type Two case at 62 Sheen Road, short of coming out and saying that he had put his associates' lives in danger, but she could hear it in his voice. It was an almost welcome return to the old days of picking out the relevant parts while his mind ran ahead at the speed of light; so much to think and agonise over. When his voice finally started to run thin, she fetched him a cup of tea, taking a moment to process it all.

"Okay, so, if I have this right, none of this is your fault. No - don't argue with me. Drink your tea. You told him to wait, that you needed more time.“

He mumbled something incoherent as he pulled off his glasses, dragging a hand across his eyes, looking far too young and worn. He glanced up to meet her gaze, the look on his face as much of a wreck as the rest of him. He looked down again, staring at his hands splayed on her dining table. George never was one for letting his feelings show, let alone hysterics, and it rubbed at something raw to see him spiralling this badly.

“They’d be better off with a researcher who could actually do his job.”

She suppressed the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes.

“Oh, please, this has nothing to do with being altruistic. This is just you trying to punish yourself over something that isn’t even your fault.”

He showed no sign of having heard her. She sighed and slid into the seat next to his, her fingers nearly brushing his.

“Look - what's done is done. Possibly the worst thing you could do now is leave them in the lurch like this. Of course, it's not going to be smooth sailing throughout, but you made a commitment, so for the love of God keep your head up and stick it through.” She reached out to loosely cover his wrist. “Okay?”

George stayed silent but glanced up at her. Okay. She pulled her hand away. He finished the last of his tea and stood.

“I should get going, I suppose.”

She looked out the window, eyeing the eerie green glow of the ghost lamps critically. “It’s a bit late, don’t you think? Not very safe.”

“I have my rapier on me.”

The corners of her mouth tightened.

“I’d feel better if you left in the morning.”

And so they ended up in her living room, him sitting on the floor and her sitting on the couch, dragging her fingers through his soft curls. They talked about everything and nothing, like the recent layoffs at Rotwell’s and what George’s new associates were like. He made them sound marvellous. It was obvious why he’d leave Fittes. Why he’d leave her.

“The three of us…we live at 35 Portland Row.”

“Mhm.”

“And there’s this doughnut shop down the street from there.”

She lightly scraped his scalp teasingly.

“So that’s why you left.”

She could feel him smile despite himself.

“We should go, someday. You’d love it.”

A vision trickled into her imagination - she and George standing at the end of some empty cobblestoned road with soft, pillowy doughnuts dripping sugar down their knuckles, sprinkles melting into their fingerprints. It’s evening, and the sun is almost painfully intense, beating down a lovely glow over the scene. She’s distantly aware of the impending danger of the rapidly approaching nighttime, but for now, George is standing in front of her in a soft shirt, the edges of his face kind and blunt, the almost permanent furrow of his brow melted away in the liquid sun, reaching out to swipe a thumb at the corner of her mouth -

“Get some rest.” Her voice was thick with a longing for such golden yet treacherously illusory days. George leaned back, resting his head on the couch with half-lidded eyes, his breathing evening out as he drifted off. She gently slipped her fingers out of his hair. She gently pulled his glasses off but before she could put them someplace safe, she was out like a light herself.

She had a fitful sleep and blearily woke up a few hours later, George’s head an oddly comforting weight against her knee. She groggily pulled herself up and tossed a blanket at the figure slumped against her couch before fetching a glass of water and some paracetamol.

Shortly after, George lurched awake like he was sweating out a fever, heart thudding and eyes restless. He groaned, no doubt wincing at the pounding behind his eyes. He caught sight of the water and medicine placed next to him but looked away after a moment of consideration. She raised her eyebrows pointedly, knowing only too well the kind of hell his overactive mind was capable of putting him through.

“How’s your head?”

She hadn’t meant to sound that sarcastic, but it was enough for him to get the hint. He relented, taking a sip of water and then one of the pills just for good measure.

"Good. Now go home and get some proper rest, you moron."

She watched him stumble down the road till he turned the corner, trying to hide how shaken she was by his panic. She sighed wearily. Only a month at Lockwood & Co. and already he would be a desperate wreck without them. She turned back inside, trying to ignore how empty her dining table looked without his typewriter and how vacant she felt without that flimsy excuse for him to see her again.

Years passed. She and George somewhat kept in touch, but it had still been extremely startling when Lockwood & Co. reached out to her with plans to expose her employer, Marissa Fittes. Amongst the tragedy of Portland Row being reduced to rubble, Kipps nearly dying and the Skull almost moving on, unemployment was the least of her concerns.

Still, it wasn’t all sad once Lucy had proposed to Lockwood after one too many failed attempts by the latter party. They had planned a relatively intimate affair, only inviting some old friends of the ex-Fittes employees of the group.  

They held it at an inexpensive banquet hall just a few minutes away from Portland Row. Lucy looked gorgeous and glowing with happiness under the gentle warm lighting, and Lockwood looked dashing in a suit not much more formal than his regular one. He spent the majority of the reception denying that he had teared up at the first glimpse of Lucy at the end of the aisle, insisting that his best man was a pathological liar.

After the main event, the guests milled around, having drinks, and occasionally congratulating the happy couple. As expected, Lockwood became very drunk very quickly, enough to pull out some terribly nonsensical yet oddly stirring comment.

“Here’s to the first day of the rest of our lives.”

She glanced across at George. He met her eye. They immediately looked away. She could have sworn she felt a hitch of some breath between them. She felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes. Lucy was desperately trying to shut up an overly emotional and hence overly talkative Lockwood who looked ready to launch into a speech no one asked for.

“That’s enough now, or we’ll have Kipps bawling all through dinner.”

It wasn’t exactly a sit-down dinner, though there was appropriate seating. Half of the guests were eating and the other half were having fun with some party games. She was watching Holly struggle at Twister when she felt someone slide into the seat next to hers - namely, the best man, George.

“Hey.”

She grinned, flushed from the champagne she had been sipping all evening. “Hey.”

“Having fun?”

“Lots.”

He couldn’t help but return her smile, looking a little tipsy himself. “I can tell.”

They ate in silence for a while, only the tinny sound of the radio’s strain and cheers from the party games filling the space between them.

“I think I missed you at the bouquet toss earlier.”

She nearly swallowed her spoon. He had noticed? He noticed her? She didn't know how to tell him that she couldn't see herself marrying anyone that wasn't him. How could she wake up every day knowing her better half was somewhere out there miles away, wondering if he wished for someone as moron-shaped as her?

“Oh, well, that’s not really my thing. More of a bridesmaid than a bride.”

She resumed eating, presuming that line of conversation to be over until she noticed he was still looking at her strangely, his cutlery stationary in his hands. Her chewing slowed in an attempt at dignity.

“…what?”

He lifted her right hand off her knife, making her heart thud dangerously. Wordlessly, he pulled off the sapphire ring on her middle finger and oh-so-delicately slid it onto her ring finger instead.

“I think you’d make a wonderful bride.”

She stared at the ring, speechless. It wasn’t a proposal, but it wasn’t nothing either. Maybe…maybe this was a second chance at something. Maybe he wouldn’t screw this up this time.

He almost reluctantly relinquished his grip on her hand. She didn’t dare meet his eye. Even his voice, quiet yet slightly rough, felt unbearable to hear.

“Were you mad? When I left without telling you?”

She had waited months to hear those words.

“I wished you'd talked to me about it first. Just...just to make sure your head was screwed on straight.”

He nodded, and they returned to their food, the silence a lot less giddily amicable now.

“So, would you have - “

“Absolutely not. God, no. I would have told you to stay ten feet away from Anthony Lockwood at all times.”

They looked over to where Lucy was helping Lockwood sit down, having unfortunately thrown his back out at Limbo. She winced. “He’s such a wild card.”

“I suppose I am too.”

She turned, curious, and he looked as though he regretted letting that slip out. Her voice dropped, taking on a softer edge.

“Not to me. Not when it’s you.”

He stared at her like there was something bloodied and hungry behind his eyes. She felt this twinge of something in her chest. Oh, how could she bear this? How could she bear him?

Sometimes, part of her wished she were a book - one completely enthralling and riveting, chock-full of secrets eager to slip out and lose themselves in thin air. Perhaps that was just a manifestation of her paralysing desire to be known and to be known by him.

“I should go,” George was saying as he finished up the last of his food. He stood, wiping his mouth, wandering off to find his coat. Maybe it was the liquor or the unfamiliar buzz of hope in the air tonight, but there was some odd tone of finality to his voice. She watched him leave, chewing her food thoughtfully, not feeling very hungry anymore.

As the minutes trickled by, it began to feel exhausting to be surrounded by so many happy couples, happy people, all that revolting joy and merriment. Only a short while after George had left, she located her own coat and weeded Lucy out of a throng of people doing the Macarena.

“I think I might head out now. Congratulations once again, Luce.”

“You too? Aww, thanks. Have you decided about the job offer from Madison?”

“I haven’t written back yet, but I think I’m going to turn them down. I was thinking about talking to Lockwood someday to see if he could take on one more employee. Plus, Madison’s a bit far out, and I’m pretty comfortable where I am.”

“Good. George might have just offed himself if it weren’t for his course at Edinburgh. I mean,” Lucy tripped over her words over the stunned look on her face, “I’m sure he was just kidding.”

“Hang on. Edinburgh?”

“Yeah. For his supervisor training. Did he not tell you? I thought for sure he…”

Lucy’s words muffled into oblivion and bled into some horrible ringing sound. Her mouth felt painfully dry. No. This couldn’t be happening.

“…he wanted to wait till after the wedding to tell Lockwood. Didn’t want to put a damper on things. Don’t get me wrong - I’m just as cut up about it, but…” They looked over to where Lockwood was watching the limbo game from afar with a forlorn expression. “…you know Lockwood.”

“What the hell, George.”

He jumped, freezing with his hand buried deep in his pocket, tediously hunting for his keys. She had managed to catch him at the front porch of Portland Row, looking especially guilty under the tepid glow of the ghost lamps.

“You’re training to become a supervisor?”

His face briefly twisted in annoyance. The audacity. “I told Lucy in confidence -“

“When were you going to tell me, Karim? Or were you just going to let me find out all on my own, like last time?” She wanted to laugh cruelly. There was nothing merciful about this knife in her chest. “I mean, why do this? Why lead me on and make me feel things and give me hope?”

“When have I ever led you on?”

“Then what was all that with my ring? Huh?” Tears sprang to her eyes once again, hot and shameful, stinging like a caustic disinfectant to an open wound. She felt so, so stupid.

“You said you didn’t care.”

