#the tags for this is longer than the post

[shyficwriter]

Sorry prev, but I couldn't let these tags stay in the notes.

And before I get into agreeing with prev, I also always use readmores- but prev still has a point.

This is directed more to people in the notes than to OP (who almost definitely didn't expect their post to turn into this and actually seems pretty chill), but threatening to block people because they don't make themselves smaller for you is kinda cringe actually.

For 30K fics, yeah I get it- they should probably be under readmores or linked to AO3. But just 1k or 2k like prev said? I've seen thinkpieces on here longer than that with no readmore get regularly reblogged and no one blinks an eye. Reblog-chains and comics longer than that which keep circling with no complaint. People only seem to care when it's fic. Everyone loves to call tumblr the fandom website until they have to scroll past a fic they didn't feel like reading, or belonging to a fandom space they weren't a part of.

You all came to the fandom blogging website and got mad that there were *checks notes* fandom blog posts. And then you threaten to block the writers for not making themselves smaller than they already do, as if you were ever going to read their fic or interact with them or their posts anyway regardless.

Weird behavior, honestly.

It just gives such icky/gaslightly, "Well I might have read your fics and became your biggest fan- but you didn't put a readmore so now I'm blocking and you've lost a potential reader forever! Ouch- sorry! Buh-Bye! xoxo"

Do you all not see how gross that is? How entitled that sounds?

I'm not saying never block accounts you don't want to see- by all means block away! Curate your own experience and all that. But when you feel the need to announce it, acting like your block is some righteous punishment, or something other bloggers should be scared of and should actively avoid, just for not blogging the way you personally want them to- it gets so gross.

Especially considering that you can go into your own blog settings and hit the toggle for "Shorten long posts" yourself, and have every long post be automatically shortened and given it's own "Expand" button, therefore letting you scroll right by all the fic you want to skip.

Yes, it even works in the tags, I just checked.

if you're posting a whole fanfiction to tumblr you've got to put it under a readmore boss

[hrrtshape]

insane, dream-like things that were normal in my better cr . . . in other words, what it was like being part of the 1%

i never carried cash : i didn’t need to. if i ever found myself in a situation where cash was required, idk, a farmer’s market or bribing someone, i’d just apple pay!?

i never waited for anything : reservations were booked months in advance. lines were always skipped. at clubs we just walked right in. theme parks? VIP passes only. i have never stood in a queue longer than 90 seconds in my life...or...in my better cr.

my closet was bigger than a new york apartment : and everything was colour-coded. yep. yep !!!

i never read price tags : not because i was being reckless, because i simply did not need to know. it was always fine.

if i wanted something, i got it : saw a dress in a magazine? had it by the next morning. craved a specific croissant from a bakery in paris? it was flown in. life had no delays.

luxury was so normal i had to actively remind myself it wasn’t : by the 13th day, i would have moments, small ones, where i’d be like, " wait, not everyone has their own perfume custom-blended by a french artisan? " and then i’d move on.

the ‘poor kid’ still had a trust fund. . . they just had less in it.

errands? what errands? dry cleaning, post office, buying toothpaste. these were not my problems.

skincare was medical : not just a ‘good moisturiser’ situation, i mean dermatologist-designed, prescription-only, lab-created serums. my facials involved lasers. my face was someone’s full-time job.

my mom had a florist on retainer : fresh-cut flowers appeared in my room like magic. i never asked for them. they just were.

celebrity run-ins were painfully normal : “oh yeah, we had dinner next to tilda swinton last night.” “who?” WHO?

we never parked our own cars : valet, always. i had a friend who didn’t even know how to use a parking metre.

there was no such thing as ‘saving up’. in those two weeks i never thought, “hmm, should i buy this now or wait till christmas when i get 50 euros from my grandma?” PFTTTTT.

everyone had a ‘family office’ : financial advisers, lawyers, accountants. my money was managed. someone in my school had three.

coffee orders were wildly specific : not ‘latte with oat milk’ specific. i mean custom-roasted beans, flown in from a single farm in costa rica, brewed at a precise temperature, delivered in a monogrammed cup.

doctors made house calls : i have not seen the inside of a waiting room. ever. feeling sick? someone arrived.

vacation homes weren’t a flex, they were a given : there’s the paris apartment (1st arrondissement, obviously), the villa in lake como, the chalet in gstaad. the only real estate question was, “are we summering in capri or st. barths?

your signature scent is impossible to buy : it’s either a discontinued hermès perfume from the ’70s that you miraculously still source, or a custom blend from a perfumer who only takes five clients a year.

flying commercial is a horror story, not an option : tsa? baggage claim? delays? these are foreign concepts. you had a netjets membership at the very least, but most likely, you have a family jet with an interior designed by someone who also did a yacht.

your tastebuds have standards : your daily coffee comes from a faema e61, your eggs are from a private farm, and your idea of a snack is burrata flown in from puglia that morning. did i mention my private school had michelin chefs?? yea.

you own art. like, real art : not prints. not posters. actual, museum-worthy pieces that are either inherited or sourced through galleries that don’t even have websites.

most people don’t know what anything costs : a gallon of milk? no idea. a metro ticket? couldn’t tell you. you swipe, tap, sign, and never check.

you don’t shop in stores like normal people : you go to private showrooms, have pieces sent to your home, or shop off-runway. waiting in line… horrendous.

i’ve had a ‘house account’ somewhere : a boutique, a jeweller, a tailor. places where you don’t pay on the spot, just ‘put it on the account’ and settle later.

i was taught how to eat properly : which fork for what course, how to use a butter knife, the correct way to hold a wine glass. it’s not something i learned. it’s something i absorbed from watching adults at endless dinners, benefits, and polo events.

i don’t remember learning how to ski or ride horses : because i was doing it before i was fully conscious. i have childhood photos in full equestrian gear, little skis strapped to my feet in gstaad or zermatt. it’s just something i always did.

an art education by osmosis : grew up hearing adults talk about rothko, basquiat, and duchamp in casual conversation. dragged to the louvre and the tate before i could even read. instinctively know the difference between an original and a print.

i have a family lawyer on retainer : and not because i ever committed a crime. they exist to handle things. NDAs, reputation management, keeping your name out of the papers. they know where the bodies are buried, metaphorically (or not).

most families’ wealth is so old and so layered in offshore accounts that even they don’t fully understand it : trust funds? sure, but also shell companies in the caymans, art holdings in geneva, real estate portfolios under LLCs. money isn’t in banks. it’s spread across continents.

most parents’ have had affairs with each other for decades, and it’s not even a scandal anymore : it’s just part of the ecosystem. marriages aren’t about love, they’re alliances. the wives turn a blind eye, the husbands keep it discreet, and the real betrayal is talking about it.

i’ve been name-dropped in a deposition : it was a divorce case. i was never involved, but my name was adjacent to power, so it got dragged in. the case was settled out of court, of course.

most families has multiple passports : not for fun, not for aesthetics. because sometimes you need an exit strategy. a villa in capri, a château in france, a penthouse in dubai. doors are always open, should you ever need to disappear.

i’ve seen actual generational feuds play out in real time : my parents have enemies. their parents had enemies. the grudges go back decades, and nobody even remembers what started it.

i grew up around people who have gotten away with actual crimes : white-collar, mostly. insider trading, fraud, tax evasion. but sometimes things darker. people go to rehab, people “retire early,” people take extended trips to monaco until things cool down.

i’ve seen billionaires (and their kids) break down over the pettiest things : a bad seat at a gala, a misplaced monogram on their jet, a slight from someone whose family has less money than theirs. the richer they are, the more fragile they get.

my family has a pr strategy : this is largely because my mom is a ceo of a billion dollar company. and everything is managed. what photos are released, what stories are planted, which journalists are “friendly.” nothing is random.

i know that philanthropy is often just money laundering with better optics : charities set up for tax reasons, “foundations” that quietly funnel wealth back into the family, billionaire donations that conveniently coincide with favourable legislation.

i’ve seen people lose their fortunes overnight : one wrong deal, one lawsuit, one scandal that sticks, and suddenly, the private jets are getting repossessed. the real old money…they watch from a distance. they never risk everything.

i know that some billionaires don’t actually have liquid cash : they’re over-leveraged, playing financial gymnastics with their own net worth. yachts, art, mansions. but the second they need actual money? suddenly, things get complicated. this is why everyone in my school donated possessions instead of actual money.

met people who don’t own their clothes : couture is loaned, jewellery is borrowed, yachts are rented to themselves through shell companies. it’s all about optics. they don’t need to own when they can access.

heard rich kids joke about things that would make normal people physically ill : laughing about tax evasion, casually mentioning private rehabs like summer camp, making bets on stocks that could ruin lives.

met billionaires who are bored of being rich : the thrill is gone. the yachts, the jets, the parties. it’s routine. they start chasing danger. high-stakes gambling, extreme sports, secret societies. anything to feel something.

