#names are committment

[pencilofawesomeness]

Sketchbook Ask: 33 please

Heh.

It's an OC doodle. Not a particularly good one. I botched up the perspective pretty good.

So here's a better version. Oh, the benefit of two more years of practice, sometimes.

Also a moment of silence for the character that has still yet to be named.

(Sketchbook ask game.)

[engagetextposts]

part 2 to remaking old engage textposts, the textpostening

[impzone]

night out

[neoneun-au]

Thought this was your main and that you had just never followed me back 😭

HAHAHAHA nah you're grandfathered in now, zoe. we've been together as mutuals on this site for too long for me to do that to you HAHA

[tossball-stick]

look. maybe i wont Say that my new rdr oc is just there to give some love to the less appreciated camp members but i did kinda perfectly craft a man thatd be beloved by pearson and grimshaw and who would get along with swanson well enough and well. sorry hed hate strauss. guy who was only turned into a gang member because of crippling debt and his own stupid decisions vs loan shark. hydrogen bomb vs coughing baby yknow

[writers-potion]

how do you write a liar?

How to Write Liars Believably

Language

The motive of every goal is the make the lie seem plausible while taking blame off the speaker, so liars will often project what they say to a third party: "Katie said that..."

Referring to third parties as "they" rather than he or she

In the case of a deliberate lie prepped beforehand, there will be an overuse of specific names (rather than pronouns) as the speaker tries to get the details right.

Overuse of non-committal words like "something may have happened"

Masking or obscuring facts like "to the best of my knowledge" and “it is extremely unlikely," etc.

Avoiding answers to specific, pressing questions

Voice

There's isn't a set tone/speed/style of speaking, but your character's speech patten will differ from his normal one.

People tend to speak faster when they're nervous and are not used to lying.

Body Language

Covering their mouth

Constantly touching their nose

fidgeting, squirming or breaking eye contact

turning away, blinking faster, or clutching a comfort object like a cushion as they speak

nostril flaring, rapid shallow breathing or slow deep breaths, lip biting, contracting, sitting on your hands, or drumming your fingers. 

Highly-trained liars have mastered the art of compensation by freezing their bodies and looking at you straight in the eye.

Trained liars can also be experts in the art of looking relaxed. They sit back, put their feet up on the table and hands behind their head.

For deliberate lies, the character may even carefully control his body language, as though his is actually putting on a show

The Four Types of Liars

Deceitful: those who lie to others about facts

2. Delusional: those who lie to themselves about facts

3. Duplicitious: those who lie to others about their values

Lying about values can be even more corrosive to relationships than lying about facts. 

4. Demoralized: those who lie to themselves about their values

Additional Notes

Genuine smiles or laughs are hard to fake

Exaggerations of words (that would normally not be emphasized) or exaggerated body language

Many savvy detectives ask suspects to tell the story in reverse or non-linear fashion to expose a lie. They often ask unexpected, or seemingly irrelevant questions to throw suspects off track. 

[barnbridges]

if tsh was the vampire chronicles, i really do think francis and marion would be these two people that fought over some 3rd rate protagonist at like the fall of rome and have bitched at each other endlessly since in the background of the books.

[aster-go-brrr]

still having brain technical difficulties but im procrastinating on working on a research project for a friend of mine BSHDHDHDA

[socialpermadeath]

I've gotta settle on a name for daily life. So far we have Ash/Ashley which is, according to one of my coworkers, the non-cringe option and also the first name that clicked with me. Elim which is apparently cringe and no one can pronounce but it's Star Trek and I do like Star Trek. And Booker which is the placeholder name I came up with like a year ago when I first came out and needed something to fill in until I picked.

[traveler-at-heart]

Miss Communication

Summary: Natasha is avoiding the feelings talk so you use the only thing that seems to be working: jealousy.

A/N: This request and entire plot is from @happychopshoppenguin so all credit really goes to them. I just put into a few more words.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Stealthy, precise, lethal.

Well, what a load of crap. All Natasha Romanoff is, is a coward. There.

You’re so pissed off, all you want to do is open up her file and write “committment issues” under weaknesses.

But that’s not your job.

No, your job is intelligence and data analysis. Go over information, read endless reports and make a summary that the Avengers can understand, because they don’t have the time to sit around and do it themselves.

And now, you’re here, talking about a new terrorist organization with Steve. Natasha should be here, as second in command, but for reasons unknown to you and Captain America, she has failed to show up.

Again, coward.

Fine, if she doesn’t answer your texts you’ll find her anywhere she’s hiding in this big ass building.

“Hey, Y/N” Sam greets as you walk down the hall.

“Damn. Is it allowed to have guns in the kitchen area?” you smile mischiveously, used to flirting around with the team. He looks around, clearly confused and you reach out to touch his bicep. “I mean, what are they feeding you, Wilson? You’re as buff as Steve”

“Hell, yeah” he smiles, flexing and putting on a little show. You’re laughing and making small talk when someone magically appears, glaring.

Natasha is fuming and you don’t know if the anger is directed at you or Sam. Looking directly at her, you laugh and place a strand of hair behind your ear, as if Sam just said the funniest thing ever.

She can’t answer a fucking text but feels jealous? Well, good. At least you know she cares.

“You’re annoying her, Wilson” Bucky joins you, leaning against the kitchen island and giving you a crooked smile. “Hey, doll”

“Hi, handsome” you place your hands on each side of his face. “Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah” he says, practically drooling.

“I think you’d look really good if you cut your hair”

“I’ll think about it” he promises.

“Move aside, I’m taking Y/N out for lunch” Sam says, pushing Bucky.

“Oh, sweetheart. You can’t handle all of this” you tease. “But I won’t say no to lunch”

“That’s good enough for me” he agrees, offering his arm. You take it, winking at Bucky and walking away.

Natasha is already planning six different ways to make Wilson disappear, and Bucky goes to his room.

“Gotta get a haircut” he mumbles.

Oh, like hell.

Neither one of them can touch what’s hers.

—

Natasha: How was lunch?

Y/N: Oh, NOW you text me?

Y/N: We need to talk. Call me.

—

Natasha throws the phone across the room, feeling like screaming into her pillow. It still smells like you, which makes her heart ache.

If only she hadn’t been so stupid to ruin whatever it is you two had.

You were on top of her, riding her strap, as you had done so many times since you started your situationship. Hands on Natasha’s abdomen, feeling how her muscles worked to pump in and out of you.

“I love your tits” Natasha said, breathless. You nodded, bouncing harder, moaning desperately. “I love your pussy, it’s perfect for my cock”

“Baby, I’m so close” you whined, so desperate you barely registered her next words.

“I love you”

Eyes wide open, your movements stopped for a second. Before you could answer, Natasha flipped you and you were face down, ass in the air as she entered, pounding harder.

And you really wanted to ask what the fuck and if she really meant what she said, but you were so close that all you could do was moan her name and come hard around the strap.

You barely registered when Natasha pulled out. You felt empty and confused and so stretched.

“Nat? Babe, wait”

“I have to… I forgot a mission report, I’m sorry” she muttered, putting her clothes on and leaving in a hurry. She ran out of her own fucking room before owning what she said.

And now, she couldn’t even look at you. She couldn’t stand the idea that you would reject her.

The little hope that lingered in the back of her mind was the most painful feeling of all.

All she wanted was to be loved by you.

—

Call me means fucking call me.

It means don’t pretend nothing happened.

God, she’s so infuriating. And hot. And good at sex.

But mostly infuriating.

Now you’re back in the Compound, determined to get her to talk to you. Which is why you decided to wear your low cut dress and push up bra.

She said she loves your breasts, right? Well, here they fucking are.

You carry a bunch of binders that need filing, and they help cover your boobs as you enter the living room. Natasha is sitting, and you think she is almost ready to approach you when Sam beats her to it.

“Here, let me help you” Sam offers. The minute your cleavage comes to view, his eyes widen.

“Hey, doll” Bucky greets and you turn around. His mouth flails open, but all you can do is admire his new look.

“Buck, oh my God! You actually listened to me?” you run your hands through his hair, making it impossible for him to look away from your chest. “You look absolutely stunning. Good boy”

“Yeah, uh… I…”

The interaction annoys Natasha, but she knows you won’t even entertain the idea of doing anything with those two.

Her mood quickly changes when Carol appraches you. She's a whole different story.

“Carol, it’s been ages since you’ve been here! All I read are your mission briefings” you say, hugging her tight.

“Well, how bout I tell you everything I’ve been up to over dinner?” she offers with a smile.

“Y/N” Natasha finally snaps. “I missed this week’s report. Mind filling me in?”