“I did care!” she snapped. “Of course I fucking cared. I don’t think I could have stopped myself from caring, not when I know you like the back of my hand.”

“But you don’t care. No - tomorrow you’re going to board a train and move out of my reach and meet someone new to soothe the turmoil in your head and you won’t feel my heart bleeding for you. And if you’re very, very lucky, you might find some semblance of happiness -“

“I weigh you down!” The tirade died at her lips. Fury lined every shadow, every crevice of George’s face. He spat his words out with such venom, utter distaste. “I weigh you down…like a child. You pick me up when I fall down and kiss it better because that’s the kind of person you are. I can’t sentence you to a lifetime of running around trying to save me. I won’t do it. I’ll find someone else.”

A burden. He looked through her eyes and all he saw was a shrivelled excuse of a companion, dragging her into his depths of despair. She’d be lying if she said she never felt suffocated by his baggage. But there were some burdens you didn’t mind shouldering, not when you loved them so tenderly.

After all, who was going to unravel his every pause, stutter, sigh, and ache as she did?

“But who else is going to decode you like I do?”

George stiffened and shut his eyes regretfully as if he couldn’t bear to see that look on her face. A faint flush started creeping up his throat, peeking out from behind his starchy collar. “Don’t,” he whispered.

“Tell me,” she pressed, taking yet another step closer until their noses were barely an inch apart, “who else is going to know me? Truly know me?”

He let go of the breath he was holding and it fluttered across her cheek like the ghost of a kiss. They were venturing into intolerably intimate territory, and she could feel her pulse racing under the distracted brush of his thumb on her wrist.

There was a brooding, resigned look in his eye as if whatever he had been running from had finally caught up to him. He bowed his head and their foreheads touched. Her arms nervously reached around his neck, his hands on her waist steadying her as if to keep their balance on whatever strand of peace the moment had proffered them.

Her lips hovered over his shoulder, clavicle and jaw. She felt him reflexively tighten and loosen his grip, restless fingers fiddling with the folds of her dress and how they wrapped around her body. She brushed against the shell of his ear and felt a shiver run up his spine.

“Who else is going to hold you…like me?”

He turned a fraction and she briefly registered the lack of hesitation in his dark eyes before he finally closed the last of the gap between them. He pressed his lips to hers, soft yet intentional. He tasted like champagne and smoke and promises long-forgotten yet unbroken. It was a dizzying sort of relief to feel that years-old desperate want coiled inside finally melt through arms and fingertips buzzing with curiosity.

After that first touch, it felt as though they couldn’t get close enough, let alone pull themselves apart and have the brisk evening air rush in and nip at sensitive skin. She heard the doorknob rattle as George fumbled with it. After a short struggle, they stumbled into a nearly pitch-dark Portland Row, urgently shucking off each other’s coats and scarves. Her mind was running a mile a minute, her scalp tingling with electricity; white noise over the scrape of his teeth against her skittering pulse.

Her thoughts fragmented. At Fittes. In his room. In her apartment. His typewriter sitting glossy, polished, untouched, maddening -

George Karim was the most affected prick she had the misfortune of knowing. It was bad, bad luck that she was so irrevocably tied to him.

TAGLIST: @cielooci @mohinithoughts @neewtmas @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @ahead-fullofdreams @elenianag080 @avdiobliss @mischivana @mitskiswift99

[vsaintsin]

Writeblr Re-Intro

Yo! I'm V Saintsin. Or V or Vin or Saintsin or whatever you want to call me that sounds right on your tongue. I'm a self-proclaimed Social Media fumbler who got a late start to the party and has never quite figured it out. I hate how hipster and edgy it sounds to say "I'm bad at social media" but like I used to work with some people who actually managed the social media accounts for the business we worked for and there were rules and whatnot and damn, I think online media is just not my medium. That being said, here I am! Hah

I'm an author and general mess who's hoping to be the miracle man (somebody who makes a living writing silly little stories). I do use a pseudonym but please hear me out when I say I didn't realize how edgy it sounds, it just has some sentimental value to my personal life. I'm so sorry that I sound like I'm in my emo phase HAHA

About me -

He/Him Transguy from the American Midwest (arguably the south, depending on who you talk to, but the older people still say "Sodi-pop" and "ope").

I'm dysautonomic, bendy, permanently sleepy, and a survivor of Crappy Doctors Who Suck At Doctoring.

I like DnD, Pathfinder, Baldur's Gate 3, Cyberpunk, Dragon Age, and other things in that vein.

I do make art of my stories and characters (Tablet is currently not working so I'm in a dry spell).

My writing background is predominantly ancient, dusty RPs from as far back as the foopets days and fanfic writing on Quizilla - I am an old and wizened elder of the net.

My formal education was music performance and behavioral neuroscience, I don't really know how I got where I am.

This is not my first rodeo with tumblr but it is the first time I have anything to SAY instead of just lurking.

In the event of malfunction, you can put me outside for 5 minutes and I'll probably factory reset.

My existence as I know it hinges on a massive number of sticky notes plastered throughout my room.

What I'm lookin' for -

Idk, whatever? I'm down for most things. Did you write it? Cool, let me see. I'm not too bent on genre or anything, just fascinated by the art of storytelling.

A bit tentative with fanfiction but that's just because if it's not a fandom I'm familiar with I am rather clueless about what the hell is going on and if it's a fandom I am familiar with I HUNT DOWN THE DEEP LORE.

I like art a whole lot, including fanart. Also art advice, love seeing things from different perspectives and learning something new.

Mutuals, really, for any reason. Building better connections on here, getting to know people. I am hideously bad at this but I try.

What I write -

Science Fiction with heavy subjects that matter to me - trigger warnings on a story-by-story basis.

High Fantasy (eventually books I think?) characters and their backgrounds for DnD and Pathfinder - I have been tempted to share these to help people get ideas or just for free use?

Things that I delete because I have crippling imposter syndrome and publishing makes me nauseous (doin' it tho).

Stories that I hope will make people feel less alone or that people could relate to, stories that I wish I had when life was worse and I was reaching out for anything I could find to keep me afloat, stories that try to be critical of things that SUCK in a way that's any helpful.

Lots of curse words and cussing (that's just how people talk 'round here), dubious science, things that I hope might make you cry but in a good way though.

Character-Driven stories that revolve more around the development of the person and less around the plot itself if that makes sense.

I've put blurb things below for my primary project/series which features a grumpy, queer, 37-year old chain smoking Frenchman and his misadventures with life and love and unbridled rage. If any of that sounds cool stick around and hang out? (This part is a plug bc I did a thing and I'm proud of it) And if my books sounds interesting the first one is 99 cents on Kindle and you just need a phone and a free app to read it!

THE SECRET OF LIFE (Published) - Sci-Fi/Psychological Thriller, Bi M Lead, Lovers to Enemies, AI but the oldschool cool kind not the real world thing that's stealing our future

Carlisle-Trystan Antoinette is a mercenary on a hard road, navigating life and death itself in an infinite cycle started by powers above his understanding. He has one mission - warn The Dianican Space Station of the coming threat and put a stop to a war that would encapsulate the whole of the Sol System before it can ever begin. Unfortunately for Carlisle, reality is a tenuous thing, made up only by our understanding of it. At least, according to his Psychiatrist, who tells him that there is no war, that he was never a mercenary, and that what Carlisle is experiencing is a severe but manageable psychotic break. Stripped of his combat enhancements, his bio monitor, and everything he's every known, Carlisle has a decision to make. Does he give in to the thoughts and memories, so real that he can almost taste them, or does he live a life of comfort and ease, returning to a husband and daughter that he left behind?

TWs: Domestic and War Violence, suicide, rape, medical trauma, grief, drug use

THE SILENCE OF ANGELS (Due 2024, TSoL 2) - Betrayal and Rage, Learning how to love again slow-burn romantic subplot, Learning how to Dad, A general inability for any one thing to just go right

(Quick Rough Blurb that offers no spoilers for TSoL) Making connections isn't easy for somebody who's accustomed to burning bridges. Isolation has always been Carlisle's mantra for surviving his life. Playing a role comes second nature, pretending to be the man that everyone else wants to see in him. When an old friend is murdered Carlisle finds himself as the primary suspect with all evidence pointing to him so clearly that even he calls to question what he is capable of. Unwilling to believe that he could commit such a heinous crime, Carlisle sets off to find the truth of his friend's death - was Carlisle framed or does he truly have the capacity to bring such harm upon those he loves? Old and new bonds will be tested, faith broken, and the future of everyone called into question as lines are drawn and sides are picked.

TWs: Violence, mentions of SA, graphic character death, more grief, more death

I don't know what else to say... Later!

[jesterjaxx]

Halloween AU lore dump!!!

❗️WARNING❗️

so much infodumping world buidling and headcannons

DJ- Robot

Originally built to be a robo cop type deal. But when given free will refused to hurt anyone and got scrapped

Was found and repurposed by "Momma" to be a son

Really fuckin loves animals. Nature in general but mostly animals.

They get spooked by him a lot though

Hes kinda sad about this but gets it.

Momma is a scraper/engineer and outfitted him with everything a "good human boy" would need, like touch receptors and an ability to taste

Nothing to be done about majorly changing how he looks tho

The ability to feel is a bit too much sometimes

Sometimes all he can feel is cold

Goes to Duncan to see if he can do something about helping communicate to animals that he is a friend. Ala magic.

Machinery and Magic don't mix well typically, you gotta be crazy specific, which isn't really Duncan's styel

Duncan likes DJ tho, and proceeds to steal some of Harolds spellbooks

Side plot of them being wayyyy to hard for him to read, in both way too high level and shitty handwritten chickenscratch that fucks with his dyslexia, so he has to ask Harold for help

Maybe they learn to better understand eachother idk

Maybe they kill eachother

Harold and Duncan team up 6 dead 9 injured every single person is fucking baffled

Anyways DJ is like iron giant up in this bitch

His Momma is kinda worried that one day he'll learn enough mechanics to fix himself up and wont need her anymore

Tyler - Harpy

Ok the chicken fear makes sense now

He gets the uncanny valley feeling looking at chickens

I would too

He would fly into a window

Can he fly?

Hes like a turkey

Or a seagull

Wait im an idiot hes a chicken

Duh

Eva - Gargoyle

Her carver loved buff women thank god almighty for that

Punches like a brick wall

Living Stone

lion paws for feet

Did you guys know sound resonates the best through solids??