[iamthemaestro]

step 1: get yourself a man in uniform*

step 2: take it off him

*percy’s uniform is most inspired by the 1787 pattern british naval captain’s uniform but is ultimately a fantasy given that his story takes place in a world that is similar to, but not quite, ours. I make this disclaimer mostly for myself as someone obsessed with historical accuracy. anyway. it looks pretty and that’s the most important part after all

[nuttersincorporated]

Tumblr: A Beginners Guide

Hello and welcome to Tumblr!

If you're new here, this post is a little guide meant to help you understand how things work on Tumblr. I’m going to give you some guidelines and explain a little bit about Tumblr culture. Hopefully, this will help you settle in, avoid unnecessary pitfalls and enjoy your time here. I hope you’ll like it here on our hellsite (affectionate).

1. First and most importantly, please change your userpic and put something on your blog.

If you don’t, other users will think you're a bot and you'll be reported/blocked. It’s nothing personal but we are at war with the bot accounts. Most older users will automatically assume that a blank blog= bot.

You don’t need to do much. If you aren’t comfortable rebloging things or making your own posts yet, just change your userpic and add a short description to your blog.

Here’s an example of a description you can use.

‘Hi! I’m new here. I’m still working out how this place works but I promise I’m not a bot so please don’t block me.’

2. Go to your settings, then to your dashboard settings and change things to how you like them. I suggest-

Make Tumber show you posts in chronologically order, rather than pushing ‘best stuff first’

Pick a colour palate that doesn’t give you a headache

Make Tumblr show timestamps on posts and reblogs. While a post is never too old to reblog, you don’t want to accidentally signal boost something as ‘news’ when it's acutely years out of date and no longer relevant.

Choose not to shorten long posts

3. Go to the top of your dashboard, press on the toggle and arrange things how you like them.

I suggest pinning your ‘Following’ first. It means that when you go to your dashboard, the first thing you’ll see are the blogs that you’ve actively chosen to follow.

Some older users will tell you that the ‘For You’ page is useless and should be ignore. This is because for a long time it was either non-existent or terrible so most older users – myself included – just don’t bother with it.

However, nowadays it’s fine so use it if you want. ‘Following’ should still probably be pinned first though because you know what you like better than the algorithm.

4. Please don’t censor your words here. Tumblr doesn’t shadow ban you for saying random words.

Shadow banning does happen but it’s mostly at random or because you were targeted by trolls. If it happens to you, you’ll need to fight to get unshadow banned.

The point is that you won’t get shadow banned for saying ‘death,’ ‘murder’ or ‘rape.’ Don’t do things like saying ‘graped’ instead of ‘raped.’ If you do, you’re just going to piss people off and make it harder for people to avoid triggers.

5. Don’t spam the tags!

You can ramble in the tags all you want and nobody will mind. However, if you tag an unrelated post with a popular tag, you will be reported for spamming. It’s against the Tumblr terms and conditions, it’s annoying and it’s something the porn bots do.

6. Please, reblog things. It helps posts spread a lot more than liking them does. Think of your blog as a scrap book where you put stuff you like.

If you aren’t comfortable adding to a post, that’s fine. Just reblog it and share it with others.

7. That said, Tumblr posts are collaborative and we like it when you add to them. It doesn’t have to be much. You don’t have to add something every time you reblog a post but it is a part of the fun to do it sometimes.

If it’s an art or fanfic post comments like; ‘good post op,’ ‘I LOVE THIS!’ or even ‘OUCH my heart!!!’ will make an OP’s day.

If it’s another sort of post; you can add your thoughts or join in on committing to the bit. Try matching the energy the post is already giving.

8. The follow and block buttons are your friend. You decide what you see here. If your dashboard doesn’t spark joy, you can always follow someone new and/or follow an interesting tag. If someone is making your time here unpleasant unfollow and/or block them.

9. Tumblr likes to commit to the bit. Sharks are smooth (they are not) and the 1973 Martin Scorsese movie ‘Goncharov’ is the greatest film ever made (it doesn’t exist).

10. A post is never too old to reblog. We like old posts here.

Every now and again, you will see a post that is over ten years old. The reblogs will probably be full of people expressing delight about seeing the original post again or seeing it for the first time.

11. You don’t want to be Tumblr famous.

There are niche blogs that are dedicated to one thing and are well liked e.g. @the-haiku-bot (the one bot we love), @writing-prompt-s and @cantheykillmacbeth. However, they are either side blogs or blogs run by multiple people.

Your main blog should just be somewhere you like to spend your time. There are no benefits to being Tumblr famous on your main blog.

12. Tumblr spreads news with this meme

13. Tumblr loves dates. Whether it’s the Ides of March (it sure would be a shame if certain world leaders got stabbed), Halloween (which we start celebrating in about July) or just a random day of the week e.g. ‘Out of Touch Thursday’ there is always something happening that you can celebrate.

14. The staff always pulls a silly and harmless prank on Apil Fools Day. Last year we got to boop each other.

15. We like a silly poll

Okay, I think that’s the basics covered. You’ll get the hang of everything else as you go along.

I hope you have fun here and that you manage to avoid Apollo’s dodgeball of prophecy (try not to joke about a specific way things could get worse or you might be hit).

Yours faithfully,

A Tumblr Cockroach

[nicnevans]

Hey! GW2 fandom!

I'm semi-new here, though (since you guys seem friendly) a few of my screenshots and doodles have done the rounds so my characters might not be entirely unfamiliar to you. Anyway, I want more GW2 on my dash! with some caveats due to being New TM I'm looking for folks to follow who;

post a fair bit of GW2; other games and fandoms in the mix is fine, I myself am pretty multifandom over here (I don't have the braincells to separate everything out lmao)

have a spoiler-tagging system I can reference; I've just finished HoT and I'm absolutely not rushing through GW2's storyline (experience has taught me that the best way to enjoy an MMO is slowly) If you don't have a spoiler tagging system but still wanna chat, that's also great! hmu I wanna interact and meet the fandom! I just don't wanna hit a spoiler for content that, to most other people, is ancient lmao

I'm especially interested in seeing fanworks, whether you're a creator of them or a chronic reblogger. I miss the good old days of tumblr when my dash was 90% peoples' fanart and OCs and everyone hyping each other up 🥺

A bit about me (and my characters)

I'm not a single-fandom blog. My blog runs mostly on a queue, and in that queue goes basically everything I enjoy with anything cool that crosses my dash in between.

I'm a Millennial TM. I make Millennial TM jokes (puns) like my life depends on it. I'm sorry. I can't change.

I post art over on @ilmhist sometimes. Doodles and portraits and such. (That's also the blog I like/follow from.)

I have... a lot of OCs. A lot. My OC page is packed and in a constant state of "oh god I still need to write so-and-so's bio..."

idk how to play GW2 I'm just here for the blorbosis, I'm certifiably Bad At It and I die constantly. This has become a character trait for my comm, it's a running joke at this point that he never walks away from a fight under his own strength, he's always getting carried or dragged out when it's all said and done.

I'm... kind of obsessed with sylvari. I support everyone who has brainrot for the other races and I'd love to hear thoughts on them, I just have none, it's all plant people all time in my one singular braincell.

