#this is going to be useful experience for the writing banks

[krirebr]

Lips Like Sugar 1

Pairing: sugar baby Ransom x late 40s female reader

Word Count: ~3.1k

Summary: Finally cut off by his mother and grandfather, Ransom has to find a new way to access the lifestyle he's accustomed to. He figures it won't be too hard to find some rich old lady willing to bankroll him in exchange for sex. You aren't exactly what he expected.

Warnings: sugar baby au, sex work, d/s relationship, power imbalance, explicit language—All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: This one's a little different for me, but I had so much fun writing it! I hope you enjoy it too. But don't worry, my trademarked angst isn't gone forever. 🤭

Huge thanks to @biteofcherry for talking through the initial idea with me and @bigtreefest for being a sounding board throughout the whole writing process.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Sixty days.

That’s what the certified letter said. The one he had to sign for. The one from Linda.

When she and Harlan had told him they were cutting him off, he’d rolled his eyes. What did that actually mean? He wouldn’t have access to his trust anymore? Whatever, that was fine. He had his checking account. He had his house. He had credit cards. The only thing he thought it really meant was that he wouldn’t have to see any of his asshole family ever again. He was coming out ahead, all things considered.

Except. He didn’t actually have much of anything, as it turned out. His parents were on his bank accounts and credit cards. The deed to the house was under Linda’s name. And she was fucking evicting him.

It was this panic, wrapping itself around his chest and squeezing, that he wasn’t used to. That he didn’t know what to do with. He’d gone out of his way, worked hard to make sure he never felt this way. To make sure his life was comfortable and easy. And now his asshole granddad and bitch mother had ruined all that. Now he had sixty days to find a place to live.

He needed to come up with a plan. He could do that. He was good at plans. But where to start? He couldn’t afford a place he’d actually be willing to live in on his own right now (he couldn’t afford a shitty place either, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that). His grandfather, during the announcement of Ransom’s new status, had suggested he get a job, but fuck that. Ransom knew, deep in his bones, that he wasn’t meant for work. And also, any job that wouldn’t make him want to shoot himself required relevant experience and degrees and all sorts of other things Ransom didn’t have. So getting a job was out.

He could sell his things but, as he’d been so rudely informed by this entire situation, he didn’t actually own much. The only thing of significant value that his name was actually on was his car. But he’d rather cut off his own arm than sell his vintage BMW. So he marked that down as an absolute last resort. 

He could see if he could stay with a friend until he got things figured out, but all of his friends were assholes and he already knew that none of them would say yes. Plus, all of his friends were assholes and he’d sell his own body before he asked any of them for a favor.

Actually…

Okay, that wasn’t a half-bad idea. He knew exactly how hot he was. He’d been very aware of that since he was a teenager. And if he sat down and actually thought about what his biggest skills were, it’d be fucking and talking. In that order. This could work.

But how to go about it? He wasn’t eager to go out and stand on a corner in barely anything at all hours. Same went for sitting in a hotel bar and hoping for the best. Plus, he didn’t like the uncertainty of all that. He needed a reliable, steady stream of income that would be there whenever he needed it.

And that’s when he remembered Andrea. 

His friend Chad had dated her for about six months. Well, “dated.” Everyone in their circle knew exactly what that arrangement was, even if Chad had never admitted it. Ransom pulled out his phone and sent off a quick text.

Hey, where did you meet Andrea?

The dick took two hours to respond.

Andrea? At the grocery store. Why???

 Ransom responded immediately with an eyeroll emoji and followed it with

Cut the shit, asshole. What was the app?

The three dots to show Chad was typing appeared and disappeared three separate times before Ransom finally got the truth.

SUGR

But watch out, bro. That shit was way more expensive than it was worth.

Ransom smiled. That was exactly what he was counting on. 

He didn’t bother correcting Chad about which side of this arrangement he was hoping to be on. He didn’t need the embarrassment of anyone knowing that mommy and (grand)daddy had finally cut him off. And if this worked the way he hoped it would, no one would ever need to know. 

