#started writing this in the tags as a response and it got super long so

[averydrawscomics]

I'm an illustrator so I've seen lots of artists claim that art is what makes us human. And I'm like. I agree but aren't I biased? Doesn't every professional at the top of their field and life's work also claim that what they do is the secret or key that makes humans fundamentally different from other animals?

Film writers say writing and story telling makes us human, prop builders like Adam Savage say he Its because we use tools and tell stories. Anthropologists say it is because we make tools and live in social groups. I can imagine a veterinarian or a horse girl saying it is our ability to form social bonds with domesticated animals. Craftsmen like sewists, woodworkers, and fibre artists argue it is because of the specifically crafts based works developed over thousands of years without digital technology is the affirming of humanity. Psychologists say it is because we have the theory of mind and can self reflect, self actualize and grow. I agree- I think all of these factors are incredible. These are all things that i'm interested in, so i have to assume i'm *biased* to agree.

But i'm dumb fuck who knows shit all about math or organic chemistry.

So it feels fucked that up to now i didn't consider that mathematicians nerds may also consider their life work to also be the thing that makes us human. becuase of. idk abstract reasoning or our unique understanding of theoretical physics.

There are all these stories about how we as humans live for story telling, but story tellers are the ones who tell the story. Do mathematicians do like. Life affirming math?

[sundrop-writes]

if Mike fell asleep with you...

Word Count: 750

Horror Characters Masterlist

Warnings: this is mostly pure fluff - Mike and the reader are in an established relationship, the reader's gender is not described in any way (the main pronouns used are you/yours), Mike calls the reader angel, the reader takes on a caregiver role for Abby, mostly just short and fluffy. This is set before the main events of the movie, when Mike is working as a security guard at the mall.

A/N: So, I've seen so many people in the tags going 'just let him sleep!!! that man is so exhausted!!' and saying that he's too tired to fuck in the way that people are writing fanfics about him. And as much as I love super horny fics, I do thought this up, because I agree - the man should be allowed to sleep. This is largely inspired by that scene in Grey's Anatomy where Meredith walked in and Owen was asleep on Cristina's chest while she was reading a book (I think it was when she was reading through Mer's mom's diaries?) - anyway. I love that scene so much because it shows how easily he sleeps around her because he's so comfortable around her. And that's why it deeply inspired this. Let him sleep.

...

Mike was exhausted when he came in the door. 

He heaved out a sigh as he closed the door behind him, toeing off his shoes - pure, stiff tiredness radiating through his whole body in the worst way. 

You knew that sound anywhere. 

“Long day?” You inquired gently from your position on the couch, lightly craning your neck to look at him. 

He shuffled further into the house in an almost zombie-like fashion, only giving you a solitary grunt in response. 

You felt kind of bad that he had been stuck at work late when you had been lucky enough to have a morning shift and been treated to a relaxing evening with Abby. She was a relatively easy kid to take care of, and generally fun to be around. 

And after you had put her to bed, you laid out on the couch, relaxing and reading a novel that your friend had recommended. Generally, you were having a nice evening. And it seemed that Mike was not. 

As you kept an eye on Mike, you folded over the page of your book to mark it and put it on the coffee table for later. 

“Dinner’s on the counter.” You told him. “I made lasagna. I can heat it up for you if you want.” 

You hated that before he started dating you, all he knew was freezer burnt crap - but you were slowly showing him how to cook, and a world of vegetables that didn't come in a can. 

Mike took off his jacket and the heavy belt he had to wear for work (his large walkie talkie and his taser were in his locker at work, as mandated, but the thing was still damn uncomfortable) and he hung them both up. 

He didn’t respond to your queries about dinner as he walked around the couch. Instead of speaking, seeing you laying there so relaxed - the sight was all too inviting, and he eased himself to lay on top of you in a form of very natural intimacy before he grunted a few words into your neck. 

“Did Abby eat?” He asked softly as he laid on top of you. 

It was oddly comforting to have the bulk of his weight on top of you, especially as he melted against you, letting out a small moan as the tension melted out of his bones. He adjusted himself to get more comfortable and his face rested against the softness of your chest - you glanced down to see that his eyes were drifting closed. 

“She ate two platefuls, and had some peas.” You assured him. “Did her homework, had a bath, and she practiced her spelling words before she went to bed.” 

Mike grunted again - a more positive pitch to this one. He couldn't ask for anyone better than you. Sometimes he worried about her - all the time. But when Abby was with you, that worry lessened a lot. 

“You’re an angel.” He hummed against your chest. “I don’t-” He let out a gentle yawn. “I don’t know how I got so lucky with you.” 

“You look hot in a uniform and my job at the bookstore gets boring.” You replied, half-joking about the circumstances of how your relationship with Mike had formed. 

You reached out to him and began running your fingers through his hair, soothing him even further into the realm of sleep with the comforting touch. 

He let out another tired moan in reply - something that almost stretched into a rolling sound with the gentle pleasure of your hand in his hair. With the way his body was so slack against yours, his breathing even and quiet, you knew this was only leading one place. 

“You wanna go get ready for bed?” You asked gently. 

“In a minute.” He answered softly, barely parting his lips to get the words out. 

You glanced over to the table and reached out, picking your book back up as his breathing deepened and his body went even more slack. You were preparing to get comfortable for the next few hours. You weren’t all that tired yourself, and you still had a few chapters left to go. When you got to the next chapter, he began to snore lightly and you felt drool dripping down your neck - which didn’t bother you all that much. You found it cute, in fact. 

You were comforted by the fact that he relaxed enough around you to get such a good sleep. You knew that he needed it. 

...

A/N: also, this is my first time posting a fic completely from mobile by copy/pasting something from google docs on my phone. So hopefully the formatting isn't too messed up and hopefully this goes well! And I hope you guys enjoy this short fluffy fic 💖

[frannyzooey]

Down the Hall

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Tags: Explicit, age gap because you know what I'm about (Frankie is your mom’s boyfriend, he is in his 40s, you are in your mid-20s)

A/N: Yea….so this is dedicated to @intheorangebedroom who inspired this entire idea and to @whatsnewalycat whose beautiful brain and writing inspired me as well. Thank you to @astroboots for cheering me on, to @bageldaddy for the super in depth beta and to @the-ginger-hedge-witch who soothed by "does this hit" worries — your minds are golden and I am so happy you support this utter filth. Ily ❤️

He thought that dating someone his own age would ground him, steady him. Not that he ever paid much attention to the age of the women he dated, but he thought with someone who had their own shit figured out, he might be inspired to do the same. 

Unmoored and unattached since he joined the army in his twenties, he was pushing forty now and craved some kind of routine. Living alone gave him too much time for thinking, too many hours spent inside his own head. He knew that living like that for too long could lead to bad decisions and thought he might hold himself to a higher standard when he saw how they held themselves to one. 

He met her at a bar – the most cliche of meeting places, but for good reason. She was out with friends after work and from the start, he was attracted to the way she smiled with her whole mouth. Everything about her seemed sensuous and fun, so inviting that he found himself drawn in and when he asked if he could take the seat next to her, he matched her smile with one of his own. 

When she invited him home that night, he buried himself deep while feasting on that generous mouth. 

He stayed that night, and then one night became twice a week, became three – and before he knew it, his lease was up on his apartment and he moved in. It was nice to come home to someone after work. To know that someone was there, wondering how his day went. To have a warm body curled up next to him in bed. 

She was so independent, so driven. A corporate job that required her to dress in slippery blouses and pretty skirts with heels; the same he loved to strip from her when she came home all stressed out the way she did sometimes. And she had a kid – a daughter – already in college somewhere on the east coast, but that didn’t bother him. Dating in his forties meant people already had their own histories, and he was no exception. 

Sometimes after she fell asleep and he had time alone to think, he still felt something that itched beneath his skin. Something that pulled at him from within, something that remained unsettled. He told himself that it was just an adjustment period after so many years of being unattached, and shoved those feelings deep down inside of him, determined to ignore them until he taught himself a new way to live. 

Her breathing deep and steady beside him, he told himself that she was good for him. 

That was what counted.

He was all for it when she told him her daughter was coming home to stay the summer between semesters. He liked the idea of having another person in the house – another distraction, another responsibility to take him out of his own head. 

He worked odd hours, and during his off days, Frankie took up the task of preparing her daughter’s old room. Light pink walls, a creamy bedspread dotted with delicate flowers: his mind supplied an automatic image of the little girl that lined the hallway in frames. He knew she was older than that now, but the way her mom talked about her, he couldn’t help imagining a little kid. 

Tasked with picking her up from the airport the day she arrived, he had just stepped out of the shower when he heard the doorbell. Frowning, he tugged a shirt over his damp curls, and opened the door.

Jesus Christ. Speechless, he stared at the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. 

“Sorry I didn’t call,” you apologized, tugging a heavy bag higher up on your shoulder. “I got in early and thought an Uber would be faster.”

He stood there for a moment, just staring, his mouth slightly parted in confusion. And then he saw it: the shape of your eyes, the curve of your lush mouth. The resemblance stamped across your delicate features.

“I couldn’t find my key.” You stood there, looking uneasy on your own doorstep. “You must be Frankie. Or is it Francisco? My mom said you’d be here. It’s nice to meet you.”

At the rounded sound of his full name coming from your mouth, his gaze snapped back to meet your eyes while you hung there, clearly waiting for him to say something. His body was slow to catch up with his brain, the little girl his mind supplied was gone, replaced by the vision that stood in front of him. Still young and fresh-faced, but grown nonetheless and so, so fucking beautiful. 

When you gestured towards the house behind him, he finally shook himself from the initial shock.

“Shit,” he apologized, stepping back out of your way. “Yea, it’s Frankie. Nice to meet you.” You gave him a half smile, and when you stepped inside, he reached for your bag. “Here, let me grab that.”

His hand dragging through his curls, he stood in the entryway and watched you make yourself at home: your shoes immediately kicked off on the doormat, your jacket hung neatly next to his own like it had always belonged there. 

“Do you know when my mom gets home?”

He cleared his throat, trying not to stare at the length of your legs underneath the hem of your shorts. “Uh, she said probably around six? That’s when she usually gets home.”

You nodded, holding your hand out for your bag and for a split second, he wondered if he should bring it upstairs for you. It would be the polite thing to do, but the idea of entering your room now felt like overstepping. You weren’t a kid, you didn’t need him like that. The boundaries had suddenly blurred and shifted, and he whisked away the image of you settling into your bedroom just as fast as it popped into his head. 

When you grabbed the bag from him, he felt relief. 

It was easy to avoid you for the afternoon while you got settled. Instead, he mowed the lawn, prepared dinner, all the while with his ears attuned to the sound of you walking around above him. He felt on edge, anxious. The excitement he thought he would feel with someone else in the house had turned into unease. 

He made himself an outsider, even more so when your mom came home. Not wanting to intrude on your time together, he stayed in the kitchen to cook dinner for the two of you and delivered it to the living room, placing your plates on the coffee table. 

“Thank you, baby, that’s so nice.” Your mother scooted forward, tilting her chin up towards him in a silent request for a kiss. 

Granting it to her, he felt her familiar hold slip around the back of his neck to keep him in place for a moment, keenly aware of the way you were right there. For a split second while his lips were still on hers, he glanced up at you and it was clear that he caught you watching by the way you hastily looked away the second he met your eyes. 

He fucked her hard that night, his hand over her mouth so you wouldn’t hear. 

She was gone in the morning when he made his way downstairs, and he was pleasantly surprised to find coffee already in the pot. 

