#things i am only just finding out after more than twenty years include THIS

[backintimeforstuff]

WHAT do you MEAN that little kid in the Goldberg Variation is Shia LaBeouf ????? ????? excu s e m e ????

[letteredlettered]

Went to a panel about slash fanfic at a con. Moderator said, "Welcome to the panel about erotica." The words "slash" and "erotica" were used interchangeably throughout. Panel was great.

There was a Q&A at the end so I raised my hand and said these terms seemed conflated. Moderator explained she'd run this panel for 10 years and it started out being about slash but drifted into erotica and she never changed the name. (She also said she was glad I brought it up and would keep it in mind for the future of the panel.) The guy on the panel who writes original m/f erotica said that slash and what he writes are basically the same thing. I said I had no complaints about the name of the panel or the panelists, I was just curious about what slash meant to them, and whether slash by necessity had to include sex scenes to be considered slash.

Two panelists answered that slash was romance between men but usually had sex. Eventually one of them did make clear that slash didn't have to have sex but that it was what they wanted to read. Another panelist said that to them slash really just meant dude romance but people wouldn't read their fic unless there was sex so they felt they had to put sex scenes in.

Person came up to me after the panel. Said they felt I didn't get my question answered. Then they explained that since the 70s, 'slash' has been used to mean m slash m romance, meaning explicit and sexual. Then they said it sounded like what I wanted to ask about was shipping. They explained to me that shipping is just wanting the characters to be together but slash meant sex. They explained that since the invention of AO3, people had begun to use the ampersand to mean the fic had two characters who were friends and that the slash was used to denote ships, but even though that punctuation just meant romance, the word "slash" in the last twenty years had become synonymous with explicit fic. I explained I had been in fandom longer than twenty years and this was not necessarily my experience. They said, "Bye!"

Though they seemed confused as to whether what they personally defined as slash had been mainstream since the 70s or since the last twenty years (the person was 24), they were well-meaning. The panel was great. I'd recommend it to anyone, though I'm not stating the name of the con here because I don't want anyone involved to feel this is really a critique of the panel itself. The moderator in particular was superb.

I think that this conversation just brought up a whole lot of feelings for me. I think it bothers me that people still think that all fanfic is smutty, that all slash requires porn, and that all fic must have porn in order to be read. I am familiar with this conflation and feel perfectly fine going to a panel that I think is about slash fic and finding out it's about erotic lit, some of which is fanfic. After all, I like both, and I recognize that fandom mushes these things together and teasing them out into separate strands isn't something everyone--or possibly even most fans--have any interest in. I recognize that I am pedantic to a degree that most people find uninteresting.

I have a little bit more of a problem with the idea that slash is "basically the same" as het, but this was said by only one of the panelists. If your panel is actually about straight up erotica and not slash, then the problem is just the name of the panel.

What I found the most frustrating, however, is that whenever I have this conversation, I feel like the default assumption most of my interlocutors begin AND end with is this: smut is why we're here. And I just don't understand that. Away Childish Things has 44,800 kudos, and it has no smut in it. My next most kudosed fic has almost 15,000 kudos and tons of smut. My next most kudosed fic has almost 14,000 kudos and it doesn't even have a kiss.

I'm not talking about kudos to show off how many I have, or because I think kudos make a point about quality of a fic. They have nothing to do with quality. But they do have to do with popularity, and the truth is, sex doesn't sell. It's something else. It's not good writing. It's not a great plot. It's not in-character characterization. IT'S SOMETHING ELSE. What is it?

I've had people say to me, "Well, you're lettered; it works differently for you." DOES IT??? Maybe they meant that because enough people know me as fic author, people will read my fic anyway, but let me tell you, it's always been this way for me, long before my fic was really popular. The ones with smut did not get more praise and attention. The ones that PEOPLE LIKED got more praise and attention. Do people like fic that has smut in it more than fic without smut? Some of the time! Does there have to be smut for people to like it? NO.

Have I had people tell me they didn't want to read something I wrote because it didn't have smut? YES. But the point I'm trying to make is, there are people who want to read fic that doesn't have smut in it. THEY are your audience for the fic you want to write that doesn't have smut in it. Fic does not have to have smut to be fic; it doesn't have to have smut to be read.

I think part of the reason I get so upset about it is that slash as we know it today didn't just emerge because some people weren't getting to read smut and they wanted to. It emerged because women and queer people and other marginalized communities were not getting to see what they wanted to in mainstream media. They weren't getting sex scenes, but they also weren't getting queer content, they weren't getting stories about sensitive men that defied patriarchal stereotypes of male toxicity; they weren't getting stories about disabled folks and people of color and folks who are into kink and folks who have different lifestyles. To reduce fanfic to porn is to remove the rich history of why it exists and who it exists for.

I asked earlier what makes a fic popular, and to me, it's exactly this. It's when you read a thing and you feel, "this is really satisfying to my id in a way that I am not getting from mainstream media." And sometimes what is satisfying to your id is very horny anal sex. Other times what is satisfying to your id is Bucky Barnes getting a blanket and facing his trauma. Sometimes it's Harry Potter being trans. Sometimes it's Naruto and Sasuke getting to just hold hands as the sun sets. I have no idea who those two people are but boy howdy do I know they just fucking need to hold hands.

But the other reason I get so upset about it is I'm so fucking tired of reading a great fic that devolves into mediocre mechanical porn that is there due to the collective brainwashing that states that this is the ONLY reason ALL of us are here.

Discuss.

[barblaz-arts]

Stephanie Beatrice had played my 3 favorite characters (Rosa Mirabel and Vaggie) and since I watched Encanto and B99 I have my head canon that Vaggie have both Rosa and Mirabel personalities.

Any way, I just want to know what is your head canon or theory about her? ( specifically about Lute calling her weak and why the other exorcist hate her)

Since she is your girl, I would love to read your essay about her.(I’m joking you don’t have to write that much I just like to read your post)

Thank you

"My girl"... Am I just "that one artist who's the biggest Vaggie stan" to you guys? (I won't mind it!)

Oh man! I do have some ideas! A lot of my headcanons were already kinda sorta mentioned in my fic/art tho, so sorry if you're not getting a lot of new info

- I have this headcanon that Vaggie's always been "softer" than the other Exorcists, which is what I assume Lute meant when she said she "always knew [Vaggie] was weak". I know it probably has more to do with how little time each episode has, but what if Lute was so ready, already behind Vaggie when she let that kid go, because she knew this wasn't the first time Vaggie spared a sinner? Maybe that was just the first time Lute actually caught her. Maybe she's always had her suspicions, when Vaggie's kill count would lower every year, and she'd sometimes find Vaggie saying a sinner got away somehow despite cornering that demon moments ago.

- although she's gotten used enough to her lack of depth perception when it comes to her hand eye coordination, especially when fighting, i like to think her reading ability could never truly go back to the way it used to be, so she has trouble reading/ writing/texting (if you notice, i always showed instances of this in my fic ;> )But because she's the hotel manager she still has to deal with them because of paperwork and shit, so she has prescription glasses that help. I'd wanted to include a scene in the First Guest where Vaggie almost cries after seeing Charlie thru the glasses for the first time, because she didn't think Charlie could be any more beautiful, but i scrapped the idea because I couldn't expand the concept enough to an actual scene that could be relevant to the overall fic. I probably should have just mentioned it in a paragraph or something, but by the time i remembered id already posted the chapter I intended to add it in. Maybe I'll use it for another fic.

- she prefers femme clothing so she doesn't really have a reason to do this, but she learned how to do all kinds of ties so that she could do Charlie's whenever

- she grew her hair to compensate for her lost wings

- she wasn't exactly a great cook before she Fell, but she was pretty capable when she lived alone in Heaven. Cooking for Charlie tho gave her the motivation to get better and actually enjoy it

- an angel trait that she could never truly abandon is being a stickler for rules. She's very strict on everyone and herself with these things, within reason. So even when she and Charlie started dating, she insisted that they can't sleep together until they've had their third date. When they're on the clock, they have to be professional and avoid flirtatious advances in front of staff and guests. Charlie didn't mind because she prefers privacy too.

- Vaggie's physical appearance slightly changed gradually the longer she stayed in hell. As an angel, her sclera was paler, her incisors duller, and her skin grayer. But as time passed, her sclera got more and more peach/pink, fangs sharper, and skin more purple toned

- i still like to think that Vaggie's old backstory back when only the pilot was out (having died in 2014 in her early twenties who worked as a sex worker in El Salvador) was still true. Maybe it's just because I've liked Chaggie since pilot, and I've grown really attached to that backstory. I also just really don't want Vaggie to be Heavenborn for some reason. Among the cast she just seems the most grounded to reality to me, so having her revealed to have never been human and born "divine" just doesn't seem right to me. I also just think it'd be cute and funny if it turns out she's chronologically the youngest in the hotel even tho she's basically everyone's strict not-mom.

- idgaf what Adam says, I wanna think that "Vaggie" is short for "Evangeline". I used to have these 2 coworkers in their late 50's to 60's who had Evangeline as their government name, but one of them goes by "Vanj" and the other "Vajee". Being older Filipino women who aren't really too fluent in English, they never thought there was anything wrong with that when they grew up with their nicknames. I like to think that the case was the same if Vaggie used to be human. I'm not sure how common English is in El Salvador, but I'm willing to bet it's possible she could have been given that nickname as a kid by an older family member who didn't know a lot of English. Also Evangeline makes more sense to have been the name of an angel cmon now...

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter seventeen | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 SFW | canon typical death, violence, mentions of self harm, Coriolanus Snow, mentions of suicide | lmk if I forgot anything

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 coriolanus snow is now a peacekeeper.

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 i wrote this at four am, please forgive me if it's not good, give me your feedback!! And uhm.. i am gonna pull an all nighter, coz if i sleep now i won't be able to wake up in time tmr, wish me luck!!

Beta read by 🩶 @nowitsmissing 🩶

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Coriolanus was on the train. He had nothing but mere minutes to pack his belongings and say goodbye to his life in the Capitol. Tigris was in tears. And he knew the hug he gave grandma’am would be the last he ever received from her. Peacekeepers have to serve for twenty years after all.

He was on his way to district twelve. Not once had you come to visit him. He would lie to himself if he said he thought you would be at the train station. He expected an explanation. He was ready to accept lies. But no one was waiting for him. He was all alone.

Snow has lost his previous blonde curls as all officers had to have a buzzcut. He also had been sprayed with extremely cold water before he was given the blue uniform of peacekeepers. Coriolanus had gone over a small handbook and he realized hierarchy is everything. There are ways to raise rank but what's the point of it all?

What's the point?

He will never be president.

The Snow name will fall.

He will never have you.

He should just end it all.

That's when the door to his train cabin opens. The person who enters is completely unsuspected. Sejanus Plinth. His… friend.

Sejanus sits before him. Coriolanus doesn't even greet him. He's shocked. He blurts out, “Before you came, I was thinking about the merits of suicide.”

Sejanus replied with a chuckle, “Don't give them the satisfaction, Coryo.”

Coriolanus nods. He won't. He will make it out somehow.

“Why are you here?”

“I volunteered,” Sejanus said proudly, “as a medic. I will make a real difference like you said I can.”

Coriolanus wants to roll his eyes but doesn't. He likes the company he has right now, it's better than nothing. He smiles, all nice and fake. “Of course, Sejanus. You'll also meet your songbird.”

Sejanus Plinth blushed, “That too.”

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

The First Week.

Ma Plinth sends letters regularly to Sejanus. She also sends him various goods including pastries that Sejanus shares with him. He hates it. Coriolanus still finishes his share of the sweet as it's so rare to find in the districts.

They don't have a day off yet. Sejanus hasn't found Lucy Gray. He's worried. Coriolanus speaks false words to put the poor boy at ease. It works more often than not.

The training is hard but Coryo excels. He's noticed by several of the recruits. They're friendly. He doesn't reveal that he's from the Capitol, nor does Sejanus Plinth. The gifts from his Ma are kept a secret.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

The First Month.

Coriolanus Snow trains more and more. He trains harder than everyone. Snow eats well. He has more muscles than he had in the academy. Coryo could beat several people in combat now. He had gained the respect of his peers.

He was angry.

That’s the only reason he trained so much. Because if he thinks too much, he won't be able to live. He checks his mail every day. He gets them weekly from Tigris. It doesn't say much except the fact they're doing well.

Coryo rarely writes her back.

He yelled at Sejanus today.

It's the first time he ever yelled at the boy. Sejanus looks like he is about to cry and Coriolanus doesn't know what to do.

Coriolanus Snow is mad at you. And you aren't here to take the burn.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

The Second Month.

Coriolanus caves in. He writes. He writes and writes dozens of letters addressed to you. It's about the smallest thing. How heavy the gun was for him to carry in the beginning and how it is now. How the air is fresh in some parts of the district and horrible near the factories. How bright the sun is. How pretty the flowers are. He speaks about the culture he thought district people could never have. He speaks about the people who are… kind. Different than he thought so.

Coriolanus doesn't send them to you.

However, Sejanus Plinth does.

Sej is sure you'll reply.

You don't.

He stops writing the letters.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

The Second Month; Second Week

He begs onto the paper. So much ink is wasted.

Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please.

SAY SOMETHING BACK

He scrawls the words roughly onto the letter over and over again. Tears falling from his eyes and ruining the ink. It makes some of the words ineligible. He doesn't care. You'll get it.

You get him.

Out of all the people, why did you abandon him like this?

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

The Second Month; Fourth Week

Snow doesn't get a reply. It doesn't matter.

Whatever healing his soulmate scar had gone through had reversed. It was the same ugly scar now. It didn't matter. Nothing does.

Sejanus says he's colder now. Angrier. He has a temper. Coriolanus doesn't care.

Sejanus Plinth forces Coryo to enjoy his day off. He drags him to The Hob, the bar in District Twelve. He sees Lucy Gray dancing and singing around. He meets with the Covey. He laughs for the first time in a while.

The same night he kisses someone. He doesn't remember who. He hates it. It felt like spiders crawling on his skin. He vomits outside of the bar. Sejanus is concerned. Coriolanus Snow quietly cries himself to sleep that night.

He doesn't touch his soulmate's scar for comfort anymore. He wishes he could cut all the skin off from his wrist where the mark was.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

The Third Month; First Week

When he comes back to the Capitol, he will. He will kill you. He will ruin you like you ruined him. The next time you meet Coriolanus Snow you aren't coming out alive.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

The Third Month; Fourth Week

Coryo can imagine his life here. With Sejanus and the Covey. Lucy Gray quickly becomes his friend (somewhat). Maude Ivory, her younger cousin, is sweet and considers Coryo like a brother figure.

It means a lot to him.

The music they play. The cabin in the woods. The cool lake is hidden in the forest. It's nice. A life worth having (he's lying to himself).

He hates the heat.

He misses the Capitol.

He misses you. Though he will never admit it.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

The Fourth Month; First Week.

Coryo finds out what the hanging tree is named after. It's a tree used for hanging the rebels. And some rebels were caught recently. Their names were called out by the captain. And they were sentenced to death.

Coriolanus had to stand up straight and keep a poker face as they were punished. A girl calls out the unfairness of it all. Pleads that they were doing nothing wrong. Snow wants to scoff. The rebels tried to escape, flee to the north, away from the safety that Panem offered. That's betrayal in Coriolanus' book.

The girl is taken away as a rebel as well.

As it should be.

Dumb district girl.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

The Fourth Month; Third Week.

A few officials have come from the Capitol to district twelve on a mission nobody knows anything about. Coryo hears rumors about it being about district thirteen and he's reminded of you. He doesn't pay much attention to it as they were just baseless rumors. District thirteen ceased to exist and his family had to face the consequences because of it.

Commander Hoff gathers every peacekeeper in the Nauen radio station. Hoff begins with a speech, “Today I call you here to let you know about the prestigious guests staying in District twelve for the time being. It is suffice to say that they expect the best from you as one of you will be assigned to be each of their bodyguard for their safety. They're from the Capitol, remember their lives matter more than yours. Do not let me down.”

Commander Hoff calls out names one by one and the peacekeeper is assigned to the person. He calls out your name. Coriolanus freezes, perhaps he heard wrong. He looks around onto the stage where the officials are and sees you for the first time in months.

Fuck. You're so beautiful.

He fists his hands. He bites the inside of his cheeks. It takes him everything not to descend into madness.

“...is assigned to Coriolanus Snow.”

You're under him now.

Good luck.

Next Part

[atinylittlepain]

Little Pinch

nurse!marcus pike x f!reader

she needs to get bloodwork done. one small problem, getting bloodwork done never goes well for her, especially not when she's distracted by the very kind, very handsome nurse doing it.

wordcount | 3.3K

content info | 18+ discussions of getting bloodwork that includes needles, fainting, nausea, mostly fluff, nurse marcus to the rescue, this is just a fun time, also an un-beta'd time so like, be nice pls

a/n | shoutout to the girls (gn) that pass out every time they get blood work done (me). I have to get new labs tomorrow morning, and writing this is how I coped with that prospect :') this one is for the fainters, the thin veiners, the "just do it in my hand"-ers - i see you, i am you, gawd bless

..........................................................................

Here’s the thing, this never goes well. It wasn’t always like this though. She has a vague memory of being a kid and taking it like a perfect champ, testing for mono after a rash of cases at school. But then, well, something changed. 

It runs in her family. Thin veins that are hard for even the best nurses to find, lots of oh, I just lost it, and well, let’s try your other arm, and always, ultimately, hands? Should we try the hands? No, the nurses never listen when she tells them to just start with the hands, and without fail, somewhere around the third or fourth time they try to get the needle in, a cold sweat breaks, and the room starts to filter through a fuzzy pinhole of vision. It’s embarrassing, she thinks, because, really, she has no problem with needles. Can watch it go in, no issues with piercings, et cetera, et cetera, but getting blood drawn? Yeah, forget about it. She usually comes to with paperwork around her feet that she had been holding, and a well-meaning nurse pressing a damp paper towel to her forehead and breathing the remnants of her lunch over her face and alright, hon? Usually a box of apple juice and an escort out to her car to make sure she doesn’t go offline again. 