The first setback was that he had to pass a background check before he could join the app. What a fucking hassle. And it took a whole week before he got the email telling him he could move forward with setting up a profile. He could physically feel the number of days he had to find another place to live ticking down. The constriction around his chest got tighter with each one. 

But in that week of waiting, he became even more convinced that this was a good idea. There had to be tons of old hags desperate enough to bankroll him in exchange for sex with a hot youngish thing. And he’d be able to suck it up and do what was needed if it meant his lifestyle wouldn’t have to change. Hell, that's what viagra was for.

The other thing he’d done while he waited was take about a hundred pictures of himself. He’d used all his best outfits—designer sweaters, skintight t-shirts, pants that hugged his ass. He did fifty pushups and then took a bunch shirtless so that he was sweaty and his abs popped. He had a few that were just of his junk in gray sweatpants. And then he threw in a couple straight up dick pics for good measure. He was ready.

But, ugh, there were so many forms to fill out first. He had to agree to all of the terms and conditions. The company reserves the right to blah blah blah. The company does not guarantee yada yada yada. Agree, agree, agree. 

There were forms that asked him to detail the expenses he wanted covered and another that wanted him to rate kinks based on his interest. These were both optional so he skipped them. Was he the only one who understood what was happening here? He'd do whatever she wanted that guaranteed him the most money. That was it.

Finally, he got to the point where he could build his actual profile. It automatically imported some of the biographical information he had to give to set up his account, which wasn’t ideal. Hugh D. 35, stared back at him. He normally hated his given name, but he didn’t hate the way it kind of seemed like Huge Dick here. He could work with that. But that 35. That– that felt old for this sort of thing. He tried to change it to 30, but it wasn’t editable. Well. That was fine, right? He was going after women. Weren’t they known for being less shallow than men? That was part of the whole thing, wasn’t it? Yeah. It’d be fine. It just meant he knew what he was doing in bed. That’s what mattered.

He moved on to pictures. They only let you add fifteen, so he combed through all the ones he’d taken and picked the fifteen best. He scrolled through the ones he’d chosen before he clicked save and nodded to himself. Yeah, this was good. He was hot as fuck.

He skipped through all of the useless essay questions. Who cared what his interests were or what he was offering?? His dick pics spoke for themselves. 

But he did put something in the headline area. Call me Ransom. >20k/month only

Perfect. Done. Save. Now he just needed to sit back and wait for the DMs to roll in.

The DMs did not roll in. It’d been forty-eight hours, and he’d gotten absolutely nothing. He couldn’t understand it. What was wrong with these women? He was offering himself up at a fucking steal.

He’d figured the onus was on the buyer to make the first move, but maybe he’d gotten the etiquette wrong. Maybe he needed to sell himself a little more aggressively. 

He went to the browse feature and set his filters for women with the biggest budgets. Then he sent a random ten of them a simple “hey”. Then he made himself close the app.

When he came back a few hours later, he was chagrined to find that he hadn’t gotten any responses. There must be something wrong. When he went to the chats to make sure he hadn't missed something, half of them weren't even there anymore, and he couldn't find the corresponding profiles either. He refreshed the notifications page. He restarted his phone. He uninstalled then reinstalled the app. Nothing made a difference.

Finally, as he was checking his settings, a message popped up.

Honey, what are you doing?

Yes! Finally! 

He clicked on the profile. Carolyn M., 55. Under what she was offering was rent, living expenses, and a negotiated allowance. Perfect. 

He wrote back

I'm looking at your pictures and touching myself. What are you doing?

The response was immediate. 

Oh my god, no. That's not what I meant.

He stared at her message, confused, but then she sent another. 

I'm going against all of my instincts to just block you, and I'm going to take pity on you instead. 

He was typing before he even fully processed what she'd said.

Excuse me??

This is not the way to get what you want.

What the fuck??