(pictured above, left to right: Duilliche (main comm), Callainn, Lusanaisig, Dreaghann)

These lil guys are my current pride and joy. Lus and Drea are twins, but all four of them awoke during different times of the same day, and (mostly) had connected Dreams. Cal is the odd one out in this, she never got a Wyld Hunt and her calling in life is much more mundane than the others, but she sort of gets swept along with them anyway. Her running gag is that, for one reason or another, she never seems to make it to the Big Climactic Fight at the end of any given journey. Dill is very much in the wrong genre and should have been a Disney prince. He even sings. He also has a godawful sense of direction and if left in charge of Leading The Group, he will blithely lead the group in circles for hours. As is evident, they're season-coded. Autumn, winter, spring, summer. I thought it was a fun idea for a group of sylvari sharing a plotline :>

This post is getting really long. Okay, so, intro done, like/reblog/comment/something if you post GW2 and I can avoid spoilers if I follow you, if I can't avoid spoilers if i follow you feel free to drop me a message or something if you want?

[tkomptgoedluv]

girl with one eye.

icantbelieveiletyougetaway pt.4

pt.1 here | pt.2 here | pt.3 here | pt.4

joost klein x f! reader

tags: dead dove do not eat, f! reader, non-famous! reader, reader is finally seeing a therapist, established relationship, they’re so so in love i wanna cry, reader just wants a good night sleep, joost just wants to help, a loootttttt of hurt, maybe too much of comfort, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 2,833.

warnings: very detailed descriptions of SA, very brief allusion to drugging, semi-vague descriptions of a panic attack, rpf.

notes: hello angels! this is veryyyyy overdue but it’s finally here! the ending is a little rushed and i’ve only half-proofread it so please forgive me for any errors. also — this part comes with a MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING for those of you that struggle with SA, please do not put yourself at risk by reading if it’s not meant for you!

on a happier note, i’d like to give credits to @spentandpent for drawing that first image of joost in my little header thingy. their fan-art kinda inspired this whole part <3

also i wanna shoutout @howisjoostfanfictionforfree simply because sloane is one of my favourite people on this whole entire app, and she’s been so so supportive of me since my very first fic post. i ♥️ you, sloane my bbyg xx

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

you wanted to kick yourself.

genuinely, you felt a little sick whenever you thought about all those years you’ve wasted by being just a little too stubborn for your own good.

all those sweet, early mornings where the sun would peak through the blinds and you’d wake up to find him still curled all around you, and how you would run from them just because they started to feel a little too real. all those nights where you’d leave him still tangled up in the sheets, breathless and wishing you’d stay just a little while longer whilst you were already halfway out the door.

for years all you did was run, and you’re yet to forgive yourself for it. because this — this was heaven and you could have had it so much sooner if only you hadn’t been such a fucking coward.

you blame it all on those three little flings that you had over the years; those three no-more-than-six-weeks-long ‘relationships’ that still, somehow, almost ruined you. the first was a guy that seemed to love his pills and potions more than you, the second was once the ‘love of your life’ before he stuck his dick in someone else, and the third was nothing more than a few too many bad hookups with a guy you couldn’t quite shake.

they were what did it for you, in the end. what convinced you to avoid anything more than the odd one-night-stand here and there. you just weren’t cut out for the whole ‘dating’ thing, apparently, and that was fine. you were fine with that; happy about it, even. as long as it meant that you wouldn’t have to go through anymore disappointment, you’d live with it. or without it, rather.

so when you found yourself stood outside in the pouring rain, arguing back and forth with joost about something you can’t even remember anymore, you still thought it to be out of the question. you were refusing to believe that you were anything more than a stress-reliever to him, because that’s all you could ever be. all you ever wanted to be.

whatever it was that you and joost had, it was special. you couldn’t explain it, and you certainly weren’t willing to lose it by feeling all the wrong things for him. you had no idea that he was the one who’d fallen down that rabbit hole, the one who’d started feeling all those wrong things first — not until he kissed you that day.

with the rain soaking the two of you down to the bone, tears pooling in both of your eyes. his chest had been heaving and your throat had felt all scratchy from the yelling; still, he had been so gentle with you. even more so than he usually was. he had his hands cupping your face and the way he’d looked at you, still to this day it gives you goosebumps whenever you think about it.

how lucky you are that for the past six months joost has kissed you just like that, every single day.

every morning now, when you wake up to the sun shining through the blinds and joost’s arms still wrapped around you, you don’t dare to move. you wait until you hear that low grumble in your ear that’s always followed by a sweet kiss to the back of your shoulder, and only then do you roll over to return the favour. sometimes it unravels into something more, other times you’re both able to show some restraint.

the afternoons are always a little more unpredictable with joost’s job being what it was. there were days where he’d say his goodbyes before midday and wouldn’t return until the early hours of the next morning. there were the months where you’d be lucky to even get a whole day together at all. but there were also the days where he’d only be out for a few hours, either at the studio or one of the boys’ houses. on those ones, whether it was your place or his, joost would always come home to you with pastries in his hand and some new art of his to show you.

for the first time in all your years of living, things were finally good. you were happy; you were in love. it was only right to assume that with that, everything else was bound to fall into place.

but you just weren’t sleeping.

you drift off for a while, tucked neatly away into joost’s arms as he engulfs you, him always being so insistent on being the big spoon. for a couple hours you’ll sleep like that, tossing and turning until you’re all the way over on the other side of the bed, and it’s there that you wake up struggling to catch your breath, shaking like a leaf.

usually, it’s just bits and pieces of that night all jumbled up that you see. quick ‘flashes’ of his face, the bloodied crack in the bathroom mirror, the feeling of the porcelain sink digging into your stomach as he bent you over it. nothing truly coherent, but enough to still wake you up in a panic at three o’clock in the morning. then it becomes a gamble as to whether or not you’re able to fall back asleep. most of the time, you’re still laying there wide awake when the sun starts to rise, still far too afraid to close your eyes again.

though for whatever reason, tonight’s dream had been particularly awful. you could’ve sworn that you were actually back there this time, relieving the whole thing. you could feel his hand on the back of your neck, squeezing, keeping you pinned down. you could feel your skirt all in a bunch around your waist again and your tights barely hanging on from how he’d ripped them to near shreds.

and now you were here, staring at the ceiling and trying not to cry too loud whilst the clock ticked closer and closer to dawn. it was almost five o’clock in the morning so really, it should’ve felt as though you’d gotten at least a couple hours of good sleep. instead, you were exhausted; wide awake with your heart pounding inside your chest, but exhausted as tears slipped from the corners of your eyes.

this wasn’t what you expected, not when joost had painted such a beautiful picture that therapy was the be all and end all cure for any and every problem. it had you convinced that by the time you were a few months into your sessions, things would’ve gotten at least a little bit easier. perhaps it was your fault for getting your hopes up the way that you did.

you were trying to keep it quiet, your crying. you hadn’t told joost about what had actually happened that night yet, let alone the nightmares about it. he had a habit of carrying other people’s pain so that they wouldn’t have to themselves — you didn’t want to be one of those people.

after a while though, you didn’t have that choice anymore. there was a bang from outside, nothing more than just an old, cheap car backfiring, and you jumped. you made the bedframe shake a little more than it already was and yelped just loud enough to wake joost up from his sleep. you swore underneath your breath as he grumbled something you couldn’t quite hear before looking back over his shoulder at you.

“you heard that too?”

when you didn’t say anything he turned over fully, the sheets rusting and the mattress creaking as he moved.

you heard him whisper your name, just in case you really were still asleep, but even in the dark he could see that your eyes were open and staring blankly at the ceiling. it was a quiet sniffle that gave you away in the end, because the dark did well at hiding the wetness in your eyes. still, it couldn’t conceal the quick wipe of your nose; even in the dark and without his glasses on, joost could still see that.

“hey, are you crying?”

you didn’t mean to flinch when he went to brush a strand of hair out of your eyes, and you didn’t mean to worry him by doing so. it made his eyebrows furrow as he pulled his hand back and sat up slightly, propping himself up on one of his elbows.

“what’s going on?”