Her music listening experience is legit i just know it

Noah - The Blob/ slime monster

Oh god that poor guy

Hes gonna get slime all over his books

Harold - Witch

He's the type of witch to have seperate waters for different kinds of spells

A pretty dorky Witch, even by witch standards

Wears proper witch PPE (robes and hat)

Has his sheldon Big Bang Theory style shirts on underneath tho

Uses incantations and written spells in magical languages mainly

Uses the starlight, paper, ink, historical artifacts and an assortment of magical ingredients as fuels

Has a large collection of quality spellbooks for references

Not those shitty amazon spellbooks that are just a list of pre written spells, these ones were written by some old hag 80 years ago and through flowery rambleing language tell you how write spells yourself. They go into spell syntax.

Harolds books for writing incantations and spells are spiral notebooks

If he uses smbols will typically craft a custom sygil for it

Uses alot of number magic and latin

Uses his confidence in his skills with writing spells to harness magic

Is better at doing spells for other people, when doing spells for himself he tends to overcomplicate things

Actually went to magic camps and magic summer schools

"I was trained for this!" and it's Mostly true

Can make the most specific fucking spell work for him

I cannot stress he is good at this type of casting.

Duncan's way of doing magic pisses him off. Both are convinced their way is better

Harold to Duncan ->"What the fuck do you mean you increased your strength with a posca marker, bare knuckles and a dream. How are you not dead yet >:[ "

He has a lot of respect for magic itself, Duncan's almost disrespectful way of using magic makes him mad.

Whats worse is that it works.

How Harold casts a spell

Writes down a goal -> outlines different methods to achieve it (incantations, scrolls, potions) -> writes out the spelleork with alot of detail accounting for almost every outcome -> it takes very long -> outwardly or inwardly recites writes spell to activate it -> profit

Alejandro - Siren

(I give up with organization here no more bullet points)

Mermaids and Sirens are almost identical, with few overt physical differences

Sirens will typically have colored iris', 2 finned gills, longer tounges, boned ears and uniformly sharp teeth

Mermaids have colored scalera, 3 smooth gills, finned ears and sharp canines

This isn't a rule, and in modern times there are few families of sirens or mermaids that havent mixed with other monsters at some point

Both species have shape-shifting abilities.

Mermaids have two forms, and can switch between them at will, though the process takes hours and the mermaid will have to stay in either aquatic or land form for a couple weeks before changing again. though this wait time can be speed up with tailsmen, it's can cause health problems.

Siren can shift their features at will, including shifting from aquatic to non aquatic with no wait time, some families of Siren encourage "good breeding" and fostering shifting abilities to the point of shifting bone structure, hair, colors and gender at will. This level of shifting controll is a very desirable trait, and cannot be learned.

Alejandro is one of these few families who try to stay purely Siren

Hes a 100% Siren, but unlike his brothers he lacks any shape-shifting abilities, a flaw that has brought him great shame (this is just a genetic fluke, it's like a birth defect)

but he has both a very powerful ability to enchant his words and natural charisma. Dangerous combo.

Because of the well known knowledge that Sirens can manipulate people with ease, Alejandro semi pretends that he is a Mermaid, using his long hair to obscure his gills

He more just lets people assume hes a Mermaid and does not correct them rather than actually lying

He lies about many things but outright lying about species is a bit much

Siren Speech doesn't work as good if someone's also using magic at the same time or knows what's up about it

It doesn't work that great on Heather, Duncan or Harold point blank, or Lindsay, Beth Trent and Justin if they're shifting or shifted

Good thing hes manipulative on his own!

Beth - Mermaid

Yeah sure why not

I don't know enough about Beth yet i need a moot whose obsessed with her

Ezekiel - Ghost

Lmao hes invisible

Poor dude probably gets looked over all the time

Hes just clothes and a transparent person

Justin - Werewolf

The twilight girls would go crazy over him i know it

Cody - Puppet

Oh poor dude

Itll look cool tho

Hed make knock on wood jokes all the time

Trent - Werecat

The trustin girls would go crazy over this i know it

But real like hes chillin

Would use claws as a pick

Geoff - Frankenstein

A man of the people

Literally

Looses limbs easily

Wakes up after a party like "wheres my leg lmao"

Heather - Zombie

Oh this is good

Shes vegan

Would insult people like "i can tell you have a brain why the hell don't you use it"

Very concerned over phsyical appearance

Uses so so many products

Pretty alive looking for a zombie cuz of it

It's kinda creepy

Her eyes got no eyeshine tho

Like a shark.

Gwen - Skeleton/Ghost

Ok this was an accidental double Gwen got both Skeleton and ghost

Since Ezekiel is already a ghost i'm Gonna lean into the Skeleton bit more but throw a transparent silhouette over all of her for the ghost bit

Ghost vs Zombie rivalry

She'd do all sorts of cool drawings and markings on her bones

Gwen, drawing a bat on her femur with sharpie: tattoo moment

Her eyeliner is also sharpie

Who the fuck cares about skincare when you don't have skin

Lindsay: you shouldn't put permanent marker on your face! It can hurt you 🥺

Gwen, floating bones:

LeShawna - Chimera

YES I LOVE MONSTER COMBOS

LIKE COMBINATIONS OF MULTIPLE ANIMALS

lets do classic chimera but with one head

Lean into the Lioness bit cuz Leshawna is a boss bitch and Lionesses are so fucking cool

I might give her a scorpion tail

Duncan - Witch

Another double whoops lol

He's a "fuck it we ball" typa witch

lmao he and Harold are beefing like crazy i know it Harold has 12 spellbooks hes memorized with their specific ways of casting and Duncan is writing runes on his knuckles with sharpie

Duncan to Harold ->"Why are you using 2 pages of latin for a fire spell??"

"Because i need only this bit of wood to light on fire a little bit and nothing else and if i dont i could loose control of it or blow it up or it might not even start"

*stares in did finger guns at a branch and cremated it for fun*

Harold to Duncan ->"Why are you writing runes on your nailpolish??"

"i'm tired of being the only scary bitch here without claws"

*stares in once accidentally rubbed spell notes off of his spellbook and onto his face while passed out on his desk and gave himself acid burns for 3 weeks"

They go crazy they go stupid

Hes self taught

The Duncan and Harold bullying arc turned Street smart vs actually Smart but make it witches

Mostly just picking shit up as he goes

"Stole" (it was free) a pamphlet on different types of magical symbols and has managed to make the symbols illustrated in it work for almost every spell he wants

Fueled by raw unrelenting audacity

Real lore tho- magic is created with belief and harnessed with confidence, you can either go the intellectual route and control every variable and have trust in your control of those variables to harness the magic like Harold, or like Duncan, have enough semi-unearned confidence in yourself to harness magic with little need for more than a few variables.

Basically as a general rule, it has as much meaning as you truthfully believe it does

Doesn't explain what hes casting or how hes doing it

"Where'd you learn how to do that?"

"what are you a cop?"

(learned from illustrations, word of mouth, and other witches on the street)

Has a couple stick n poke magical symbols, several other scribbled on symbols that are temporary

Biggest one is a glyph for fire on his hand, he doens most of his spells using it

Has burns around his glyph tattoos from spells backfiring cuz he got distracted

Uses sharpies, spraypaint, eyeliner and the insides of firecrackers for drawing symbols

If he needs a magical material he'll typically substitute whatever he has on him, belief goes a long way.

"Pure Holy Silver?... this earring looks silver enough

This doesn't work for potions cuz potions are only a little left to normal chemistry.

Has alot of talisman he wears

Carries extra ingredients on him ala accessories cuz fuck it it looks cool

Mains his spells with symbols, uses potions or material fuels if he cant make a good connection between what he wants and one of 10 symbols he remembers at any given time

Uses moonlight, bones, rocks, and personal artifacts as fuels

How duncan casts a spell

Draws glyph -> creates a mental connection between what the glyph means and what he wants to do (this is mostly subconscious with Duncan he doenst know what hes doing he just knows he does it well)-> activates glyph physically (ie hitting, tapping, lighting, punching, tracing with finger)

Example: draws fire glyph on Chris's camper -> wants to set it on fire but not the surrounding grass and trees -> smacks the side of the camper that has the glyph on it -> profit

Duncan, to Harold: You make magic math, i make magic my bitch

Bridgette - Alien

Aww she could be so cute

Surfer girl from planet nine

Owen - Plant Monster

This could visually look really cool

Big carnivorous plant

Izzy - Angel

kaleidoscope = biblically accurate form, cuz she "Looks like a kaleidoscope! Duh!"

Lindsay - Selkie

If you steal her coat ill fucking kill you

Sadie - Vampire

Ough thats cute

I'm Gonna make her pigtails batwings

Katie - Zombie

undead girlfriends

Sadie thinks Katie is so pretty it doesn't matter her eye just fell out

Courtney - Demon

Oh this bitch looooves contracts

Is also upset about Duncan but she just doesn't like witches in general

Whats the point of making deals with humans for magical powers of some humans give themselves magical powers

Demon of what?? Pride maybe?? Or envy??

Shes a sweetheart tho

[supernaturalscribe67]

Breathe

Words: 5,466

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Team Free Will x Male!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Language, Character Death, Extreme Gore, Description of Death, Angst with absolutely no comfort, Description of a corpse

Summary: A hunt gone wrong leaves the reader in a situation that often plagued hunters' nightmares. In his final moments, his mind goes to the people in his life he cared about the most, and he realized that he had one final call to make...

Request:

Hello! I hope you're having a good day :)

I was wondering if you could do TFW where Reader(gn, fem, masc, you choose) is on a hunt alone. (Idk what supernatural creature you can choose) Reader is caught off guard because there were more monsters than expected ana got hurt really bad. They manage to get away, but their wound is too severe to get to their car.

Luckily, they have their phone, and they call Dean's phone and say their goodbyes to them and stuff (yknow, Dean puts it on speaker so Sam and Castiel can hear and speak) I can imagine TFW tracks their phone and finds them, but it's too late.

Sorry if this is a bit specific! l'm just a sucker for angst, and love your writing. ♡♡

@abducted-cowz

A/N: Happy Sunday! I wrote this (with love) to make you guys suffer. I hope the level of angst is to your liking <3 - As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Let me know what you guys think!

~Much Love!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

It was supposed to be a simple hunt. A get-in get-out kind of scenario, something (Y/N) had been through more times than he could count. The vampires had set up shop at the edge of a small Kansas town, about twenty miles from Witchita, in a farmhouse that had depleted with age. After his initial scope of the location, he had determined there were close to five vampires on the premises. He had enough confidence to know he could take them on easily. So, when night fell on the next night, he parked his truck a quarter mile up the dirt road and used the natural foliage to make his way to the farmhouse undetected. The situation was perfect, every hunter’s dream of an easily obtainable celebration at the nearby bar, almost as if it was too good to be true.