“Sure thing” you pull away, reluctantly. “Be right back, Danvers”

Natasha leads you to the conference room and pushes you against the door as soon as you enter.

“Why must you be such a brat?” she whispers against your ear, biting down your earlobe.

“It's the only way to get your attention, Natasha” you protest, trying to sound upset.

You’re torn between lust and anger, but she’s such a good kisser that her lips make you forget everything that’s happened in the last few days.

“I should punish you” she threatens, going down your body and pulling the dress up. Who is she kidding? Her mouth is watering at the thought of tasting you. “Bet you’d love that”

Love.

The word pulls you out of your trance. Natasha is about to take your panties off when you stop her, pulling her away by her hair.

“We’re going to talk”

“You don’t make the calls here”

“Natasha, stop it. I’m serious”

You really don’t want her to stop, but you can’t keep wondering if she meant it.

You want her to mean it.

“Are you seriously gonna make a big deal about it?”

“Ugh, you drive me insane, Natasha. Why can’t you just admit what you said and whether or not you meant it? Do you even care about what I want?”

She stays silent and you groan, pulling up your dress and fixing your clothes.

“I really wanted to be more than just fuck buddies” you admit before going out. “But if the thought of loving me is so embarassing for you, then forget about it. I won’t force the feeling out of you”

Natasha stays behind, wondering how she got it all wrong.

You wanted her.

By the time she comes to her senses, you’re long gone. But Carol does meet her in the hallway, smiling.

“Hey, do you mind telling Cap I’m skipping our meeting? Y/N and I are having dinner”

“Sure” Natasha nods, feeling her stomach drop.

Now it’s too late and she lost you.

—

The second anniversary of the Sokovian Accords comes and goes in a flash. Natasha really wanted to skip it, go find you and apologize.

And yet, here she is, in the Quinjet, flying back to the Compound after two days of exhausting diplomacy.

“Why couldn’t we stay a few days in Paris?” Sam laments for the third time.

“New recruits are in the middle of their training” Barton says from the pilot seat. “At least they got a break these last couple of days”

 “No, they didn’t” Wanda says. “Y/N is training them. Maria asked her to do it before we left”

“Y/N?” everyone says, looking at each other.

“But she’s a data analyst, not a field agent” Sam says.

“And the sweetest person ever” Bucky adds. He holds Natasha’s glare and smiles. Oh, he knows what’s up.

“Well, let’s make sure we put them back into shape when we get there” Steve slaps Bucky’s arm.

Boy, are they all wrong. When the team goes back to the Compound, you’re in the middle of a training session. A guy runs out of the gym, his shoulder crashing against Sam’s as he bolts for the exit.

“She’s fucking crazy, man” he says to himself, looking terrified.

“What the hell?”

Steve pushes the door to the gym. And there you are, in the middle of sparring. With one swift motion you kick the guy to the floor, and he puts his hands up, as if begging for mercy.

“Oh, we have company” you taunt, walking confidently around the students. “Anyone want to fight the Avengers? I promise you they’re not as hard to beat”

“Who is she and what has she done to Y/N?” Barton whispers.

Natasha has to hold back a moan. You look cold and deathly, having kicked all of their asses without breaking a sweat. That also explains why you’re so… bendy.

“Fine. Since none of you could even land a hit on me, you’re running ten laps. Don’t come back here unless you’ve thrown up or cried once”

All the recruits scramble to their feet, relieved now that they can get away from you. You turn around, giving the Avengers a challenging look.

“What? Wanna give it a try? I’ll go easy on you” you say. “Maybe not on Natasha, though. She hasn’t been a good girl”

“Ew” Wanda says, leaving the room. Between that and Natasha’s bendy thought, that was so loud she might as well have screamed it in the middle of the gym, she’s had enough.

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got” Barton is the only one that steps up. You nod, evaluating his approach. He throws the first punch but it never lands. You move out of his way at record speed, keeping the contact at minimum while you kick the back of his legs, making him fall on his knees. Another three blows and Clint is face down on the mat.

“Pass” Sam says when you turn around to see who’s next.

“I’ll take my chances” Natasha says, stepping up. You smile in a way that makes a chill run down her spine.

Natasha thinks you can never go wrong with a classic move, so she throws her legs around your neck. But you block the movement and make her land on her back, hands pinned abover her head.

It happens at least three different times, each position becoming more sexual.

“I think we should leave” Bucky says.

“In a minute”

“Come on, Wilson” he forces him out the door, closing it for good measure and hoping you keep your clothes on before the recruits come back.

If they even come back.

“I promise you, you’re not gonna win this time, Natasha” you say, out of breath for the first time. Her eyes travel to your lips and you lean forward, stopping inches away from her mouth. “And I sure as hell ain’t letting you go without talking about that thing you said the other day”

“Please…”

“Now you’re polite. Now you say please. I’ve been chasing you for a fucking week to know if you like me for more than my tits and ass” you finally give in, kissing her for a few seconds. She whines against your mouth, trying to create friction. But your hold is too strong and she can’t move an inch without your permission.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry. I was scared you’d reject me and then everything would be ruined forever between us. I love you, so damn much it scares me” Natasha finally breaks, surprising herself with the way she’s pouring her heart out to you.

But that’s how much she loves you and how much she needs you.

Her words leave you breathless and you smile, going back to being your usual self.

“Natasha, I love you so damn much, it drives me crazy. Please don’t ever doubt that, sweetheart”

She nods, her nose rubbing against yours and you finally do what you’ve been craving all week. You kiss her, gently at first, and then more passionately, your hands dropping from hers to let her hug you.

You moan against her mouth, Natasha’s tongue slipping inside.

“Fuck, baby, I need you” you moan, going back to being submissive for the redhead.

“What does my pretty girl want? My mouth or my fingers?”

“Just you, anything, please”

Thinking back to the last time she almost had you, her mouth waters and she decides to flip you on your back and travel down your body, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses and pulling down your shorts and underwear.

“All of this for me?” she asks, running her fingers up and down your slit, collecting your juices and sucking on her digit. “I missed your taste, princess”

“Nat, please” you cant your hips up, hoping she takes the hint. You’re too far gone to form a coherent sentence.

Natasha darts her tongue out. She moans at the taste, and snakes her arms around your thighs to keep you in place. Her tongue goes up and down, then deep inside you and you shudder.

You would almost feel embarrassed for lasting so little, but it’s not your fucking fault she was hiding for a week.

When you remember that, your hands go to her hair and you pull her closer. Natasha enjoys the roughness, her movements speeding up and pushing you over the edge.

You come, crying out her name and trembling. As you struggle to catch your breath, Natasha moves up, letting you taste yourself in her mouth.

“Hey, baby”

“Hey” you say, smiling.

“Can I take you out to dinner tonight? I’d like to make it up to you”

“Yes to dinner. And give me a couple more of those orgasms and we’ll call it even”

“That sounds like a deal” she smiles against your lips, eager to make up for the lost time.

[paper-mario-wiki]

It’s kinda weird asking someone named paper Mario wiki questions like this, but as someone who’s recently been hit with the reality that looking in the mirror and being paralyzed with despair probably isn’t normal. How would you recommend branching out to test if Im trans

easy, non-committal first steps to walk in to see how it feels:

think "if i was a [different gender], what would my name be?"

start an RPG that you like and havent played in a while and have your created character be you, as [different gender].

[transfem] buy some eyeliner, spend some time trying it on in the mirror. you can put it on and take it off as many times as you like until you get it just right.

[transfem] practice being clean shaven more often.

consciously look for characters in media of [different gender] that you can identify with, and enjoy the style of. think about how they dress, and how you'd feel pulling off clothes like that.

in that same stroke, identify character archetypes for [different gender] in media, and think about what archetype you'd fall under as that gender (this can be as vapid as thinking "i'd like to be a milf someday" or "i'd like to be a peter parker from spiderverse level failboy someday", as long as you like how it feels to think about it)

buy some underwear cut for [different gender]. see how you like it. (suggestion to transmascs, get boxer briefs, these things are so fucking comfortable you wouldnt believe how fuckin good they feel on your legs)

and i bet if you check the replies to this post, there will be people in the direction of whatever gender you're thinking of walking in leaving other tips too. (that's your cue, trans person reading this, masc or fem)

[amywritesthings]

press four for more options. | part one.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4.6k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - alternate universe (modern), slow burn, eventual smut, sex work, phone sex, dirty talk, dom!levi, light dom/sub Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part two. | masterlist

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. You’re only a dial away from your wildest fantasies with the sexiest singles near your area.”

God, even the automated voice sounds porn-y.

A breathy feminine voice straight out of a 1975 VHS tape croons into the dead air of your small apartment bedroom, setting your nerves on edge.

