#reading this i’m beginning to wonder if maybe i need to up my standards

[mammonsrockstargf]

Hey perse! I just discovered your blog and I really like your works! The sleepy MC was super relatable, and I was wondering if you could write some HCs about insomniac MC? It’s rough out here 🥱 looking forward to what you write next :D

AAAA THANK YOU I’M SO GLAD YOU LIKE MY STUFF!! <333 Sorry to hear you’re struggling, insomnia literally sucks so hard. D:<

Hope I did your request justice, here you go~

Insomnia sucks, but do not dread! Demons do not need as much sleep as humans, which means they can devote plenty of time to helping you fall asleep instead!

The first thing Lucifer notices is the delayed reflexes and clumsiness. He originally thinks it’s just because you’re a human. Then he notices that you're quite frustrated with it which confuses him, because if that's the standard for humans then surely you'd be used to it, right? Still, he decides to observe you for a little while, before he confronts you.

It all collides one morning, when you drop your cup of coffee and burn your wrist, causing you to wince. Lucifer is immediately there, tending to you. "Are you hurt? Do you need ice on it?" You pull your hand to yourself and bite your lip, frustrated with it all. "I'm fine," you say, but now that he's close to you he finally notices the bags around your eyes. "Why do you look so tired?" he asks. You blink at him, baffled by his bluntness. "Just haven't been sleeping right," you eventually answer.

He immediately brainstorms how he can fix it. Do you need a new bed? Another pillow? Is the temperature in your room alright? He's very attentive after that and always assures you that the door to his office is open whenever you can't sleep.

Mammon notices that you have a hard time paying attention or focusing. You seem to doze off and stare into space often. He'll wave his hands in front of you. "Hey, human, you payin' attention?" he'll say and pout at you. He's such a whiner when your full attention isn't on him. "Sorry, Mams, I'm just tired," you say. "Yeah? Feel free to come to my room if you can't sleep," he'll offer an wink, despite his cheeks heating up.

He honestly doesn't expect you to take him up on his offer until he hears your soft knocking on his door. He immediately stumbles out of bed and throws his door open, grinning widely. When he catches your dissatisfied sleepy face, he tries to hold back a bit on his delight, obviously your discomfort is not a good thing, but he can't help being ecstatic that you're actually in his bed.

Leviathan notices because you always stay up really late with him to play video games. Don’t get him wrong, he likes playing with you, like a lot, but whenever he suggests going to bed, you always refuse. “One more game, please, Levi?” Come on, how can he say no to you? It’s just that one game always turns into three and the next thing he knows you’ve played for another hour.

One day he gathers up enough courage to ask you why and when you tell him you can’t fall asleep he immediately softens up. “Well, I, uh, so do you want to, maybe, I don’t know, sleep here?” His face is flushed but he insists that maybe it’ll be easier for you to sleep in the tub instead of your bed. You do sleep better that night, but it's not because of the tub, it's more because of Levi's calming breath and the slow heaving of his chest when he sleeps. After that, you often stay the night when you've played video games together and on the nights you have a particularly hard time falling asleep, you just lay there and listen to him sleep.

Satan reads for you until you fall asleep. He doesn't care how long it takes, he'll let you lay on his chest, while he reads for literal hours and he doesn't stop until he's absolutely sure that you're sleeping.

Like with sleepy MC, he'll begin to research why you can't sleep. He'll ask you if you're feeling stressed, offer to do your homework or if he needs to tell Lucifer to give you fewer chores. If he catches you drinking coffee or energy drinks, he'll tell you that those can actually worsen your sleep quality.

It gets to a point were you have to tell him that he's being kinda annoying about it. He'll frown and apologize. "I was just trying to help but I see that I might have overstepped." He's being dramatic here. Give him a couple of kisses and he's back at it again.

Whenever you wake too early in the morning and simply cannot lay in bed any longer Asmodeus is the one you go to. He's always up early, doing his skincare routine. He lets you sit in his bed, wrapped up in blankets, all bleary-eyed and with messy hair, while he’ll sit by his vanity. He thinks you look absolutely lovely, so sleepy and he'll look at you through the mirror, fighting the urge to smile and accidentally ruin his make-up.

Once he's done, he'll bring you to his chair and offer to do your skincare or makeup if you wear that. He'll take extra care, messaging your skin and shoulders. The sensation sometimes almost lulls you back to sleep.

Beelzebub absolutely hates it when you're cranky or depressed. "What's wrong?" he'll ask and when you tell him it's just because you didn't get any sleep, he gets quite confused. Humans get cranky if they don't get enough sleep? That seems awfully inconvenient...

I like to think that Beel is one of the best cuddlers of the brothers. He just has that build you know? He'll spoon you, wrap his arm around your waist and press kisses to your hair. If you ask, he'll tell you stories about his brothers, slowly lowering his voice to a point where it's just a low whisper. He waits till your breathing slows and he knows you're asleep. Then he'll kiss your head good night and go to sleep himself.

When you tell Belphegor that you have trouble sleeping, he doesn’t really understand you. What do you mean you can’t sleep? But you’re tired? Just go to bed?

Honestly, he’s kind of annoying about it but when he realizes that you genuinely just cannot sleep he apologizes. I don’t remember if this is ever addressed in the game, but I like to think that being around Belphegor actually makes humans kind of sleepy and because of that, naps are really nice with him because you actually manage to get some proper sleep.

Sometimes, Belphie and Beel team up and you all sleep together in the attic. You'll have Belphie facing you, face hidden in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around you tightly. Then you'll have Beel behind you, an arm thrown over the both of you. It's the perfect combo, that helps you actually sleep through the night.

thank you for reading! <3 find my other stuff here.

All graphic dividers are by @/cafekitsune

[voylitscope]

Eight Stucky Fic Quotes/Lines/Moments That I Cannot Stop Thinking About

A somewhat non-standard rec list.

I've read a lot of brilliant and beautiful fic in this fandom, and a lot of those stories stayed with me long after I read them. There are also some very specific little moments/lines/paragraphs in a handful of fics that are burned into my brain. These are moments that have lived in my head rent-free since I first read them.

Those moments/lines come from the eight fics on this list. These eight fics are also among my very favorite fics. (I can't actually rank my favorites. I have a lot more than eight, and I love them all.) So, I thought this post would be a fun and hopefully interesting way to highlight/celebrate some of the amazing writing in this fandom and to talk about a few fics I love.

All fics on this list are fics I first read at least three months ago, so all these moments are ones I've been thinking about (a lot) for a while.

(Moments are context/spoiler-free for anything that's not already in tags/summaries.)

offer me that deathless death by canistakahari

(Explicit | 10,565 words)

(Fun fact: This is also the first fic about these two that ever made me cry! It still upsets me when I reread it. In the best possible way.)

The moment:

“Nothing. Nothing’s gotten into me,” Bucky says quickly. “Just wanted…” He makes an empty gesture between them. “I just wanted something good.”

Steve’s irritation passes like a cloud over the sun. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Everything,” says Bucky. “All of it. Not you, though.” He tangles their fingers together. He will remember this, on every single morning that sees fit to reset the universe. He won’t lose the best thing he’s got.

Steve squeezes his hand and sets his jaw. He’s unhappy, still, but he doesn’t give voice to that lingering urge to fuss.

“You’re the only thing that’s right,” says Bucky. “Okay? You are, Steve.”

Lane Lines by Sparkagrace @sparkagrace

(Mature | 132,519 words)

(This fic is a journey and every emotional moment — including the one below — is hard-earned. It's stunningly done and so, so satisfying.)

The moment:

“I’m scared of what’s out there too. I’ll hold your hand, Buck.” He says. “Coney Island, remember?”

Bucky huffs and shakes his head, wiping at his eyes. “Steve, that’s kids stuff. We were drinking.”

Steve holds out his hand in front of them to prove him wrong: palm up and open. Bucky studies his hand, trying to gauge how serious Steve is, before tentatively placing his own in Steve’s. Bucky’s fingers are cold so Steve curls his fingers around the hand, securing them in place.

Steve doesn’t say anything else and the two of them sit in silence for a few minutes, hands clutched. Steve feels the warmth returning to Bucky’s fingers, and his breathing begins to steady and even out. He wonders why they didn’t do this before because even he begins to feel a blanket settling over his own nerves, grounding himself.

Strangers in the Street by Crinklefries

(Teen | 15,304 words)

(How do the rules of time travel/alternate timelines work in the MCU? Does the MCU even know? Does it matter? Not really. What matters is that this fic involves timeline travel, and it's gorgeous. That's all you need to know.)

The moment:

Steve looks sad at that, just hopelessly, interminably sad.

“You know me,” Bucky says, searching Steve’s eyes. He can’t see a lie there; maybe Steve isn’t capable of it, maybe he doesn’t know how to, not to Bucky. Steve nods. “I know you too. How do I know you?”

“I’m Steve and you’re Bucky,” Steve says. “I would know any iteration of you, in any timeline, in any universe.”

Bucky can’t lie either. He doesn’t know why this is true, but he knows that it is.

He twines their fingers together, watches Steve watch him as he brings their hands to his mouth and kisses them.

Calico Skies by musette22 @musette22

(Explicit | 52,618 words)

(This fic just has so much warmth to it. It's comforting and incredibly romantic and I love it so very much. Even thinking about this fic makes me smile.)

The moment:

Their eyes meet, and for a moment, time seems to be suspended. Bucky can see the moment it clicks: Steve’s face goes from blank to shocked in the span of a few seconds, and then his expression crumbles. Bucky’s heart contracts painfully at seeing Steve looking so young, so utterly vulnerable. Before he knows what’s happening, Steve has dropped his bag and is all but running over to him, crossing the landing deck in a few long strides. Bucky feels himself break out into a watery smile. He opens his arms, just in time for Steve to throw his entire 6’4” super body into them.

Bucky lets out an oooff and stumbles backwards, arms wrapping around Steve to hold onto him as tightly as possible. Putting his strength to good use, Steve manages to keep them both from tumbling to the floor, burying his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck as he repeats his name over and over.

“You’re alright,” Bucky tells him, lifting a hand to cup the back of Steve’s head. “You’re okay, Steve.”

Take Your Time Coming Home by odetteandodile

(Explicit | 13,047 words)

(A fic that manages to be both a prewar fic and an AU. There's letter writing! They were roommates! I'm so desperately fond of this one.)

The moment:

He rises that first evening only to shower and eat and read the brief, precious note waiting for him on the kitchen counter. It reads, simply:

Steve, with all my heart I’m glad it was you.—Bucky

Lonesome no more by dharmasharks @dharmasharks

(Explicit | 7,539 words)

(The achingly tender, soft, and beautifully written Wakanda fic we all need in our lives.)

The moment:

“Can we try to do this? Just this?” 

A breath passes between them. Bucky lifts his hand to Steve’s neck. Then he leans in. 

Steve doesn’t really have the most favorable associations with this sort of thing. He remembers being sort of terrified. Or intimidated. Or obligated. 

But kissing Bucky is nothing like that. It’s only soft and warm. And safe. 

He’s still living inside it for a second, after Bucky pulls back. It occurs to him how small a space that was to cross, those few inches between their faces. Why did he convince himself back then, for all those years, that it was an impossible, unreachable distance? 

Targeting by queenmab_scherzo

(Explicit | 149,148 words)

(I'm obsessed with the way this fic manages to so closely parallel canon — while making it about football. Obsessed.)

The moment:

In the ensuing silence, Steve clears his throat and squares his shoulders, bracing himself for the next part.

"Can … Can I still call you Bucky?"

He turns to fully face Steve. There is a small crease between his eyes, the only marker that betrays any emotion in his otherwise neutral mask.

"Yeah," he says. His lips barely move. "What else would you call me."

Steve feels as if an ocean wave has just crashed into his lungs. The bluntness of the statement—what could otherwise come across as curt and standoffish—is actually what makes Steve so happy.

What else would you call me.

Steve shakes his head, opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again, floundering. "I don't know," he admits. He feels like an idiot, but he can't stop grinning. "Yeah. I don't know."

Not Easily Conquered by dropdeaddream, WhatAreFears

(Mature | 117,692 words)

(NEC feels like s very obvious choice for a list like this, and for good reason. I'm ending on a classic. It's often the letters themselves that are quoted/mentioned — also for good reason! And, believe me, those swim in my brain too, they do. But, for me, the thing I'll never stop thinking about? The moment in this fic that moved into my brain? It's this one here.)

The moment:

“How you been?” says a voice, a voice like Brooklyn at sunset; like the curl of cigarette smoke above base camp in France.

“Buck.”

“Don’t hit the light.”

Steve doesn’t, standing with his fist knuckling white around the kitchen countertop. The dark figure stands from the chair Cagney sat in and Bucky walks to him. His face comes into the light from the hallway. He wears a ball cap and a tattered blue surplus coat and his hair hangs lank down to his shoulders. There’s more beard on his face than during the winter of 1944. Steve feels a rushing in his head, and a strange displacement in time. This is because it simply ceases to exist. It’s 1938, or 1941, or 2009; he doesn’t know, it doesn’t matter. There is a dimple in Bucky’s chin. Steve feels a snap inside himself. Bucky is before him. He grabs at Steve’s neck as if to hold him up, as though one of them might fall, and he cups at it roughly, his own mouth twisting.

“Hey, you,” Bucky says, rough.

“God,” Steve gasps, and his knees almost buckle. Bucky’s right hand is big and calloused and familiar, his thick square fingers hot on Steve’s skin. Steve grasps his arm. “Hey. Hey, Buck.”

“That’s me,” Bucky says, and Steve lets out a hysterical, gasping laugh. “Really me. Or mostly me.”

Fic Rec Series

[spacemagicandlaserswords]

Open and Waiting (Chapter 5)

Summary: You try out something new with Tech. As it turns out, like with pretty much everything, he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

Relationship: Tech x f!reader (mention of Crosshair x f!reader, Hunter x f!reader if you squint)

NSFW 18+ only. Further details and warnings below the cut. Please read the warnings.

Chapter Summary: Tech gets a little rough and then goes to town on your neck with his mouth. You’re reminded of Crosshair’s fondness for nipple clamps and the various times he’s used them on you. And then feelings appear again in the form of healthy kink practices.

Warnings: NSFW, smut, cock warming, domination, submission, Dominant Tech, submissive reader, drool/saliva, cock ring, mouth finger fucking, verbal degradation, naked reader, praise kink, oral kink, use of the word slut to refer to reader, possession, mental domination, humiliation, rough play, physical restraint, marking, nipple clamps, labia clamps, weights, chains, vaginal fingering, punishment, voyeurism, healthy kink practices (not sure this is really a warning but couldn’t think of anywhere else to put it), feelings, porn with feelings, Star Wars swearing, not beta read, no use of y/n. Mentions of: Temperature play

Word Count: 2800  

Author’s Notes: Please read the warnings! And please let me know if you enjoyed it. Comments feed my soul etc etc.

There’s not many ‘Mentions of’ warnings for this chapter as the reminiscing sections (as I’ve been calling them) are quite detailed and make up half the chapter. So pretty much everything that appears is listed in the warnings section instead. I’m doing warnings for each chapter along with some standard themes that appear throughout all or most of the fic, hence why they keep changing for each chapter. Hopefully I’ve mentioned everything but if I’ve missed any, please let me know!

Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Six | Ao3  

–––

Open and Waiting (Chapter 5)

I’m beginning to wonder if this is going to go on for another 3 hours and 16 minutes. Being prepped and teased and played with for hours sounds utterly torturous. Although, if it means I get four cocks instead of one then that is a sacrifice I am willing to make. Or at least try. I’m not sure how much longer I could last. Tech’s fingers filling and owning my mouth is a heavenly mix of sensation and ignominy but I am craving more. Apparently being made to drool all over yourself and have your mouth used as a personal lube dispenser isn’t enough humiliation. 

