#these are all the ones I have blocked so far are there more???

[daryltwdixon]

Joel Miller meeting your parents

this is just a stupid little thing from seeing this gif of him in this post ok thank you and goodnight. Been having writers block so if an idea can get this far on docs I’m posting it

|| fluff, little bit nsfw, daddy kink, old man joel, peepaw joel meets your parents, reader's dad is kind of a hard ass, I suck at flirty banter tbh, cracking up at some of the shit I put in here, enjoy ||

“Baby, I’m serious—” Joel said, but his hands betrayed him, gripping at your hips like he couldn’t help himself as you climbed into his lap. Your knees framed his thick thighs, still clad in worn denim, while his green plaid shirt had come untucked and bunched around his waist. A sliver of soft, tanned stomach peeked out as he leaned back against the bed frame.

“I’m serious too,” you murmured, voice thick with want as you pressed your mouth to his neck. Your fingers wove through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. “Need you, Joel. Been thinking about this all day.”

“We’re gonna be late if you keep this up,” he rasped, even as his head tipped back to give you more of his throat, groaning low when your teeth grazed the scruff along his jaw.

“Don’t care,” you breathed, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “They’ll be fine.”

You hiked your skirt higher, rocking down against him, already expecting to feel that familiar ache of him beneath you—but instead, your hips stilled at the softness of his lap. You blinked, confused, pulling back just enough to search his face. But Joel wouldn’t meet your eyes. His gaze darted everywhere else, over your shoulder, to the wall behind you, the damn nightstand—anywhere but you.

“…Joel?”

He still wouldn’t look at you. You moved your hands to his chest, flattening them against the flannel, feeling the heavy thudding of his heart beneath your fingers.

“You okay?” you asked, softer now, studying him. He looked nice tonight with his hair slicked back, beard freshly trimmed, and his shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to show off the veins in his forearms.

You cocked your head, more curious than concerned now as you really looked at him. “Are you…” You reached up, cupping his jaw, gently turning his face until his eyes finally met yours. “Joel Miller, are you nervous?”

He let out a long breath, his voice low and a little rough. “Course I’m nervous, baby.”

“Why?” you asked, easing back in his lap. You could still feel the warmth of his hands on your hips, thumbs sweeping slow, steady circles. It was more soothing for him than you now, grounding himself in the feeling of you.

“Any man’d be nervous meetin’ his girl’s parents for the first time,” he muttered, eyes flicking away again. Then, quieter, “Even if they weren’t his own damn age…”

You smiled softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips—gentle, unhurried. He let you, kissing you back with a quiet sigh, the kind that said he was trying not to get pulled under. You hovered close, noses brushing, before pulling back just enough to meet his eyes again.

“They’re gonna love you,” you whispered.

Joel gave a dry huff, eyes flicking away. “They’re gonna think I’m a damn pervert.”

“You are a pervert.”

His gaze snapped back to yours, narrowing just a bit, the muscles in his jaw tightening. You didn’t miss the way his brows dipped or how his eyes darkened, heat stirring just beneath the surface.

You bit back a grin, fingers tracing along the collar of his shirt. “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

He rolled his eyes, still glaring up at you, and you let your shoulders drop, giving in. “Okay, so you’re older than me, who cares? You’re also respectful. And kind. You’re a good man. You even built my cat a window catio.”

That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, though he still wouldn’t look at you.

“And you didn’t have to say yes to any of this,” you added, quieter now. “But you did.”

He let out a breath, one hand tightening just slightly at your waist.

You leaned in, your nose brushing his. “And if I thought for one second they wouldn’t like you, I wouldn’t be dragging you into this.”

Finally, his eyes flicked to yours, unsure but searching.

You gave him a small smile. “You’ve got nothing to prove. Just… be yourself. Maybe with slightly less scowling.”

His lips twitched into even more of a smile then, and you kissed the corner of his mouth, lingering there a moment. “But if it helps…” you murmured, lips grazing his jaw now, “I can think of something to get your mind off it for a minute.”

Joel let out a slow breath, one he’d been holding in the entirety of your reassurances, his head falling back against your pillows again.

You smiled against his throat, lips curved with mischief. “I mean… if you really want me to stop…” you murmured, pressing your mouth to the spot just under his jaw. “I could get off your lap.”

Your hips shifted like you might, and his grip on you instantly tightened.

“But then…” you went on, voice all innocent and sinful at once, “what should I do about all this?”

You reached down, took his hand in yours, and guided it between your thighs, right over your panties, where the heat of you was unmistakable. His palm pressed flush against the soaked fabric, and you felt his breath catch sharp in his chest.

He hummed low in his throat, something dark and approving, and as your fingers slipped away, his own pressed harder. His touch was firm, possessive, like he’d been dying to do it but holding back until now.

“This’s all for me?” he finally muttered, voice rough as gravel. “Just from sittin’ in daddy’s lap, huh?”

You whimpered, rocking into his hand, desperate for more friction as you nodded. He gave it to you, slow circles with his fingers that had your breath stuttering, your thighs trembling around his. Even with the fabric between you, you could feel his rough calloused pads of his fingers perfectly against the heat of you.

“Joel,” you whined, barely even meaning to say it.

With a grunt, he shifted, and suddenly your back hit the mattress with a soft thud. He was over you in a flash, his body heavy and hot as he settled between your legs, looking at you like he was starving.

“You got me all worked up now,” he muttered, voice thick and low as his hands dragged your skirt higher, exposing more of your thighs. “Can’t let you walk out that door like this.”

He dipped his head to your neck, lips brushing over your pulse point before suckling gently. The scrape of his beard followed, rough and hot, as he worked his way lower, mouthing at the curve of your collarbone. Then down further, pushing your shirt up as he went, lifting it just enough to mouth at the soft skin of your chest.

“Let me take care of you,” he rasped, dragging his tongue over the top of your breast, nipping at it like he couldn’t help himself. “Let me take care of this little problem, huh, baby?”

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers tangling in his hair. “Knew I’d get your mind off it, old man.”

His hands were everywhere now—palming your thighs, gripping your hips, pushing your panties aside just enough to slide his fingers back where they belonged in your wet, glistening entrance. His mouth returned to your skin, kissing and suckling until your back arched and your breath hitched in your throat.

Joel finally lifted his head, eyes dark and hungry as he hovered over you.

“You gonna be the one tellin’ your parents why we’re late?” he quirked his eyebrow with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You smirked, hands sliding up his shoulders and onto his neck, tugging at the nape of his hair, “I’ll say I had to help you calm your nerves. Blow off some steam. Pretty sure I’m doing everyone a favor.”

Joel huffed a low laugh, shaking his head as he looked down at you. “That so?” he murmured, his smile pulling a little wider. “You’re real proud of yourself, huh?”

You grinned up at him, eyes sparkling. “You’re welcome.”

He chuckled again, the sound low and warm in his chest. But then something shifted, his gaze lingering a little longer, smile easing into something softer. His eyes flicked around your face like he was locking it into his memory. The mischief faded, replaced by something deeper, something heavier.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t playful anymore. It was deep and unhurried, messy and slow, full of everything that had led up to this night, where you were finally taking this next step, where things became even more real. One hand braced beside your head, the other deep inside you between your trembling legs, dragging you closer to the edge with every slow, deliberate roll of his hips.

Your breath caught. He pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he murmured, barely audible, like it had slipped out before he could stop it.

“Love you too, big guy,” you whispered, smiling as you pulled him back down to you.

The porch light flickered on above you as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the worn steps. Joel stood just off-center in front of the door, fingers loosely laced, jaw tense, shoulders drawn up like he expected to be called into a principal’s office.

You watched him for a moment, the way his eyes kept scanning the darkening yard, how his foot tapped once, then twice. He was wearing that soft brown light jacket over the green flannel, the one you loved so much. His hair was smoothed back now, but you could still see the faint tousle where your fingers had been tangled in it less than an hour ago. There was something boyish about how nervous he looked.

You stepped in close and laid a hand flat against his chest.

“Hey,” you said gently. “You’re okay.”

His eyes finally met yours, soft and searching, and you offered him a small smile as your fingers smoothed out the front of his shirt, pressing down a wrinkle that wasn’t really there.

“You’re gonna be fine, Joel. It’s just dinner.”

“Do they know that I’m–?” he mumbled.

You leaned up, brushed your lips over his, cutting him off. It wasn’t hungry or rushed, just soft, sweet, and steady. 

When you pulled back, your voice was quiet. “Relax. Like I said, they’re gonna love you.”

He exhaled through his nose, a little shaky, and gave a small nod. His hand came up to rest gently on your waist, thumb brushing over your hip like he needed the contact to stay grounded.

Then, behind you, the front door creaked open with a slow, familiar groan. You turned just enough to see the porch light glint off your dad’s glasses.

Joel straightened like he’d been caught doing something criminal. “Sir,” he greeted, stepping forward to shake your dad’s hand.

Your father was stone-faced, giving Joel a single nod as he returned the handshake. He stood in the doorway, quiet and watchful, eyes moving between the two of you without a word.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

“Are they here!?” came a familiar voice from just inside. A second later, your mom popped her head around your dad’s shoulder, her hands clutching his arm. Her eyes lit up the second she saw you.

“There she is!” she squealed, practically barreling into you for a hug.

You let out a soft laugh as she wrapped her arms around you, warm and overwhelming in the best way. She pulled back just enough to hold you at arm’s length, eyes flicking over your face like she was making sure you were really here.

Then her gaze shifted.

“And you must be Joel!” she said brightly, stepping toward him with a big smile.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied politely.

“Oh, don’t call me that,” she waved him off, offering her name instead.

You caught the twitch of a smile on Joel’s face as he repeated it, his voice soft with that drawl you knew so well.

She reached out and placed her hands on his arms, eyes roaming over him with zero subtlety. “Well, aren’t you handsome,” she said with a wink.

“Mom…” you groaned under your breath.

“Come inside, you two. Dinner’s nearly ready.”

Joel glanced at you, his jaw tight but his eyes softer now. There was still a flicker of nerves there, but beneath it was something quieter. Maybe even grateful. Like he couldn’t quite believe he got to be standing here, hand still warm from your dad’s handshake, your mom’s voice ringing with welcome, your hand just a breath away from his.

You offered him a small smile, one he returned without thinking, and the two of you stepped inside together.

You leaned up to kiss your dad’s cheek as you passed, and he returned it gently, one hand settling on your arm in a quiet, welcoming squeeze.

“So,” your dad’s voice carried from the head of the table, “what is it you do, Joe?”

“It’s Joel, dad.”

Your father raised his eyebrows like he hadn’t noticed the correction, even though he absolutely had.

“I own Miller Contractin’,” Joel said, calm and steady. “We build houses, do commercial work, though mostly stick to residential these days. All across the county.”

Your dad nodded, still not looking up from his plate, chewing a little harder than usual. “Miller Contracting… That just you, or you got a crew?”

“My brother and I are partners, we got a good crew of guys.”

“Hmm.”

A long sip of iced tea later, your dad’s voice pipes up again: “What kinda permits you gotta pull for that subdivision on the west side?”

You blinked. “Dad—”

Joel didn’t miss a beat. “Depends on the parcel. New builds gotta go through the county first, then the town for inspection sign-off. If it’s remodels or additions, we skip the land survey.”

Your dad finally looked up, eyes narrowing. “And your license number?”

Joel raised an eyebrow right back. “You wanna write it down?”

That earned a chuckle from your brother across the table, who quickly masked it with a bite of roll.

Your dad gave a grunt that could’ve meant anything, then pointed his fork across the table. “You hunt?”

“Not in a while,” Joel said. “Used to. Mostly just keep a few rifles around now, in case somethin’ needs shootin’.”

Another nod.

Then, after a long pause, your dad took another bite and mumbled around his food, “Built that deck out back myself, y’know. Back in ’98.”

“Yeah, when I was 8 months pregnant and bout ready to burst from stress,” your mom quipped with a little scoff.

Joel, bless him, didn’t so much as smirk. “It’s a good build. Still holdin’ up well.”

Your dad’s fork hovered in the air, then he gave a small, barely-there nod like Joel had just passed some pop quiz of his.

You finally started to relax until he opened his mouth again.

“One last question, Joel,” your dad said casually, sawing through his steak.

Joel’s shoulders tensed slightly. “Yessir.”

Your dad glanced across the table. His eyes flicked to your neck, then to Joel. Then back to you. With his knife, he gestured loosely toward your collarbone.

“That a hickey on my daughter’s neck?”

You nearly choked on your water.

Joel froze, fork halfway to his mouth.

There was a beat of stunned silence before your mom smacked your dad’s arm.

“David.”

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence, still chewing.

Joel cleared his throat. Loudly. “I—uh—must be… a-a nasty bug bite or somethin’.”

You stared down at your plate, cheeks on fire, absolutely refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

Your dad just grinned around another bite, like he’d just scored the winning point in a game no one else knew they were playing.

Later, the two of you ended up shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, trading off dishes and bumping hips as you loaded the dishwasher and tackled the giant roasting pan your mom had insisted was “vintage, not ancient.”

Joel rinsed a plate, set it in the rack, and glanced at you with a sly grin. “You always this bossy with kitchen duty?”

You shot him a look over your shoulder. “I’m not bossy. I’m efficient.”

“You barely let me step up to the sink before you were shovin’ the dryin’ rag in my hand.”