The other thing is, unfortunately, she’s pretty sure her little fainting, fading thing has gotten worse over the years. A conditioned response, she thinks, that cold sweat starts the second she walks into the waiting room, already anticipating what comes next. And today, well, even worse than some of the others. Twelve hours fasted, and no, that certainly won’t help her case, no matter how much water she downed before she came here, no matter how tight she squeezes her fist in the hopes of pumping even one vein up enough to be tenable. She looks at the woman sitting across from her in the waiting room, reading a back-ordered issue of Cosmo, flipping and flippant and really, why can’t she be like that? Why can’t she be normal like that? Instead, her heel is doing a frantic tap, whole leg jerking with it, and everytime she checks her watch she feels her heart creep a little further up into her throat. 

If she’s being honest, she thought about canceling her labs. No, doc, all good, doc, don’t need to know, doc. And then a friend pointed out, frustratingly, that avoidance is only going to make it worse. Right, so, right, so right, so, here she is. And here’s the nurse opening the door and right, calling her name, and it’s a man nurse, male nurse, though she’s pretty sure she’s not being PC by making that specification in her mind because really, twenty-first century, and really, anyone can be a nurse. But not anyone, right? Lots of schooling, right? Right. She realizes a bit too late that she hadn’t responded to the nurse calling her name, jerking up out of her chair and trying for a smile that she thinks probably looks more like constipation. And that’s just great because now man nurse, sorry, just nurse, probably thinks she’s constipated and she’d rather not have the, actually, very handsome, just nurse, thinking that on top of whatever she’s got going on that necessitates lab work she also can’t take a shit. Right. 

“We’re going to be in this room right here.” Handsome just nurse has a nice voice too, deep but kind, and a strong jawline, and a patchy beard but she likes that it’s patchy, and he’s tan and he’s got one of those big watches that tells you how hard your heart was beating on your run and he probably runs in the afternoon after clocking out of the needle-in-arms gig and that’s probably why he’s so tan, probably has a golden retriever who runs with him too, because he looks like a golden retriever guy, dark flop of wavy hair and that smile and oh, oh, he just asked her a question and now she’s supposed to answer it. 

“I’m sorry, could you say that again?” He smiles, nods, being nice, at least, about her whole scared prey animal situation. She presses her palm down hard on her knee to keep it from bouncing any more. 

“It says on this order that these labs need to be taken fasted. Can you confirm to me that you haven’t had anything to eat or drink besides water in the last twelve hours?” Oh yes, yep, she can confirm that for you, Marcus, his name is Marcus, says so on his little lanyard badge. Thanks for the easy one, Marcus, pitch right down the middle, Marcus, with your nice smile and your clipboard and your, well, needles and tubes. But before he can get started with his, well, needles and tubes, she makes a strangled, sort of despondent sound because in situations like these, she comes with a warning label. 

“I should let you know I have, um, bad veins? Honestly, you can just start with my hands, I don’t mind it. And also, I’m a fainter, yeah, so, it happens every time, just so you know.” And usually, usually, her spiel is given very little notice, mmmokay, hon. Sure, they’ll lay her back, how merciful, so she doesn’t crack her skull open on the way out of conscious orbit. That’s about it, though. But this time, she thinks, might just be different.

“Okay, thank you for giving me the heads up. If you’re sure you’re alright with starting with the hands then it’s fine by me to get it done that way.” So, so fine, Marcus, and maybe, just maybe, she thinks she might not pass out this time. He sets the exam table at a reclined angle and she wills her rigid spine to settle against it, trying to find the balance between breathing so deeply she starts to get light headed, and not breathing at all. In case you were wondering, yes, she is on medication for anxiety, it just doesn’t seem to presently be working. 

“Just gonna feel around a bit here for a good one.” She only feels a little insane for the kick and clench in her heart when he takes her one hand in both of his, because he’s just palpating the back of her hand to find, as he said, a good one. Yes, the word for it is palpating, and there is certainly nothing romantic nor, hello, sexual about anything that’s called palpating. But, hey, taking wins where she can get them, and even through the latex gloves, his hands are warm and big and very know what they’re doing about the whole thing. And she’s no expert, obviously, but he’s got a very nice, very visible vein in his forearm, and she bets phlebotomists love him, bets that when he gets blood drawn, he’s in and out no problem, bets that even she could draw blood from him. Nope, nothing sexual about that, nothing weird about that, right? Right. Nothing sexual either, when he ties off the tight band around her arm and she watches his one bicep flex a little with the effort. 

“I can count you down, or you can look away and I’ll just get it done, whichever you prefer.”

“Uh, no preference, I’ll just look away and you can do whatever you want to me.” Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. She realizes exactly what she just said a bit too late, him, Marcus, nice nurse Marcus, letting out a laugh that fizzles out into a cough. Great, now she’s made her fucking phlebotomist uncomfortable, possibly one of the last people you want to make uncomfortable. But if that, whatever that was, lingers, he doesn’t show it, already swiping an antiseptic wipe over the back of her hand and pulling his little cart of tubes closer to himself. And she knows this part, she’s good at this part, letting her eyes sweep up and to the right, because he’s on her left, and willing whatever vein he decided is a good one to stay a good one. Little pinch, little prayer, she lets out a held breath when he says a quiet alright and keeps the needle exactly where it is. Hallelujah.

“This might take a little longer, just because we’re drawing from your hand.”

“I’ll bleed as fast as I can then.” At the very least, he laughs, even though she wishes she had kept that one to herself. 

“Do you live around here?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Sorry, I’m trying to distract you.” 

“Didn’t they teach you how to do that in like, phlebotomy school?” She still has her eyes turned up and away, only a little wince when he switches out one tube for another. He hums at her question.

“Not really, I could ask you about the weather, is that better?” 

“It’s cloudy. Not much of a conversation starter.” 

“Well, why don’t you ask me something, since you’re such an expert on starting conversations.”

“Do you have a golden retriever?”

“What?”

“Sorry, you just, you look like the kind of guy who’d have a golden retriever.” Another tube clicks into place, but she’s not paying any attention to that now. 

“Uh, no, no golden retriever. I do however have a very old, very deaf pit mix named Lucille.” Goddamnit, somehow that’s hotter than the golden retriever. 

“Great name.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. She came with it when I adopted her.” God. Fucking. Damn it. What next, is he a volunteer firefighter on the weekends?

“Alright, that’s the last one.”

“Wait, really?” She chances a skittish glance but, sure enough, the needle is out.

“Yep, just let me get a band-aid for you and you’re all set.” Is he? Is she? Really? Going to make it out of here with no blackout? She considers, very briefly, as Marcus is smoothing a band-aid over the back of her hand, whether it’s possible to put a phlebotomist on retainer. 

“If you want to sit for a minute and make sure you’re feeling alright before getting up that’s totally fine. I can also get you water or juice if you’re getting lightheaded.” 

“Oh, no, I’m fine actually. Which, hey, thanks for not making me faint and stuff– that’s a first for me in a very long–” Oh, oh, stops herself mid-compliment because oh, oh, maybe stood up too fast, because the room is going a little dark, a little sideways, cold prickle and nauseous and–

“Easy, easy, I’m gonna help you sit up, okay?” His voice is a little fuzzy around the edges. To be honest, he’s a little fuzzy around the edges, though she knows right away what happened. No, not her first rodeo, like she blinked and then came to in a strange sprawl on the end of the exam table. Marcus presents a dixie cup to her, holds it right in her line of sight because clearly, she’s still a little slumped, still a little vacant, and a little warm, actually, which is new, and a little pleasant, and, oh, it’s because his arm is curled around her shoulders, firm palm held there to help her sit up. Oh. He smells like clorox and something woodsy, and it shouldn’t, but it kind of works. 

“You feeling okay?”

“Mmmhmm.” She’s afraid of what might come out of her mouth if she doesn’t keep her lips pressed in a thin line, mmhmms again when he asks if she can sit up on her own, only a little despondent when he takes his arm away. 

“So, you really weren’t kidding about that happening every time, huh?” 

“Nope, wish I was. It’s– I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“That you had to deal with that.”

“You don’t have to be sorry about that, it’s part of the job. And actually, you fainted about as perfectly as I could’ve asked you to.”

“I didn’t know you could faint like, well.” 

“Right before you went down you said I’m gonna faint. That’s a lot better than getting no heads up and turning around to find my patient unresponsive on the ground.” 

“Oh gee, I bet you say that to all your patients.” Lord, if there was ever a time to put her out of her misery it’d be now. She probably still looks green from her little trip to outer space but sure, flirt with Marcus, handsome nurse Marcus who just watched you absolutely eat it. Kick your feet and bat your eyelashes while you’re at it. 

“I take it you’re feeling better then? Are you okay to walk out to the front desk?” And the rest is, mercifully, easy. He walks her to the front desk, squeezes her shoulder and gives her a good job today that she likes a little too much. She makes a mental note to herself to never come back to this clinic for any future bloodwork, lest she make a fool of herself all over again in front of a man who, with any luck, she will never see again. 

…

“Yes, this is she speaking.” This is she speaking in the middle of the cereal aisle with a half-filled grocery basket at her feet. She sets her gaze on a hyper-realized image of a granola cluster (now with real strawberries!) while the woman on the other end of the phone tells her that her lab results came in and were sent over to her doctor. 

“Oh, great, thank you for letting me know. Do you know– did things look okay?” 

“We don’t interpret the results, ma’am. Your doctor will go over that with you.” She doesn’t quite catch that, doesn’t catch the woman’s ma’am? either, a little preoccupied with staring down the aisle, because is that? Is he? He looks good out of the scrubs. 

“Ma’am?”

“Sorry, no, um, of course. Thanks again.” If the woman had anything else to tell her, it’s a little too late for it, already hung up, and she’s trying to decide if she wants him to see her, or if fleeing immediately is the best course of action. He probably wouldn’t even recognize her, she thinks. It’s been a couple of weeks since the whole ordeal. And actually, she’d prefer if he didn’t recognize her. Oh yeah, the one who, well, ate it. But it seems the choice has already been made for her, because he saw her, walking down the aisle toward her, with his chin tilted down and part of a smile like he isn’t sure, but he’s pretty sure. He says her name like a question. Guilty as charged.

“Marcus, right?” Like she forgot his name, ha. His smile stretches, a little brighter, palm to the nape of his neck, and while she got the golden retriever part wrong, she totally clocked the rest, watch on his wrist and nice-looking athletic shorts and just-right-tight t-shirt with the little swoosh on the chest. She thinks his hair might even be a little sweat-damp, curled ends nearly getting in his eyes. In other words, she’s a goner. 

“How have you been since we– you, well–”

“Since I passed out on you?” Yeah, that, he laughs out and yeah, she likes him, sue her. 

“Just for the record, I believe it was you who said I passed out perfectly, so.” Shrug, so, he takes a step closer, leans in a little like he’s going to tell her a secret. In the cereal aisle, of all places. 

“Just for the record, I really don’t say that to all my patients.”

“No?”

“Nope, just the nervous, pretty ones.”

“I was not nervous.”

“You weren’t?”

“Nope.”

“Are you just gonna blow past the other thing?”

“What thing?”

“The pretty thing.”

“Yep.” Something a little giddy, like being back in high school, shared, shit-eating and smug grins. He shakes his head and she rolls her lips back in her mouth to stop her smile from getting any cheesier. 

“So, you do live around here then?” 

“Mm, yeah, I do. And so do you?”

“I do.”

“Nice, nice.”

“Lovely weather we’re having.”

“Wow.” 

“What? I’m making conversation.”

“You’re still not very good at it.”

“I’ll keep working on it for you.”

“Sure, okay. What kind of cereal do you get?”

“What kind do you think I get?”

“You look like a Kashi guy, if I’m honest.”

“Somehow I feel insulted.”

“Well.”

“You’re not even right either.” 

“No? What do you get then?” He just smiles, steps away and reaches up to the top of the shelf and she is very grateful to General Mills for being located on the top shelf because his shirt rides up just enough to see a bare hip. In cheerios we trust. 

“Apple cinnamon, seriously?”

“What? It’s a classic.”

“Actually, you know what, that tracks.” 

“What do you get?” She waggles her basket in front of him in response, goods already procured. 

“Peanut butter chex, respectable choice.”

“Thank you, thank you.” 

“You know, I’d say we’re pretty good at this conversation thing.”

“Yeah, we’re not bad.”

“Do you want to do this again sometime? Not in the cereal aisle?”

“What, you mean like in the produce section?” He smiles at that, rolls his eyes, his basket lightly bonking against hers. 

“I was thinking more like dinner, or drinks if that’s your thing?” 

“I might be free on Saturday.”

“I might also be free on Saturday.” 

“Well, sounds like we’re both free on Saturday.”

“Can I get your number?” His lockscreen is a picture of a dog. Lucille, he tells her, before she was very old and very deaf. She can’t help how big her smile gets at that. 

“Text me, and we’ll do this whole conversation thing again.” I will, he says, phone tucked back into his pocket, though he seems to think twice before asking her can I see something really quick. Not entirely sure what he means when she nods, but then his hand sort of hovers over her forearm, may I? He really does have nice hands, she doesn’t think twice about nodding again. 

“Oh yeah, we didn’t have to use your hand. I could have totally gotten it from here.” His hand curled around her elbow and his thumb lightly pressing into what she can only assume is a vein, and he says it so earnestly that she can’t help the incredulous laugh that rises up in her chest. 

“Really? You’re still stuck on that, huh?” He smiles something sheepish, pad of his thumb rubbing an apology into her skin before pulling away. She didn’t really want him to pull away.

“Sorry, occupational hazard, I guess.” 

“Kinda weird, you know.”

“Did I just ruin this whole thing?”

“Mmm, no, I kinda like it.”

“So, Saturday?”

“Looking forward to it, Marcus.” 

[cloveroctobers]

MONOPOLY — Armando Aretas [September Prompts] 🩶

A/N: I guess I’m remaining in my Armando writing bag but this was a request from: @dasaniswrlddd & this is mostly a Drabble small work that was also inspired by my boys who’s EP you should check the rest out after reading. It’s only fitting 😉 & you’re welcome!

S/N: the request included Armando dating an older woman, he’s twenty-eight so maybe the reader is thirty-eight? Forty’s? or as old as you are if you’re a older reader lol + mentions of a certain character from the film, “Rebel Ridge,” IYKYK 😉 + a little 🌶️ in there somewhere!

PROMPT IS FROM HERE & I’m using: ¹³⁾ frozen peas pressed against a fresh bruise + ²⁰⁾ rich vanilla perfume.

SYNOPSIS: Armando’s not as good at hiding his feelings for you.

<- read my previous September anthology prompt here.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ ⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ ⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ ⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻

when Armando was informed that you got hurt out in Italy, he made it his mission to get on the next flight. AMMO was working on a case that would require them to fly out there by the end of the week so he just went earlier, despite the knowing look detective Mike sent his way.

He knows his son became fond of you quickly once they worked with your team, although Armando tried to hide it, it became obvious to Mike. Watching Armando analyze every move you made with admiration and how you commanded orders within your own team. When your team got involved that meant it was more than serious and Secada always made your team the last option if AMMO needed back up. Things tended to get reckless in the moment but you always made sure to clean up well.

Over the last few years you haven’t been getting your hands as dirty, something Armando overheard you sharing with Secada and Detective Lowrey, having your team do most of the work while you supervised but that didn’t mean you forgot everything that you’ve learned. Which is why you have a dagger jammed up right against Armando’s throat, bag of frozen peas dropped to both of your feet as you had Armando pressed up against the wall of the villa out in Collesano.

“Armando,” you stated, “did you really think it was the best idea to sneak up on me?”

He lowers his raised hands, “that wasn’t really my intent.”

“Find that hard to believe.”

“…so you don’t trust me now?” He questioned while peering at you underneath his eyelashes and brimmed hat.

“I don’t trust anyone.”

Armando exhales at this. He doesn’t take it personal since it was someone on your team that ended up being a rat in the first place. Setting you up to be killed while also murdering one of your members you were closest to in cold blood and the way the rest of your team was ambushed, was the ultimate betrayal so he understood where this was coming from.

“Then why am I not dead yet?” His low voice inquires.

You smirked as you lowered the dagger, “the night is still young.”

Armando can’t help but to roll his eyes as you step back from him but he can’t help but to reach forward and pinch your chin, turning your face to the side as he viewed the damage done to your face first. He feels his jaw tighten at the long scar that traveled from the bottom of your ear to the curve of your jaw. It was the beginning of the symbol of an Italian gang here, blade pulled just right to begin the markings of an, “X,” in cursive but they didn’t get to finish the job.

Yet this would scar in more ways than one.

“Be a doll and grab those peas for me?” Your attempt to bring Armando’s attention elsewhere was noted as his eyes flicked back to yours for a moment, silently telling you that he wanted details and he was going to get them from your mouth instead of Secada’s and Mike’s.

He lowers himself, eyes locked on yours still as he reaches for the frozen bag, “where?”

You take the peas and place them underneath your shirt, where Armando gets a peek of your ribcage wrapped in a white bandage. He exhaled at that, relieved that you actually went to the hospital to get checked out. He knew how much you dreaded those visits.

You’re leaning against the island for support, as you take most of the pressure from standing upright and shift to your right—where there’s no bruising on that side of your ribs. “So…what brings you to Collesano? Did you finally decide that you needed a change of scenery from Miami and Mexico City?”

Armando gives you a deadpan glance as he fires back, “I never would have pictured Italy as a place to live low for you. Tell me, when did you buy this property?”

You scoff, stiffly shifting to grab that hard liquor that’s waiting in the square glass for you. Throwing it back with clenched eyes you respond, “Maybe I’m borrowing it.”

“From who?” Armando crossed his arms, “Terry?” He almost spits out the man’s name, which makes you quirk up a brow.

You start, “I’m not…doing this with you tonight so if you came here to brood or whatever—I’m not here for it.”

Armando stepped to you then, “I came here to be with you, no bullshit. Got here as fast as I could. Something the other guy isn’t even here doing.”