Perhaps Sir could be ever so kind as to consider impaling me on his cock instead? 

I must make the mistake of letting my distraction show on my face as suddenly Tech grips my hair tightly, twists, and pulls my head back sharply. A startled noise escapes my throat as my eyes widen and breath quickens. The lights above are shining straight in my eyes and blowing out my vision like some kind of low grade interrogation. My throat is open and exposed, the skin stretched taut, and I warily glance over at where I think Tech is out of the corner of my eye. Another ridiculously garbled noise leaves me and I realise that Tech’s fingers have followed me to my new trapped position, never shifting from their place of dominion over my mouth.       

Tech leans down next to my head, his tall frame looming over me and blocking out the light like an eclipse blotting out the sun. A deadly voice purrs low next to my ear.   

“Coat my fingers with your slobber properly, slut. You will need it later on.”

Oh, please Sir. Please.

I let out an utterly ridiculous begging pleading noise that descends into repeated tiny gasping mewls that end up in time with my shuddering. Almost like I’m throwing a tantrum about not being allowed to suck on his fingers like some kind of new-born foal. Maybe the bratty version of me would throat a tantrum but all I want to be is good for him.

I twitch and squeak as Tech runs his hot, wet tongue along the shell of my ear before leaning back to regard me once more.  

Those brown eyes sparkle behind his goggles as he scoffs in amusement.

“So needy.” he smoothly observes.

A desperate gurgle is all he gets in response. 

I’m sure the terrified whites of my eyes must be plainly evident by now. Usually Hunter is the one to indulge in this sort of thing but right now I feel completely trapped beneath Tech. He could do whatever he wants to me. 

And I’d let him.    

Tech leans down again to pick up right where he left off, suckling on my earlobe and worrying it between his teeth. He moves to work at a spot high up on my neck and I’m shaking and gasping beneath him, quickened breaths turning to panting. He’s alternating between laving, mouthing, sucking, and biting at the spot he’s picked. 

I know what this is. 

I’m being marked. 

Claimed as his.      

The bruise left in his wake will be in plain sight for all to see. None of my clothes have necklines that high and I always wear my hair up so the mark on my neck will be impossible to miss. Everyone will know what happened and who I belong to.

At least until we have to slap some bacta on it to make it quickly disappear before we go out on a mission or land somewhere Republic related. 

But at the moment, that doesn’t matter. For now, I’m his, and Tech is making damn sure that everyone knows it.

The sharp edge of his incisors run down the tendon in my neck and I twitch and gasp. I can feel him smiling against my skin. The absolute bastard. 

Tech finishes drawing his line of white hot fire down my neck by licking at the hollow of my throat before leaning back to regard his efforts with a critical eye, head cocked to the side.

“That should be sufficient.” he comments idly.

The tight grip on my hair relents as Tech moves his hand to the back of my head, thumb brushing over the mark he’s made. I shiver at the touch but I daren’t move. Sir has not released me from this position.

Tech brushes his thumb over the spot again before pushing down on the bruised area, a solid application of steady force keeping me in my place. The pressure feels divine and I can feel more of my inhibitions slide away as I sink further into submission. I gaze at him through half-lidded eyes as I pant softly around his fingers. Two sharp, brown eyes keep me pinned in place just as much as the hand gripping my neck.   

“Now, what does this signify?” he asks coolly.

“That I’m yours Sir.” I answer as best I can manage without the full use of my mouth.

“And who do you belong to?” he follows up with.

“You Sir.” I immediately reply.

“Good.”

The pressure on the spot on my neck relents and I moan and shudder at the release. It feels similar to the nipple clamps Crosshair is so fond of using. The sensation of them closing over my tight, erect buds is utterly exquisite but the release. Oh, the release. When my poor little squished nipples are finally freed and the clamps are taken off, the release is an all consuming wave of sensation that has been enough to push me over the edge. I’d been completely blindsided by that when it first happened, shaking through my sudden orgasm with a startled expression on my face. Mouth open in equal parts surprise and pleasure. 

Crosshair had been delighted at this discovery. 

I hadn’t seen him quite so pleased with something since he last nailed twenty droids with a single bounced shot. 

The ever so slight problem is that once Crosshair discovers something he likes, he refuses to let it go. And apparently torturing my nipples falls into this category of new favourite fascination. I quite like the nipple clamps by themselves, they’re most enjoyable and I’ve worn them for hours before. The chain bouncing against my chest and the clamps poking against my shirt, a clear reminder of what I’m wearing underneath. 

It’s when he adds weights to the damn things and ratchets up the clamping force that it becomes a whole new level of torture. Oh, and pulling on them. Crosshair finds a deeply sadistic pleasure in leading me around by my tits, pulling at the chain hanging between the clamps and stretching out my trapped nipples. He’s got this special pair called a monarch nipple vice. They’re a gorgeous piece of silverware and they look beautiful when I’m wearing them but they have an evil little secret. The more the chain is pulled the tighter the clamps get. 

And Crosshair loves to yank any kind of chain.      

All of this pales in comparison to when the tightly wound, fiercely compressing clamps are removed and all the blood rushes back to my poor, abused nipples. The sudden, intense pain is like a spike straight through them and mixes with the heady relief of release in an intense sensation that has me thrashing and making noises like a wounded animal. The tighter the clamps and the more weight that is pulling on them, the more acute the pain, the more overwhelming the experience, and the greater my reaction is.      

Crosshair knows this. And he knows that I know this. And he knows that I know that he knows this. 

So he uses it to his full advantage, mercilessly torturing and dominating me as he casually plays with my nipples without a care in the world. The threat of the incoming pain that he holds in his hand wielded just as effectively as one of his stinging slaps across my ass. I’ve been reduced to begging and pleading with him not to release the clamps even though my nipples were aching and throbbing. This usually gets me a dangerous smile full of teeth as he continues to toy with me before showing exactly no mercy and instantly releasing a clamp. 

I’d accidentally sworn at him once when he did this. I didn’t mean to. It just came out. But boy did I regret it. I instantly knew I’d screwed up and had gaped up at him in horror, only to be met with a thunderous look. An iron grip on my jaw swiftly followed, forcing my mouth open, and a hissed snarl conveyed every ounce of just how pissed off my current Dom was. 

I don’t think I’ve ever grovelled harder in my life. 

It made no difference. 

The other nipple had taken the punishment and by the time Crosshair had finished it was marked, purple, and had the most weights I’ve ever taken hanging off the clamp like some kind of sadistic tree decoration. Every movement was agony and I was sobbing so hard that my tears ran all the way down my neck and chest to drip off the very nipples that had put me in that predicament in the first place.  

I’d collapsed on him when Crosshair finally flicked off the instant release on the remaining nipple clamp. After being unceremoniously deposited on the floor, it was only then, through my blurry tear filled vision, that I saw the shape of Hunter casually leaning against the door frame, watching my whole sorry spectacle. 

He’d heard me swear and decided to come and watch the show, as he put it later when handing over two wrapped ice packs as I lay against Crosshair’s chest. Each ice pack was laid gently over my breasts, covering my nipples, and kept in place with his broad hands, long fingers splayed to wrap around each breast and keep me tucked against his chest. The relief was so welcome but the sudden cold was biting and I didn’t know whether to sink into it or shy away. After that particular scene, my poor addled brain hadn’t known what to do so I’d just ended up shifting and whining in confusion. Which may have been a mistake as they’d both shared a knowing look at my reaction. Not that I could’ve done anything about it at that point. I was a boneless mess in my dominants arms and Crosshair kept me cradled against him, both of his hands encompassing my breasts. The soothing coolness of the ice packs relieving my sore nipples as he nuzzled my neck and told me what a good girl I’d been for him.

I’m guessing temperature play is probably going to make an appearance eventually.    

My nipples aren’t the only place Crosshair has enjoyed attaching clamps to me. I’ve also had them gripped onto my labia majora and minora, the chain dangling below me, bumping into my inner thighs every time I moved. A reminder of exactly where my current dominant had clamped his control around me. We’d had one session where he’d gotten rather creative, multiple clamps gripping lightly on my sensitive flesh, silver chains framing my vulva like delicate jewellery, dripping down to hang below me. 

I’d felt like a rare recherché treasure and he’d treated me like one.   

That isn’t usually how sessions with Crosshair go and he’d been true to form next time. If you think weights attached to tight clamps on your nipples are bad, it’s much worse when they’re attached to your labia. 

I’d howled. 

Crosshair had just smiled like a shark and added more weights to the damn things.    

There’s no chance that I’d be spared by the clamps or chains breaking either. Tech has made all of them, so of course they’re perfectly constructed. He’s fastidious about the detail and I’d had to stay there for quite a while as he made adjustments to the length of the chain and the gripping mechanism on the first set of nipple clamps. I’d sat there like the perfect little subject, naked from the waist up, hands clasped behind me, spine straight, shoulders back, tits out, posture absolutely perfect. Every time Tech removed the clamps to adjust something, his leather gloves would brush over my sensitive buds and I’d have to fight not to react. By the end of it I’d been so aroused that my wetness had seeped through my pants, which was plainly obvious given that my legs were wide open as I straddled the bench I’d been told to stay put on. After Tech was satisfied with his work, I’d been presented to Crosshair for approval, which involved even more touching of my overly sensitive nipples. By the time Crosshair had finished inspecting me, I was a barely contained, shivering wreck. 

All of my self discipline had been worth it though for the reward they gave me after. I’d been pressed against Crosshair’s chest as he continued to play with me, tugging on the chain and running his nails over and around the sensitive tips of my nipples that were trapped in the clamps. Tech had crowded over me as he slid his hand into my pants, parting my lips and easily sliding his fingers inside me, pumping them in and out of my pussy as I was made to shake apart on his fingers and cum in my pants multiple times.

I’d had to put them straight in the wash after that. 

The architect of my undoing, in more ways than one, is currently observing me critically like he did back when he was working on that first set of nipple clamps. His thumb is now rubbing soft little circles over the bruise he marked into my neck. The sensation coils deliciously down my spine and I can’t help the way my eyelids flutter or the sigh that escapes out around his fingers that are resting against my tongue. 

Tech rubs a few more circles over my skin before moving his hand to support the back of my neck.

“Sit up.” he orders.

His hand holds my neck and the base of my skull in place as I follow his instruction and bring myself forward. My back protests a little but Tech keeps a firm hand on my neck as I’m moved back into an upright position. Tech crouches in front of me, one of his thighs between mine, his hand wrapped around the back of my neck. His fingers have never left my mouth and I’ve been determinedly keeping it open this entire time. 

I must be a good little oral slut for him. Sir expects nothing less.   

The perceptive gaze of my current dominant is regarding me with gentleness and care.

“Are you alright?” Tech asks.

“Yes Sir” I reply, as contentment flares in my chest.

He was checking in on me. 

I know I’m currently drooling around his fingers as I kneel on the floor, naked and restrained in front of him, but kriff, the care. It means so much to me. It’s part of the reason that I’m able to give myself over to him. To be able to relinquish control. The absolute trust in knowing that I can be completely open and vulnerable with him. That my submission is cradled gently in the safest of hands. That I can submit freely and willingly to his domination, knowing that nothing actually harmful will happen to me. 

The pain might hurt in the moment but it’s never about causing damage, or done with the intent to harm. The tears and sobbing are a welcome release that I finally have the chance to let out in the safe space that they create. They might have different approaches but they’re all like this and it’s only with them that I finally trust to let it all go and be freed of my inhibitions and barriers. 

It’s only with this care and trust that I am able to be drooling around the fingers of my current dominant as I kneel, naked and restrained, in front of him, wearing the collar and cuffs that he made for me. Tech knows exactly what he’s doing and his approach to domination is just as carefully and assiduously researched and planned as everything else he does. 

There’s a gentle squeeze on the back of my neck before Tech withdraws his hand and sits back down on the storage crate that he’s been using as a chair. Brown eyes regard me from behind yellow lenses as I gaze expectantly up at him. 

The drool that was pooling around his fingers on my tongue finally reaches critical mass and spills over my bottom lip and slides down my chin.  

–––

Author’s Note: Please let me know if you enjoyed it! Comments feed my soul etc etc.

Much happier with this chapter! This one, and the next, were written in a burst of inspiration haze of keyboard mashing, similar to how I started writing this fic. This chapter (and the next) is also much longer than I’ve been writing for chapters so far. I did consider trying to split it in half but I just couldn’t find a spot that worked and the entire thing was written in one go so it just worked better as one chapter. So you get a monster chapter for a fic that is turning into a monster as well. 

Next Chapter Teaser: Our first flashback! More reminiscing! Will the plot (what plot) ever progress?! Or am I doomed to describe filth for the rest of my days? Ahem, anyway onto the actual chapter teaser. 

Tech is reassuring in his own way. You reminisce about times with Hunter, Wrecker and Echo, featuring quite possibly the filthiest paragraph I have ever written. You finally get to suck on Tech’s fingers and then Tech gets very, very filthy with his words. 

Taglist: @queenariesofnarnia @skywlker-sluvtt @techs-assistant @dangraccoon @iamburdened @pheesupremacy @blondie-bluue @motte-the-goblin @xxeiraxx @tc-99  

[druidgroves]

Chapter 13: It's All In the Game

Fandom: Fallout 4 Words: 7,475 Characters: Georgia Tate (Canon Divergent Sole Survivor), Nate, RJ MacCready, Nick Valentine, Conrad Kellogg Notes: content warnings for graphic-ish descriptions of gore? canon standard tbh but just thought i'd give a heads up :) enjoy ! read on ao3 / read on tumblr

August 28th, 2075. 7 PM.

The place Nate ends up taking her to is a dive bar near some place called Fort Hagen, a military base, one he tells her he spends lots of time at with his friends. Its patrons were mostly servicemen, which was how Nate found out about it and it isn’t exactly prime date material in Georgia’s mind, but he reassures her that it’s a fun place.

“Something is always going down there,” he says, and he’s cute enough that she lets it slide. It’s only one date; she might as well see where this goes, right?

On the drive there, she learns that he’s been out of the military for a few months now, and picked up a job as a line manager in his uncle’s Corvega factory. He brags about being one of the only managers who likes to actually be out on the floor with the guys, and she’s able to spin it as him being dedicated to his job. He blows past a stop sign on a thankfully empty street when he grins over at her in the passenger seat.

“Aren’t you the little optimist,” he says, one hand on the wheel and the other on the arm rest between them. “I’ll have to tell that one to the boys at work next time they give me shit.”

“I’m a brightside kinda gal, what can I say?”

“That you are,” Nate agrees. “You’ll fit right in at the bar. They’ve got a jukebox, karaoke, a pool table. You’ll love it.”

“Pool?” Now he has her attention; she’s been pocketing 8-balls since she was thirteen, but he doesn’t need to know that. She plays coy, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “I’ve always thought pool was fun.”

“Oh, really? You’re a woman after my own heart, Miss Walker.”

Georgia beams back and sits pretty beside him, hair done up in curls and her best dress already riding up her legs. He drives a cherry red Corvega Blitz with a creamy leather interior that sticks to her thighs in the late summer heat. That detail is not lost on Nate, whose eyes dart to the exposed skin before she artfully smoothes out the fabric. His scarred lip twitches into a self-satisfied smile as he pulls into the parking lot. Up the hill, Fort Hagen itself looms ominously despite its spotlights. Georgia can’t help but wonder what goes on inside a building as imposing as that; probably nothing good, she decides, and definitely not as entertaining as her date is about to be.