“I made extra,” you said, from your perch on the chair at the table. Sleep shorts high on your thighs, an oversized tee shirt covering your top half. The way it engulfed you made you look younger than you were. 

He looked away, busying himself with pouring a cup. 

“I drink a lot, so I made a lot,” you explained with shy self-deprecation. 

“Sounds good to me,” he replied, sitting down at the table. “Got any plans for today? Or for the summer, I guess?” 

Wading the tentative waters of getting to know someone, he watched your fingers play with the edge of the paper. 

“Just relax for a bit, I think? Catch up with some old friends? No plan really. I just didn’t want to hang out on a deserted campus.”

He nodded. “Makes sense.” 

And so began the morning routine you would both share for the next few weeks. Hesitant and quiet around each other in the beginning, sliding into something normal fairly fast. Your mother was early to rise and early to bed, but he had never been and neither were you. 

He joined you in the late morning at the kitchen table, the curve of your soft cheek highlighted in the slant of light through the window. On the couch at night, a different kind of illumination from the light of the TV, yet hitting your cheek just the same. Your things scattered around the living room, your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom, your clothes mixed with his in the wash. 

Your proximity was what he blamed for the constant thoughts he had about you. 

Every morning he admired how rumpled you looked, how sleepy and soft and inviting. It was endearing, but soon other thoughts edged out the more innocent ones: thoughts about your legs wrapped around his waist, your slender fingers wrapped around something other than a coffee cup. 

The want he felt for you pooled in various places inside him: his brain, his chest, between his thighs. It spilled down the shower drain and spilled hot across his stomach. 

It flooded your mother’s mouth, and she was none the wiser.

Afterwards, she tucked her face into the meat of his shoulder, pressing a kiss against the skin there. Sated and content, she curled herself around him. “Let’s do something this weekend together. Actually make use of that pool we have for once.”

A barbecue. She’d been talking about having one for a while. 

“We’ve been working so hard. I feel like I barely even see you, honey.” 

Something akin to guilt tugged at him, thinking of the shifts he had been picking up in an effort to avoid you. Your eyes, your smile, your stupid sleep shorts.

He hummed his agreement and she kissed him in thanks, her breaths eventually evening out as she fell asleep. 

Frankie lay awake, the image of your closed bedroom door stuck in his mind. 

–

“Jesus Christ,” you murmured as you watched Frankie climb out of the pool. 

Broad, bare shoulders, tanned swathes of skin, cute little dimples just above his ass. Water ran down over his tanned skin, the thin material of his swim shorts stuck to his ass and when he turned around to grab a towel off a nearby chair, you were glad for your sunglasses.

Fuck me. 

The material of his shorts molded to every inch of his thick cock, the shape clearly outlined. Oblivious, he ran the towel over his curls, over his shoulders and arms, down his torso – and when his hand gingerly pulled the material away from his crotch, you memorized the swirl of dark hair that surrounded his navel and led down.  

“Can you help me with the grill, honey?”

Your mom’s voice pulled your attention away from him. 

Her boyfriend, you reminded yourself. Frankie was her boyfriend.

“Yea,” he called back, chucking his towel on the chair. “Be right there. Let me put a shirt on.”

The shirt he shrugged over his head was the same one you folded that morning. The material was threadbare and super soft, the muscles of his back shifting underneath the thin fabric as he sauntered over to the grill. You knew the way it felt in your hands, and at the thought of his body heat through the material, you pressed your thighs together. 

The afternoon sun bathed you in warmth, but it was nothing compared to the heat that pooled inside your bottoms as you continued to watch him from your recline by the pool. His brown curls glinted in the sun, his throat bobbing with a swallow when your mother brought him a beer. 

When his eyes flashed over to you, you finally looked away. 

You saw those deep, doleful brown eyes in your sleep. 

You felt them on you all the time: in the dark living room during family movie time, your mother curled up against his side. In the kitchen after dinner, when you loaded the dishwasher while he put away the food. In the mornings, when you pretended to read the paper while he snuck hooded peeks at you and drank you in. 

Startled by his handsomeness from the very first time you laid eyes on him, your crush only grew with every passing day spent in his company. He was so thoughtful, so attentive and kind, but it was something else buried within his gaze that drew you in. 

A barely restrained want that shone clear on his face every time he looked at you. A need simmering under the surface, you saw the way he fought it. 

You thought about him constantly: imagined him crowding you against the counter in the kitchen, saw him pulling back the shower curtain to join you, pretended your fingers were his in your bed at night. 

Born out of your own need, you pushed him. Played with the limits of his self control, desperate for him to make a move. No action overt enough to be blatant, the way he stared at you made you feel confident, bold. The want pouring off his skin when you hung around him was obvious and thick, filling the space between the two of you until he inevitably excused himself. 

When it’s time to eat, you take a seat next to him on the bench, your thigh pressed hot against his. You waited for him to pull away, but he never did and the intimate sensation of the hair on his leg brushing against your own smoother skin made it hard to eat, though you missed it when he got up. 

Your mother, one margarita too many and giggly and loose, pulled him into a dance under the stars that had just begun to come out. He humored her, wrapping his arms around her waist to hold her close, smiling at every murmured secret she slipped into his ear. 

You watched the scene unfold right in front of you with a fond, humoring expression, and his eyes kept finding yours, flashing in the darkness. 

You pretended nonchalance, but the entire time, you wanted. 

He took her to bed while you cleaned up the kitchen. 

You knew he fucked her – you heard it sometimes. They tried to be quiet for your sake but sometimes a whimper would slip down the hall, the deep reverberation of a groan in the dark. 

Climbing into bed that night, your mind lingered on the image of his wet swim trunks. The dark swirl of hair, the heft in the outline. 

You wondered what he fucked like with a cock like that. 

–

“Something’s going on in the Arizona market,” your mom explained, tossing items into her suitcase. A silk blouse spilled over the side, and you tucked it back in with the rest. “I’ll be gone through Thursday, maybe Friday? Hopefully not the weekend, but I’ll let you know.”

“Do you need a ride to the airport?” 

Smiling at you, she stepped forward and cupped your cheek with her hand for a moment. “That’s sweet, honey, but I’m good. Frankie’s got it.”

Apprehension swirled with anticipation, the joint feelings settled low in your gut. You’d been alone with him before, but never for this long. Never truly alone, for days on end. 

The man himself poked his head around the corner of the doorway, the width of his shoulders filling out the frame. He glanced at you, and then his watch. “You about ready, baby?” 

She bustled around the room, tossing things here and there onto the bed and he looked at you again, a slight frown pulling between his brows. 

His expression gave something akin to frustration, and for a split second, you thought it was because of the time your mom was taking. When you felt his dark eyes drop down the length of your body involuntarily and then back up again, you turned away with a small smile, knowing it to be something else. 

–

For the first couple days, he stayed away from the house as much as he could. Kept his distance until he ran out of errands, until he drove down the same stretch of road too many times. He didn’t trust himself to be alone with you, and he hated himself for it. 

Self loathing creeped in every time he thought about the way his jeans tightened even thinking of you alone in the house. His girlfriend’s fucking daughter, half his age. The whole thing was fucked up. 

And yet, he couldn’t stop. 

He felt bad, thinking of you suddenly being all alone after spending so much time with people around, but he told himself that you probably loved having the space to yourself. 

He came in the shower that morning to the thought of your mouth wrapped around the base of his cock, and he was unable to look you in the eye when he saw you in the kitchen afterward. Your hopeful expression lingered in his mind all day as he stretched out the hours. 

The sky turned from light blue to dark, and he finally caved. He couldn’t stay away forever. 

The house was quiet when he walked in, tossing his keys on the entryway table. He crept around, looking for any sign of your presence, until he heard the shower running upstairs. Light spilled down the staircase, and heading into the kitchen, he tried to push down the thoughts running rampant in his head. 

He drank a glass of water, listening. 

The shower turning off (your naked body, damp and warm), your footsteps padding down the hall (that smooth skin, hidden under your towel), your bedroom door shutting (the towel dropping onto your floor). 

He stayed downstairs, turning the TV on to distract himself, the air in the house charged with a magnetic pull from your room. He waited until there had been nothing but silence for the better part of a half hour, then dared to venture upstairs. 

He’d just say goodnight, that’s all. Just so you knew you weren’t alone. 

His knuckles rapped against your door, and he pushed it open when he heard you say come in. 

“Hey,” you greeted him, slight surprise on your face. Stretched out in bed, the inviting cloud of your comforter was plush underneath your body. You paused the movie you were watching, and sat up on your elbows. “Haven’t seen you in a couple days.”

“Yea,” he replied, leaning against the frame of your door. His eyes followed a slow path up your bare legs. 

“Work been crazy or something?” you asked.

“Something like that, yea,” he answered. His hand stayed on the knob of your door, an anchor that kept him from crossing a line. “I actually just stopped by to say goodnight. I’m gonna turn in.”

“Already?” you teased. “It’s pretty early, isn’t it? Aren’t you gonna live it up while my mom is gone?”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I’ve lived it up enough. I’m an old man, remember? We don’t do that kind of stuff.”

“Forty-five is hardly an old man,” you scolded with a smile. “You wanna watch a movie instead?”

You patted the bed next to you, and his face sobered. You didn’t see it, instead reaching for the lotion on your bedside table to work some into your hands and the image of you jerking his cock with that same lotion flashed across his mind. He frowned. 

“In here?” 

You shrugged, laying back down. “I mean, I’m already all set up in here…”

You left the offer hanging, and even though he knew - he fucking knew he shouldn’t - he found himself nodding. 

You looked surprised at his answer for a split second, and then pleased. 

“Let me go get changed.”

He walked down the hall towards his room, scolding himself the entire time. Don’t do this, don’t do this, don’t go back into that fucking room. Don’t think about how smooth her skin is and how much you want to kiss her.  Don’t think about how her sheets smell like her, don’t think about how much you want to lick her cunt. 

The thoughts ran on a loop as he peeled off his work clothes. 

They echoed in his head as he pulled on his sweats. 

They followed him out of his bedroom and all the way down the hall, stopping at your doorway.

You turned your head, looking at him expectantly, looking so fucking lush and innocent, so eager to have him join you. 

He swallowed hard, mouth watering and left his guilt in the hallway, joining you in bed.

–

Pretending to ignore the heavy blanket of tension pulsing between your bodies, you kept your eyes fixed on the screen. 

Stretched out next to you, he kept a respectable distance, but you felt the heat that poured off of his skin. He looked so large in your bed, so much like a man. His long limbs splayed out over your girlish comforter, his masculine scent filled the space and when he crossed his arms, you admired the way the hem of his sleeve stretched around his bicep. 

Lightheaded and trembling with a heady want that ached between your thighs, you made it through the whole movie – until the room descended into darkness, until the credits rolled and the screen went black  

Until it was just the two of you sitting side by side in the dark. 

The sheets rustled when you rolled onto your side to face him. 

“What did you think?” you asked quietly. 

He looked down at you from his slouch on the bed, and your fingers twitched with the need to smooth away the crease that rested permanently between his brows. You would think he was mad if not for his eyes: those always look conflicted more than anything. Constant turmoil, roiling deep within the dark depths. 

Not answering, he stared down at you for a long moment before shrugging. 

“Okay, I guess. Well, have a good night.”

He then started to slide off the bed. 

Disappointment flooded your chest, the tension that you’d been feeling for the last two hours releasing restlessly through your limbs. Already making plans to get your vibrator from your side table to use while burying your face into the sheets he was just sitting on, he stilled. 

Your eyes fixed on his broad back, you could almost see the decision being made and he quickly turned before he could convince himself to stop. 

Bending down, he kissed you. 