Sighing you dip your head as Armando has his heated stare locked only on you, “…while I appreciate that…I can take care of myself, thank you. I’m grown.”

“That you are,” Armando unapologetically scans his eyes over your frame before settling comfortably back on your face, “but there’s nothing wrong with letting someone in from time to time.”

“You should take your own advice, Aretas.” You huffed, as you searched his eyes, making him blink his own stare away as he rubbed at his beard in annoyance.

He was aware of what you were getting at. You’ve been around to see his interactions with Detective Mike Lowrey, even worked with him and Marcus previously when you first got your team together. Mike was certainly a ladies man and was damn good at his job…a little sloppy at times but as well as you knew Mike, you genuinely believed if he knew about Armando, he would have made an effort to be there even if it was painfully awkward. That was a conversation that was just as old as Armando’s opinion on “the other guy,” you were legally married to.

That’s right, you were technically spoken for.

To keep it simple it was a MACP thing really and a story for a different time!

“Yeah well clearly the both of us have the patience.” He states, his gaze going back to the scar on your face, “I’ll be back.”

Sarcastically you say, “aw but you just got here!”

Armando snorts as he starts backing away, “don’t worry mami, I’m not goin’ too far but try not to miss me too much.”

He winks.

“Oh, Please.” You scoff, turning to pour yourself another shot.

When Armando returns, it really wasn’t that long as you just managed to sit yourself up at the high chair by the island counter. That was a a job within itself thanks to your bruised ribs and you knew you could have easily picked one of the many couches in this villa, preferably the two seat sofa that’s right by the open window next to the kitchen but of course you liked to be difficult.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you feel Armando’s hands dig into your tense shoulders from behind. He gets a light whiff of your vanilla perfume, it’s usually potent—rich—enough that it lingers in the air whenever you’re near. Right now it’s faint but it still makes him want to trail his nose up the slope of your neck.

“Hey,” he begins, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

Looking over your shoulder, the exhaustion has settled on your face and in that moment it almost shocks Armando that you don’t put up a fight. He holds onto your hand as you take your time getting down from the chair, a firm but gentle hold goes around your waist as he leads the way to the full bath he managed to find on the first level of the home.

The water is steaming and just what you needed. Armando was always onto you and knew the moment he caught sight of you tonight, he no problem providing. You manage to peel your clothes off and Armando’s concern is all over his face once he gets to see the black, blue, and purple bruises with your back turned to him. Those weren’t the only ones on your beautiful body but the ones on your ribs were the most upsetting.

He regains his composure, springing forward to help lower you into the water, head going right back against the pillow along the tub. Your eyes are closed and he almost coached you to sleep, running the pad of his thumb against the apple of your cheek. He was falling deep and he only had himself to blame if you ever broke his heart.

Part of him believes you won’t.

This has been going on long enough for Armando to have faith in whatever this was. Even when he was locked up, your connection never seemed to falter. Call him a fool but Armando was certain he’s never felt this kind of a way about anybody before you.

He’ll cater to you and sure you’ll give him a hard time, initially finding it all fun and dangerous games at first but that all shifted pretty quickly although in Armando’s mind, it felt like forever for you to admit your truth.

That you were feeling him more than you wanted to too. Which is why you allowed him to stay with you, help you bathe and briefly come to terms with what all transpired, even if you tried to block it out.

Even when you laid on top of him afterwards in one of the foreign bedrooms, he didn’t let go of you as you listened to the thud of his heartbeat and he took on the weight of you, all of it because he loved you—even if you didn’t want to hear him say it.

You felt it then and even more now that he came all this way for you.

The both of you wouldn’t be getting any sleep due to past traumas but that was left in the dark of the room. There’s buzzing that fills the heavy silence, you reach out clicking on the phone to silence it before flipping it back over.

“That could be important.” Armando mumbled.

‘Could be your husband,’ He thinks to himself.

You sniff, shifting to rest your chin onto the back of your hand, “Nothing else is important right now.”

“Yeah?” Armando quizzes, tucking his own chin to look at you, heart beating even harder now underneath your hands.

Wincing you lean forward, lips hovering over his, “Yeah.”

That was all the confirmation Armando needed as he moves to cradle your head and quickly places his lips right on yours. There’s a sigh of relief that escaped your lips as you both go into a battle trying to take the lead, which makes you laugh and a usual faint dimple appear on one side of Armando’s cheek. It’s when his tongue touches yours and he gets a nice grip on your ass with both hands that the humor fizzles away.

Armando’s attentive as you slowly take your place on top, hands gripping your hips against the silk night slip that you’re in now. “You sure you should be—

He starts but one move, has his hold digging into your hips, his head thrown back while biting down on his bottom lip. A laugh escapes your lips and Armando has to peek at you while he soaks in the real feel of you, your hair is a curtain around your face shape and the smirk on your face picks at his ego but he can’t complain and say he isn’t fond of this position.

“What was that?” You tease, “Don’t worry about me baby, I got you.”

Armando has to remind himself to breathe and you haven’t moved yet. His suddenly damp hands slip against the material of your nightwear, but he had to watch as he slides it back. That image alone makes a grunt spill from his lips and that’s enough to let you continue but Armando is always ready for your games.

When you separate just enough, he gains leverage himself, angling his own hips upwards while choosing to guide your hips downwards this time, erupting a pretty noise from your mouth. It’s his turn to smirk up at you, when you snap your attention back to his eyes while you fall over. Your elbows are beside his head now since sitting upright wouldn’t work at this time and especially with Armando’s own move he just pulled.

“Hi.” He smiles at you.

You scowl, “pendejo.”

That scowl releases when he places a lingering kiss right above where your new scar is. Gently he flips you both over and gazed at you so lovingly that some might say it was too much to bear.

It’s a pecking fight between your lips while Armando is on his knees but you can fight dirty when you want to and that gets him to move against you. Rocking you into the bed and loving you properly just like you knew he could.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ ⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ ⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ ⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻

Continue with my September anthology prompts here.

[bella-rose29]

The Greatest Thing - Lockwood x fem!reader

requested by anon: Hi, I love the way you write! I was wondering (if requests are still open) if you could write a Lockwood x reader where reader's mother died when she was little for some reason, and by taking on a case reader and Lockwood find themselves having to fight the ghost of reader's mother ? And maybe even Lockwood calming Reader down after the mission? Feel free to change parts. (btw: sorry if English is terrible, I'm Italian, English is not my native language)

my lovely you don't need to apologise for your English, it's better than a lot of actual English people I know (myself included) <333

sorry this took me so long, but hopefully you enjoy!!

for reference, the song that's mentioned is specifically Nat King Cole's version of Nature Boy from 1948 <3

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: swearing (only a lil), brief mentions of cancer (not explicit though), idk if there's anything else

I did just copy and paste the tag list from DTH part 9 so feel free to not read this if you don't want to! <3

It was nearly one in the morning when the telephone rang. 

This was odd, because the phone had been broken for a little over twenty years. 

It was more sentimental than anything else, and it was kept as a reminder of someone long gone, as was the typewriter that sat on the shelves next to the telephone, on top of the case it came in so that it could be admired. There was a record player too, although that was in perfect working condition, unlike the other two objects. 

The ringing of the telephone woke up the inhabitant of the bedroom, and he groggily rubbed at his eyes as he sat up and turned the light on. The glare made him wince, but when he realised the broken telephone on his shelf was ringing, his eyes shot wide open. He scrambled for the working phone on his bedside table, trying not to panic too much and failing as he punched in the numbers. The line rang three times before someone picked up, and his breathing was shaky. 

“Hello? I think there’s a ghost in my bedroom.”

~~~

“Lockwood? You awake?” Y/n pushed open the door to the library, making note of the dim light that shone under the door. Her voice was quiet, just in case he’d actually managed to fall asleep, but as soon as she stepped inside she saw him sat in his usual armchair with a book.

“Everything alright?” he asked. 

“Not really. Dad’s just phoned me.” She took the chair next to him, watching as he put a bookmark in place and held the book closed on his lap. 

“Ah, that’s who was calling.” He frowned. “You don’t sound too happy about it.”

“He thinks there’s a ghost in his room. Said the old telephone that Mum bought ages ago started ringing just now. He wants us to come and check it out as soon as we can.”

“How do we know it’s not just… someone calling?”

“It’s broken, Lockwood. Has been for ages. Pretty sure it was broken when Mum got it, but she thought it looked nice.”

“Right. Well… you know the house layout, and where things are. And if you’re not too tired… I suppose we could head over now? Only if you wanted. Your father is welcome to stay here if he wants, too.”

“Thank you, Lockwood. I don’t know that I’ll be able to sleep, not knowing Dad’s in danger. And he won’t want to go outside at this time of night anyway, not without a safe route to somewhere else. You sure you’re alright with going on a case now?”

“Of course I am, Y/n. Especially for you.” She tried not to flush too much at how sincerely he had said it and pushed out of the chair. 

“Okay then. I’ll just… go and get changed.” She was still in her pyjamas from earlier. Lockwood was, predictably, in a suit, just without the jacket and tie. She was certain they were a second skin on him now. 

“Meet me by the front door in ten? I’ll get the kit ready.”

“Sure. Don’t forget the biscuits like you did last time.”

~~~

It took five minutes of quietly moving around the attic so as not to wake Lucy for Y/n to get changed. She wasn’t entirely successful in being silent, since the floorboards creaked every two seconds and she fell over trying to get her jumper on because she got stuck inside it and didn’t see the corner of her bed, but somehow Lucy slept through it all. Y/n headed downstairs, wincing when the steps groaned under her weight, and went to find Lockwood in the basement. He was nearly done packing up the bags, and when he caught sight of her his smile was blinding. 

“You all ready to go?”

“Yeah, think so. I’ve been thinking, about what the Source could be?” she said, although her voice lifted at the end to make it sound more like she was asking him a question. Lockwood nodded, zipping up the second kit bag and handing it to her when she reached for it. “I feel like the phone is too obvious, but if it’s some sort of Poltergeist it might be a good idea to check anyway. There’s quite a lot of things that could be a Source, actually. Mum loved collecting old stuff, said it reminded her of her childhood.”

“She wasn’t an agent, was she?”

“No. No Talent. Not with a capital ‘t’ anyway. She was amazing at loads of other things though.” They were in the hallway now, grabbing their rapiers out of the stand. Lockwood shrugged on his coat. 

“What do you know about the history of the house? Any murders or deaths that could result in a Visitor?”

“No. There was Mum’s, but Dad got the place sorted out as soon as he could. DEPRAC came in and cleared the room.”

“Well, we’ll see what we can find, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” she said when he opened the front door and gestured for her to go first. Lockwood must have called a cab, because now there sat one just in front of the gate. “I told Dad to get into the kitchen and turn the table lamp on, ‘cause a couple years ago he got iron strips put in the floor, so he should be alright in there. We can get this taxi to wait for him and bring him here, right?”

“Of course. That was a smart move, both the iron strips and your suggestion. We’ll make the kitchen our main retreat, then.”

Ten minutes later they were pulling up outside her childhood home, and as soon as the taxi stopped Y/n was opening the door and rushing to greet her dad. Lockwood was talking to the driver, paying him for the journey they’d just taken and asking if he might stay a little longer to take a passenger back to 35 Portland Row. 

“Hi, Dad, you alright?” Y/n breathed, wrapping her arms around her father. 

“Been better, love. I’m glad you and your boyfriend are here though.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Dad,” she said, feeling heat creep up her neck. “Lockwood’s my boss.”

“I just thought that since you talk about him all the time, y’know? Lockwood this and Lockwood that.”

“I’m gonna walk away now, I think. Have fun with the ghost!” she joked, knowing that she would never leave her father in a house where there was a possible haunting. “We, uh… we thought it might be best if you went to Portland Row for tonight while we work here. It’s a standard procedure to not have the clients in the house, but normally they’ve got somewhere to go and a bit more notice, and Lockwood said you can take his bed if you wanted. We have also got a sofa, but it’s not nearly as comfortable as a bed.”

“Alright, love. You’ll be alright, just the two of you?”

“Yeah.”

“I take it he’s keeping that cab for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay then. I’ll see you in the morning, love.” He must have known that she would ask him to leave the house because he reached behind him and picked up a bag, hoisting it over his shoulder and planting a quick kiss on her cheek. 

“Bye, Dad!”

She watched as he sent a small wave over his shoulder, shaking Lockwood by the hand and thanking him for the offer of a place to stay, and then he was getting in the taxi and going back the way that she and Lockwood had come from. 

Lockwood had the keys to the house in his hand, and before he unlocked the front door (her father had locked it when he’d seen the taxi approach) he turned back. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“I can do this, Lockwood. For my Dad. Besides, if something’s only just surfacing now from one of the antiques, it can’t be too bad can it? I mean, it didn’t hurt my dad.”

~~~

As it turned out, it was quite bad. 

Not in a holy-shit-this-ghost-will-kill-us way, but more in a holy-shit-why-does-this-house-feel-worse-than-a-graveyard-at-night? way. 

Y/n had grown up in this house, had only really moved out two years ago, and she had never once felt unsafe or uneasy. Walking around it now, though, doing initial readings of sensations and temperature, she wondered how her father had managed to stay positive. Most things she just got echoes of her own childhood, her laughter as she ran through the halls while her parents chased her when she was three, baking in the kitchen and licking the bowl when she was five, crying when she tripped and slid down the last couple of steps on the stairs and grazed her knee at the bottom, and her mother pressing kisses to her hair and a plaster to her tiny injury when she was six. But underneath it all there was a malaise, something unsettling that seeped into Y/n and Lockwood’s bones and made them cautious. 

“Does it normally feel like this?” he asked when they made it to the top of the stairs and around most of the rooms, one hand on his rapier hilt. They hadn’t drawn their weapons yet, but they knew it was only a matter of time. 

“No. Dad would have said something.” The thermometer beeped, alerting them of a drop in temperature. Lockwood checked it where it sat attached to his belt. 

“Minus two. It was three degrees just now.” They stood in silence on the landing, both looking at the thermometer. “Well, only one door left, I suppose. Do you want to do it or should I?”

“I’ll do it.” She made her way to the door of her parents’ bedroom and took a shaky breath before placing her hand on the doorknob. Immediately a rush of memories hit her, from when her parents first moved in after their marriage, to the day she was born in that room, to the countless times Y/n had crept in in the night because she’d had a bad dream, up to the point when her mother had last touched the handle. It went further, but the force of the memory of her mother made her push the door open and step over the threshold. 

Lockwood was right behind her, and she heard him draw in a breath and reach into his coat for his sunglasses. Y/n whipped around to look at him just as he pushed them over his eyes, catching the last of his squint while he warily studied the bed. “Why are you putting those on?”  she asked, not liking the wobble that accompanied it. 

“Death glow on the bed. Are…” he hesitated for a moment, and she imagined his eyes darting between her and the bed behind her. “Are you absolutely sure that your father got the house cleaned out?” His voice was soft, like he was trying to not agitate her too much, but she got defensive anyway. 

“Yes. He wouldn’t lie about something like that, not when he had a six year old living in a possibly haunted house!”

“But… and I’m not doubting you, or your father, I just need to know, were you here when the house got cleaned out after your mother passed?”

“No, Dad sent me to my friend’s house. He said it wouldn’t be good for us to be in the house while they were working.”

“So you never actually saw people cleaning out this place?” She froze, catching on to what Lockwood was getting at. 

“No,” she whispered, turning to look back at the bed. Her mother had died in it over ten years ago from untreated cancer, completely unexpectedly. She’d gone peacefully at least, in her sleep, but it had broken the two members of the family that had been left behind. Her father had told her that he’d call DEPRAC and get the house cleaned out, to keep the two of them safe, but now as she grabbed a hold of the doorknob again she realised there was no memory of people coming in to do that job. “Shit. Shit shit shit shit.”

“Hey,” Lockwood said, sunglasses still perched on his nose. “It’s alright. We’re agents, and we’re Lockwood and Co. I know… I know this won’t be easy, Y/n/n, but we can do this. You can do this. Just breathe in, and back out. Good. Right. Have a think: what in here could be the Source? Hey, focus, Y/n.” His tone grew a little harsher as he grabbed her shoulders, pulling her away from the door. 

“Why wouldn’t he clean the house?” Her breath was coming too quickly now, and her eyes couldn’t settle on any one thing. “Why, Lockwood? Why wouldn’t he do it?”

“Because sometimes we love someone too much to have them gone forever.” Her eyes finally stopped moving around, instead meeting his and making her draw in a breath at the vulnerability in his eyes. His voice had been rough with emotion, and immediately she thought of the door on the landing back at 35 Portland Row. As quickly as he had opened up, his walls had snapped back into place, and he was leaning back and smiling softly at her. “Let’s try not to focus on that too much, yeah? Maybe the phone?” As though he had summoned it, the old telephone on the shelf started ringing as soon as he finished talking. “Okay… that was weird.”

“It’s not even got wires attached to it,” Y/n breathed. 

“Visitor is definitely a Poltergeist then. There’s no apparition which is good, because no ghost-touch. That’s also bad though. No way of really knowing what the Source could be.” She tuned Lockwood out, knowing that he would just be talking himself through the situation they were in, and kept on staring at the telephone. It hadn’t stopped ringing. 

Music suddenly started blaring out of the record player, despite there not being any record to play. It was a song that Y/n recognised, although she couldn’t remember where from. 

“Is that… is that ‘Nature Boy’?” Lockwood asked, glancing incredulously at the record player. 

“Oh my god. Yeah. It was Mum’s favourite song, specifically this version.” Her mother would often be found with it playing on the record player in the study downstairs, and she’d told Y/n the story behind it a million times. She���d been adamant that Y/n never forget the words, and now as it played she knew it was her mother haunting this room. 

“I think it’s broken,” Lockwood said when the song skipped back to repeat the last section of the song. 

“The greatest thing…”

“No, it’s not. Maybe it’s the record player? Maybe that’s the Source?” The music stopped, and she knew she was wrong. “Okay… so the telephone is the Source?” At once the music started again, but from a different point. 

“But very wise…”

“Is… is your mother helping us?” 

“I think so.” 

“… Why?”

“Maybe she just wants to move on?”

“But very wise…”

“Okay this is freaking me out a little bit now,” she said, moving over to the telephone. It stopped ringing when she got close enough to reach out and touch it, and she glanced at Lockwood. “Silver net?” He wordlessly passed her one, his sunglasses still obscuring his eyes. His face was impassive and she couldn’t figure out what he was thinking, but he was focused on the record player. It had continued playing from where her mother’s ghost had skipped back to help them, and was finishing up the last lines of the song. 

“The greatest thing… you’ll ever learn… is just to love… and be loved… in return…”

The room became silent after that, and both Lockwood and Y/n stood staring at the record player. Nothing moved until Y/n finally broke out of whatever world she had disappeared into, slowly placing the silver net over the telephone and wrapping it carefully. At once the temperature lifted, and just before she had finished containing the Source of her mother’s ghost she heard a sigh in the air, as though someone was finally being allowed some peace. 

“We should head over to the furnaces,” Lockwood finally said. “Unless you wanted to put it in a silver glass case?”

“I’ll talk to Dad about it in the morning.”

“Alright. Here, let me…” he stepped over and gently removed the telephone from her hands. “Why don’t you go and sort out the kitchen, get all our things together? I’ll get a taxi for us.” Y/n nodded, not taking her eyes off of the bundle in his arms. “Y/n?”

“Hmm?” She was unfocused, untethered to this world, and his voice was muffled. She vaguely noted Lockwood putting the Source down and coming closer to her, and then he was hugging her tightly, pressing her into his chest and his lips to her head when she drew in a shaky breath and sobbed. 

“It’s alright. It’s alright.”

She wasn’t sure how long they were there for, her crying into his dress shirt and him rubbing her back and whispering softly to her, but by the time she pulled back, her sobs reduced to slight hitches in her breath, her throat was sore and her eyes puffy. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Y/n.”