“I did not.”

“Reckon ya did, sweetheart. And to think I’m just tryna be a good guest.”

You laughed, nudging him with your hip. “I just know where our strengths and weaknesses lie is all.”

“Uh-huh.” He held up the rag and dish in hand dramatically. “Well, I’m puttin’ it on my résumé.”

“Oh yeah? Skills: contracting, firearm safety, surviving dad interrogation, and above-average dish drying?”

He turned to you, eyes playful. “You forgot exceptional boyfriend.”

You pretended to think about it. “Jury’s still out.”

He gave you a mock glare. “Keep talkin’ like that and you’re gettin’ another one of them hickeys on your neck. Right on the other side. Bet your dad would love that.”

Your eyes widened. “Joel.”

“Symmetry,” he said with a shrug, like it was the most reasonable explanation in the world.

Joel stepped back from the counter, towel still in hand, and playfully flicked it toward your backside. You squealed, swatting at him with your sudsy hand, and nearly bumped into the oven.

You were both laughing when the kitchen door creaked open and your dad leaned inside.

Joel straightened like he’d been caught red-handed again, shoulders stiff.

Your dad gave a long look at the two of you, then cleared his throat. “Joel.”

“Yes, sir?”

“You drink beer?”

Joel blinked. “Sure do.”

Your dad nodded once, like he’d already made the decision before asking. “Come out on the porch. I got a few in the cooler.”

Joel shot you a quick look, like he was trying to read if this was good or bad.

You just smiled and mouthed, go.

He followed your dad out, wiping his hands on a dish towel as he went. You watched him go with a little flutter in your chest.

“Oh,” a sudden thought crossed your mind, “daddy?”

Both men turned.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Yes, honey?”

The silence that followed was crippling.

Joel went stiff as a board, like he’d just realized he’d stepped off a cliff and was waiting for gravity to finish the job. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. He looked between you and your dad with eyes wide as saucers, face draining of color.

Your dad was staring at him. Hard.

You turned crimson, choking on air. “I—I was just... I was gonna ask if you wanted some—Mom said there was pie for dessert. Or maybe it was cheesecake? I don’t–I don’t know. Actually, let me go ask her.”

You slapped the sponge onto the counter and bolted, eyes on the floor, muttering something that might’ve been English as you fled the kitchen.

You sat curled into the corner of the couch, a slice of pie balanced on your lap and your second glass of wine halfway gone. The living room was dim, lit mostly by the lamp beside your mom’s armchair and the soft flicker from the TV, playing some home renovation show you weren’t really watching.

Your mom leaned back, swirling her wine. “So… he’s cute.”

You smiled behind your fork. “Mmhm.”

“And polite. Little stiff.”

“He was a little nervous. Bein’...” you shrugged, “You know, same age as you guys and all.”

Your mom raised her eyebrows, taking another sip from her glass. “Please. Age is but a number these days. The amount of older men I dated when I was your age…” she chuckled to herself at the memories.

You snorted, shaking your head as you scooped another bite of pie, the quiet of the house settling in around you like a blanket.

She tilted her head, watching you with that knowing, mom-look. “He seems like a good man, honey.”

“He is,” you said softly, nodding.

Your mom’s gaze softened as she looked at you over the rim of her glass. “I see the way he looks at you. The way you two laugh together. It's nice… seeing you like this.”

You felt your smile pull a little deeper, the warmth in your cheeks not just from the wine. “Yeah,” you murmured. “It feels nice, too.”

The moment settled between you, quiet and soft until your thoughts drifted to the porch. You tried not to let your mind wander, but it crept in anyway. Whatever conversation Joel and your dad were having out there… you hadn’t wanted to hear it. After the fiasco in the kitchen you just hoped he was alive. But then you heard the back door open, the low rumble of Joel’s voice, and your dad laughing about something involving backyard irrigation, you knew whatever happened, it hadn’t gone badly.

Joel and your dad stepped into the living room, their voices trailing off mid-conversation.

“—and I told him if he tried to DIY those stone steps without checking the grading, he was gonna bust his ass in the first rain.”

Your dad huffed a laugh. “You’re not wrong. Maybe I’ll call your company in spring.”

Joel just gave a polite smile, his eyes finding yours immediately.

Your mom rose to her feet and crossed the room to kiss him on the cheek, then turned to wrap her arms around you. “Thank you for comin’ tonight. Come back anytime, you two.”

You smiled, hugging her tight. “We will.”

“You picked a good one,” she whispered in your ear, giving you a little squeeze before she headed toward the hallway, bidding you goodnight.

You turned just in time to see Joel and your dad shaking hands. It looked firm, respectful, less like a test this time and more like an understanding.

You crossed the room and kissed your father goodbye, and while he didn’t say much, his hand on your back lingered for a second longer than usual. That was about as close as you were gonna get to a blessing.

You and Joel walked out to the truck in the cool night air, his hand brushing your lower back, just enough to feel steady.

Once inside the cab, he pulled the door shut and let out a massive exhale, sinking into the seat like he’d just survived a firefight.

You grinned at him, cheeks warm from the wine and your heart even warmer.

“You did good tonight,” you said softly.

He looked at you like you’d just handed him a ribbon at the county fair. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Really good. You survived my dad. Didn’t insult his deck. Kept it very buttoned up.”

He huffed a laugh, “It is a nice deck.”

You leaned your head back against the seat, looking at him through your lashes. “Kinda hot, actually. Watching you all nervous and respectable.”

He gave you a look. “Few times in there I wasn’t so sure. Thought he might shoot me right then and there when he asked about your neck. And don’t get me started on your stunt in the kitchen.”

You groaned and covered your face. “I didn’t meaaaan it.”

Joel chuckled, the sound soft and low as he reached over and gently tugged your hand away from your face. “Still nearly gave both me and your old man a heart attack.” 

You grinned at him as he kissed your hand gently, one knuckle at a time, “But you’re my old man.”

He let out a breath, shaking his head as his smile tugged wide and helpless. “Jesus,” he muttered. “You’re gonna be the death of me, darlin’.”

You leaned in, bumping your nose against his. “Worth it.”

[valleydoli]

𝜗𝜚 Only you 𝜗𝜚

Cw 𝜗𝜚 MDNI, Stalking, Obsessiveness, Controlling Behaviour, Love Bombing, Murder, Fluff, Kidnapping, Smut, Toxic Sukuna, Yandere Sukuna? Readers a sweetie, (Touch her you die… like actually…)

𝜗𝜚 Series Masterlist…

𝜗𝜚 Chapter One…

𝜗𝜚 WC: 1.5k

Oh…

Who is she?

Sukuna knows faces. He knows everyone’s face. But you? He has never seen you before. How? How could he miss such a beautiful, darling thing like you. You’re perfect. The way you’re holding your book perfect. The way you just crossed your leg across the other? Perfect. He needs to know you. He needs to hold you. He needs you. He needs to get out of his head and go up to you.

You’ve already infested his mind, you're like a parasite, infesting every inch of his body. His brain, his heart, his soul, everything. You’re infecting him. Why? Who are you and What's your deal?

~~~

It’s finally transitioning from the wintertime to springtime. Usually you adore the winter since it’s the season your birthday falls, but spring always has a special place in your heart. the flowers, the freshly cut grass, the shining sun that isn’t too hot. Everything is perfect for you during these months.

It’s a Saturday, and you’ve been meaning to go out and actually enjoy the spring sun. The weekends aren’t long enough for you. There’s so much more you’ve been meaning to do but there’s not enough time, there’s never enough time. Juggling your school work and teaching, you’re exhausted. You need to treat yourself to something, at least a day in the sun, drawing or reading, anything to calm you down from your hectic days.

Maybe a walk in the park will suffice, there’s a book you’ve been meaning to read but of course you haven’t had the time to actually sit down and enjoy it.

~~~

You start to make your way to the park by your apartment complex.

The cool breeze tickling your soft skin as you make your way to the park

When you arrive at the park, you take a seat on a wooden bench that that views the entire park and begin to be invested in nothing but your book.

You suddenly feel the warmth of the sun disappear but you're sure the weather app said clear skies, but it’s not clouds covering the sun it’s a man, a tall, handsome man. He's staring at you intensely, with beautiful salmon pink hair, deep maroon eyes and a birthmark covering the right side of his striking face. You’re in awe.

“Hi there… You’re kind of blocking the sun.” You laugh as you look up at the man before you, and oh how perfect that laugh is, paired with your pearly white teeth. Is there anything about you that isn’t amazing? Maybe you’re an angel sent from heaven, just for Sukuna. No one else but him.

“I'm sorry, I just— what’re you reading? You seem really invested in whatever it is,” he questions.

“Oh, it’s about a couple who can’t seem to get past how obsessive the boyfriend is. I'm not too far along but I'm excited! I'm into obsessive guys, well I think I am. I've never… dated anyone before.”

You’re an over sharer, you just met him and you’re already telling him your type. Are you interested in him too? He should ask you out or is that too forward? No. he can’t let you slip away. ask her.

“You’ve never dated before? no boyfriend, ever?”

You shake your head confirming that no, you’ve never had a boyfriend.

Perfect. Sukuna thinks to himself, you’ve never been touched. You’re not… tainted. Or are you? Have you had your first kiss? You could have slept with a guy for fun. No, you don’t seem like the type. You’re a lover girl, you want to be loved. Oh, Sukuna can give you that, all of that.

Sukuna charmingly smiles at you, “would you like to go out sometime? To a restaurant, a walk in the park, whatever you want, my treat.”

It’s almost as if your eyes sparkle after he asks you.

He’s made you feel this way. He's made you… happy.

You stutter out frantically, “yes! i— sorry. y-yes, i’d love to.”

Why are you stuttering? Is he making you feel nervous?

“Can I get your number?”

You hum in agreement and begin to pull out your phone from your bag. It’s an organised bag everything is right where it needs to be. Is your house organised? Probably. If it’s not he’ll be there to help you out.

You both swap phones, putting in each other's names and numbers.

He has your number.

He has your name.

He snaps out of his trance when he hears you say his name,

“Sukuna…”

Perfect

“I love your name, I've never heard of it before.”

“Not many people would name their kids, Sukuna… that’s why you’ve never heard of it.”

Sukunas parents hated him. I mean he had to have hated him. His name means “two faced” while his twin brother's name means, “kindness,” “benevolence.” They clearly fucking hate him. When he has kids with you, he’ll never treat his kid the way he was treated…

Kids…

With you…

Yeah… twins… two boys— no, two girls. yeah…

“Um Sukuna?” He hears you say. “I need to go, I have some work I need to get done, but text me! obviously. I'm excited to see you again!” You smile, as you stand up from the bench ready to depart.

“I could walk you home? Do you live far?”

“Oh no, I live just over there, the tall complex!”

Oh angel, don't tell strangers where you live… You live… surprisingly close to him actually. The stars are quite frankly aligning. The universe is routing for you two to be together can’t you see?

“That’s funny, I live just round the corner from there. It’s crazy we’ve never crossed paths before.”

Seriously, how the fuck has he never seen you before. Did you just move here?

“No, I’ve lived here for quite a while now,” you answer back.

Did he say that out loud?

“Well I hope I get to see you more often. It’s almost as if you’ve been hiding from me,” Sukuna jokes.

(He’s not joking.)

“No, I’d never! I love meeting new people, I’m just as shocked as you. But we’ve met now, so we can get to know each other more, okay?” You practically sing. You’re so perky and he’s so grumpy, (according to his family and few ‘friends.’) But who wouldn’t be, this world is shit, but with you by his side I’m sure he’d be just a perky and happy as you.