Things inside the bar are much more inviting, loud and raucous with music spilling out of the promised jukebox and people dancing across the floor. Georgia hopes that Nate is a dancing kind of man, her hand already tapping the beat against her leg. She doesn’t want to speak too soon, but if it goes well, maybe a club and a good band would be a nice second date. She’s about to ask him if he dances when a group of men at a table in the corner catch sight of him amongst the crowd and begin to shout him over.

“Hey, let me introduce you to my friends really fast,” Nate says, already steering her in their direction.

Georgia attempts to hide her frown. Maybe she jinxed it. “I’m sure they’re nice, but…I thought this was a date.”

Nate looks down at her, eyebrow raised. “It still is. They were gonna be here anyways, might as well say hi, right? C’mon, they’ll love ya.”

Hm. Georgia could appreciate a man who maintained his friendships—surely that was a green flag. Nate ducks down and whispers next to her ear, “Besides, it’ll give me a chance to show you off, huh?”

This gets her blushing, pink from her hairline down to her collarbones. Well, she certainly wouldn’t mind that. She puts her best face on as they approach.

They see Nate first and greet him warmly, clapping him on the shoulder and offering him a seat. Georgia steps out from behind him and before Nate can introduce her, one of his friends nods at her over his beer and asks, “Are you gonna tell us who this fine young thing beside you is, Tate?”

Georgia doesn’t hide her frown this time and goes to open her mouth before Nate opens his first.

“Hey, knock it off,” he tells his friend seriously. “I’m a gentleman tonight. You should play along.”

Another friend laughs and derides him, “Just tonight, Natey? Is your broad aware of that?”

The men descend into a round of obnoxious laughter, but Nate just waves them off while Georgia crosses her arms in contempt. He puts an arm over her shoulders and turns them away from his friends, leaning down to talk to her again.

“Don’t mind them,” he tells her. “They’re already drunk and trying to give me shit. I think they’re just jealous. Who can blame them? Out of that teacher get-up, you look gorgeous.”

Her brow furrows deeper. “Those are my regular clothes.”

Nate must sense he’s said something wrong, because he readjusts on the fly. “I mean to say, you look sexier without a dress code holding you back. Better?”

She will admit, his petty appeals to her vanity are working in his favor. She decides to let him off easy.

“Better. Now, let’s turn this back into a proper date, shall we?”

Nate acquiesces to her and finishes up with his friends, then guides her towards an empty pool table.

“Now,” he says, pulling out his wallet and flashing a few hundred dollar bills that catch Georgia’s attention as he pulls out his driver’s license, “how’s about I grab us a few drinks and I teach you a thing or two about pool?”

Her eyes flit from his wallet to his face and she perks up, unable to stop the mischievous little voice in the back of her head telling her to take him up on it. When she smiles, it’s saccharine-sweet.

“Sounds great. You get the drinks and I’ll grab us some sticks?”

Georgia spends some time inspecting the pool cues, finding two without much warping or worn tips. She chalks her own but doesn’t touch Nate’s until he comes back with the drinks—she doesn’t presume to tell a man how to handle his stick, both on the billiard’s green and off…but she can give a couple pointers.

“You shoot with an open bridge?” she asks conversationally after he makes the break shot. Nate looks at her, raising an eyebrow over his bottle of Gwinnett. She mimics the shape with her hand and he nods. She gives him a playful look. “I thought you were gonna teach me a thing or two about pool?”

Nate laughs, but she can sense a touch of stung pride, just enough that it gives him more of a competitive drive. Georgia can’t say she doesn’t delight in riling up her competition.

“So you were just pulling my leg earlier,” he says, then sets her with a daring look. “Alright then, let’s play some damn pool.”

They play the game and he commends her for her trickshots and doesn’t even seem upset when she sinks all of her balls and calls the winning pocket for the eight ball at the end. In fact, he looks downright eager to get her to hustle his friends for money. So he sends her back over to their table and she plays the part of Nate’s innocent little tagalong, asking them if they want to join in on their game. A few take her up on the offer, sharing looks between themselves like they’re just humoring her. She catches Nate’s eye as they walk back, sharing her own sneaking look with him as he casually asks his friends if they want to put money down on the game. For fun, he says. They agree and soon enough, the game begins.

By the end of the night, Georgia has five grown men nearly snap their pool cues when they are forced to empty out their wallets. As a team, she and Nate had done pretty well, even if she had done most of the work.

Her latest victim sneers, throwing a few crumpled bills on the table. “Bullshit beginner’s luck.”

“Maybe so,” Georgia shrugs, chalking up her cue again, “but then that still means you lost to a beginner, so what does that say about you?”

The man, Jacobs, sneers at her. “Tate, if you don’t control your lady—”

Nate steps between the two of them, putting a hand firmly in the center of his friend’s chest.

“Get a fucking grip, Jacobs, it’s pool,” he snaps.

“And she cheated me out of my last dime!” Jacobs all but shouts and Georgia suddenly feels that maybe hustling people at pool in a military bar wasn’t their brightest idea.

Nate, however, looks entirely unbothered. All he does is give the other man a flippant shrug. “And? You’re the one who put it down. No one forced you to lose at pool.”

“And no one asked you to bring her to our bar,” Jacobs counters and glares at her over Nate’s shoulder. “The little bitch is a cheat, and I can pr—”

Georgia isn’t even able to get an astonished “excuse me?” out before Nate’s fist connects with Jacobs’ nose. Jacobs stumbles back, wiping the blood from his face and doesn’t pause before he charges Nate, nearly pushing him into her had she not stepped out of the way in time. She puts herself safely on the other side of the table as the two men descend into a brawl. She wants to stop them, yells at Nate to do so, but she can’t put herself between them so all she can do is watch as the punches fly.

Nate fights like a caged animal, going for any weak spot he can see and hitting them more often than not. She has a front row seat to the rage now coursing through him, teeth bared and fists bloody as they wail on each other. Jacobs catches him in the cheek but then Nate has him pinned to the pool table in front of Georgia, slamming him down on top of it. The man’s face is a patchwork of black, blue, and red as Nate holds him down by his shirt. He leans down, close enough where only he, Jacobs, and only incidentally Georgia, are able to hear.

“You don’t get to disrespect me and mine just because you’re a sore fuckin’ loser, alright?” he mutters and something in his words makes a warm, fluttery feeling start in the pit of Georgia’s stomach.

Nate spits on Jacobs’ chest before letting him go. When he looks up and sees Georgia standing in front of him, however, all the fight leaves him at once. His face goes pale and that’s when the both of them realize just how many eyes are on them and the silence that now pervades the bar. The fluttery feeling is quickly replaced by embarrassment and Georgia makes the executive decision to hurry the two of them out of the bar before they’re kicked out. She goes around the table, takes Nate’s arm into hers, and leads the two of them out with her head down. As they leave, his muscles are still taught in her grasp.

Once they’re standing next to his car in the parking lot, Georgia turns on him, hands on her hips.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Nate leans back against the driver’s side door and doesn’t meet her eye, just pulls his cigarettes and a lighter out from his pocket. He lights up and takes a drag before speaking to her.

“He called you a bitch,” he says, blowing his smoke into the wind and it tickles her nose. “I didn’t like it. What, did you want me to stand there and let him?”

Georgia puts a hand on her forehead and sighs. On one hand, she’s pissed. This is categorically not how first dates were supposed to go, and she had been on enough to know. She’d had high hopes for the charming man that had walked in and picked up his nephew from her classroom that afternoon. Now, she was standing beside a man who would fistfight one of his friends at the drop of a hat. She can’t help but replay the fight in her mind and as she does, that same fluttery feeling comes back as she recalls what Nate had said to Jacobs. Me and mine.

On the other hand…

Watching him go from zero to a hundred in half a second, all on her behalf…well, no one had ever fought for her like that. First date or not. All that anger and power emanating from him…that had been because of her. For her. Something about it, as terrible as she should find it, makes her reconsider if this date–this man–was a total loss.

Her silence must make Nate antsy, because he speaks up again and this time looks her in the face.

“I didn’t want you to see me that way,” he says, and reaches out to touch her. When she doesn’t move away, his hand runs down her arm until it's holding hers, and he squeezes it with an infant’s strength. “I just…it’s like the anger gets loud, you know? And it’s all I can hear. It was stupid to let it get the better of me. I’m sorry.”

Out in the parking lot, half-lit by street lamps and out of the bar, Nate doesn’t look so imposing anymore. Slouched beside his car, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and a bruise rapidly forming across his cheek, he appears regretful. And, Georgia can’t help but notice, increasingly attractive.

“You’re right. It was stupid,” she agrees, going to lean against the car beside him and he looks down at her with a furrowed brow, “but no one’s ever fought someone for me. It was…kind of nice, almost.”

Nate laughs and puts an arm around her, pulling her close. She leans her head onto his shoulder and looks up at him.

“You’re one surprise after the other, Miss Walker,” he says and she grins. “Might have to keep you around.”

“Just don’t make it a habit, alright? I can handle bein’ called a bitch a time or two, it wouldn’t be the first time,” she tells him, and plucks the cigarette from between his lips to steal a drag. “Besides, I don’t think we’ll be able to come back here for our second date. I was hopin’ you were a dancin’ kind of man.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “You’ve cleared me for a second date already? Color me surprised.”

“What can I say? I guess I have questionable taste and a thing for men with a solid right hook,” she jokes, only half meaning it, and he throws her that smile that got her to agree to all this in the first place before he takes his cigarette back.

They stand there for a little while longer, smoking cigarettes until Georgia says it’s getting late and they should both go home. They sit in his car a while longer, though, dragging out the date minute by minute until, by unspoken agreement, they decide to get a little hot and heavy in the backseat of the car. When they kiss, she’s careful of the bruise on his face and even softly presses her lips against it. Things escalate from there, a fire in Nate’s eyes, but Georgia doesn’t let him past the first five buttons on her blouse at first, per her own dating rules. He does get a hand up her skirt about halfway through and she allows it, so whether or not it counts as putting out on the first date is up in the air.

After, Nate drives her back to her little apartment a few blocks from the school, and very politely asks if he can kiss her goodnight outside her door despite the fact that he had her moaning his name not even an hour earlier. Flushed from hairline to collarbones, Georgia invites him in under the guise of getting him some frozen peas for his face, and if they end up between the sheets, well.

Georgia thinks she can bend her own rules, just this once.

-----

January 31st, 2288

When Fort Hagen comes into view after hours of chasing Dogmeat’s nose, past wild mutated bears (yao guai, Mac had called them) and a decimated assaultron, Georgia almost has to laugh at the irony. Just down the street are the ruins of her first date with her dead husband and before her is the foreboding tomb she may or may not find her son in. She hasn’t been the praying type in a long while, more so after waking up two hundred years in the future, but she throws a little mental prayer to anyone listening anyways.

The sky above them had been gray since they left Diamond City that morning, making vague threats of rain from the north that hadn’t yet come to pass. Dogmeat ends his tracking at the boarded up doors to the fort and barks once.

“I knew Dogmeat could sniff our man out,” Mr. Valentine says from her left. “Let’s you two and I take it from here, give our four-legged friend a break.”

Georgia bends down, knees popping, to give the hound a rewarding scratch behind the ears. “You did your part, boy. Stay out here while we find a way in, okay? Good boy.”

Dogmeat barks again like he understands—at this point, she’s pretty sure they have some kind of mental link from how in tune they are—and lays down, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

“Front door isn’t an option, and even if it was it wouldn’t be the smart one,” Mac says, attempting to look around for another entrance.

“There’s scaffolding around the side, maybe this place has rooftop access,” Mr. Valentine says, so the three of them seek it out, only to find several automated turrets on said roof that put a bead on them almost as fast as he can shuffle them back down the platforms.

Mac offers to take them out, reminding her of the training yard job, but when she reminds him they should probably keep a low profile, he surrenders to her point. It’s only when she spots the parking garage connected to the building that she remembers they usually have interior entrances. It’s surprisingly deserted when they get down there, and almost like a light at the end of a tunnel: a door, lit by a single emergency light amongst the darkness. When she puts her hands on the crash bar and it begins to open, she pauses.

“You ready?” Mac asks from beside her. She swallows.

“You don’t know until you know,” she says, and presses forward.

--

The synths scattered among the inside of Fort Hagen are Gen 2’s, according to Mr. Valentine. Metal and plastic like him, but without his sparkling personality, as he put it. Georgia’s been lucky enough that she hasn’t crossed paths with many of them since she thawed out, and those she did, she and Preston had steadfastly avoided. Now, with their hollow, robotic voices echoing off the crumbling walls around her, it sends chills down her spine. They’re damn good shots, too, because by the time she, Mac, and Mr. Valentine clear the floor, they’re all sporting new holes in their coats and multiple plasma burns of near misses from their energy weapons. Mr. Valentine seems the most well-off, all things considered, while she and Mac quickly patch up the burns on her thigh and the one on his arm.

The further they go, they manage to find an elevator that provides the only way forward. It takes them below the surface and it reminds Georgia far too much of the vault. She tries to push it out of her mind as they press forward past another handful of synths, a turret, and a few easily disabled trip wires. For a moment it all seems too easy, like the three of them are just blowing through minor threats before rolling up to the big one, wherever he is. But then something crackles along the hallways, like a classroom intercom, and Georgia is sent back to cold metal and glass, thin air, and Shaun’s wailing cries. She nearly trips going down the stairs.

“If it isn’t my old friend, the frozen TV dinner,” a rough cadence says, echoing down the never ending hallways. “Last time we met, you were cozying up to the peas and apple cobbler.”

“Whoa, careful now,” Mr. Valentine says as he catches her by the elbow, looking around for the speakers.

“That’s him, that’s his voice,” Georgia says, her own voice trembling and her legs feeling like they’re about to give out from under her. She’s not ready. “Mac, Mr. Valentine, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can, Georgia,” Mac says firmly from the other side of her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We didn’t come all the way here for you to turn back now. If he’s here, let’s go find the bastard.”

“Take it slow, one step atta time. We’re right behind you,” Mr. Valentine nods, readjusting the grip on his gun.

Georgia bites down on her lip to keep it from quivering. The speakers hadn’t come back on and she consoles herself with the fact that she has one of the best guns in the Commonwealth beside her as well as its best detective. One she trusts implicitly and one she trusts enough to help her see this through. She resolves to press forward. Mac was right; she didn’t come this far to only come this far.

Once she’s able to keep going, they take out a few more of Kellogg’s defenses and when his voice crackles overhead again, she isn’t as caught out by it. She can’t stop the shaking in her hands, though, shotgun wavering in her grip.

“Sorry your house has been a wreck for two hundred years,” Kellogg says, snarling when he adds, “but I don’t need a roommate. Leave.”

The words continue to bounce around her skull as they push open a set of metal double doors, opening up to some sort of command center. It’s like a game—they snuff out a few more Gen 2’s, Kellogg comes over the speakers to taunt her. She feels like a rat in a maze, the man who tore her family apart the mad scientist watching her every move.

“Hmph. Never expected you to come knocking on my door. Hell, I thought the Commonwealth would have chewed you up like jerky if you even made it out of that old neighborhood alive,” he muses, voice no less like sandpaper across her face even through the speakers. “What a surprise you turned into.”

Eventually Georgia’s fear morphs into anger and frustration. The closer they seem to get, the further away Kellogg seems. A game of cat and mouse, except the cat sends minions to do his work for him. She takes her rage out on a couple of Gen 2’s and hopes Mr. Valentine doesn’t take it too personally.