~~~

It was nearly three in the morning when the telephone rang. 

This wasn’t odd, because this time it was Lockwood phoning Portland Row to let them know that the ghost had been dealt with, and he and Y/n were coming back. 

Y/n had remained silent for the duration of the taxi ride back to 35 Portland Row, staring out the window with her eyes looking at something that Lockwood couldn’t see. He knew what it was like, to be in her position, but he had no idea how to comfort her other than just being here. She’d gripped him earlier, when they were hugging, like she thought he might be the next one to leave. It had broken his heart and made it swell at the same time that she had held him so tightly, but now he was left to wonder how else he might help. 

She was still silent when they walked through the front door. 

Her father came out of the living room to greet them, and Y/n had frozen, rapier mid-air while she went to put it away in the umbrella stand. Lockwood had put his own rapier away, and the sound made her snap out of whatever trance she had been in and finish her previous action before taking one last look at her father and running upstairs. Lockwood shrugged off his long coat, hanging it on the stand. 

“It was her mother,” he said, looking at the stairs instead of at the man he was talking to. “I think she’s upset that you lied to her, about clearing out the house.”

“I couldn’t-” he broke off, coughing slightly to clear his throat when emotion clogged it up. “I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

“I know.” He could barely look at that door on the landing most of the time. He turned to face Y/n’s father. “But you made that house unsafe. You got lucky. She was a Poltergeist, but completely unaggressive like they normally are. Very lucky, in fact, because there was no chance of you being ghost-touched. But still, you should have told her.” The man nodded, tears starting to fall on his cheeks. 

“I suppose you put the Source in the furnaces then?”

“No, actually. I asked Y/n what she wanted to do, and she said she’d talk to you. You could keep it, so long as it was in a sealed silver glass box. You wouldn’t have to lose her again.”

“That would be great, thank you. Is it safe here overnight?”

“I’ll put it in the storeroom downstairs,” Lockwood smiled, one of his classic customer service smiles, and moved towards the kitchen. “Whereabouts did you decide to sleep in the end? The living room?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Well, goodnight, sir.”