It was consuming. The brush of his mustache, the taste of his mouth, the weight of his solid body as he pushed you into the bedding, draping it over yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth to slide against your own, and he swallowed the soft sound that caught in the back of your throat. Pushing himself into the cradle between your thighs, he forced them open wider as he deepened the kiss, and his dry, calloused hand slid underneath the hem of your shirt, wrapping around your hip. 

You knew you should push him away, but your hands only dragged him closer, grabbing everything you could touch: the slip of his curls, the curve of his whiskered jaw, the rounds of his broad shoulders. You dug your fingertips into his sides as he ground his hips against yours and your knees hitched higher around his torso. 

His hand wrapped around the top of your shin, pushing down to hold you in place.  

“Jesus,” he breathed into your mouth between kisses, his fingers tightening in their hold before sliding down to touch everything he can: the meat of your hips, his big hand cupping your ass with a greedy squeeze. Need rolled off of him in waves, his touch betraying just how long he had thought about this and his mouth shifted down to devour the long line of your neck, tasting the sweet hollow of your throat. 

Your pulse beat fast under his tongue, speeding up when he let out a groan against the sensitive skin. 

“Take – take this off–” he sat back on his ankles, his hands fumbling with your shirt.

As soon as you pulled it over your head, his mouth latched onto your nipple. His tongue swirled around it, sliding over the peaked bud with a suck. His beard scraped across your sensitive skin, leaving a wet path that glistened over the plane of your chest as he dragged his mouth to your other breast and his heavy hand reached down to cup you wholly over your sleep shorts. 

His fingers dug into the dip of your entrance and the heel of his hand ground hard against your clit. 

“I can’t stop thinking about this pussy,” he confessed. His fingers rubbed harder, and he groaned hot against your skin. “I can already feel how soaked she is for me. How much she wants it.”

You nodded with a whimper, rolling your hips into his touch. “God yes. Please.”

He pulled back just enough to stare down at your face, his pitch black eyes sliding over your features to settle on your open mouth. “Tell me you want this. Tell me how much you want my cock.”

“Yes. Please, please,” you begged.

“It’s gonna be a lot, baby.” He wetted his bottom lip with his tongue, his hand working, working, working. “She’s gonna need to be wet to take what I need her to take.”

A fresh wave of arousal washed through you, and your sleep shorts clung to your center with every grind of his palm. His thick fingers nudged the fabric to the side, exploring. 

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, releasing a heavy breath. “Fuck.” 

His eyes fluttered shut with a frown as his touch slid through your soaked seam and kissing you again, he timed the slide of his tongue with the slick stretch of two fingers. 

Your thighs opened wider around his waist, a whine crawling out of your throat when he pushed them deeper and when he started a smooth, audible stroke, you started to ride his hand. 

You’d been watching his fingers for months: wrapped around the steering wheel in the car, loosely cradling the neck of a beer bottle, drumming against his thigh when he watched TV sometimes. You’d imagined them tucked inside you so many times, buried in your mouth or your cunt, and as he worked a third one in, you let out a filthy moan. 

“I gotta work it open, baby,” he soothed, pulling your earlobe between his lips. “It’ll be okay. I know you can take it.”

His hips started to follow the rhythmic roll of his hand and when he seemed satisfied with how much you could take, he slid his fingers out, reaching to tear his shirt off over his head. When he pushed his fingers into his mouth for a moment, his lips wrapping around his knuckles as he sucked your taste off the thick digits, his hooded eyes took in the way you scrambled to take your sleep shorts off. 

Following your lead, he dumped everything onto the floor beside your bed, and it felt like heaven when you felt his bare skin against the inside of your thighs. So broad, so firm and strong, his body pressed you into the mattress and you felt the hot, pulsing heft of his cock pushing against your cunt. You clenched at the teasing sensation of what was to come, and reached down to grasp him, but his hand caught yours and pushed it into the bedding above your head. 

“Let me do it. I wanna watch your face when I put it in,” he confessed, resting his weight on top of you as he reached down with his other hand to guide himself in. 

Sticky slick smeared between the both of you, and when the tip of his cock forced you to bloom around him, his eyes fixed on your face. Greedily, he devoured the sight of your mouth dropping open, a tiny tiny frown appearing between your brows and he thickened inside you, pushing forward.

“Fuck,” you moaned. “It’s so much.” So much more than you ever thought it would be, even with all the months spent imagining it. 

He bottomed out and the air froze in your lungs, your cunt stuffed fuller than it’s ever been. 

“Shhh,” he soothed, staying in place to let you adjust. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re so fucking tight, baby. So tight.”

Squirming underneath him, you hitched your knees higher around his torso and he rocked his hips to slide halfway out before grinding back in with a weighted push. He gave you a minute: a tense minute, a minute thick and full of wanting, a minute where all you could focus on was the stretch of his cock and the heated bulk of his body and the firmness of his chest pressed against yours. 

He brushed his lips against yours, and gently rolled his hips. 

“Do you know how much I’ve thought about this? About fucking you, in this bed?” His voice deep and breathless, it sounded overwhelmingly intimate breathed against your cheek. 

You shook your head. 

“I thought I was the only one,” you admitted. “I used to think – oh fuck – I used to think about you coming down the hallway in the night. Crawling into my bed and fucking me just like this. Just like I can hear you fuck her.”

“You listen to me fuck her?” His hips rocked forward a little faster, picking up pace. 

“I can’t help it,” you whined. “The sounds – the sounds you make. I wanted to make you make them. I wanted to be the reason.”

His fingers pushed through the hold of your own, locking your hands together above your head and he dug his knees into the bed for leverage. Your breasts shifted underneath him, bouncing lightly as he fucked into you harder and his eyes dropped down to watch. “You are, baby. You are. I think about you all the time.”

Building steadily underneath him, your head pushed back into the bedding and his mouth found your throat, his teeth scraping against the tender skin. His hips never stopping their filling grind, you pushed your fingers through his curls and when he bit down with a suck, a slurred yes slipped out of your outstretched throat. 

You imagined your mom seeing it, asking you if you went on a date with someone. 

His strokes got harder, harsher, his hips snapping against yours and digging your fingers into the soft globes of his ass, you forced him deeper. When you clenched around his thick length, he looked down at you, wrecked and desperate. 

“I wish I tasted you,” he groaned. “Next time, okay?”

You frantically nodded, unable to focus on anything but the bright, shining edge of your release. 

He could see it, feel it in the squeeze of your soaked cunt and his vision blurred around the edges, his own want building at the base of his spine. 

“You gonna come?”

You are. The sounds he’s making above you and the way he feels inside you and the scent and need rolling off his skin and those fucking pitch black eyes that have been in your dreams for months – 

Slick dripped down the curve of your ass, your hips locking up underneath him and when you came with a silent cry, he groaned deep and loud, fucking you right through it. 

“Tell me I can fucking come inside you. Say it,” he pleaded, fingers gripped on your chin to hold your gaze on his. His words punctuated by the snap of his hips, you nod your head. 

“Do it,” you whined.

Your fingers threaded through his curls, it’s the tug that you give that does it. Coming harder than he had in his fucking life, he filled your tight cunt with thick ropes of his spend. Endless, smeared over the shaft of his thick cock as he continued to pump into you because he couldn’t stop, slipping out to drip onto the delicate sheets below. 

“Christ,” he groaned, his jaw clenched as the veins in his neck strained above you, his hips stuttering. Slowing them into a languid roll against your own, his softening cock was still a thick, filling weight inside and when he looked down at you, you recognized the guilt that already flooded the brown depths. 

You stared right back, holding him tight. 

“Stay,” you murmured, holding him in place when he started to roll off of you. 

You wanted to remember this. The hot press of his skin against yours, tacky and slick with sweat. The warm gust of his breath over your lips, the rapid beat of his pulse under his flushed neck. The wild curls that stuck damply along his hairline, the brush of his fingers as he tenderly thumbed at the curve of your jaw. 

He swallowed and you could see the war in his eyes, something you recognized as being there from the start. His hand curled over the crown of your head, and you pressed a kiss to his throat. 

“You can’t –” he started, eyes fluttering shut at the press of your mouth. “You can’t tell your mom about this, okay. We can’t say anything.”

We. You reveled in the sound of the word, your head nodding underneath him. A secret to share. Something for the two of you alone. 

“I won’t,” you promised. “Just don’t leave, okay?”

You felt small and vulnerable asking, and when he looked down at you, a glimpse of the girl he imagined on that very first day tugged at his memory. Not the age he pictured of course, but the way you needed him. 

The way he wanted you to need him all along. 

His face nuzzled yours, his nose sliding across your cheek. A kiss pressed against the soft, youthful curve of your cheek that he had admired for months, he nodded with your sweet taste still lingering on his tongue. 

“I won’t, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

[thefrogman]

Back in the olden days, if you used the "keep reading" function on a Tumblr-dot-com post, it would

not get very many notes.

At all.

I am not sure exactly why.

I think people hated pressing an extra thing.

But maybe it was also a psychological phenomenon where, given the choice, they were unwilling to trust me with their time.

But if I sucked them in with a good story or a compelling image, they would get serious FOMO.

When I created a super high effort post-of-length I would get comments like, "This was way too long but before I realized it I was reading the last sentence."

That was a really good feeling.

I used to do tests to figure out the best posting strategies and I think I figured out you'd lose about 90% of your notes if you did a "keep reading" post.

So that notion was ingrained in my brain again and again from when I was very note-obsessed and I have since avoided the "keep reading" option almost like a conditioned response.

Just seeing that squiggly line appear still induces a Pavlovian fear.

But that was probably a decade ago and I did a new experiment. My story about replacing my mailbox did reasonably well with a strategically clickbaity "keep reading."

This was a promising result due to the fact that some people like to send me hate for writing a lengthy post.

I recently got a death threat for writing too much, which was a fun reminder of my M&M days (I melted men's rights activists' brains with a poorly worded analogy and they launched a years long harassment campaign).

It seems in present-era-Tumblr-dot-com many more people prefer pressing an extra thing rather than scrolling a bunch on their smartphone. The collective behavior has changed. And maybe I don't need to use tricks and running gags in order to get folks to "keep reading".

Unfortunately I started writing that ring light post a few months ago so I wasn't able to include that in the experiment. But I am going to try using the keep reading function in the future and as long as the average number of folks that usually read my longer posts continue to read my posts, that will be the standard approach.

I also tag these posts with "long post" so you can flag that if you wish.

While I am no longer in the audience-building phase of my Tumblr career, these essays and stories and educational posts take a considerable amount of time and effort to create, so I do want to make sure everyone who wants to read them is able to. But posts without hearts and reblogs can quickly die a gruesome algorithmic death. Even my most ardent followers would tell me things were not showing up on their dash. (I think replies help mitigate that, so if you like a long post, you can help with engagement.)

The collective noun is a "business" of ferrets.

Do you want to see a business of ferrets ready to do some business?

KEEP READING

I love writing and it is a huge catharsis for me. And I love sharing any knowledge I feel like I have the earned expertise to speak on with authority (technology, photography, light, fun ferret facts, etc). I wish I had the energy to be a photography teacher, but long posts on Tumblr are probably the best I can do for now.

I know my posts are super long, but I try to make them as fun and informationally dense as I possibly can. I don't like wasting people's time if I can avoid it. Though maybe I should trust my follower's attention span a bit more. I have this fear that if I am not constantly entertaining, people will click away or unfollow.

I think a good business for a business of ferrets would be selling pool noodles that look like ferrets.

So as long as I get roughly the same amount of notes I will do the keep reading. And then maybe people can lay off on the mean comments and occasional requests to end my own life because I bloviated about soft light.