“Look,” the mercenary says after Georgia’s shotgun blows apart the plastic skull of yet another synth in front of her, “you’re pissed off. I get it. I do. But whatever you hope to accomplish in here? It is not going to go your way.”

She can’t help it; the pressure builds and she screams back at him, something deep and raw from within, “Fuck OFF.”

Mac and Mr. Valentine jump at her intensity, so on edge for everything else around them that they don’t expect it. There is fire and fury within her now that she can only do so much to keep contained. She thinks, briefly, of how much she can relate to Nate right about now. That only makes her angrier and she does away with the thought as she does away with the next synth that crosses their path.

They descend further into Fort Hagen’s depths and Georgia doesn’t want to dwell about how far underground they must be. Surely not as far under as the vault, but with the walls closing in around her as they enter a red-lit tunnel, she can’t really tell the difference. It knocks the wind out of her sails, her breathing starts to thin and she can barely get the words out to ask her two companions for a moment. She tries to grab at the walls around her for purchase when her knees buckle again, Kellogg’s voice ferrying her through what must be the start of a panic attack.

“You’ve got guts and determination, and that’s admirable. But you are in over your head in ways you can’t possibly comprehend.”

Faintly, over the sound of ringing in her ears, she can hear the mechanical voices of more synths around the corner, and Mac tries to yank her back into a standing position.

“We can’t stop here,” he tells her, an ironlike grip on her arm, “we have to keep moving.”

And they do, though every one of Georgia’s footsteps feels heavier than the last and her vision is tunneling and her chest feels too tight. Mac and Mr. Valentine take care of most of the synths, because all she can focus on right now is trying to push ahead. Her hands still won’t stop shaking long enough for her to aim her gun.

“It’s not too late,” Kellogg says, enticing her to give up already. “Stop. Turn around and leave. You have that option. Not a lot of people can say that.”

She’s caught between wanting to bolt and being so desperately close to her son’s kidnapper as the three of them come upon a red door.

“We’re close,” Mr. Valentine says, sniffing the air for something neither she nor Mac can detect yet. “I can smell that old merc’s cigars…”

Past the red door is what Georgia can only assume was an office for whoever commanded Fort Hagen back in its heyday. Now, it’s full of all sorts of tech and pristine, anachronistic furniture and smelling of cigars. There’s a bed that looks like it belongs more in a hospital than an old military fort, just as out of place as the rest of the furniture around it. It’s almost enough to jolt her out of her spiraling until the speakers come on again.

“Okay, you made it. I’m just up ahead. My synths are standing down. Let’s talk.”

A set of maglocks on a door across the room slide open. The man who took everything from her is just on the other side.

Georgia fights the urge to flee and the pent up energy just redirects back to the anxious jittering of her hands. Fingers try to disappear under her sleeve, but have a hard time getting under Mac’s bandages. She doesn’t even register him coming to stand beside her until her quivering hand bumps into his and she latches onto it like a lifeline. He’s a warm, steadying presence beside her and doesn’t even flinch at her white-knuckle grip. The shaking starts to fade.

She turns to him, and he meets her with a steely look as he nods. To her left, Mr. Valentine motions to the door ahead of them.

“Into the belly of the beast,” he says. Georgia lets go of Mac’s wrist to brace herself.

The room is dark when they open the door, weapons drawn, but spotlights begin to flicker on one by one. The last spotlight turns on and her breath catches in her throat when he steps into the light. The rest of the room fades out around her. It’s just the two of them.

“And there she is,” Kellogg says, walking out from behind a desk terminal with three synths at his back. He gestures to her with the pistol in his hand. “The most resilient housewife in the Commonwealth.”

He’s just as she remembers him: gritty, scarred, and worn-looking, but no less threatening, no less predatory. His visage had been the harbinger of her family’s demise, instilling a bone-deep panic into her now that she has a clearer look at him.

Unfortunately for him, all of Georgia’s panic evolves into rage at the sight of him. It’s like she can feel Nate’s hand on her shoulder, giving her the permission she never needed to snap.

“Where the hell is Shaun?!” she barks, more animal than woman.

“Right to it then, huh?” He has the gall to laugh, casual as you please, only fueling her fire. She should shoot him right now before he even gets a chance to gloat, but she knows that he knows the only thing keeping him alive right now is the information on Shaun’s location. If he decides to tell her the truth at all.

“Okay, fine. Your son, Shaun. Great kid,” he continues, casual as you please despite the severity radiating off her to the point where the shaking returns in a different way. “A little older than you might expect, but I’m guessing you figured that out by now. But if it’s a happy reunion you’re after, it’s not gonna happen. Your boy’s not here.”

Georgia’s teeth grit together so hard she swears she’s cracked a molar.

“You can either tell me where the fuck he is, or I blow your goddamn head off,” she seethes. Her gun has been aimed at his chest since he stepped out. “This is the end, Kellogg. Only one of us is walkin’ out of here. You die. I get my son back.”

“If only it were that simple. I’m just a puppet like you—my stage is just a little bigger, that’s all. Doesn’t change the fact that your boy isn’t here,” he shrugs, his revolver glinting in the light. “He’s with the people pulling the strings.”

“Where is he?!” Georgia screams, finger twitching on the trigger and held only by some modicum of restraint still left in her.

“Shaun’s in a good place,” he tells her and she almost believes him. “One where he’s safe and comfortable and loved. A place he calls home.”

Her resolve is starting to slip. Her vision tunnels.

“The Institute.”

A flash of gunfire cuts through the gloom, pulling Georgia out of the moment as the room descends into chaos.

Kellogg stumbles back from the blast of her shotgun, some sort of armor underneath his clothing the only thing blocking what would’ve ripped apart the chest of a regular man. Then Georgia feels herself pulled to the ground, behind one of the desk terminals scattering the room. Streaks of energy from the synth’s weapons fly overhead and she can hear Mac cursing beside her as his rifle sounds off, but then he’s stumbling around the corner of the desk. It takes her a few dangerously long seconds to realize what’s going on, diving behind another terminal as one of the synths falls beside her.

“He’s got a stealthboy!” Mr. Valentine shouts, and she doesn’t even have time to think “what’s a stealthboy?” before a bullet whistles past her ear. “He’s gone!”

She has no idea where anyone is, world turned upside down in the firefight, but her mind catches up to her with a shot of adrenaline. A few terminals down, Mac darts past, low to the ground and Georgia hears him shoot before something falls. She pokes her gun around the edge of a desk before sneaking over to one closer to where she’d last seen Kellogg. Another gunshot, this time from Mr. Valentine, cuts one of the Gen 2’s off mid sentence and then everything goes quiet. Her heart is thundering in her ears as her eyes dart around for any signs of a threat. Another shot rings out to her right so she goes left and makes a break for another piece of cover.

It’s an agonizing few seconds that feel like hours before she sees something flutter out of the corner of her eye. A centuries old piece of paper, falling from one of the desks as if someone had brushed past it, invisible. Her blood runs cold.

One of Mac’s rounds hit a terminal nearby and that’s when Georgia can see a dirty, booted footprint manifest itself on the fallen piece of paper. She lines up the shot.

She pulls the trigger twice and Kellogg materializes before her eyes, falling over sideways as his ankle practically disintegrates under him. He manages to roll over as he falls, landing face up. He doesn’t call out in pain as she rushes him, putting another round in the hand that goes to reach for his revolver on the floor next to him. It turns into a bloody stump, conjuring up images in her mind of ground beef at the supermarket. He barely even makes a sound when she unloads again into his knee cap and is pinned under her boot, the threat of all she’ll do to him a heavy weight in her hands. There isn’t any fear in his eyes when she levels the gun at his head. Instead, with the barrel at his temple and her heel on his chest, he has the gall to smirk at her. Like this was what he had planned all along. Like it was some game to him. She pulls the trigger, but nothing happens. A smirk like he might take the upper hand is the last thing to appear on Kellogg’s face before she changes plans.

The grip on her shotgun has never been tighter than when Georgia uses it to bash his head in. She brings the stock down on his face again and again and again and she doesn’t know when she starts screaming, but her throat is torn raw by it as she lets go of every piece of frustration that’s been building up inside her since she thawed out. Every downward swing is another fuck you to the world, to karma, to the Institute, to him. The air turns coppery as blood—his, her own, she can’t tell the difference—covers her torso. The drops that manage to fly into her still screaming mouth burn on her tongue as she drops to her knees above him, dead set on reducing him to nothing just as he did her. Then she’s grabbed by both arms and dragged away.

She tries to fight it at first, not realizing who has a hold of her. The adrenaline makes her twist and try to launch herself back at the mangled remains of Kellogg’s corpse. “I’m not done!” she shrieks, but Mac and Mr. Valentine’s separate grips on her shoulders don’t give. Together, they pry her hands away from her gun, finger by bloody finger.

Mac is beside her ear, repeating, “It’s over, Georgia, he’s dead, you did it, you’re okay—”

The hands only come off her once they have her away from the carnage. The two men sit her down on something hard and solid and are careful to block the view of her destruction. She doesn’t know why they bother; she already knows the former mercenary is nothing more than mincemeat from the neck up. Distantly, she hears Mr. Valentine say something like “at least the bastard won’t be hurting anyone else” before telling Mac to watch over her.

“I’ll look around, try to get all the intel this place can hide,” she hears him say and he disappears behind one of the overly large desk terminals.

Mac takes a seat beside her as she buries her face in her hands. She chokes on a sob, fury fading into distress as crimson consumes her, covering her arms, her chest, her legs. It’s everywhere and suddenly she feels like she can’t breathe, that red is all she’ll ever see until Mac wordlessly takes her glasses off her face. Blurrily, she sees him wipe the smears of blood off as best he can with his shirt. Instead of handing them back when he’s done, he hooks them on his collar and swings his pack around to rifle through it. He comes out with one of the tins of water from the Gunner base and reaches for the knife he keeps strapped to his boot.

He stabs a hole into the aluminum top, then points to her hands. “Here,” he says quietly, “let’s get that off you.”

She doesn’t move, too trapped inside her own head, but then she feels him move her trembling hands, softly, to pour the water over them. Blood and water pool together in her palms before spilling to the floor and he doesn’t say a word as he silently washes it away, gentler than any words of comfort he could have given her. He even changes out the bandages on her left arm now that the old ones are soaked through with new blood.

In the quiet of his care, all Georgia can think is that she failed. Sure, the man is dead, but she is no closer to finding her son.

The Institute.

She’d heard all the stories, or at least the ones people weren’t too scared to share. Becky, in Diamond City, whose lost husband may or may not have been snatched up. The settlers who wouldn’t look her in the eyes in the early days because new faces were suspicious and not intriguing. Piper, who seemed to have her own personal vendetta against the Commonwealth’s biggest boogeyman, the blade in the dark that struck when you least expected it. The Institute, whatever it was, had Shaun. If Kellogg was telling the truth. That at least meant he was still alive, possibly. She just didn’t know for how long.

While Mr. Valentine pokes around, Georgia slowly comes back to herself. Her vision stops tunneling and the ringing in her ears begins to fade. She doesn’t speak until Mac finishes cleaning her off and bandaging her up. What comes out is hoarse, like someone has taken a nail file to her vocal chords.

“Thank you,” she manages to get out, barely above a whisper. There are so many other things she wants to say (thank you for being careful with me. Sorry I dragged you into this. I’m glad you were here) but they die in her throat.

He shakes his head, unhooking her glasses from his collar and handing them back to her. His voice is only a little rough when he says, “Don’t mention it.”

By the time Mr. Valentine comes back over, she is as put together as she can be in the moment, but even then the grasp she has on herself is tenuous at best.

“So, turns out Kellogg wasn’t giving us any bull. I bullied my way into his terminal—your son really is on the inside,” he says, regretful to be the bearer of bad news. “I’m sorry to say it, but even I don’t know where the Institute is, and they built me.”

Mac pipes up from beside her, indignant, “There has to be a way, right? Otherwise, how the hell did he get in and out?”

“We’re in the weeds here, kids,” Mr. Valentine sighs with a mechanical shrug. Mac’s lip twitches like he wants to rebuke something in his words, but stays silent. “I looked over the body and found these, though.”

From his pockets he pulls out what had once been the pristine pillow case on the bed in the other room, now dark with viscera. Georgia can’t help but wrinkle her nose. A funny, involuntary reaction, considering.

“You did quite the number on him, but I noticed this between all the gray matter. Cybernetics,” Mr. Valentine continues, then puts it back into his coat. “I may not know where the Institute is, but with this, we may have just won the lottery.”

Her brow furrows as she looks up at the detective, confused.

“What do you mean?” she asks, purposefully quiet to not agitate her still-raw throat.

“There’s a place in Goodneighbor called the Memory Den. Heard of it?”

Georgia nods. She’s seen the hazy neon sign over the former theatre in her scant few visits to the town. She’d never been inside, however, before or after the end of the world.

“The place to be to relive moments of your past in your mind as clear as the day they happened. If anyone can get a dead brain to sing, it’ll be Doctor Amari,” he says. “She’s the mind behind the memories.”

“Who is Doctor Amari?”

“She runs the place,” Mac supplies. “Well, kind of. Irma’s the real owner, I think.”

“I’ll let Amari give you her life’s story in person,” Mr. Valentine cuts in, pushing ahead, “but if we head out now, we can get there before it gets too late.”

“And you’re sure she can help?” Georgia presses, not wanting to take more out on hope.

Mr. Valentine’s yellow-filament stare holds her own, “She might be our best bet.”

“Then let’s go,” she nods as she stands, but Mac catches her by the sleeve.

“Hey, hey, slow down a minute,” he says, looking between the two. “Shouldn’t we, I dunno, think about this a little more?”

“What’s there to think about, Mac?” she pleads. She pauses to cough, the more she talks the more it stings. “If the Memory Den is our best bet, then I have no other choice.”

Mac stands up beside her, crossing his arms. “What I’m saying is maybe we should take a break, rest for a little bit, plan before you go shooting off—”

“Mac, I’m fine,” she stresses, clenching a fist at her side. “I don’t want to put it off anymore. I…I want to know.”

She gives him a speaking look that she hopes will say everything she can’t, that after this, she’s done not knowing. All she wants to do now is make up for all the time she’s wasted, and then maybe she can find her boy.

Mac sets his jaw, then tears his eyes away to look at Mr. Valentine. “Fine. Plan is, we go to the Memory Den and talk to the doc, but after that, you’re taking a break.”

“Christ, okay,” she can’t help but snap (now was when he decided to start disagreeing with her leadership?) but when his expression shifts, she sighs, apologetic. “I’m sorry. Let’s just go. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

She makes to leave, but Mr. Valentine reaches out, putting his plastic hand on her shoulder. It’s surprisingly weighty.

“Hey, chin up,” he says, trying to bolster her. “I know the night just got darker, but it won’t last forever.”

She knows he’s just trying to be supportive, but this time, it doesn’t land. “Doesn’t change the fact that it’s still dark,” she mutters, and walks past him, stepping over Kellogg’s mutilated corpse without so much as an acknowledgement of her violence.

It’s a long way up in the elevator they find tucked into a hallway. It takes long enough that being stuck inside starts to make her antsy again, fingers grasping for purchase on something, anything, until they end up catching on the cuff of Mac’s sleeve. He doesn’t make a show of taking it into his own and squeezing, once, and for that Georgia is grateful. When the doors slide open, he lets go, but she can still feel the lingering roughness of the calluses from where he holds his rifle. Mr. Valentine goes to work on hacking through a terminal attached to the only way out, and he mentions something about the turrets outside being put to rest.