“You’re a good lad, Mr. Lockwood. I can see why my Y/n likes you so much. Goodnight,” he waved, disappearing into the living room and closing the door behind him. Lockwood stood in the hallway, Source still wrapped in the silver net, and tried not to blush too much at the way those words had been said. 

~~~

“What are you doing in here?”

Y/n jumped at the sound of Lockwood’s voice, and immediately felt a little guilty for intruding on his personal space. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t want to wake Lucy up, ‘cause she hasn’t been sleeping well recently, so I came in here. Sorry.”

“That’s alright.” He went to grab his pyjamas, then did a double-take. “Is that my shirt?”

“Oh.” She looked down and flushed. “I didn’t… I forgot that by not going up to the attic I wouldn’t have anything to sleep in, so… yeah.”

“Oh.” 

She wished he would say more, because his gaze was as heavy as the silence that settled over them after that single syllable. 

“Lockwood?”

A pause. “Yeah?”

“I can leave-”

“No!” He swallowed thickly, then repeated himself. “No. I mean, no point waking Lucy up, is there? I’ll be back in a bit, just… going to go get changed.” She watched him leave, and then five minutes later she watched him come back. 

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” he answered, sounding anything but. He looked… nervous? Why the hell was he nervous? “You?”

“I’m alright.” She tried not to laugh, settling for an amused smile instead, and waited for him to get into bed next to her and turn off the light. Once it was dark (or as dark as it could be with the ghost lamp outside the window), she heard him shuffle around in his bed so that he was facing her. The outline of his face was barely visible, but it was enough that she could make out where his eyes were, and where his faint smile was. “Lockwood?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For earlier.”

“I already told you, anytime.” They went quiet, just enjoying the comfort of Lockwood’s bedroom. “I talked to your dad, by the way. He said he didn’t want to lose her again, so I’ve offered to sort out a case for the phone in the morning. I also told him off for lying to you, which terrified me, because your dad is not a small man.” Y/n let out a snort at the last part, and she saw the faint light from outside light up Lockwood’s teeth as he grinned. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did. Back at the house, you were… well, I’m not really sure what you were. But you weren’t you, and it scared me. It’s like you went somewhere else, Y/n. I just can’t lose you, is all.”

“Oh.” Now it was her turn to not say much, and she could feel him fidgeting. 

“Your dad said something. About you.”

“What? What did he say?” Her heart was beating faster, not knowing if he’d said something good or bad. 

“He said that you like me a lot.” Now her heart was thumping for a different reason. 

“Well, yeah. It’s difficult not to like you, Lockwood, you’re a very likeable person, you know? Very-”

“Why are you nervous?”

“What?”

“You’re talking really fast. You do that when you’re nervous. Why are you nervous?” Damn him for knowing her so well. 

“Uh… I just… I don’t know.” She did know, but how could she admit to her boss that she had the biggest crush on him while they were lying in his bed together?

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have- it just sounded like he meant it in a… in a like like way.” She took a deep breath, and decided to bite the bullet. At least if it was dark she couldn’t see his face when he rejected her. 

“He did. I… I’ve liked you for a while, actually.” There was no response, and suddenly it all seemed like a terrible idea. “Lockwood?”

“How long?” There was no discernible emotion in his voice. 

“About two years?”

“So… since you got here?”

“Yeah, basically.”

“You’re telling me,” he started, frustration seeping through, and she shrunk in on herself a little. “You’re telling me that we could have been together this entire time?!”

“Yeah, I guess so. Wait,” she frowned, “wait what did you just say?”

“It took us removing your mother’s Source from your childhood home and your father telling me that you really like me for this to happen?!”

“… Yeah?” She heard him bring his hands up to his face and groan, and then heard him shuffle around again. A moment later his hand was touching hers, tentatively at first, then lacing his fingers through hers and tugging her closer to him when he realised he’d found her. She ended up curled into his side, her head in the crook of his neck, and his arms wrapped around her torso under the duvet. 

“Well I know you’re free after we wake up, so right after we get the glass case sorted out I’m taking you out for food.”

“Like a date?”

“Exactly like that.”

It wasn’t long after that that the pair of them fell asleep, and before she drifted off in Lockwood’s arms, she couldn’t help but think how her mother had been right about loving and being loved, and how it was the greatest thing in the world. 

tag list: @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @anthgoldenhrry, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @bobbys-not-that-small, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @imaginebeingmentallystable, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @lady-ashfade, @light-23, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @magicandrosewaters, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @reggiepeterss, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whistle1whistle, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @y0urm0m12, @zoom1374, @asyouwish-fromcabin3, @magicandrosewaters

[strykingback]

My Reply to Stop The Hate 2.0

Okay so I know I prompted to stay quiet about this one anti/RWDER but you know what screw it. When I saw what they were posting yes it left me a bit disturbed, but also the fact that he was liking some incredibly wild shit. But one post caught my attention the most and it was and I quote: "Stop The Hate 2.0." So I took a read at it and little to know surprise in the words of Genji from Overwatch.... I'm not impressed. and surprisingly this person needs no introduction I'll just get right into the nitty gritty of this poor individual who has entered the Thunderdome. papitimefire177.

Before I continue with this, I just want to immediately say this: Please for the love of god and all things holy. DO NOT WITCHHUNT Do not send any anon hate just do what I did. Block and Move On. Anywho lets get into it.

This individual here first off says things such as calling people who criticize Jaune (ala Jaune Haters) as fucking stupid and categorizes them all as he quotes: Fucking Morons and how we bitch about "made up stuff that is not true."

Okay, first things first is Jaune has basically stolen a lot of screentime from RWBY. How much? Over around 5,489 Hours of Screentime. Which is one hour thirty-one minutes and twenty-nine seconds (Counting from Volumes 1-6) And oh do please use this chart here. Special thank you to Emotional-Feed 5489 on the r/RWBYCritics subreddit for going through hell and back to get these results.

Further note- This is only going from Volumes 1-6, Seven is not included since he did not get any screentime until Volume's Eight and Nine.

Secondly, Jaune really began to grind my gears when Volume six had to reinforce the fact that Pyrhha is gone. Okay. We get it already Pyrrha is dead and Jaune is literally mourning her still. At this point lets just get it over and done with and move on. Yes, I am fully aware that Pyrrha's death has lingered heavily for him but at the same time it does not take you three entire volumes to take a deep breath in and a deep breath out to carry on.

What really set me off was in Volume nine after, Ruby who had one of if not the MOST SATISFYING mental breakdown scenes and calling out her teammates (Especially Yang) for being horrendous teammates when throughout that whole volume Ruby was going through the shitter, only for Jaune to steal it all the way cause "I suffered more than you have."

Yes Jaune as if you have the whole world on your shoulders? Like dude grow the fuck up. Because you are also talking to someone who is fifteen years old (once again this could be the case of time goes forward but the characters don't age trope.)

Then right after Ruby literally "Ascends" by drinking the tea. It's time for more Jaune angst cause he's going through it more than Ruby did?! It took Weiss, Yang, and Blake almost the entire volume to care about Ruby but it took them just a few minutes in an episode to hug Jaune for his "angst" fuck that.

Now moving on. Of course lots of people do write him out of their stories but some people do keep him only for him to have atleast one or two arcs depending on the writer of course and have him die or keep him around to develop him better than what RT's writers could do. Once more his historical allusion is to the legendary female knight Joan of Arc and I have spoken with a few friends of mine who did have plans for their RWBY Re:Write to have him transition into a woman to better fit the allusion and have him die a hero.

Gee it's not like I have MADE A POST ABOUT THIS.

Also furthermore I did do some research trying to find that "Jaune Arcless" video paptimefire177 talked about in their Stop The Hate 2.0 message. Instead I didnt find jack diddly shit at all. So I can only assume they pulled that out of their ass to try and get their point across as they go on to say that Who wants that because Removing Jaune is fucking stupid.

Which as my counterpoint. Lots of people do want Jaune to be out of the picture whether if relegated to side-character status for him to not be so damn annoying where he wont step in whenever characters like Oscar for example who in Volume 6 got a wardrobe change and some development only for it to be stolen away for a fucking statue sequence.

Or how at the end of Volume eight he could have healed up Penny and got her across the gate to Atlas so that way she could also have the relic with her. Nope lets have him kill her so he can have angst in Volume nine!

And lastly he goes off on a rant stating how Jaune Haters are pathetic along with the hate for Jaune and stating how people who hate Jaune need to wear diapers and go back to the basement we have come from.

Okay Papi. since you wanna ball. We're gonna ball. You are the pathetic one seriously do you really think people are going to follow you? You who have used ableist language against someone calling them a slur in DM's no less. Want proof?

Or how you claim to not be a race fetishist but at the same time you liked this.

WARNING RACEPLAY BELOW

(When I looked back in there again to find this man in the likes section of this post I could not find his name but earlier when I did my first post of Jaune Arc A Horrendous Example of A Knight. I did see his name amongst those likes)

Lets also not forget that you would happily block evade through your other accounts as well. Now then are you listening there amigo? Cause I can keep this shit up if you arent too busy. Oh wait, whats that?

You claim RWDE has made as you quoted yourself: "Sends Death Threats, Suicide Bait, False Accusations, Being general assholes, Bitches about everything"

Really then? Where is your evidence? What is your source where made those bold accusations from?

So papitimefire177 do me a favor and go outside, touch some grass, walk around take in nature itself. Instead of trying to start fights with your raceplaying ableist ass... cause guess what. Ain't nobody got time for that.

And if you do plan on replying, you aint gonna be sayin' shit so whats it gonna be!?

[scarerjh]

Peri-menopause/Post Apocalypse

Joel Miller x f!You One Shot.

Summary: You’re on patrol with Joel (ooh I rhymed), get stuck in a cabin until morning, a little bit of body warmth trope, a little bit of one bed (cabin) trope, with a sprinkling of idiots in love. Also S.M.U.T.

You were on holiday when it happened, in a foreign country celebrating your twenty tenth birthday that had been in the February. Now it was about 6 weeks until your twenty thirtieth birthday and you were hauled back into your memories as you trotted behind Joel quietly as you did the late patrol.

You had survived 20 years of an apocalypse, and in a foreign country. The first of your five friends on holiday with you hadn’t even survived outbreak day, you’d had to dispatch her yourself, your other friends never looked at you the same after that, and you didn’t feel the same. You had a few memories that made you smile though too, you almost chuckle thinking about Alice as you looted the shops to get what you needed before trying to head out of Austin, the first city on your planned road trip. Alice had picked up boxes of condoms saying, “you never know,”. “I’m pretty sure an apocalypse is contraception enough right now,” you had retorted.

Like many around you in Jackson, including the stoic man in front of you, you’d done things you never thought yourself capable of to survive; you carried the guilt of being the only survivor amongst your friends, and carried the sorrow of not even knowing if your family was alive, and you weren’t sure you would come to terms with never knowing. Without evidence there was always hope…and hope fucking hurts.

You’d been in Jackson for about four years, your skills as a medic being a huge bartering tool to get them to let you stay. Somehow, you’d managed to carve out a life, and for being in an apocalypse, things were peaceful when not on patrol. In Winter, days like today, patrol was usually quiet too.

 The snow started falling and at first it was pretty despite there already being more than enough on the ground. Within the hour a snowstorm seemed to be settling in, so you sped up, needing to get to the checkpoint and return to Jackson ASAP.

At the cabin you signed the book for the two of you as Joel checked everything was secure, it was a basic little place and would often require ongoing repairs, especially in Winter, despite this, it was still a shock when you heard the crash of wood and a gruff curse. To your right Joel stood covered in a new dust of snow, the door to the cabin at his feet.

You both tried your best to make the cabin secure with what basic tools were available, but it was rotten, and the top hinge was completely unusable.

Joel stood with his hands on his hips surveying the door and caught you bouncing on your toes blowing on your cold fingers.

“Okay, we’ll make ourselves a fire and set in for the night until the mornin’ patrol come,”

“Shit, it’s going to be freezing,”

“We’ll be alright, I’ll build a fire, you grab any blankets you can find. We’ll make do,”

You were never averse to spending time with Joel, but you were averse to returning to Jackson with fewer toes than you left with. Every scrap of fabric in the place was hunted down and you started building by the fireplace before you set up the stove.

As Joel worked on building the fire you watch his broad back shift, and his big hands handle the logs and kindling. His jeans pulled taut over his backside, showing off its gentle curve.

“I thought you were brewing coffee,” Joel spoke over his shoulder, pulling you away from your leering.

“I am,”

“Well, I ain’t hearin’ it,” his tone was teasing.

“Well, someone needs to hurry up and start the fire so I can use the flint for the stove,” you retorted.

The teasing in your friendship with Joel was a recent development, starting just a few weeks ago, and you liked it, really liked it. Since his arrival in Jackson he had slowly opened up to you as he settled in, and you observed the change keenly, like a lot of other singletons in Jackson. He was slowly getting used to not needing to be on alert all the time, his resting bitch face started to soften around the edges, and he was slowly becoming more sociable. He was still very much a calculated man, but every so often, and increasingly so, his guard was lowered around you, telling you once after a few whiskeys that he felt at ease around you, even safe.

The two of you were similar in some ways, both a little stubborn, both keeping your social circles small, and both too stupid to admit your attraction to the other, assuming it was one sided.

You saw all the single people in Jackson and how they looked at him, you were one of them. He was strong, handsome, and extremely capable, surprisingly soft spoken, and very polite. Every single person in Jackson seemed to want to solve the mystery that was Joel Miller. You think you’re ahead of the curve though, but that has led to unrequited feelings, and though you technically haven’t been rejected, you haven’t been brave enough to even try to blur that line between you. There were younger and prettier people than you in town, and he could have his pick, so why would he pick you?! You were discovering lines on your face, a little weight to your belly. If you weren’t sweating like a nun in a cucumber patch, you were looking like an idiot because you couldn’t think of the right word. You weren’t exactly feeling like a catch.

 Joel was pleased with his work, the door to the cabin barricaded with what furniture was available, a fire starting to take hold, and the bubbling of coffee behind him. He found himself smiling at your sass, it was one of his favourite things about your friendship, well, about you really. He never had any qualms about undertaking any kind of detail with you, but patrol was his favourite. Just the two of you sharing stories from before outbreak day, and plenty of them about days since. Being not too dissimilar in age you remember a lot of the same things. Your silences together were comfortable, you worked well as a team whether you were hunting or fighting. Somehow you made his coffee taste better, and despite hating it, you would sometimes steal a few sips if you were cold. He never failed to be both enamoured and amused as your nose would crinkle as you gasped after swallowing the bitter liquid. Joel thought you were so sweet, but you would never go for someone like him. Since becoming settled and opening himself up to the possibility of as close to a normal life as possible this new world could afford he’d started developing a niggle in his stomach, it started when he met you and has only got worse since. He found his gaze lingering on you, felt a tightness in his chest when you laughed, and a tightness in his jeans when you would strip to your tank top and fan yourself in one of your ‘tropical moments’, a thin film of sweat glistening on your skin that he wanted to lave with his tongue. But you were too kind, too bright, too beautiful to want him. He felt you could see his tainted soul when your bright eyes held his gaze.

“You havin’ some?” Joel offered up his cup of coffee.

“If I get desperate,”

“You don’t know what you’re missin’ darlin’,”

“I know very well what I’m missing,” you wiggled your socked toes near the fire. You spend the next hour idly chatting before making sure the barricade was holding before settling down for the night, zipping your sleeping bags together so your body heat would carry you through the night when the fire died. Sharing a bed or a sleeping bag wasn’t new to either of you so there was no embarrassment as you both got comfortable, ensuring your weapons were in reach before bidding each other goodnight.

Some of your most restful nights outside the walls of Jackson have been laid up against Joel, his warmth and musk lulling you towards sleep; eyelids suddenly heavy and muscles relaxing, sinking into the makeshift bedroll. Your slumber came so quickly you didn’t notice Joel pressing his lips softly to the top of your head.

Joel noticed it was an unsettled night for you, tossing and turning, but you remained asleep, so he just assumed you were uncomfortable. If you weren’t having a nightmare there was no reason for him to wake you. If he did, you’d probably kill him with a spoon.

A thud startled Joel awake, and he felt you curl into him, a small moan rising from you.

“Sssh!” came softly from your lips.

“It wasn’t me,” his voice was dry, and low from sleep. He felt you stiffen in his arms at the thought of an intruder or infected. His arm instinctively pulled you tighter into him as he surveyed the room. There was nothing and no one in the room besides the two of you and he started to relax. “Think your boots just fell over darlin’,”

As you both relaxed your sleep addled brains took a moment to register that Joel’s bare hand laid firmly in the middle of your very bare back. The realisation was almost in unison and you both looked down under the covers. Somehow during the night, you had stripped yourself of everything but your knickers.

“Oh fuck!” you clung onto Joel to try and hide yourself while he oscillated between amused, embarrassed, and turned on.

“The fire ain’t even that warm,” you could hear his amusement in his tone, but couldn’t see the struggle in his face with yours buried in his chest, cheeks burning furiously.

“It’s you!” you thump your fist into his chest.

“Wha…?!”

“You’re like a furnace, I must have started with a hot flush,” you look down at yourself again and Joel’s eyes follow suit, his gaze being met with your cleavage, your breasts pressed tight to his chest. He couldn’t stop the small groan that escaped his chest and his hand curled into a fist at your back. All he could think of was pushing is face into your soft flesh and inhaling your scent.

The sexual sound of his groan, the tight fist at your back lit a fire in you, and your pussy started to throb. You snapped your head up so quickly, trying to get a read on him that you headbutted his chin, his head reeled back as you swore in tandem.

"Oh fuck, Joel! I’m so sorry!” you instinctively rise and cradle his face in your hands surveying the damage. His eyes were watering slightly but he was otherwise unscathed. Having slid up his body Joel was very aware of you pressed against him, thigh almost encased by his own, breasts sitting high on his chest, so close he could probably just about reach their soft swell with the tip of his tongue. You watch Joels’ gaze fall to your cleavage, bounce up to your eyes before focusing on your lips. His warm hands squeeze your hips, and when you speak his name it’s a breathy question, one which he understands immediately, nose brushing against yours.

“Yeah,” he utters before your lips make contact. A shiver of adrenaline ran through you, causing you to inhale deeply through your nose because no way in hell were you letting your lips leave his. A small grunt parts Joel’s lips and you take your opportunity to delve your tongue into his mouth. His hands leave a blazing hot trail up your back as you shift to straddle him under the covers, his hips bucking immediately as your hot core presses against his hardening cock.

“Fuck…wanted you for months,” he spoke with your earlobe perched delicately between his teeth.

“Really?!”

“Yeah, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he looks up at you. “I tried to stop it, tried not to let you in…” he squeezed two handfuls of your backside.

“Let me in?!”

“I…I ain’t…fuck…I tried not to let you in,” his words may fail him, but his actions don’t as he places your palm over his heart as it heaves beneath his ribs. You crash your lips to his once more, kisses becoming feverish and sloppy, both of you fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you grind against him, whimpering at the feeling of his hard cock caged in his jeans. Forcing you to sit up he pulled his shirt and t-shirt off over his head, both of you erupting in goosebumps as the cold air hits your warm skin.

“Oh shit darlin’, you’re so pretty,” he took the opportunity to gaze upon your bare body, palming your breasts gently, feeling your nipples tickle against his palms. He lowered his head to suck one nipple into his warm and wanting mouth, delighting in the gasp that rises from your throat. In this position his denim covered cock hits your clit just right and you begin riding him like that, slipping your fingers into his soft curls to anchor yourself against him. The undulations of your hips were as frustrating as they were relieving for the ache of his stiff cock.

“Joel…” you whimper as you get closer to your release, your soaked pussy clenching around nothing, the coil in your abdomen about to snap.

“Mmm, that feel good darlin’?”

“Yeah, oh fuck Joel, I’m gonna cum,”

“Cum all over me darlin’, I got you,”

“I want you inside me, want you to fill me up,” you wrap your arms around his neck and speak against his lips as you near your precipice.

“I will baby, I promise, but you gotta cum for me first, ‘kay? Cum for me and I’ll give you anythin’ you want,” He kissed his way along your jaw as you clung to him and your breaths stuttered, he buried his face in your neck laving your skin with his hot tongue as he listened to all of your sweet moans and whimpers in his good ear. You break against him, hips bucking, and a torrent of filth pouring from your lips, punctuated by moans of his name and calls to the almighty as lightening spread through your body.

“Oh fuck Joel,” your hands snake back into his hair and he throws his head into your touch as you gently scratch his scalp. You rest your forehead against his, a stupid, satiated smile plastered on your face.

“Good?” his eyes twinkled and his lips curled.

“Great!” you held his face in your hands and kissed him softly.

“That was so goddamn sexy, seein’ you come undone like that,”

“Let me see you,” you run your hands over the broad expanse of his chest.

“Yes ma’am,” he smiled as he rolled you both over so you were laid on your back. Everything seems to slow for a moment as you look up at him; the light from what’s left of the fire dancing across his strong features. As your fingers wander gently over his brow his eyes close at your delicate touch.

“I can’t believe you want me too,” you air your insecurities, not actually meaning to do so out loud. His eyes spring open, his gaze holding yours as an incredulous look sits on his face.

“Why wouldn’t I want you?!” he asked as though it’s obvious.

“Because I am currently feeling like an aging, sweaty mess. There are so many women in Jackson, younger, perkier, you could have your pick,”

“I think you’re overestimating my appeal,” he chuckles self-effacingly. “Besides…” he dips his head and lowers his voice to a low growl “…I have picked. Why would I want a girl when I want a woman…when I want you,” he punctuates his sentence with a strong roll of his hips. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, I can’t promise I’m gonna last but I wanna be inside you, feel ya squeezin’ me,”