You’re obviously new to this, so let me explain something to you. Yes, these relationships are transactional, but most of us are looking for a genuine connection as well. No one who wants that is going to contact you based on your profile. 

Who the hell did she think she was? Ransom knew what he was doing. He’d never had any issues picking up women. He didn’t need help. He locked his phone with a scoff and threw it on the couch as he got up and moved to his bar. He deserved a drink after dealing with that bullshit. 

As he poured himself a glass of eighteen-year-old scotch, he paused. This bottle was $700. Who knows what everything in this bar totaled to? And this whole house. Fucking shit. He was down to forty-nine days. He didn’t have time to fuck around.

He took a large gulp of his drink and then picked his phone back up. He could do this. He could play the game. He could fake anything if it meant his life didn’t have to change.

Fine. How do I fix it?

Start by filling out the information. Be honest. Any prospective match will want to get a sense of who you are. Right now the only thing I can tell about you from your profile is how highly you think of your own dick.

This fucking bitch.

Okay, sure. What else?

You are demanding a lot of money without giving any details about how that money will be spent. Anyone who sees that will immediately feel taken advantage of. The best version of these relationships is an equal give and take. A lot of us are here because we enjoy taking care of someone. We don’t enjoy feeling like a faceless ATM. Give an actual, honest account of the expenses you would like covered.

God, this was annoying. But he had to keep his eye on the prize.

Anything else??

Put some actual effort into your first message to someone. Something you think you might have in common, something you liked about their profile, or a relevant fact about yourself. ‘Hey’ isn’t going to get you anywhere. And don't just jump into sexting immediately. 

Despite himself, he took a screenshot of the conversation. If it helped him get more money, it was worth it.

Alright. I’ll do it.

You know, it’s customary to say thank you when someone helps you out like this.

He rolled his eyes.

Thank you.

He hoped she could feel the sarcasm coming through the screen.

Well, look at that. Maybe you can be someone’s good boy after all.

The heat that rushed to his face at that– He didn’t know what that was. Annoyance probably. What else could it be?

He was about to send something snarky back when her status suddenly switched to offline. Goddamn bitch.

Ugh. It took so much effort to take things seriously. To act like he cared. This was exhausting. 

But he could do it if he kept the goal in mind: being the pampered pet of some rich old lady. Once he’d achieved that, all he’d ever have to do again was get it up for her once or twice a week, tops. He just had to get there.

So he poured himself another glass of whiskey and took a slow sip as he looked at the first section of his profile he’d previously left blank. The About Me header stared back at him as the cursor blinked. Come on. He could do this. What did these women want to hear?? He wished he could see other prospective babies’ profiles. Do some market research. 

He skipped down to the next section: Looking For. He’d already selected women with no age restrictions. Now he just had to get into the specifics. Ok, this he could do. Buttering people up was a skill he’d been honing his entire life.

A woman with life experience who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go out and get it. Someone to share good times, good food, and good sex with. And yes, someone to spoil me rotten. 😉

That was cute, right? Yeah, these old bats would love that.

Ok, now it was on to what he offered. He remembered what Carolyn had said about not wanting to feel like an ATM. He needed to make it seem like he’s was bringing something to the table (more than just his dick, that is, which, honesly, should have been enough).

I’m offering companionship with plenty of intelligent conversation. I’ll keep you from being bored at any functions you may need to attend, and I’ll look great on your arm doing it.

That seemed good enough for now. He could change it up depending on what he found waiting for him out there. 

He switched to the form for expenses. For rent, he put approximately 10k a month (he’d looked around the Boston area for what was available and that seemed to be the going price for the sort of place he wanted) with a note that his lease was ending soon and he’d need a new place to stay. That was close enough to the truth and made him seem like more of a charity case, which would normally bother him, but right now was exactly what he wanted. He divided up the rest of his asking price across utilities, clothing, and other expenses.

On the kink list, he started by putting yes to everything, figuring that’d make him more expensive. But would that look weird? Desperate? Fake? He went back and randomly switched a few to maybe and a couple to no. Ok, that was done. 