The sun has almost dipped completely under the horizon when they exit. It’s finally raining, too, matching just how Georgia feels on the inside, but it does nothing to obscure the massive, brightly-lit airship coming in from the west. It catches all of them by surprise and takes up the sky like one of those big radstorm clouds, demanding she look at it. What look like vertibirds—are vertibirds, she realizes—undock from the sides and take to the air. She squints up at the thing, putting a hand over her eyes to shield from the rain. A booming, bellowing voice cuts through the skies.

“PEOPLE OF THE COMMONWEALTH. DO NOT INTERFERE. OUR INTENTIONS ARE PEACEFUL. WE ARE THE BROTHERHOOD OF STEEL.”

“Son of a…it’s the goddamn Brotherhood,” Mac breathes, eyes transfixed on the airship. “What the hell are they doing there?”

“That man…at the police station…” Georgia trails off, remembering how she and Preston had helped a man in power armor defend his dwindling squad’s base from feral ghouls in Cambridge. They hadn’t been much help in looking for…whatever it was the man had been looking for. She doesn’t even remember his name now, instead only how much he favored Nate…

“What?” Mac asks, tearing his gaze away from the sky.

“Nothin’,” she says, shaking her head as she heads for the scaffolding on the side of the building. “Let’s move.”

[cinnbar-bun]

So I saw you did some zines before and I was wondering, do you have any advice on how to get in as a writer 🥲🥲 I’ve been trying but it seems like I get rejected every time and it lowkey hurts.

Hi nonnie!! Sorry for not responding to this earlier but I wasn’t sure of the right thing to say. Yes, I have done a few pieces for some zines, and I’ll try to be as … honest as I can without being too harsh.

I’m just going to say it right off the bat, fanzines just aren’t the best for writers in general. You’ll notice a lot of times, that zines will open maybe 2-5 slots specifically for writers. Considering many might get over 50-60+ applications for those spots, it’s already a tough start. Don’t blame yourself for this, it’s not that you suck, but it’s just that there’s so much limited space. It is not your fault. Two people out of 50 applications is barely anything.

And you might think, well, what’s the reasoning for that?

And to be honest it goes down to the current culture of fanzines that made me leave it to begin with. Most of them are either for-profit/for donations. Which is cool! Buuuut that means you have to maximize profit and minimize costs. Who is most likely going to bring in the audience? Unfortunately, not writers. Who is taking up the most space (technically speaking) with their work… unfortunately, also writers.

Having writers is often seen as a loss of time and space that could be given to artists who most likely have more pull to an audience. I mean, you can even compare this in general from writing fanfics to simply looking at a piece of art. You don’t need to read art the way you do a fanfic. Art is eye catching and boom, you can continue to the next thing. Note: this is not me diminishing artists or writers, I’m explaining this from a business perspective that zine owners have shared with me that unfortunately constrains them.

Even if you follow the limits of like a 1-2k work, putting it in the zine with additional formatting, dialogue, borders, sizes, etc will take up around 6-8 pages maybe. To some owners, that’s 6-8 artists that could’ve taken that spot that would’ve had more pull than the one writer who wrote the fic.

Fanzines nowadays feel they have a standard to be almost close to “official” merch which… that’s not why zines were made to begin with. It was a celebration of fandom and fan creations. But everyone wants people with high follower counts now, so lesser known creators are often chucked to the side. Which, fair enough you’re tryna make profit for a cause- but it can be disheartening.

Trust me, despite me having participated in like 3 zines, it still hurt when I got rejected. And, you do have to take this to heart, the zine owners don’t think your writing is crappy or anything like that. They don’t. You can mourn being rejected but it’s not a reflection on your writing.

My advice? Go make your own zine. Or just continue writing fanfic for fun and posting. You’re not really gonna make money off them anyways even in a for-profit zine, but zines are meant to be by the fans for the fans. The current culture has sucked the fun out of it in exchange for profit, but you don’t have to wait around to get accepted. Even just yourself and a friend or two can make a zine on your own, and that’s really all you need. You make the rules and you get to make your funny zine. So go for it! Send your application to official ones, of course, it never hurts to try, but you don’t need some person to allow you to contribute. Fandom is for everyone, not just for profit or those only with master level talent or follower counts. Just make your own thing!

[bookishpixiereads]

“Ill-Fated Fortune” by Jennifer J. Chow

⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ .75/5 Stars

***Thanks to NetGalley and St. Martin’s Press and Minotaur Books for the eARC copy of this book. My opinions are my own.  This book comes out today on February 20th!***

“Ill-Fated Fortune” is the first in the “Magical Fortune Cookie” series, a new, magical, cozy mystery series. Felicity, third generation Chinese-American, runs a secretly magic bakery with her mother in the small, insular town of Pixie, CA outside of Fresno. Every woman on her mother’s side has the magical ability to bake one specific recipe perfectly & that item is infused with joy and the person that eats it is filled with bliss.

Felicity believed that the magic skipped her. Everything she baked was disastrous. Up until the beginning of this book. After eating some thoroughly awful fortune cookies, she gets inspired to make her own fortune cookies from scratch that end up being just as magical as her mother’s magical egg tarts.  She also writes all of the fortunes for the cookies & soon finds out that her magic comes with something extra that the rest of the woman in her family didn’t possess. She can make accurate fortunes about a person’s very near future.  

One of her first customers is murdered & is found with his personalized fortune in his hand & the fortune could be read as predicting his death.  And the victim owns a fortune cookie factory so of course Felicity is the prime suspect. So Felicity and her maybe platonic best friend Kelvin investigate to clear her name.

It’s pretty standard cozy mystery fare. I liked the magical aspect & I’m excited to see how that develops in future books. Is her godmother also magical? The how and the why the victim was murdered was so good. The diversity is a plus. Besides Felicity, Kelvin is biracial (Black and Asian).

I thought the middle was a bit slow & some of it probably could be cut. Some of the detective work felt repetitive. I also wish that the author would have committed to the possibility of a romance between the two leads. It was so lightly handled that it almost didn’t need to be there.  

But this was fun & I look forward to the next one.

Side note:

One of the characters used a word that has a problematic history that seemed out of place to the character and to the whole book at large. I wondered if the author wasn’t aware of the word’s history.  Because this was an ARC, I messaged both the author and the publisher about the word. They were not aware of its history and are going about removing the word. All digital copies will be corrected by publication date. I was told that they were editing the print version, but I don’t know if some copies will make it to the shelf pre-edit. If you stumble upon the word, please just know that they are correcting the issue and I truly believe it was an innocent mistake.

[mel-0n-earth]

BG3 February Writing Challenge: Day 4

Day Four (SFW): Camp chores

Original prompt list

[This is a standalone, but features my nonbinary OC, Kai, who has a street urchin background. Do I have a soft spot for overly eloquent wizards? Definitely. Did I get a little emotional over this one? Maybe. Anyways, enjoy.]

“Kai? I must request your assistance with a task that is most important, I assure you.”

Kai looked up from the map they’d been studying, mind tired from the effort of deciphering the tiny scrawl and sounding out its letters in their mind. They’d been taught how to read, once, though they were hardly as well-read as someone like Gale. Whatever he needed help with, they hoped it wouldn’t involve any reading.

They stepped carefully around the mud puddles that had formed around camp after the recent rain, taking care not to let their shoes grow any soggier. “What is it?”

Gale turned from the riverbank and made a sweeping gesture towards a tub of soapy water arranged near a pile of clothes, most of which were stained with blood, dirt, and the vast array of ichors and viscera the party had encountered in their recent escapades.

“If you would oblige me, friend, it seems our dinner needs tending, lest we go hungry for waiting too long to begin the process. There are meats to marinate, herbs to cut, and a broth in want of bubbling. While I tend to such gastronomical tasks, would you be so kind as to take over the washing?” He cast a glance towards the main camp, then added in a lowered voice, “I’d ask the others, but I sense they would not be so well-suited to the task. I’m afraid dear Karlach would bring the water to a boil, leaving all our colors to run together. Can’t have that now, can we?”

Kai blinked, looking down to the pile of clothes, then back to Gale. “Um…yeah, sure.”

He flashed them a delighted grin. “Most excellent! That should leave me with plenty of time to focus on devising a meal most nourishing. I’ve even acquired a few pinches of saffron, of all things, to toss in with the fish. A mite luxurious for our current living standards, but well worth the cost, considering our recent accomplishments. But never mind that. Thank you for your help.”

He rewarded them with a charming bow of gratitude, then sauntered off towards the campfire, presumably to season it with saffron, whatever that was. Kai remained, staring down at the strange implements Gale had left for them—a slatted plank of sorts, a large stick, and a ball of twine.

Kai managed to get as far as dumping all the clothes into the tub, and using the ball of twine to create a clothesline like the ones they’d seen hanging over the streets of the Lower City. After that, however, they were stumped. They studied the plank and stick, puzzling over their possible purposes. At some point, they wondered whether the angled slats were there to squeeze water out of the clothes, but they found even a sock would not fit through such a small opening.

After a while, the delicious aroma of fish stew began to emanate from the campfire, and Kai heard the sound of wet footsteps slopping through the mud.

“By Oghma, what in the nine hells are you doing with that washboard?”

Kai looked up to find Gale staring baffled at the singular sock hanging limply from the slats. They turned their attention quickly away. Gods, they must look like a fool.

“I, umm…I thought maybe it would squeeze the water out, so they wouldn’t weigh down the line.”

Gale pulled back, as if offended by the very notion. “That’s perhaps the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard. I mean, it’s a washboard, for crying out—haven’t you ever done your own laundry before?”

Ashamed, Kai shook their head, motioning down to their current ensemble. “Not really. This is all I have.”

That was how it was, living on the streets. Clothes cost money, and they’d never had anywhere to store them. One outfit was plenty. If it got dirty, one jumped in the river, easy as that. Proper laundry, apparently, was much more complicated.

Several emotions passed over Gale’s face just then. First confusion, then understanding, then worst of all, pity. Kai nearly shrank at the sight. It wasn’t the first time they’d received such a look, though they’d grown considerably rarer since they reached adulthood. Apparently, children were more deserving of pity than adults. Still, it always left them feeling dirty, like some used wrapper to be tossed in the fire.

Gale scrubbed a hand over his face, breathed in deeply, then placed his hands on his hips with a heavy sigh. “That thing you’re holding is a washboard,” he explained. “You use it to agitate the clothes. It helps get the dirt off.”

Kai’s brows pulled together. “Agitate?”

Gale regarded them a moment longer, then allowed his face to warm to a smile. “You know what,” he said, rolling his sleeves to the elbow, “Why don’t I show you?”

[twdmusicboxmystery]

Sometimes I can just never understand the hate that Beth receives from the GA. I’m always reading posts and comments about how Beth was a useless character or a brat or whatever, but they don’t really understand how important her character is. We don’t even have to view this in a Bethyl way—even if she did cause Daryl to burn down his past and become the character we all love and know now. Beth was just the epitome of good and hope and yeah even if she was a tinyyyy bit stubborn with getting a drink, she was able to drag Daryl out of his catatonic state and change him for good. Also hello—she was literally a surrogate mother for Judith and that was an extremely important role she had to play but she NEVER gets credit for it. She saved Carol at the hospital too and we all know just how much the GA cherishes Carol, yet the GA still calls Beth useless. Idk, it’s a bit frustrating and it’s so obvious people hate her mainly because she was paired with Daryl and like, kinda stole his heart..lol.

I have so many responses to this, lol. First of all, obviously I totally agree with you. I loved everything you said here.

The thing is, I don't think most of the GA hated Beth or still does. I think it was mostly the other shippers, especially the Carylers. For exactly the reasons you said: it was obvious they were setting up a Bethyl romance and that really threatened the other ships. Even though many of those shippers are very loud online, they truly are a minority. Most the GA either really liked Beth and Daryl together or at least didn't hate her. A lot of them probably had a meh-whatever-as-long-as-Daryl's-happy mentality about it. But again, they didn't hate her. It just seems like it's a lot of people because the online shippers are so loud about their beliefs.

As to her getting a drink, people's reaction to that has always bothered me. Because we've seen similar storylines with other characters. Maybe not the drink exactly, but what she did here to deal with her grief wasn't terribly different than Rick going to crazy town for a minute after Lori died. People might possibly wonder why Rick was like...frolicking with the butterflies in the yard when his family--including a newborn--needed him. But no one really said anything like that. And then there's Daryl in Find Me, who was so depressed for months and months that he hung out with the woods and didn't go back and see his family at Alexandria or the other communities for the better part of 2 years. Why doesn't anyone criticize him for that?

And don't get me wrong. I'm not being critical of either of our favorite heroes here. It's called trauma, people, and everyone deals with it in their own way. Beth dealing with it by looking for a drink probably sprang from what had already been established about both her character and her family (Hershel was an alcoholic in his youth).

So, all I'm saying is, keep in mind that the people who hate on her for that and think she's useless are being extremely hypocritical and exercising a truly shocking double standard. And the truth is, that kind of hate comes way more from women in the fandom than men. Think about that.

Obviously I also agree with you about Beth's affect on Daryl. That's been well established in our fandom, and I don't think I need to go into too much detail about it here. (Plenty of other metas already written about that.) But even outside of Daryl and their magical dynamic together, Beth's own arc was so much more than the haters make it out to be.

It's funny that you mention her taking care of Judith. My fellow theorists and I have been talking about the storyline, mostly in Fear right now, though I think the Maggie/Negan spinoff will get wrapped up in the same thing, of the children being kidnapped. From the very beginning, we saw children and babies around Beth, and we firmly believe Beth will be a big part of that storyline.

And what that means, is that the writers didn't have Beth taking care of Baby Judith back in S4 just because it was convenient or because they didn't know what to do with her character. They did it, at least in S4 and on after Gimple took over, because they were already setting up an arc for her that is just now playing out.

I get that most of the GA doesn't know or see that. Even so, these two arcs--Beth taking care of children and now children being taken by the CRM, when it's so obvious Grady was connected to the CRM--are so clearly linked over time. Believing that Beth was nothing more than a "babysitter" is severely short-sighted.

I could probably say more, but I'll stop there. Thanks for your thoughts, Nonny! As I said, heartily agree! Xoxo! 🍀💕

[inkofamethyst]

March 27, 2023

I swear it, one of these days I’m going to have something to talk about other than admissions and while we’re getting close, today is not yet that day.

I really need to get this out and release this some of this negative energy because it’s beginning to gnaw at me.  When I was admitted to my undergrad institution, I took all the things they said about other undergrads during my interview day personally.  I had a rough first semester because I was so focused on whether I was going to be able to live up to the high standard of a select few scholarship recipients who were highlighted on my interview day months prior.  Fulbright fellows, Rhodes scholars, Churchill scholars, public health activists, entrepreneurs, high-impact undergraduate researchers... and I felt like I had to prove my worth to my university, prove that I was worthy of the distinction, of the investment, by reaching those same heights.  And I couldn’t imagine reaching that level when I was struggling (read: unable to get As on lab reports and exams) in my first semester gen chem lab.  Before the interview at my Choice B... no, before I stood by my poster last year at the conference, the first semester of my freshman year was the last time I’d felt such intense academic imposter syndrome, and it’s the only time that it has lasted for longer than a few hours.  The Covid-19 pandemic was awful for me personally in a lot of ways, but separating me physically from school and allowing me to focus exclusively on myself was probably instrumental in tearing down that imposter syndrome, that need to prove myself and my worth.  Ultimately, I didn’t need to prove anything, I realized.  I just needed to focus on myself and finding a personally fulfilling career path, and I did.  And I’ve been so much happier for it (the two semesters where I considered “dropping out” (read: wondered whether I wanted to keep doing school after graduating), I was taking physics, and that explains that).