“Yeah, we’ll definitely get to know each other more.”

~~~

The moment Sukuna stepped foot in his apartment he was searching for you. Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Anything. He can’t find you. Why the fuck cant he find you.

Think, Sukuna.

Think!

Does the book your reading have an Instagram page? Maybe you follow them…

Jackpot.

He mutters your name…

Your page is public, you’re 22, a university student and you’re a teacher… a preschool teacher… is that his nephew's preschool?! You're a teacher at Yuji’s Fucking school. The amount of times Jin asked Sukuna to pick him up from school. He could have met you… he could have had you all ready.

Stupid.

He’s so fucking stupid.

Sukuna is frantic at this point. How could he be blindsided by this. How the fuck did you hide in plain site. Right under his nose…

He needs to know more.

Toji.

Call Toji.

Sukuna and Toji are… friends. Well, Toji thinks they’re friends, but Sukuna just sees him as a co-worker he speaks to… regularly…

“Toji,” he practically yells into the phone.

“What?” He mumbles

“I need you to do some research on someone.”

He tells Toji your name

“A girl? What’d she do to you,” Toji inquires with a mouthful of food.

Oh my god

“Toji, she’s done nothing, I just want information on her. Can you do that without bombarding me with fucking questions?”

“Damn, okay, I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Great,” Sukuna mutters as he ends the call.

He continues to stalk your social media, your tagged posted with your friends through the evening, but it’s not enough he needs more, he needs Toji to hurry the fuck up, that’s what he needs right now.

Wait. Jin. He could pick Yuji up from his nursery on Monday.

Jackpot!

Sukuna hears his phone ping. Tojis found information about you already?

No.

It’s you. You messaged him. And here he is smiling to himself like a complete and utter fool, what are you doing to him?

‘Hi, Sukuna, it's me! Girl from the park…’

“Girl from the park…” you’re so precious.

‘Hi Angel, I was going to message you first but you beat me to it’

Obviously you beat him to it. He's been too busy stalking you for the past hours.

‘I’m quite busy during the weekdays with school and work, but I’d love to see you next Saturday, if you’re free? :3’

Oh angel, he’ll make sure he’s free for you, but you’re going to see him way sooner than that.

‘I’m free, I already know where I want to take you.’

‘Oh perfect I can’t wait!’

‘Neither can I’

No, Sukuna would lose it if he had to wait until Saturday to see you again, but lucky for him, he has a cute nephew that happens to be at your place of work.

‘Jin, I’m picking up Yuji from preschool next week.’

𝜗𝜚 Chapter Two…

a/n: so… what’re we thinking chat? i’m pretty proud of this for my not first but new to writing!! i’ve started on chapter two! but hopefully i can keep it up 😔🤞🏾

[kanekisfavoritegf]

PERFECT LOVER:The Life of Nanami Kento the 35 Year Old Virgin

MINORS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL GET BLOCKED

SYNOPSIS: Kento Nanami, a 35-year-old introvert with a tendency to avoid social interactions, has made a conscious decision to steer clear of romantic entanglements. However, everything changes when he meets a new colleague at his birthday party, (Satoru's Idea). From the moment they meet, he is mesmerized, finding himself increasingly unable to resist her magnetic presence. Like taking a bite of forbidden fruit, he becomes ensnared by the allure, delving into a realm of infatuation and finding himself unable to break free. As he delves deeper into this newfound connection, Nanami begins to realize that he craves more than just a fleeting experience and yearns for more than just a fleeting taste of what she embodies.

Table of Contents

WORD COUNT: 1.2K

CHAPTER SEVEN:

The supply closet and Kento were becoming acquainted as he hid again from her.

Why was he in the closet again? He thought to himself as he wallowed in his self-pity. Oh yeah. He was semi-hard and avoiding you.

You who had walked in in tight black pants and a white button-up.

All of this would have been fine if you hadn’t left the top three buttons undone, saying it was hot.

It would have been fine had you not leaned over his left shoulder to check the email that the company had received.

All of this would have been fine if he hadn’t turned his head a single degree of your way and caught a glimpse of a black lacy bra.

And still, maybe all of that would have been fine had you not rubbed his neck softly, telling him

“It’s okay to look, Kento. Tonight, maybe you’ll get to touch them.”

Before walking off to your desk where Suguru waited with a pile of paperwork that needed reviewing.

It was not fine.

He was not fine.

Not fine at all.

Since the night he begged you to teach him how to please you, Kento had been very serious. So serious, it was slowly chipping at your sanity.

Yes, you were at work, but he had also had his tongue lapping at your cunt. And no, he barely made eye contact with you. It was as if you guys were back to level zero.

So you made a good, totally not reckless plan to tease him. To slowly peel away at his sanity until he ravaged you right there in front of everyone.

It worked well enough; you watched as his nose flared at the scent stuck to your neck. You saw the way his teeth clenched at your words.

Watching him shuffle his way around in his set as if trying to fix his pants was fun.

And just when you were about to take another glance his way. The man disappeared.

Into thin air.

UNBELIEVABLE.

“Y/N? Y/N? You okay?” Suguru asked from his desk. You stood before him, papers in hand, staring off into the distance.

“Uh, Yeah! I was just wondering where Mr. Nanami went. I was supposed to confirm the location for the investor’s gala with him, but he disappeared.”

“Oh, Kento does that sometimes.” Suguru chuckled, “Whenever Satoru gets on his nerves, he runs off to one of his hiding spots. I’d start by checking the storage closet.

The closest storage was a no, and so were the bathrooms. As you looked through the kitchen window, you only saw empty chairs.

“Where could he be?” You whispered to yourself.

Just as you were going to give up, you noticed a small room in the kitchen area, a pantry of some sort. That’s where they kept the extra paper and miscellaneous office things that didn’t fit in the original storage closet. At least that’s what Kento told you on the tour.

Opening the door, there he was, hands clenching the shelf in front of him, back faced to you. His head snapped back, and he peered over his shoulder. His eyes flared with anger. 

Okay maybe you had pushed him too far. Bugs, it’s fine. You could make up for it right now. 

Taking a quick glance behind you to make sure the coast was clear, you slept inside with him, closing the door softly behind you.

“Kento.” He didn’t respond. In fact, he just grabbed onto you. Pushing you against the door and splitting your legs slightly open with his knee.

“No talking.” He spoke roughly, but you ignored him. The look in his eye told you he wanted just the opposite.

“Kento, it isn’t polite to hide from the person you are fucking.” You whispered in his ear,  hands sliding down to his dick; you began to palm at the bulge in his pants.

“It isn’t polite to tease the person you are fucking while they are working either.” He retorted back at you.

“Really? I don’t remember doing that.” You feigned innocence tilting your head to the side. Looking up at him, you hand still on his bulge. Under the small yellow singular light bulb, Kento seemed to glow, his cheeks flushed pink and his ears violently red. His eyes left your face for a second, staring up at the ceiling he seemed to pray for mercy, forgiveness, patience…

Your finger that once palmed at his cock moved to his throat, outlining a vein that bulged out in stress, and with that, the last thread Kento had seemed to have snapped. 

“What are you doing to me?” He groaned before moving his hand to the back of your neck, squeezing softly as he brought you to his lips. 

His kisses devoured you, and you did your best to conceal your moans. The air was hot and getting hotter by the second. Moving his hand away from your face and to your leg, he tapped it, a wordless way of demanding you raise your leg to his hip. 

As you did, he flipped the two of you over so your back was against the shelves, pushing his erection into you; you both moaned at the feeling. 

Kento’s other hand was just above your head and to the right, clenching hard onto the wood.

It was messy and carnal the way you two moved against one another. And just as you thought you could breathe, his mouth moved to your neck, licking and biting, relishing in the quiet gasp that escaped as he did so. 

“What a whore you are.”

“I’m not!” You whined out, still humping against him, adding to the friction.

“Oh, you aren’t a whore?” Kento asked with a teasing voice. “You are telling me you aren’t going to let me fuck you right here, right now?”

You let out a moan so loud that Kentos hand rushed to cover your mouth. He chuckled at your desperation.

“You are a whore.”

“Noooo, Kento.” You tried to sound like you had even a little bit of resolve, but as you denied his claims, you pushed him harder.

“Uh uh,” Kento tutted, “You must address me as Mr. Nanami, we are at work, remember?”

“Mr.— Mr. Nanamiiii”, you whined! Feeling his hand graze over your covered cunt.

“Ooh love.” He groaned at the feeling of you “you are soaking wet.”

He kissed you again, and you swore you could see stars. 

“P-please—” you moaned

“Please, what, Miss. L/N”

“Please fuck me, I am a whore.”

“Turn around.” Is all he said, his face serious and concentrated.

As you turned around, you caught a glimpse of him, sticking the hand that had teased you over your panties past his lips lay on his tongue.

Once you were turned around facing the wall, his hands found your hips, and you fought the urge to turn your head and face him. Worried he may, in fact, stop what he is doing because you disobeyed him.

Who knew he had such a dominant side…

“Bend over and be a good girl, Y/N”

And as you did, he laughed under his breath once more. His hands that rested on your hips no longer grasped at you. 

“Now you know what it feels like.” He kissed your neck once more before pulling away completely. 

The door clicked open. 

And he was gone.

And you were left there a wet, horny mess.

"Where to you want me?"

TAG LIST: @marikuchanxo @sukunasstomachtongue @getosgirlfailure @allysunny @tojicvmslut @typefeisu @aiyaaayei @villsophie @sillysillygoofygoose @jinleft @rivversin @haikioo @destinyblue-jjk @ramonathinks @actuallysaiyan @actuallysaiyan @melisuh123 @ureuphoriasworld @jaeminsmilk @rileyglas @bonnieblue0606 @alwaysfreakingout @lovelyiida @ayesayman @dreamgirl5300 @swoozleee @belle-oftheball34 @zeunys @yuzu-ku @aomi04 @y0urpr3ttyp0ck3tpussy @zombriesworld @hazzelle-kento @miinhooo @lucilles-witchery @areyouflying @cosmolight @doingthisjusttoreadnanamihcs @xxluzah @erensblackgirlfriend @cloudy-yyy @bxnfire @xxluzah @erensblackgirlfriend @mcr-ista @isapsps @trocaderoisyummy @iamharryswife @oidloid @howmanytimesamigoingtotrythis @1shyshy1sana @meowymeowbreow @ajrfanz

CHAPTER EIGHT: LOADING...

IT HAS BEEN SO LONG AND I AM SO SO SORRY😭😭😭 I HOPE THIS IS OKAY I AM SO SORRY SORRY FOR THE WAIT!!!

[elproxxy]

Last night we set out to conduct some field research on miss Jaeger, so I've compiled some intel and working theories about her mechanics for those who would like the heads up.

(spoilers under the cut for those who want to experience the learning curve themselves)

Massive shoutout to our lil research team: @traitorousfruit, @mustymausoleum, @trial-n-harerror, @elgarwhore, @cyberneticslasher ✨

Note: I planned to include a video compiling a bunch of clips but tumblr is being funny about it, so I've made a few key snippets into gifs instead to give a general idea, and included one clip of what is either a possible bug or a more complex mechanic.

What we knew:

When she spawns, she targets the person closest to the insertion gate.

You can't hide from her, you can only evade her. Her only real weakness is her speed, but she will continuously pursue the target for the duration of the trial and will always take the shortest route towards them.

The regular insertion gate siren will sound, and then a second louder and deeper alarm will sound to indicate that Henrietta is spawning.

What we learned:

If she grabs you, it's an instakill. There is no knocking or downing, she will simply grab the target and begin to execute them. This can be prevented by another person kicking her.

If she kills the target, she will instantly select the next nearest player and begin to target them. If the original target is revived, she won't switch back and will continue to pursue the new one.

If you get directly between her and the target she'll take a swing at you. Each successful hit does a full bar of damage, and if you remain in her way she'll keep hitting you until you're downed. These hits are surprisingly fast, so if you're in a confined space you'll go from full health to incapacitated within a few seconds.

Her hit range is pretty large and she can lunge a good distance - if you're not fully blocking her but are still within that hit range along the path she's following, she'll lunge at you (covering a fair bit of distance quite quickly). Her movements are still relatively slow when lunging though, so in open spaces these swings can be dodged.

Rigs do not work on her. She is invulnerable to all of them - even a stun will simply knock her slightly, similar to how a brick or bottle would knock a heavy ex-pop (she will still flinch when hit with throwables, and can also be momentarily distracted by them).

It doesn't matter who's closest when the normal siren starts, or when the insertion gate actually opens - it seems that whoever is closest the moment her specific alarm begins will become the target (additional theory below).

She will spawn when you start the main objective, but she will also instantly return to the nearest insertion gate once that objective is complete - this can be a little scary the first time you see it because she'll speed up slightly (note: in Teach the Police Officer this actually occurred upon simply locating the reel, not replacing it).

You don't have to be in front of the insertion gate to become the target - being in a room behind the gate can also trigger selection if no one else is closer.

Normal player walking speed is fast enough to keep away from her. You don't have to sprint, you just have to keep moving. When we were experimenting we were looping her around a car and found that continuously walking will allow you to consistently widen the gap between you.

Working theories:

There were a few instances where Henrietta would switch target after deployment - we're unsure what is part of an intentional mechanic, and what could potentially be buggy teething pains. If it is intentional, then we're still trying to figure out exactly what does and doesn't trigger this. Our working theory is that kicking her out of executing a target may cause a switch, but this doesn't seem to be consistent so far - this could be because of a bug, or could be a chance based mechanic (e.g. 50% chance of switching target if kicked).

I am wondering if, when two people are the exact same distance from the gate at the point when her alarm sounds, it is either causing a bug or could be a mechanic which makes her essentially flip flop between the two people as targets (this is easier to understand with the clip below).

She will jump down co-op shortcuts if the target goes into a lower floor, but we still need to test if she can climb up or even potentially jump across shortcuts, but I'm doubtful this will be the case.

If you get too far from her (changing floors, sprinting too far away etc.) it appears that she may just respawn from a closer insertion gate, but we also need to test this more.

Hopefully this will be helpful, and if anybody wants to add to this or counter anything with their own experiences please feel free! I'd love to hear what people think of her.