He went back to his photos and removed the straight up dick pics. He left the sweatpants one, but moved it to the end. And he added a couple more of himself in sweaters that he knew made people drool.

There was only one thing left. This fucking About Me. Come on! Okay. Okay.

The only thing I love more than reading is getting to talk about what I’ve read. I’m well-educated, and I’m at a point in my life where I just want to be able to enjoy things with good company. I love trying new restaurants, and I know my way around a whiskey menu. And as for other realms of experience you might be curious about, let’s just say I know what I’m doing. 😏

Ugh. God. He hated this. The whole thing was so fucking corny. That had to be good enough right? The last thing he did was delete everything but Call me Ransom from his header. And then, without overthinking it, he hit save and immediately put down his phone.

Goddamnit, fucking Carolyn was fucking right. The whole thing made his blood boil. But now, finally, the messages were rolling in. Sort of. Moderately. But it was something.

He’d gone back and tweaked a few things based on the response he was getting, and each improvement seemed to have made a difference. He was starting to get the hang of this bullshit.

But, frustratingly, he hadn’t managed to hook a whale yet. He’d had some promising conversations, but none had ultimately gone anywhere. How exactly were these conversations supposed to move from “Hi, how are you?” to “What say we make this official and you bankroll my entire life? I promise I’ll lay the pipe real good.” The one time he’d tried that, it hadn’t gone over well.

But god, the days were running out.

He sat down with his phone, hoping to find something that would help him strategize, when a new message popped up at the top of the screen. 

God, you’re pretty.

Ransom stopped and stared at the message. 

He couldn’t remember ever being called pretty before. Handsome, sure. Gorgeous, hot, all the time. But pretty– Pretty felt different. And he couldn’t explain why.

He clicked through to the profile.

And there you were.

Don’t you want to be good for me? the line under your profile picture read. Ransom swallowed involuntarily as he kept reading.

You were forty-nine, had founded your own business (although you gave no clues as to what that was), and you were looking for someone to take care of. Glancing at what you were offering, Ransom surmised that what he needed wasn’t outside of your budget.

He moved on to your photos. He picked up a little more caginess there. There were no straight-on pictures of your face, but he spent several moments looking at a close-up of just your smirk, soft lines framing your mouth. Then, as he continued to swipe through the pictures, he stopped again at one that was just of the back of your legs clad in shiny, thigh-high boots, with some of the tallest stilettos he’d ever seen.  Something about that image made his breath catch in his throat.

He moved back to your message and stared at it again, his fingers drumming against his leg. After thinking about it for far too long, he fired off a short response.

I know.

Your reply was immediate.

Yeah, I bet you do.

Tag List is open!

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @midnightramyeoncravings @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @ronearoundblindly @brandycranby @steviebbboi @missaprilt23 @thiquefunlover63 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @stellar-solar-flare @alexakeyloveloki @kmc1989 @awkwardgiraffe726 @watermelontidewater @alicedopey @lokislady82 @sassybearfire

[outlanderskin]

In 2017, I came across this text about fandom and since then it has been an illustration of this crazy and magical universe of fan life, which I call fan experience. Even though I've been going to Outlander Cons since 2015, it was when I met my Spanish friends that I started to not feel alone even when surrounded by people at these events. And at this LandCon, in addition to my dear Spanish friends, I was able to meet other friends from Tumblr. For years we've been following, reblogging, commenting, laughing, protesting and, above all, supporting each other. And suddenly, there's that "Tumblr username" in front of you and you can finally look the person in the eyes and tell them how much you admire them and thank them for walking alongside you in this fandom, which is so toxic in many ways, but where true friendships can create an oasis. Thank you for everything, girls.❤️

"Fandom is focus. Fandom is obsession. Fandom is insatiable consumption. Fandom is sitting for hours in front of a TV screen a movie screen a computer screen with a comic book a novel on your lap. Fandom is eyestrain and carpal tunnel syndrome and not enough exercise and staying up way, way past your bedtime.