God forbid the noise travels through the walls into your next-door neighbor's bedroom. Harriet and Miro do not need to hear what you’re up to this Friday evening.

Maybe, up to this Friday evening.

You haven’t decided yet, though one could argue that calling was half the battle.

Dressed head-to-toe in an emerald cocktail dress with a face full of tear-stricken makeup, you feel utterly ridiculous sitting at the foot of your bed — not even the edge of the mattress, but the goddamn floor.

Even your black heels, now scuffed from someone stepping on them on your way out to fetch a cab, remain dangling at your toes.

(As non-committal as your last relationship, ironically enough.)

The experts say don’t shit where you eat. Dating someone you work with typically goes up in flames as fast as a rogue wildfire — and you should have listened to all of the warning signs, but Porco Galliard had been so damn charming that you’d forgotten just about everything.

Including your dignity, apparently, since you seemed to conveniently forget the part where he has had an on-again, off-again relationship with Pieck Finger well before you got hired at this place.

Not exactly side chick behavior, since he technically didn’t cheat, but the sting of being second place before the race even started lingered deep.

(Didn’t you know? He always chooses Pieck. It’s just one of those things.)

Well, no missing that now.

Especially since the two of them were so cozy at the annual shareholder event — right in front of your fucking salad.

The event’s slated to end at eleven so you’ve been nursing a wild array of drinks since seven, with little breaks.

In retrospect, the napkin with scribbled chicken scratch that Annie Leonhart, your closest colleague, shoved into your hand in the midst of your brooding at the bar may have been a joke:

You need to loosen up. Call this stupid sex line and get that stick out of your ass.

She wasn’t kidding. 

Every muscle in your body is too taut, including your brain.

So you took a cab, stumbled into your apartment, and landed — here.

Your phone sits right in front of you next to one of your half-worn heels, on speaker at the lowest setting.

Maybe it’s best to let the pre-recording list the entire numerical menu.

Maybe it’ll deter you from pressing anything at all.

“If you already know your match’s extension, press one.”

Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

You tap the napkin carelessly against the stem of your glass of wine, contemplating exactly how Annie Leonhart managed to find the information for this service to begin with.

Did she already have a match?

Did she regularly call them to blow off some steam?

She's always so chill. It would make sense.

There’s a chance this is a nasty prank at your lowest moment, but you don’t think Annie cares enough about other people to plan such a masterful takedown. 

At the work event, she seemed pretty serious about the legitimacy of Scout Services Hotline, and honestly?

Even if you had been drinking all night at the event, you were going to need way more liquid courage to even consider trying your hand at calling a sex line to quell weekend loneliness.

So naturally, you opened a new bottle of wine.

At the first glass of wine, you still weren’t ready.

The second? The napkin sat adjacent to your laptop as you played compilations of sad break-up songs further aggravating your spiraling depression.

The third was the charm to get you to pick up the fucking phone to see what the fuss was all about.

“If you’re looking for someone specific — whether it’s the man, woman, or person of your dreams — press two.”

Tempting.

Your finger reaches out for the ‘2’ on your screen, but you wait it out.

“If you don’t have a preference for your delicious match, press three.”

“You could’ve done without the delicious part,” you mumble to yourself, picking up the glass of wine to take a generous sip. An involuntary grimace tugs at your cheeks.

“If you’re looking to speak with one of our representatives or need more assistance, press four for more options.”

For a solid five minutes you wait.

Contemplating.

Deciding.

You could press the red circle to hang up and go to bed.

It wouldn’t be the first time you rubbed one out and called it a night.

After all, what’s one more lonely weekend?

The spiel starts up again on a loop with the same seductive, breathy feminine voice.

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. You’re only a dial away from your wildest fantasies with the sexiest—”

You smash a button, but you’re not sure which one you’ve clicked.

Before you can lean over to see on your screen, a different feminine voice comes over the speaker.

It’s a little higher pitched than the menu screen voice, but it’s still inviting. Warm.

“Thank you for choosing the Scout Services Hotline. You’re speaking to Petra. May I have the pleasure of knowing the name of the person I’m speaking to this evening?”

A name.

You should give a name that isn’t your real name.

But technically wouldn’t your name be on the credit card if you go through with this anyway?

“You can give a nickname, too, if that makes you feel better,” the woman named Petra adds as if she's a mind reader, breaking the running silence on your end of the line. “A lot of our clients like giving a fake name for security and anonymity.”

“Doesn’t that break once you put in your credit card information?” you blurt, not realizing the thought has spilled on your lips.

Petra laughs musically.

“Technically yes, but if you prefer to be called something, then we’ll be sure to add that to your profile. I take it it's your first time calling.”

Why are you doing this again?

“Painfully obvious, right?” you lament, staring down at the scribble on the napkin. 

Did Annie have a fake name with this service?

“Not painfully at all,” Petra promises. “It’s a learning curve. So what may I call you?”

Real or fake?

Committed or just testing the waters?

“Scarlet?” you suggest, wincing immediately at the on-the-nose literary reference.

Letters, passion, blah blah love — it’s about the only creative thing your wine-addled brain can muster.

“I like Scarlet,” she hums, and immediately your brain is set on fire.

Are you going to be seriously this easy?

“Are you female, male, non-binary, genderfluid, prefer not to say…?”

“Female.”

"Pronouns?"

"Um, she and her."

“And you’re over eighteen?”

“Definitely over eighteen.”

“Perfect. So, Scarlet — did you have a preference on who you wish to speak to today? If you have a fantasy you wish to fulfill, then I can select someone for you.”

You want to scream.

Neurons fire as you try to come up with a cool and collected answer, only to allow the elixir of truth on your tongue to spill the beans.

“Just someone who’s got their shit together, honestly.” You exhale an awkward laugh. “I don’t know. I’m just calling because — I mean, I know you don’t care, but I like… um, deep voices? Stronger voices. Honestly I have no idea what to—”

“I have just the person.”

You pause.

Blink.

But you didn’t even describe anyone, not really.

A voice, maybe, if they cater to kinks of that nature.

You can only imagine they do — it’s a sex hotline, for crying out loud.

“Wait, you do?”

“Mhm!” she perkily states. “Is a man alright for this evening?”

A man with a deep voice who allegedly has his pretend shit together.

Granted it isn’t the opposite of Porco, he’s fairly capable at his job and out living his life just fine, but maybe you were just looking for a copy.

(Or a clue.)

“A man is… fine,” you hesitate. “Wait, so when do I give you my credit card information? My friend hooked me up with this, um — I don’t know if you have her name or if I should even say it, I know there’s probably some confidentiality—”

“Hold that thought,” Petra interrupts cheerfully. “You get the first fifteen-minute session for free, actually — you called just in time before our first-timer coupon expires.”

You can’t hide your surprise.

“Really?”

“Really!”

Ha, your fucking luck.

“If you're enjoying the call, just tell your match and we can set up your card and keep it going. All we ask is that you take a survey after your session. Then you’ll be in our system with this phone number! We’ll never solicit you for calls, but it’ll make the process faster the next time should you call our hotline again.”

You drop your head back on your mattress, sighing heavily.

“...okay, yeah. That sounds great.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure.”

“Give me one moment, Scarlet,” Petra giggles.

You hear something shift on her side. 

Maybe she’s swiveling her chair. Are they located in an actual office building?

God, an office where people just do this for a living sounds larger than life.

“I’ll connect you with your match in a moment.”

Then the line cuts out to the opening notes to Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On, and you’re pretty sure you’re this close to chugging the rest of this bottle in one gulp.

“Is this seriously what you do on weekends, Annie?” you mumble to yourself, enduring the brutality of the waiting music while Petra connects you to your alleged match.

A man with a deep voice who has his shit together.

Is that even a real kink?

Has the bar really gotten that low?

Should you have described someone’s appearance? It wasn’t like it mattered over the phone.

As soon as it gets to the high note of the song, the line cuts again — silence.

Immediately you scramble to sit up taller, your hands fumbling to grab the phone from the floor.

You bring it up to your face, cupping the device in both palms to muffle the noise if it becomes downright pornographic in seconds.

Moment of truth.

With bated breath you wait — the person on the other line sighs, heavy and deep, before answering with the most nonchalant tone.

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. You’re speaking with Levi. May I ask whom I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

Holy fuck.

Immediately you forget your own voice listening to the hum of the receiver.

While you’ve only joked in passing that you have a voice kink, it’s screaming in neon lights here and now: this man’s voice may be monotone, but there is a growl to it. 

A rumbling.

At this very moment, you completely forget that this man is on speaker phone and you’ve just returned home from the worst work event in the world.