Should I choose to attend my Choice E (which becomes more and more likely by the day)... I am legitimately worried about those feelings returning and hitting hard.  Attending one of the most well-regarded institutions in the world, being considered the top most desired applicant of my respective pool even if I’m not awarded the ~special fellowship~, being told from multiple people that the PI is really looking forward to me joining the lab... I know I am a good student.  (I also know that being a Black woman in STEM, in anthropology, is part of what makes me desirable, and there’s no skirting around the fact that I will be “helping” my program’s reputation just as they’re helping mine, albeit to a lesser extent.)  I know I can rise to nearly any level with a bit of sweat and determination.  But I feel way out of my depth right now.  And due to the lack of explicit expectations, I am imagining ones into being that may not be reachable, realistically.

Maybe being aware of the potential for imposter syndrome will help mitigate the brunt of it.

[edit 2, an hour later: I have remembered what time of the month I’m getting close to and think that might account for at least some of these feelings]

Remember how I wanted to go on one of the outdoor adventure thingies my uni offers?  Remember how I wanted to go kayaking??  Well, I found a trip I liked and woke up at 5:55 am to register for one of the spots when the portal opened at six because apparently the spots go quick and ALL NINE SPOTS WERE GONE WITHIN A MINUTE.  This time there wasn’t a cute guy leading it who I wanted to get to know better and try/practice flirting on tbh (ahem, September 27, 2021), so I’m not overly upset about losing out, but I couldn’t manage to return to sleep before getting up an hour later which was unfortunate.

WAIT HOLD ON BACK TO THE ORIGINAL TOPIC: The admitted cohort at my Choice E was just sent a cute lil group email from the department and naturally I snooped into their LinkedIn profiles and uh... a few notes.  First of all, half of us are already affiliated with the university.  Take a step back and think on that for a second before we continue.  Okay.  (And I’m not going to pretend like I didn’t have my own advantages in this process, but still.)  Another went to undergrad at an Ivy, the other worked for a time at an Ivy-adjacent.  I can’t claim any of that.  Secondly, I am almost certainly the youngest of the bunch here.  None of them are undergrads currently.  Third, I do not feel nearly as accomplished as some of these folks, ha.  And I know, I know, I know, PhD acceptances are also about “potential” and “investment” and maybe being an undergrad during covid limited my opportunities to some extent or whatever but I still feel like I wasn’t that fantastic of an investment for my undergrad uni regardless of how thankful I am to be debt free.  And that’s the my cold hard truth (admittedly, representing my university as the sole student from that university at a national conference last year is probably a sizeable accomplishment).

But I can’t go to this event like a child among adults.  I can’t go to this event already quaking in my boots with imposter syndrome.  I haven’t even accepted the offer yet.  Now I’m really glad I didn’t do the LinkedIn snoop when my Choice D sent that group email.  It only would’ve psyched me out.  If I’m going to have any chance in academia I’m going to have to either get thicker skin or learn to hide my emotions better.  I think... I think I want to apply for more things.  I think I need to experience more rejection.  And it’s also the only way to pad up that resume with those really really impressive things.  

Dunno why but I wasn’t really feelin the vibes in rehearsal today.  Felt kinda dead.  Might be because I’ve been braiding every free second for the past three days and I still haven’t finished and I still have so much for school to do by tomorrow (technically due tomorrow night but I’d rather get it all out of the way) but I can’t travel with a half-braided head but I don’t want to go to bed late tonight :(  AND I STILL GOTTA PACK AGH

Maybe I will sacrifice tonight and just go to bed way early tomorrow :(  I’ll finish one assignment, do enough of my hair to hide the unfinished sections in a ponytail or something (I have twenty-one parts left and the only person I can blame for having so many (AND IT’S NOT LIKE THEY’RE TINY) is myself, unfortunately) then finish braiding at home tomorrow [edit, like two second later: but I gotta admit Imma look so good with them once they’re done???  my first time doing color 4, they’re a hot 26″.. whew], take a shower and hope my sections don’t poof up, “pack” (throw clothes in a suitcase and fold them neater at home), do/draft one more assignment, then go to bed.  Maybe not in that exact order, but those are the goals.  Four hours-ish max if I start now.  I can do this.  

Today I’m thankful that the weather was nice outside today even if I didn’t really get to enjoy much of it.  It’s Spring again~

[delphoxqueen]

Gigi Grant’s Diary- 13 Wishes (2013)

{Scroll to the bottom of the post for the actual diary pages!}

[H] = Hourglass

[S] = Star

This Diary Belongs to: Gigi Grant

I wish you wouldn’t read my diary.

Name: Gigi Grant

School: Monster High

[S][S][H][H][H]

Stars and sands, I detest being bottled up. Patience is a chief virtue among genies- after all, we don’t know when we’ll next be found and released- but it can be a difficult one to maintain. One tried to pass the time in any way one can, but as the centuries fall away, it can be quite taxing on the mind… especially myself occupied is one of the reasons I decided upon keeping a diary, I would like to keep track of my wonderful times in the outside world, and all the lovely monsters I’ve met. It will be something pleasant to turn to when I am sad and lonely… which seems to be more and more often.

[S][S][H][H][H][H]

There are many wonderful things about being a genie- the power you command is immense, and the places you find yourself can be amazing. And making wishes come true! What could be better than that? But there is always a very sad part, too… returning to the lantern when your tasks are done. Even though I am able to grant 13 wishes to each finder I meet/ more than most of my kind!- the time always seems to pass too quickly. I just returned from assisting my newest finder, a sweet banshee girl who wanted nothing more than to be able to sing beautifully instead of wailing mournfully. The look on her face when she first heard her new voice was so surprised and joyful that it made us both burst out laughing! Since that was her one heart’s desire, it was difficult for her to think of other ways to spend her wishes, but together we found ways to grant good fortune on her friends and family as well. She even postponed using her last wish so that I could spend more time in the outside world with her. But as always, we had to say goodbye… Still it’s marvelous when one’s finder is someone who’s truly kind. My father once warned me that my finders may not always be so pure of heart, and that I may find their wishes difficult to grant- but also that it’s not the genie’s place to hide a finder’s wishes. The finder must choose his or her own way. Thus far I’ve been lucky, as all my finders’ desires have been good natured (or at the very least, harmless), but I dread the day I will hear an ill-meant wish.

[S][H][H][S]

In the lantern there is an endless expanse of sand, and the palace that I call home. Well, I sat endless, but it doesn’t really end or begin anywhere. Once, when I was very, very bored, I set out from my home, intending to find the end of the world inside the lantern- but after an hour’s walk, I came back upon the palace I’d started from the other side, as if I’d gone around in a circle. It was very disorienting. I’ve tried it again a handful of times, but it’s no use. The lantern is entirely self-contained, and I am contained within. It has its perks, of course- my palace is beautiful, and, of course, I can rearrange it however I choose. If I want a swimming pool, or a room filled with ice cream, or a closet full of jeweled gowns, I need only nod my head. But without someone to share it with, it all seems very empty. In my world in the lantern, I can make nearly anything I want… nearly anything, that is, except a friend.

[S][H][H][H][H][S]

I will never understand the desire for finders to wish for more wishes.

A) It never works and

B) it really annoys your genie.

Besides, I grant 13 wishes per finder, which I think is quite a lot by genie standards! Some finders have told me of legends that genies grant three wishes only, but I’ve heard of genies who can only grant one- and some who can grant even more than me! Of course, genies are quite rare, and we don’t often meet. Perhaps it depends on the magic of the lantern we’re bound to, or perhaps our own inborn magic… Hmm. I suppose in many ways, I am still learning about my powers myself. Maybe I’m capable of things even I’m not aware of. Still, though, I wish that monsters would not stop wishing for exponential wishes. It will simply never happen. Myself, I only have one wish… and, oh, you can probably guess what it would be.

[S][S][H]

How did the stranger know my heart’s desire? Why did the finder decide to listen to him? How could I have been so lucky? I do not know- what I do know is that now I have a friend, and my long solitude within the lantern is at last at an end, thanks to that kind finder’s wish. Her name is Whisp, and she is my own shadow- brought to life during the Shadow Eclipse, and with a mind and will of her own. It’s strange, you would think my shadow would be the exact same as me, but Whisp is most definitely one of a kind- she is clever, mischievous and funny, and bursting with new ideas. I’ve hardly had time to write, we’ve been having so much fun together. Yesterday we raced camels across the sands, and today she wants to repaint the main hall of the palace puce, just to see how it would look. And anything she can think of, I’m happy to do- she seems to have some magic of her own, but it’s not as strong as mine. Still, I think with time, she can learn… and we have all the time in the world.

[S][S][H][H][H]

Whisp is angry with me. It’s the first time she has ever been angry with me… at least, I think so. The finders are the problem… or rather, the way I come and go with their desires is the real problem. Whisp’s power has been growing, but as of yet, she hasn’t been able to emerge from the lantern with me. She’s angry that I don’t take her with me when I go- but because I have no warning when I’m summoned and can’t return to the lamp until I have completed my tasks, I am unable to. I understand her sadness… after all, I know how it feels to be left alone. But in this matter, I am powerless, and I think she cannot imagine that I am powerless in anything. After all, she sees me working great magic in the lantern all the time. Her anger upsets me, but I can't imagine we won’t be able to work it out. She’s my best friend… I don’t want to lose her.

[H][S][H][S]

I thought having Whisp was a dream come true… but she’s become a nightmare. Whisp has been concealing her strength from me- she had grown more powerful than I realized. On my most recent summons to the outside world, she followed me- and to my horror, began to corrupt the finder, whispering dark thoughts and changing her desires, making her wish for evil things. As a genie I cannot influence a finder so… but Whisp is strong, and has no such limitations on her powers. If it weren’t for the magic mirror, I shudder to think what could have become of the world outside, plunged into eternal shadow… Thank goodness the finder came to her senses, and wished us both returned inside. For now, Whisp is hiding from me- she has her side of the palace, and I have mine, but I fear that she may soon control the world inside the lantern, I know she cannot, would not harm me- or at least, I hope not- but I am afraid of what may happen should she grow even stronger. I must try protect the finders from her influence, no matter the cost… but u do not know how difficult that will be, especially as I am unable to warn them directly. Stars and sands, what can I do?

The Very First Day of November

How strange it is to finally date an entry… to finally exist as part of the world, rather than apart from it! So much had happened… today will be my first day of school, with my new friends, and with hope for a new start. It is stran free being a genie without a lantern… my powers are unfettered, but I’ve had to promise Headmistress Bloodgood that I will keep any magic to a minimum on campus, which is probably for the best. She says they’ve never had a genie as student before, and that it will be an interesting learning experience for everyone. For me, especially, I think :) Clawdeen tried to warn me that I will find school “like, so deadly boring” after granting wishes for so long, but I told her that after being locked in a lantern for centuries is much fuller than any Bite-ology class could ever hope to be! (Frankie said I probably shouldn’t mention that to the teachers, though… they might take it as a challenge.) For now, I am closing the book in this diary and starting a new one- filled with excitement and new friends, and new ways of making my own wishes come true.

About Me

Name: Gigi Grant

Age: Dad says I’m 15, but he lost my birth certificate somewhere between Darius the Great and Julius Caesar, so I’m really not sure.

Monster Parent: The Genie.

Killer Style: Natural fabrics, especially silk, in bright colors. I’m also big on halter-tops, baggy pants and slippers. Basically, I’m all about comfort. Of course, I can’t be a total slob, cause I never know when I’m going to have to pop out for a meeting with the new boss.

Freaky Flaw: It’s not a real stretch to guess that I’m claustrophobic. Being stuck in a lamp for millennia will do that to you.

Pet: A scorpion called Sultan Sting. Don’t let the name fool you — he’s actually quite unpretentious.

Favorite Activity: I love to go sightseeing. It’s always a bonus when a monster wishes to take a trip to someplace I haven’t already been.

Biggest Pet Peeve: That wishing for extra wishes thing. As if 13 wishes isn’t enough.

Favorite School Subject: Astronomy- I love space. It’s just so open and un-stoppered.

Least Favorite School Subject: Driver’s Ed. It’s not so much the class but the tiny car you have to drive.

Favorite Color: I love peaches and gold’s.

Favorite Food: My father’s secret recipe hummus and fresh baked pita. Even after all this time I have never grown tired of it!

BFF’s: I wish I could name just one.

[dailyaudiobible]

11/04/2022 DAB Transcript

Ezekiel 10:1-11:25, Hebrews 6:1-20, Psalms 105:16-36, Proverbs 27:1-2

Today is the 4th day of November welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian it is wonderful to be here with you today as we get ourselves moved into this brand-new month and continue putting one foot in front of the other, picking up where we left off and moving forward in the Scriptures. So, we are reading from the English Standard Version this week and we have moved into the book of Ezekiel. Today we will read Ezekiel chapters 10 and 11.

Commentary:

Okay. So, I have been listening to a lot of music that is old and actually this is kind of been going on for several years now. And it's not I only listen old music, but it's that I have found in the melodies of my childhood like all kinds of childhood memories are there attached to the songs. And, so, you know, I hear all the songs that I can kinda remember. I was just too little to really have favorite bands or favorite songs, but I can remember. And there was this song...I don't remember the name of it…maybe looking for love. I don’t know, but it was like looking…I'm looking for love in all the wrong places, I'm looking for love in too many faces, and that's about all I can remember from it. Like I can remember the melody but I won't…I won't offer that. I can remember being just a little guy and my mom kind of explaining the song to me like…like you don't ever look for love in the wrong places will you? Will…you won’t do that, will you? And of course, I said no and all of that. And, so, even that little piece of melody or piece of lyric that I can remember is attached to a memory of my mom trying to instruct her little…her little son in the way that he should go. And that sentiment is really found in what we read in the book of Proverbs today. And we had to verses. “Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring. Let another phrase you and not your own mouth, a stranger and not your own lips.” Now we probably have been around or even know well people to listen to the sentiment and that proverb. These are people who are not waiting for others to praise them. They go seeking it out and that materializes in all kinds of ways. They will insert themselves into every conversation that they can get themselves into and they will flip that conversation onto themselves in short order, right? So, you’re talking to a friend, you’re comparing parenting notes, you’re talking about your kids and before you know it you're talking about their kids. And it's not really just comparing notes. The whole thing was shifted. Regardless of the topic, they’re listening to what you have to say. Even if you're pouring out your soul, they’re listening for the opportunity to dive in and begin to shift it. Even if it's just, you know, I know how that feels, I remember this one time when… And that’s it. Whatever you're going through is gone and now you're here to hear them talk. They’re looking for love in all the wrong places because the person who attaches themselves to other people, only to get validated or affirmed or loved and they to shift everything onto themselves in some kind of weird conversational maneuver so that five minutes later you…you go wait a second, we were talking about a totally different thing. How is that this keep…keeps getting shifted back onto something that you're going through? And so often comparison enters these kinds of conversations. You're going through something. They've gone through it, but they’re killing it now. They're doing awesome now. You should follow the pathways that they have taken to their bliss and superiority. And so often these things come from deep-seated places of actual insecurity, that just simply needs to be filled. We’re looking for love in all the wrong places. The proverb says, let another praise you and not your own mouth, a stranger and not your own lips. When we’re looking for love, affirmation, validation in all the wrong places, if it's something that we have to conjure up, if we have to arrive in a place, set up the lights, figure out where we’re gonna shine the lights on that seat, sit in that seat, and shine all the light on ourselves we’re looking the wrong places. And the irony is that people like that. And we may be a person like that. So, like we may have some inner work to do for some outer examination to just see how our communication style actually is and how it lands on people. We all know people like this. We are all a person capable of this, the grandstanding, the conceit, the bragging. And the funny thing is, when you're around a person like that you be kind, you can be tolerant, but you don't usually…like you usually walk away feeling like…ehhh…like what was that? And when you’ve had to move through a session like that and you had this conversation and then this conversation got flipped and switched and them you know it and then you know it going into the next one. You start building up this idea of what's gonna happen and you begin to avoid those kinds of situations. And, so, what the person actually needs, which is just to be seen or just to be heard, or just to be affirmed is being demanded and extracted from other people. And usually that's not appreciated and so it becomes repellent. And, so, the very thing that the person is looking for is the very thing that they can't get. After a while it runs its course and people begin to avoid. Usually what's actually needed is trusted, deep, loyal, abiding relationships and friendships with people that have permission to speak into our lives frankly and that have given us permission to speak lovingly and frankly and honestly into their lives. That feels a lot more like being seen and actually validated or affirmed then demanding it of people through bragging or hijacking conversations. Let another praise you the proverb says, not to run mouth, a stranger and not your own lips. And If we have a habit of doing that we need to take some time and ask why. What are we looking for? What are we going for? What are we lacking? What are we missing here? What…what are we demanding? What are we trying to get from people? What is so important to us that we will draw all kinds of attention to ourselves and even become false and pretend to be somebody else to be seen. Like what is that about? It seems to me that we are ultimately looking for, ultimately, is to know that our Father sees us and that He loves us and that that is the original cornerstone, like that is the foundational building block to our very identity. And if we skip that foundational cornerstone then…well…then we don't have a foundational cornerstone. And, so, we’re trying to fill in the gap in all kinds of ways, ways that ultimately push people away from us. So, let's spend some time with this idea today given to us from the book of Proverbs. It's like so many of the other things in the book of Proverbs. We can read them. We can understand them. But then we have to take some time for personal reflection and observe ourselves and pay attention to ourselves so that we can understand how to apply wisdom to ourselves. If we are looking for love in the wrong places, if we’re demanding it in the wrong ways, if we’re not able to see other people where they are and who they are and affirm them and love them then how is it that we think we can demand it back and that it be real? And if we don't understand that we have a loving Father that is fathering us through this life and have a sense of affirmation of His smile upon us we can go searching for all kinds of things in all kinds of places that end up being the wrong places and spend a lifetime wandering in the wilderness when we were loved all along and could've reflected that love out into the world instead of demanding all of the light be upon us and all of the affirmation being poured into our brokenness. So often we find healing in our own lives by offering healing in other people's lives. And so often it's so easy, so often it's just getting the attention off of ourselves and being present with another person. And, so, let's give that some thought, maybe even practice a little bit and see what happens as we seek first the kingdom, seek first the chance to be an ambassador for Jesus in this world, by loving one another and seeing if we don't, in fact reap what we sow.