Fandom is people you don't tell your mother you're meeting. Fandom is people in the closet, people out and proud, people in costumes, people in T-shirts with slogans only fifty others would understand. Fandom is a loud dinner conversation scaring the waiter and every table nearby.

Fandom is you in Germany and me in the US and him in Australia and her in Japan. Fandom is a sofabed in New York, a roadtrip to Oxnard, a friend behind a face in London. Fandom talks past timezones and accents and backgrounds. Fandom is conversation. Communication. Contact.

Fandom is drama. Fandom is melodrama. Fandom is high school. Fandom is Snacky's law and Godwin's law and Murphy's law. Fandom is smarter than you. Fandom is stupider than you. Fandom is five arguments over and over and over again. Fandom is the first time you've ever had them.

Fandom is female. Fandom is male. Fandom lets female play at being male. Fandom bends gender, straight, gay, prude, promiscuous. Fandom is fantasy. Fandom doesn't care about norms or taboos or boundaries. Fandom cares too much about norms and taboos and boundaries. Fandom is not real life. Fandom is closer than real life. Fandom knows what you're really like in the bedroom. Fandom is how you would never, could never be in the bedroom.

Fandom is shipping, never shipping, het, slash, gen, none of the above, more than the above. Fandom is love for characters you didn't create. Fandom is recreating the characters you didn't create. Fandom is appropriation, subversion, dissention. Fandom is adoration, extrapolation, imitation. Fandom is dissection, criticism, interpretation. Fandom is changing, experimenting, attempting.

Fandom is creating. Fandom is drawing, painting, vidding: nine seasons in four minutes of love. Fandom is words, language, authoring. Fandom is essays, stories, betas, parodies, filks, zines, usenet posts, blog posts, message board posts, emails, chats, petitions, wank, concrit, feedback, recs. Fandom is writing for the first time since you were twelve. Fandom is finally calling yourself a writer.

Fandom is signal and response. Fandom is a stranger moving you to tears, anger, laughter. Fandom is you moving a stranger to speak.

Fandom is distraction. Fandom is endangering your job, your grades, your relationships, your bank account. Fandom gets no work done. Fandom is too much work. Fandom was/is just a phase. Fandom could never be just a phase. Fandom is where you found a friend, a sister, a kindred spirit. Fandom is where you found a talent, a love, a reason.

Fandom is where you found yourself"

[bunnis-monsters]

🎄NSFW 🎄

warning: oviposition, gangbang, fluff+smut

Your first Christmas with the bee hybrids was… certainly an experience.

You’ve only been queen for a year. Your own little ones are barely toddlers learning to walk and fly, but the babies from the previous queen have grown attached and see you as their mama too.

“Mama, what’s Christmas?”

Oh, the dreaded question. The hive had been teaching the little ones human traditions and simple biological facts to make sure they grew up knowing how to properly take care of their queen.

“Oh… it’s a holiday where the family gathers around, exchanged presents, and then we eat a nice dinner.”

One of your own toddles over, teething on one of your fingers as you speak. “Sometimes during the season, people go caroling or look at Christmas lights. There’s a lot of baking as well.”

They all let out a collective “ooo”.

This was the beginning of the end.

The second Halloween was over, the baby bees were buzzing around, begging their mama for some Christmas fun. It wasn’t fair that the humans got to celebrate such cool traditions while they “wasted away” in their cribs.

“Mama, I wanna make cookies!”

“A-and I want to see Santa!”

“Mama, are we elves?”

Overwhelmed by all of their requests and… odd questions, you quickly roped in the adults in your hive to help you make Christmas possible for your baby bees.

Surprisingly, the hardest part was your subjects trying to comprehend why the little ones should receive a gift from an outsider of the hive.

“This Santa creature… is he safe? What does he want in return for gifts of this amount? I’m not sure we have enough honey to satisfy such a beast.”

That’s when you had to break it to the adults of your hive that Santa was in fact not real, and that all of the presents would come from them.