You don’t have an ex-boyfriend.

You don’t even know your home address.

You’re simply… existing, lips parted, taking in the sheer tingle rolling through your torso.

“You there?”

Right, you’re meant to talk back.

“Huh? Oh — yes! Yeah,” you recover poorly. “Hi. It’s, um, it’s Scarlet.”

“Mm, Scarlet… Scarlet, Scarlet, Scarlet…”

The way the name drags along his tongue nearly makes your mouth water. 

His voice — Levi — is smooth, like the velvet on your dress you’ve yet to take off.

“A pretty name for a pretty thing like you.” Something ruffles and Levi makes a small noise on the other end, likened to a cut-off hum. “Tell me what you look like, Scarlet.”

All you can do is stare at a chip in your wooden dresser directly across from you, listening to him speak.

“I’m…” 

What do you even say? 

How come you have to say anything at all? 

Can’t he just read a takeout menu to you and call it a night?

Before you can answer, there’s an amused huff. “Someone’s nervous.”

Your face turns — well, a certain shade of scarlet.

“Ha. Sorry, I’ve—”

“Never done this before?” he finishes for you.

How mortifying. 

“Is it that obvious?”

“It’s cute,” he relents, and you feel your face turn a degree hotter. “Don’t worry — I’ve been told I’m a great teacher, so you’re in good hands.”

“You’ll have your work cut out of you, trust me,” you breathe, feeling like you’ve been injected with an overdose of a truth serum. “Because I just got home from this stupid work event. My ex-boyfriend brought his new girlfriend — who also works with us — as his date — yay, me — except I feel like I was the side-piece-in-waiting for them. So he’s off getting laid and I’m calling a complete stranger on a random Friday because my work colleague recommended this phone sex hotline for a quick solution.”

Silence.

You blink twice as dread settles in your cut. You tap the phone off of speaker and push the device close to your ear, balancing it with your shoulder.

Did you scare him away? 

Was that too much of a depressive dump? 

You suddenly want to crawl under your bed frame and hide there forever.

But then — a gentle chuckle sounds from the other end of the line, and arousal shoots straight to your lower belly.

“Good thing all of the dirty talk is my job, then,” he muses. “You’re supposed to lay back and listen.”

“Listen?”

“Yeah, unless you weren’t looking to get bossed around.”

It isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever heard, that’s for sure.

“If I’m honest with you, Levi, I don’t know what I’m looking for,” you confess, running a hand down your face.

“Then let me figure it out for you. We have time.”

The man calling himself Levi pauses on the other end.

“Did you want to get fucked, Scarlet?”

Well, shit, he didn’t have to say it like that.

“Yes,” you blurt without thinking, then fumbling to recover. “I mean— Sorry, clearly I called thinking about sex, and your voice is extremely lovely and actually very hot—”

“Oh, you think so?” Levi interrupts, honey-smooth voice humming with amusement with that same hum that’s going to make you scream.

“Absolutely. Completely. Are you serious?” you sputter. “You’re like an ASMR wet dream.”

“A what?”

“A wet dream?”

“No, the other thing — ASMR?”

“Um, like when people make really niche quiet noises to a microphone with their mouths, and it gives you the tingly sensation in the back of your head.”

“Interesting,” Levi says. “So are you saying that’s what I do to you?”

For the umpteenth time, your brain blanks.

God, you could scream into your pillow.

If you weren’t so afraid you’d forget to mute your microphone first, then you already would be.

“Yes! — I mean, yes, but — wait, can we just pause this for a second?”

For a moment he doesn’t answer, but the tone of his voice shifts: still just as sultry, but with a hint of confusion and a dash of concern. 

“Of course. Is everything alright?”

No, this entire night is weird.

If you don’t say something, then this is going to just keep looping and wasting his time.

“Okay,” you start, mustering the courage to get through your speech, “I know I’m spoiling the first-caller coupon for a free call and I’m sorry, I’ll totally pay for the session since you’re great and sound insanely hot and I’m sure you’re amazing at your job, but I just…” 

You trail off, collecting your swimming thoughts.

“...I’m something like six or seven drinks in, I am craving potato chips, and I’d really like to just talk to someone for a few minutes.”

There.

It’s out in the open, your confession to the liminal altar.

You half-expect him to hang up rather than wasting his time with someone like you, but to your surprise, there is no click. No call ended. No new automated message.

“Six or seven is a lot,” he comments, and you can picture a brow furrow even if he doesn’t have a face. “Does this mean you handle your liquor, or is this a one-off rager?”

“I think I’m only still functioning because I ate my weight in dinner rolls at the party.”

“Do you have a glass or bottle of water near you?”

The switch up lessens the tension in your shoulder blades in an instant.

His voice is just as crooning, deep and inviting, but it’s nice to simply be asked.

“Nope.”

His voice sharply changes, authoritative and firm. “Then go get one.”

The demand does something to you. 

Without thinking twice you begin to rock up on your heels, standing at full height.

“Okay, Mr. Bossy.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asks with a sprinkle of sarcasm. “Someone who has their shit together, if I read the notes right.”

“They write that stuff down?” you ask genuinely, minding your step as you pad barefoot across your apartment to your fridge.

“It’s your session,” he reminds softly. “We do whatever it is you want to do.”

“Even if it’s just to talk?”

“You’d be amazed at how many people call just to talk. Though I can’t say it’s my specialty.”

“No?”

“No. I’m not much of a small talker.”

The refrigerator door swings wide. “What’s your specialty, then?”

“Kink play, mostly. Dom and Sub. Guided masturbation. Edging. Making decisions for people who want to forget about making them for a while.”

One second the bottle of water is in your hand.

Next it’s on the floor.

“That’s, uh… a wide array of specialties,” you say. “And your rate, it’s…?”

“Not cheap.”

“Got it. So I’m really flubbing this free call.”

It’s small, but you hear a chuckle on the other end. “You said you wanted to talk, Scarlet, so we’re talking.”

Bending to grab your water bottle, you untwist the cap.

“Does this bother you, wasting your time talking?”

“You’re not wasting my time, Scarlet,” he says with such a promise that you almost believe it’s genuine. “You have a pretty voice, and you’re funny.”

“Shut up.”

“You do, and you are.”

“Uh-huh. And do you talk to a lot of people during your shifts?”

“That’s confidential.”

“So a lot.”

“Confidential.”

“And the length of calls,” you test, “are they hypothetically confidential, too?”

“It’s per minute, so.”

“Per minute?” you gawk. “Jesus, I’d go bankrupt talking to you.”

“Well, premium members receive bills per half hour,” he explains. “More bang for your buck.”

“Quite literally," you mumble. "And what’s a premium subscription get you?”

“Didn’t you check out the website before calling?”

“I told you I stumbled out of my cab and called the number on my napkin, Levi,” you chide. “I didn’t exactly do my research in my sexually frustrated state.”

“Fair, can’t blame you there.”

There’s something of a grunt on the other end, like he’s stretching his arms over his head.

Maybe he’s sitting in an office chair, too, going through the motions of his profession the same way the Petra lady had been.

You keep wanting to imagine what he’s doing on the other line, but you realize you haven’t asked the titular question yet.

“Hey, Levi?”

“Yeah, baby?”

It’s breathy, a roll of thunder in his tongue.

Instead of an office chair, you imagine a man lying on his bed.

Maybe his tie is half-done, hanging loosely around his neck.

Button-down open, exposing the planes of his chest; dress trousers unbuttoned and loose around his hips, so he can easily slide a hand—

Whoa.

You stop walking back to your bedroom and blink twice. “Oh, so you like pet names.”

Your face, in miraculous humiliation, grows another degree hotter at how amused he sounds with himself. “I never said that.”

“Sure,” Levi replies with a smirk to the concession. “What is it, Scarlet?”

(Maybe you’ll permanently change your name to Scarlet after tonight if it sounds this good on a man’s lips.)

You finally unzip the side of your dress and wiggle out, before finding a cozy spot in the middle of your mattress.

“How much time do I have left on this freebie?”

“Approximately three minutes.”

Time flies when you’re too busy gawking over someone’s voice, apparently.

“Can I ask what you look like?” you finally decide, playing along.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to ask,” Levi responds, returning to that same seductive tone he’d used when he first picked up the line. “Black hair, guess it’s a little shaggier than usual. Undercut.”

You squint to your ceiling. “I’m thinking of Dimitri from Anastasia right now but with black hair.”

“I have no idea what that is.”

“You’ve seriously never seen Anastasia?”

“It’s a movie?”

“Oh my god, Levi, I’m so sorry for your childhood.”

“It’s an animated movie?” he scoffs. “Even worse.”