100% true ferret fact..

If you ask a ferret what their business is, they will crawl on your shoulder and whisper in your ear...

[junabuggy]

Hi! I love your writing! Would you be up for writing a fic where reader has super bad separation anxiety from Al, but he has to go somewhere without them and either Angel Dust or Husk is in charge of taking care of them/keeping them calm while he’s gone? Thanks a bunch!!! ❤️

Separation anxiety! GN! Reader x Alastor/husker?

A/n: Of course !! Honestly this has been super fun and I’m more than grateful for all the people who seem to enjoy my silly little fanfictions/headcanons, many thanks everybody ♥️♥️

Also, if you couldn’t tell from a lot of my writing, I’ve taken quite a liking to Alastor… So I get it, I love him too y’all ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Warnings: Mentions of separation anxiety, Mentions of alcohol, Alastor being Alastor so light mentions of blood and cannibalism (doesn’t actually happen)

Fluff✔️ Comfort✔️ Angst❌ Smut❌

Hope yall don’t mind a few headcanons first about this :33

📻𖤐 it’s hard to tell how Alastor would realistically react to someone being attached to him in that way..

📻𖤐 Like do I think it would bother him? No, he wouldn’t mind you tagging along wherever he went as long as you didn’t bother him too much or get in the way of things but there are just times where he requires or wants to be alone. Which is where Husker would come in lol

📻𖤐 He probably wouldn’t leave you with Angel, even if Husk wasn’t available for whatever reason he’d just get Charlie to look after you while he was away.

📻𖤐 I feel like he cares/loves in an odd way.. like he wants to tear you apart and lick up all your delicious, sweet blood but in an affectionate way??? If that makes sense?? Remember that pomegranate cannibalism metaphor that went around on TikTok for a bit there? Think that.

📻𖤐 of course, he wouldn’t do that, he wants to keep you around.

Okok I’m done yapping about silly radio man lol, onto the fic

Unfortunately, today was one of those days you couldn’t tag along with where Alastor went, he was attending an overlord meeting and obviously you not being an overlord it meant that you couldn’t go with him despite all of your protests and begging.

Before his departure, he sat you down at the bar with Husker and gave you a little pat on the head, telling you that he’d be back shortly and walking out of the hotel doors.

The grumpy cat demon poured himself a drink as he stared at you, this wasn’t exactly the first time Alastor had left him on “babysitting” duty with you and he didn’t exactly mind it. You were quite sweet for somebody who landed themselves in a place like hell.

“Where’s he off to this time?” Husker asked before taking a sip of the alcoholic beverage he held in his hand, attempting to make some form of conversation with you.

“Oh.. just some kind of silly overlord meeting…” You mumbled out a short reply whilst looking a bit glum. He simply nodded in response, setting his glass down on the bar countertop to mix you up a little something as well.

Husk didn’t understand your attachment to the Radio Demon to be completely frank with you. He and a lot of others viewed Alastor as something to fear, respect, and try to avoid contact with the best they could… so seeing someone who enjoyed his company was a foreign idea to him. But he wouldn’t judge you for it. It wasn’t exactly his business anyways and at least he seemed to treat you decently.

“Don’t stress it kid, he’ll be back soon. He keeps his promises I’ll give him that much.” Husk attempted to reassure you, giving a slight smile as he slid a drink down to you.

You smiled back weakly and nodded, taking a deep breath as you grabbed the drink he had slid over to you. You took a sip and it tasted like a screwdriver, not too bad of a drink and it would probably take your mind off of things a little bit if you had a few of them. Which was probably the goal Husker was trying to reach.. he couldn’t imagine separation anxiety to be very fun.

Later into the night once you got a few drinks in you, you started to forget all about why you were upset and/or stressed out in the first place. Chatting with Husk about random stuff and occasionally mentioning and talking about a person or two.

Husk wished there were more nights like this, more time spent with you… and who knows? Maybe you’ll be visiting the bar more often for him after tonight if he was lucky. He was pretty good at playing his cards right, after all.

(Sorry this was kinda short !! I wasn’t sure what else to write. Lmk if you guys maybe want a part two with Alastor coming back from his little meeting, I might do that :3)

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

ᯓ★ 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐲

[supernatural-bias]

𝐓𝐰𝐨-𝐁𝐢𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐰𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ notes: tagging @orinscrivellos who motivated me to write this. i really enjoyed doing it

↳ warnings: slight implications of transhobia. nothing directly mentioned

↳ song: a little less conversation—elvis presley

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• Two-Bit thinks you’re super kickass for being out and open about yourself in the way you are. It is the sixties after all, and along with living on the East side of town, you aren’t exactly getting treated the best

• But that doesn’t really matter to you. As long as the gang, and most importantly Two-Bit, likes you, then you couldn’t care less

• So yeah, Two-Bit thinks you’re brave. Probably calls you his ‘fearless knight,’ and treats you poshly for a good laugh sometimes. Or about as posh as he can pretend to get. He’s never been really good at playing a rich character despite his improvisation skills. You suppose it’s the way he was raised, the way all of you were raised, that makes it difficult

• Is loud and proud about you being his partner. Unless you want him keeping it under wraps, Two-Bit will pretty much scream it from the mountain tops about how much he loves his boyfriend. Consequences be damned

• “Golly, Two, you just don’t stop talking about him do you?” Ponyboy ogles at his friend as they make their way down the street, heading to meet you for a night out at the Nightly Double. He was in disbelief that anyone could ever talk so much and for so long, much less about the same thing. Even Soda didn’t use to talk about Sandy this much

• “Nope!” Two-Bit pops his ‘p’ loudly, grinning like a shark as he continues on with his train of thought. Pony just shook his head in a mix of awe and horror, already regretting that he had thought to ask Two-Bit how you had been doing. And that was over ten minutes ago!

• Two-Bit has definitely gotten into fights to ‘defend your honor,’ as he likes to put it—most of the time he can hear people at his school bad mouthing you, which any one of you can handle. You don’t live the greaser life without getting your name dragged through the mud after all—but when they start throwing out those names about you, he’ll start a fight quicker than you could blink

• “Oh glory.” You stare at Two-Bit unblinking one afternoon. Two shiny new black eyes peer back, accompanied by a split lip, and you have to resist the urge to drag a hand down your face in exhaustion.All you had wanted to do is come pick him up from his house, and you were met with this mess

• “What? I’ve been trying on a new look. What do you think baby?“

• “I think you’re stupid.” You don't even have to ask how he got those, you already know. A part of you swells with affection at the thought of him caring about you enough to do that, but the more responsible part of you pushed it down in order to sigh

• “But you love me.” Two-Bit retorts with a gleeful laugh, sounding like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Which he doesn’t. In his eyes, he’s got all he ever needs. A mom that loves him, a sister that adores his jokes, friends that have his back, and a handsome boyfriend. What more could a greaser like him want?

• If you come out and then transition, in that order, Two-Bit and everyone would definitely help you with your new style. They’ve spent their entire lives in boys clothes, so they have plenty of fashion tips, if you can even call them that, and materials to spare

• if you wear a bigger size, or want baggier clothing, Dallas and Two-Bit with go and nab pretty much anything you want from the nearby corner store. If you like tighter fitting clothing, or run a little gangly, you are always welcome to borrow one of Pony or Johnny’s outfits. They’d give them to you in a heartbeat if you asked

• Hair greasing lessons! They’ll teach you how to grease your hair up nice so you’ll look tuff, until eventually you’ve learned to do it all by yourself. Two-Bit always smiles the biggest when you come out of the bathroom with your hair slicked back. He likes to think he’s got the best looking partner this side of the railroad tracks

• It doesn’t matter what kind of body you have or want. Two-Bit will support you all the way. It’s not like you can really afford testosterone or major surgery considering you live in the slums of Tulsa with everyone else, and those services aren’t exactly offered to the public thanks to laws at the time, but if you manage to get our hands on any of that stuff, the gang will support your recovery/shot sessions all the way; bringing you whatever you need in the moment and all that jazz, even if Dallas or Steve gripe about running errands

• “Here’s your stupid bandaids.” Dally threw a small cardboard box onto the foot of the couch you were sitting on with a slight rattle. You look up to thank him, and he just blows out a bit of smoke from his mouth. You had half a mind to ask him for a drag of his cigarette, but knew Darry would kill you if he caught you smoking after administering testosterone. He was already nervous enough about you constantly taking shots, so you didn’t want to worry him anymore

• “No problem.” Dallas’ gaze drifted over to Two-Bit, who was sitting next to you, and he smiled lazily

• “Hey Two? If the two of you are banging, does that make you gay, or straight?”

• Dally walked away from that conversation that day with a bruise on his arm and a big laugh tumbling from his lips

[babiebom]

Hello!! Soooo I was reading your headcannons about Shane going with his S/O to the mines and that got me thinking. How would the Bachelors (and maybe also the Bachelorettes) react to a Gn S/O who kicks a slime or other monster in the face which kills it instantly? The Bachelors/Bachelorettes are either shocked or impressed as the S/O explains they just are really good at kicking and could probably break open a rock if they wanted to.

A/N: brother i do not remember writing that but I probably did and forgot bc let’s face it I forget things pretty easily. The bachelorettes will be a separate post because I’m taking too long posting this. Also sorry this is late. Also also my writing has gotten slower because I have taken up making music and have currently a couple songs that I’m working on including one from my farmers pov about Sebastian so y’know with that and work a lot of things are going on lmao. Pt.2 I have a cold again because of work.

Tw: violence, cursing, mentions of death, killing slimes lmao, lmk if I should tag anything else

Bc/Wc: maybe 3 for each. Maybe more? At least 100 words me thinks for each.

Stardew valley Masterlist

Sebastian

Literally just blinks and is like ….okay :|

It’s probably not surprising to him that you kicked a monster to death

Sticks to swinging a bat at them (I think he would have a bat or like a pipe or something) but thinks it’s cool that you have hand to hand…or monster to foot combat down.

Sebastian stares as you kick a duggy to death. It honestly was getting in the way of you digging for treasure and nipping at your ankles every time you weren’t paying attention. It only took one good kick for it to die and as you breathe out a puff of air in frustration, your boyfriend simply nods to himself and continues the search for anything you could donate to the museum.

“Are you gonna say anything?” You ask

He just shrugs in response, “no not really…”

In all honesty he figured you had to have a way to survive down here for hours. While kicking wasn’t the usual way, it did work and that’s all that really matters to him.

Sam

Probably did not realize at first and was like okay yeah cool it’s dead

Then realized and probably shouted VERY LOUDLY

Thinks it’s super cool because WHAT?

The stupid things take SO long to die. You kill them and they just come right back unless you blow it up…or give it a good kick to the face out of annoyance. Sam’s eyebrows raise for a second before he continues to break rocks, wanting to get this adventure over with.

Then comes the excited shouting. He’s holding you by your shoulders, shaking you and yelling words that don’t quite make it to your ears. “Sam, please!” You shout over him, the echoing sounds starting to hurt your head.

“I’m sorry,” he lets go of you but is still bouncing in place, “but that was so cool! I wanna kick things!”

Shane

Openly thinks it’s hot

Is very relieved because he never comes down into the mines and does at least want to know you’re safe

Steals your kicking strategy because it is quicker and more efficient

Do those things ever die? Can a skeleton die? How can a skeleton even be alive if not inside a per-okay they’re kicking it….and it’s dead. Wow.