A few of your attendants whined, burying their faces in your neck and tummy, rubbing their fluff against you. “My queen, he’s not real? We won’t get presents?”

“Oh dear…”

It took the entire month of November to simply gather all of the supplies together, and you wondered if it would be possible to give your babies the Christmas they wanted.

First up on the list was Christmas caroling. They refused to do it in the hive, babbling on about spreading Christmas cheer.

So you hid their antennas under hats, bundled them up nice and warm, and escorted them down a relatively safe human street. The bee hybrids guarded the little ones, buzzing threateningly at anyone that got to close as they sang their little songs.

You watched out of the corner of your eyes as one of them fell face first into a snow bank, their little legs wiggling while being pulled out by one of the guards.

It was difficult not to laugh.

After their caroling, they wanted to play in the snow for a while. You let them play until they were running to you and crying, their little noses runny and their hands cold.

“Alright, let’s go home.”

Through December, you helped them do fun crafts and write their letters to Santa. There was a certain magic in the air, everyone was excited for the big night.

And then it came. Christmas Eve was filled with activities, the first being a special breakfast.

The next activity was baking cookies for Santa. Since you had so many little ones, multiple ovens had to be used just to make enough cookies for them to decorate.

Of course they all ate most of them, unable to resist the sugary treats, but you were able to save a plate full for Santa.

They all gathered around the giant tree the bee hybrids brought into the hive, all giggling and decorating it as others snacked on the Christmas cookies. Seeing your cute little fuzz balls so happy made your heart soar.

The last activity before bed was to watch a Christmas movie, and they all wanted to be snuggled up with you while they waited for Santa.

They all wore little matching pajamas, their wings buzzing and antennas twitching as they curled up with their mama.

“Mama… Christmas is the best…” one of your babies cooed as another nursed. They were still so little, you hoped you’d have many more Christmas memories like this in the future.

Carefully, you untangled yourself from the pile of sleeping baby bees and made you way to the adult Christmas party.

When you opened the door, all eyes were on you. Some were drunk from overripe fruit while others were feasting on sweets and playing games while waiting for you to arrive.

And every single one of them was hard.

“My queen~!”

You were approached by your attendants, who all rubbed around you, desperate for your attention after you had been busy with the babies all day. “We missed you… everyone’s been waiting for our Christmas present!”

All of the bee hybrids cooed and hummed, buzzing with excitement. In exchange for them working so hard to give the babies a nice Christmas, you promised to give them a special treat.

Your body.

Instantly you were surrounded, being caressed and sniffed, your clothes easily coming off. Your hive had been working nonstop all month to make you and the babies happy, which meant you hadn’t been mated with much.

And embarrassingly enough, you craved this as much as they did.

You cried out in ecstasy as one of the bees latched onto your clit, sucking softly as your cunt was being fucked by another. Both of your nipples were being attacked, and your mouth was stuffed with a fat cock.

“Is this okay, my queen?”

“Ahh, my queen, you’re so tight…”

It was a night full of many orgasms, your tummy heavy and full of eggs by morning.

Each bee hybrid got their turn inside of your cunt, and admittedly it was arousing to watch them jerk off to the image of you being fucked by the others, some even sucking and fucking each other because they were too impatient.

But they ended up completely satisfied, lapping softly at your cunt, licking up some of the cum and gently pushing eggs back into your pussy.

You were so, so full and kept cumming around the eggs that it was hard to keep them inside… but your attendants swooped in to take care of the aftercare and make sure you would be ready for the morning.

You yawned, resting against a fluffy bee hybrid as your little ones opened their presents in the morning. They were all so happy, giggling and carrying around their toys to show to their mama.

It was a great first Christmas with the bee hybrids, and each one of them was looking forward to next year!