“nothing, i just…i’m just being a bit stupid. i’m fine; you can go back to sleep.”

maybe if there wasn’t that waiver in your voice you would’ve gotten away with it. joost would’ve mumbled something of an ‘okay’ and kissed you goodnight before rolling back over. you would’ve been left alone to wait for the sunrise, a cold sweat coating your skin despite the warm summer air that was rolling in through your open windows.

but even if he was half blind without his glasses on, joost’s ears worked just fine. he heard the waiver in your voice as well as the sniffle in your nose, and he knew.

joost wasn’t stupid; he noticed things. noticed the way the bags under your eyes had been growing heavier over the past couple months, and saw how even the smallest things were making you jump out of your skin. he knew what you were like though, knew better than to try and ask you about it. all he could really do was hope that the therapist you had now would be enough.

but he’d found you near-sobbing at five o’clock in the morning now; heard the fear in your voice, saw the tears in your eyes. it didn’t surprise you to see him immediately sit up and reach over, switching on his bedside light before turning back to face you. but it did bring on a wave of sickness to your stomach, the kind that made your hands feel clammy.

“no, you’re not fine. what happened?”

you wiped at your nose again, and then at your eyes. as you spoke you refused to look at him, keeping your gaze fixed on the ceiling because you truly did believe that all of this was stupid. your tears, the heavy beating of your heart — all of it.

“just had a bad dream, that’s all.”

you heard a soft sigh from bedside you and felt gentle fingers in your hair, finally tucking that one strand behind your ear. this time, you didn’t flinch. you leaned into the touch, letting a single tear slip down your cheek as you realised that soon, this might be the last time he’ll ever want to touch you.

“anything i can do?”

you really didn’t want to do this, but you knew you needed to.

“can i…can i talk about it? you know, about what happened that night?”

joost didn’t hesitate, he couldn’t — not when this was such a rarity for you. he nodded and laid back down, his tired eyes watching as you rolled over until your back was facing him. he couldn’t bring himself to ask why you wouldn’t look at him, just listened quietly as you sucked in a deep breath and watched as you curled yourself into a ball.

“the guy, he was nice at first; saw that i was on my own and wanted to know how i ended up there, i guess. he seemed normal, like he just wanted to get to know me.”

your voice was shaking as you spoke, and you were struggling to breathe through your stuffed up nose.

“i should’ve known that something was wrong when i started to feel like, drunk drunk, after only a couple of drinks. maybe he slipped something in one of them, i don’t know, but when he asked if i wanted to do a line with him i didn’t think i could say no.”

a large hand squeezed your hip from over the covers when you paused for a moment, a few tears getting caught in your throat when you tried to swallow them down.

“i uh, i followed him into the bathroom and i let him lock the door behind us, and i did the line he racked up for me. he promised me that it was a gift, that he didn’t want anything for it; he knew i didn’t have any money to pay him and he said it was fine. but when i tried to leave he told me that he’d changed his mind, said i could pay him back another way.”

joost’s hand fell from your hip when you slipped out from underneath it and curled in further on yourself. it meant that all he could do was watch from the other side of the bed as your shoulders began to shake from the small, pathetic sobs that you couldn’t hold back.

“i said no, joost. he got me up against the door, tried to reach underneath my skirt, but i said no. he didn’t like that — didn’t like it when i hit him, either. he…he bent me over the sink, hit my head against the mirror, told me that i owed him for what he’d given me.”

you had to fight to get the words out through all of your blubbering; through each of the hiccups and all of the gagging. you truly were in a bit of a state now, spiralling further and further down into the memory, but you needed to do this. no matter how much it hurt, you just needed to get it out.

“he held me down by my neck and he…he laughed when i told him i couldn’t breathe. i couldn’t move, joost, i couldn’t get him off so i just…”

when you started to trail off, a pair of arms scooped you up and gently pulled you across the bed until you were flat again joost’s chest. you felt him rest his head in the crook of your neck, a dozen salty tears of his own dripping down onto your shoulder. for a while, neither of you said anything else; you’d gotten yourself too worked up to find the rest of your words and quite frankly, joost didn’t need to hear anything else. he had an imagination, he knew what happened next.

you caught him off guard when after a couple minutes, just after the silence had settled, you started to apologise over and over again. like a child too consumed with guilt, you were spewing out desperate ‘i’m so sorry’s one after the other until the words all slurred together.

“hey, hey, hey, stop that. you don’t need to do that.” you felt him kiss the back of your ear, your neck, your shoulder. “i’m never gonna blame you for it, okay? — it’ll never be your fault.”

joost’s grip on you tightened when you began to cry harder, your tears soaking the pale, bare skin of his arm. he nuzzled his face deeper into the dip of your neck, listening to the unsteady beat of your pulse as you breathed in quick, shallow breaths.

“i-i’m sorry.”

“shhh, hey, it’s alright. just focus on breathing, honey. that’s all you need to do.”

it took you until little drops of sun were spilling through the blinds to finally relax enough to breathe right. neither of you had moved an inch, you were both still all wrapped up in each other, only now the tears had dried and your eyes were growing heavier.

carefully, you twisted in his arms until you were facing his chest, and it was there that you curled up again. you felt him leave kisses all along your crown; in your hair and on your forehead. as you hooked a leg over his, he used an arm to pull you closer, only satisfied once you were as close to being under his skin as you could be.

the warm summer air was still blowing in through your bedroom windows. it made the whole room hot and sticky, making you sweat even more than you always were from being so close to joost. beads of sweat were gathering along your hairline as well as his, and the bedsheets were beginning to cling to your skin. it was clammy and uncomfortable — still, you wouldn’t move.

“thank you, by the way.”

it was the sound of your own voice to break the silence again, but it was your words that made joost shift a little, only to tilt his head down to get a better look at you. when he met your eyes he saw that you were already staring up at him with something of a smile tugging at corners of your lips.

“for what, baby?”

“for letting me talk about it…and for not running away afterwards.”

with his eyes drooping and his breathing slow, joost simply scoffed. his hands danced their way up to your jaw and cupped your face, his thumbs gently stroking along the pink blush of your cheeks.

“i could never run away from you.”

[suzukiblu]

WIP WEDNESDAY GAME

Slimmed-down post/rules, but originally taken from @/kedreeva.

It’s WIP Wednesday! This week’s theme is "you like me? sounds fake but okay". We are going to be using various interpretations of this theme, let's say, lol.

Here’s how it works:

I will post the file names of five WIPs, and will also post a snippet of new content from one of them to get the ball rolling.

Send me an ask with the name of one of the listed WIPs and I will write you a minimum of three sentences in that WIP in response!

Multiple requests are fine, but please send them in separate asks. Just a little easier for me to fill them that way, and also easier for people to read through the WIP tags smoothly later.

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

WIP names:

if there is a way to find you I will find you (( chrono || non-chrono ))

the Last Son of Krypton meets Hypertime Kon (( chrono || non-chrono ))

kidnapping your soulmate for fun and profit (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Robin gets nested (( chrono || non-chrono ))

think pink (( chrono || non-chrono ))

snippet from “if there is a way to find you I will find you”:

“It’s alright,” Clark tries again, carefully. Match’s eyes are wide and his expression is fury and fear and he hasn’t said a word; Conner is thrumming with tension and terror and barely restraining himself from throwing himself into the middle of things, which would not help, but at least he knows that. “Can you–” speak, he means to ask, but Match doesn’t wait any longer than that to lunge back forward and attack him again. 

Clark doesn’t have time to react before he takes a fist to the throat that only barely doesn’t crush his throat, and staggers back from the hit. Conner cries out, and Clark feels his terror even sharper than the pain. 

Mostly what he feels is disoriented, though. 

No one who wasn’t an outright enemy has ever hit him that fast and that hard. Barry can’t hit that hard, Diana isn’t that fast, and Captain Marvel typically holds back when they spar, same as he does. Match is clearly, clearly not doing that. 

But . . .

[hergrandplan]

"He's the one"

thank you @enjoythesilentworld for this fun tag!!

Post a 1-5 paragraph excerpt of a WIP/fic idea that may never make it out of your drafts but is near and dear to your heart.

I started this so so long ago and actually looked at it a few days ago and realized that this may simply be one I can't figure out. I know what it's supposed to be (exes who are friends, and then Simon gets engaged and Wille becomes his best man) but I don't know how, and either way, I don't think this particular scene will make it in! So here it is, for your enjoyment (yes. this is longer than 1-5 paragraphs. it could have been even longer but there were too many square brackets in the final few that I couldn't figure out. but hey. More cake!)

**

With a loud “Wille, you’ll never believe what happened!” Simon stormed into the living room, temporarily making Wille look up from the book he was reading. A book he was enjoying.