Prayer:

Holy Spirit, we invite You into that. We live in a culture that is very self-absorbed and that gets very validated. It really is all about us we are told and what we find in life is that really isn't, that we find meaning in our interactions and in our genuine affection and love for one another. And, so, when we use people to affirm ourselves then that's what we’re doing, using people, which is ultimately not giving us what we seek. Holy Spirit help us to love like You love and know that we are loved by You matter what. We pray this in the precious and mighty name of Jesus. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com, that is homebase, that his home on the Global Campfire. That's where you find out what is going on around here unless you're using the Daily Audio Bible app. And that puts it all in the palm of your hand. You can get the Daily Audio Bible app free from…from the app store that works with your phone or your tablet, your smart device. So, check that out.

It's…it's release week. And, so, that's what's going on around here. There's a new resource in the community here around the Global Campfire. It is called Sleep, a contemplative journey and it is available now, wherever it is that you stream or download your digital music onto that smart device that we were just talking about. Wherever it is that you do that you should be able to find the Sleep album. And just look for Sleep, a contemplative journey and you should be able to find it no problem. It is available among all the different digital distributors throughout the world. We’re familiar with certain ones in the country that I live in the United States, but there are others and they’re all over the world and it has been released worldwide. And so, wherever you may be, you should be able to find it and maybe enjoy it. Enjoy, allowing space to be created for rest. It's an actual human necessity. And so often our rest is…is disrupted in any number of ways, whether that be just the anxieties that our subconscious is kind of wrestling through or whether that be just that our bodies are resting fitfully. This is space to move into and simply drift away into a restful sleep. And, so, check that out. It is available now.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, thank you humbly. Thank you. We wouldn't…we wouldn't be here around the Global Campfire every day if we weren't here together. And, so, thank you humbly and deeply for your partnership. There is a link on the homepage at dailyaudiobible.com. If you're using the app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner, or the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement, you can hit the Hotline button in the app. That's the little red button up at the top or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Coming soon…

[wiseatom]

hi! i was wondering if u were willing to share what ur relationship to writing as a writer has been recently or when you first started out? maybe also like how you envision a piece before you start writing it?

my problem is that i only seem to want to write when i'm REALLY entrenched in a fandom and that hasn't happened since i gave up on harry potter a few years ago. so i'm pretty out of practice, and i wasn't that good to begin with, and i don't even really consider myself a writer, but i just have so many ideas for the characters that i love that i feel like i need to write them down!!! any advice?

anyway i just love your content so i thought i'd ask. no pressure to respond tho haha :)

hello!!! i am absolutely willing to share because i’ve had a very similar experience to you!!

i’ve had a really weird relationship with writing fic. i wrote and published around 400k words of fic from the time i was thirteen to when i was sixteen, and then literally just. stopped. for several years, lol. i got really into art around then, and spent more time and energy on developing that skill set vs writing, and i just found it very hard to balance the two (and i still do!!). i wrote a little and posted a little when i was around twenty one/twenty two, then stopped actively writing again until last year. i completely get where you’re coming from as far as feeling out of practice, and i also really only want to write when i’m deep into a fandom — i can’t tell you how many unfinished fics i have sitting in my google drive because of how many times my interests have shifted over the years lol. it’s a crime ❤️

my best advice is to stop getting so caught up on whether or not you’re a “writer” (whatever that means to you! it’s different for everyone!) and whether or not what you’re writing is “good”. writing is a skill, and like with any skill, you can’t get “good” without being “bad” first. i put these in quotations because i use these terms very loosely — creative skills in general are annoying and hard, because your brain learns what “good” is faster than you are able to actually produce. that’s why blocks happen! because you feel like nothing you’re coming out with lives up to the learned standard you have in your head. sometimes your standard/your ability match, and then your standard pulls ahead and your ability has to catch up. something i’ve found that’s helped my writing so much is making sure i’m reading more, because being well-read increases that standard, and your ability WILL get there. you just have to fumble and flail a little for that to happen.

which leads to my writing process! it depends on what i’m writing — i mostly write one-shots, but i have a multi-chapter in the works that is Scaring Me because i haven’t written anything multi-chapter since i was sixteen lol. i don’t have any master doc with writing ideas, so each new idea gets it’s own separate document. once i make a new doc, everything i’ve thought of for that idea goes in there: dialogue, a certain sentence, concepts i can’t turn into a sentence at the moment but want to later, etc. with dialogue, i find it easiest to script it without dialogue tags. isolating the lines of dialogue like that helps me hear it in the characters’ voices, which helps me identify when things are out of character or worded weirdly. when it comes to actually writing the scene the dialogue is in, i just follow the script and re-write with dialogue tags, narrative introspection, etc. i usually have the beginning of a fic in my mind, script all the dialogue associated with the idea, and then go back and write (mostly) chronologically around everything. it’s very disjointed, but it’s what works for me! with multi-chaptered fics, i make a pretty rough outline so that i can make sure certain ideas don’t get lost and that themes are cohesive.

editing is a whole other process, because like i mentioned earlier, it’s not productive to get caught up on whether something is “good”/“bad”, so when i’m writing, i try to treat it as a very rough draft (emphasis on try, bc this is easier said than done, lol). once the draft is done, i go back through and absolutely tear it apart, like to the point of bullying myself lol. since i use drive to write fic, my first run through is just making comments on things i think need to be reworded, awkward parts, etc. then i go through the entire thing again on suggestion mode and make those changes, and do a third reread to see how everything is sitting. yes, this process does make you sick of your own fic before you even post it ❤️ after the third run through, if everything is good to go, i’ll plug it into ao3, fix the formatting, and then read again in post preview because i’m a little insane! i accidentally hit post instead of post preview for it’s a choice, so i am still finding formatting issues weeks later lol. but anyway! i find that doing it this way helps my ability match my standards a little better!

i am SO sorry that this is so long omg. i hope that this answered your questions and helps at all!! thank you for enjoying my content and letting me ramble for four paragraphs!!!

[dailyaudiobiblechronological]

7/30/2023 DAB Chronological Transcription

Isaiah 54 - 58 Welcome to Daily Audio Bible Chronological, I'm Jill. Today's the 30th day of July, Welcome everybody. It's so good to be back here with you starting a brand new week off together, In the word, a brand new week together Means a new start, a fresh start. Thank God for new beginnings, new mercies, new grace. A new depth of love that I can't fathom. Oh, but I need it so bad. And so I'm going to take it today, along with all that God freely gives to us as we turn the page together in the story of our lives and in the story of God's Word. Yesterday we picked back up The book of Isaiah and we're going to finish the month of July out together in the book of Isaiah for the next couple of days. So today we're reading Isaiah chapters 54 through 58 and brand new translation, This week we're starting the Christian Standard Bible, Isaiah chapter 54.

Prayer 

Father, we thank you for your word today. And as we continue in this book of Isaiah, the prophecies, the prayers, the songs, We hear that hope is being restored. And who are we God. What people are we without the hope Of you. Your love, Your mercy, your forgiveness. The healer of our brokenness. You are our only hope, And I thank you that you are.Read this Now in the name of the Father, the Son, And the Holy Spirit, Amen.

Outro

And looking forward to a beautiful week together in the word of God. I'm Jill, Until tomorrow, Love one another.

Community Prayer Line

Good morning, DABC. It's Tony calling from Suffolk. Today is Monday, July 24th. I want to lift up Adrian from Maryland. Heavenly Father, I want to thank you, Lord God, for being the Almighty God that you are. Heavenly Father, I'm asking for divine healing, divine protection right now in the mighty name of Jesus. Lord God, I'm asking Father that you heal any interest that she may have. Receive from the falls dealer. But Lord God I'm asking that you just strengthen her physically Father from the top of her head to the soles of her feet in and everything. Father is not of you I buy right now in the mighty name of Jesus, Lord God did she go on day-to-day. I'm reading your word and trusting you Lord God She is getting strong, Lord God, physically Lord.In mind Lord God embodied and I just wanna trust you Lord God just for you being the almighty God that you are. And we continue to give you all the glory, all the praise in the mighty name of Jesus. Amen DABC as always I love you guys. I'm continue to be encouraged and know that God is always behind the scenes working whether we realize it or not.I just want to again thank you guys so much for being on.There for all of us, I love my brothers and sisters, and it's just feels so good to know that God is in the midst of it all. Once again, I love you all. Continue to be encouraged for wonderful day.

To the young lady that asked for prayer to be softened, her brothers full of prank on her.It's not a silly request for you to pray for something with that. My feelings were very badly hurt yesterday.Luckily I was by myself. It was a certain situation and.I was so deeply hurt by it, and I talked to Lord, I said. You're the only one. I'm gonna talk to you about this.And then I remembered that my victory is found in my praise and of him. So I praised him several times and he just.Let it wash over me. So my suggestion is for you to praise him.And pray about it but.Lord Jesus, I pray you'll be with her, and that you'll soften her, her heart and.Help her to not get so upset with her little brothers. They have sweet peer and pensions and it's their boyish way to love on their sister. I pray that you will make her heart turn to the sweeter side with her brothers. Do something, maybe not so great.And just let her be able to see what it is. Just a childlike attitude.Trying to play with her sister? Lord, I pray you, be with her. He'll watch over her and you'll give her a mind.To where she can dip.I'm calling to pray for Sophia to mother recently passed. While she's here studying last for Lord God to God, Sophia Lord God allow her to Lord God to know that.Her mother's spirited with her allow her to have the strength to know where God that she.Period is with her and stronger now than it was when she was alive because now the spirit has no bouncing, no limits its surrounding. Her work got Gallic guiding her to gather strength and knowledge and understanding that she needs to power through and get her degree Lord God and by honoring her, her mother, by living the best life that she possibly can.Allow related death, wisdom, understanding and lower Lord God to move forwards and surround her Lord God with people that can help her be the best possible can be and honor her mother by the way she lives her life. I know it's to be tough because I lost my mother when I was in college and.The grace of God. I graduated and but it's something that is is tough especially when you can't be there and I asked God to bless every.Son and daughter and child, his mother and recently are bad past. And while they were going through a troubling moment in their lives and allow them more God to be blessed and allow them to know that their parents spirit is with God. And so there was stronger now than ever before was now you're with God as well and Jesus name we pray.We thank you, Lord God.For this day.Carpet Diem driver.Help enable others to have a truly blessed day.Good morning, Dave Seafoam. This is Lady of Victory on Monday the 24th of.July. This call is for the brother from Baltimore, for his friend Sophia, who lost her mom and was unable to attend the services.Can we?Coming on behalf of Sofia got in. We recognize that you are a good God even when things happen that we don't understand.Got These are the times that we have to come to you and trust and faith that you love us.Unconditionally.And I pray that you will comfort Sophia's heart. God, I I know that she has.A myriad of things going on with being in school and her mom passing away and not being able to get to the services. So much is going on in her head that could potentially be affecting her studies and her doctoral program. And I just pray God that you would surround her with people who love her and.More importantly, love you.And that they can direct her to you and that you would strengthen her and comfort her.And this, this, this unchartered territory for her, and the times that.And it hurts. It hurts and and it's almost like she doesn't get an opportunity to have that closure. But I ask God that you would just surround her with your loving kindness.That you let her know that you love her and that.As she lives to see her mom again, that that reunion will be sweet and also God for.Uh.The young lady who?Is is following the the tortoise I think she calls her name some other part I apologize, but God, I ask that you would just heal her from the crown of her head.To the soul of her feet, God, that you will stable out her, her balance, God, so that she could stop falling. In Jesus name we pray. Amen.Hello, this is Tammy. I'm calling from the Central Coast of California.Holy Spirit has been prompting me to call.For a while now, and I've been.Putting it off just because it.I guess it just hurts to.Realize that.How desperate I am.For prayer and for God to move in a situation with.My children, and especially my youngest who is.Currently.Not.Wanting to see me or spend time with me.Because of a.Situation where I told her I was disappointed in something she was doing before she turned 18.And she turned 18 on July 13th. And it's just.I've talked to her once since then.And she's been really hard for this Mama.So I would greatly.Appreciate your prayers for.For myself.And my daughter Sophia.And broke my son Ian.Thank you. I appreciate you guys so much.Love and blessings to you all. 

[ghost-proofbaby]

OH MY GOD. I'm late to the game (which is funny because I DM'd you on Wednesday after you posted it) in reading chapter 60. I need to just actually use Ao3 the correct way and subscribe to stories but OMG!

I need you to know that this line: "He’s always known he would die for her, long before he’d identified the love he gardened for her, but he’s never been more sure of it than now." BETTER NOT MEAN WHAT I THINK IT MEANS MA'AM.

*tiny voice* I would die.

It was such a gorgeous chapter, I'm literally here sobbing. It was so poetically written and perfect. I know we joke about you torturing us with Mordor, but I can't wait for the torture to begin and for it to be epic and absolutely destroy our hearts. And hopefully there will be a happy ending then too.