[genieswishes]

okay okay but hear me out right. slow soft sex with saxon who gets super freaked out because he was trying to do his usual thing and then it got real vulnerable all of a sudden and he doesn’t know how to feel about it after….BUT he knows it got vulnerable because he actually felt safe with her and blah blah blah or whatever. i think about him. that man needs to be fucked real gentle and lovingly or something.

anon, I like the way your mind works… I’ve added some plot to this though so bear with me in the first half…

let me be in your life like that ft. Saxon Ratliff

MDNI 18+

cw: obsessive(?) Saxon, established relationship, fluff, p in v (unprotected), “babe” as a pet name, mentions of oral (f! receiving), mentions of cheating (not followed through)

a/n: re-read it and now I have to write rafe & him tag teaming or something... idk the things going on in my head are devious rn. Title inspired by Ariana Grande’s “west side”

Not that SAXON RATLIFF ever thought of himself as the loyal kind, but he’s just been so uninterested in any girl other than you. Well, any one other than you. Understand that he would never admit that he’s a shit boyfriend; in every relationship before this, there was always a point where he’d wake up to realize how little he cared for his current partner. There was a whole twitter “exposé” at one point from one of the sorority girls he dated. Something about how much of a douchebag he was and that “he’s the equivalent to a community bike.” So with that in mind, he can’t help but be confused about his current predicament.

He’s away from you, on some business trip in the Outer Banks to close up a deal with some investors. Really, it’s more like a vacation; hot girls in the most scantily clad bikinis, (other) out of touch nepo babies on their week long vacation trip, and all the great restaurants, of course.

But get this, he can’t get his dick up. Like at all. Every time, he would bring someone back to his room, and bam! He’s got whiskey dick. Not that he could even fall back on that. Half of the time, he wasn’t even drunk. He’s never had this problem before. Rather, the opposite. Always needing another warm body. Always needing someone new. Which is why it’s such a perplexing experience to come to terms that he’s being haunted by you. From his wet dreams to any time he’s getting hard, it’s always about you, you, you.

So, maybe he needs to fuck you out of his system. Have his way with you on his bed, in the bathroom, in his car. And when that doesn’t work out, he figures he needs to go to your place; smell your sheets when he has you pressed into him, use your shampoo when he’s got you in the shower, eat you out as breakfast on your kitchen counter. Just anything to work you out of his head.

He thinks it’s finally working. He’s over at your place again, nose buried in your hair to smell that fresh shampoo as your legs dangle over his shoulders. Y’know, to really ram into your cervix. He swears he’s starting to feel that same sort of boredom he’s gotten with all his past relationships. Suppose that after today, he’ll be done with you and onto the next.

But, he makes a mistake. He kisses you. And it doesn’t feel like those “heat-of-the-moment” kisses. Matter of fact, it’s something much too foreign to him. Your nose is bumping his, and your lips are entirely too soft. How is it that the way he’s fucking you is so savage, but every touch of you makes him confront those weird butterflies in his stomach? How has he never noticed how you scrunch your nose? That you laugh with your whole chest? Or how your smile lines enrich your expression?

“Saxon?” You’ve got lilt to your voice that he can’t bring himself to snap out of. “You good?”

Somehow, you don’t even realize what you’re doing with your eyes.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?”

“What are you talking about, you weirdo?” God, how is it that even your giggle is infectious?

He rolls his hips slowly, almost experimentally. He catches how you gasp a bit at that, rolling once more at a much slower pace.

“Please, babe, keep doing that.” Your legs are around his waist now, but he’s taking his time rocking back and forth, reveling at how your breath hitches when he circles your bud.

You’re kissing at his shoulders, hand massaging through his hair, and he doesn’t ever want to leave this moment. He whines at how you’re touching him. Soft, high moans that sort of catch you off guard. It makes you feel so good to know he’s enjoying himself though.

He’s kissing the nape of your neck, leaving deep hickeys in his wake. Then he’s at your lips again, gently. As if he’s scared he’s going to break you. As if all the time before he wasn’t going crazy on you.

“Ugh, I think I’m going to…” Saxon is rutting into you now, fingers still on your clit.