He already regretted giving Simon the keys to his house. One of these days, he was sure, Wille was going to come home and find Simon splayed out on his couch, having raided his cupboards and eating all his snacks.

“What, Simon?” he said with feigned disinterest, while trying to finish this last paragraph.

Simon grabbed the book out of his hands before he could, and tossed to the other side of the room.

“Hey!” Wille exclaimed. [maybe this needs to be more of a description of the sound like ‘disgruntled noise’ or something but not disgruntled] “I was reading that!”

“You can read later, I have something to tell you.” Simon sat down on the couch next to him, the widest grin possible on his face and a sparkle in his eyes. “I met someone. And I’m pretty sure he’s the one.”

“You said that about the previous guy. And the guy before that. And the guy before that.”

“Yeah, but this time I’m sure of it.” Simon fell back against the couch cushions, and ran a hand through his black curls. “He’s sweet, and considerate, and incredible in bed. I mean the way he–“

“Okay, okay, I do not need to hear you go on about your sexual escapades again, please. Where did you meet him?”

Simon’s hand got stuck in his curls, and he blushed. Actually blushed, and that’s how Wille knew the answer.

“Please don’t say the club.”

Simon didn’t reply.

“Simon, we talked about this. Not every guy you fuck is the one.”

“Yeah, but this time it’s different! I mean, I met him last Saturday and we went out for dinner last night and Wille,” Simon sat up again, stared into Wille’s eyes. “I came from his place just now. I haven’t even been home yet since Saturday. He has a bed frame. A bed frame that is incredibly suitable to – ” Wille gave him a look, and Simon stopped mid-sentence. “Okay, it doesn’t matter what it’s suitable to, but c’mon.”

“Wait, but if you met him Saturday –“ Wille quickly did the math in his head. “Simon, you’ve known this guy for what, 4 days?”

“I know, I know, it’s too soon but truly, I’m telling you, he’s the one. For real this time.”

Wille rolled his eyes and get up to get his book from where Simon had flung it to heedlessly.

“Sure. Tell me again in a month when it hasn’t crashed and burned again, and maybe I’ll believe you.”

Simon’s problem, according to himself, was that he just loved too much and that they were never able to handle it. And maybe he was right, a bit – almost every guy he met was the one until he found they weren’t ready for a relationship, were still in love with their ex, or, in more than one case, had a girlfriend already.

Simon’s problem, according to Wille, was that he couldn’t see past all the raging red flags. Simon would have killed it if he were a bull fighting in the arena.

Not tagging anyone bc Idk who has been tagged already and I sadly dont have the brain capacity or the time for that rn. So if you see this and want to join in: this is your sign!

[deftinesia]

something big is coming (like actually);

HIII i bring good news ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) i’ve finally finished the first draft of chapter 22. all i have left to do is edit it and post it ! in the meantime, i’ve already started to outline the next chapter and i’d like to start working on that as well ‎♡‧₊˚

i was debating on whether i should hold off on any announcements / updates, edit chapter 22, and surprise post it once i’m done with chapter 23 so you’ll have two chapters to read (as an apology) but since it’s been so long, i’ll just edit this in the upcoming days and post it so you don’t have to wait much longer — thank you for your endless patience my luvs !

other personal good news and oversharing below [CW: medical talk, procedures, current events]*⁀➷

˚✧

i mentioned in the tags of a previous ask a while back that i previously scheduled a consultation with a surgeon to get my tubes removed ! it went well, and in a week i’ll get the procedure done aaaaah i can’t wait !!! i’ve wanted to do this for years but never got around to it … but seeing as reproductive healthcare and autonomy has been increasingly threatened (i.e. roe v wade overturned) AND trump’s been elected president, i found a childfree-friendly doctor on the childfree friendly doctor list (via reddit) who’d be willing to do a bisalp on a “young” person ! i highly recommend checking out that list if you’re in the US and interested.

idk if reality has set in yet, because i’m not nervous about the surgery itself even though i’ve never had a procedure other than having my wisdom teeth removed … wish me luck haha (。＞＜) i’ll let you all know how it goes !!!

˚✧

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

The Weight of Change | Sebastian Sallow x OC

I don't even know what to say abt this, my chest feels like it might explode from the amount of fluff and love and adoration in this. uhghghhh

(previous fic/context if necessary)

Words: ~3,100

Tags: Post Canon, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff, More Fluff

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

The night was crisp, the air cool as they made their way up the familiar path to the cottage. The stars were bright above Feldcroft, the village quiet at this hour, save for the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the wind. It should have been a peaceful walk. It would have been, but Evangeline held herself differently tonight—closed off in a way that wasn’t like her.

Dinner had gone well enough. Garreth had been his usual boisterous self, while Cressida had balanced him out with her composed, if slightly exasperated, commentary. Evangeline had laughed. Smiled. Contributed to the conversation. But something had been… off.

It was in the way she tugged at the sleeves of her dress absently, the way her smiles didn’t quite reach her eyes. The way she had been a little quieter than usual, pressing her palm to her belly under the table when she thought no one was looking.

But Sebastian had been looking. He always was.

And now, as they made their way back to the cottage, her silence weighed heavier than the cool night air.

Sebastian let the quiet settle for a moment longer before finally speaking. “You alright, love?”

Evangeline startled slightly, as if she hadn’t realized how deep in thought she was. “Hmm? Yeah, of course.”

He arched a brow. “You sure? You’ve been a bit quiet since dinner.”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m just tired. It was a long day.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t the truth.

Sebastian hummed, letting the subject drop—for now.

Instead, he reached for her hand.

She let him take it, squeezing his fingers briefly before letting go again. That, more than anything, made his stomach twist. Evangeline had never been shy about touch with him.

By the time they reached the cottage, she was rubbing at her lower back absently, her posture subtly shifting as she tried to ease whatever discomfort had been nagging at her all evening.

Sebastian opened the door for her, letting her step inside first before shutting out the night behind them.

Evangeline kicked off her shoes near the doorway and stretched, rolling her shoulders. “I think I’m going to change and head to bed early,” she murmured, already making her way toward their bedroom.

Sebastian nodded, pretending not to notice the way she wrapped her arms around herself as she walked away.

As soon as the bedroom door clicked shut, Sebastian let out a slow breath and began pacing.

Something was bothering her. He could feel it like a storm in the distance, the pressure in the air before the thunder rolled in.

He went over the evening again, searching for anything he might have missed.

She had laughed. Talked. Played along with Garreth’s antics. But the way she had held herself—the small hesitations, the subtle distance, the way she let go of his hand so quickly—something had been weighing on her.

His pacing slowed.

The dress.

When she'd come into the bedroom earlier to change for dinner, she had reached for her favorite dress—the deep red one—and when she tried to slip it over her head, she had gone very still. Sebastian hadn’t thought much of it at the time—Evangeline was particular about what she wore, sometimes changing her mind last minute.

But it was obvious, now that he reflected on it. She hadn’t changed her dress because she wanted to. She had changed it because the one she wanted to wear no longer fit.

Sebastian’s chest tightened.

He knew she was aware of the changes in her body—how could she not be?

He had been marveling at the way her body was adapting to the pregnancy, in absolute awe of the life she was carrying. But he had also seen the way she sometimes frowned at her reflection, the way she hesitated when dressing, the way her hands lingered on the curve of her stomach, not with reverence, but with uncertainty. Not about their baby, no—of course not. But about herself.

Sebastian ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. He had known Evangeline long enough to understand how she worked—how she carried her worries quietly, how she never wanted to make a fuss over things that mattered to her but would fight tooth and nail for anyone else.

And now, she was likely curled up in bed, telling herself that feeling this way was silly, that it didn’t matter, that she should be grateful.

But it did matter.

Sebastian pushed away from the fireplace, rolling his shoulders as he made his way toward the bedroom. The door was still slightly ajar, and he stepped inside as quietly as possible.

Evangeline was already in bed, curled onto her side, her back to him. She had changed into one of his shirts—one of the looser ones, which he suspected wasn’t an accident.

His heart ached.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle her too much. “Evie.”

She made a soft noise of acknowledgment, but she didn’t turn over.

“You’re not hiding anything from me, you know,” he murmured.

Evangeline was quiet for a moment before exhaling softly. “I’m not hiding anything,” she said, though the words felt hollow even as she spoke them.