Shane just stares in slight confusion as his mind races to catch up with the events that just unfolded in front of him. It was kinda fun taking out his feelings on monsters that were technically picking a fight first, but then thinking about the morality and the actual logic of it all distracted him until you actually kick a real life skeleton in the face causing it to finally permanently die. He says nothing to you, but does give you an amused smirk before adopting your strategy as his own. Kicking is way more fun than hitting rocks anyways.

Alex

Secretly thinks it’s hot

Would also try to kick things

Would want to do a playful contest to see how much stuff you two can damage honestly.

It thew Alex off when the rock he had hit with a pickaxe started moving. It threw him off even further when said rock pinched him with its apparent pincers that he didn’t even know it had. His brain completely left his skull when you kicked the thing to death with one good stomp because it had pinched him.

It didn’t even hurt that much because he wasn’t paying any attention to his wound and instead staring at you with what could only be described as adoration. Alex clears his throat and grind at you, “how ‘bout a kicking contest? Winner gets a prize”.

“What prize?” You ask, confused about his reaction. You thought he would be in a little pain at least.

“Whatever the winner decides I guess…” you shake his outstretched hand. This was going to go well for you. Now all there is left to do is think about what you want as your prize.

Harvey

Would be absolutely floored.

Like THIS IS NOT SAFE BUT OH MY GOD IMPRESSIVE

He is never coming into the mines again but at least his anxiety has gone down just a little bit (well went up then down so technically it is lower than previously).

The little thing on the ground wasn’t terrifying in the slightest, but your ferocity in destroying it made Harvey think that it was more serious than he understood it to be. Don’t get him wrong, all of the things in this mine could kill someone easily, but the monster that looked like a big ass worm didn’t really seem like a big deal compared to everything else you two had come across.

His mouth hung open as he stared at you as you glared at the stained spot where the worm thing used to be. “It would’ve turned into a monster that could fly.” You offer as soon as you turn to look at him. He nods and makes a mental note to get you muscle relaxers or something because your legs definitely have to be sore after this.

Elliott

Is MORTIFIED

like he was not expecting you to do that at ALL

The mines aren’t his favorite place and he’s glad you can defend yourself but it’s also TERRIFYING.

Probably will insert this into one of his novels where you’re already a character because it’s hot.

The bouncing little jelly things were more dangerous than Elliott had expected. Sure, he knew to some degree that you being tough was a fact because you were in these mines damn near every day for hours at a time. Whenever you came back home after a trip to the mines, covered in bruises and cuts after midnight, he always felt thankful that you had made it back home alive. But this was more than he expected. If something that looked this harmless could make him feel heavy and tired enough to wanna just lay down and die, how strong were the other monsters that lived in these mines?

Snapping out of his distracted thoughts, he watches as everything happens too quickly in front of him, rendering him unable to help because you got everything under control before he could even think to help. In one second you’re hissing in pain after a slime that you both had missed crashed into you, then the next your foot lifts up and then kicks the slime across the room. The thing splatters into goo on the wall as you check yourself for any serious injuries. Elliott calls out to you in shock, rushing over to also look over you because he wouldn’t be fully calm without checking you himself.

As you two stand in the now empty room, checking each other for any injuries that might make you leave early, Elliott can’t help but think that a sexy strong love interest in his novels is just what he needs to make his work skyrocket in popularity.

[the-darkestminds]

2024 Fic Writer End of Year Roundup

Answer and then tag three or more creators to keep the game going!

(If you're in my answers consider yourself tagged if you'd like to play!)

1. How many words did you publish on AO3 in 2024?

224,227. Would've been 232,998 BUT I decided to post RMWTLI chapter 3 tomorrow instead of today lol.

2. How many fics did you complete this year?

7!

3. How many in progress or ongoing fics did you start this year?

I currently have three fics in progress... Autumn's Shadow, Remind Me Where The Light Is and Rhysand Is The Most Handsome High Lord... !

4. What was your favorite thing you wrote?

Autumn's Shadow is my favorite fic. I have worked so incredibly hard on it and it's my first ever long fic. I'm very proud of it. I hope to finish it soon!

5. What piece was your most experimental or different from your usual style?

Rhysand Is The Most Handsome High Lord... is definitely the most experimental. It's my only fic that doesn't center around Eris and Azriel and it's very smutty and ridiculous. It makes me laugh lmao

6. Did any fics surprise you - either while writing or their reception

The series He Comes At Night surprised me. Somehow I sat down and wrote both of these each in one sitting and I had a lot of fun with the reader reactions lol. I didn't expect the wonderful responses I got but I am so grateful!

7. Do you have a fic you wrote and loved that went under the radar? (This is your sign to reblog/repost it!)

I am pretty proud of His Father's Son. I wouldn't say it necessarily went under the radar, OC fics tend to be less popular in general. But I didn't think I'd get this one done and when I did I was very happy with the result!

8. Who is an artist that inspired you?

There are soooo many. I wish I could list them all, but these people consistently wowed me with their art. I need more, always:

@palomita-de-la-sangre @fourteentrout @queercontrarian @elleybug @nus4y @lucychanart @olenvasynyt @bonecarversbestie @works-of-heart

9. Who is an author that inspired you?

This question is why it took me so long to make this post lol. I hate to leave anyone out, and I read so many fics this year and loved all of them. I'll do my best!

everything @chunkypossum writes moves me. I'll never get enough of their writing. I feel like they speak to me personally whenever I read one of their fics. @jules-writes-stories for JEL. She's incredible at world building and her writing is beautiful. @mistandmemories for her stunning rhythm !! and the insanely delicious tension and chemistry between az and eris. phew. @g00seg1rl for being hilarious and her crazy hot smut. @fourteentrout for his tamsand. the best I have ever read. and for somehow being just as insanely talented with azris too?! not to mention his art! I am obsessed. @/tessabeth for making me fall desperately in love with cazris. her writing changed me lol. no joke. @neciebee for her uniquely gorgeous style and sadlube. @acourtofladydeath for making me cry. @talibunny30 for her depiction of nesta that has stuck with me for months! I'll wait forever for more. @zenkindoflove for making me fall in love with alexius to the point where I forget he's not real! @crazy-ache for her creativity and beautiful writing. @lovely-vanserra-sunshine for breaking my heart in the best way with eris and lucien's backstories. @buffy-vanserra for eris's SNARK my god. it's so good. @clockwork-ashes for her lovely prose and seemingly endless ideas!! @thequeenofnightmares for her brain. the plot building is insane with this one. @shadowsandlint for keeping me on the edge of my seat! @jolenes-library for her super fun AU!! @born-to-riot for being able to do it all: fluff, intrigue, whump... she's awesome, and so funny.

I know I'm forgetting someone. If you're not here, it's only because my brain is overflowing. I love you all!! 😭

10. Who is a new author you discovered?

EVERYONE ABOVE lol. But also, copying chunky and giving a special shoutout to @jules-writes-stories, @mistandmemories, and @chunkypossum. The first two lovelies have been writing big azris fics along with me, and earlier in the year we all followed What We Deserve together. It's been the highlight for me for sure. Also, extra extra special shoutout to @pippsmcgee for her beautiful mind and incredible talent.

11. Did you do any collaborations? How did it start?

Editing to add that while I didn't technically co-write a piece with anyone, @pippsmcgee is my #1 collaborator and well on her way to becoming co-author lol

12. What accomplishments are you proudest of?

For becoming a writer! This was the first year I've ever written anything and now it's my favorite pastime and has been extremely cathartic.

13. What did you learn about writing or creating this year?

I am most happy with my work when I write exactly what I want without worrying about what might be the most popular. And I found that talking to other writers is motivating and so fun. Makes everything better.

14. Any advice you’d like to share with new or aspiring writers?

Please find joy in the process. If you don't enjoy what you're writing, write something else! And... fandom is about community. Writing has brought me to so many new friends. Don't be afraid to reach out to other authors! Spread the love!

15. What are your creative goals for 2025?

My main goal is to finish Autumn's Shadow. If I do that, I will be happy.

[katiekatdragon27]

Abel on the mind.

Got a little silly in Whiteboard and Magma along while ago, so sharing time! (Also the Flatland tag needs it more art)

(Thank you @/goosesartblog for the little doodles in the first image and @/pastastrainer for writing the constilation.)

BUT. What if I cutely dropped Abel lore on you guys? How silly would that be?

It’s gonna be kinda long, so it’s below the cut:

[TW for injuries and scars]:

I don’t think think I ever really got into the Abel part of A Heightlander’s Escape outside of a mention or two huh? Well, now you get to see it and all its glory, surprise! 🎉🎉🎉🎉

Basically, when Abel gets picked up into the 4D after being blown up, they're super-duper injured. Like, barely alive injured. And since it was lowkey illegal for Tess to take them outta Spaceland, she isn't able to get him proper medical care, which is why his injuries are all botch healed and kinda really bad. She's not a doctor, after all, and there was no way they would ask their lowkey insane lab partner for help. Also, illegal. She can't afford to go to prison rn, especially when she needs to keep Abel safe and alive until the war is over.

Also, though the first half of the 4D events, Abel is in denial about the impact of his actions on the war. He can't be held responsible for all of it surely. Not all of it could be his fault.

But, In a way, they did start it. He made the ultimatum with the (lowkey mentally unwell) X-Axis leader. They pulled the Flatlander into Spaceland. He failed to prove that Flatlanders were sentient. They was the one to risk his life for that Flatlander. Everything was their fault.

At least, that's what he believes.

And then that leads to an even larger downward spiral. Abel realizes that if they were to go back, everyone would hate him. They would probably be run outta town, the chances of him being murdered would be higher, and no one would probably want to take them in. All his family is either dead or estranged to the point of not knowing their condition. All his co-workers could be dead too.

They quite literally have nothing left.

But you know what they say? Those who have nothing to lose tend to be the most dangerous. Which will be bad news for that X-Axis leader when the time comes.

Can y'all tell I like yapping? I really like yapping.

More lore to be posted when I feel like it. Other than that, have a lovely day :)

[tree-obsession]

2.2 SPOILERS!! PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK

this is a small lore discussion! mostly speculation and theories- i have not seen leaks about 2.3 plot yet, but i have seen a couple about boothill's character stories, so please keep that in mind!

trigger for mentions of suicide(aventurine) and mega corps(the ipc)

we have to talk about the ending cutscene with aventurine and boothill more! i'll start with my fav parts that no one really has brought up yet:

Aventurine intimidating Boothill after mentioning the guards are out- Boothill sounded so offput and hasty while reassuring him they were just knocked out, and we have to talk about aventurine himself just being intimidating more honestly his glare actually did kind of scare me.