In summary I think she is a really interesting and genuinely nervewracking antagonist. Red barrels have honestly hit it out of the park with her character design, her interesting mechanics, her heartbreaking dialogue, and the incredible sound design (from the chilling spawn siren to the cracking of the radio and the subtle suspenseful music that accompanies her). Season 3 has started with a bang and I can't wait to see what comes next.

Disclaimer: these are just our observations, they may be technically inaccurate, and will likely be subject to change/development in further updates.

[binomech]

Good alt text is informative. Good image descriptions are evocative. The problem with accessibility practices on Tumblr is that they don't allow for information or evocation.

As a purely technical limitation, the actual alt text input field is limited to a single attachment and not a set of them or a full post, and it forces the original poster to either fragment the description, which more often than not makes the content disjointed, or it forces repetition (which is not only annoying as fuck for anyone interacting with a screen reader but can also get confusing if you don't have any visual input to figure out if the images are arranged in a way that makes the repetition meaningful or simply necessary.)

The other option for this scenario where the source of the post and the alt text is the same is putting a longer, cohesive description in the body of the post. And then you get a massive text block that people interacting visually don't usually want or need (or so I'm told. I have many things to say about my experiences talking to sighted users about this), so if you want to communicate with the abstract majority of people on this site, you have to put it under a cut, which hides it from the skimming screen reader user since it will announce the clickable fold (if one's lucky with their device, screen reader, and browser combination) but not the content.

But let's assume the original poster isn't the one adding the alt text in the original post, since it's the baseline expectation on this site (again, many things to say.) Since most alt text is tacked on post hoc, it's often referring to attachments that might be anywhere in a reblog chain, and unless it's a standalone text transcription, it will either be too detailed or too vague to figure out which previously undescribed attachment it's supposed to be describing, and, no exaggeration, every post ends up needing six or seven passes to make any sense.

I'm often struck by how little the average Tumblr user knows about screen reader usage. I've had experience with folks who think that turning on Narrator/VoiceOver/TalkBack on their device for ten minutes will give them an idea of navigating with one, and I truly can't emphasize enough how much that's not even similar. Do people know what order elements of the post are read out in? Do they think about the order in which they present information, if skimming is possible at all, if the screen reader user can decide if they want to read this post before they're 300 words in? Fuck, sometimes I'm not sure if on average the people writing alt text are aware that there are a bunch of options depending on device, OS, and even browser.

I keep thinking about the increasingly frequent additions where someone has stripped formatting from existing text and then slapped a "plaintext" heading, which is not only useless but actively makes the content incomprehensible. Some people do this thing to existing image descriptions, which is wild to me. Formatting doesn't break screen readers! Headings and links are literally the primary landmarks we use to move around the page or the post content. Screen readers have perfectly good verbosity and alert settings that the individual user can tweak to their liking! I have them set to beep on capitals and raise pitch on italics and bold! Hell, I can even decide what punctuation signs and symbols to read and which ones to skip! And whether to skip repeated letters and punctuation! It explicitly tells me when a character is an emoji and what emoji it is. Why are you guys doing this? Do you think reblogging an already decontextualized description and then repeating it identically but with a parenthetical interjection every three words is clarifying fuck all for anyone?

I sometimes wonder if Tumblr has ended up with such counterproductive access practices because the way the "culture" spread was so far removed from BVI users that no one appears to have asked about the standards that already exist. Which, beyond the usual expected ableist dismissal, I suppose makes sense, since the actual amount of visually impaired users on Tumblr (especially totally blind ones) is unusually low compared to other social media sites.

And there's a reason why you'll find an overwhelming majority of us are primarily active on Mastodon and Reddit, beyond our individual tastes in content: The actual Tumblr UI is a nightmare to navigate with a screen reader. It's bad to the point where I'd say that it is impossible without any vestigial eyesight, or at least enough of a pain in the ass to discourage most folks. There are missing button labels everywhere. The keyboard navigation functions don't cover most of the features added after 2015. Some of the site's keyboard shortcuts overlap with the screen reader's and the page just explodes when the two inputs are entered at the same time. Messaging is virtually unusable on desktop. On the official app (at least the Android version), the unlabeled interactables situation is so dire that you're forced to use the web version, and the chat is completely unusable through TalkBack gestures on that interface.

I'm not going to tell you there's no point in adding image descriptions to your reblogs because shitty access is still better than no access, but I really need anyone who cares about accessibility (enough to listen to those of us that they're supposedly trying to help) to know that there are deep-rooted issues, both technical and habitual, that make Tumblr very hard to interact with for anyone that relies on keyboard and gesture navigation, especially in combination with screen readers. And no matter how many tutorials get written about how to write good alt text, there are more glaring issues that could stand to be fixed if anyone actually cared beyond virtue signaling.

[vulpes-nothus]

This isn't even a new conversation. It's over 20 years old now. I grew up in the D&D 3 Era of ttrpgs. I was there to see first hand the Wizards assertions that D&D was the everything system, back when they were willing to both hire game designers AND pay cash money to prove it by flooding the market with D20 System products. All to prove that WotC D&D can do anything!

And... it really couldn't.

D20 Modern revealed that pretty hardcore that D&D 3 was ill-equipped to handle things like guns, cars, modern surveillance tech, computers, investigation, spy thrillers, military drama... the list went on as more and more supplements came out.

D20 Call of Cthulu revealed that the heroic action adventure "kill the monsters and take their stuff" engine was actually a pretty terrible engine for scary monsters. The players could just kill them.

Innumerable Licensed D20 (popular show) The RPGs fell into obscurity because the fans would look at the 1-20 leveled classes with locked abilities, combat stat blocks for their blorbos, lists of feats, and just not see their show in them.

And this was a game that had rules for social interaction, exploration, crafting, owning housing, custom ability research, overland travel, and organization recruitment, making it infinitely more equipped to be an "everything game" than the current D&D.

But that's just it: there's no such thing as an Everything Game. Even GURPS, the game design equivalent of a series of Lego sets, has clear intention and design goals around a team of exceptional people doing things in potentially dangerous situations. WHICH ARE DESIGN ASSUMPTIONS, NOT UNIVERSAL IN TTRPGS!

So, yeah, to continue the analogy, I got into rpgs when WotC was selling the Total Woodworking Kit 3, which had some plastic screwdrivers, a mallet, a Glock 17 with laser sights and a 30 round magazine, gloves, safety glasses, and the promise that they will sell instruction guides on how to make all things wood. It didn't work for all projects and I had to buy tools from other people.

Then WotC tried selling the Total Woodworking Kit 4, and it was just the same Glock with a folding stock, scope, and bayonet, with none of the other tools. A pretty okay gun, but I was looking for woodworking tools, so I felt lied to and just stopped going to WotC altogether.

Now I'm listening to people rant and rave about how universal and awesome the Total Woodworking Kit 5 is. But it's just the plastic screwdrivers and a rubber knife now. And WotC is still promising guides, but each one so far has been pictures of already completed chairs and houses and the Trojan Horse with captions like, "well, a REAL carpenter would just know how to make this." WotC fired all of their real carpenters, have paid a number of actors to reenact scenes of Extreme Home Makeover, and use the savings in time and money to harrass and bully their customers and competitors alike, the former into accepting that a rubber knife and plastic screwdrivers are the only tools that exist, the later for insisting that a tool company should be making tools that work.

It's just rich assholes doubling down on their old bullshit, and I refuse to eat shit.

The state of TTRPGs if it was video games

“Oh I wanna play a Half-life video game; instead of playing Half-life 1, Blue Shift, Opposing Force, Half-life 2, Episode 1, Episode 2, Portal, Portal 2, E:0, or E:02, I’ll just download 10,000 mods for Skyrim until all the draugr are replaced with Combine soldiers.”

[tennessoui]

asdkjgf #1 or maybe #15?? good luck on your papers and one the writers block!!

thank you 🥰 i finished my papers (ish) and yet my writers block persists >:( at least i still have a few more prompts to work through to help 🥰

[from this list of prompts]

[2. 'have you lost your damn mind?' - 4. 'do you...well, i mean...i could give you a massage?' - 5. 'are you jealous' - 6. 'is there a reason you're naked in my bed?' - 13. 'kiss me.' - 14. 'hey, i'm with you, okay? always.' - 18. 'this is the stupidest plan you've ever had. of course i'm in.' - 19. 'the paint is supposed to go where?' - 22. 'i've seen the way you look at me when you think i don't notice' - 24. 'you're the only one i trust to do this' - 25. 'i can't believe you talked me into this' - 27. 'i'm pregnant' - 28. 'marry me?' - 29. 'i thought you were dead' - 32. 'i think i'm in love with you and i'm terrified' - 37. 'wanna dance?' - 38. 'you fainted straight into my arms...if you wanted my attention, you didn't have to got to such extremes.' (LATEST) - 44. 'if you die, i'm gonna kill you' - 41. 'you did all of this for me?' - 46. 'hey, have you seen...? oh']

1. 'Come over here and make me.' (slightly NSFW)

Anakin doesn't know what makes his master get that playful glint in his eyes, but he thinks it's probably for the best that he remain oblivious. Otherwise, he'd be trying to make it happen all the time.

He knows that about himself, knows that when it comes to his master, he wants and wants and wants and never feels satisfied by what he already has. He has so much of Obi-Wan in private, maybe more of the man than anyone ever has been allowed to see before Anakin, definitely more of the man than anyone has ever been allowed to possess. So he knows that logically, he should be satisfied with what he has of his master, satisfied with the other man's sweet nothings and constant affections when they're in the privacy of their quarters or the silence of hyperspace.

But he loves when Obi-Wan looks at him like this, eyes heated and crinkled up with the force of his smile. He loves Obi-Wan always, all variations of him of course, but he especially loves him like this. Loose-limbed and, well.

The only word Anakin can think of is arrogant.

His master looks arrogant as he leans back in his Council seat, legs parted at a mouth-watering angle and eyes pinned on Anakin with enough heat that he's a bit worried he'll spontaneously combust beneath his gaze.

The training bond between them, illicitly never severed and incredibly important to keep secret, is alight with activity. As if Obi-Wan has forgotten how important it is to be secretive.

Or as if Obi-Wan knows and has decided, temporarily, that he doesn't care.

The smile narrows, turns into a smirk, and his master shifts in his seat, leaning against one arm rest and resting his chin on his fist.

The bond hums, and Anakin's mind is suddenly filled with a new picture. Himself, sinking to his knees in the middle of the Council chamber and crawling across the floor to push in between the triangle of his master's spread thighs.

The room is suddenly incredibly hot. Uncomfortably so. Anakin is sure he's blushing. No, Anakin sure he's burning up.

"Knight Skywalker?" Master Fisto prompts, tilting his head and studying him curiously. "Your report, if you please."

"Apologies," Anakin chokes out, trying to block his side of the bond so that he may keep his wits about him. Obi-Wan's smug amusement and arrogance grow deeper, sharper. "I fear traveling so far has tired me unduly."

"You look sun-flushed," his master points out, blinking innocently back at him even as he pushes a memory across their bond: Anakin, shortly before he'd departed on his mission, sprawled across Obi-Wan's lap with his ass upturned and smacked violently red, like a preemptive punishment of sorts.

His master will never admit to his own possessive behavior, but he always gets a certain kind of...jealous in the days leading up to missions Anakin takes to Naboo.

Usually Anakin relishes in it, in the tangible proof that his master cares, craves, and claims him.

But right now, it's bordering on obscene.

"The mission went well," he reports with as steady a voice as he can manage. He'd rehearsed the script during the trip back, as uncomfortable to step in front of the Council has he's always been.

His mind fills with a textured, soundless image of Anakin riding Obi-Wan, hands wrapped tight around his master's throat. Not an uncommon position, though they've certainly never kriffed in Obi-Wan's Council seat.

Master, stop that--please-- he pushes the thought across their bond, along with his embarrassment, desperation, and arousal. I can't think, stop, I need to--

In the room, across from him in his circle, his master blinks cooly back at him. A picture of Jedi perfection. Not even a hair out of place.

And yet--

Come over here and make me, Obi-Wan pushes back to him across their bond, paired with the same image as before, of Anakin crawling to him on his knees. Climbing up into his lap and giving in to him--giving over to him.

Master, please, Anakin begs as he feels his cock harden further in his pants. Even the presence of Grandmaster Yoda can't stop his body from responding to Obi-Wan's mental touch.

The bond flares open wider at his desperation. Wider than Obi-Wan seems to have planned because a thought of his master's slips through this time to accompany the pornography.

Mine, his master thinks as if his own control is frayed and close to snapping in two. My boy.

Yours, yes, still, always, Anakin sends back, lightning fast. "Uh, sorry," he says out loud when he notices how much time has passed. "The Naboo queen was able to successfully negotiate the fleet's movements through the sector."

The bond between them freezes, pictures halting, thank the Force. Then his master slams up his mental shields, cutting Anakin off from his mind completely.

Anakin has to bite his lip so he doesn't give into the urge to gawp at the gall of the other man, who looks as unaffected as he did ten minutes ago when the torture started.

He realizes a second later that Master Fisto has asked him another question. "I'm sorry?" he says, turning to look at the Jedi Master.

"Please pay attention, Knight Skywalker," Obi-Wan drawls. "I know you must have a lot on your mind, but the Council's time is important."