“You wound me,” you joke, pressing a hand over the cup of your beige bra. “What color are your eyes?”

“A gray-ish blue,” he tells you. “Sharp nose. High cheekbones. I’m a daily gym go-er, so I’m mostly lean muscle. I can probably pick you up, easily.”

So a fit man with an undercut hairstyle with gray-blue eyes and a relatively sharp face. 

Now you have a face to the image of a man lying on his bed, still in that button-down shirt and dress trousers.

His happy trail is probably dark, too, disappearing just under the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Or boxers?

Maybe nothing.

Your hand moves on its own accord to the waistband of your panties, toying with the fabric.

Contemplating.

Wondering if it’s wrong — when it really shouldn’t be wrong at all.

“You sound handsome,” you murmur. “I wouldn’t mind being picked up.”

“Wouldn’t be the only thing I’d do to you,” he flippantly states, and your brain blanks to pure putty. “You sound a little more winded than before. Doing alright over there, party animal?”

“It’s late,” you lie even when you damn well know you don’t have to lie. “Lots of drinking, first water of the night, lying down…”

“Better make it two waters before you fall asleep,” Levi states. “That’s an order, Scarlet.”

“Uh-huh.”

Your hand dips under your underwear, testing the waters.

But—

“Final sixty seconds,” he adds. “Any last words you want to get in before the line disconnects?”

“Only one minute left?” you protest, ripping your hand out of your underwear to pull the phone away from your ear.

14:02

So it really had been a fifteen-minute call.

God damnit.

Tapping the speaker icon once more, you stare at your phone and press your tongue against the inside of your cheek.

“What’s your extension?”

Because you have to know.

Even if you don’t call again, it’s a comfort to have it on hand.

Levi waits a moment before responding.

“Two-five-one-two.”

2512.

You swipe away from the call to quickly pull up your notes app, tapping the number down with a noted reminder: the guy with the hot voice!

“Are you going to call me again, Scarlet?”

You open your mouth, but you struggle with an answer.

(You only have a few seconds! Think, idiot, think!)

“I’m not sure if—”

Click.

“Hello? Levi?”

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. Please stay on the line for a quick two-minute survey so we can better serve your fantasies in the future.”

Out of time.

You drop your phone to your stomach and groan.

Instead of calling back, you close your eyes — and, not before long, fall asleep to a dream of only one voice.

.

.

— —

.

.

    Saturday is a wash.

You wake late, missing an invitation to brunch.

For the better half of the day, you wonder about him.

Levi.

Your arbitrary match that doesn't feel so arbitrary anymore.

(It's placebo effect, you tell yourself. They're supposed to make you feel wanted.)

Punishing yourself for your excessive liquor and stupid plans, you trudge to your local gym and do your best to stay focused on your workout.

Every nameless person with dark hair that walks past you on the sidewalk from your apartment; anyone could be him.

The man waiting in line at the coffee shop.

The man who accidentally walked into you while you were switching the song on your playlist at the crosswalk.

The man weight training in the corner of the room, fringe cascading down his face as he drips sweat.

You keep the napkin in your gym bag, then transfer it to your purse as you run errands.

You could call.

It isn’t like you’re strapped for cash at the moment.

Granted it’s very wish fulfillment and it isn’t like he’s actually into you, but the attention is nice.

Besides — you haven’t thought of your ex once since you woke up.

Annie texts you twice within ten minutes of each message, which is unheard for her.

 [A. LEONHART]: So? Did you call?

[A. LEONHART]: Hello, earth to moron. At least like my message to tell me you’re alive. I’m not being interviewed by Dateline for you.

(Ah, there she is. Classic Annie.)

 [YOU]: Yeah, I called. Not sure if it’s my thing.

[A. LEONHART]: Sometimes they match you with a dud. 2nd time’s the charm ;)

[YOU]: Do you ever use someone’s extension?

[A. LEONHART]: Duh. I’m a regular of one guy.

Okay, so she talks to a guy. Something grips your stomach as you type your reply.

 [YOU]: Can I ask his name?

[A. LEONHART]: Why, so we don’t eiffel tower this?

[YOU]: jfc annie

[A. LEONHART]: lmao his name is Bert

    So not Levi.

For some odd reason, you breathe a sigh of relief as you close out of your messages.

Maybe you're one of a million, but at least you're not sharing with Annie.

Once you return home from your errands, it's close to dinnertime.

You cook something simple for yourself, occasionally glancing over at your purse like you can x-ray vision through the fabric to see the napkin.

Then again, it isn’t like you actually need the napkin.

The number is already in your phone.

Pulling out your device, you set it on the kitchen counter and draw a slow, calculative inhale.

One more call can’t hurt.

Levi may not even be working.

Hell, he could be talking to someone else. 

A regular.

Several regulars.

For over five minutes you stare down at your most recent calls list, willing yourself to just get brave for one second to press the button.

(It isn’t like Porco’s going to call you.)

The soured thought propels your hand without thinking, fingertip pressing the green phone icon faster than you can think. 

You brace for the ringtone, fists balled tight on the cool kitchen surface.

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. You’re only a dial away from your wildest fantasies with the sexiest singles near your area. If you already know your match’s extension, press one.”

You continue staring.

Are you really doing this?

It isn’t like it means anything, which is exactly what you need with the upcoming work week.

A distraction.

A very expensive distraction, but hey — you’ll avoid takeout for a few weeks.

How bad can it get?

“If you’re looking for someone specific —”

You press one.

.

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading part one of my zany little 'Sleepless in Seattle' modern au! This has been a bluesky idea for a while now, and I needed a little reprieve from my other angsty Levi longfic silver underground, so I hope you enjoyed the ride.

There will be actual smut in part two, but as a Reader!Writer I had the thought of 'would I be suave enough to do the first phone call flawlessly or totally waste my free coupon'? and this chapter was born, lol. I promise this is not Porco slander.

Thank you for likes, and even more love to those who choose to reblog this to help spread the word of this new series or reply in the comments. ilu xo

[punkshort]

I don’t know if this is an annoying request but is there any way to get a Drabble of when reader had gotten jealous (in the past before the accident) when she found out that joel and Angie had history. In one of your previous chapters, Joel described it as some of the best sex of his life 👀

-Kiwi 🥝💚

Not an annoying ask at all! Thank you for sending this to me, this was a great idea! Sorry it took so long to get to it!

Jealous

An I Know Who You Are drabble

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), blow job, unprotected piv sex, language, edging, lil bit of dom reader/sub joel, masturbation, angry/a little rough sex, jealousy, possessiveness, spanking, hair pulling

WC: 1.6K

A/N: I want to let everyone know this part of their history took place very early on in their relationship. Reader does not yet know his secret, they are in the 'messing around' stage and if you recall, Joel once compared reader to taming a wild horse. So the reader in this story is very different from the one we know. Enjoy!

"Please," Joel whimpered, no longer above begging.

You were between his legs, his cock leaking and heavy in your mouth. With every swirl of your tongue and pump of your fist, he felt himself getting closer and closer to the brink just to have you pull away with a devilish smirk. It was maybe the third time you left him gasping for breath but he lost count so he couldn't be sure. His brain was a jumbled mess and his skin was on fire, soaked with sweat due to his heart pounding so furiously in his chest for the past twenty minutes.

"God, I love it when you use your manners," you purred. You cracked your back and neck with a soft moan, completely ignoring his cock throbbing and aching for attention in front of you. "It really turns me on. Wanna see?"

He groaned and arched his back off the bed, desperately trying to get you to touch him again. He wasn't used to this. Whatever it was you were doing together was fairly new and while the sex was always good, this was something else. And all because at dinner that night, you discovered he fucked someone else well before you even arrived in Jackson.

It was beginning to bother him how non-committal you were. The first couple times you were together, he didn't mind. In fact, he preferred it that way. Especially considering the guilt that weighed him down ever since he first recognized you. But recently, something changed in the way he looked at you, thought about you, felt about you. He was so fucking rusty, he had no idea how to shift the nature of your relationship to something more meaningful. So when Angie showed up, batting her lashes and touching his shoulder at the bar while he waited for you to finish playing whatever game you were playing and come home with him, he leaned into it a bit. He tossed Angie a smile just to add fuel to the flames and make you end the charade. And out of the corner of his eye, when he saw you stiffen and slam down your drink, he felt his cock twitch with excitement.

Maybe he shouldn't have pushed your buttons.

"You're not listening to me," you said sternly, grabbing his chin and forcing his attention back onto you. "I asked you a question."