“I want it Joel, I want you inside me. I need to feel you, need you filling me up,”

“Yeah?” he looks up, eyes dark and studious of your features as he unfastens his jeans. You both shift so he can shuck them down enough to free his aching cock.

“Oh fuck, you’re going to feel so good,” you take in the heft of him and lick your lips.

“Think you can take me darlin’?” he asks in a gentle tone, rubbing his length along your soaked folds as he hooks your sodden panties out of the way.

“Yeah, just…slowly,” you give him a little wink. He notches the head of his cock at your entrance and watches for any signs of discomfort as he pushes in achingly slowly. Every ridge and vein of his cock, every adjustment of your soft walls around him was felt keenly. Your back arched into him as he became fully seated within you, his hands ran up to cup your breasts as you moaned in unison. “Fuck, you feel so good,” your hips squirm beneath him.

“Hold on sugar, jus' need a minute,” his twinkling eyes showed a playful warning.

“That’s three terms of endearment and it’s not even dawn,” you tease.

“Would you like me to stop?”

“No! I really like them, they sound so good in your Texan drawl,”

“Well then sugar…darlin’…sweetheart…” he began to plant sweet kisses over your face and neck with each word, finishing on a drawl filled “honey piiee,” as he smiled into the crook of your neck making you giggle, and he gasped as the action made you clench around him. His response was to grind his hips into yours.

“Move for me Joel,” you slid one leg up his side to further open yourself to him.

“I’m not gonna last darlin’,” you saw the worry flash across his features.

“I don’t care, I just want to feel you, want to watch you cum for me,”

“Goddammit.” He lunged forward and pushed his tongue into your mouth as he finally started moving his hips. His grunts, your sighs, the sound of skin on skin, with the wet sound of your pussy taking him was a beautiful, pornographic symphony.

“Oh god, oh god you feel so good, fuck,” you pant into his ear as you hold each other close, sweat slick bodies sliding against each other.

“Ngh! Feel so good sweetheart,”

“Fuck yes, your thick cock is perfect. I want you to cum for me Joel, let me see you,” his hips speed up, balls slapping against your backside and his brow is furrowed in concentration.

“Keep talkin’” he stutters out.

“I’ve got you, cum for me baby, give me that big cock and then paint me. Cum all over me,”

“Yes…yes…” he quickly slipped himself out and fisted his slick cock, thick ropes of cum decorating your stomach as he swore and groaned through his release. He looked wrecked, and so fucking sexy, features slack, dark eyes hooded, a thin film of sweat highlighting all of the curves and divots across his chest and shoulders. He supported himself at arm’s length as he caught his breath, shivering as your fingertips danced across his torso.

“That makes two of us,” he chuckled. “Give me a minute and I’ll get you cleaned up,” he rested his forehead against yours.

“You look incredible,” you sit up and kiss him, wiping the disbelieving look from his face. “You do, so strong, so handsome…so fucked,” you grin.

“No need to worry yourself,” you grab a t-shirt and wipe yourself off.

“Hey! That’s mine,”

“So was the mess,” you both chuckle, then soon he’s laid you down and wrapped himself around you, sighing softly as your fingers play in his hair.

[ghostherlig]

no no let’s get you started on talking about railao breeding kink! (I meant to send that yesterday but completely forgot 🤣 please talk about railao and trans railao and t4t railao please I am so starved and desperate for them. Also, moment of silence for the lost fics, that is literally the worst feeling in the world 🫡🙏😭)

ASDKLJFHDA- railao breeding kink never leaves my brain i wish i was joking-

i really do have to write a fic about them (which technically the western au is gonna be my top priority once the collaring fic is done and they're going to be a big part of that- (and once it get bATTERIES FOR MY MOUSE AND KEYBOARD-))

also thank you, moment of silence 🫡😔

okay here's my trans railao rant bc i cant contain myself (under the cut bc it gets long and also nsfw warning- includes trans raiden, trans lao, and t4t railao)

i love love love trans raiden- i think lao brags about his everything for a reason and i think raiden knows that intimately- trans raiden whose always had a smaller chest and never felt the need to bind and just worked out to get his chest how he wanted it- raiden who has little to no shame about undressing around ppl bc he grew up in a small village and everyone knew and was fairly supportive :) lao who was ultra extra supportive and helped raiden since boyhood feel more comfortable with who he was and how he presented himself- hasldfkjasd they are so soft i love them

anyway- lao def also takes the strap when raiden feels like topping, and you bet lao makes that all about raiden- literally all the praise and affirmations for him as lao absolutely loses his mind as his boyfriend takes him apart like he gets paid to- raiden who had the biggest breeding kink and likes to get stuffed but also loves stuffing lao even more- they for sure have an ejaculating strap on just so raiden can make an absolute mess out of lao aslkdjfhasdf

trans lao had a lot more insecurities as a kid to me, wasnt necessarily afraid of telling ppl bc they would be hateful but was afraid bc he wanted to be only a man in their eyes- like he was scared they would see him differently than he really was- but raiden helped him with his self-confidence (a little too much, some might say-) and that's why lao talks big game- though often he can follow through, there's a limit to the things he's done and can be good at first try

trans lao who absolutely goads raiden into stuffing him full at every possible convenience- before training? why not- we got twenty minutes and an empty closet, no one's coming by here- it's almost five am and we have training in half an hour, that leaves them plenty of time to have raiden stuff him full and clean him up after- lao is so tempting and raiden falls for it every time, the poor man

lao also loves absolutely breaking raiden down with a strap on- whenever he has the energy to he teases raiden until he's fit to burst and then makes him wait while lao goes to grab everything they need- pillow princess raiden is so near and dear to my heart aasldfkjdf he deserves it :)

railao with one of them being trans is always fantastic but t4t railao really has my heart- t4t railao where both of them grew up and learned how to be themselves together, both kind of figuring it out and coming out at the same time, going through the awkward spots together and helping each other through it- asldkfhasdf them having that friends to lovers slow burn where it takes them like five years, three life crises, and almost the end of the world to realize that they love each other-

t4t railao where they both crave the closeness of the other so much so that it's maddening and they end up forgetting where one starts and the other ends-

any version of railao that knows where the other is in a room at all times, even blindfolded they could find each other in dead silence, i swear- railao with that soul tie bc they've spent so long together that they've become basically inseparable, literally a package deal, where one goes the other does too-

asdlfkjasdf i love railao so much i need to spend more time writing them- new year's resolution: write railao-

[ghosttownwherenoonegoes]

A few people - @badgirlforeddiemunson @thefreak0fhawkinshigh @ilovecupcakesandtea - have asked me things about my hair; routines, products, hints and tips. And I figured it'd be easier to make a generic post with everything included and people can pick and poke at what they want.

I'm not a vain person, but I will freely admit that my hair is my pride and joy. It is my baby. I have told my mother that my hair is the only grandchild she's ever gonna get from me, and now when she helps me with it, she calls it "babysitting my grandkid".🤣

I have quite fine hair but I have a lot of it, so it's quite thick. Holding it in one fist is a bit difficult and it knots very easily. This post includes routines, products, hints, tips, and things I think are relevant. My hair is my baby and a lot of my leftover energy between my job and my degree goes into my hair. I've dreamed of having hair just like this since I was a child - maybe seven or eight - and now as a twenty five year old, I am living the dream.

I hope those of you who are curious about my rather extensive hair care find what you need in here! I am open to questions about it, as well.💖

TW; in the 'basics' section, there is one mention of actual physical assaults related to non-consensual hair-cutting which happened in my home town about a decade ago. Not to me, but I worry about it every day as a lasting point of anxiety. If you want to skip this, it is the LAST BULLET POINT OF THE FIRST SECTION RIGHT BELOW THE CUT.

Okay, so... where to start...

The basics/equipment I use

I sleep on silk pillowcases and I secure my braids with silk scrunchies. It helps to prevent knots and tangles (it's not perfect, but my hair is much more manageable thanks to silk).

I use a wooden comb and a boar bristle brush which moves natural oils from my scalp down to the ends of my hair. I would never be using a plastic brush or 'normal' elastic ties in my hair. The thought makes me shudder.

I wash my hair once a week unless it gets rained on. In which case, I will wash it more than once a week, but neither me nor my hair will be happy about it.

I pat-dry my hair with a plain white cotton t-shirt and I let it air-dry, which takes about twelve hours to become damp-but-dry-enough-to-safely-brush. (Hair wash day is a whole ordeal, I need a day! More on this to come.) T-shirts are gentler and less damaging than towels; wet hair should be treated like glass because it's very fragile.

I never go outside of the house or go to sleep without first brushing and then braiding my hair. I never go outside with it down. This is because, honestly, I'm terrified someone will come up behind me on the street and assault me by cutting all my hair off (I have severe anxiety but also, this actually happened to a few girls in my town as a series of three assaults when I was a child and I've never forgotten about it) but also, doing this helps to prevent knots and tangles, which minimises damage to your hair.

I eat a lot of meat and dairy but I also take a generic multivitamin every day. Protein and fat are super good for you in general but also, what your body doesn't use, goes to your hair!!! Happy body = happy hair.💖

I am very precious about my hair, very few people are allowed to touch it. If I let you touch it, you are trusted. It's pretty much an "I love you". My mum helps me with my hair every day. I'm very grateful to her for it, and I make sure she knows how much I appreciate it.

My hair only needs a half-inch trim every eight months or so; dad measures it out with a ruler, mum watches him to make sure he's doing it right, he shows me what he's cut off after the first snip and I'll approve it and then he's allowed to continue. I cry a lot when it has to be trimmed, I hate it, and I grieve that half-inch until it grows back in about three weeks.

My different hair-care routines (these are extensive)

Hair wash day!

Number of stages: 4

Duration of all four stages: 13 - 14 hours🥰 (I have to schedule an entire day to do it and it can be tricky because my job doesn't always align with my preferred wash day, which is a Sunday, so sometimes I have to go 10 days without washing it and that can make me very irritable. It's the little things, you know? It has to be an all day thing because my hair takes twelve hours to become damp-dry enough to brush without damaging it. I never use heat on my hair; pat-dry with a t-shirt and then air-dry only. And then I have the brushing routine on top of it, which takes an hour if I do it myself, and ten minutes if mum does it for me, which she often does).

Brushing routine:

I brush my hair before I wash it. This is the first stage of hair wash day, and I do this routine after work. It takes me an hour to do it alone or ten - twenty minutes if mum does it.

I section my hair in two, over each shoulder, and then section it again so that my hair has been quartered. I always brush from the back first (I tuck the front section underneath the back section, which has been pulled forward to the front). Whichever side isn't being brushed, I secure into a side-ponytail with a silk scrunchie to hold it there while I work on the other half of my hair.

Starting from the bottom, I finger-comb first and manually untangle any big knots or tangles. If this part goes wrong, I will cry about it. It's instant panic attack if I can't get a knot undone with minimal effort.

Once that quarter-section is finger combed thoroughly, I then use my wooden comb to go through the section again and I alternate as needed back to finger-combing if I find a section I missed the first time.

Once that quarter-section is done, I put it behind me and start on the other section, same process as above. Doing one half of my hair usually takes me a half hour.

Once one half of my hair is brushed, I use a boar-bristle brush, going from the top of my hair down to the tips; this moves the natural oils through the hair. The oil normally comes down to just below my ear, and obviously the further away I am from wash day, the more oil there is, and so from the nape of the neck down to the very ends of my hair, I apply Mielle's rosemary and mint scalp and hair strengthening oil (£8.99 for a 59ml bottle; half a pipette is sufficient for one half of my hair, so it's expensive but does last a while).

Once the hair is finger-combed, combed, brushed, I then pull that section back as well and braid it in a simple three-strand braid and loosely tie it with a silk scrunchie. The first few patterns are tight to hold the braid, but after that, I loosen it off so it's a loose braid and loosely tied. In the morning, I'll redo my braids as needed before I go to work without brushing them - I don't have that time in a morning to do my whole routine before work. To secure it, I tie the silk scrunchie around one more time so it's tighter and will hold longer (bedtime braid: tie it around three times / morning braid before work: tie it around four times).

Repeat this whole thing again for the other half of my hair, and then I can go to bed. A normal night, this takes an hour, a bad night as in really knotty hair or I'm tired, two hours. Unless mum helps me with it. I can and will cry if I find a knot I can't immediately undo and it's not unusual for me to be swaying at the bathroom sink because I will not go to bed unless my hair is fully brushed, oiled, braided.

If it's wash day, I don't braid my hair or apply more oil, I just finger-comb, comb and then brush it and then get in the shower...

Washing routine: Okay. This is the most in-depth and complicated part of my entire thing I do for my hair, and I have to get it right or I will have an anxiety attack thinking I've just fucked all my hair up and I have to cut it off (I catastrophise a lot, especially with my hair). This is the second stage of hair wash day.

So, hair is brushed, shower time!

I have the water lukewarm - too hot will burn your hair and damage it, but too cold and you won't be able to get the oils out properly.

I get my hair wet so it's plastered to my back, and then I use L'Oreal's Dream lengths shampoo; I apply it to my scalp and to the surface of hair up to the nape of my neck, giving myself a gentle scalp massage (treat wet hair like GLASS!!!!). I rinse it all out once it's all in there, and then I use the same brand of conditoner, which is applied from the nape of my neck down to the very tips. Leaving that conditioner in, I then shampoo the scalp up to the nape of my neck a second time (it's like a greasy pan - the first lot of washing up liquid lifts the oil, the second lot of washing up liquid actually cleans the pan - same concept applies here to hair, especially because I only wash it once a week). And rinse that off too.

Then, I apply conditioner for a second time from the nape of my neck to the very tips of my hair, wiping off any excess on the top of my hair (just below the scalp so I don't clog my pores). I leave it in there while I wash my body, which takes a few minutes, and then I wash it off again. I let it all come out, and then I change the shower temperature so it's now COLD, to effectively close the pores in my hair.

My hair is washed! I pat it dry with a cotton t-shirt, then from the nape of my neck down to the halfway mark of my hair, I apply a leave-in conditioner, then from that halfway mark through to the ends of my hair, I use one pipette of the oil to cover everything, and then my hair air-dries for twelve hours until it's damp-dry enough to safely brush, as above!

Using oils and leave-in conditioner:

I use the oil every day from the nape of my neck to the ends of my hair, and every few days I apply leave-in conditioner from the nape of my neck to the ends of my hair. The top section of my hair (scalp to the nape) will be fine, it has the natural oils from the scalp, which is evenly distributed by using the boar-bristle brush.

Brushing routine: After twelve hours, I brush through my hair as in the first stage of wash day, so this is now stage three of wash day for me, and braiding it is stage four!

And finally, a picture of my baby!!! This was taken about two weeks ago and I believe it was the day after wash day!😍💖

I love it (her) so, so much. I bitch and complain often about the knots, but nothing fills me with instant grief and abject horror quite like thinking about having to cut off more than a half inch. That, in itself, is already cause for tears. My hair is my pride and joy, my favourite body part, and something I cherish as a very real, long-lasting childhood dream. I hope you find what you need in this post; I know it's not applicable to everyone because we all have different hair types and budgets, but hopefully something is useful.💖

I'm pretty sure this is everything but I might reblog with additions if needed, and I'm open to questions as well! My hair was jaw length in late 2019 when I started to grow it out, so it's grown quite quickly and I'm very in love with it.🥰

[mikeysbride]

Welcome Back to Trench

When our kids introduced us to the world of the twenty one pilots fandom a couple of years ago, we were initially full of corny parent jokes:

Why are they called twenty one pilots when there are only two of them?

That's way too many pilots.

They're gonna need a bigger cockpit.

Why, for the love of God, don't they capitalize their name!?

That's not to say we don't still say those things sometimes (thank goodness our teens generally find us amusing), but it's also wild to see how big a part of our family dynamic this duo has become over these couple of years...so much so that I've even suggested that when we finally get a dog, he should be named Clancy. [T.O.P. fans will understand.] They are in regular rotation in our home and in our cars. Last year, they were one of my top 5 most listened to artists on Spotify! And last night, at last, we all went to see them perform live on the aptly-named Clancy Tour. It was the first time seeing them for all 5 of us - our family of 4, along with my 16yo's...um, favorite boy, we'll call him. I don't think she's been quite this happy since maybe when we first surprised her with AJR tickets. But as much as she loves AJR (we all do now!), twenty one pilots is HER band as Living Colour is mine, and Genesis is her dad's. Now we are all along for the ride.

And last night, much of Orlando was also along for that ride, having sold out the Kia Center pretty much immediately when the tickets went on sale months ago. I had a feeling their show would be high energy and that the crowd would be super hyped, and I was not wrong about that. But after being as impressed as I was by AJR (twice!) this year, I wasn't 100% sure what to expect. Tyler and Josh did not disappoint, though, and I have to say I am also quite impressed with THEM...not that I didn't think I would be. We've watched enough of their music videos and live performance clips (full concerts, even) on YouTube for me to know this, too, wasn't going to be just an ordinary concert.

To the point, Tyler and Josh have a way of immersing themselves into the crowd (literally) that makes them feel like they are right there with you - because they are - spending quite a bit of time out amongst their fans instead of on the stage. They are seemingly everywhere at once, making it feel like an intimate performance even with thousands of people in the audience. And the fire. There was a lot of fire, which I rather appreciated because, being prone to being cold, I was chilly in the arena, and it was nice to sometimes be able to feel a bit of warmth from the flames, all the way up our cushy club level seats!

We heard so many favorite songs of theirs last night, including my newest favorite from them, the super catchy "Lavish," but I have not stopped playfully pouting yet that they didn't do my O.G. favorite of theirs - the one that really stuck out to me when I first heard them, and that is "Lane Boy." I love that one so much that I have a bit of a reputation for it at this point. With a catalog as extensive as theirs is, they can't be expected to play everything, but man, hearing that one live would've made the night absolutely, undeniably perfect for me. Here's hoping they'll add it back in on a future tour.

Also on the subject of their music, I couldn't help but giggle thinking that Tyler doesn't really even need to know his own lyrics because that arena full of fans was more than happy to sing every line for him. From the first notes of every song, they were READY. If anyone knows the assignment, it's T.O.P. fans. Apparently, my kids aren't the only ones who can recite their songs like the Pledge of Allegiance. This is a thing I know now.

And finally, a huge thank you to Tyler for actually telling those of us in reserved seats to sit and rest for a few songs. Not to be the old lady in the room, but I'm long past the age of wanting to stand for an entire show, in most cases preferring to sit and truly hear the music and watch what is happening on the stage - or in this case (also) in the middle of the crowd somewhere. It was a bit of a reprieve when he said that.

Eh, so maybe I'll let that "Lane Boy" thing slide after all.

[topazadine]

Five Common Anxieties of Newbie Writers, Demystified

A simple post for today to address common concerns I have seen from younger writers over the years, which includes:

"Everyone else is so much better than me; I'm behind."

"I can't share my writing or someone will steal my idea."

"I am in direct competition with other writers; their gain is my loss."

"I shouldn't read while writing because it will ruin my unique voice."

"If I don't explain everything in meticulous detail, people won't understand my vision."

As always, this is my experience and my opinion as someone who has been writing seriously for about 15 years and reading, well, since I was a tiny baby. I also have several years of experience tutoring younger writers at both the K-12 and collegiate level.

Here goes!

1. "Everyone else is so much better than me; I'm behind."

You are not behind. Even if you start writing in your 60s, you are not behind. That's because there is no such thing as being behind in writing; you are where you are, and you'll only get further if you keep going.

Of course you're not going to write like Brandon Sanderson, or Tolkien, or Stephen King, or whoever when you're 20, because you're twenty. You just got out of high school two years ago and haven't even graduated college! These writers have decades on you and are naturally going to be better because they have had more time to learn.

Comparison is the thief of joy. You will not be happy if you are always comparing to yourself to every other writer and bemoaning your lack of experience.

As I have said multiple times throughout my blog, I encourage you to try to write 1 million words before you even think about publishing anything. Do fanfic, because then you can't publish it and you know you're just practicing. You will likely look back at where you started, with your first story, and go, "oh thank god I didn't try to publish that. I wasn't anywhere near ready."

And even then, you still will not be behind, because there's no one track toward success in publishing. You are just where you need to be right now, and you'll keep going where you need to go as long as you keep writing.

2. "I can't share my writing or someone will steal my idea."

I have seen a lot of this on writing subreddits. People will ask questions, but be intentionally vague about their plot because they are worried about someone else filching their idea and making it their own. However, they will refuse to share nearly anything useful, making it impossible to answer their question with any specificity.

Now yes, theft does happen. There was a horrendous story recently where an agent stole one of their author's ideas to give to another author, who then published faster because the agent had left Author 1 in Revision Hell on purpose. I'm not saying it never happens.

But the thing is that it is not the idea that makes any story special, it is the execution.

My Eirenic Verses series centers around poetry magic. That's the whole gimmick. But poetry magic has been done before to great effect by several other authors! There's a book called The Poet Empress out on sub that I'm hoping and praying will get published because I want to read it; everything about this story sounds AMAZING.

From the blurb, this book is vastly different from my own, which is a great thing. Both of us came up with this concept and took it in unique directions, giving readers more options for engage with poetry magic in completely different ways. And I love that!

Don't worry too much about people stealing your ideas. After all, your idea has been done dozens of times before already, even if you haven't been able to find an exact copy of the plot. We are all riffing off ancient plot forms and tales.

3. "I am in direct competition with other writers; their gain is my loss."