Anakin flushes and decides that if he makes it out of this mission debrief alive, he is going to kill Obi-Wan. Really and truly this time. He's going to get the man on his cock and then he's going to squeeze his neck and he's going to throttle him and he's really, actually not going to stop this time.

[alphacentaurinebula]

We needed more time

Having had a little bit more space from the WoT finale and all the hurt it entailed, I feel like I can now comment more on the season as a whole. My verdict? We needed more time. In the form of two more episodes.

[FYI I have put aside the real world consequences of Siuan's death for the purpose of this post. I've talked about them extensively in this post and about my emotional reaction to her death in narrative terms in this one. Here I'm just going to look at the season as a whole, narratively/critically.]

Despite a few missteps in this season (obviously Siuan's death but others as well), I do feel like this was the best season overall. It had the best pace so far; managed to bring us along on several story threads; it provided incredible expansion to the world-building in Rhuidean; it kept me interested in disparate plots despite their limited time on screen, and it provided satisfying resolution to some longstanding stories/character arcs.

But it was also the season where I felt most strongly how much better the show would be with two more episodes per season.

Because so many plots were underserved; so many stories left dangling; so many narrative choices undermined by a lack of screentime and a lack of focus.

If we'd had two more episodes, we could have had:

More build up to the Two Rivers battle and Perrin's leadership dilemma. I thought the show did an excellent job of successfully resolving Perrin's relationship with violence, as well as his grief and guilt over his wife. But though his ambivalence toward leadership is discussed, we were never truly shown it. We didn't get his build up into a leadership position, his resistance to it and his realisation that if he didn't step up, the wrong decisions would get made. We see him convince people not to go back to their individual homesteads - that's it. One example. Then he's in charge and people are raising a wolf banner and joking about him being Lord of the Two Rivers. We never see him resisting the mantle of leadership. Faile has a line about how Perrin will have to lead the Two Rivers whether he wants to or not, but it's a real tell not show moment. I didn't feel like the 'resolution' of this thread was satisfyingly. Without being a book reader I'm not sure how meaningful I'd have found the final shouts of his name at the end of ep 7.

More resolution in Tanchico. Now don't get me wrong, I thought the show did an impressive job of conveying the storyline in Tanchico with VERY little time on screen. We got such brilliant character moments in the Hills of Tanchico episode, the time on the ship was excellent (even if I'd have liked to see more of the sea folk), and Moghedian was successfully the most creepy and terrifying thing on our screens. The compulsion scene was brilliant. And the whole storyline brought some much needed humour.

But as satisfying as Nynaeve's parting of the seas moment was, as glad as I was to see her overcome her block and as well as I felt that character storyline was handled - what happened in Tanchico afterwards? Are they still chasing Liandrin? Do they know she's left Tanchico, is that why they are on the ship? Basically, they super failed. They were trying to stop Liandrin and instead they gave her one of the armbands and helped her find the collar. We have no moment acknowledging that (or Mat's almost death or Nynaeve's block being resolved), no discussion of what to do next, nothing. We're left narratively hanging and the shot of them on the ship was almost more confusing than anything else. We needed at least 5-10 more minutes of storytelling in Tanchico in the finale, and more time with them throughout the season certainly wouldn’t have gone amiss.

An entire episode in the tower. The finale could have had room for more time in Tanchico, if we could have had a separate episode about the Tower Coup.

Just picture it:

We could see more build up to the coup. Elaida whispering in ears. Sitters defending Siuan - but are they convinced? Verin and Leane making back up plans. We could have had more sight of what Siuan was doing to try to bring world leaders in line, what she was doing to try to bring the tower in line. There would have been a chance for her to get close to realising abut the coup, almost outsmart elaida but then be outmanoeuvred. A scene where elaida gloats to a bound Siuan, asks her questions, loses her temper. A scene where Alviarin convinces Elaida that execution is the only option (if we have to have her die 🤦‍♀️), whilst Elaida hedges. Finally, Elaida agrees. She must be executed. And then - we leave it there. Episode ends.

Then, in the finale, we would have had more space and time. We could have had a very short scene of Siuan's allies fighting to reach her side. Then the speech and Moiraine's fight scene interwoven as they were. Siuan dies. Instead of the last shitty shot of her beheaded body, we get a shot of Leane sobbing over her, Rima saying death cannot be healed, and then Verin and the various allies convince them all to leave for Salidar in Siuan's honour. For Siuan, we will resist! For Siuan, we will support the Dragon Reborn! For Siuan, daughter of the River!

Just - how much better would that have been? I'm not sure it would have totally solved the real world issues of Siuan's death, but I do think it would have helped.

All this could have been ours - indeed, I think that most of that would have been in the writers' plans if they'd had 10 episodes. I really feel the show did better with pacing this season, but OH! What they could have done with enough time!

(obviously much of this could have worked with stilling instead of execution. Moiraine could still think she is dead (stilling could have cut off her link with the oath rod) and Elaida could have even sent her off to be imprisoned secretly away from the tower (and off screen for a few seasons), and told Leane et al that she was dead. But I digress.)

[ision]

SKI TRIP MEET CUTE ( >﹏<;。)

ft snowboard instructor haechan

☆¸¸ .•*★.

“Oh God…” you muttered out, shakily, as you felt your body lean further and further forward. Helplessly, you waved your arms in the air as if that would somehow gain enough momentum to propel you into balance. It didn’t. And you had never hated the feeling of cold snow in your face more, served with stale utter humiliation in front of all the other 20-somethings at the snow slope.

“Oh my God, get up…” your friend said, pulling up your limp body as well as they could seeing as your board was still attached to you. As you were brushing off the snow that stuck onto you, the sound of someone racing past you caught your attention. The person glided effortlessly, a GoPro in their hand as they flew off the jumps and spun in the air. You didn’t need to have counted the twists and turns to know that the move was impressive, all their spins blurred into one.

“You like his moves?” your head snapped to your left, a foreign voice breaking you out of your reverie, enchanted by the performance. “Your stance is wrong.”

“Huh?” You replied. A man, with an olive-green jacket, appeared a few feet away from your side. “Your body isn’t low enough, bend your legs a bit more. But don’t be too stiff in the legs either.” You nodded, trying to make sense of the unsolicited advice, and also trying to push past the shame of someone witnessing your relentless, deplorable attempts at snowboarding. “Honestly, keep trying, the first hundred tries are always awful, but after that, they get a lot better,” the man said. You couldn’t really make out his face what with his helmet and visor blocking your way, but he seemed nice enough.

“I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how I’d do that,” you said, thinking about his words. “I can show you?” You pondered for a few seconds, should you trust him? But, it’s not like he could snatch you away and hide you in the neighbouring wilderness, it’s near impossible to walk with your feet strapped in. “Sure,” you said, pulling up the collar of your turtleneck-ed fleece.

‘I’m Haechan,” he held his gloved hand out for you to shake. “Hold my hands,” Haechan said, “or hold onto my cuffs, if you don’t want to.” Smiling sheepishly at his remark, you placed both hands into his ones, and despite the layers of fabric between them, there was a warmth from the embrace, which felt wonderful to your frozen hands. Your cheap, rented gloves hadn’t been doing much to keep the cold out.

“Ok, now bend your knees… lower.. a bit more, there! Keep that level, and keep this stance” he talked you through your corrections. Eventually, he deemed your position sufficient enough and slowly started to drag you down, his back facing the net at the base of the slope as you glide on your board horizontally. It was a bit funny how here you were, struggling to perform a basic move let alone any tricks or turns, whilst Haechan effortlessly snowboarded backwards. Laughable, really.

You knew you looked awkward for sure, trying to maintain your position whilst fighting against the urge to lock your legs in place. But it was nice, the way you moved over the snow was satisfying, smooth, and so much better than before. You don’t think you said a word down that whole slope, the concentration and adrenaline made a deafening mix. “Ok, I’m letting go now,” his voice startled you, and you lost your balance and leaned forward, your hands clasping his tighter. “No Haechan, don’t you dare,” you pleaded, the panic rendering you desperate. If he left you now, you don’t think you’d be able to make it back in one piece, and you really did not want to embarrass yourself in front of him. He shook his head slightly. “Ok then, as you wish,” Haechan replied, a smile tugging at his lips, and continued to bring you down the slope.

“Lean back a bit more,” Haechan said. You were quite close to the end of the slope now. “Bit more… no the other way… wait-” you got a tad overexcited. Leaning too far forward when the person in front of you was riding backwards, and hence was also leaning backwards, wasn’t the best idea. “I’m so sorry!” You jumped up off of Haechan, who looked like the wind had been kicked out of him. “think… you just … killed me,” he gasped out between breaths, with a fist held to his chest dramatised. Rolling your eyes at his theatrics, you helped him up. “How was it? Did it feel easier?” You nodded with a smile on your face “Yes, it was amazing!”

“I’m glad,” he said. He leaned forward and lightly tugged on the strands of hair that had come out of your helmet, “it’s ok if you fall over though, you have these to anchor you when I’m not there to fall on.”

“Hey!” You pulled the hair away, not missing the teasing smile Haechan had on. “Sorry, sorry,” he lifted his hands to surrender, “I’m so sorry that I’ll buy you a drink.” You felt a little flushed. “Or I can Venmo you, if you’re not interested.” You let out a laugh at that, shaking your head. “I’d love a drink, but I should reward you for your help, instructor Haechan,” you smiled at how he tried to brush off his fluster from your words. Today was a success in all senses. It didn’t count if your only fall was at the end of the run, right?

[serenaoffaerun]

I'm making this its own post because I don't want the callouts for using reference material in artwork nonsense on my posts. And I certainly don't want friends dragged into things any more than they already have been.

So I'll just say this on its own in response to a hater post from calla-lilly-flower, whom you should block because they're just a shit-talker:

You know what I find the most funny? You, calla-lilly-flower, seem like EXACTLY the kind of person to make a callout blog. Your arguments are so far out of touch with reality that I truly don't think you realize how childish you sound.

We're going after reference images now?! Then every artist out there is FUCKED. You know who doesn't use references? BAD ARTISTS and 0001% of a talented group. Show me someone today drawing hands or feet and I'll show you someone with a folder on their phone or pc with pictures of hands and feet.

Give me a break.

I have sat and watched Calolily work on many pieces, some practically from start to finish, and they have more talent in one finger than a lot of people will have in their lifetime.

Clearly being an artist (or being a member of what is supposed to be a loving and supportive fan group) is not your calling if you can't grasp some of the basic concepts and shame others for using STANDARD INDUSTRY TOOLS at their disposal. As someone with a background in psychology, I suggest you stop projecting and put your energy into somewhere you can thrive. All this does is ostracize you further, and I'm sure you have skills that could be used as a force for good if you tried.

Let me tell you who IS worth following and supporting:

@calolily

@floweryanarchy

@redmedic

@ayvaines

@lunarwench

There are others, but I just want it made known where I stand and I will support these people with my full chest. They've been nothing but kind and supportive to me and don't have anything to prove to ANYONE. Just fellow goobers out there creating the art and stories they want to see in the world. You'd be blessed to know them and their content.

[l00kingatthem00n]

can i ask for some medkit :3? something like tending to his wounds or listening to him complain after a long day, can be platonic

━━ IT WAS A GOOD DAY.

WARNINGS: self-deprecation [mainly from medkit] - let me know if there is anything else.

Working with the Church of the True Eye is exhaustive, even isolating. After days with little to no contact from him, Medkit finds himself a block away from the little diner you've said to meet him at. He could easily go in and see you, get this over with. But he finds himself hesitating, wondering if he really should go over.

MEDKIT PRIDES HIMSELF ON HIS PUNCTUALITY. Whatever time is asked of him, whatever is needed, he comes and does what is expected of him. Carefully, meticulously, he’s maintained this perception of workplace professionalism. However, with the dark rings beneath his eyes, the disgruntled expression across his features, and the disinterested lilt of his words, it’s evident that he doesn’t enjoy his duties. He used to help people, or he thinks he used to help people, but now he can’t even begin with what he does. Medkit knows he'd be buried for spilling anything about his work. It’s simply just exhausting, enervating. But, he knows if he wants to keep living within Crossroads’ streets even somewhat comfortably— Safely, too —He’ll have to continue with such efforts. 

That’s why the Church of the True Eye is a frequent employer of his at the very least, but that’s putting it lightly. His timeliness, abilities and efficiency are what promise him paycheck after paycheck. Nevertheless, Medkit never wastes his time. Each hour, each minute, and each second is spent doing his work according to his rigid schedule. Again, it’s not out of a fondness for the work he does nowadays but more of a necessity to ensure that he still gets the money that he needs. He’s paid for his time; He might as well do what he does with a slight sliver of hope that they’ll cough up spare change. Ultimately, he rarely ever makes any last-minute rearrangements, nor is he ever late. 

And so, it is beyond his comprehension that he decides to be late now on all occasions. It isn’t that he’s lost in downtown, the winding streets and stores are familiar. He knows that antique store with its ridiculously expensive prices. He knows that the laundromat with their barely functioning machines. He also knows that the boutique the more than pleasant cashiers. It also isn’t even because he’s behind on time from pressing work, all that has been attended to throughout the morning. Truthfully, he’s far from lost, and he’s far from busy. Medkit is across the street from the diner you’ve agreed to meet at, far enough out of sight from the window on the street. It's to ensure that he doesn't risk you seeing him there, standing and stalling. Despite everything, his punctuality, he can’t bring himself to walk over when it's a walk that's a few measly minutes of his time. Maybe, even a measly seconds.