Boothill pointing a gun at aventurine was. well. i'm sorry i did actually laugh at that. boothill i think you should research your targets a bit more honestly that guy is NOT afraid of guns. he fully walked into the nihility and pointed at least one gun at himself, and just got out of his own meticulously-planned suicide. threats of death won't work, sorry. also he has good reason to hate oswaldo schneider as well- threats didn't even have to be used, probably! he would kill him too, probably(revenge arc go go go!!)

the convo between aven and jade was. yeah. why he's betting his life again, i don't know (maybe sarcasm? or it was really just banter?) but it does seem like the two of them aren't super close at all, at least from what little i could gather. also if diamond hurts aventurine the entire fandom will kick his ass, emanator or no, so he better be prepared for that too lol. also, it was a pretty common theory aventurine would leave the ipc after exiting nihility, since acheron presumably broke his ties- i wonder why he went back? perhaps he had no plans as to where to go, or he has some ulterior motive?

how did he get out of nihility so unscathed? (for context, i haven't gotten aven's text messages yet, but i'm aware of some of their contents since they've been floating around w/out spoiler tags. the messages are mentioned a bit here if you wanna avoid spoilering!) i know argenti got him out, but 1) why was argenti there, or where did he even find him? and 2) that seems so random- both argenti and jade confirmed it, but plot-wise what's even the point of argenti pulling him out? also argenti said he was in a "woeful state" when he got out, and apparently the stonehearts are willing to give aven a break (which i'm assuming is major, since stonehearts are super important and have a lot of responsibility, plus he just destroyed a cornerstone) so him already being back on his feet when we see the phone call is a bit weird right away. he doesn't even sound sick, and ratio or any other doctor is nowhere in sight! (message spoilers start here) i'm aware the aventurine cornerstone was fully shattered/destroyed while protecting him from nihility- was he really in there for who-knows-how-long without any protection at all? he's apparently having nightmares and the ipc needed to call in a doctor of chaos to treat him, which is concerning considering his mental health and general will to live were extremely low even before walking into the nihility. like he genuinely has some of the worst will to live i've ever seen in a character or human being- walking through the nihility should have utterly destroyed him mentally and physically, but it didn't. 2.3 HAS to give us a whole lotta context, especially with nihility lore (my favorite aeon, i may be biased) and more about the ipc!

anyway, thank you for reading this poorly formatted, stream-of-consciousness word vomit about 2.2's aventurine lore. hope you liked it! drop ur thoughts in replies and reblogs plz they give me life(although i will be very busy next few weeks, so please don't be offended if you want a reply and don't get it, im so sorry!)

2.2 was peak- a bit slow, but the story was some of the best, if not the best stuff hoyo has given us in terms of writing quality. so great! i cried for sure, and that boss battle was just everything- especially the music. robin my lesbian queen if i didn't have to pull for firefly i would get your lightcone for sure...

see you all next time! thx for sticking around (:

[conkers-thecosy]

Five Fic Feedback!

Tagged by: No one! Seen this floating about a few fandoms, and decided to bring it over to bagginshield!

Rules: Pick five fics you've written, then tell us about how you feel about it vs how readers have received it!

1 - Bad Blood

My Thoughts: This one is way bigger than I meant it to be! It was going to be about 5k words and the only scene I had in my head was Bilbo biting the elven guard, haha! Readers: People really seem to love this one! I feel like feral Bilbo is always a crowd-pleaser, and this fic got much more attention than I ever expected it to! - 2 - Soldier My Thoughts: I'm really proud of this one. It was my first bagginshield fic, and it was after a loooong break from writing. Even though it's a bit weak in places, I have such a soft spot for it. Readers: I ended up re-posting this one after some harassment kicked my confidence down the toilet, but since then the reception has been very positive! - 3 - Poet My Thoughts: I'm sorry to say it, but this is probably my least favourite fic I've written. If it wasn't so popular I'd have removed it and altered the end of Soldier so it was just one fic! Readers: This fic seems to be very popular, and was the first time someone made art of my work - and more than once! I remember posting the first chapter and not expecting very much, only to come onto tumblr and see random posts where folks were super excited to see it was updating! It was such a lovely feeling! - 4 - My Ego Dies My Thoughts: I genuinely love this one, I think it's probably my personal favourite. I really enjoy playing about with the idea of "forgiveness" between Bilbo and Thorin, and this fic really scratched a particular itch for me! Readers: Probably my least popular fic - statistically, at least! I've found most folk weren't into it for one reason or another, but the people who love it, really, really love it! -

5 - Stealing Moments, Moments Away My Thoughts: I wish I'd taken more time with this one in some ways, but in others it really is the reshirement fic I wanted to tell. Again, I got to tinker with that "forgiveness" trope, and have a good look at what survival might realistically have meant for Thorin. Readers: This one is a quick read, and it's soft and fluffy, so I think readers enjoy it for that reason, though I believe some found it a bit boring. It was being updated almost daily, and the folks who were invested came back to comment and read practically every time I updated, which was just amazing to me! - 6 - Backs To The Wall (Sorry, I've written six, so I wanted to do all of them!) My Thoughts: I wrote this because it was something I wanted to read, and couldn't find. It's been amazingly fun, and I told myself when I started (knowing it was going to be fairly long - even if I didn't realise quite how long at the time, haha) that I wasn't going to take it too seriously, and I was really only writing this for myself, as the most self-indulgent kind of nonsense, ever! Readers: I can't begin to tell you how utterly blown away by the response to this I've been. Like?? It's just crazy to me how much folks are enjoying this, how excited and supportive everyone has been! I've been so grateful for everyone reading, and genuinely shocked down to my bones, haha! 💛 - No pressure tags for: @fantasyinallforms @lucigoo @lordoftherazzles @domesticgoddesswriter @thatfancygirlinwhite @lauramkaye @sass-y-squatch @mintedwitcher (and honestly anyone else who sees this and wants to do it, *waves a wand* you are Tagged!)

[bewareofchris]

I've been on the writer's tag again.

Listen guys.

Nobody owes your fanfic anything. I know that you want validation and adoration and those are both completely normal things to want. But this obsessive demand for comments over kudos and reblogs over likes is A Problem.

I won't bore you with tales of yore where we literally punted our fiction into the world with no idea of how it was being perceived by others because the only way to know if anyone even glanced at it was by the incredibly inaccurate page counter on our shitty geocities page.

(But that was a thing and it's semi-relevant to my point.)

A lot of you are growing up in a era of social media and viral marketing. You are babies of the influencer age, raised on the myth that if you can just get enough attention you'll get famous for something. I don't mean 10 million followers on insta famous but famous in your specific sphere.

That will not happen for you.

Not because people aren't reblogging your shit or writing out loving comments but because it's a myth. The idea that if you shame, beg and cajole enough people into interacting with your creation you'll access some serotonin high and ascend to a greater state of being is also a myth.

Here's the truth:

Most writers do not know how the majority of their audience feels about their fics. Those very few novels that you see on booktok, X (former twitter) or wherever else you get your writing news represent an infinitesimal portion of stories written and books published.

Most writers do have writing buddies or trusted members of an inner circle that they share their writing with.

For most fandoms, fanfics are so plentiful it's like going into a mall sized grocery store that sells only apples and then demanding the customer review every apple they touch.

For those few fanfics that you see that have an outrageous number of comments there are three possible explanations: 1. that person is what we used to call a "Big Name Ficcer" and they have amassed a following through consistent production of whatever that fandom is into, 2. that is a fic so long you have to sign a waiver to start reading it and despite the fact it was started seven years ago its still getting updated, or 3. that person is writing a viral fic in a fandom that is presently on fire.

Your self worth and self esteem cannot be tied to writing and posting fanfiction. It might be a fun outlet or you might be looking for your viral moment, but either way the moment you start weighing your worth as an author or creator based on what a bunch of strangers on the internet think of you is the moment you give up on yourself.

Social media has brainwashed you into thinking that you must be recognized and rewarded for the things that you put onto the internet. Or maybe it hasn't brainwashed you, maybe you just want to get a comment because you worked super hard on something and you feel like if you can't even get one decent response then its all been wasted. (I.e. you've been brainwashed into the feeling that you need the validation of strangers for happiness purposes.)

So what are you going to do about this?

Get off the internet. I don't mean permanently. I don't even mean literally. I mean take yourself out of the spaces that reinforce the idea that you need validation from strangers to be happy. Stop going on the social media sites for a few days (or a few weeks). If you've got a friend in fandom that you share fics, headcanons, ideas or anything with start chatting with them about something you want to write. Invest in them, in what they're doing and their opinions and how they react to your creations.

Put your shit on the internet like you literally don't give a fuck about anyone's opinion. Explain nothing about your writing choices. Put warnings, no more than 5 tags and drop that shit into the world like a newborn giraffe. Then ignore it.

Teach yourself to seek validation from your accomplishments: write a slightly longer fic, write a fic in a different genre, write a fic in a different rating, write a fic in a different fandom.

Find an actual friend that you actually interact with whose opinion you know matters because you agree on the important stuff.

Stop begging strangers for compliments like a cartoon hobo shaking a cup for coins. You're better than that.

[thevioletcaptain]

So I've been quiet on here a lot longer than planned.

The reasons are many. The reasons are varied.

The reasons are mostly fucking horrible.

Under a cut because it's long. Check tags for content warnings.

First was the expected absence: my parents came to visit me in Los Angeles over my birthday, so I spent the first half of October showing them around whenever I wasn't working a shift at my shitty department store day-job, or in class at UCLA.

Then, almost immediately after they went back to Australia, I got a second job working as a personal assistant for a composer. This was (and is) an extremely fun and rewarding job, but meant having one more thing on my weekly schedule, which was an adjustment.

Given that until halfway through last year, I'd been out of work since I immigrated in 2019, it took a while for me to get used to having so many concurrent responsibilities, and I'd just started to get a handle on things when I got sick right before the holidays. I took many covid tests -- all negative -- and eventually determined that it was just last year's strain of flu, which I hadn't managed to find time to get the shot for due to the aforementioned super busy schedule. I'm almost positive it was thanks to a particular customer at the aforementioned shitty department store job who coughed hard enough in my direction for their germs to get through my n95.

Anyway, last year's flu was a monster, and I spent a week in bed with a fever, then several more weeks being utterly drained and with a horrendous cough to match. It took a full month for me to recover, and then in mid-January, almost as soon as I started to catch up on all the things that had fallen behind while I was sick, things got bad, then good, then worse, then better, then much, much, much worse.

Basically, it starts with my dad being diagnosed with prostate cancer. He'd told me in October when they came to see me, but the surgery was scheduled for the tail end of January.

The surgery happened on a Monday, and it was a complete success. They got it all in one go. No chemo or radiation or further treatment needed at all. I spoke to him on the phone after he woke up, and he was in good spirits. Happy to have been given the all clear by his doctors.

I told him to watch Star Trek: Strange New Worlds & Evil while he rested up at home, because I'm writing specs for both this year and wanted him to be able to read them and know what was going on. He's the one who got me into sci-fi and horror, after all.

He went home.

He was home for two days.

He started feeling a bit rough on the Thursday. Short of breath. No appetite. Mum took him back to the hospital, just to be safe.

Turns out he'd had a mild heart attack. They couldn't figure out why. The echocardiogram didn't show any issues with his heart.

Then over the next couple of days, his breathing got worse. They took a scan of his lungs, and found that they were extremely inflamed. They'd given him covid tests but they came back negative. We told them about a work accident he had about 20 years ago, where a switchboard he'd been working on exploded in his face, and he'd suffered from inhalation burns among other things.

They thought that maybe something during the prostate surgery had caused irritation in his already damaged lungs, which put stress on his heart and caused the mild heart attack. He's never had any issues with his lungs since that accident, but they thought that maybe he'd just adapted to the damage over the years without realizing.

They kept trying different treatments to help his lungs heal. Nothing seemed to work. His breathing kept getting worse. They had him on as much oxygen as possible without intubating him, but it wasn't enough, so over that weekend they decided that they'd need to move him to another hospital with a more specialized lung unit.

When they were preparing to do that on the Monday night, he crashed. Another heart attack. Bigger, this time. They intubated him. Sedated him. Called my mum and told her to come in right away because things looked so bad.

But then he rallied. By the morning, though he was still sedated and intubated, the doctors were confident that with the right treatment at the specialized lung unit at the other hospital, he'd be okay. He was still in a rough condition, but stable. They transferred him to the other hospital.

He was given another covid test. This one came back positive.

My mum and brother called me once it was a reasonable time in Los Angeles to let me know what was going on, and the next day my brother booked me a flight back to Australia. I had to leave for the airport about five hours after my ticket was booked.