Sebastian didn’t push—not when she wasn’t ready—but he also didn’t leave. Instead, he shifted closer, resting a warm hand on her back. His palm moved in slow, soothing circles, a steadying presence against the storm he knew she was trying to keep to herself.

“Evie,” he said again, softer this time.

She finally turned onto her back, blinking up at him. In the dim candlelight, he could see the faint crease of frustration between her brows, the hesitance in her hazel eyes. It was the same look she had given herself in the mirror before dinner.

Sebastian brushed his fingers along the sleeve of his shirt where it covered her wrist. “You want to tell me what’s wrong, or should I take a wild guess?”

Evangeline huffed. "There's nothing to guess."

Sebastian leaned back slightly, propping himself up on one elbow. “Was it the dress?” he asked gently.

She stiffened.

Sebastian had his answer.

Evangeline sighed, running a hand down her face before letting it drop onto her stomach. “I know it’s stupid,” she muttered, her voice quiet. “It’s just a dress.”

Sebastian frowned. “It’s not stupid.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “I’m carrying a child, and I’m upset about something as trivial as a dress. It is stupid.”

He shook his head. “You’re upset because your body is changing in ways you have no control over,” he said plainly. “That’s not stupid. That’s human.”

Evangeline’s throat bobbed slightly, and she turned her face toward the ceiling, blinking rapidly. “I just feel… heavy,” she admitted after a pause, her voice almost too quiet to hear. “And it’s not just the baby. I feel like I’m dragging myself around.

He hated how small she sounded when she said it, hated how much it must have bothered her for her to say it out loud at all.

He shifted closer, brushing his knuckles along her cheek.

“Evangeline,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Your body is doing something incredible.”

“I know that,” she said quickly. “That doesn’t mean I have to like how it feels.”

Sebastian let out a slow breath.

He wanted to tell her that she was beautiful, that she was stunning, that he liked the way her body was changing, because it meant their child was growing inside of her.

He wanted to say how he’d spent months in absolute awe of her, watching the way she instinctively cradled her stomach when she wasn’t thinking about it, how she hummed softly to herself when she thought she was alone, how she always whispered goodnight to the baby before she fell asleep.

But this? This wasn’t something he couldn’t just fix with words, no matter how much he wanted to. Evangeline was stubborn. He knew her well enough to understand that this wasn’t about him. It was about how she felt in her own skin.

And right now, she felt uncomfortable. Unsteady.

Sebastian exhaled softly and sat up, rolling off the bed.

Evangeline blinked at him, confused. “Where are you going?”

“Stay here,” he said simply, already making his way toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”

She frowned, shifting to sit up properly, watching as he disappeared down the hall.

Sebastian moved quickly, his mind already turning over the details as he stepped into the washroom. He knew Evangeline better than anyone—what soothed her, what made her feel at peace.

And if she felt heavy, if she felt dragged down—then he’d make her feel weightless.

He turned the taps, watching as steam curled into the air. The water needed to be perfect—just right. Not too hot, not too cold. He had drawn Evangeline enough baths by now to know the precise temperature she preferred. The trick was in the way the steam lifted, the subtle ripple of warmth when he dipped his fingers in to test it.

Once he was satisfied, he reached for a small vial on the shelf—lavender and chamomile, the same oil she liked to use when she couldn’t sleep. A few drops in the water, just enough for the scent to bloom into the air.

But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

Barefoot, he slipped outside, shivering slightly at the contrast of the cool night air against his skin. Feldcroft was quiet, the only sounds the distant rustling of leaves and the soft chirping of crickets.

The irises, her favorite flower, grew behind the cottage, nestled along the stone wall. He crouched beside them, fingers ghosting over the delicate petals, careful not to damage them as he gathered a few. He plucked the softest ones, the freshest blooms, cradling them in his palm as he stood.

As he straightened, he cast a glance back at the cottage. The window to their bedroom was still illuminated, a soft glow behind the curtains. He wondered if she was still lying there trying to push away the thoughts she hadn’t wanted to voice.

Turning back inside, he moved swiftly, shaking off the night chill as he stepped into the warmth of the washroom. The bath was nearly ready, the water lapping gently against the porcelain as the faint scent of lavender filled the space.

He took his time placing the irises in the water, watching as the petals floated to the surface, shifting gently with the movement of the bath. Then, with a flick of his wand, he charmed the bubbles—not the usual fleeting kind, but ones that would linger, popping only when touched.

Evangeline liked things like that—small bits of magic woven into everyday moments.

Satisfied, he stepped back, surveying his work.

The room was bathed in a soft, golden glow from the lanterns, steam curling into the air, the scent of lavender wrapping around him. The water was perfect, the irises floating like small, violet stars, the bubbles shimmering with the faintest iridescence.

Sebastian nodded to himself before stepping out into the hall, making his way back toward their bedroom.

Evangeline was sitting up now, curled beneath the blankets, her arms wrapped loosely around herself. She looked up as he entered, her brow furrowing in sleepy confusion. "What are you up to?" she murmured.

Sebastian smirked, reaching for her hand. “Come with me.”

Evangeline hesitated, blinking at him before glancing toward the door. “Sebastian—”

“Just trust me,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.

She sighed but allowed him to help her up. She let him lead her toward the washroom, though she looked suspicious as they stopped in the doorway.

Then she saw it.

Her breath caught.

The bath, the irises, the bubbles—all of it.

She turned to look at him, wide-eyed. “Sebastian…”

“You needed this,” he said simply.

Evangeline’s lips parted, but for once, she had nothing to say. Instead, she just stared at the bath, something flickering behind her expression—something vulnerable, something soft.

Sebastian reached for the hem of her shirt, fingers brushing against the fabric. “Let me help you.”

But she hesitated, and Sebastian stiffened.

Evangeline had never been shy about touch—not with him. Their relationship had always been filled with it, casual and instinctive, woven into the fabric of their lives together. But now, she was hesitating. She never hesitated.

The realization settled like a weight in his chest.

He had told himself it was just exhaustion, that the reason their intimacy had waned in recent weeks was nothing more than her body needing rest. And that was true, in part. She had been more tired, more achy, curling up beside him in bed only to drift off before they could do more than press drowsy kisses to each other’s skin.

And of course, he didn’t mind.

How could he?

She was growing their child—of course she was tired. He had expected it, had anticipated that her body would demand more from her, that she would have less energy left for them. He had never once begrudged her for it. Never once thought of it as something lacking between them.

If anything, he had loved it in a quiet, unspoken way—the way she would nestle into his side without hesitation, tucking herself against him like he was something safe, something she could sink into without effort. He had come to savor those moments, the way she would let herself rest in his presence, the way she trusted him enough to simply be.

But now—now he wondered if there was more to it than that.

What if it wasn’t just exhaustion keeping her from reaching for him?

What if part of her didn’t want to be seen by him?

Sebastian swallowed against the tightness in his throat, keeping his touch gentle as he lifted the fabric over her head, waiting for her to stop him. She didn’t—but she didn’t meet his gaze either, her arms instinctively drawing inward, as if she could make herself smaller.

And then he saw her. Really saw her.

He had seen her naked more times than he could count. He had memorized every freckle on her skin, every dimple, every place she was softest. But now... now his child was beneath her skin, beneath the swell of her belly, beneath the curve of her hips.

And she thought for even a second that he wouldn’t want to look at her?

Sebastian clenched his jaw, steadying his breath before meeting her gaze. She was watching him carefully, searching his face for something, maybe reassurance, maybe hesitation.

He refused to give her the latter.

She had always been beautiful to him, had always taken up every inch of space in his heart and his hands, but this? This was something entirely different.

She was softer now—growing, not from indulgence but from life.

She had never been more perfect.

Her breasts were fuller, her skin stretched and smooth over the growing curve of her belly. The stretch marks had deepened, a soft red against the paleness of her skin, trailing along her sides, the curve of her hips, across her stomach where his child grew.

He fought the urge to touch her, to press his hands over every inch of her and make her feel what he saw. Instead, he let his gaze travel back to her face, his throat tightening at the way she refused to look at him, her neck and cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

“Evangeline,” he murmured, his voice softer now, reverent.

She swallowed hard. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” His fingers brushed against her wrists. “Don’t look at you? Don’t see you?”