He needed to learn to trust his gut more often.

Double the number of vampires were present, well over what was initially inspected. (Y/N) didn’t take into account the presence of a cellar. He should have known better. The house was most likely built in the sixties or seventies when it was more than common to include a shelter to fend off natural disasters. Why it never crossed his mind that a house in the middle of a large, abandoned farmland would have that sort of accommodation, he wasn’t too sure. It had been a lapse of judgment. Perhaps he was too overzealous. Zeal had claimed the lives of young hunters more than any monster.

The fight was long and agonizing - as tedious would be too lighthearted of a word to describe it. Some were skilled, others were followers. It was easy to take out some, but a good amount knew how to fight, which made it even more challenging than it had already become. A part of him wanted to retreat and return to his motel room to call for backup, but the continuous wave of enemies made it nearly impossible. He didn’t have a moment to catch his breath, let alone leave safely. He had to fight on. It was the only way.

In the end, the corpses of the vampires lay scattered around the wooden and stone flooring in the house and cellar. Heads were strewn about, blood splattered on the once-magnificent wallpaper. (Y/N) stood at the top of the stairs that led to the cellar, his lips slightly parted as pants fell past them. His chest heaved, sweat trickling down his forehead and neck, coating the collar of his t-shirt. The way his heart hammered in his chest, he swore it would break out past his rips. His arms and legs felt like jelly.

The adrenaline rush that once plagued his mind began to falter, and the aches and pains surfaced. A groan rumbled in his chest as he took a moment to look down at himself. Much like the walls and floors, he was covered in vampire blood. If he had any injuries, it was hard to tell which blood spots were his. He looked back at the carnage at the bottom of the steps. The bodies needed to be disposed of, but (Y/N) could feel the strength drain from his body. He would not be able to carry a dozen bodies to the middle of the field. Not that night. He made a mental note to come back the next day.

After some time had passed, he was able to catch his breath enough to turn and make his way out of the house, careful as he stepped over his fallen enemies. The front screen door was slightly ajar from when he came in. The closer and the hinges were rusted, so it was no surprise that they couldn’t work with the force of his previous entry. He was surprised it hadn’t broken off at that point. They didn’t make things like they used to.

The summer air was crisp and warm, with high humidity that made (Y/N) feel disgusting. Despite that, it was the best air he could ask for. His nose was cleansed from the stench of death, and, for that, he was grateful. Any smell was better than the smell of death.

(Y/N) began the quarter-mile trek back to his truck. His lips were parted, his breathing slightly labored with each step he took. It felt as if his chest rattled like a pair of dice were being tossed around inside. Something was wrong, he knew that much, but he couldn’t assess himself until he had his medical supplies on his person. The risk of infection was high when out in the open like that, especially with the ticks that were undoubtedly lying somewhere in the grass that brushed against his ass, and the last thing he wanted was the contract Lyme disease.

Every ten paces or so, (Y/N) had to stop to catch his breath. It got increasingly difficult to dull the ache as if smoke harassed the soft, pink tissue. He knew he had to continue. Had to get to his car. Had to leave.

In the distance, the roof of his ‘91 Dodge Truck glimmered in the pale moonlight. A sense of relief washed over him, and his steps quickened. The weak smile he had was prominent on his lips, despite the pain that resonated through the muscles in his legs. A way out. His escape. A light at the end of the deep, dark tunnel.

The cold metal of the door handle caused a shiver to run down his spine. As he tried to open the door, the handle caught. Locked. A curse fell from his lips as he reached into his blood-soaked pant pocket and pulled out his car key. He fumbled with them, his grip weak and fingers shaky. Just as he was about to place the key into the door, they slipped out of his grip, hit the dirt ground, and settled under the truck, barely out of sight. He closed his eyes tightly and leaned his forehead against the glass of his window. More obscenities.

He had to be strategic. Every part of his body hurt. Which was the best way to get on the ground that would result in the least amount of pain? He was sure there was a way, but his brain wasn’t working as it should. Any critical thinking had gone out the window. The only option, at the moment, was the simplest.

Using whatever strength he had left, he held onto the door handle for support and lowered his right knee to the ground. His movements were slow like his entire body was covered in molasses. For a moment, all that appeared were slight aches in his thighs, and he had high hopes that he would be able to make it. However, as he reached the halfway point, a sharp, needle-like pain washed over his stomach, striking his entire nervous system.

(Y/N) let out a cry of pain as his body collapsed onto the ground, which sent even more agony through his limbs. He turned and landed on his ass, his back pressed against the truck’s chipped frame. In an instant, he could feel any energy he had vanish, immediately replaced by exhaustion. His eyelids were heavy, and the urge to sleep overpowered any other desire. He knew he couldn’t, though. The possibility of him having a concussion from the hunt was great, and he wouldn’t risk the damage it would do to him if he did slumber. 

Then again, the injury he was sure to have under the blood-stained clothes was even more of a risk.

With great struggle, (Y/N) removed his flannel. As he moved, he took note that the pain came from his right side. He grunted as he lifted the side of his shirt, the blood acting as a glue to hold it in place against his chest as his hands came to rest at his side. That was when he saw it.

An eight-inch gash was present, starting from his side and ending right above his naval. It wasn’t a simple surface scratch, either. Layers of muscle and skin tissue were visible. If it had gone any deeper, (Y/N) was certain his organs would lay in his lap. Blood spilled like a waterfall out of the wound, slowly, but aggressively. Most of the blood he had lost was no doubt already soaked into his shirt. It was the biggest injury that he had gotten in his whole hunting career. It was one that he knew he couldn’t fix with the simple sewing kit in his first-aid bag, but one that needed to be medically attended. He didn’t have the willpower to stand up and drive himself, though, let alone get the keys that rested under the car, merely a foot from his hand. Regardless, the nearest hospital was over forty minutes away. An ambulance, even when a hospital was around the corner, could take over an hour to get to the location of an accident. He couldn’t imagine how long it would take to get to him, let alone the legal trouble he would be in when law enforcement discovered the house. 

It was then that the realization struck him;

He was going to die.

He tried to convince himself that he was fine. That he could get up. He was just in a negative mindset. He would be fine.

In reality, any movement he tried to make only made his muscles tense and seize. He had to face the truth. He was going to die. But, damn, if he didn’t go down fighting.

It wasn’t obvious to him how long he had left, but he knew, just the same as anyone else, that he had to make his final moments last. So, with his last bit of might, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The screen was stained red but, thankfully, the device was intact. He opened it, went to his contacts, and clicked on the one at the very top.

Dean Winchester

He had met the Winchesters over ten years ago through Bobby Singer. Fate had decided that they would all meet at the Singer residence after their respective hunts. They were introduced, and it was as if they clicked instantly. He got along well with both brothers and connected with many of their friends throughout the years. He considered them family. Sam and Dean offered him a bed in the Men of Letters bunker, which he had turned down, as he had become too accustomed to motel hopping to accept.

God, he wished he would have.

At first, he opted to place the phone next to his ear, but a couple of seconds in that position proved too long as his side cried out. Instead, he placed the call on speaker and sat it in his lap. The ring was dull and echoed slightly through the trees. A part of him was nervous that no one would pick up, that it was too early. He was conflicted, though. Did he even want them to answer? If he knew anything about the Winchesters, they were naturals at taking the blame for any deaths around them, even if they did nothing to warrant fault. He didn’t want to add to that burden.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Dean’s voice greeted him.

(Y/N)’s lips curled upward into a weak smile as he let out a rattled sigh.

“Hey, Dean,” he replied. It was the first time in a couple of hours that he truly heard his voice. He sounded faint, hoarse, weak. He wondered if he looked nearly half as bad as he sounded. 

“Man, I haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks. What’s been going on?”

“Oh, you know,” he trailed and leaned his head back against the truck. “Same old, same old. What about you guys?”

“Well, we just got back from - hold on, Sam wants me to put the phone on speaker.”

Pause.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Sam’s voice came through the speaker.

“Hey, Sammy,” (Y/N) felt his smile become weaker.

“So, anyway, as I was saying,” Dean continued. “We just got back from a week-long hunt in Baltimore. Nasty ghost business. The news articles about this guy seemed like it came right out of Law and Order. I was so happy to pump some rock salt into that son of a bitch.”

“Since when do you watch Law and Order?” He asked.

“Law and Order: SVU to be exact,” Sam said.

“All I’m going to say is Detective Olivia Benson can arrest me any day.” There was an obvious smirk on Dean’s face.

(Y/N) let out a chuckle, which instantly progressed into a coughing fit. His fist was balled up in front of his lips as he tried to will his lungs to have mercy in his final moments. What seemed like an eternity later, his lungs listened, and he pulled his hand back. His thumb, index finger, and part of his palm were covered in blood. He brought his hand back up to his face and wiped his lips. More blood.

“Shit,” (Y/N) mumbled.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,”

“You feeling sick?” Sam added.

(Y/N) hesitated. “Sort of.”

“That sucks, man. Have you gone on that vampire hunt yet?”

“Wait, what vampire hunt?” Dean inquired.

“The one near Wichita? I told you about it a couple of days ago.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did! You were watching The A-Team.”

“Oh yeah…I remember that. Hey, why do you get told about his hunts but not me?”

“Because, unlike you, I actually talk to him on an almost daily basis.”

Tears appeared in the corners of (Y/N)’s eyes, but he had little stamina to cry. He was going to miss this, the bickering. The brotherly back and forth between Sam and Dean. The late-night talks they would have over the phone. The week-long trips he would take to the bunker after recovering from a hunt. The prank wars. The diners. The bars. The terrible karaoke. The movie nights. The long hugs as they bid farewell. Oh, how he wished he could hug them one last time.

“(Y/N)?” Sam’s voice sounded more distant than before.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, I’m here.” He weakly cleared his throat and brought the phone closer to his ear, ignoring the throbbing in his stomach.

“Everything go okay with the hunt?”

“Well…going into it, I figured it would be about half a dozen vamps or so? Not much activity when I scouted. Turns out, there’s about a dozen or more.” He explained.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled.

“Do you want us to come down and help you? It won’t take us that long to get there. Maybe two hours or so.” Sam added.

(Y/N) shook his head. “No, no. I took care of them…but it seems like they took care of me, too.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, his voice low and on edge.

A lump appeared in his throat and threatened to cut off the next couple of words. He tried to push through it as he spoke.

“I’m not gonna make it.”