The joy of reading books is that you can read hundreds in a year if you want to. It is not like car sales, where people buy one single car every few years.

People buy books that they don't even intend to read; how many of us have dozens of books in our TBR pile that we'll probably never get to?

Yes, it's possible to lose out on competitions or publishing slots to other writers, but that is the nature of the economy, not the fault of any other writer. Placing yourself in opposition to a well-respected writer, especially one in your same niche, does you no favors.

Other writers are your peers, not your antagonists. No matter what you are writing, no one will do it quite like you, so you shouldn't worry if someone else's story is somewhat like yours. That just means that there is overlap between your audiences, and you should support them even more so that people like both of you.

The best way to be successful is to build community. People support those that they like and who are nice to them.

4. "I shouldn't read while writing because it will ruin my unique voice."

Your 'unique voice' is a mishmash of every other writer you have ever read because that is how learning works. You have absorbed the lessons of every other book you've put before your eyes (or into your ears), picked out what you liked, and left the rest. So yes, you do have a unique voice, but it is based on other writers, and the more you read, the more you refine that voice.

My favorite authors are Emile Zola, Willa Cather, Emily Dickinson, William Carlos Williams, Robert Frost, China Mieville, Terry Prachett, and Herman Melville. As a child, my favorite books were the Redwall series and The Unicorn Chronicles. My favorite nonfiction series is The Inspired Traveller's Guides by Sarah Baxter.

You can find all of those influences in my work, but you can also find dozens of other authors I have loved throughout my life. There are books that still haunt me today whose titles I can't even remember, just the concept or a specific scene.

My writing voice has become so strong because I like so many different kinds of writing and I have synthesized them all together. I learn something from every single book I read, even if it's just what not to do.

You can't become a strong writer if you don't read. It's essential to developing your voice. The more you read, the more you develop your voice, and the more that you can resist the urge to completely change your style based on what you are currently reading.

But you can only get to the point of having a strong, coherent voice by reading. So don't shy away from it.

5. "If I don't explain everything in meticulous detail, people won't understand my vision."

Here's a brutal truth: it doesn't matter whether other people see exactly what you see in your work. What matters is that they enjoyed what they saw. No one is going to have your exact same vision unless you turn your book into a movie.

Everyone's journey through a given book is influenced by their own life experiences. For example, if you asked a French person to describe a castle, they are going to say something completely different than what a Japanese person would say. What an Indian person envisions when you say "sword" is going to differ from what an English person thinks about. And that is fine and good!

You do not need to put your reader in a chokehold and make sure that they are seeing exactly what you see. This can be a huge turnoff to readers, especially if you do not present things in the proper order, because now they are constantly having to revise their setting with the new details you are providing.

Here, for example, is a description from my first book, 9 Years Yearning:

Every few steps, he ran across another example of a High Poet's work: ostentatious stone structures with smooth stucco sides, dramatic depictions of wild animals and fantastical beasts jutting from their surface. Others were more sculpture than home, tiny pebbles that slotted together to make a swirling mass of windows and doors. Goldnin, being one of the more well-heeled cities, had many wealthy merchants more than willing to spill quillim for a poetry-infused property.

Everyone who reads this is going to see different "wild animals" and "fantastical beasts." They are going to imagine the pebbles as different colors; maybe one person thinks they're all different shades that make gradations, while another wants them all to be tiny chips of quartz that sparkle in the sun.

I am fine with this. A story is a scaffold to allow readers to adorn with their own imagination, creating a personalized experience. I have given the reader some specific elements but left the rest vague so that they can envison what they want, and I'm okay with it not being exactly what I intended.

Once you have put a story out into the world, you're done interpreting it for the reader. It is now theirs to enjoy. They can do whatever they want with it, just like you can go buy something from the store and spraypaint it neon orange if you want to.

Your job is not to grab the reader by the face and tell them what you want them to see; it is to provide enough detail that they can see what they want to see. Giving up ownership like this allows you to make a story that isn't oversaturated with detail but still enables readers to have fun with it.

I hope this helped to ease some of your fears about writing. The most important part is to have fun, relax, and continue to learn all the time!

If you enjoyed this, maybe you will consider purchasing my book, 9 Years Yearning! This gay coming-of-age romance follows two boys in a military academy as they learn the arts of love and war. It includes poetry magic, strong sibling bonds, and all the awkwardness that young romance entails.

[snippychicke]

For the Sake of a Smile (V.2) Chapter Twenty-One

Title: For the Sake of a Smile (Revised)

Overall Rating: Mature (18+)

Chapter Rating: M for Mature. We've begun the 18+ content

Trigger warnings: Nothing beyond the child abuse hinted in the series, though we do explore the consequences a bit more.

Main Pairing: Balam Shichiro/Reader

Summary: Hell on earth was your motto for your job. Granted, you were pretty sure earth really was hell, considering the shit you had seen in your life. And the fact your coworker was a child. 

A child named Suzuki Iruma, in fact. A kid who’s life was decidedly worse than yours, but yet he smiled despite everything. It wasn’t long after meeting him that you decided you’d do a lot for his smile. Including summoning a literal demon and signing your soul away.

But as it turns out, hell (The Netherworld, actually) was a lot better than living on earth. Demons were more humane than a lot of humans you knew.

And Iruma’s smile wasn’t the only one that would change your life.

Masterlist | Ao3| Mairimashitai! Simps Discord

"I am the worst mother ever!" You bawled as you buried your face in Sullivan's shoulder as he held you close, doing his best to comfort you. "I can't believe I forgot Iruma's birthday!"

"You've been under a lot of stress, sweetie," Your adoptive father reassured, rubbing circles along your back. "I'm sure Iruma understands, you know how he is."

"That makes it worse," You cried. You knew Iruma would forgive you and shrug it off, if he hadn’t already. After all, Shichiro had said he hadn’t seemed too concerned about it, nor was he lying. 

But to you, his disregard was worse than him being upset. It was a stark reminder that until just a few years ago, Iruma never had his birthday celebrated. No one -- not even his own parents -- cared for him enough to take the time and celebrate his life..

It tore at your heart because you knew even if he didn't act like it, you were positive your lapse of memory had reminded him of those dark days. Did he think you were as careless as his biological parents? That now that your lives had improved, you didn't want to celebrate such things?

"Then let's make it up to our boy, hmm?" Sullivan offered, breaking through your thoughts as he tilted your chin to look at him and wipe your tears. "We’ll throw him a party for this year and all the birthdays I missed as well."

You nodded your head eagerly at the idea, the thought sounding perfect to you. 

Yes. You would make up for lost time; not just the last few weeks, but the ones you had missed as well, from birth until that fateful day you met him. To make sure Iruma knew exactly how loved and cherished he was.

--+--

You were quick to learn that Demonic Rites were the devilish version of a grand birthday party. While Opera and Sullivan took the lead coordinating the event since they were experts in the field, you helped as best you could such as choosing some of the dishes to be served and picking out the presents. Yet the greatest task you had was making sure Iruma was kept preoccupied as not to notice anything was amiss, which the entirety of the Misfit class was all too happy to assist with once you confided in them.

While traditionally Demonic Rites were saved for milestone birthdays - with much smaller events for the other years - Sullivan was all too happy to use the excuse that it was the first birthday he was able to celebrate with his grandson to excuse the celebration. He was apparently going all out from what you could gather, renting a whole other castle. 

Though as it turned out, that was tradition as well. Even demons believed in bad luck and holding a Rite in your own dwelling was a surefire way to invoke misfortune. It was also the reason for the costumes; in case Bad Luck spirits did find the revelers.  

Apparently, spirits couldn't curse you if they couldn't recognize you. To you, it didn’t make much sense, but you weren’t going to balk at tradition. At least, not this one. 

"Life is precious in the Netherworld," Shichiro explained over the phone the evening before the Rite. He had been a wealth of information about the traditions over the whirlwind of the week. "Our world is harsh, and once upon a time it was not uncommon for a demon to be killed before reaching adulthood. So we take every precaution to protect it, especially when we celebrate it.

"It's also a time where demons show their gratitude for their peers. After all, demons do not frequently bond the way humans do, and showing appreciation and kinship is usually very rare. The Misfit class are truly misfits in that regard…"

They certainly were. Not just for demons, but you had a feeling that even on earth they'd be an odd bunch. Yet you couldn't help but love all of them, hearing the debacle that occurred earlier that day as they fought over who was Iruma's friend and who was the boy's 'soulmate'.

You had to agree, Clara and Az seemed to be Iruma’s platonic (or so you assumed, at least) soulmates. Those three had a bond like no other that it was heartwarming, inspiring, and slightly terrifying when you thought of what those three could do if they wanted. 

But the entire class itself was bonded tighter than any friend group you had seen - let alone experienced. You were sure that those thirteen students could achieve anything if they set their mind to it. And somehow, Iruma was more-or-less the ringleader of their troupe.

"You're coming tomorrow, right?" You asked Shichiro, glancing at the costume that hung from your closet door. Both Sullivan and Opera had assisted with choosing it…

Well - they had done more than assist, to be honest. It was more like they had chosen it and you meekly agreed when you saw the looks on their faces. Not that it was something you hated or even disliked; it was beautiful, and something that had caught your eye right away.

Your only reservation was the fact it was so… decadent, even for a costume ball. It had such beautiful wispy fabric that flowed with the slightest breeze, the waist framed with a corset-vest that - thankfully - hadn't felt too uncomfortable when you tried it on, and a high neckline that would hide your lack of wings. 

And a crown of flowers and faux horns that completed the piece.

You worried it was too fancy, but assumed the two demons would know best. You also couldn’t help but wonder what Shichiro's reaction to it would be. After all, no matter what you wore -- a casual outfit or something more special -- his gaze always lingered enough to cause you to feel beautiful.

You wondered if you could actually make his jaw drop. 

"Nothing could make me miss it," Shichiro assured, his voice deep and smooth it made tingles race down your spine. "I'll be there, promise."

--+--

Sullivan and Opera had left early to finalize the preparations, leaving you to escort Iruma to the surprise party. Thankfully, Opera had hitched the Nightmares to one of the smaller carriages before leaving so you didn't ruin your dress. Especially knowing Deinos, who loved to be as impish as she could be.

The Nightmares knickered softly as you and Iruma exited the mansion, both dressed in your costumes. "To Lord Sullivan," You instructed the demonic-horses simply as you opened the carriage door. They snorted in understanding, making you smile as you patted Lampon's flank before boarding.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Iruma asked as the carriage began to move.

"It's a secret~" You answered in a singsong voice, smiling at his pout. "You'll love it though, I promise."

His pout didn't change, though he watched as you smoothed down your skirt, still unused to such rich material. "Well, you look beautiful, mom."

You blushed, "And you look very handsome, Iruma. Who would have thought we both could clean up so well, hmm?"

He laughed at that, and soon both of you were sharing memories of when you were less than presentable. Such as being covered in fish guts after being tripped - or when he came back from a forging trip, completely covered in mud and leaves. It had taken weeks to get every bit of mud and grime from the tiny shower afterwards, but you refused to spray him with the hose used to clean the floor of the workshop as many had recommended. Mainly because the water was ice cold and it was late autumn and winter had been attempting to set in.

The ride wasn't very long, and soon the carriage slowed to a stop. Opera opened the door before you could even think about it, holding a hand out to Iruma and then you once the boy was on the ground.

But before you could take a look around, a blindfold settled over your eyes. You jerked in surprise, fear and panic setting in as a pair of large hands settled on your shoulders. "Calm down, my dear," Sullivan reassured softly, thumbs rubbing calming circles into the bone of your shoulder. "We don't want to ruin the surprise."

"This is Iruma's Demonic Rite!" You protested as your adopted father led you (presumably) to where the Rite was to take place.

"Do you think I would celebrate my grandson's life, and not my daughter's?" Sullivan chuckled as a groan of old, heavy doors opening filled the air. A sound you were familiar with, given the Library's own doors perchance to complain every time they were opened.

But surely you weren't there. You heard hushed yet excited whispers, making your heart pound as Sullivan continued to guide you. He gently coaxed you up a couple of steps before turning you around and encouraging you to sit.

A moment later you heard Opera guide Iruma into a seat next to yours. There was a hushed countdown before the blindfold fell from your eyes, revealing the elaborately decorated ballroom with a large bonfire burning brightly in a pit at the center. The Misfits along with a few other Babyls students cheered your name along with Iruma's, making your heart catch in your throat.

"Mom?" Iruma asked softly as Sullivan and Opera joined in with the others as they began to dance-- an ancient dance, full of guttural words that truly made it seem like a demonic ritual.

"A Demonic Ritual is how they celebrate birthdays," You explained in a hush whisper, entranced by the performance. "We -- grandpa, Opera, and I -- planned on it being a secret, and to also make up for missing your actual birthday this year. I didn't think they'd plan on putting me in the spotlight too…"

Iruma's hand found yours, a smile on his face and that cheery light in his large blue eyes. "We've always celebrated our birthdays together. I was actually just telling Professor Balam that the other day…"

Oh. Oh. You caught sight of the tall broad demon standing apart, watching the revelers dance while also apparently taking a head count.

Those sneaky demons. Your heart grew warm at the realization that while you thought you were in on the surprise for Iruma, the three demons had been building a surprise for you as well.

As if he was aware of your gaze, Shichiro looked towards you, his expression shifting into a smile as he offered a small wave.

"It seems we are missing a guest," Opera said as he suddenly appeared on Iruma's other side. You tore your gaze away from Shichiro for a moment, and in a flash of light and smoke, a familiar white puffball appeared, looking disgruntled as always.

"EGGY SENSEI!" The Misfits cheered excitedly, and Kalego's reluctant presence seemed to be the last thing needed for the celebration to kick into full swing.

Over the last several months, you had slowly gotten used to the positive attention from the students as well as the teachers of Babyls. But that did little to prepare you for sitting in the spotlight as the guests symbolically gave part of their life to you as they poured out the burning water into the central bonfire. Or as each knelt one by one, offering their gifts with the heartfelt words: "Thank you for being born and living amongst us."

"I appreciate the love and kindness you give us, Mrs. Suzuki."

"I'm so happy I get to have two moms! My siblings are so jealous!"

"I know you're not my mother, but it really feels like you are sometimes."

"Your beauty is outstanding, my lady! May you continue to age so gracefully!"

"Thank you for caring so much."

"Thank you for bringing Iruma to us!"

"I appreciate your dedication to Babyls and its students," Kalego grumbled begrudgingly, offering a small delicate flower as a gift. (Where he got one considering his Summoned state, you weren't sure.) "You are one among few others whom I can tolerate."

"That's high praise coming from the professor," Iruma whispered as if you weren't already aware. Yet any reply died on your lips as Shichiro approached, quickly bowing low as his green feathered wings spread out wide to their full extent.

Yes, the others did the same as a sign of respect - but something seemed different….

Or maybe you were just head over heels for Shichiro that seeing him like that, knowing just how strong and powerful he was yet showing his weakest spot to you…

Your thoughts were interrupted as he looked up, his gaze focused on both you and Iruma as he spoke your names. "Thank you both for living in our world, and for being amongst us."

The sentiment had been expressed before, but by those oblivious to the reality of you and Iruma's true circumstances. But he knew. He knew it all. Your throat grew tight as he presented his gifts, hands briefly grazing yours as you accepted the box as your gazes locked.

The warmth, the sincerity, the love in his eyes meant the world to you. He meant the world to you.

You struggled with the urge to simply slide from your chair to your knees and pull him close for a kiss to reciprocate those tender emotions. Except you were still aware of everyone else watching, so you just caressed his hand deliberately with a smile hopefully conveying your feelings.

His eyes crinkled as he returned your smile, fingers lacing briefly before he pulled away and stood. Your eyes followed him as he stepped away.

Until Sullivan stepped up, his own eyes glittering knowingly. He didn't say a word, but knelt down as he took Iruma's hand as well as yours into his. His black wings opened, but instead of splaying them in a submissive gesture, he curled around the three of you.

"You both mean so much to me, you are truly my treasures," He spoke softly, squeezing your hand tightly. "I am sincerely thankful you both came into my life."

"Grandpa…"

"Dad…"

This time, you did leave your seat, having the same idea as Iruma as you wrapped your arms around both your father and son, and feeling their arms around you.

You were loved. Just as strongly as you loved them, they loved you.

--+--

The rest of the party was truly a party. You swore you had been to more festivals and parties in the last few months than before in your prior life.

But instead of standing on the outskirts of the party with Kalego and Balam as you typically ended up doing, you were drawn into the menagerie this time. You danced with several students as well as Opera, Sullivan, and then oddly Fluffego, when he was all but shoved in your arms by an impish Opera. He acted begrudgingly as you twirled him around, his small hands holding onto your fingers. You had your toes stepped on as well as stepped on a few yourself, but it was all brushed off with a laugh and even more dancing.

You hadn't had unbridled fun like this for such a long time. Your face hurt from smiling so widely, ribs aching from laughing.

But your favorite part was when large warm hands wrapped around your waist when you had slipped towards the table laden with food and drinks. "You look beautiful," Shichiro whispered as he held you tight around your midsection, making you smile. You had briefly danced with him, no more than thirty seconds, during one where you were constantly changing partners. Otherwise it seemed like the universe had conspired to keep you separated.

"I'm sure I would've been more lovely if my personal hairdresser had helped," You teased lightly as you glanced over the treats, taking your time to enjoy being held against him. "But I have a nagging suspicion he was in on the surprise."

"Iruma explained how you had always celebrated your birthday with him, and never told him when your actual birthday was," He admitted, chin resting atop your head despite the decorative horns. "We -- Lord Sullivan, Senpai, and myself-- figured it would be best to continue the tradition. Especially considering you would likely refuse to tell us once you knew what it may entail."

You bit your lip out of reflex to hide your smile. "You three really do know me well, don't you?" Because he was right; once learning of Demonic Rites, and knowing Sullivan's own tendencies to spoil you, you would've kept your lips sealed.

Which was related in a way to why you never told Iruma which day you were born. You hadn't wanted the boy to give up more of his hard earned money on your behalf. Sharing his birthday had been a bit of a compromise in a way, so you both were able to celebrate each other while you could make sure he didn't use a lot of his meager funds on you.

"Both you and Iruma are completely selfless," he answered, squeezing you tighter. "To the point I really wish you two would have a bit more of a sense of self-preservation."

"So when exactly is your birthday?" You asked after a moment, making him chuckle at your poor attempt at changing the topic.

He squeezed you tighter, adjusting to nuzzle your neck gently; considering his mask was still in place. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

You laughed at that, leaning your head back and finally looking up at him. "I love you, Shichiro, but I know better than that."

A flash of surprise crossed his face and his grip tightened to the point of nearly taking your breath away. "...do you, really?"

You realized your slip. You had admitted to yourself - to others - your feelings, but never to him. And, well - for good reason from what you understood about demon culture.

But… screw it.

"Yes," You answered, twining your hands with his. "I really do love you."

His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, the look in his eye changing slightly. He guided you to turn in his arms so you were face to face, still holding you tight against him. "Demons, especially those who are courting," He continued, his voice threatening to become even huskier, "don't say those words freely, or lightly."

You had gleaned as much from the books you had read. Some said it freely to those they were crushing on, and during little flings. But once a demon entered courtship, the word became much more meaningful to their Intended. Not unlike the term 'Aishitemasu' in Japanese. 

And yes, you two had just started courting - and from what you read, the courting period could last several months to years - but there was no denying how you felt. He had come to mean so much to you, and you could easily imagine him being in every part of your life. Not just the romantic moments, but the mundane parts of life; like doing dishes, or chores (if Opera ever allowed that to happen again).

That was one of your ambitions. To have him by your side for the rest of your life if possible. To build a life with him. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down so you could face him eye to eye as you stood on your tiptoes. "I love you, Balam Shichiro. With all my heart. And I can't imagine being with anyone else but you."

Before you could blink, his hands cupped your backside and he lifted you up, your body pressed against his as you fought the urge to wrap your legs around his hips, knowing in your current dress that would be very inappropriate.

Shichiro's eyes were desperate in more than one way as he searched yours, undoubtedly using his bloodline ability to find a hint of a lie. "One more time?"

You couldn't help but smile before you cupped his face in your hands, meeting his dark eyes and holding his intense gaze. "I love you, Shichiro. And I'll say it as many times as you want me to."

If you weren't in a room full of students - as well as your father and Opera, (and you supposed Kalego as well) - you would have happily removed his mask to kiss him properly, but you knew he was self conscious of his scar and refrained. That, and you had a very good idea his self control was on the verge of slipping; as was yours, to be honest. One kiss would lead to more as it always seemed to tend to, and you knew you wouldn't want to stop.

"I love you too," He finally admitted as your words sunk in. "So, so much." There was a hint of desperation to his voice, which paired with the way his grip on you was more than just supporting you against his frame, but feeling the plush curve of your butt.

There was no denying the thoughts running through your head, or the yearning that filled your body. You bit your lip as your fingers as well as your gaze traveled down his neck, feeling the strong cords of muscle beneath. He wasn't wearing the collar of feathers, but instead a dark, high collared top that felt like velvet beneath your fingers.