She pressed her lips together, her gaze flickering toward his before darting away again.

Sebastian took a slow, steadying breath, reaching up to tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Evie,” he whispered, “you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

Her throat bobbed, her fingers curling slightly against her stomach. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not saying it because I have to.” His hand cupped her jaw now, tilting her face toward him so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

She let out a shaky breath, still unconvinced, but at least she wasn’t turning away from him now.

Sebastian’s fingers traced down her arm, slow and deliberate, before settling at her waist. “Every single part of you is stunning,” he murmured, his voice almost reverent. “This—” his hands smoothed along the curve of her belly, where life was growing, their life— “is stunning.”

His palms ghosted over her hips, his thumbs brushing over the stretch marks there. “This is stunning.”

His fingers trailed up her sides, to where her ribs curved beneath soft skin, where her body had changed to hold more.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Evangeline, I—” He stopped, his voice catching, his hands stilling against her. “I love this. I love you—every single part of you, every single change, every mark and curve and—” He broke off again, swallowing hard, overwhelmed by the sheer force of how much he adored her.

Evangeline’s face crumpled slightly, something fragile in her expression.

And then she reached for him.

Not hesitantly, not cautiously—but with something raw and desperate, her fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer.

Sebastian let her, let himself be drawn into her, pressing his forehead against hers, his hands never leaving her skin.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice small. “I know I’ve been—”

“Don’t,” he murmured, brushing his lips over the corner of her mouth. “Don’t apologize for this. For feeling. For needing time.”

Her breath shuddered, and he kissed her then, soft and slow, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the press of his lips against hers.

It wasn’t like their usual kisses—playful, teasing, or burning with need. This was different. This was steady, deliberate.

This was I see you.

This was I love you.

This was you are mine, and I am yours, no matter how we change.

When he pulled back, she let out a small, uneven breath, her hands still clutching at his shirt.

“Come here,” he murmured, gently guiding her into the bath.

Evangeline let out a quiet sigh as the warmth surrounded her, the scent of lavender curling into the air. She leaned back, her body finally, finally relaxing.

Sebastian knelt beside the tub, watching her, committing every inch of her to memory again, as if she were something precious—something sacred.

She cracked an eye open. “You’re still watching me.”

He smirked, but there was nothing teasing in his voice when he said, “Always.”

[voxofthevoid]

Okay, I have a problem that's probably the opposite of a problem according to at least some of you: I discovered that my stucky backlog is... somewhat longer than I believed.

Basically, I found that my "trash" folder for MCU has a few abandoned oneshots that I have no memory of creating. These are, of course, things I'd never have posted in their current form if I were actively writting for MCU. But since my current goal is to clear out my backlog, including the abandoned works, these will also be landing on Ao3—as clearly labelled abandoned fics marked as incomplete, for those who are willing to brave those.

But I'm not sure which format to use. So, if any of my remaining MCU followers are seeing this, help a guy out:

No. 1 is the format I'm least keen on. It's only in the list because it'd save me the time required for tagging and actually figuring out what's in the story. The result would be a fucking black box though.

Hence the interest check, really. Trying to gauge what the audience wants, since we're at the point where I'm posting these fics solely for my readers.

[qwordavoider]

Parting Waves

Chapter 8 is up! It is almost 9,000 words. Yet Chapter 9 is taking me like 10 years to write, so I am hoping something inspires me soon. I will definitely be posting more of More Important Than Blood in the near future to give myself time to figure out Chapter 9.

Straightening the finishing touches of his dress uniform, Tommy found himself wondering who from the 118 was all going to be at the hearings. Based on the examples that Evan had provided to the Chief, it was a safe bet that Eddie and Howie would be there. Plus Bobby is the focus of this investigation so he would naturally have to be there. He was willing to bet that Hen would show up as moral support if she hadn’t also been called to testify. 

He knew that the entire Leo team planned to be there even though they hadn’t all been called to testify. Tommy got a little emotional at how much the team had grown closer over the last couple of years since he had joined. The Leo team had turned into a family in many ways. But one of the many things that he admired about Captain Kato was that she always stressed that they were in a professional work environment. No matter how their personal relationships grew, with her or among the crew members, she emphasized her decisions would remain as unbiased as possible and follow policy. It was a testament to her leadership that she stuck to it even as Melton’s kids started calling the crew members' aunt and uncle. Or when Alex had started bringing Cat Benatar by for some comfort after hard calls. 

Tommy had felt something start to shift in the 118 in the final months before he transferred. He knew Bobby was trying and create a welcoming environment. But it seems his former captain had struggled to create boundaries to protect himself and the 118 from the very situations they were being called to testify about. He knows that Evan wants to one day return to the 118 but, for his sake, he hopes the 118 figures all of this out before he decides to go back. 

Speaking of Evan, he needed to leave now if he was going to pick him up and still get downtown to headquarters in time for the start of their testimony. Tommy once again found himself outside Evan’s apartment door. Not long after he knocked, the door swung open to reveal Evan in his dress blues. 

Tommy wasn’t even ashamed to admit that he gaped a bit as he scanned Evan’s uniform. He pulled off the formal wear, very well. Tommy didn’t fail to notice that Evan had styled his curls so they looked even better than they had before they went to the monster truck rally. He was so focused on how handsome Evan looked that he almost missed the way Evan’s breath caught and the blush that appeared on his cheeks. 

They stood there admiring each other for a moment longer before Tommy said, “Are you ready to go?” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. 

If it were any other day Tommy would definitely have commented on Evan’s hair or the way his ass filled out the dress pants. But today was not any other day. Evan was about to come face to face with the 118 all together for the first time since he transferred. Tommy guessed Evan’s hands fidgeting with his uniform had everything to do with that and not the way Tommy had checked him out. 

“As ready as I can be. Let’s go before I chicken out,” Buck affirmed.

“Yes sir,” Tommy replied pointing a finger gun at Evan.  Finger gun? Seriously Kinard? Get it together. He couldn’t be too embarrassed though since Evan huffed a small laugh. Tommy would take it. Whatever he needed to do to help Evan get through the day.

tags (reblog or comment to be added): @consulting-goddess-of-deductions @sensitivescream @inawickedlittletown @walkedthroughfires @cannibalhellhound @fenrirscarsback @nochance-noway @meltedredweasels @moonydanny @thestrangestthlng @the-little-red-queen @sagahaft @tommy-loves-evan @deansmilo @fierybuck @manifestingchaoticvibes @javanicko @chococara25 @911coded @911-is-my-emergency @harmonic-intervention @teabroomsandbooks @comeon-intothemadhouse @sweaters-and-silly @magdad @n1kkii @nephilimeq @partofthelouniverse @xoxo-jnh-xoxo @angelus-bellator @sleepy-lazy-loser @sassybeautydiysports @dandelioncasey @sporadicmakerwerewolf

[buck-up-buck]

Soooooo I didn’t do this last season but I decided to do a bingo card for everything I think/would like to happen in season 8- let’s talk about it shall we.

Let's talk about the obvious- the one thing I think the fandom all collectively wants. Mr Diaz to come out of the goddamn closet. Now, Gay Eddie makes so much sense, but also, so does Demisexual Eddie. I feel like, especially with his relationship with Shannon, him coming out as Demi would make so much sense.

I would respectfully like the writers to leave Henren alone this season. Give them a win, give them Mara back, let Hen beat the shit out of Ortiz, and then leave them ALONE. I want no drama for my moms this season please and thank you.

Now saying that (don't hate me) I think Hen is due a major injury... I am just saying, if someone is gonna be hurt this season, it being Hen would make sense.

RIGHT, give me a BuckTommy argument, give me some BuckTommy angst, and then, have them make-up. We have seen so much growth for Buck these past few seasons, let's see him resolve a problem in his relationship by communicating. And then, have them make out afterwards. Please.

I feel like we are so overdue a Halloween episode. We have a full season this time around so I want them to make full use of it. Saying that, let me also bring in the fact that I do also want a Christmas/Thanksgiving episode as well. Give me family bonding with the 118. Another Christmas Party, Bathena using their new place to host Thanksgiving, something, anything.