As soon as the words fell from his lips, shuffling could be heard on the other end of the line. No one said anything for a couple of seconds. The next person to speak was Dean.

“Listen, (Y/N), tell us where you are.” Dean’s voice was louder and more frantic, indicating that he had been taken off speaker. “We can come get you, patch you up, and you’ll be good as new, alright?”

“No, no, Dean-”

“Sam! Where are my keys!?”

“Dean-”

“You’re going to make it, okay, (Y/N)? Then, we can come back to the bunker and watch that stupid horror movie you’ve been begging us to watch.”

“Dean, I-”

That time, (Y/N) was interrupted by another coughing fit. Blood and spittle dribbled down his lips and chin. He could feel just how weak his lungs were, so it took some time for him to recover. Once the coughs died down, he was able to hear the familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine over the phone. What a beautiful sound. He was going to miss it.

“Did you get ahold of Cas?” Dean mumbled.

“I’m here, Dean,” Castiel’s voice came through.

“Great! (Y/N), tell us where you are, come on, buddy.”

“Cas,” (Y/N) croaked. “It’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?” His words were slow.

“(Y/N) you need to tell me where you are. I can come heal you.” Castiel’s voice was laced with seriousness and worry.

“No,” he said simply. “It’s too late.”

“It’s not too late!” Dean shouted.

“It is,”

“No, it’s not! You’re still talking to us, you’re still awake. Cas can come over and heal you.”

“Got it!” Sam exclaimed. “Make a left.”

“Guys, it feels like half of my blood is outside of my body. If I move, I think my stomach will fall out. I don’t want you to see me like this. You don’t deserve that.”

“(Y/N), please,” Castiel said. “I can help.”

(Y/N) huffed and would have smirked if he could. “You Winchesters with your stubborn attitude…” he took a few shaky breaths. “No matter what I say, you just never listen.”

“We never listen!?” Dean yelled.

“Dean-” Castiel began.

“No, Cas, this is bullshit. (Y/N), we are family, and family is supposed to be there for each other. They’re supposed to help each other when things get back. Why the Hell won’t you let us help you?”

“Because I’m already dead, Dean. I put this on myself. I-” he stopped to catch his breath. “I blindly went into the house without backup. This is on me. I’m meant to have-” breathe. “-a hunter’s death. To die fighting, and I can proudly say that I killed every last one of those slimy bastards.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Dean, let me finish. Please. I don’t want our last call to be remembered like this.”

Dean stayed silent. (Y/N) waited a moment. The corners of his vision had gone blurry, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open. He didn’t have much time left.

“I love you guys, all of you. My life wouldn’t have been nearly as exciting as it was without you. Sam, I’m going to miss our little nerd talks. Miss seeing Dean’s face when we talk about Lord of the Rings. Dean-” his voice trailed as he felt his head lull to the side.

“(Y/N)! Hey, (Y/N), stay with us,” Sam said.

(Y/N) lifted his head. “Dean, I’m going to miss trying to out-drink you at the bar.”

Dean gave a sad, dry chuckle. “You never even got close.”

“And, Cas, God, I’m going to miss our late-night talks. I can’t even count on one hand the amount of times our calls lasted longer than four hours.”

“I do enjoy talking with you,” Castiel confirmed. 

“(Y/N), please,” Sam begged.

“I love you all. I love you, Dean. I love you, Sam. I love you, Castiel.” (Y/N)’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“I love you, (Y/N),” Dean answered. 

“Love you, (Y/N),” Sam followed.

“I love you, too, (Y/N).” Castiel finished.

Their voices were quiet, filled with sadness and defeat. He hated that that was the last he would hear from them.

“Goodbye,” he breathed.

“No, (Y/N), please,” Sam tried to plead.

The call ended.

(Y/N) took one last look at the phone before he gave into gravity and let his arm drop to his side. 

By then, his breathing had slowed substantially. His chest barely rose and fell with the efforts his lungs put in. And that rattle, the death rattle. He knew it all too well. Years of witnessing death firsthand made a man knowledgeable on the topic.

On the horizon, past the field and toward the distant treeline, the sun began to rise. Speckled layers of early morning sunlight coated his skin, but he felt no warmth. On the contrary, he felt cold. Slow. He didn’t know that a human’s body could get so cold. With it, though, there was numbness. No more pain, no more aches. Just peace.

He never knew what it would be like to die - it didn’t occur to him to ask Sam and Dean about their countless encounters with death - but if he knew it would be so calm and, dare he say, tranquil, he might not have spent so long fighting for his life as he had in the past. It was an experience unlike any other. Perhaps that wasn’t his true feelings on the subject. Perhaps it was because he knew that was his fate, that he had no chance. Acceptance. He was ready.

The last thing he saw before his vision faded to black was the sun, uncovered by the foliage, in its bright glory. It felt like an old friend who wanted to greet him one last time, and he appreciated the sentiment. The welcoming of a new dawn was short-lived. Once his vision faded, his eyelids closed, his muscles relaxed, his head lulled to the side;

And he died.

*~*

Dean didn’t drive nearly as fast as he had wanted to. The foolish part of him still had hope. Hope that they would find their friend unconscious, but alive. That (Y/N) had been exaggerating his wound. That he would be fine. 

He has to be fine.

But the logical side of him, his brother, told him that he knew better. He had seen more than his fair share of friends die in his life, and it seemed to develop into a pattern. He met someone, promised himself he wouldn’t get close, got close, and then they died. An endless cycle. Wash, rinse, repeat.

And now, he was back on repeat.

It was nine in the morning by the time they spotted (Y/N)’s truck. Dean had to turn the car around, as they had passed it before. The treeline that sat on the edge of the road was thick, leaving visibility to be quite reduced. When they pulled onto the dirt path, they stopped a good twenty feet from the white pickup and sat there. None of them spoke. Instead, they sat in a heavy, dead, grief-filled silence, as if a fog had descended upon them. Time moved leisurely, at least from their perspective. In all actuality, it passed by them at the speed of light. By the time any of them moved into their seats, it was closer to ten.

They got out of the car and slowly made their way over to the truck. They walked steadily, as if on autopilot like their limbs were being held back by chains. They had to continue, for (Y/N)’s sake.

When they turned the corner of the front of the truck, they saw him. (Y/N)’s lifeless body lay against the side of the car, shoulders drooped, and mouth hung open. The gravel surrounding him was caked in uneven layers of dried blood, along with his shirt and jeans. Any color had drained from his skin. Bugs buzzed around the open gash still visible on his stomach, which had stopped bleeding at some point.

Sam choked back on a sob that tried to escape his throat, but he would not allow it. He covered his mouth with his hand and turned his back. He could feel the cry of pain threaten to claw its way out, threaten to break him down. He had to stay strong, though. He couldn’t possibly let Dean and Castiel deal with it all. (Y/N) was his friend, his brother, and he had to take responsibility for his body, as well. He couldn’t just let his brother and best friend handle it. That wouldn’t be fair to them. Wouldn’t be fair to (Y/N).

Dean stopped as soon as he saw his body. The visual of it made realization hit him like a truck. (Y/N) was dead. He was gone. All those times together watching movies, drinking at bars, or bickering with each other were a thing of the past, never to be repeated. The moments they shared would never get spread through a jovial reunion after retirement, nor would they get to grow old together. They would never get the opportunity to call each other ‘old bastard’ before they sat in their lawn chairs and talked for hours. Dean never even got the chance to teach him how to fish. The potential ‘what ifs’ turned into ‘what could have beens’, and the fact that he tricked himself into thinking it was possible made him feel like an idiot.

Castiel lagged when it came to turning the corner, for he knew what awaited on the other side. He had seen his fair share of death in regards to people he cared about, but he and (Y/N) had gotten rather close in the years they had known one another. He was the one who introduced Castiel to a larger variety of music, television shows, and films that Dean would have otherwise not done. He had opened his eyes to a world far beyond anything he could ever imagine. For that, Castiel would be forever grateful. When he saw (Y/N)’s body, he felt his chest ache. It wasn’t heartbreak, as Castiel knew he was unable to feel such emotion. Rather, he felt empty, as if a part of him had been ripped away and burned. One of his dearest friends had been taken. His family had been taken. True, he would get a chance to visit (Y/N) in Heaven, but it was not the same. 

Castiel was the first one to move over to his body. The cut on his stomach made him realize that, perhaps, (Y/N) wasn’t lying. It was deep, ghastly. Most likely, the time between the call ending and his time of death was minimal. Minutes if not seconds. There was truly nothing Castiel could have done. Even if he had the grace of an archangel, there was not enough power to heal him. His body was too far gone. 

With one look over at Sam and Dean, Castiel could see that any strength had vanished from their bodies. Their shoulders were slumped, and any light had left their eyes. He knew they would not be able to carry him, not while he was like that. He took the initiative and wrapped an arm around (Y/N)’s back and legs. It took little effort to lift him, despite the dead weight. Castiel was cautious when moving his body, knowing that the wound was still fresh. (Y/N)’s head shifted to the side, cheek pressed against his chest. Castiel walked over to Sam and Dean. Their eyes never left his body.

“I believe someone should take his car,” Castiel’s voice broke the silence that had hovered over them for hours. His voice was uncharacteristically soft and quiet. “I saw the keys under the driver’s side.”

Tears were flowing freely down Sam’s cheeks, his eyes red and burning. “I’ll-” he cleared his throat to steady his voice. “I’ll drive it.”

“No,” Dean’s broken speech interrupted. “Um…I’ll take him. Do you mind driving the truck, Cas?”

“I do not mind.” Castiel shook his head.

Dean nodded. Wordlessly, he dug into his pocket and pulled out the keys to the Impala. He held them out to Sam, who looked at his brother to silently confirm his actions. When nothing was said, Sam took the keys. Dean dropped his hand to his side as if the keys had been the only thing capable of keeping them up before he turned back to Castiel, arms held out.

Castiel began to carefully transfer (Y/N)’s body from his arms to Dean’s. It was almost ceremonial, and when Dean felt the heavy weight of the body in his arms, he held him close, as if he were made of glass, that he would shatter into a million pieces if Dean moved the wrong way.

But he was already broken.

They spoke nothing more before they dispersed. Castiel turned back to the truck to fetch the keys, Dean made his way to the Impala, and Sam followed. Sam opened the back passenger door and took a step back. Dean got in, his movements deliberate and guarded, the lifeless body still held tight to his chest. It took a moment for him to finally get settled in the backseat. Once he was, Sam shut the door and made his way over to the driver’s side.