I got to Melbourne on February 1st.

For the next two weeks, dad was intubated, sedated, and in an isolation room. Every few days, they scanned his lungs again, and they were slowly improving.

Finally, he stopped testing positive, and was moved to a regular room in the ICU. Then he healed enough for them to extubate him and wake him up.

On February 13th, he was conscious enough to squeeze my hand when we went in to see him. On February 14th, he was conscious and capable of talking enough to ask a nurse in his ward to bring him his phone, and called mum first thing in the morning to wish her a happy Valentines Day.

Two days later, on Friday 16th, his lungs looked good enough on scans that they felt it was safe to do an angiogram, which they wanted to do just to double check that there weren't any issues with his heart that they missed with the echo.

They did the test. They found massive blockages. 90% blockage in one artery; significant blockages in two others.

Even though he'd barely recovered from covid, the blockages were bad enough that they scheduled him for open heart surgery on Monday 19th. They said without surgery there was a 100% chance that the blockages would cause another massive heart attack that he would not survive. They said there was about a 20% chance that he'd have complications, but only about 4% that they'd be serious/life threatening.

Like before, the surgery went well. Triple bypass, in the end. We got a call late on Monday afternoon to say that he was in recovery and looking good. His heart was functioning perfectly. They'd bring him out of sedation that night. Keep him in the ICU one or two days just as the standard post-op procedure. He'd spend a week or so in a cardiac ward after that, then head to a physical rehab ward for a couple of weeks until he could build back the muscle mass he'd lost while sedated.

We went in to see him the next day. Tuesday 20th. His 66th birthday.

He was tired, but looked good. Color in his cheeks. He made a couple of jokes. We left after about 45 minutes because he was pretty worn out, and we wanted to let him get some rest.

But then after, that his breathing started to get bad again. By Wednesday morning, they'd switched out the oxygen prongs in his nose for a big, high-pressure mask again. They called to let us know they were going to intubate him again so he could rest while his lungs recovered a bit more.

They struggled to get the tube in.

His lungs were deteriorating badly. He kept getting worse. We couldn't go in to see him because they were working on him all day.

At 9pm we got a call to say that he was just getting worse. They had him on 100% oxygen. He just wasn't absorbing it. His entire body was under massive strain. They were doing everything they could, but he just wasn't improving.

They said we should go in right away.

We got there by 10pm. My brother and his wife arrived about the same time. We went in to see him. He didn't look good. He looked pale. But he was warm, and he'd come back from the brink before, and we were sure he could do it again. We stayed with him for about an hour, and left not long after 11pm. Went back to my brother's place because they live closer to the hospital.

We were there about half an hour before they called us again. Just after midnight. He was gone.

That was about a week and a half ago, now. It still doesn't feel real. He was only 66. He hadn't even retired yet. He was working full time up until the week before Christmas, and had planned on going back to work a few days a week after he'd recovered from surgery. He never had any heart trouble, or lung trouble. He was active. He was fine.

My wife Zel and her mom flew in a couple of days after it happened. I barely remember anything from the past two weeks. Everything just feels fake.

I've been trying to write something to say at the funeral, which we've finally been able to arrange for next week -- it was delayed because we had to wait for dad to be released by the coroner. I don't think I'll be able to do it.

Anyway. That's where I've been.

It'll probably be a little while longer before I'm around here much, let alone posting with any regularity, because I'll be in Australia helping my mum & and my brother sort everything out. I have no idea how long I'll be dealing with stuff, or when I'll be able to make words cooperate enough to post anything, but I'll be back eventually.

I'm trying to keep an eye on Discord (I'm violetmatter over there) so you can find me there if you want. But yeah, I just wanted to let you guys know why I've been so quiet.

[littlespacereader]

Hi! Can I request a fic of cg! Hobie brown and little! Reader? Reader is shy when they regress, which causes a lot of miscommunications between hobie and them (like needs such as eating,potty, changing etc) so he makes the reader communication cards so they can both understand each other? Thanks!

Ahhhhh!!!! So cute!!! I absolutely love the idea of using cards to communicate. It’s so hard sometimes when your regressed to properly articulate how your feeling or what you need. This idea is so cute and super helpful! I absolutely loved writing this so I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for the request!

The Talking Cards 🕷️🃏

Caregiver!Hobie Brown & GN Little!Reader. (SFW)

Tags - accidents, miscommunication to communicate, comfort, communication cards, dips

Nicknames - darling, sweet one, sweetheart, sweetie

When Hobie first met Y/N he noticed how shy they were about their regression. In fact, he didn’t know about Y/N’s regression until he accidentally stumbled upon them regressed in their shared apartment.

After that day and a long talk when Y/N wasn’t regressed, Hobie officially became Y/N’s Caregiver!

He loves it, every second of it. But lately, there’s been a few bumps in the road.

It started at the dinner table one night. It has been a long day for the two so stayed in for the night and ordered takeout. Y/N sat quietly except for the occasional squirm here and there.

Then suddenly they were in a panic, pulling on his arm and whining.

“Y/N, what’s wrong darling? What’s going on?” Hobie asked but Y/N didn’t say a word. They just kept pulling on his arm and whining.

“Y/N, you gotta talk to me. What going on?”

Y/N just shook their head as tears started to fall from their eyes. Suddenly an answer to the panic became known as Y/N’s lap got darker and the sound of liquid started to hit the floor.

“Oh darling. Oh sweetheart I am so sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you needed to go potty.”

Y/N just continued to cry, unable to talk. Hobie felt horrible, absolutely horrible about the whole situation. He felt like it was his own fault. That maybe he should’ve known somehow.

Regardless he took Y/N into his arms and comforted them. “I’m so sorry Y/N. I promise I’ll make it better. You’re okay.” He comforted. After that he helped them get cleaned up.

The next time it happened was in the afternoon a few days after. Y/N was peaceful playing in the living room while Hobie was tuning his guitar. After a little while Y/N came over and started pulling on his arm to get his attention.

“Hey darling, what’s going on?”

They didn’t say anything. They just looked down and started to blush.

“Alright, ummm…you need to go potty?” He asked, starting to guess.

That got no response.

“Okay, ummmm…you need a change?” He asked again.

No response.

“Huh? Not that either.”

Finally something did the talking. Y/N’s stomach let out a big growl, taking it upon itself to speak up. The noise caused both Y/N and Hobie to giggle.

“I guess your stomach had enough! Alright sweetie, you heard your tummy. Let’s get you some food.” And with that he picked his little one up and carried them into the kitchen.

After that Hobie took it upon himself to come up with an idea to the situation. It wasn’t Y/N’s fault. He knew his little one was shy when they regressed.

He also wasn’t frustrated. He, more than anything, wanted to do everything he could possibly think of to accommodate and better take care of his little one. So, while cuddling up with Y/N one night, the idea struck him!

The next morning he got to work. Y/N watched him with a carful but curious eye. They couldn’t help but wonder what’s got their Caregiver so proactive?

Finally once finished, Hobie walked over and sat beside Y/N on the couch.

“Listen, I’ve been putting a lot of thought into things lately. And I want to start off by saying I’m not mad or frustrated or anything of that sort. I’ve just been worried that I haven’t been able to take care of you properly because I can’t understand your needs. I understand that when it comes to your regression you don’t know how to articulate things properly and it makes it hard for you to speak. So I came up with a solution.”

He handed them a stack of cards. Each card has a phrase or word in bold letters at the top with a picture of whatever it was describing. All the cards were attached to a ring so they could stay together.

“See, everything you could possibly ask for or need is on these cards. And if there isn’t one that’s on the card then I can asked yes or no questions and you can use these card to say yes or no. How does this all sound to you Y/N?”

Y/N looked at the cards in awe. They were the perfect solution! They carefully looked through all the cards before settling on the card that read “good” with a thumbs up drawing.

Hobie smiled and wrapped his arm around Y/N. “That’s good to hear.”

The cards became a huge success! Now they could better communicate with each other without one or the other feeling confused or not being heard.

One night Y/N pulled on Hobie arm and held the “potty” card up. Immediately Hobie was on his feet helping his little one to the toilet.

Another day they were hanging out watching tv. But a new program came on and was too loud, so Y/N pointed to their card which perfectly said “too loud”.

Y/N stomach didn’t need to speak for them because now with the “snack” card they could properly tell Hobie how they were feeling.

Lastly before heading to a gig Y/N pulled on his sleeve and handed him the cards before looking down. The top card read “change” sign a little drawing of a diaper. Even at their most shy moments like a diaper change, they could still communicate their needs.

After changing Y/N into a fresh diaper, Hobie handed Y/N their cards back. “Here you are darling.”

Y/N smiled and flipped through the cards. Finally they settled upon one and turned it towards Hobie. It simply said “Thank you” with a drawing of a heart.

Hobie smiled and winked, “Anything anytime for you darling.”

[chrismerle]

so, like, I am perhaps a little overly-protective of Veilguard, because I am genuinely very fond of it and a LOT of the complaints I see about it fall into the following categories:

'I am bitching about things that have been present since Origins, but I am very conveniently only taking issue with them now and acting as if they are unique to Veilguard'

'I am bitching about things that I claim haven't been addressed/explained, except they actually have, they just aren't super relevant to the main plot so Varric or Solas didn't turn to look at the camera and address it to my liking'

'I am bitching about how the game is messy but conveniently acting like it's UNIQUELY messy when in reality Dragon Age as a series is a goddamn mess'

'Taash is blunt and kind of awkward but seems largely unbothered by their own bluntness and awkwardness. I find this to be an unpleasant trait and anything I find unpleasant in a person is bad writing.'

'I am incapable of recognizing the difference between bad writing/game design and things that I personally just don't like that much'

and I think all of those categories of complaints are fucking stupid, and I wish the people bitching in such ways would either find some fucking whimsy and just appreciate the game for what it is, stop torturing themselves with a game they clearly don't like and aren't going to like, or at the very least have the good manners to stop putting their ass-hurt-y whinging in the main tags.

that said, I do have some legitimate criticisms! I am not just irrationally praising every element of the game.

you can't really talk to your companions in the Lighthouse. there are a few "scheduled" conversations that take place as cutscenes, but you can't just walk up to them and bug them to talk for the most part, like you can in previous games. hell, I would've been fine with the Mass Effect 3 method, where you just walk up and press the 'talk' button and they spit out vaguely situationally-relevant dialogue until they eventually tell you 'not right now, Rook.' but instead you're largely limited to just listening to your companions bond with each other by eavesdropping on them, which is relatable to me because I'm a nosy bitch and any conversation happening around me is no longer a private conversation, but isn't really what I was hoping for.

I don't think Minrathous and Treviso should have both been facing the exact same threat. like, I can buy that a merchant city with a couple handfuls of assassins and no army could be brought low by one dragon. but if the militarized techo-mage capital of The Country Where Everyone Does Dangerous Magic can't hold off ONE DRAGON then that is no longer a me problem. the excuse that was given was that it was circling the city from the air, raining death from above, but the archon's palace is its own long-range weapon, and most mages are also their own long range weapon. Rook rocking up with two additional fighters should not have been required to turn the tide in Minrathous against ONE DRAGON. Minrathous should have been facing a much larger threat than it was.

Varric really needed more ambient dialogue. I guess the devs didn't expect you to actually poke your head into the infirmary that often? 'cause the poor guy only seems to have like five canned responses that he gives. and as funny as it is that 90% of the time he was asking me when the last time I slept was with deep suspicion, it got a little old.