It’s only a stroll along the crosswalk, weaving through masses of strangers. Then, what gives?  Maybe he can blame his bodily paralyzation on the particularly exhaustive day he had at the Church of the True Eye. That's not to say that they already treat him well. Swords, they don't even try to generally treat him well, if anything, his contracts with them only have him recognized as a “valuable asset” rather than a “valuable member.” Medkit is above the crude and unprofessional language, something he leaves with Sword and his friend, Rocket. But, if he were to use any of their crass sayings, the one that would accurately describe his day would be that:

The Church have been up his ass. 

Whatever reason for their miserable ministrations towards him is beyond him. From the Broker’s consistent monitoring of his personal matters, Scythe’s insistence that he update her on gear modifications, to even Father Overseer’s impromptu call necessitating that he remembers his service to them, Medkit doesn’t know why they've been so inconvenient to him. To say the least. He thinks himself a decent employee under their dubious standards. He hasn’t exactly gone out of his way to interfere with their plans. And he certainly hasn’t been a prominent and lingering concern for dissension and betrayal. He does what’s asked of him, and does what needs to be done. 

It could be that his already thin patience has gone thinner, scarcely tolerating their wants and demands. That’s unlikely, though. He thinks he woke up fine. A warm mug of tea by the window side as the sunlight cascades through. Maybe, it could be that he’d done something a while ago offensive to the Church’s practice. Except, if that were the case, they’d have made a demonstration out of him and not press him so passive-aggressively. He’s more than familiar with what happens to those who’ve wronged them. While he thinks he’s important enough that they’d be less severe with their punishments, he would know for sure if he’s done something. 

It also couldn’t be that he’s secretly scared of you. In all his years, within the winter confines of Blackrock, the towering labyrinths of Lost Temple, and the neon inferno of Crossroads, he’s met many inphernals. Some were unkind, some were cruel, some beyond that. From their poisoned tongues to their stained hands, to their unspeakable actions. He remembers someone like that so well, someone he knew so closely that they’re now engraved in the recesses of his mind. 

But, some were kind, some were caring, some were too generous for their own good– Like you are. Once more, he’s not scared of you. It’s quite the opposite. For their society built upon conflict, you’re probably the most charmingly compassionate individual he’s ever met. Truthfully, someone like you should stay leagues away from someone like him. Medkit feels selfish for gravitating towards you. A guilt that settles in his chest for letting him be your friend. 

You’re good for him, too good for him. 

Now that he thinks about it, that’s most likely the reason why he’s stalling; So close yet so far from you. It’s been days, maybe weeks since he’s last seen you. Too preoccupied in the maddening world of work from the Church of the True Eye. He’d been kept beneath their watchful gaze for a long time. You’re kind, you’re patient, yet everybody has certain thresholds. As much as he wanted to call you, learn how you’ve been and what you’ve been up to, he knows the Church would be breathing down his neck for as long as he wasn’t attending to their pressing matters. Even then, when he returned to his apartment in Crossroads, he couldn’t bring himself to pick up the phone and call you. It felt unpleasant. No, it felt wrong to contact you when he hadn’t spoken to you in so long. 

That was when you decided to call him. His phone had rung three times as he contemplated picking it up. The first time it had rung, he had clicked his tongue and aggravatedly wondered who it was. The second time, his eyes widened with realization and he considered letting the noise go on and on until you would call it an end. And the last time, guilt came over him again at the thought of losing you even more with his lack of communication, so he picked up the phone. On your end, it’s quiet. For a moment, he worries that you never even meant to call him until—

“Medkit!” You gasp, “Oh my Swords, sorry, I didn’t think you would pick up. Hey, how are you–?”

You talk to him like no time has passed. That he hadn’t left you in utter silence for days, letting you wonder and worry regarding his well-being. Medkit is not deserving of anything from you who is so tender-hearted, not your sympathies nor your condolences. He’s your friend, supposedly, but he feels he isn’t deserving of such an intimate title too. Now, because here he is, meant to see you in this little diner. But, he’s here; On the sidewalk, standing from afar. A sinking guilt settles within his chest. He should just move, just move his feet and walk over. Medkit is not scared of you, so what is he scared of? 

He hisses through the gaps of his teeth; Nothing, he has nothing to be scared of. There are lingering worries about the worst possibilities that could occur if he were to see you. Would you be disappointed with him? Would you see him and spit venom at him? Would you wish him the worst and finally put an end to this friendship? Medkit doesn’t know. Even if his scattered and stressed thoughts lead him to believe that the absolute worst will happen, finally he feels himself moving forward. 

Weaving between the passing inphernals; Frantic office workers, lazing cashiers, and chatting friends –he makes his way over. From the street window, he can faintly see you at the back of the diner through the smudge and grime across the glass. Your horn colour and its distinct shape make it noticeable among the others. Before he knows it, his hand grasps the steel knob and he opens the door. A faint ringing of a bell to signal his arrival. Some young server briefly welcomes him as they pass him to give orders. The quaint atmosphere of the diner allows him a moment of clarity before he hears your voice ring boldly. He snaps his head to the back, seeing you smiling widely. 

You wave excitedly at him, “Medkit! Hi”

Medkit swallows thickly. The worst hasn’t happened, it seems far from it. But, he’s still worried. Still thinking something bad could happen to him. He slips into the leather chair, scooting closer to the table as he quietly greets you. Still, you smile at him as you place your chin in your palm. 

“It’s good to see you!” You tell him.

“I hope this was an alright place. I know you have more—" You gesture vaguely "—Eloquent tastes.”

“No worries, it’s fine.” He glances around another time. “It’s quite nice.”

You seem excited at his agreement, nodding along. “Right? I love the colours, there’s a bunch of decorations too!”

Your enthusiastic presence is overwhelming. Yet, it's also pleasant. He doesn’t know why, but he soaks in your sunlight. You're smiling t him as you babble on and on. The words are blurred from your frantic tongue. But, at some point, Medkit can’t help but follow along too, and he finds the faintest of smiles gracing his usually rigid features. Every time he meets your gaze, he practically admires that brightness he is so absent of. You babble on about something he doesn’t exactly catch. It’s not particularly a grievance of his, but you tend to speak quickly whenever you are so elated. Regardless, something clear comes through your chatter. 

“Oh, by the way,” you click your tongue, snapping your fingers as you meet his gaze. “If you don’t mind me asking...” 

“What took you so long? Knowing you, I was expecting to be late.”

Medkit pauses. His lips pursing together as he mulls over what to tell you. To tell you about his trouble, that he had been a stroll away, letting the time pass by because he was scared to confront you, only to finally come in a moment of blind courage; That would not be worth the effort. One day, maybe he won’t feel much a drowning in his stomach when he tells you about what strife lingers in his thoughts. For now, he’ll tell you little white lies— It’s not like you’d know anyway, right?

“I was occupied. My apologies.” 

You raise your brow. “Occupied by?”

“Them.”

“Oh.” 

There’s a silence that hangs between the two of you. He wonders if he’s already slipped up, saying so much with so little. Though you dispel any doubts promptly, waving your hand at him. 

“Psh- Don’t worry about those guys, let’s focus on getting a bite! I’m sure you’re hungry, it’s lunch after all.”

Then, you move your hand high up, waving it absurdly to catch the attention of any available staff. Reflexively, he lowers his gaze, letting his visage be obscured by it resting on his palm. The server clicks their pen, patiently waiting for your orders. With a quick skim of the menu, he lets you order for the two of you. While he isn’t particularly a fan of burgers, obscenely gross with oil and grease dripping down his hands. Gods, the thought alone disgusts him. He supposes he’ll let you take a reign meal plans for today, as a treat for his distance behaviour. As the server bids their farewell, promising your orders hastily, you turn to him. 

“So, Medkit, tell me about your day.”

Medkit scratches the nape of his neck, deciding to keep up with his little white lies. “Uneventful, just uneventful."

"I have got bothersome and relentless work from them as usual."

"Geez, really? That's rough."

"Of course, but it's nothing that I can't handle."

You chuckle, "Just don't exhaust yourself like you usually do, Medkit."

Medkit blinks slowly; Once, then twice. He chuckles too, soft and almost uncertain. He dismissively waves his hand at you.

"Oh, please, it's fine. I’d much rather hear what went on with you, truly.”

You seem surprised. He’s unsure why. It could be that he’s a little more straightforward than usual. He hopes he isn’t coming off as curt and snappy, that’s the last thing he wants you to think of him. 

“Oh,” you blink; Once, then twice. “Really?”

“Really.” He drums his fingers against the laminated table, “If I remember right, you said you got a teaching internship recently. Could you tell me about it?”

“Ah! You remember!” You somewhat squeal, sitting upright, “Yeah, I got a student teacher job in downtown Crossroads. Uh, where to start?” 

You contemplate for a moment, then you smile, “Okay, so–”

This time, he tries his best to discern your tongue. Somehow, you’re even brighter than before. Your hands are wildly gesturing all over for emphasis. Your smile is wider than it typically is, letting the wrinkles of your face glow. Your eyes have a distinct twinkle that he feels nobody in this diner would miss. It feels like nothing has passed, that nothing has changed. It was the same as it always was and it always will be. He hopes, at least. 

Maybe, it was a good day. With you, that is.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: dude. I COMPLETELY MISREAD YOUR REQUEST. I TOOK IT AS LETTING MEDKIT LISTEN TO YOUR DAY. TS PMO. 🥀 I STILL nailed down some of the original request, but omg whoever you are, please feel free to request again because i feel SO bad 😭😭😭unless you actually enjoy this but OH MY GOD IM SO SORRY

ultimately, this was such a cute thing to write... i ave to admit that medkit isn't my favourite, but writing him is so fun!!! i decided to leave this relationship as ambiguous if you cant tell...So feel free to interpret it as platonic, romantic or something In between heh

[evilminji]

Okay! Back with THIS Because it hasn't left me alone!

I can? So clearly see it?

The System, arbiter of what Is and Is Not narratively satisfying. Watching through the back of OCs eyes, as it has been, the entire fucking time. Rarely chiming in. Because they, The System (both plural and the Organization), have been running different scenarios with this particular Story. Different Transmigrators and set ups.

Because of the wildly unusual... success? Outlier? The freak Event™ with that Shen Qingqui stand in. (It was CRAZY, man.)

Whole thing got bumped over to R&D, which is here, for Professional Poking At™. And let me TELL ya! There has been some WILD reactions! Half these characters go "hmmm... I have decided to BURN THE WORLD DOWN" at the drop of a hat!

Fascinating~! ( o O-O)c/ *scribbles notes*

Which? Leads to That Moment™. The Moment Luo Binghe goes Too Far, narratively, to retain his Hero title. Even within the loose bounds of a Stalion Protagonist. All? WHILE THE SYSTEM IS WATCHING.

Because it's ONE thing? To return "a hundred fold" an ill done against you. Even if, in reality, that is WILDLY disproportionate. Horrifically so. It breaks hands for minor bruises. Burns homes, for insults payed by children. Creates ugliness in a world that desperately does not need more of it.

However? Oc? Narratively? Was off on her Peak. Nothing but KIND every time they crossed paths. A distant, coveted, elder sister like figure. Stopped bullies, healed wounds, hurt no one. By his own Narrative "rules"? She should be untouchable.

If he was acting like a Protagonist.

But a fall from grace? The tragedy of a good man, corrupted by the cycle of abuse and the legendary Heart Demon Sword Xin Mo? A VILLIAN made of "what could have been" and "our sins come back to haunt us"? Oh~ how the world was Never FAIR! Never KIND! Look how he lashes out!!

Better reassign him. How INTERESTING.

Good thing there's always a BACK UP. All they got to do? Is pop Gongyi Xiao into the Role! And there we go! Huh. Would you look at that. Whole thing got so much more stable. Bit more generic, yes, but he IS an everyman sort. And the supporting cast makes up for it! Look how much MORE can be supported! Fascinating~

Like? Suddenly Tianlang-jun is getting out from under that mountain. Because he's no longer blocked by the "we can't have someone Stronger then the Protagonist"! Cause there's LOTS of cultivators stronger then Gongyi! He's still learning! Growing! That's not the POINT of his journey.

And? Gongyi? Looks a hell of a lot like Binghe. Who? Looks damn near identical?? To his mom. It's one of the horrifying Truth's Gongyi will discover about his Sect and Sect Leader! The man's sick obsession with the honorable Miss Su Xiyan. Whom he resembles.

Imagine.

Being Tianlang-jun. And the boy who helps frees you? Not the sick dog that is your son. A living manifestation of everything that went wrong, there at the end. But... a boy. Proud and honorable. With his vicious little girlfriend. Like all the parts of Su Xiyan you fell in love with, before it all fell apart.

That vicious little thing, the daughter of the man who coveted your wife. So sickened by him, she proclaims she HAS no father. Ha ha... well, now. You know what? Can't have a wedding without someone to give such a vicious little princess away! Call me, father, brat. For I have no son. Just a nephew.

Cause? Little palace mistress? Spending this whole ass time? Learning to be Less Of A Bitch... An Asshole... uuuuh, mean. She's... working on it! Okay!? It's... it's a LOT to unlearn. Her first instinct is to hit people! Sneer and insult the "rabble". She... she KNOWS better. Intellectually. But it's... it's so ingrained.

Gongyi helps. A LOT. And maybe? She makes... friends? Like... not "oh you follow me because you fear me or want Fathers power/money" but like? Actually LIKE me as a person friends! It's wild! She learns to cook... a few things.... sorta...

They didn't burn.

Gongyi ate them! So it couldn't have been THAT bad! She Cooked!! Shut UP!!!!!

She even touched a snake! And DIDN'T kill it! Even though it was gross and scared her! Gongyi caught it. And held it very still. So she could touch it with just one finger. And? Not AS gross as she thought. Not slimy at all! In fact? Surprisingly sweet. She bravely put it back in the bushes. Because they are more scared of us then we are of them!