Otherwise I propose a general readers strike until you write us an AU to the AU? Cool? Cool. We can not read under these conditions.

Anyway, I love you, you genius.

nonsense there’s no such thing as late to the game! i know some people who are waiting to read until i finish this (and some people who ended up getting impatient and reading anyways which was sort of funny to witness i can’t lie 😭)

and i have no clue what you think that means. 😀 not a single clue. what could that be possibly mean? he just loves her. he loves her a lot. (i need to stop being such a sarcastic jerk oh my gosh)

there’s this phrase i once heard that goes “the waiting is torturous. i hope it’ll last” or at least something along those lines and i think about it a lot while writing this story. i feel like i’ve built and hyped up this sequel quite a bit, and i really hope it meets everyone’s expectations and standards! especially mine haha

also, crazy thing - earlier today i literally had the thought “i’m going to have to write a fix it fic for my own damn fix it fic”. maybe amongst the angst i’ll occasionally come on here and do up some fluffy requests for the entire AU. like, sure, they’re fighting vecna in the current chapter, but would anyone like some ‘willow and eddie adopt their first stray cat’ happiness? just me? okay okay fair enough

i’m sending allllll the love right back at you, you wonderful human being. forever grateful for you guys and putting up with my tomfoolery

[acidiccunt]

one time i was hooking up w this guy and he went to take off his belt but it was velcro so it made the most unsexy noise imaginable and he kept apologizing for how embarrassing it was and i had to tell him that i hooked up multiple times w a dude who literally used the metal buckle of an airplane seatbelt as his belt buckle

[shreddedparchment]

Perennial Pt.06

03/08/2022

We Belong

Pairing: Bucky x Reader          Word Count: 2,974

Warnings: angst, pining, picnics, jealousy, fluff

Featured Flower: Cornflower

A/N: I’ve been so fucking eager to write this chapter! I’ve had this one in my head for a long time and I’m so glad to get it out finally. Hope y’all like it! xoxo

Please don’t steal, translate, or repost my fics anywhere.

Don’t be an asshole.

You’re not exactly sure what to do with yourself on your day off. Kamala had talked you into taking more days off per month and you have to admit that without the routine of going into the shop, you feel super restless.

So, you decide to go into the shop but only to water the plants.

Several people stop by and poke their heads below the metal shutters which you closed halfway once you were inside. They pull on the door but you point to the closed sign and their reactions range from embarrassment to irritation at the fact that you’re not open.

As you tidy and tend to your plants, you pluck out the few dead flowers and move them into compost before finding the ones that won’t be good by the time you come in the day after tomorrow.

That turns out to be your cosmos which haven’t been selling as well as you’d hoped.

Once you’ve picked the ones in worse shape, though still in pretty good shape by a flower’s standards, you move to your counter and start putting together something simple for yourself again.

Cosmos aren’t your favorite but they’re very pretty and a very friendly flower in general. You can’t help the smile that stretches your lips as you arrange them.

With an overflow of Queen Anne’s Lace, you take enough to fill out the rest of the bouquet and are pleased with the bright bloom of the blue, coral, and bright pink petals of your cosmos.

You tie the whole thing together with a simple white ribbon and admire the small and easy arrangement with as unbiased an eye as you can.

It’s pretty and you’ll have to think about making more and putting them up for sale. Maybe they’ll sell more in this combination. The blue tones down the pinks and give the whole thing a slightly more melancholy vibe.

You’re only just really admiring your work when a quiet buzzing pulls your attention to your much smaller purse than you usually carry to work.

Setting the bouquet down, you move to grab your phone and after a quick glance you swipe to answer and hold it to your ear.

“Yes?”

“I know you’re at the shop,” says an accusatory voice.

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are! You’re supposed to be taking the day off.”

“I am!” you argue, moving to pull your purse over your shoulder. “I just came in to water the plants and clean out the ones that needed throwing.”

“You could have done that on Monday.”

“Kamala,” you begin.

“What are you going to do with your day off?” she asks, ignoring you.

“I’m not sure actually, but now that I’ve come into the shop I feel a little less anxious. What do people do on their days off?” you wonder, moving to pick up your bouquet.

You head for the door, shutting and locking it before closing the shutters and locking that too.

“Hmm, go on dates!” Kamala exclaims.

“Very funny.”

“Oh, come on! What about Bucky? Y’all looked kinda like you-”

“No, Kamala. He has a girlfriend, remember? And he ignored me for so long. Clearly I’m not that important to him. Let it go.” You order.

“I can’t!” Kamala whines. “Y’all would look so cute together! Plus, if you could introduce me to the other Avengers…”

“I’ve never even met them.” You laugh, unable to help yourself.

Kamala’s true intentions are so thinly veiled that even if she hadn’t mentioned the other Avengers, you’d still know what she’s after.

“Yeah, I know, and you’re not even trying to meet them!” Kamala chastises.

You laugh and she sighs heavily.

“Well, I guess just do whatever you want to. As long as it’s not work. Read a book or go on a long walk or the museum or an art gallery. Something! Anything. The world is your oyster, boss.”

“Hm,” you ponder, wondering what you could possibly do today that’ll make it feel like a day unwasted. “I’ve always wanted to go on a picnic.”

“Alone?” Kamala wonders.

“Yes, alone.”

“Then, do that. Doesn’t sound like a lot of fun, but to each their own I guess.”

“Gee, thanks kid.”

“You’re welcome! Anyway, I gotta go. I’ll see you on Monday! NO WORKING!” she orders then the line goes dead leaving you feeling just a little more empty but with an idea of what your day will look like now at least.

~~~~~~~~~~

At first walking onto the large green expanse of the park fills you with trepidation.

The noise isn't too bad but there's a cacophony of voices laughing and talking and just generally filling the air.

It's not bad noise but rather humanizing. This is what people out and about sound like when they can just be themselves and enjoy their time with friends, family, and lovers.

You feel self conscious a bit, walking out alone to an empty spot with your wicker basket.

You wonder if you're overdressed. You'd chosen a long, cerulean polka dot wrap dress, tied at your back with a long loose bow. The sleeves are very short, almost capped with flowing fabric and the neckline a straight but flattering V.

It's the slit along your left leg that worries you most but despite your hesitation that it might be inappropriate or draw too much attention, no one is watching you as you walk to your chosen spot in the shade of a very large looming tree.

There are a few others around it but no one too close that it would feel like you're bothering them or they you.

They're also too busy with their partner and families to pay you any mind.

It takes you about five minutes to roll out the two blankets you'd brought and the one small pillow you'd shoved into the basket then another five to pull out the small portions of food you'd slipped into reusable containers for easy transportation.

You pop open three mason jars with assorted fruit, a container with sliced veggies, and a wider container with a chicken wrap sliced into quarters for easy eating. Lastly you produce a long reusable bottle of your favorite fruit juice, still cold from spending a night in your fridge.

After sitting there on your blankets, dress carefully spread, food laid out and ready for eating, you reach into your basket and pull out your book to rest gently on top of your legs.

For a while you watch the people around you. Not the ones immediately in your vicinity but rather those a little further out.

You observe them as they mingle and play. Some of them throwing a frisbee carefully, others playing games on their own blankets or lounging about in the warm spring sun doing exactly what you planned, reading and eating.

There are more couples than you’d thought there would be but there are also a few solos as well which eases your worries about how silly you must look coming out here on your own.

Half an hour into your people watching, all the nerves you’d felt about how awkward it would be to do this alone vanish completely and you’re able to really relax as you munch and finally prop open your book to read.

The gentle breeze keeps you from getting too hot throughout the day, even once your juice has cooled to only just fresh.

The leaves overhead hiss as their branches sway, the soft crinkle of said leaves and the creak of the branches is soothing, distracting enough from the distant horns blaring in the rest of the city.

Somewhere beyond the park an ambulance wails but you hardly hear it as you read.

On some level, you realize that someone’s walking close by. Several groups have passed you throughout the day and so you’re accustomed to ignoring the passersby in favor of keeping to yourself.

These shuffling feet however, unlike the others, stop at the end of your blanket and had you not been so intent on your book, you might have noticed. Instead it isn’t until he calls your name that you look up.

He’s stooped over a little, left hand in the pocket of his loose gray pants held up with a dark leather belt. His shirt is a dark green, his jacket warm dark brown leather.

“I thought that was you,” he says with a smile, steel blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles.

“Bucky…” you realize, but more than how good he looks, your eyes devour the woman on his other arm. His regular arm.

She’s short, the top of her head barely reaching the middle of his neck. Her skin is beautiful and just as you’d pictured it when he’d described her though you’d pictured a warmer tone than her cooler umber.

You can see the rosy cheeks Bucky had mentioned and while there is a natural pink flair to her cheekbones, there’s definitely some soft blush to accentuate her undertone.

Her eyes are large and clear, bright as they observe you right back. Her long dark hair in what looks like hundreds of carefully crafted small braids are half gathered behind her back and tied off with a thick white ribbon to match her white peasant dress, her slender shoulders drawing not only your eye but the eyes of several of the other men sitting around the spot you’d chosen.

She’s a goddess. More than you’d thought possible.

It fills your stomach with squiggly snakes. You swallow hard and try not to let your insecurities overwhelm you.

“So this is the florist?” she asks, smiling from ear to ear which only makes her more stunning. “All of your bouquets have been so lovely. I can’t stop praising you to all of my friends.”

Wonderful, she’s drop dead gorgeous and socially adept.

You smile bashfully despite your internal struggle. Being complimented about your arrangements from someone who has received them as gifts is always flattering.

“Oh, um…thanks. I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

Even if you’re dying inside, you keep your smile kind and lean into the surprise of seeing Bucky and his girlfriend so suddenly so that maybe that might hide anything else you might be feeling.

You do notice that she’s holding a small bouquet of plain cornflowers. Nothing extra to go with them. No filler or greens. Just the flowers themselves. While it might be plain, in her hands, they look as if they don’t lack anything.

“Oh, uh…” Bucky begins, noticing what’s grabbed your attention. “Well, you were closed so I had to go to another shop and they weren’t really willing to make me something as nice as you do.”

You’re slightly jealous that he went to another shop but you are closed and shake off the feeling of silly injustice. This emotion at least you know is petty and childish and can shake your head as you attempt to play it up.

“Cheating on me with another florist?” you tut and Bucky laughs.

“You’re closed,” he insists.

His girlfriend clears her throat drawing both your attentions back to her.

“It’s Kali, right? Bucky has talked so much about you. He was downright blushing when he first told me about you. I couldn’t get him to focus long enough to give me a good description of you so that I could pick just the right flowers. He was smitten.”

This seems to brighten her up and she clings a little more to his elbow as she leans against him. Every move is like knives to your ribs.

“Oh yeah? Isn’t that sweet. If only he’d been able to remember how smitten he was a few weeks ago. I only just got him back from all that hero work.”

The way she says it strikes a chord with you and you realize that maybe you aren’t the only person Bucky neglected the past few months.

“I said I was sorry,” he pleads, turning to her and fixing her with such a look that you turn away or you’ll shatter.

“Just a text here and there,” she further explains, whining to you really about her boyfriend’s neglect.

If he’d been sending her a text only here and there while he was busy on missions, what right did you have to expect the same? You’re not his girlfriend.

Suddenly you feel very foolish about your reaction to seeing him again and it sobers you instantly.

Despite the sting in your eyes, you smirk. Disappointed and somehow bitterly amused with yourself.

“Ms. Weller!”

The shout comes from the distant field and Kali turns in its direction as Bucky meets your eye briefly as you clear your throat, hoping you’re not obvious in your emotions.

“Oh, look Bucky, it’s one of my kids. I’ll be right back,” Kali lets him go and hurries off towards her student leaving you and Bucky in somewhat heavy silence.

After a moment Bucky sits down beside you.

“So you’re taking the weekend off?” Bucky asks, trying to make conversation.

“Yeah. It was Kamala’s idea but I’m gonna have to change my days off to some time during the week. Saturday is usually my best day of the week what with date night and all.”

Silence.

“Um, what are you reading?” Bucky asks.

“Bucky, look, I’m-I’m sorry I freaked out on you about not contacting me. I mean, you didn’t even really contact your girlfriend and here I am making a big deal out of nothing.” You chuckle without humor, embarrassed at your overreaction.

“What are you talking about? It was a jerk move of me to just cut off all contact like that when I’d been-”

“You didn’t owe me anything, Bucky. I’m sorry.”

And just as quickly as you brought it up, you push past it because you don’t want to hear him try and justify your stupid behavior. There is no justification for your freak out. He really doesn’t owe you anything.

“Kali is gorgeous by the way. You didn’t do her justice when you told me about her.”

Bucky watches you, waiting to see if you’ll crack maybe? But you don’t and you reach out for a slice of cucumber to munch on as you wait for him to reply.

“Yeah, um…not sure how I’d ever be able to describe how beautiful she is successfully. Might just have to take a picture of her to carry around with me.”

You find this a little odd and swallow your small bite.

“You don’t have a picture of her?”

Bucky shakes his head. “She has a camera but it’s digital so, there’s pictures of us on there.”

His explanation brings a smile to your lips and you’re reminded that Bucky has spent more of his time on this Earth frozen than actually living. It softens you towards him.

“Bucky, you have a smartphone,” you gesture at his pocket where you’re almost certain he’ll have it.

“Yeah?” he says, confused.

“Why don’t you just take a picture of her there? Then you can carry her picture without having to print it out.”

“Oh,” he says, cheeks and ears flushing as you huff a laugh at his expense. “I guess I just never thought about it.”

“No shit,” you smile and when you look up at him, you find him grinning. “What?”

“Uh, nothing. I’ll need to have you show me how to take pictures with my phone later.”

“Why me?” you ask, bristling at the request because his instinct should be to ask his girlfriend. Not you.

“Kali will tease me about it,” he admits.

“Like I won’t?” you remind him.

“Yeah, but it’s not so bad when it comes from you.” His smile softens. “I actually kinda like it when you tease me.”

Your heart stutters and your smile is wiped as you struggle to compose yourself. Why would he like being teased by you?

“A friend teasing me versus a girlfriend? Kali makes me feel self conscious on the best of days,” Bucky admits. “Admitting my struggles with technology would only make that worse.”

It hurts. Why does it have to hurt? Realizing your significance in contrast to Kali however has helped immensely and you’re able to subdue the inadequate amount of pain you’re feeling.

Your crush has to end here. Hearing that Bucky barely texted Kali has cleared up any confusion you might have in your heart as to where you stand with him.

You stand exactly where you should on his level of people of importance. Behind his girl.

You look towards her and catch her waving.

“I think she wants you,” you gesture towards her with your chin, reaching for another piece of cucumber.

Bucky pushes himself onto his hands and knees and before you can eat your cucumber he leans towards you, his mouth closing around your fingers as he steals the slice.

Your body erupts into uncontrollable goosebumps, your legs and arms go numb, and your poor heart is doing absolutely bonkers somersaults as he gets up, teeth crunching down on the stolen cucumber slice.

“You’re lucky,” Bucky says, getting to his feet. “If she hadn’t called me, I’d be stealing all your food.”

You’re not exactly recovered enough to reply but look up at him as he turns and begins his walk towards her.

“Hey,” he says your name, snapping you out of your daze a little. “You look really pretty today. I like that color on you.”

You open your mouth to reply, but nothing comes out as your brain processes his compliment and tries to file it unsuccessfully in the spot where you won’t overanalyze every bit of today’s interaction.

“See ya later, kid.” He waves and turns to jog the rest of the way to his very beautiful girlfriend that you’ve suddenly forgotten the name of.

What…the…fuck?