I ran into some audio and camera weirdness. with audio, it only ever happened with banter while running around, not in cutscenes, so I don't think it was my headphones. voices would get really crackly suddenly. and for camera, it wasn't, like, game breaking, but the camera did occasionally just whip itself around to face the opposite direction with no input from me. mostly when I started using the long range attack, but once while I was shimmying through a crack in the wall.

it's a little weird that Rook can't engage more with/about the faction they're part of. like, my first Rook was a Veil Jumper, but Bellara still had to explain basically everything to him, when it could have instead been her explaining it to Rooks of other factions but having a conversation about it with a Veil Jumper Rook. or at the very least some sort of 'Bel--Bellara--BELLARA. I know how it works.' 'Oh! Right! Sorry.'

and then there are some things I just personally wasn't a huge fan of:

I could have lived very comfortably without ever seeing the Mass Effect 3 readiness rating ever again. but there it is. you have to do ... so many side quests ... if you want to keep all of your companions alive. so many of them.

most of the armor is really ugly, in my opinion. my first Rook spent the entire game running around in the N7 armors (the version without the coat was his casual outfit, since my private running joke was that he only ever had time to take his coat off before he had to go put out more fires). my current Rook has been running around in the brown leather duster coat the entire time. I think it's because they're all kind of over-designed? a lot of them would be perfectly fine if they got simplified a bit. whoever dressed the Lords of Fortune, you need help, most of their outfits are so fucking ugly.

I know it's CONVENIENT when you use the same button for basically everything but the 'interact' button and the 'jump' button being the same means I tried to pick something up and then accidentally yeeted myself off a cliff or into a volcano so many times.

they nerfed my archers, man :( I mean, I kinda get it. I was an archer once in Inquisition and was so over-powered. archers got to be so fucking cheap in Inquisition, especially if you specialized as an artificer. it was great. some of the most fun I've ever had playing Dragon Age was being an explosive archer in Inquisition.

the Inquisitor's class should have been one of the previous choices we could carry over. in general, I don't care that it was mostly a clean slate, but we should have at least been able to specify if the Inquisitor was a warrior, rogue, or mage. let us actually see them in combat at the end.

I ... don't think I really had a point to this whole ramble. I just have a lot of Dragon Age thoughts and feelings and only a few Dragon Age friends, and I can only babble at them so much before I feel like they'll wanna break my keyboard with their brains.

[dutchsbigolhands]

Jealous sex with javier escuella x fem reader?please:)

Eres Mío

summary: You were flirting with other men at the bar to see if you could get a rise out of Javier... turns out you could, but not without consequences.

Word count: 1.9k

Tags: nsfw, 18+, smut, rough sex, jealous sex, fingering, overstimulation, lovebites/hickeys/marks, choking, slight breathplay, degradation, dom/sub undertones

A/N: Thanks so much for the request anon! I had a lot of fun writing it even though I'm not super happy with the result (I probably wouldn't be regardless of how good it was gshfsdf). But I hope you enjoy! It ended up being much rougher than I had first anticipated.... but maybe that's a good thing??

You truly didn’t know what you’d gotten yourself into. At the start, you were just messing with him. You’d bat your eyelashes endearingly at a stranger just to see his face harden. At some point you’d gotten addicted to seeing him like that, so it escalated until several men had fallen under your spell. There was a sort of thrill you got from glancing at his stoic face across the bar, struggling to keep his composure. He was always so good at keeping it, you’d never expected him to lose it.

When you went to glance at him for the last time, he was approaching you quickly. You didn’t have a chance to say a word before he all but dragged you away from your stranger of choice with a strong grip on your arm. When the man dared to protest, Javier snapped back at him, pulling a knife to his throat and threatening him in his native tongue. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen him so angry before.

The man was twice his size, but Javier didn’t waiver. His strong words and piercing look caused the man to eventually back off. The bar was near silent as he pulled you out by the arm and to your horses. Your pulse drummed loudly against your neck as you rode in silence back to the temporary camp you’d set up nearby for just the two of you. 

When you finally arrived, he didn’t waste any time. You’d barely touched the ground before he’d pulled you in by your waist, lips clashing against yours. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but a heated kiss was not it.

“What were you thinking?” He grumbled, breaking away from you. It wasn’t long before he had your back against the blanket covering the ground of your tent. Your lips struggled to keep up with his as he seemed to want to swallow you whole.

“Javi…” you breathed, feeling his lips trail across your jaw, then down to your neck. He nipped at your skin and your fingers intertwined with his hair, pulling desperately the strands at each graze of his teeth.

He shuddered, pulling back. In a swift motion, he gathered both of your wrists into his hand and pinned them above your head. 

“You upset me tonight, cariño,” he muttered, leaning back into your neck. You squirmed against him, wrists immobile against his strong grasp. He took a patch of skin into his mouth, sucking hard, and pulling a dark purple mark to the surface. “I want you to be mine.”

“I am,” you whined. He shook his head, still in the crook of your neck.

“You surely didn’t act like it,” he said, spite tainting his usual smooth tone. “You were sweet with just about every man in that damn bar.”

You could only whimper in response, feeling another mark being made on your neck.

“By the time I’m done with you, you won’t be able to think of anyone else,” he muttered into your neck. You whined, squirming against him. You were desperate to hold onto him as he continued to decorate your neck with more marks. “And no one will want to play with a lady who’s been marked up will they?”

He dragged his lips loosely over his work before releasing your wrists and sitting back a bit. He began undoing the buttons of your shirt, grumbling in frustration when they didn’t cooperate with his eager hands. With a growl, he yanked the shirt apart, pulling some of the buttons out in the process. You were now down to your loose undergarment, but at the loss of a perfectly good shirt.

“Javi…” you groaned, aggravated he would be so desperate as to ruin your clothes.

“Hush,” he snapped. “I don’t plan on being careful with you.” He pulled the shirt past your shoulders and you sat up to let him pull it the rest of the way off. He threw it to the side, letting it be forgotten. Your undergarment was next as he fought with the fabric to get it up over your head. It joined the forgotten pile to the side as he pinned you back down and continued his pursuit of marking you up.

He’d moved away from your neck, down to your collar bone then to your breasts, leaving a trail of purple spots in his wake. He took his time, letting you squirm under him as he left mark after mark on you. He soon took one of your nipples into his mouth, teasing the bud with his teeth. You sucked in a sharp breath, the sudden stimulation startling.

He teased one breast with his mouth while his hand took care of the other, rolling the sensitive bud in his fingertips. He was already making a mess of you as your mouth hung open, taking panting breaths. You tried winding your fingers into his hair again, seeing if he’d even notice.

He hissed and pulled away from your breasts. He furrowed his dark eyebrows at you.

“You’ve lost that privilege, mija,” he growled. He took this moment to remove his own shirt and you had to fight the urge to rake your fingernails over his chest as you’d done before. You grunted, willing your hands to stay by your sides as he returned to you.

He continued his pursuit down your body, adding more marks to your breasts and stomach. You were becoming desperate for him as you kept bucking your hips upwards.

“What’re you so needy for, huh?” He pulled away from your body. “Need me to fuck you like the whore you are?”

“I’m not-” 

“Aren’t you?” He tilted his head at you then began pulling down your skirt. You bit your lip to keep yourself from saying anything else to make him more heated. “Just can’t keep those goddamn hands to yourself…”

He pulled your skirt off swiftly, leaving you completely exposed under him. He slid his fingers between your thighs and through your folds, gathering the slick that was pooling there.

“Jesus…” he said, feeling just how wet you were. “Were you this wet talking to those strangers? I bet you fucking were.” Just saying that out loud seemed to provoke him even more as he let out an exasperated sigh.

You whined, his fingers running through your folds again. Two of his fingers dipped inside you, causing you to exclaim loudly. You covered your mouth with your arm to keep you from being too loud as he worked his fingers inside you . Your nerves were overly sensitive from his words and the decorations he’d left on you.

“Now you want to be shy?” He teased. “No, take your hand away, let me hear what those men wish they could.”

“What if someone-”

“You would like it if someone heard, wouldn’t you?” He picked up the pace and added pressure to your clit with his thumb. You moved your arm and arched your back as you let out a loud moan into the crip air of the camp. “Puta.”

You recognized that word, but didn’t know what it meant exactly. All you knew is that he never used it in a positive way and certainly never used it towards you. He must have been terribly angry...

He continued to finger you quickly, to the point of overstimulation. You felt as if you were at the cusp of an orgasm for far too long. And Javier was good at making you cum, he’s done it many times before. He knew your body, perhaps better than you did, therefore he knew just how to make it suffer.

“Javier, please,” you pleaded, legs writhing at his touch. He pinned one of your thighs down roughly and remained unrelenting as his tense face watched you squirm beneath him. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh you’re sorry?” He said with a humorless laugh. “No, you just want mercy.”

He pulled his hand away and the sudden removal of stimulation made you swear spitefully at him. He furrowed his eyebrows at you and you shot back a quick apology.

“You’re on thin fucking ice, mija,” he said before beginning to undo his belt. You let out a breath of relief, but it was cut short by a hand around your throat. The sudden restriction made you grasp onto his arm in desperation.

“Don’t get fucking excited,” he growled. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll never forget who you belong to.”

You whimpered, eyes wide as a silent beg for him to release you. He did suddenly, allowing you to take in a deep, shuddering breath.

He barely gave any warning before slipping his cock into you, the slick you’ve created thus far making it easy for him. He groaned and you cried out as he pushed all the way in. Javier swore a few times in Spanish before beginning to move.

He didn’t bother starting slow, instead setting an already persistent pace. He set his palms on either side of your head, glaring down at you as he fucked you hard. Each thrust someone seemed to reach deeper and deeper. You were already left a moaning mess with your eyes tightly shut and knuckles white from gripping the blanket below.

“No one gets to fuck you like this,” he growled. “No one.” He grumbled, only increasing his brutal pace. He would drag out of you slowly, then slam quickly back in, sending shockwaves through your whole body. The endurance of this man was outstanding to you, even under normal circumstances.

You opened your eyes slightly, catching a glimpse of Javier’s harsh face. You’d heard stories of him scaring away grown men with just a piercing look… but never did you think you’d see it for yourself. It struck you straight through your heart… and you truly felt guilty for what you’d done.

“Eres mío... Mío!” He spat. “Mi puta.”

You groaned, grasping onto the stiff muscle of his forearms to brace yourself against his barrage. You were growing overwhelmed by the pain and pleasure his cock was bringing you as you writhed involuntarily. His words only came in the form of his native tongue, indicating he was close. You moaned his name over and over, that being the only word you could seem to form. Your mind with blank of all other thoughts that weren’t Javier.

With a loud groan, Javier gave his last few thrusts before stopping with his cock buried deep within you. You let out several whimpers as he spilled his seed in you. You both gasped for breath, completely spent from that experience. 

Javier spoke first once he caught his breath, “don’t ever… do that to me again…” your heart strained at his words. He was furious before, but now he sounded almost sad. You reached up and put a hand to his clammy cheek.

“I won’t, I promise you,” you said with a weak smile. “I really am sorry.”

He let out a sigh, putting his hand over yours on his cheek.

“I know you are…” he said with his own weak smile. He ran his fingertips over your torso where he’d left all his marks on your skin. He laughed breathlessly. “You are so beautiful like this.”

He laid down beside you and carefully pulled you in close. You let him, nuzzling into his neck as he rested his chin on your head. It was clear to you then that he did truly love you, and there were no more hard feelings for what you’d done. Perhaps you’d talk about it when the sun came up, but for now you were simply content in each other’s arms.

A/N: I think it's kind of funny that I've written Javier exactly two times, one where he's overly sweet and one where he's overly... not lol. Anyways, thanks for reading!