It would be so easy to push it away and press your lips to the sensitive skin there and listen to him hold back a whimper and groan as you tortured him. The thought of reducing him to a whimpering mess always tempted you, making you bite your lip as your mind drifted into the gutter.

Shichiro said your name quietly, making it sound like a plea as you continued to rub the velvet cloth trying to feel his muscular shoulders beneath as you thought.

You met his gaze, which felt as hot and heavy as the feeling settling in your lower gut. You knew what you wanted to do - what you thought he wanted to do too - but were uncertain how to proceed. Or rather, hesitant to take that next step. Was it being too bold?

Screw it. Fortune favored the bold, right? Be ambitious. Be selfish. 

"Why…don't we slip away somewhere more private?" You asked hesitantly, your attempt to be quiet making you sound a bit more sultry than intended.

His grip tightened even more, and you felt a hint of something hard press against your stomach. Yet instead of eagerly agreeing or even just carrying you away, (as you may have thought about more than once in previous daydreams) he protested - but with obvious reluctance. "It's your Rite, and…"

"Is there an unwritten rule that I have to stay here when I'd rather be alone with you?" You asked. Because devi, your mind was fully in the gutter and the thought of trying to pretend you were totally not thinking such things while you tried to mingle with everyone else sounded like torture.

And not the pleasant kind you hoped waited for you in the near future.

"Well, no," He admitted after a moment, his brow furrowed in confusion. "But would you really rather sneak away with me than stay and celebrate?"

Devi, how could a demon be so pure? "One hundred percent yes," You replied firmly before boldly adding on: "To the point I don't care where we go, as long as it's somewhere private and we won't be disturbed." Because hell or heaven help you if you couldn't at least get him half-undressed so you could explore his body with both your hands and lips. It was taking every bit of your self control as it was, with those thoughts running in your mind while being braced against him, the growing firmness pressing against you left little doubt he was having similar thoughts.

There was a moment of silence as his gaze became distant and unfocused, his cheeks turning bright red."Shichiro…?" You called softly after the moment stretched on. He snapped out of his thoughts, though his cheeks stained red even more.

"I, uh, well, I-I have been wondering if you would like to, um, come to my home? I've been working on my nest…."

Oh. Oh. That was much more than finding a closet or unoccupied room. It was your turn to blush, your heart racing in anticipation as well as more than a little bit of anxiety.

You wanted to - you really wanted to - but you couldn't help but feel a bit nervous. It had been such a long time - what felt like a lifetime to be honest - long before Iruma came into your life, since you had been with someone. And while kissing and petting had been second nature when it came to Shichiro….

Well, your daydreams hadn't quite prepared you for the real possibility.

Yet, again, you wanted to. And he was bound to be a more thoughtful lover than you had experienced before, demon or not. (Hell, he already was.)

After what felt like forever, you finally took the metaphorical step and nodded while biting your lip. "I-I would like that."

--+-- Su-Ki-Ma--+--

"They seriously don't think they're being subtle, right?" Soi sighed as he watched the two adults head towards the exit. Well, Balam walking somewhat stiffly with you cradled in his arms, your face red as a tomato but laughing.

Granted, his ability made disappearing easy, and also made it more noticeable when others tried to sneak off… but, still. That was about as obvious as anyone could be without making a loud announcement.

"Soi!" Leid jumped, startled by the demon's sudden presence. "You have got to stop doing that!"

"Are you talking about our two love bird teachers?" Elizabetta asked with a giggle, not as easily startled as their classmate. She also had noticed the pair, but was delighted by the turn of events. After all, their romance was something straight out of her own daydreams, making her hope even more that she would have a fairytale romance as well. "Aren't they adorable?"

"That's one word for it," Soi acknowledged, not as enamored with the situation as she was. "I might want to adjust my bet…"

"You and everyone else," Jazz agreed, summoned by the word 'bet'. He was already pulling out the notebook he was using to keep track of the massive pool going. "Lets see, are you wanting to change when you think their wedding day will be, or when Professor Balam will have mom knocked up?"

"Are you still taking bets?" Opera asked after overhearing the four students discuss their options. All four froze, glancing at the security demon and expecting a reaction much like Kalego's when he had found the betting during one of his lectures. (Granted, shortly after he had placed his own as well. He just didn't appreciate it being discussed during class.)

Instead, there was no anger behind Opera's placid expression, just simple curiosity.

"Er, yeah…." Jazz answered as Soi disappeared and both Elizabetta and Leid stepped away from the feline demon.

"Good. Both Lord Sullivan and myself would like to participate…"

[tvitr]

Sob Story

Part One

Words: 3,258

Synopsis: Iono invites Grusha onto Iono Zone to talk about his accident. Things do not go according to plan.

AO3 Version

Nobody really knew how it had ended.

It had been sudden, she knew that much. The press had only been able to report on “an accident”, one out on the slopes, which he’d been involved in somehow. Iono had attempted to follow the story to the best of her ability back when it happened, most girls her age had, but despite their efforts they'd been unable to find anything outside of what was being relayed to the press. Even now, years later, even after his failed return and subsequent retirement, he and his family still refused to talk about it.

Until now.

It had taken months of pleading, begging, Hell she’d even offered to pay him for an appearance, an interview, anything, until he finally agreed to do it. And he'd dismissed her, ignored her, told her his Galaric wasn't good enough for an interview on her channel, at one point he'd just straight up told her to fuck off and leave him alone, but she'd persisted. And her persistence had finally paid off.

"You ready to go live?" Her phone buzzed to life, hovering eagerly in front of the couch they were sitting on. The set was decorated in blue today, or as blue as her lights would allow. She'd been hoping to display photos documenting Grusha's career on her screens as well but… he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with any preparations. At all. Honestly she was surprised he’d even shown up, he’d been that uncooperative. He’d even gone to the trouble of finding a shirt with the words “Under Duress” blazed across the front; according to him, it was the name of a heavy metal group he liked. Sure.

Grusha glared at her, not saying anything and just blinking in obvious annoyance, his face fixed in a hard, glowering scowl. She offered him a beam in return, tossing a cushion over his shirt (which he promptly tossed on the floor), and pressed record. "I'll take that as a yes."

The stream began.

"Ello, ’ello, hola! Ciao and bonjour!"

“Has anyone ever told you how annoying that is?”

She ignored him. “-And welcome back to Iono Zone, guys, you have no idea how happy I am for today’s episode, because today, we’ll be interviewing the one! The only!”

“Just introduce me already.”

“You can probably hear him already, it’s Grusha Ibáñez! Say hi!” The camera rotated to face him.

"Mhm."

Iono hastily directed the camera back to herself before it caught Grusha flipping it off. “And as you all know- why who could forget!- he’s on here to talk about the drama! The tragedy! The heartache!”

She posed dramatically with each beat, trying to ignore Grusha’s unamused glare as best she could.

“You saw his rise to fame, you saw his career unfold, but you’ve never quite heard how it all ended.” The camera dipped in close to her face. “Until today!”

“Your movements are gonna give me a migraine and I’m not even watching the stream.”

Iono not-so-subtly hit him with her elbow going into her next pose, resulting in an annoyed grunt. “It took a lot of pleading and begging and may have offered to pay him at one point, but he’s finally here, in the flesh-”

“God you’re loud.”

"-And he's here to tell us all about that mysterious accident of his-"

“Wait." He held his hand up in front of her face, practically forcing the camera to pan over and include him in the frame. "Which accident did you want me to talk about again? You never said.”

Iono giggled, turning her head to one side. "What do you-"

He continued, cutting her off again. “Because like, I’ve been snowboarding for over twenty years now you know, I’ve had more than a few accidents in that time.”

Iono blinked. This was… weird. "Yeah but, you said you were-"

He kicked back fully, splaying himself ungracefully over the couch. "I mean, my first accident was when I was about… I dunno, eight maybe. Saw someone do this really sick grind- you know what a grind is, right?- and thought to myself, 'hey I could do that'. Well I couldn't, and fell off and smashed two of my front teeth out. Never tried it again after that, which sucks because it's a pretty cool discipline. Probably could’ve gotten good at it if I actually tried harder, but I think my parents would’ve killed me after the first time. You should've seen the amount of blood there was."

"You know, that’s a really cool story, but-"

“Oh, and this other time I was out with Vish- you know Vishnya right? Yeah she's my sister- anyways, she challenged me to a race once, we must’ve been about… ten, maybe. I was winning the whole way down, suddenly something hits me up the back of the head and I fall down. Breaks my wrist. Turns out Vish had stopped to throw a snowball at me, well joke's on her because I still won. And she got grounded for a week too."

Iono faked a laugh. "That’s funny! But-"

"And then there was this other time-"

It was clear he wasn't going to be shutting up any time soon.

Guests going off script was one thing, but this was another beast entirely. Granted, it was nice seeing Grusha actually chatty and animated for once; when he'd arrived here earlier today, she'd resigned herself to having to deal with monosyllabic grunting and a face like thunder. Or as she called it, his default setting.

But still, chatty or not, this wasn’t what he was meant to be talking about. Or rather, not what he'd agreed to talk about anyway. She'd put in a lot of effort for today’s episode, last thing she needed was for him to not deliver.

Iono nudged his shoulder impatiently, smiling nervously at the camera. "I thought you were going to talk about your-"

"Yeah yeah, I'll get there in a minute." He waved his hand at her nonchalantly. "Oh! Okay so this one is a bit technical. So you have this ligament- you know what a ligament is? Well it's important, put it that way- so I really badly damaged this ligament in my right knee, like I absolutely fucked it up-"

"Hey! Don't swear!"

"-and had to get surgery on it, right before the Triple X Games too, honestly it was pretty terrifying looking back, I thought my career was done for-"

Iono perked up. Finally. "Is that why you had to retire? Because of your knee?"

"Hm? Oh fuck no, I still competed on it. Had to wear a brace, and took a pretty long break from training afterwards to let it heal properly, but I still competed. Came first too, hold on I have a picture somewhere-"

He rooted around in the envelope of photographs he'd brought, some spilling out onto the couch. "Ah, here it is."

As he flashed the photo of a much younger him posing with a huge snowflake-shaped gold medal and a revoltingly smug grin across his face, Iono turned her attention to her monitor. Chat was buzzing as usual, with messages barely on screen for a few seconds before being buried under the deluge. However, some messages jumped out at her before they flashed on.

“He’s just talking about a load of shite…” “Has she clickbaited us again?” “God, was Ibanex always this much of an asshole? The way he keeps interrupting her is so rude.” "*Ibanez" “Yeah he’s always been like this.” "LMAO he swears so much lol poor iono." “F this I’m leaving lol.”

Iono noted, with some alarm, that the viewer count was decreasing much faster than it was increasing. Hell, she was haemorrhaging views right now. She could already see the articles in front of her face, all the reaction channels accusing her of clickbaiting her audience again, as if getting an uncooperative guest was somehow her fault.

She turned back to Grusha.

"... So the thing is, when you hit a Greavard, they kind of just… explode into a pile of bones that scatter everywhere, but after a while they just fly back together again and it goes on about its day. Not saying you should deliberately try to hit them because it's kinda cruel and also you'll also fuck yourself up, like I broke my… think it was my left shoulder in this one, but I'm just saying that the Greavard will be fine eventu-"

"Okay, and that was Grusha everyone! Thanks for coming on the show, really means a lot to me, okay bye!"

She turned off the camera, drawing a deep breath before facing the offending ex-professional-snowboarder, who wore a knowing smirk on his face. This was deliberate. She could tell.

Asshole.

Perhaps she should have controlled her temper, but at this point she really didn't care. The camera was off now anyway, she didn't need to act cute any more. "What the Hell was that about?"

He smiled innocently. "What the Hell was what about?"

"Don't be dumb, you know exactly what I wanted you to talk about."

He held his damn hand up again. "No, you said 'talk about your accident', you never said which accident. I told you, I've had a few."

"You know exactly what accident I meant, stop being stupid." She gestured to her monitor with such flamboyancy her large sleeve almost knocked it over. "I promised them a bare-all interview about your snowboarding accident, and what do you give them? 'Oh this one time I hurt my knee but it's okay because it's fine now', and 'oh I ran over a Greavard once'. And now look what's happened."

That damned smirk. "What's happened?"

“They’re mad at me! They’re saying I clickbaited them, oh wait, do you know what clickbaited means?” She mocked his previous tone.

“Yeah, it’s what you do on a daily basis.”

"I do not!"

“Look," He held both hands up this time. That made a change. "I’ll confess and say I don’t exactly watch your channel like, at all. But I did check out your recent videos last night, I'm fairly certain you didn't actually manage to call-"

She huffed. "That was a joke!"

"Okay, maybe it was." His tone dropped somewhat. Iono wasn't sure she liked where this was going. "But do you really think my accident would look…, you know, appropriate alongside you pretending to phone cartoon characters as a 'joke'? Or what was yesterday's video about? You and Tulip eating a McMime's and talking about lipstick?”

Her face scrunched up. "What's that got to do with any of this?"

He looked directly at her, his eyes staring deep into hers with an uncomfortable intensity. Iono really didn't like where this was going now. “This just isn’t something I feel is suitable for your tone of videos, like this isn't something I joke about or take lightly, like this was…" His piercing gaze finally dropped, and his voice fell to barely above a whisper. "This was serious."

She waved her hand at him with a dismissive tut and a snort. "Oh come on, I've covered plenty of other people's sob stories on this channel and none of them cared about my other stuff. I'm sure yours would be fine."

***

Sob story.

Sob story.

Grusha had always assumed Iono was somewhat out of touch; the kind of terminally online womanchild unable to parse the difference between her social-media-addled bubble and reality, but part of him had been praying it was just an act. Just something she did in front of the cameras to seem "cute" (see: annoying), or "innocent" (see: stupid).

But apparently not. She really was that disconnected.

He reached into the envelope of photos he'd brought. He hadn't intended on bringing some of these photos along, Hell, he’d prefer it if he never had to look at them again. But he had a point to prove here. One he certainly cared more about than feeling a bit uncomfortable.

She wanted a sob story? Oh, he'd give her a damn sob story.

He found what he was searching for, facing it down so he at least didn't have to look at it himself, and thrust it at the still-jabbering streamer. The abrupt movement caught her off-guard, and she stopped talking instantly.

“What’s-” Iono's eyes narrowed.

He jostles it, turning his head away from her. “Just take it.”

There's a pause, before the photograph is snatched away. He hears her turn it over, her breath catching. Good.

“That’s me. The day after the accident.”

***

Iono knew the accident had been bad. That was one of the few things she'd been able to deduce from the sparse news articles back when it happened. They'd been vague, intentionally so she’d suspected, but there’d still been a graveness to them that she’d noticed even as a young teen.

Still, nothing would have prepared her for the photo she was currently staring at. The wires, the tubes, the oxygen mask, that terrifying looking cage around his head, if it wasn’t for his distinctive yellow-streaked hair then she wouldn’t have recognised him at all.

"I mean, I think it was taken the day after, I'm really not sure if I'm honest.” His voice caught her off guard almost, and she tore her eyes away from the photograph to look at him. His posture has changed drastically; earlier he was ungracefully splayed across the couch, his arms along the top and legs wide apart, but now he was… smaller. His arms were folded tightly to his chest, his foot bouncing rhythmically against the floor, and his eyes were locked straight ahead with a cold, hardened expression. A far cry from that smug asshole who’d screwed her over only a few minutes ago.

“What do you mean?”

He shifted. “I wasn't exactly… conscious for those first few days afterwards. I wasn’t in a coma or anything, I was just completely knocked out on painkillers and the like. I don't know what they had me on, but, well whatever it was, it was strong."

Iono looked back at the photo again, noticing that his eyes were indeed open, but they were sunken, dull, surrounded by huge grey rings, and his eyelids hanging heavy. Barely open. Barely awake.

Barely alive, even.

She shooed that thought away. He was fine. He was right beside her, after all. He was fine.

“You know, you’re probably the first person outside of my family who’s seen that photo.”

Iono furrowed her brows. “How?”

He inhaled deeply. "Well, it was intended to be a press photo. I'm not sure who took it, probably one of my parents since they didn’t allow any journos in. But they never released it, they said it felt… I can't remember the word they used, but they said it wouldn't be fair publishing it or something. So they wanted to wait until I was able to decide on what I wanted to publish."

"Did you publish anything?” Iono had a vague memory of seeing photos of someone famous in hospital back then. Maybe it had been Grusha. Maybe it had been someone else. She couldn’t remember the details now.

“Oh yeah, but like… way later. I wanted to at least be off the oxygen, which meant having to wait for my lungs to heal, and I also wanted to be out of the halo and back brace so I could sit up, and that took ages. Think I'd already started physio by the time those were removed."

Iono didn't know what "the halo" was, and something told her she was better off not knowing. Though looking back at the photo, she could maybe hazard a guess.

"There were some other ones too." He pulled a small deck of photos from the envelope, unceremoniously tossing them towards her. None of them were as harrowing as the first one, though some came pretty close. “Bet those would’ve been good for your stream, eh? Show them off for all your fans to gawk at.”

Iono flinched at his tone. He’s mad at her, he’s really mad at her, probably madder than everyone who’ll be accusing her of clickbait tomorrow combined, but there’s something else in his voice. Something that’s almost tempering the mad. Something…

Oh.

It sounded like somebody else talking when she finally spoke.“… I’m sorry.”

He didn’t react, his posture remained tense, his foot still bouncing against the floor.

“Like, really, I’m… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made you do this.”

Still nothing.

“I-I can tell that this is like, really uncomfortable for you to talk about and I know why you didn’t want to do this, I shouldn’t have forced you into this, I’m so… so…”

Nothing.

“Please say something.”

***

Oh, how he wanted to say something.

He had a lot to say after all. Perhaps saying it out loud would finally bring him some closure, or acceptance over what happened. Perhaps it would just be nice to finally air his troubles, get it all out of his system, to just vent and rant and let everything out. His emotions had lay dormant for some time. Perhaps it was time for an eruption.

But, try as he might, he couldn’t. Even with his thoughts and temper racing, the words refused to come out, and his body refused to move. He didn’t know why. He certainly felt like letting loose, like venting all those years of frustration, taking Iono by her shoulders or the collar of that hideous coat she always wore and looking her dead in the eyes, and telling her everything.

The pain never really went away, you know. My back still aches from it, even all these years later. I sometimes struggle to bend over too. That's what forced me out of the pro scene, really. I couldn't make turns like I used to without throwing my back out. I also sometimes feel like I'm developing arthritis in my spine. My doctors warned me of that ages ago. Did I mention I'm not even thirty yet?

Do you know what else they told me? I had to get an operation to insert a rod into my back to keep my spine straight whilst it healed. They told me that when they cut me open, a piece of my spine just fell out. Right onto the floor. Apparently one of the younger ones cried when it happened. I don’t know how I wasn’t left paralysed, and I don’t think they do either. They called me a “walking miracle”. I'm not sure how I feel about that sometimes.

And remember Vishnya? You've never met her before, I know, but she uses a walker now. Used to use a wheelchair, actually. Because of the accident, of course. A lot of people forget she was there too, maybe because she wasn't as well-known as I was. Or maybe our parents wanted to shield her more than me, who knows. But she can't walk properly any more. She used to be so talented too, almost as good as me even, now she refuses to go near the mountains. I’ve tried telling her she can go para, but she wouldn’t listen. I guess it hit her harder than it ever hit me.

So that made two lives ruined that day. Hers and mine. How’s that for a “sob story”, eh?

Maybe it was for the best that he couldn't speak right now. Iono seemed to have learnt her lesson; she’d gone awfully quiet, aside from a few muffled gasps here and-

Wait.

“Iono…?”

[aquixoticwrites]

writeblr reintroduction <3

hello, everyone! this is a reintroduction / announcement that i've moved blogs. i have been away from tumblr for a while and wanted to join the writeblr community again and think i want to have a clean slate to start on! my old blog is @writings-of-a-narwhal !

i'm elle (she/her) and i am twenty years old! i have ben involved in writeblr on and off for a few years, more off than on in the past couple just because of a lot of things happening in my life. i honestly don't know how active i will be but please know that i want to hear about your wips and ocs always! feel free to send an ask or dm anytime to talk about writing or anything at all!! <3

i have a good handful of wips myself but i'm only going to list my two big/main ones and then the concept that currently has my brain in its grips.

and the moon sets - (warnings: war, death, trauma, blood, nightmares, ect) a fantasy story based in a setting akin to sengoku era japan. yamatochi has been at war for generations. currently, one of the biggest forces in the war is the takeda clan. genkei takeda rules as warlord with his grandchildren; the eldest is a pretty and kindhearted young woman named hoshiko, the younger is known simply as 'young lord takeda' by most and is the heir that genkei always wanted. hoshiko loves her younger sibling and it's undeniable that young lord takeda loves her, too.

however, as the war effort intensifies, so does the resistance, and the relationship between the two becomes strained as secrets are revealed and rash decisions are made...

broken thrones - (warnings: fighting, drinking, kidnapping, trauma, bad dreams, blood, ect) rosar, the youngest princess of feria, is kidnapped. her eldest sister, amary - a bounty hunter and disgraced princess - goes on the hunt for her and ends up entering the country of issera. during her search, amary stumbles upon a young rebel leader - culraes - and his forces. she gets tangled in his dealings and he in hers. they make a deal- he helps her find rosar and she helps him take out the tyrant queen.

meanwhile, in feria, the queen is now a widow and her middle daughter is trying to pick up the pieces of the shattered peace and make her country a better place, including an attempt to make magic legal within feria.

will any of them succeed in their efforts?

falling - (post and the moon sets, contains some spoilers. warnings: depression, dark thoughts and actions, trauma, mentions of war, gods) akasuki nakamura is struggling. life after the war isn't easy. she had looked so forward to the peace that would come, but now that it's here...she just feels empty. she had everything when the war first ended; her siblings, a wonderful spouse, her dream job, peace. she has lost one of those things, though, and now everything is...empty, numb.

one day, however, she comes across a strange person who tries to change her view of everything.