"Yes," he rasped, "show me. Please," he added, remembering at the last second how you liked it when he begged. You smiled and let his chin go, then took that very same hand and slowly dragged it down your bare chest, over your stomach and underneath the fabric of your panties. You tipped your head back and moaned when you slid two fingers into your pussy, and when you began to rock your hips into your hand, still kneeling between his legs on the bed, he whined and fisted the bedsheets next to him.

He desperately moaned your name, wiping the sweat from his forehead, but you cut him off.

"So wet," you whispered, rolling your neck and opening your eyes, steadily holding his gaze while you continued to fuck yourself with your fingers. "Feels so good. Maybe I'll just make myself come, instead."

"No!" he growled angrily, sitting up and grabbing the back of your neck. You gasped in surprise but he could see your eyes sparkling with excitement and the corners of your mouth twitch.

"No?" you repeated, tilting your head to the side and sinking your teeth into your lower lip, your eyes locked onto his, now inches away from your face while you snapped your wrist even faster between your legs.

"I wanna make you come," he said through clenched teeth while he did everything in his power not to grab you by the waist and slam you down on his cock.

"If you don't like it, maybe you should've taken her home tonight, instead," you seethed angrily, then your eyes fluttered closed and your mouth fell open when your fingers finally brushed up against that one spot that always made you come undone. Joel's nostrils flared when he realized you were close and decided he had enough.

"Fuck this," he muttered. He wrapped his hand around your wrist and yanked it out from between your legs, and before you even had a chance to open your eyes and yell at him, he scooped his other arm around your back and flipped you over so you were lying underneath him. He smirked down at you, finally getting the upper hand. "Did I make you jealous, baby?"

You scoffed and wiggled underneath him, but he pinned you down.

"Don't be ridiculous. You're allowed to fuck whoever you want."

He hummed and noticed your fingers still glistening with your slick. He grabbed your wrist and popped both your fingers into his mouth, his tongue lapping up your arousal with a heady groan, making sure to lick up every last drop before releasing your fingers with a grin.

"Only wanna fuck you, though."

He noticed the way your expression softened a bit, just for a split second. The first crack in your armor. But before he could dig into it deeper, you shifted gears.

"Then go ahead and fuck me already."

He yanked your underwear so fast down your legs, you heard the fabric rip, but you could hardly care when a moment later he was sinking himself inside you with a strangled groan, both finally finding some relief in the familiar stretch.

"Y'drive me fuckin' crazy, y'know that?" he murmured into your cheek. He held your jaw tightly in his grip, his hips roughly slamming into you as you gasped and moaned under him. With every harsh thrust, he brushed against that one spot, already stimulated from your fingers earlier. "Can't just admit you're jealous? Wouldn't look my way all night 'til someone else did and now look at you. Makin' a mess all over my cock."

Your eyes flared with anger and you yanked your chin out of his grasp. Grabbing a handful of his hair, you pulled as hard as you could, causing him to lose his balance for a moment, but it was all you needed. You wrapped your legs around his waist and with a grunt, rolled him over onto his back so you were straddling him.

Your mouth crashed down against his, teeth clashing and tongues messily licking into each other. With your heavy breaths mingling together, his hands roamed, grabbing onto every part of you he could find until they settled on your hips. He helped guide you in his lap, fingers digging into the fatty area where your thighs and hips creased, adding more force every time you dropped back down onto his thick length.

"Jesus, fuck!" Joel growled, lifting one hand to slap your ass, the sharp sting making you gasp until the pain faded and you ordered him to do it again, so he did.

You moaned and tilted your chin to the ceiling, hips grinding into him so you could give your burning thighs a break but it apparently wasn't enough because he started to ram up into you, soft grunts slipping past his lips with each thrust.

With little warning, your back arched and you cried out, convulsing and squeezing his cock as you came, gasping desperately for air. He couldn't tear his eyes away, completely mesmerized, like usual. You were gorgeous, he always knew that, but when he got to see you fall apart for him, it transcended his definition of beauty and left him in awe.

Once you collected yourself, he pulled you down to his chest, burying his face against your neck and wrapping his arms tightly around your ribs, slamming into your used cunt over and over, making you whimper against his skin.

"I wanna come inside you so fuckin' bad," he whispered, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

"You can't," you whispered back, leaving out but I wish you could.

"I know."

With a rough groan, he pulled out, causing your eyelids to flutter weakly and your pussy clench angrily at the loss. He pulled your hips down flush so he could rut against you, stilling momentarily when his hot spend spilled out, smearing all over your stomachs.

After giving him a moment to catch his breath, you tried to roll off of him but he didn't loosen his grip.

"Just another minute," he said softly into your shoulder. He felt your body relax and he inhaled deeply, breathing in your scent for later. He tilted his head so he faced you and locked his lips with yours, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he deepened the kiss. But you didn't allow it for long. You never did.

"Joel," you murmured against his mouth, pulling away and pushing yourself up. He sighed and let you go, watching as you stood on shaky legs to enter his bathroom and clean yourself up. You handed him the wet towel before collecting your clothes from the floor, holding up your mangled underwear with one finger and giving him a look. He chuckled as he wiped his stomach and shrugged.

You rolled your eyes and turned around so he didn't see the smile on your face as you got dressed. His eyes raked up and down your body for a moment before he said, "you don't gotta leave, y'know."

"I have patrol in the morning."

"So?"

"So I need to get some sleep," you said, pulling your shirt on and fixing your hair. He was really growing to hate this part. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow," you added over your shoulder as you headed towards his door. He didn't respond. He just watched you leave, a slow smile pulling at his lips because even though you acted indifferent towards him, the fact remained that you were jealous of another woman giving him attention, and that had to mean something.

[paperultra]

HOME (TO THE OL’ BALL AND CHAIN)

(OR, THE PIÑA COLADA SONG)

Pairing: Chilchuck Tims x Fem!Chilchuck's Wife!Reader Word Count: 2,499 words Warnings: None Summary: Five years after leaving your first and only love, you take the plunge into the dating scene – and immediately regret it. Maybe you're too picky, but none of the men you go out with seem to fit the bill; they're too non-committal, or too eager, or too happy, or too sad, or simply just too much ... so after a particularly bad experience, your youngest makes a last-ditch effort to set you up on a blind date with someone who she insists deserves a chance. You reluctantly agree. read on ao3 | read on quotev

DATE #1: CASUAL LUNCH Estranged husband — 1 Estranged wife — 1 Everything left unsaid — as desired

There’s bacon grease on his shirt.

You can see it underneath his collar, round fingerprints staining the pale linen grey, and when he leans across the threshold into Fler’s home all you can think about is laundry day at the end of the week.

It would be rude to admit that out loud, though.

“Thank you for walking me home,” you say.

“When can I see you again?”

“I don’t know.”

Abelwood teeters forward still. “Well, don’t take too long, hear? You ain’t gettin’ any younger.”

Laughter erupts from the beer in his gut, and you laugh along with him. Abelwood is a rowdy drunk, you’ve learned, which is better than a cruel drunk or a lecherous drunk. It is not the kind of drunk that you are used to bringing home, even if he is only brought to the front door, but –

You smile, regardless.

“Goodnight,” you bid, closing the door inch by inch, your last bit of energy disappearing with the click of the lock.

You hold your breath. It takes three minutes and thirty-seven seconds for the man to leave your front doorstep, and you wait thirty more seconds after that to peek through the window, verifying that he is far enough away before resting your forehead against the door with a groan.

“Oh, boy.”

“I’m too old for this, Fler,” you mutter into the wood. “He was awful.”

Flertom lets out a sigh and closes the distance to squeeze you in a hug, pressing her cheek against your back like she’s done ever since she grew tall enough to do so. “I’m sorry, Mama,” she says.

“I’m sorry too.”

As you pat her hands and turn around to smile wryly at her, Puckpatti pipes up from the middle of the living room.

“He was a pig,” she exclaims. “Calling you by your first name! And he wasn’t even that handsome!”

“Looks aren’t everything, Puck,” you reply sharply, and she pouts, squeezing the lump of clay in her hands until it squishes out between her fingers. “He was a pig for the way he acted.”

“Well … that too.”

“He also smelled like one,” Fler says.

You detach yourself from your daughter to loosen the belt at your waist, frowning down at your dress and nice leather shoes. The dress feels just about as worn out as you do, the fabric soft and droopy from the humidity, the sunshine-yellow color less vibrant than it had been earlier this evening. The man had spilled beer on the floor of the bar and your shoes still look slightly sticky. Peeling them off just reminds you of the way he had laughed.

“Fler,” you say, “get me a wet rag, would you?”

“Sure, Mama.” Flertom turns to Puckpatti. “Puck, get a wet rag.”