I know we all want it but, GET GERRARD FIRED. I don't want him to be injured, I don't want him to die, I don't want them to skip over the arc they ended with entirely. I want someone to get dirt on him, and take it to the chief, and for his ass to be dragged out of that firehouse.

I don't know where this sudden obsession with seeing Sal again has come from, but I would love a Sal redemption arc, or even for him to be a little bitch for Gerrard and also get dragged through the mud. Just, Sal.

SHALL WE INJURE OUR FAVOURITE HOT PILOT. I am not saying a major injury, but something, a little sprinkle of worried!Buck. Let's see him panic over his boyfriend.

I know I will hate it if It actually happens, but a mid-season cliffhanger. I think, we need something to keep us on our toes while they break. GIve me "missing groom" but more drama.

I have been asking for this since season 3 but GIVE ME A MADDIE BEGINS EPISODE. I want to see baby Maddie meeting Doug for the first time, I want to see them moving to Boston, and then moving back. The first time he hit her and his pussy ass apology. The day she escapes, and her journey to Buck. I BEG.

Bring Chris home please. Just, give Eddie his son back. PLEASE.

I want a Bathena cracking a case wide open and going full blown detective. I want to see Bobby with a murder board and Athena being so done with her husband but so in love. Give me treassure hunt vibes, but just, Bathena solving murder.

RIGHT- HERE ME OUT (this will get a separate post here). I want a Buddie begins episode. I want, realisations, and then, flashbacks galore. I want snippets of Buddie during Bucks recovery after the bombing, different POV's of things that have happened throughout the seasons, Buck sleeping on Eddie's floor the night he got home after the snipper. I want- I want so much.

Saying that, I also want, another Buddie argument. I want an argument over Buck and Tommy, or over Chris, or over work, just, give me, some Buddie beef. And then another hug when they make up. (or a kiss lol)

HOW ABOUT WE GIVE OUR OG GAY BOY A BOYFRIEND. Give Josh some loving.

BuckTommy having a dinner date with Bathena and/or Madney. URG, yes please. Cute vibes all the way.

Right, so when Madney got married, I so wanted the fact that Jee had a baby-girl balloon to foreshadow another baby. I know they were in a hospital and improvising, but OMG that would be such good foreshadowing. I want Maddie freaking out because what if she messes up again, I want Chimney doing the same, thinking he is going to lose Maddie, and then I what them to talk about it. I want Maddie to witness all the firsts she missed with Jee. I want another Madney baby. Or give them a dog. That will appease me.

Dosed is probably one of my favourite episodes ever, so if we could get another episode on par with dosed and jinxed, I would love.

Let’s get Mr Diaz in therapy shall we. I want to see Franks reaction to all the shit he did in S7.

I mean, I wish for this every season just because I love whumping my favourite Buckley so bad, but how about wr injure Buck again. Give me worried!Tommy/worried!Eddie/Dad!Bobby.

It would be such a missed opportunity if someone doesn’t get stung by a bee. I am just saying.

I am soooo obsessed with Christopher already suspecting that Eddie is gay, or at least having feelings for Buck. Like, I want him to come out and Chris be all like “thanks for telling me but I know dad” (insert teen eye roll).

I WANT BUCKLEY PARENT BEEF. Their redemption arc is so over and done with, especially after their reaction to Tommy, so I want drama.

Yuuup, I think that pretty much covers it. Let me know your thoughts, and if you made it all the way through this, I love you, have a cookie.

[shayneysides]

hobie: kill yourself

pavitr: WHAT THE HELL BRO WHAT DID I DO

original format from @ha-youwish in this post!

[vmkhoneyy]

“People are inherently terrible” no!!! Have you ever seen a child wait for their friend while they tie their shoelaces? Have you ever known someone who would bring hurt squirrels and rabbits and mice to the nearest vet just so it doesn’t suffer? Have you seen someone grieve? Have you ever read something that hit your heart like a freight train? Have you looked at the stars and felt an unexplainable joy? Have you ever baked bread? Have you shared a meal with a friend? Have you not seen it? All the love? All the good? I know it’s hard to see sometimes, I know there’s pain everywhere. But look, there’s a child helping another up after a hard fall. Look, there’s someone giving their umbrella to a stranger. Look, there’s someone admiring the spring flowers. Look, there’s good, there’s good, there’s good. Look!!!!

[hifi-walkman]

The problem with OD&D being an indie game with a manuscript largely penned by one guy, is that the one guy was Gary Gygax, who has a writing style that is so terribly suited to conveying game rules with any clarity that it's a miracle anyone figured out how to play this game.

SIDENOTE: I was going to keep the post snappy and post secondary thoughts in the tags, but at some point the tags were like four times longer than the post itself, so now they're just going in the body of the post. Enjoy the big ol' wall of text :) A lot of OD&D's interpretation problems also probably come from the fact that it's basically written as a supplement to chainmail, which is a game that basically nobody owned, and which was very quickly forgotten, even by the 3LBB playerbase.

But like, it isn't all that, because ya know what other books were written entirely by Gary and full of nonsense you need to be a Jon Peterson wannabe to understand? AD&D. I think the only reason the core and important rules of AD&D are even well understood nowadays is because it got about five times as long of a lifespan as OD&D did, and so there was a lot more time for clarifications and revisions to become publicly known about and circulated.

Hello, my little woodland critters. Today just for fun I'm going to walk you through the process of generating a character for the original 1974 edition of Dungeons & Dragons. I'm just going to use Men & Magic for this one but might do another one later with the supplements!

First, we get some dice. Three six-sided ones to be exact. I'm actually going to grab some with pips rather than numbers because that feels more authentic. Then, we roll and record their sum, repeating times, generating six ability scores. Here we go!

Strength 9 Intelligence 17 Wisdom 12 Constitution 16 Dexterity 13 Charisma 13

Yippee! As a witch these make me very happy indeed.

Next, we'll pick a class to play. Based on the abilities I rolled I'm of course going to pick the magic-user (the witch class didn't exist yet, alas). And as a magic-user, I'm actually allowed to futz with the numbers a bit, removing two points from Wisdom to gain an extra point in Intelligence. This gives us our finalised array, and we can now know the effects of each ability on the character.

Strength 9: no effect Intelligence 18: +10% to earned experience, eight extra languages Wisdom 10: no effect Constitution 16: +1 to each hit die, 100% chance to survive certain spells Dexterity 13: +1 to missile fire Charisma 13: maximum of 5 hirelings with +1 loyalty

Okay, languages. The character speaks the common tongue of the continent she lives in, along with an alignment language. I'm going to pick Neutral as my alignment so that's the language I speak. I also speak eight creature languages, which I'm going to pick later.

For equipment, we're going to grab our trusty 3d6 again, roll them, and mulitply by ten to find out how many gold pieces we have. I rolled 10, so I have 100 GP. I'm going to buy a dagger, the only weapon a magic-user is allowed. In addition I will buy 50' of rope, a large sack (for treasure), a leather back pack, a water skin, six torches, a flask of oil, a small silver mirror, a bunch of wolvesbane (in case of werewolves), a bunch of belladonna, and a bug of garlic (in case of vampires, or pizza). Not sure what the belladonna is useful for but you can never be too sure. This leaves me with 48 gold pieces that I will use to buy rations when I'm heading on an expedition of some sort. To calculate my encumbrance, I add my dagger's weight in gold pieces (20) to that of my miscaellanoues equipment (always 80, though a referee is allowed to make sure this stays within reason), for 100 GP of weight. I'm well within the limit for light foot movement, which will likely mean I'll have the responsibility of hauling loot out of the dungeon. Maybe I should invest in a second sack…

As a magic-user of the 1st level, I am titled a Medium, and will require 2,500 experience points to reach 2nd level (Seer). I roll 1 die (six-sided), adding +1 for my Constitution getting a total of 2… Tha'ts how many hits my magic-user can take before death. Let's hope she rolls better on the next level, assuming she survives. She fights with the strength of one man!

I can memorise one 1st level spell for my journey. Not knowing what I might face in the dungeon, I pick something witchy that I think can really save the group's butts: Sleep. All level 1 spells are in my spellbook so I don't need to worry about which ones I can memorise.

And that's pretty much it! Now we just give the character an imaginative name… How about Naiviv?

Onwards to adventure and glory, Naiviv the Medium!