Dean’s eyes never left (Y/N)’s face, determined to take in every last detail. He looked so peaceful, as if only in a deep sleep. There had been a handful of times Dean had carried (Y/N) to one of the many spare bedrooms after he fell asleep watching a movie, but he had never felt so heavy. Maybe it wasn’t him, but, rather, the weight Dean could feel on his heart. Dean held countless regrets. He wished he would have talked to him more. Wished he would have remembered being told about the hunt. He would have suggested that they stop to help on the way back from their previous hunt. If only he had listened better, maybe (Y/N) would still be alive. 

If only…

Dean didn’t even notice when Sam started the car, backed out onto the dirt road, and began to make the silent journey back to the bunker. As Sam drove, he would periodically sneak a peak in the rearview mirror at his brother and best friend. Each time, he had to swallow the lump that had threatened to make an appearance, but he let the tears flow. When he wasn’t looking at them, his mind wandered to the day ahead. The preparation for a hunter’s funeral didn’t take that long, as they were used to the process by then, but it didn’t make it any less painful. Everything had to be perfect. It was what (Y/N) deserved, and they would make sure to give him the best send-off they could. 

*~*

They gave themselves time to grieve - a day and some odd hours - while they collected the necessary materials for the funeral. While (Y/N)’s body lay in the spare bedroom he always claimed as his, they took turns alone with him. They shared memories, regrets, jokes, and emotions that would have otherwise been kept under lock and key. Then, when the pyre, just northwest of the bunker, was ready, they had Sam carry him out to his final resting place, giving them each an opportunity to hold him one last time.

With his body wrapped up tightly, he was placed on top of the pile of wood underneath the stars. Dean, Sam, and Castiel stood back and silently stared for a couple of minutes. As the late-night song of crickets came, Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out three lighters. He handed Castiel and Sam each one before he returned to the spot next to his brother. In unison, they clicked their lighters to life and tossed them to the pyre, one after another.

It took a moment for the wood to catch, but, in an instant, the faint crackling from the burning wood roared to life, engulfing (Y/N)’s body in its warmth. It was poetic, to die a hunter. To die protecting others, even when they didn’t know. They would never get their names in history books or their own documentary. No recognition is to be found. Only stories spread through fellow hunters and close friends kept their memory alive. They were true heroes of their time. Martyrs for a cause unknown.

That night, Sam, Dean, and Castiel vowed to never let his story die. In every way they could, they would spread (Y/N)’s story to everyone who would listen. They would light fires with their words and watch the world burn if it meant everyone knew of the person he was. For as long as they lived, (Y/N) would never truly die.

“Please, don’t worry so much, because in the end none of us have very long on this Earth - life is fleeting. And if you’re ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky when the stars are strung across the velvety night, and when a shooting star streaks through the blackness turning night into day, make a wish and think of me. Make your life spectacular. I know I did.”

~ Robin Williams

[missmyloko]

Hi! Lately, I have been very interested in Maiko/ Geiko and Yujō/Oiran/Tayū culture, their differences, but the most popular known books, documentaries have so many lies and discrepancies. I hope you might know some answers.

I don’t know if you read “Autobiography of a geisha” by Masuda Sayo, but she described her life as a hot-springs geisha during W2. While she learned “gei” (art), what happened to her was truly not different from prostitution. She was given different points after sleeping with men depending whether he was her danna, someone else’s danna or just a random guy.

There is this whole thing about American soldiers thinking “geisha” meant “prostitute”, bc some of the prostitutes decided to dress as geisha to attract more customers, I suppose?

Then, what Americans thought wasn’t exactly wrong (if we are not looking at Kyoto or Osaka)? Or was Masuda Sayo just a prostitute and she herself didn’t even know about it?

Are geisha outside of major districts (idk how to call them, Ponchoto, Gion Kobu etc) not considered geisha? Were times just so difficult that geisha had to resolve to prostitution under a banner of love instead of money, so it doesn’t make it illegal? Did Masuda just lie?

Masuda Sayo wrote the book herself in freaking Kanji, I believe her more than what “foreigners”, who only lived in geisha district for a couple of months, managed to understand. And Mineko Iwasaki was a queen among the geisha of completely different time period. I am more curious about how life was for “third rate” geisha.

I guess I am just somewhat confused about the statement that “Geisha are not prostitutes”, while there is an account that poor country girls sold in shitty okiyas were in fact as good as prostitutes.

In specific areas of Japan there used to be "double registered" geisha; that is, they were registered by the government to work as both geisha and as prostitutes. However, there were areas that worked under these double registration rules but didn't have official registration, so pretty much anything went. Sayo Masuda worked in one of those areas. These areas were often in small seaside towns or resort villages, which lead to onsen geisha having a tainted name that endures to this day. What they considered a geisha may as well have been night and day from what was going on in the large cities that had proper geisha associations that actually looked out for their members. This isn't to say that districts like Gion Kobu or Pontocho were perfect as at the time that Masuda was active young girls were still being sold into the karyukai across the country. So, where geisha populations were large and in larger cities they were primarily just geisha who, by government law, could not engage in prostitution. However, in small towns and villages, those who were identifying themselves as geisha also often took part in prostitution on the side as it was sadly a way for them to "serve" their customers. Sayo Masuda also wrote her autobiography in hiragana, not kanji, as she couldn't read or write kanji since she never had a formal education. American GIs brought back stories of "geesha girls" due to women who were not geisha but used one of the only Japanese words that they knew to have sex with for money in order to survive after the war. The Americans had no idea what a real geisha looked like and the karyukai didn't reopen (if they weren't bombed to shreds) until 1947. So, there were two years of regular women calling themselves geisha having sex with GIs that really didn't help with the Western perspective of geisha. By the time that Mineko Iwasaki came along, which was decades after Masuda was active and the Americans had mostly pulled out of Japan, prostitution had been made illegal across the country, so no double registered geisha existed anymore and no geisha anywhere were supposed to be having sex on the side for money (sex on the side is fine as long as it's consensual between two adults and no money is being exchanged though). Since geisha are incredibly exclusive for the most part, it's far cheaper and easier to hire a call girl or a hostess if someone wants to have illegal sex in Japan (it would be naïve to say that it doesn't happen even though it's illegal). So, were there different "levels" of geisha when Sayo Masuda was active? Of course. Was she lying? I don't believe so. Her story is extremely compelling and detailed to the point where it would be hard to be made up. Were the lines blurred on what was a "geisha" prior to World War II? Depending on where you were, yes. Has the karyukai changed drastically since that time? Very much so. Is there still work to be done when it comes to how geisha are perceived both inside and outside of Japan? Indeed, there's quite a great deal. But, we all have to start somewhere and I hope that this has helped to answer your questions ^^

[m1ckeyb3rry]

CONGRATS ON 500 FOLLOWERS WOOO!! its been a little over a year since ive found your writting, how time flies T-T Could you possibly write a platonic gojo & reader oneshot where its just snippets of Gojo's first year teaching and the reader is a 1st year student not part of jujutsu society? I'd prefer if the mc had a somewhat introverted personality while being grumpy bc of being forced to attend the school. U can change their behaviour to what u feel more comfortable writing if u want tho!!

── THE SCHOLAR

Synopsis: A short snippet of how Satoru Gojo convinces you to be his first student in full.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Gojo & Reader

Chapter Word Count: 2.6k

Content Warnings: not many tbh…reader is a d1 hater of gojo and ino ig?? also just a hater in general LMAO she does NOT want to be there

A/N: wow anon i can’t believe it’s been a year since you found my account and that you’ve stuck around for so long, that means a lot to me!! i apologize for how long this took me and how short it is 😫 it was a bit difficult for me to write gojo as a teacher without feeling like i was just rehashing his dynamic w a previous y/n i’ve written 😓 but i hope this is somewhat close to what you wanted?? also idk if you’ve read my fic pomegranate ink or not but i did throw in a reference to it at one point so props to anyone who catches that hehe

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

You weren’t really sure what cause your classmate had to be as pleased as he was, but for some reason, the boy was bouncing in his seat, scribbling down notes with the fervor of a scholar — though you were quite certain that he was nothing of the sort, at least not when his test scores were taken into consideration. 

“Hey,” you whispered, tossing an eraser at his head when your teacher’s back was turned. “Ino. What’s the big deal? We’re not even learning anything yet, so what are you writing down?”

“Are you kidding me? Gojo just told us an entire story of his past. That’s valuable information!” Ino said. You frowned at him.

“It’s not valuable information, because he’s so prone to embellishment that he’s all but an author at this point. Besides, do you think you, or anyone else for that matter, will ever face seven first grades and come out the winner, without even a scratch?” you said.

“He’s the strongest sorcerer in the world, though, so it’s feasible for him,” Ino said.

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Maybe for him, but not for anyone else. This is just bragging under the guise of an educational opportunity. We’re never going to be powerful enough to replicate such a feat, so what’s the use in wasting our time talking about it?”

“You’re such a spoil-sport,” Ino huffed. “We’re the first students to ever get to learn from Satoru Gojo, and somehow, you’re complaining about it? That’s ridiculous no matter what way you put it!”

“Is everything okay?” 

Both you and Ino jumped as Satoru Gojo appeared in front of your desks, peering down at you over the lenses of his dark glasses. He didn’t seem annoyed that you were talking while he was ‘teaching’; in fact, he looked excited, as if he wanted to join in the conversation as well. You could imagine him pulling up a chair and resting his chin in his hands as he gossiped with you, and it made you scoff.

“Everything’s fine. We were just wondering when you were actually going to start the lesson,” you said.

“She was wondering that!” Ino rushed to clarify. You shot him a dirty look out of the corner of your eye, which he ignored — you supposed loyalty didn’t mean much to him, as you two weren’t really friends and therefore couldn’t inspire much loyalty in one another regardless. “I was telling her how fascinated I am by the story you were telling!”

“Suck-up,” you hissed.

“Stupid,” he hissed back. Gojo clapped his hands, returning to the front of the classroom with a distinctly unacademic swagger to his step that made you internally fume.

“No worries, we’re just getting to that part! Today, we’ll go over some basic curse theory,” he said, drawing simplistic shapes on the chalkboard to accompany his explanations. As usual, Ino was absorbed by the standard bullshit Gojo spouted, but you found it to be so boring that you actually began to nod off, catching up on the sleep you had missed last night due to a mission which had run later than expected.