“My hands are all dirty!” your youngest protests, showing her grey palms. “Mei’s closer to the water bucket.” She points to Meijack, who you now notice lingering by the kitchen.

Meijack blinks slowly, then silently fetches a rag, wets it, and brings it to you.

“Are you gonna keep trying, Ma?” she asks while you scrub the heel of your left shoe. “All these guys seem to be wasting your time.”

The chuckle that leaves your mouth is short and dry. “After this one, I don’t think so.” You glance up at your daughters and smile, straightening. “Maybe I should just take you all out on a girls’ date next time, huh? Forget about men for a little while.”

Meijack shrugs. Puckpatti nods eagerly.

“I just don’t know what’s wrong,” Flertom frets. “I’ve seen most of them at work before, and they seemed nice enough even when they were drunk …”

You shrug hopelessly and cross into the living room to sit on the couch. “Maybe it’s me.” As you lean back into the cushions, Meijack and Flertom join you on either side. “I’ve only ever been with one man my whole life. Maybe I don’t even know what I want …”

There’s a moment of silence. You look up at the ceiling of Flertom’s home, rubbing your temples and willing your frustration with yourself to not spill over while your daughters are watching. How embarrassing. Here you are, their mother, who is supposed to show them an example of a happy relationship, only for them to comfort you after another failed date. It should be the other way around. Half-foots don’t live long enough for things like this; your own mother had told you when you first left him that you should’ve just sucked it up.

Finally, Flertom speaks up. “Mama,” she starts, hesitant, and you look over to see her playing with her fingers, “Do you really want to date someone?”

“It’s been long enough, don’t you think?” you answer.

As you say so, a name resurfaces in your mind, unbidden, and the face that belongs to it. Your jaw tightens and you look down at your hands.

“Well … um … Papa wrote last week, and he said that he wanted to talk to you sometime. Just a little bit.”

Your tone hardens. “And what does that have to do with me dating, Fler?”

She flinches and her lips push out. “Come on, Mama! It’s been years, and after everything he went through, I really think he’s better now! Don’t you at least want to talk to him? You were so in love with each other before he started adventuring, and now that he’s retired from it …”

You hold your hand up, and her jaw clicks shut.

“I know what you’re getting at, Flertom,” you say quietly. “And right now is not the best time to bring up your father.”

Your daughter deflates, her cheeks rosy. “But –”

“I mean it.” Standing, you heave a deep breath and examine the cluttered workstation that Puckpatti had set up on the living room table. “Puckpatti, make sure to clean up after you’re done. I’m going to bed.”

While the girls mope, you head to your bedroom, doing your best to occupy your thoughts with work at the blacksmith’s tomorrow. You think about the chain mail you’re supposed to be making, the little metal rings to form and weave together, and hope they’re what you dream of, not self-absorbed dates or unwanted kisses.

You blame Flertom for the auburn hair and hearty laughs that plague your night instead.

—

A week later, Puckpatti accosts you as soon as you walk through the door.

“Mama, I found a man for you!”

“Oh?” you reply blandly, hand still clutching at your chest from having the living daylights scared out of it. “Who is it?”

“That’s a secret! But he’s really nice, I promise.”

Sighing, you remove your vest. “I don’t know, Puck. How did you meet him?”

“He bought one of my clay sticks.” You can’t stop yourself from frowning, despite your desire to support your daughter’s entrepreneurial spirit, and she giggles. “Oh, please, Mama, he didn’t believe my pitch. I think I just charmed him into buying it. He seems really clever!”

“Are you sure he wasn’t interested in you?”

She makes a disgusted face. “Eww! No, I told him about you and he seemed interested.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mama, you’re a catch. Of course he’d want to go on a date with you.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, honey.” You glance at her before heading to the kitchen to put away the bread and cheese you’d bought. “Is he a half-foot?”

“Maybe.”

“I thought I’d met all the half-foots in Kahka Brud.”

“Maybe he just moved here.”

She looks up innocently when you raise an eyebrow at her. “And you’re sure I’ll like him,” you drawl, more suspicious by the minute. (Of what, you’re not quite sure.)

“Positive.”

It is incredibly difficult, you think with equal parts pride and concern, to say no to your youngest daughter. It’s probably why you worry about her the most. “This is the last date I’ll go on, Puckpatti. It will be on you.”

Puckpatti cheers. She hugs you as you chuckle at her enthusiasm, jumping up and down. “Yay! I’ll get a time and day that’ll work best. It’ll be great! You’ll love him!”

“For your sake, I hope so.”

—

The day arrives with a mellow sun and clear sky.

You wear your green dress with the floral details, and Puckpatti picks a necklace to go along with it, a thin, simple one that you haven’t worn in years. Flertom does your makeup and Meijack does your hair.

And as you sit in a corner of the tavern fifteen minutes early, hands nervously clasped in your lap, you wonder, just as you have with every date prior, what you’ve gotten yourself into.

Maybe he won’t show up. It would be improper, and juvenile, but then you could go home and say that you did try. Your desire for a new romance has all but dwindled completely, and as you trace the scratches on the wooden table, you wonder if it was even a desire at all.

Footsteps approach from behind. You can tell they belong to a half-foot by the weight and sound – light and small – as they come around to the other side of the table. Your shoulders tighten. Forcing a smile, you look up.

Your heart promptly surges upward into your throat before plummeting to your toes.

Chilchuck gawks down at you, eyes wide. His mouth parts to utter your full name, and you feel your lungs squeeze at how it sounds coming from him, soft from years of disuse.

“You came,” he says.

“Chil – Chilchuck.” His name is ashy and sweet behind your teeth. “What are you doing here?”

He furrows his brow. “What do you mean? The girls said that you were willing to meet up.”

“No, I’m meeting with one of Puck’s customers.”

“What? That doesn’t …” he trails off, and the two of you seem to realize the same thing at the same time.

You bury your head in your hand as Chilchuck grits his teeth.

Those scheming …

“I’m sorry they dragged you into this,” you mutter as you get up from your seat, your voice cold and flat. “I’ll be going now.”

His head snaps up. “Going? But –”

You hurry past him, dodging the hand that you know has reached out for your own.

Home is a ten-minute walk away. You can clear your head in that time, then scold your daughters for meddling, though it’s partially your fault for not questioning Puckpatti about your supposed date more thoroughly. You just didn’t think that they would try something like this.

(Or that Chilchuck would bother to go along with it.)

You pull the door open with some effort and rush out into a downpour of rain.

Your hair gets drenched before you backpedal with a yelp. Pressing against the wall underneath the awning, you look out helplessly at the soaked streets, their gutters already filling with water and debris flowing down the incline. Is … is that a drowning rat?

The storm’s earthiness floods your nose, late in its prediction by half an hour. Just your luck.

You fumble with the clasp of your necklace to remove it, not wanting to get it wet. While you struggle, the tavern door creaks open behind you.

“So you don’t even want to talk. Even after all these years, you’re going to walk away again.”

“Do you know why I walked away the first time?” The damn thing won’t unhook. You scowl, the presence at your back making your usually nimble fingers clumsy.

“No,” Chilchuck says. “I don’t. Not for certain.”

“That’s why.” With each failed attempt to separate the rings, your fingertips grow sorer, your throat thickening. He’s too close. You hate how he’s watching you fail such a simple task. “You stopped knowing, Chilchuck. That’s why.”

Underneath the sharp sound of rain, you can hear his breath hitch, then quiet.

You bite your lip and let your arms fall to your sides, giving up on trying to take your necklace off. Your chest aches. You don’t want to cry in front of him.

“So, there, we talked like you wanted.”

He stops you before you can step out into the rain.

“Wait. What … what about your necklace?” he asks hesitantly, like it’s not what he really wants to say, but merely a way to stall for time.

This time, you look over your shoulder at him. “I’ll dry it real well once I get home,” you reply.

Chilchuck’s mouth presses into a fine line. He grabs the cloak folded over the crook of his elbow, and it is then that you notice the bouquet of blue and pink flowers in his other hand. The ache in your chest flares into a raw, pulsing hurt.

“I’m guessing you’d rather not have me walk you.” He speaks evenly, holding his cloak out towards you. “It’s not completely waterproof, but keep this over your head, at least …” his voice quiets, “please.”

Wordlessly, you take the garment from him. The inner lining is warm against your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you. “For not knowing.” His fist tightens around the flowers, and he stares at you resolutely. “I want to again, if you’ll let me.”

Ah.

You swallow. “I … I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t have to be today. I can wait.”

Breaking eye contact and looking down, Chilchuck roughs his fingers through his hair, mussing it up. The cut is the same as it’s always been, auburn bangs thick and soft over his brow. And you recognize the shirt he’s wearing, a practical, clean wool shirt that you made some years ago. He’s taken good care of it.