Turns out it was a Demon, though. Who is now her brother.

Who is FAR to soft. Honestly! How he survived without her to protect him? A miracle. Surely bullied every day. General, her ASS. Hmmph! *proceeds to lovingly bully her new family, much to the approval of demons everywhere*

And like? With the lose of Protagonist statue? Comes the lose of the aura that protected him. Binghe goes FULL Bingge. Xin Mo has a FEILD DAY. It's the God damn SHINING up in this palace. Wakin up to that man standing over OC with his FUCKIN CURSED SWORD and glowing eyes in the dark, despite the fact that she barred and sealed the door with like fifteen different arrays. Not even blinking. Just... a set of red, glowing, eyes and that fucking mark.

Sweet Merciful FUCK™

Could... could you NOT? This is horrifying, dude. She'd ask if you were GOOD but... like... you're clearly NOT. Please Cease at once.

Like? Mobei-jun is regretting everything. Barely holding his lands together under this mad man. Shang Qinghua is too busy using his actually relevant "how to keep yourself alive under an unstable Demon far stronger then you" expertise for the good of his King to... you know... escape. Not that any of them COULD.

Crazy pants over here would fucking FIND them.

Ha ha.... oh god, this is hell, isn't it?

But hey! At least Mobei-jun, who isn't an idiot, is like "waaaait a second. This advice is familiar... was... was I the unstable demon?" *customer service smile* "fuck™. No Wonder you keep trying to leave and betray me. This is awful. I was a paranoid little shit of a child, I will try to do better." "I accept bribes?" "I can do bribes." "Deal, my king."

All while? Cang Qiong Mountain Sect is LOSING THEIR SHIT. Their Talismans (etc) Peak Lord? Feral. Foaming at the mouth. Where??! Is his BABY!? His PRIZED Disciple!? His PRIDE AND JOY!? Off being MOLESTED by some DEMON SCUM! Kidnapped! Absconded with!! Look at his Head Disciple! They are IN TEARS!

Shen Jiu? Seething. Should have killed the little fucker when he HAD THE CHANCE. Did he KNOW he was a demon? No. But that irrelevant! He actually LIKED that Disciple! And the beast STOLE her to do gods only knows WHAT sort of depraved things to her! We should kill him. We should kill EVERYTHING.

(He is SO CALM.)

Old Palace Master probably dragging his feet. Making this about him. Other Sect quibbling. No doubt there's a ballad about the Noble Sacrifice of Maiden Oc to stop the Dread Demon Binghe (who tricked us all). She's gonna hate it. Never be able to escape it. Everyone and their brother is gonna ASSUME shit. Where the fuck is that virginity testing sword?! He was creepy AF and trapped me in his castle! He didn't-!

Don't worry! Says local Troll, Tianlang-jun. I will take responsibility for my son's terrible, terrible crimes! By killing him and marrying you! Thus making you an honest and honorable woman! >:3 *can legit tell nothing has happened, but lives for The Drama and has over a decade to make up for*

MOTHER FUCKER!

*everyone else is losing their minds, insisting that NO, it should be one of the present Honored Cultivators. Don't Worry Oc! It's gonna be okay!* (why the FUCK do ya'll even assume she...! *Sigh* you know what? Fine. Sure. I'll deal with this later...)

@mayfay @legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @spidori @hdgnj @leftnotright

[bullet-prooflove]

Gold: Donnie Donahue x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cosmic-psychickitty @sjlovestory @storiesaplenty @imawhoreforu

Companion piece to:

The Worst Kinda Day (NSFW) - Donnie can't explain the relief he feels when he gets home to find you in the shower.

Queen of Soul - You consider your current career choices as you undressin the bathroom.

As your husband Donnie understands that people flirt with you, it’s a byproduct of being a performer. You get up on that stage, sing your heart out and the moment you step off you become obtainable. It’s the reason he’s usually there at the steps to meet you, your hand slipping into his as he helps you down them, blocking out any other man that has designs on his wife.

The problem is he’s running late tonight. His shift’s run over by a couple of hours and he’s just missed your set.

You don’t mind though. His jobs important, you always tell him, saving lives and shit. Besides you can always give him a private performance, one that involves less clothes and a far more interactive experience at home.

When he steps inside the club, he seeks you out almost immediately. You have a certain presence, one that he’s uniquely attuned to and he hones in at it as you stand at the bar being talked at by Leon Supa, a rap performer who in his opinion, is standing far too close to you. You must think so too because you put a hand on his chest, pushing him back, keeping him at a distance. He responds by reaching out to brush your braids behind your shoulder and that’s when Donnie’s temper soars, because your hair with all those pretty gold adornments, it’s fucking sacred.

You must see him coming over Leon’s shoulder, clock the expression on his face because you disengage immediately from that asshole, throwing your arms around Donnie, drawing him close. The way the two of you fit together, it’s perfect, like two missing pieces of a jigsaw, a complete puzzle made of music, devotion and some other fucking kinda magic.  

The scent of your perfume floods his senses, a sensual dark floral, sensual aroma, full of unspoken promises, ones that you very much intend to fulfil as you take his hand and guide him towards the bathroom.

“I wanted to tear him apart.” Donnie murmurs as he traps you against the sink.

You look so fucking pretty tonight. Gold lipstick that contrasts against your skin, matching kohl. You’re wearing a black leather mini skirt and white crop top, his chain peeking through the collar.

You reach underneath the skirt, hooking the black lace thong with your thumbs before you draw it down your thighs and tuck it into the front pocket of his jeans.

“I know you wanted to kill him.” You say as you sit yourself up on the vanity and open your legs. His cock jumps to attention at the sight of your pussy, glistening in the glow of the overhead light. “But don’t you want to vent all that pent up energy in a more positive way?”

“Fuck Alisha.” He whispers as he locks the door behind him. “You are gonna kill me with this shit.”

“You love this shit.” You remind him as your hands thread through his own braids, gripping them in your fist, tugging his head back so you can leave your lipstick mark on his pulse point. “Now get your dick out and remind your wife of exactly who she belongs to.”

You’re right, he does love this shit because that adrenaline you feel coming off the stage, he gets it straight after his shift. Sometimes the only thing you can do is fuck it out.

His mouth claims yours as he sinks inside you, filling you up to the hilt. You moan tears from your throat and that fucking sound, it makes every single nerve ending in his body light up like the Fourth of July. Your thighs wrap around his waist, forcing him deeper and his hands slide underneath the miniskirt, grasping your ass, kneading it.

“Fuck.” He drawls because he’s not going to last long and neither are you.

Already he can feel you tightening around him, gripping his dick so hard that the wildfire in his veins explodes into an inferno. He pumps into you hard and fast, chasing that flame until you sing out his name like the lyrics of a song.

“That’s it baby.” He whispers as grips your jaw in his hand, guiding your gaze back to his. “You know who you belong to don’t you?”

“Christ Donnie, it’s you.” You whisper back and those words, they tip him right over the edge because he can be a territorial fuck at heart.

He buries his face in your throat as he comes, his hips stuttering as he erupts in hot, white spurts, painting your insides, marking you as his. Your hands smooth over his hair as he looks up, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his skin flush, your gold lipstick mark highlighted against his jugular like a brand.

You pick up a paper towel from beside you on the vanity to clean it off and he clasps your hands in his, stopping you.

“No, leave it on” He says firmly, his gaze meeting yours. “I want that asshole to see it.”

Love Donnie? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[cauliflowercounty]

I’m strongly against AI in fan fiction and writing in general. Here is why. (I’m gonna disagree with this post whether the personal stuff in the comments is true or not.)

Yes, AI may be a useful writing tool for some who struggle getting words out, but that doesn’t just negate all of its other negatives.

In the post, it says that AI has the “ability to simulate creativity.” Whoever this person actually is just ran right into the whole point.

It is a simulation of human speech and is disingenuous. You are not actually the one being creative.

These AI tools are language models that use algorithms to guess what comes next. They are trained on works and the speech of people who have put time and effort into creating, coming up with interesting narratives, artful word choice, new ideas, complex imagery, themes, and more.

AI takes these works full of soul and spits out the least common denominator. What is thinks might come next but guessing what words might come next didn’t get the best writers where they are. They actually put thought into it and tried multiple possibilities for wording and sequence.

What AI does for you in seconds is built on the backs of writers and many others who have dedicated themselves to the craft of writing just to have their work consumed by an algorithm and used to generate something far lesser without attribution.

As an algorithm, AI models also have their own bias baked into their code. That is reflected in what it gives you. Why would you base something creative off a model with biases that limit what it produces that might not reflect you as a person?

The wonderful part of being creative and a writer is that you can use words to evoke emotion because writing is an emotional process. You can comment on the human condition, make people consider something they hadn’t before, and transport people to another world.

AI is not human. It can’t create with the level of intellect that a people have. If AI prose does manage to transport you or any of the things I’ve mentioned above, it is still not a person writing and representing it as your writing is not truthful. It is a hodge-podge of what writers have done in the past. You cannot be an ethical writer using AI to write for you. You are not coming up with the ideas.

The whole point of language is to communicate information and connect with others and AI doesn’t represent people.

The post mentions that AI could be used to summarize comments. Why can’t writers just READ THE COMMENTS without the AI filter?? If someone took the time to comment on your work the least you can do as a creative is look at the real feedback. I am OVERJOYED when people take the time to comment. Shoving their responses into an AI to summarize discounts the time and energy of the commenter and the AI might not even summarize it well.

As for editing help with ideas, there are many strategies people can learn to overcome idea blocks that can be done without AI. I like brainstorming/word vomit but that just works for me. You can look up what strategies other people employ and talk with your fellow creatives before asking an AI for ideas.

Lastly: AI takes so much energy, and it affects the environment. I’m not gonna sacrifice the planet just to use AI to make suggestions or write for me.

Overall my issue with AI is that it expedites writing in the ugliest way. It is theft. It is hollow. It is unartistic. It takes away form the point of language: interpersonal communication. Most of all, it robs you of the writer you could be.

Artificial Intelligence in Fanfiction

Artificial Intelligence (AI) is transforming the way we create, consume, and engage with stories, and nowhere is this revolution more useful and exciting than in the realm of fanfiction. Fanfiction was once a domain of niche online communities, but it has grown into a vast and diverse genre of creative writing that reimagines and extends beloved characters and universes. As AI tools become more sophisticated, they offer powerful support to fanfiction writers, enriching the storytelling process, enhancing creativity, and democratizing access to literary expression. Far from replacing human imagination, AI acts as a collaborator or a friend!

One of the most immediate benefits of AI in fanfiction writing is its ability to stimulate creativity and help writers overcome blocks. Many fanfiction writers are hobbyists, students, or part-time creators who juggle storytelling with other life commitments. AI writing assistants can help them brainstorm plot ideas, develop character arcs, or find just the right word when they’re stuck. Rather than waiting days for inspiration to strike, a writer can input a few lines about Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy being stuck in a magical snowstorm and get instant prompts or narrative suggestions that push the story forward.

The AI isn’t dictating the storyline for you, it is suggesting and nudging you into the right direction. For those daunted by blank pages or struggling to maintain momentum in long-form storytelling, AI can be the difference between abandoning a beloved fic and finishing it triumphantly. I for one have written three fics in the Harry Potter fandom using AI and they were all well received by readers and commenters. Without AI I would not have been able to articulate the words and thoughts in my head.

AI also plays a crucial editorial role. Tools like Grammarly, or more advanced AI models can correct grammar, improve sentence clarity, and suggest stylistic changes without altering the writer’s voice. For fanfiction authors whose first language isn’t English, this is a game-changer. It enables greater participation from global writers and leads to cleaner, more enjoyable stories for readers.

Furthermore, AI can be used to maintain consistency in longer works. Whether it’s remembering what pet name a character uses or maintaining internal logic across multiple chapters, AI can track patterns and flag inconsistencies that even seasoned authors might miss.

AI doesn’t just help with the technical parts of writing — it can also help fanfiction writers explore new genres and styles. Want to write your favorite Star Wars characters in a noir detective setting? Or imagine Marvel’s Avengers in a slice-of-life high school drama? AI can suggest tropes, plot arcs, and vocabulary that match the new genre. This empowers writers to experiment with bold crossovers and narrative mashups, encouraging creative risk-taking that keeps fanfiction vibrant and ever-evolving.

Moreover, AI image generators and voice simulators are adding new dimensions to fanfiction. Writers can now create character art, book covers, or even narrate chapters using AI-generated voices that match the tone of the story. This multimedia approach enhances the immersive quality of fanfiction and provides fans with new ways to experience the worlds they love. I have already heard from many fellow fic writers across fandom spaces that they find the image generators motivating, especially when experiencing a period of writer’s block.

AI could also help fanfiction communities thrive. On platforms like AO3 or Wattpad, AI-driven recommendation engines would be able to match readers with fics they’re more likely to enjoy, based on tags, themes, and writing styles. Writers receive better engagement as their work reaches the right audience. AI can even assist in summarizing long works or generating engaging blurbs that capture a reader’s interest.

Some advanced models can analyze reader comments and provide aggregated feedback to the author — highlighting what’s resonating most or what might need clarification. This turns passive readership into an active, evolving collaboration.

Therefore, AI is far from a threat to human creativity. It is a catalyst for more expansive and expressive storytelling in fanfiction. It supports writers in every stage of the process—from brainstorming to editing, from publishing to engaging with readers.