Unlike Ino, who had been automatically enrolled in the school because of his family lineage, you had been scouted as a fresh talent by Satoru Gojo himself. It had been a long conversation, and he had only managed to convince you in the end by telling you all about Kaito Hinode, the well-regarded first year teacher who you would study under. Hinode was a sorcerer you believed you wouldn’t have trouble respecting, and so you begrudgingly agreed to attend the school and give the whole notion of ‘jujutsu sorcery’ a shot.

Then Hinode retired, mere weeks before you were set to begin at the school, and his replacement was revealed to be none other than that irreverent, inept, and decidedly unserious man who you had secretly hoped you would not see much more of: Satoru Gojo.

You didn’t even want to be a sorcerer in active duty, but the theoretical side of it interested you to an almost unhealthy extent. You spent days upon days studying the workings of curses and cursed energy, to the point that you could be considered almost an expert. That was the only thing cheering you about coming to the school, that you’d get to discuss with individuals on your level, and so it had been such a heartbreaking disappointment when Gojo, who cared little about the causes and more about the results, was the only proper sorcerer you came into frequent contact with.

The other teachers didn’t have time to entertain your pestering, far too busy with their own students, which meant that Gojo was really your only option. And of course you had tried — really, you had. You had presented him with your questions and ideas, but he had only made a face and told you that studying curse theory to this extent wouldn’t help anyone, and least of all yourself.

He wanted you to learn how to fight, but you didn’t care for that. You didn’t want to fight. If you could spend the rest of your days shut away in a study, reading your books and taking notes on them, then you’d be quite content. You were reluctant to go on missions, even if you were ten times better than your peers, and you often dragged your feet heading into your practical classes. More than once, Ino had had to hoist you over his shoulders and sprint to the training field so that you were not both late, and you knew that you probably shouldn’t be so harsh on him given that, but because it meant that you had to exert yourself on the battlefield instead of rereading your favorite essays, his good intentions only made you resent him more.

“You know, you could really be a great sorcerer,” Gojo said to you one day. You were sitting on a bench while Ino did exercises, ink smudging your hand as you meticulously annotated a book that the principal had given to you. You blinked up at him, amazed once again at how tall he was. He blocked out the sunlight, his shadow looming over you in a way that would’ve been ominous if he wasn’t so typically harmless.

“Hm?” you said, returning to your book when you realized he wasn’t going to say anything of importance. “Sure, I guess I could be.”

“Becoming a first grade isn’t an impossibility for you. It’s something attainable, which is incredibly rare for someone as young as you,” he continued.

“Right,” you said.

“Do you care about that, though?” he said.

“Nope,” you said. “I have no interest in being a first grade sorcerer. It just means more dangerous missions, doesn’t it? I don’t care about all of that.”

“It also means a higher salary,” he said.

“Probably not high enough to make up for the risks,” you said.

“Well, it’s pretty high, though only you can decide if it makes up for the risks or not,” he said.

“Listen, sir, I’m only even here because you told me I could further my studies with people renowned in their fields. Do you mind telling me what field you’re renowned in? Because for some unfathomable reason, you’ve ended up as my teacher,” you said.

“I’m…the strongest sorcerer? In the world?” he said, though the way he phrased it made it seem like he was asking you instead of telling. You shrugged.

“That’s an intrinsic talent. You didn’t learn to be that way; you were just born with it. Sure, you had to practice, but practicing and studying are different. Anyways, even if you are the strongest soldier, I think we’ve established that that’s not something I’m interested in. I was supposed to be under the tutelage of wise and experienced professors, but instead, I’m being instructed by you, who’s barely even a few years my elder and has never taught before,” you said, closing your book and holding it to your chest, smiling tightly at him. “I’m staying here because my parents already paid the tuition fee, but I’m not happy about it. Just so you know.”

“If you’re a first grade sorcerer, you also get more access to information,” he said after a moment. “Stuff behind a million clearances that only people of a sufficiently high rank get access to.”

You froze, your eyes brightening at the thought of this forbidden knowledge. You already knew that you were missing several key pieces in your preliminary research, but no matter how hard you looked, you had never been able to find the answers to the seemingly obvious questions. Was this why? Was it really because you did not have the seniority to warrant the understanding?

“Is that truly the case?” you said.

“I can’t help you in terms of books and learning and all of that boring stuff,” he said. “But if you put in a bit more effort, I can turn you into someone that the higher ups listen to, instead of the other way around.”

You mulled this over before nodding, standing up and leaving your book on the bench.

“Okay. I’ll do as you tell me to, but like I said earlier, I’m not going to be happy about it,” he said.

“Who cares? You can be the gloomiest girl alive!” he said, reaching out to ruffle your hair. “Let’s work together, Y/N!”

“I’m your student,” you reminded him. “Not your friend.” 

He waved you off. “You’re old enough to be both. Now let’s get to training!”

It was horrible, being Gojo’s favorite student. For one, Ino was jealous — although soon enough he found another mentor to cotton on to, and then your relationship with him mended into something a little more cordial and polite. For another, Gojo had this strange penchant for throwing you into impossible situations and watching in glee as you struggled to get out of them.

His missions also tended to be errands disguised as pressing matters. Once, he made you run around Tokyo, stopping in various stores so that you could improve your conditioning — stores which just so happened to carry the items on his week’s grocery list. Another time, you single-handedly had to exorcise every single curse harassing a nearby bakery — a bakery which just so happened to carry a specialty flavor of cake that was his new favorite. Whenever you complained about the silly chores, he asked if the exercise had made you stronger or not. You would begrudgingly admit that it had, and then he’d tell you that you should just think of it as a win-win scenario and stop whining.

“Y/N!” That was how it always began: he would shout your name as he entered the classroom, usually accompanying it with a wad of paper or some other, similarly harmless object sent flying your way. You’d catch it in one hand and glare at him.

“What?” This would prompt him to explain his ridiculous plan for the day, after which he would turn to Ino and hand him his assignments. He had gotten special permission from the school to train you in this non-orthodox manner, given that you were so far ahead in any material that giving you homework would be redundant and a waste of time for all parties involved. For his part, Ino did not complain, for he had long ago lost interest in training with Gojo, who was admittedly terrible at actually explaining anything of note.

You made a good pair, you and Gojo, or at least as good of a pair as could be made given the circumstances. As the year went on, you grew more and more familiar with the reasoning behind his atypical style, and though you would never cease to complain, it was more lighthearted, a habit instead of a genuine gripe.

“You’ll be promoted any day now,” Gojo told you on the last day of your first year — the last day that he would be your director supervisor. “They’re waiting for you to grow a bit older, but it’s maturity you lack, not talent. If you participate in the Exchange Event next year, you’ll get the recommendations you need without a problem.”

“If?” you said, picking up on what he had left unsaid. “Isn’t it mandatory? Why wouldn’t I participate?”

“It’s mandatory if you’re living on campus, yes,” he said.

“And what cause would I have to not be living on campus?” you said.

“You’re interested in curse theory, aren’t you?” he said. When you nodded, he sighed. “Still? I was hoping you’d have moved on by now…well, I can get an alternate course of study approved for you by the principal, if you want.”

“An alternate course? What would that entail?” you said.

“One of my fellow special grade sorcerers, Yuki Tsukumo, specializes in researching the exact types of things you find so fascinating. If she agrees to it, then you could serve as an assistant of sorts to her. It’ll be like an internship or something. She won’t let you slack off — it’ll be much worse than anything I put you through, that’s for certain — but if that’s the path you want to take, then it’s an option,” he said.

You had never loved him quite as much as you did in that moment. Without even taking a moment to think about it, you nodded enthusiastically, beaming at him.

“Yes! Yes, Gojo, sir, that would be ideal. I’ve read some of the proposals Tsukumo’s submitted to the higher ups, and oh, if I got to work with her, it would be such a dream,” you said.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he said. “She still has to agree to it.”

“Do you think she’ll say no?” you said.

“Maybe at first,” he said. “After she meets you, though? No way. You’re my pupil, after all. You’ll be the most impressive student she’s ever taken under her wing — and I can attest to the fact that you’ll be far and away the most dedicated.”

You supposed you had some things to thank him for, then. The corners of your lips twitched as you bowed your head at him, causing him to grunt in confusion; after all, you had never shown him such deference before.

“You’re not that bad as a teacher,” you said. “You know, for it being your first time, I think you did alright.”

“Yeah?” he said eagerly before composing himself, clearing his throat before speaking again. “Yeah, I guess you turned out just fine.”

“Thank you for everything, Gojo,” you said. “Please know that you’ll always have an ally in me.”

His black sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, just a bit, but enough that you could see the way his eyes softened ever so slightly. Then he reached out and socked you in the arm affectionately.

“Considering how often I butt heads with the higher ups, I might call upon you one day,” he said. “Don’t make that kind of promise lightly, is what I’m saying.”

“I’m not making it lightly,” you said. “If you call upon me, I’ll come. That’s what you do for someone who’s changed your life, right?”

Even the shades he had shoved back into position could not hide the breadth of his smile nor the depth of his fondness. He nodded, slowly at first and then quickly, like he wanted you to be very sure of his agreement.

“True,” he said, and then he patted you on the head. “Guess that means you can call on me whenever you want, too. I’ll be there.”

You smiled at him over your shoulder as you left for the summer and thought that you might never be so fortunate — or unfortunate — as to have a teacher quite like him again.

[seeminglydark]

Idk if this means anything to you but I'm a comic artist who's had a hard time doing art for a few years. The first four was because of life hardship and lack of time/chronic pain, but now lately I've had time but a mental block. I'm creeping up on 30 and felt bad about myself for "missing out" on my opportunity to be a comic artist. It was really validating to see you post about being 41 (correct me if I'm wrong) especially since you have such wonderful comics that I've been following for a while now. It makes me feel less like I'm wasting my time putting my things in order when I "should" be drawing.

Hopefully this doesn't come across as offensive or anything. It was just comforting and validating. Anyway, big fan! Love your characters a whole lot and hope you have a good day!