It’s all the same. All the same, and yet, something that you can’t quite identify has changed.

You bring his cloak closer to your chest and bite your bottom lip.

“… Give me a week.”

His entire body loses its tension.

“Really?” He looks at you like he can’t believe it, and you avert your gaze, ears warming and moving back the slightest bit.

“Give me a week to decide,” you clarify. “Fler or Mei will let you know … this is really abrupt, after all …”

Chilchuck nods. “That’s fine!” he exclaims. “You didn’t know, so I understand. A week is – a week’s good.”

You nod back, hesitant.

The rain continues its heavy downpour.

“Right … well …” you turn slightly, casting him one last glance, “I’ll give your cloak back, regardless. Don’t get sick.”

“Okay. Stay … stay safe.”

With that, you wrap yourself in the thick fabric, rushing out of the safety of the awning. The run back home smells of woodsmoke and thyme, and when you open the door to three guilty daughters and three apologies, it lingers.

You hang his cloak near the fireplace. It’s evidence of a weak resolve that you stay until it’s dry, and even more damning that you know your answer long before it is.

[sayruq]

Here's more of what's been happening on the ground. (Once again I'm not an expert in war).

Palestinian fighters are still waging war on the state of Israel

It is clear that Hamas and other groups have access to anti aircraft weaponry and long range missiles, partly from looting Israeli bases but partly from (and this is unconfirmed) from the Russia-Ukraine war. It's not unexpected for weapons to end up smuggled into other countries during a war.

On the other hand, Israel went from swearing it would invade Gaza on the ground to doing just about anything but that

It's understandable why Israel would hesitate even with its 300,000 strong army

IDF is made up of mostly conscripted soldiers who normally act as civilians once they've served their 2.5 year mandatory conscription. Not only that, IDF acts more like a police force than an army. Its soldiers simply don't have the training or mentality to fight militia groups in their home turf.

America itself doubts its capabilities no matter how it words it. This is a country that has yet to win against a guerilla army so it has experience when it comes to this

Edit:

Edit 2: above Hamas states the obvious

In my previous post I highlighted how disorganised the Israel military was in response to Operation Flood Al Aqsa.

This hasn't changed in the days. Israel is behaving more like a cornered animal lashing out than the so called 'strongest army in the Middle East.'

It has been dropping bombs on Syria, Lebanon and Egypt aimlessly, more out of anger than calculated strategy

Its efforts to pushing back against the Palestinian militia isn't going well either

in addition to naked, barbaric cruelty towards Gaza because it is not producing results elsewhere

The tweet below is important as Russia is an Israeli ally. The Israeli right wing has been very favourable towards Putin, even willing to disagree with the US and EU policies on Russia. However Israel repeatedly bombing Syria is quickly souring Russia on the country. While Putin doesn't want to go against Israel at this point, he has become increasingly critical of the country in the past couple of days.

Saudi went from making a half-hearted 'both sides need to stop statements to cutting ties with Israel (ties Israel and America have worked very hard to form) to outrightly condemning Israel's treatment of the people of Gaza.

Naturally, with all of this happening, Israel has responded, not with ceasing the bombardment of Gaza, but by killing and assaulting journalists covering the genocide.

so that it could committ war crimes without it being documented and seen by the world. War crimes such as announcing that they'd bomb a hospital in Gaza and giving doctors and nurses just hours to evacuate their patients.

This, btw, is part of the reason they cut electricity so that Palestinians can't post their own genocide on social media. Israel brutality is costing them allies but they have no intention of stopping.

Despite all of this, there has been a great deal of support for Palestinians globally

In short, this war is not going the way Israel thought it would. They didn't crush Hamas and the other Palestinian military groups immediately after the battle of Re'im. In fact, they're still struggling against those groups right now. They've been humiliated in front of the world after being revealed to be paper tigers and as such, they're going after Palestinian civilians in increasingly horrific ways.

The Palestinian resistance is still optimistic and they're still carrying out their plan. There's still hope for a future without apartheid.

[astrologydayz]

ASTROLOGY FUCKING NOTES4

If you're into past lives with other people = go 2 both of your "Desc. Lunar Node persona charts", &save them to make a synastry chart! It tells/shows u about your past life together - IF u had one, ofc - what occurred between u/what u guys went through/what u were 2each other, if u "owe"/or is "owed" something, then what & why, how u felt about each other, etc. it gives u WAAAY more details about your past life together, than a normal synastry chart does. 

GO SEE If there's a name asteroid with your child's name = go look at that name persona chart, &I promise you that you will be amazed. Nothing is ever accidental baby.

Look at your Eros persona chart2 see what your sexual desires/fantasies exactly are - in details/how forward - or not, you are when it comes to your desires, sex/sexual things in general. It also shows u how you express your "sexual side"/what kind of people you're sexually attracted2/turn ons in details. 

Your Fama persona chart - 408 tells u about what other people gossip/talk about, when it comes2 u - also rumours/what u gossip about 2 others/if you're famous - then4what

I'M TALKING ABOUT ROMANTIC/SEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS👇🏽 A SYNASTRY CHART tells u how u how u guys "respond" 2 one another! Like what u think about each other, how u feel about each other, how u communicate, what u desire/love about each other, family influences/outside influences, what "differences" u have, what "issues"/challenges u have with each other etc.🏃💜 A COMPOSITE CHART literally shows us how u guys relationship dynamic is, how u communicate as a couple/show love, your sexual dynamic, "challenges as a couple", how "content" you guys are in your relationship basically&your "reputation together"/outside influences etc. It also shows what your relationship's "endgame" is ⛓❤️🔥.

A DAVISON CHART gives us a different perspective on your relationship& shows opportunities along the way4u guys as a couple, that a composite chart won't show🫵🫶. This chart chart also gives us an exact time&date + retrograde planets that isn't shown in your composite chart = provides us with "new insight" on the relationship! TAKE NOTE OF THAT DATE BTW💋.

People with Saturn conjunct/trine Amor asteroid - 1221 usually only fuck with long ass relationships - not so much one nightstands. They want that stable&secure love - they don't fuck around just 2 fuck around. They're also in love with themselves, most of the time - in a good way!!! They're confident, &secure in who they are/in what they seek. They also know what they bring 2the table in a connection, so if somebody doesn't find it enough/or doesn't appreciate it?? They're out.

Someone with Amor asteroid - 1221 conjunct their 2nd house = quality, quality, quality. Quality is really the number 1 thing they always seek/want in life. They would rather not buy/have/eat anything than buy/have/eat something that's not good enough quality.

Venus conjunct/trine/quintile Mars people are typically the ones everyone almost always finds attractive - they fit the usual "pretty boy/pretty girl standards".

Venus conjunct/square/quincunx Pluto can get stalked/harassed pretty often by their love interests/old love interests, or by people they don't even really "notice". Sun conjunct 11th house can show up as having many male friends, or many male followers/fans in rl/online.

Venus conjunct/square/quincunx Uranus are the ones seeing somebody online, &be infatuated/"in love" after seeing one pic/video. They fall in love pretty fast in rl2, but typically ends up getting the ick real quick - when the other one goes all in, at last. They can change their minds pretty often when it comes to love/love interests, as they really don't wanna end up "missing something". Can be seen as "flighty"/non committal.

Mera asteroid - 3553 "Purity being taken, or purity given away" - can show cheating in a synastry chart - "Mera" person is the one breaking the bond by being unfaithful - "purity given away", probably "shouldn't have done it". "Mera" can also show up as "corruption" - the other person taking the "Mera" person's "purity" away.

Galatea asteroid - 74 in synastry can show love triangles. It's really no joke. The "Galatea" person is the one bringing the 3rd party, &the drama in.

Moon conjunct/opposite Sado asteroid - 118230 in synastry shows up as Sado person getting a kick out of humiliating/embarrassing Moon - In private, &in public, doesn't matter. In short words, Sado is SADISTIC AF towards Moon - making fun of their emotions - making fun of them crying/making them cry/hurt on purpose, them "playing games" with Moon person's emotions, Sado degrades, &taunts Moon. Moon feels very belittled, small, & very non existing here. The opposition will cause Moon 2 talk back sometimes/not take it as often as the conjunction would. The opposition can also show that it happens in periods, like it's on & off with Sado being a dick towards moon - where the conjunction will cause Sado2always be like that.

Isolda asteroid - 211 can also show up as cheating - Isolda typically shows up in a synastry chart between the cheater, & the 3rd party. "Love at 1st sight", "loyalty forgotten", "new love", "off the charts infatuation".

THANKS4READING LOVE

I APPRECIATE U💋