[moodymelanist]

If you’re still looking for short nessian prompts could you do Nesta and Cassian in a long distance relationship having a standing weekly video call but one of them is unusually late because they’re going to surprise the other in person

happy @nestaarcheronweek everyone! I’ve been struggling with writing block and life has been hectic af but considering it’s my event I thought I’d do a little something haha. we’ll see if I do more 👀

Nesta took a deep breath as she stood outside Cassian’s door, nervous despite the fact that she knew her boyfriend would be thrilled to see her.

He still made her nervous despite the almost two years they’d been together — the good kind, usually. They’d met by chance at one of those graduate school mixers that grad students only came to for the food, and Nesta would never stop being grateful to Gwyn demanding that she make an appearance.

“You need to get out of your law school bubble, Nesta,” Gwyn had told her with all the haughtiness a psych masters’ student could muster. “Plus, there’s going to be catering.”

Nesta had bumped into Cassian while waiting to get some more samosas, and the rest was history.

Considering he was in a history program, Cassian made that joke far too often, but Nesta didn’t mind. She’d just roll her eyes and shut him up with a kiss, and then neither of them minded too much after that anyway.

When her boyfriend had gotten the opportunity to study abroad and get a more hands-on semester, Nesta had threatened to break up with him if he didn’t apply. Cassian had been worried about leaving her abroad while he went off to Europe — something about how she’d manage to feed herself properly without his cooking — but they both knew this opportunity was too good to pass up. So Cassian had packed his bags, Nesta had driven him to Dulles and kissed him senseless, and they’d made do with phone calls and care packages and even a few honest to God love letters.

Nesta absolutely didn’t have them saved in her nightstand to pull out before bed. She did not.

Still, there had only been so much a woman could take of missing the love of her life before she had to take action. So Nesta had made sure her passport was renewed, packed her bags, and gotten her ridiculously rich brother-in-law to pay for her ticket.

Rhys had seemed more excited about the trip than Nesta was, which would normally make Nesta suspicious if not for how relieved he’d seemed that Cassian would stop complaining about how much he missed her to anyone who’d listen. Nesta had been too happy to save several hundred dollars to even be offended on Cassian’s behalf.

So she’d braved a flight across the Atlantic, managed to navigate her way through the airport, and finally found herself outside Cassian’s door. She’d timed it just right with his schedule that she knew he’d be just settling in to call her in the States, but little did he know that he’d be getting the real thing momentarily.

Sure enough, Nesta’s phone started vibrating in her jacket pocket within the next minute, and she cursed quietly as she fumbled to get it out of her pocket. Cassian’s face appearing on her screen made her gaze turn a little soft before she remembered she had to actually answer the phone, and she moved a little further down the hallway so he hopefully wouldn’t hear her through the door.

“Hello?” Nesta said, trying to speak quietly.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Cassian said back. Just the sound of his voice made every thought in her head go blissfully quiet, and she smiled to herself knowing she would hear it for real in a few minutes. “How’s your day going? Excited for the weekend?”

“It’s okay,” she told him truthfully. “Just kinda long. I’m ready to take a nice nap, to tell you the truth.”

“Mhmm,” he agreed. Something shifted in the background and she pictured him laid out on the couch the way he always did at her place. “A nap with you sounds pretty nice right now.”

“I know,” she replied. She took a deep breath and started walking back toward his door, hoping that his reaction to seeing her would be good. “Hey, did you check your mail today?”

“No, why?” he asked. He sounded like he was sitting up now, and she smiled to herself knowing they were that much closer to seeing each other. “You send me something?”

“Maybe,” she answered playfully. “You should go find out.”

Cassian laughed, the sound of it spreading something warm through her chest. “Yeah, okay, twist my arm. I’ll go look now.”

Nesta waited patiently for him to put on some shoes, and then she could hear him unlocking his door and suddenly, there he was. He looked as handsome as ever, half his curls pulled up away from his face in a loose bun, and dressed in a dark gray shirt and black shorts.

God, he was hot. Nesta half hoped he wasn’t wearing underwear.

Cassian did a double take as he realized someone was standing in front of his door, his eyes widening in complete shock as he realized it was Nesta standing there. “Nesta?”

“Hi,” Nesta said, hanging up their call now that they were finally face to face. He was so adorable; she wanted to kiss that gobsmacked expression right off him. “Hope it’s okay that I dropped by.”

“Holy shit,” he said back. He surged forward and gathered her in his arms, and she melted immediately into the warmth of his body. She’d missed this. “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled into his neck, breathing in the smell of him as deeply as she could manage. She wrapped her arms around his neck and dug her fingers into his soft curls with a happy sigh. “I missed you.”

“Believe me, I missed you more,” he replied. He leaned back so he could press kisses to her hair, her forehead, her cheeks, making her laugh until he finally kissed her properly. “Fuck, sweetheart. I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Let me in and I’ll make you believe it,” she answered, her grip on his hair turning decidedly more wicked.

It turned out Cassian was wearing underwear after all, but Nesta made sure it wasn’t for much longer.

tag list: @c-e-d-dreamer | @jsmelodies | @queercontrarian | @nativeswfl | @that-little-red-head | @dustjacketmusings | @fieldofdaisiies | @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk | @kale-theteaqueen | @goddess-aelin | @livinforthetea | @valkyrie-archeron | @agents-assemble | @sweet-pea1 | @lilah-asteria | @brieq | @mydnights | @jmoonjones | @readskk | @fwiggle | @bookstantrash | @climbthemountain2020 | @underneath-the-sidras | @illyrianshadowhunter | @sublimecoffeefestival | @superspiritfestival | @sv0430 | @podemechamardek | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @burningsnowleopard | @bri-loves-sunflowers | @itsinherited | @pham-tastical

[burntsaltsblog]

Back from the Dead

jackson!joel miller x vampire!femreader fix-it fic

warnings: spoilers for s2 ep2, violence, needles, mentions of blood and death

summary: just fixing joel’s story with a hint of immortality. It’s painfully obvious that I’m rewatching the vampire diaries

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨ ୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

The abandoned ski lodge was several thousand yards away and a mere speck in the distance when I smelled the blood. It didn’t carry the sour tang that the blood of an infected did, but the raw metallic undertones that only spilled from human veins.

“Fuck,” I cursed, forcing myself to run faster, my vampiric gift causing me to become one with the air. Snow blew harshly against my face, but nothing was going to impede me from continuing my journey.

When I was a mile out, the blood began to intertwine with the unmistakable scent of pine, wood, and ground coffee beans. There was only one person in all of Jackson who carried that aroma: Joel.

My stomach flipped at the realization that he was inside and potentially badly injured. I was thankful I listened to my instincts and abandoned Jackson, even as it burned to the ground, in favor of finding Joel and Dina, who had been missing in action.

The lodge’s back door was locked, but that was remedied when I cranked down on the handle, and the rusty, old thing nearly disintegrated in my hand.

I entered a dimly lit room, courtesy of a few windows, and sidestepped furniture covered in plastic and dust. I closed my eyes and strained my ears to locate where Joel and Dina were, but even a mortal would’ve been able to hear the screams of agony coming from down the hall.

Without a plan or even an outline of one, I sped toward the cries, grateful that I could do it soundlessly as to not announce my presence before I was ready.

I ended up on the other side of a closed door. The screams became evident that they belonged to Ellie, which was a shock considering she was supposed to have taken cover from the blizzard with Jessie.

“Please,” she sobbed, and I braced my hand on the door, preparing to knock it down. “Please don't do this.”

Who was she begging? Boots thudded on the floor, and Ellie’s shrieks grew louder. I didn’t have time to think anything through. I needed to act.

Busting open the door, I was met with a horrific sight. Blood created a sea on the hardwood floor, and in the center of it was Joel, unmoving. Dina was not too far away from him, also unconscious but unscathed.

I attempted to run to Joel when a tanned-skinned man with curly hair stepped in front of me, blocking my path and sneering, “What the fuck do you want, bitch?”

I narrowed my eyes, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

His gun was pointed at me in an instant, but a bullet had yet to win against my healing abilities. So, with little fear, I grasped the end of the weapon and twisted it, resulting in him shooting himself in the face.

I stepped over his body just in time to dodge a knife that another man, much taller and bearded, was clenching. His death was just as quick when I pulled out my own knife and jammed it into his abdomen, letting him crumple to the floor beside his friend.

A door on the opposite end of the room slammed shut, signaling that someone or multiple people had escaped, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was to get to Joel. There was just one more person in the way—a woman who stood over him with the broken end of a golf club, panting heavily.

Ellie screamed death threats, and I was happy to bring them to fruition.

The woman knew I was coming for her, so she turned quickly and sank the end of the club into Joel’s neck, earning nothing but a small gurgle from him as blood trickled from his mouth. At that moment, I decided she deserved a special, less humane death.

The murderess thought she could outrun me. Oh, how pitiful a sinful human could be. I was on her in an instant, sinking my sharp fangs into her jugular, wanting to give her a similarly fatal wound that she had given Joel. It was the little bit of justice I could bring him in this gruesome situation. The blood from her vein drained quickly, and she was subdued for good.

In the time it took to take her down, Ellie had crawled over to Joel’s body, laying her head on his shoulder, openly weeping. She hadn’t seen the manner in which I’d killed Joel’s murderer, but she’d soon find out what I was anyway.

I didn’t need to listen for Joel’s pulse to know it was nonexistent, but that didn’t mean he was gone for good. And as much as I hated making this life-altering decision for him, he wouldn’t have a life at all if I didn’t do this. That was reason enough for me to scan the near-empty room for the supplies I needed. There was no way I could get my blood down his throat the old-fashioned way, so I’d have to improvise.

“Ok, ok, focus,” I said to myself. “How can I possibly get my blood into Joel’s system? I need…”

I spotted a used syringe discarded by Dina’s knocked out form and practically dove for it. There seemed to be some watery solution floating around at the end, but that shouldn’t interfere with what I was about to do.

Sinking to my knees next to Joel, I ripped my coat off before rolling up the sleeve of my shirt. I hissed when the need pierced my skin but forced myself to focus on the red substance that pooled at the bottom of the syringe, rapidly rising to the top.

Once it was filled all the way, I yanked the needle from my arm and turned to Joel, ripping open his dark flannel to locate his heart. It was then that Ellie took notice of my actions.

“W-what are you doing?” Her voice was raw from her earlier screams.

“Saving him,” was all I said before plunging the syringe into Joel’s chest, letting my immortal blood flow straight into his heart.

“Is that blood?” She asked in horror, trying to reach for the syringe, but I swatted her hand away, and she stared up at me, genuine fear sweeping across her face.

“Ellie, it’s ok, I promise,” I tried to explain as I slowly pulled the now empty syringe from Joel’s heart. “It’s my blood. And it’s his only chance of surviving this.”

She shook her head as more tears filled her eyes. “What are you talking about? He’s…he’s dead.”

“And if he wakes up, he’ll still be dead. Technically,” I mumbled, rolling my sleeve down as I sat back on my heels, peering at Joel’s swollen and bloodied face.

“You’re fucking sick, and I’m going to kill you before you can do more of your witchy magic shit on him,” she threatened, turning her head to locate her knife on the floor behind her. Even though I knew she was serious, she was in no shape to fight anyone, especially me.

“I’m not a witch,” I clarified as I braced myself to admit my deepest and darkest secret. “I’m a vampire.”

“Shut the fuck up.“

I appeased her by refraining from speaking and flashing her my fangs that grew on command instead. Her eyes widened as she began to scoot away from me and Joel’s corpse. “Are you some form of infected or something?”

“No, no,” I shook my head, holding my hands up to show I wasn’t a threat as I rose to my feet and followed her. “I’m not infected. I promise. A different curse possesses me. Expect I actually have control over my brain and stuff.”

Ellie didn’t say anything, choosing to back herself into a corner, and I sighed, giving her the full picture. “I know it’s impossible to comprehend, but vampires are real. To turn, all you have to do is die with vampire blood in your system. Sometimes it takes a while. Days even. But when you wake up, you’re no longer human; you’re a vampire. That’s what happened to me a long time ago,” I dragged a hand through my hair that was damp from melted snow, “And that’s what’s going to happen to Joel.”

“Have you ever done this before?” Ellie whispered. “Change someone?”

“No. But I’ve seen it done a couple of times over the years. It’s a pretty simple process.”

“He was already dead when you injected him with your blood,” she pointed out, her eyes darting back over to Joel. “How do you know it wasn’t too late?”

“The human body is still alive up to four minutes after the heart stops beating,” I assured her, quoting what another vampire once told me regarding the transition from mortal to immortal. “My blood entered his body no more than a minute after he passed.”

Ellie nodded, standing on shaky legs and eyeing me carefully as she scooted around me and headed back to Joel’s side. Her head found his shoulder again, and she closed her eyes. “He’s going to be real pissed.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” I huffed out a humorless laugh, pivoting away to give them some privacy. I didn’t know how long it would be before Joel woke up, so I decided to make myself useful and dispose of the bodies until then.

I didn’t know how much time had passed as I dragged the deceased individuals out of the back door and buried them in a shallow grave of mostly snow. Infected would surely find them, but that was not a problem of mine.

When I stepped back inside, I heard Ellie’s voice calling my name. I rushed back to the main room and stopped in my tracks at the sight of Joel sitting up on his own.

Ellie glanced at me nervously. “I think he’s awake.”

Yeah, no shit.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨ ୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