Dear Anon

I am 41 years old. I have wanted to make comics my entire life. before my dad got sick, and my childhood kinda fell apart, all i did was draw. after that, i used the stories in my head to cope. life moved on. i was convinced not to accept a partial scholarship to an art school in California. life got hard. i worked at a hotel, and after i escaped an abusive relationship at 22 i hitchhiked/bused far far away to start over. i tried to make comics again, but i had to survive, and so i got another job doing the only thing i knew how to do, hotels. and i worked. and worked. and life got harder and times got heavier and i didn't get time to draw and i worked double hours, 15 to 17 hours a day. and i went four years without drawing a single thing.

i kept working myself into the ground. i was 29 now. i picked up a pen again and drew a red haired boy. he had a hard life and no love and no friends. his problems were on the outside, for everyone to see. he ran away but his problems went with him.

i was 32. surely i was too old now. my time to be an artist was gone. i had no school. no hope. i was so far behind the younger gen i saw online. i cried. all the time. i wrote stories in my email drafts while i worked shifts. i stayed up late trying to learn how to draw again. i cried some more. the boy grew. i called him Fiach. worthy. a raven. later i renamed him Avery. he was like a bird, he had wings, he was my hope. i started writing some friends for him. the people i wished i had around me.

i started finding time and space. i got a new job, something where i was lucky enough to set my own hours. for the first time i had a partner who believed in me. things were hard. but i was drawing now. and that helped.

i went on a road trip and i started drawing pages of an unnamed story on 6 by 8 paper in a sketchbook. i drew 20 of them. 'what could i call this?' i thought. Nothing Seems as Dark...no says my partner. Seemingly Dark. he made me a logo. i was 35. i bought an ipad, i cant do this on paper, its too much story i have too much to say. so i learned how to draw digitally by tracing my own trad art pages.

I spoke to my dad for the last time on June 17th, fathers day that year. he said 'you're good. i'm proud. and you're gonna do amazing things. none of this is your fault. and we will speak again soon.' i didn't know id never hear his voice again. he died a week later.

i turned 36. i kept trying. i'm old, i don't understand the internet. how can i share this?

i stumbled across Lore Olympus. i was introduced to webcomics. id read comics online before but the thought never occurred to me. i opened an account on Tapas. and then i stared at it. what if no one likes it. what if its bad. my art isn't good. i should wait til i'm better. but will i ever really be better? or will i always believe that tomorrow is better? do it now. if even one person gets something out of this story, this story about a boy who is you, a boy who looking for hope, a boy who might make it, then that is enough isn't it.

June 17th 2018 i launched Seemingly Dark.

SD's five year anniversary is in a week. 0ver 700 pages. leaps and bounds in progress with my skills. a printed comic under my belt as of monday. i was always a storyteller. but i was always an artist too.

I am 41 years old, dear anon. I did not truly embark on this journey til i was 35. life got in the way. even now, chronic illness gets in the way. but its worth it. its never ever too late. i believe in you the way my dad believed in me. i reset my life again and again. but I was always an artist. and if thats who you are, and who you want to be, even if things dont go the way you wished they could, you're an artist too.

im 41 years old. i speak about my age, even though i often feel too old to belong in spaces, cuz really, in this case age is just a number. take care of yourself. do what you need to do. and little by little, when your able, carve out your space until it becomes more of a habit. sometimes i think about all the years i lost not drawing or creating. but there's a lot of factors that make me believe had i made my story then, it wouldn't be the story it is now, i needed to live a bit. i needed to find myself. i know this was long, but i just wanted you to see i also had to put my life in order, and getting notes like this reminds me it wasnt at all a waste. im glad i could offer you some comfort. thats honestly the best compliment i could ever receive.

TL;dR I was 35 when i sat down and seriously started making comics, because life always got in the way and so did my confidence. i always feared being too old. im 41 now, still going strong.

[mlm-writer]

Jericho (Conner Kent x FtM!Reader)

Pairing: Top!Conner Kent (YJ ver.) x Bottom!FtM!Alien!King!Reader Rating: Explicit (or Mature if you skip the last part) Words: 1565 POV: Second Summary: You fight the final battle to free your people from alien invaders (and then have sex with your bf after) Note: Gayden wanting to write plot vs y’all wanting smut. Inspired by Jericho by Iniko. Reader’s body is described as ‘his true form’, so you get to pick whatever that means for you. Tags: action, murder, alien reader, your nemesis misgenders you but they also murdered your people so idk what you feel like is worse, established relationship, epic fight scene, fluffy sex, Conner low key a service dom, oral (reader receiving), fingering, anal/vaginal sex and cockwarming

The light of your photon-sword was blinding as it tore through your enemies one by one. The purple blood of the invader species coated almost every inch of your armour. The call of your name behind you made you turn around, just in time to see another intruder trying to lunge at you. It screeched as you sliced its torso clean off its hips. Your eyes were glowing with the rage of battle, but even in this enraged state, you could smile at the man who had warned you. Conner was not from your world, but he had fought by your side nonetheless. As long as you were here, it was his home too and he would defend it until his dying breath. 

“I will hold them off, do what you have to,” Conner called from where he was fighting off six pawns at once. Were the lives of your people not endangered, you might have marvelled at his strength and prowess in battle, but time was running out. 

“I will come back,” you assured him. When your eyes met briefly, you could see he was as sure as you were of that promise. You lifted your arm to access the control panel of your armour. “I love you,” you added, just in case, before activating the anti-gravity matrix. Your feet floated off the ground and soon after, the thrusters were taking you up the tower. 

Heavy grey clouds circled the tower, lighting and acid rain protecting the general of the invaders. Your armour was maintaining its integrity through it. It seemed an eternity ago that the structure descended from the sky, bringing trouble with it, but today would be the day you’d make it fall. 

The structure rumbled as you landed on the platform on the rooftop. “Your trespassing ends today!” You roared as you came face to face with the alien that had been in your nightmares for the past years. You were not the same since the first time you were face-to-face with all those eight eyes. You could feel the changes in your body, the power granted by your ancestors rushed through your veins and vibrated through your bones. 

A demonic laugh made the air tremble around you. As the brute hollered in your face, you got a clear view of their three rows of sharp teeth. “It seems the princess has learned how to hold a sword. You really think pretending to be a boy is enough to stop me?” You clenched your teeth, your rage fuelling your sword. Blue flames engulfed the hard-light, illuminating the space between the grey clouds in a cyan glow. 

“The ancestors have granted me my true form and I am about to give you your final one!” You bellowed, before lunging at them. Your sword was like lighting between the clouds. The grief of war and desire for it all to be over burned in your heart. Your foe had underestimated you, but after you cut one of their many limbs off, they were sure to not make that mistake again. Even as your blood mixed with the rain, your energy never faded. 

The battle seemed to drag on forever. You thought you had them cornered, when a limb you had not accounted for seemingly came out of nowhere and knocked your sword out of your hands. The temporary confusion was enough for your nemesis to fling you across the rooftop. You ended up on your back, sliding across the wet roof to the edge. You dug your gloved hand into the floor, slowing yourself down just in time, head already hanging off the edge. 

The heavily wounded beast closed the distance between you, a heavy foot ending up on your torso. You clawed at their ankle, trying to free yourself as they loomed over you. They lowered their monstrous face, a smug look taunting you. “Your ancestors have failed you, little princess,” they snickered as they slowly shoved you more and more off the edge. 

“Fortunately, the king still has a boyfriend!” Instant relief washed over you as you heard the voice, before Conner dashed from below, punching the monster right in their face. They stumbled backwards, giving you the window of opportunity that you needed to get back up your feet. Conner called your name, before tossing you your sword. He was wrestling with the general right after. You caught your weapon mid-air, waiting for Conner to make the beast’s back face you. As soon as it did, you dashed forward, delivering the final blow. There were no last words, just a rumbling scream and then the dark clouds thinned out. The light of your two suns broke through the sky, signalling your people that it was done; it was over; they were free. 

You sighed and collapsed onto the wet roof, the glow in your eyes dying out as exhaustion took over. Conner flew you down to a healer. The people celebrated that night, but you were quick to retreat to your chambers. It smelled weird after not having been used for years, but it was all still intact. You had gotten rid of half your clothes and collapsed on your bed. 

“Can I come in?” You heard Conner through the door. You shouted for him to come in. His warm laugh filled your ears, when he saw you. “After today, I don’t blame you for resting, but you’re missing a great party,” he spoke with amusement in his voice. You groaned and rolled over, now lying face down on the soft sheets. You felt a weight dip the mattress beside you. “Allow me to help,” Conner whispered, before his warm fingers helped you out of the rest of your clothes. 

You used to dread being naked, but in this new body your ancestors gave you to fight the invaders, you looked forward to being naked around your lover. His hands were still on you, pressing in the knots in your back. It was not that good of a massage with dry hands, but you relaxed anyway. 

His touch lingered at your waist and you spread your legs a little in reply. His lips gently kissed your back as his hand travelled between your legs. You lifted your hips a little so he had all the access he needed. Conner rubbed you in all the right places, turning you into a dripping mess. “On all fours,” he whispered against your shoulder. After you complied, a free hand started toying with your nipples. He used your juices to lube up your ass and his cock. 

You moaned as his fingers entered your hole. You hadn’t realised you were leaking so much that it could be such a smooth slide. With hooded eyes, you stared over your shoulder, watching his concentrated face. Then you saw that Conner was leaking as well. He had stopped playing with your nipples and was stroking himself instead. His gorgeous cock spilled precum all over your hole that his fingers pushed inside. "I'm ready," you sighed between small whimpers of pleasure. 

Conner pulled you up to your knees. He was behind you, holding his cock in place as you sunk your down on him. You moaned in relief as you finally felt him inside you. When you got too eager and tried to sink down faster, Conner held you in place. It was maddingly slow, but eventually you found your ass resting on his thighs. Conner's fingers rubbed you again, making sure you felt pleasure everywhere. "Come on, start moving," he encouraged you. You couldn't move much in this position, but Conner helped you with gentle thrusts. Your bare back connected to his chest. His moans were audible right next to your ear. 

"Please, Conner, I'm so sore from today," you whimpered as your legs started to hurt. Conner pushed you off and manhandled you onto your back. You reached out for him and he immediately returned to your arms, kissing you deeply, while lifting your legs and wrapping them around his waist. Your lips stayed close to each other as he re-entered you. Your moans mixed between your mouths, his every thrust drawing another sound from your body. "Don't draw this out. I just want to cum," you huffed. Conner chuckled against your lips. You would never get tired of that sound. 

"Of course, my king," he joked, before pulling out. You groaned and tried to coax him back inside, but instead his head dipped down and before you knew it, he was licking and sucking you as if he needed you to cum just as badly as you needed it. You almost screamed. Your hand flew to his head and your fingers tangled into his hair. Conner hummed as if a deep need had been fulfilled. Two fingers entered you and with the right curl of his fingers, you could feel your orgasm crash through your whole body. 

Conner made sure you got the pleasure you sought and then laid you down on your side. He spooned you, putting his cock back inside as he did so. "Now rest, my king," he whispered into your ear, before pulling the covers over you. You smiled, enjoying having him still hard inside you. You drifted off into peaceful sleep, knowing that when you would wake, your people would be safe and you'd get the dicking of your life.