“Okay, fuck, don’t pull out…”

“huh?”

“Inside! Just cum inside!”

Your legs are tied around him, and you’re so tight that Saxon couldn’t even pull out if he wanted to. He’s so deep in you that he wouldn’t even be surprised if you told him your Plan B didn’t work out. He figures he would cross that bridge when he gets there.

For now, he’d rather enjoy basking in the heat of the sunlight to cuddle you with.

[totalswag]

Hi, Hope you are doing well ! :)

Can you do a famous #singer!reader where she just broke up with someone other minor celebrity that was using her 6 months ago. Another male famous celebrity comes to her concert, wanting to check her out and ends up dating her ? (The famous celebrity could be Drew Starkey, Austin Butler,etc.)

locking eyes for the first time ⎯ DREW STARKEY!

authors note thank you for giving me this request. this was so much fun to write. i'm using feather by sabrina carpenter for the "revenge song." request are open again.

taglist ✎ ̼ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set to go.

masterlist

summary after getting heartbroken by a guy you were talking to six months later you perform at your sold out show and meet drew starkey for the first time.

warning(s) betrayal, breakup, cursing, music, and dating drew starkey.

Six months ago.

You've been talking to this guy⎯he's been the spotlight for quite some time. You found out he was using you for more "fame" and recognition connections. This shattered your heart but confronted him about it⎯he denied it first then admitted at the very end before you kicked him out your house.

His dad is a producer in the music industry. You met at an after party one night and hit it off. He made you fall for him as if he casted a spell on you. He knew what he was doing the entire five months you were together.

"So all of this was a lie, Adam?" You ask, crossing your hands over your chest in disbelief⎯staring at him like he was trash sitting in front of you.

Adam runs his hands down his thighs, sighing, "Look, Y/N, I don't know where you got that information," he pauses looking around, "It's not true," his voice trying to come off convincing.

You scoff, sarcastically nodding, "oh okay, so, Josh, you, and the rest of the guys weren't hanging out and you didn't say you've been using me?" your voice raises, emphasizing using.

"Who told you that?" He questions you in an almost panicked tone. The look on his face said it all: he'd been caught. 

You nod, frustrated. "doesn't matter, is it true you've been using me?" Your voice rises, pointing at yourself.

"Yup," was all he could say.

You huff, "Dude, fuck you," chuckle, "Get out of my face and leave my house," and motion to the front door.

As the months continued to pass, you focused on yourself, surrounded yourself who those who bring you comfort, wrote music to let it all out on pen. You began to feel like yourself again.

Recently came out with a single for your music. This song is based on your experience with Adam. Let's be honest, he tried coming back with all these apologies to come back. You weren't having it.

You're on tour performing your new album and singing one of your popular songs⎯it's about what happened between Adam and you. Everyone knew about the breakup after they saw Adam with a new girl two weeks after.

The first show will be held at the Inglewood Forum. Tonight, your good friends are coming to support you. Madelyn, one of your good friends, will be joining with a few of her Outer Banks co-stars. You were taken aback by how many people were coming from your inner circle.

Madelyn mentioned one of her co stars, Drew Starkey, wanted to come see you perform after listening to your music. You've heard about him⎯good things.

After the show was over, you thanked your fans for coming out for the first show of tour, and cannot wait for the upcoming shows.

"Y/N, you did fantastic out there," Maddie grinned as you turned the corner where everyone else was waiting. 

"Thank you, mama; I'm glad you guys came to watch," you grin, moving away from Maddie and indicating to the rest of the cast. Drew Starkey stood out to you the most.

Everyone is having discussions while showering and changing. When you emerge feeling refreshed and clean, you approach Drew and introduce yourself. 

"You're Drew right?" You ask him abruptly, "My name is Y/N," with your hand out.

Drew turns around, amused to see you. "Nice to meet you, Y/N. My name is Drew," he smiles, gently shaking your hand, "and you did an amazing job tonight."

Drew and you get to talking for a bit until you exchanged socials and numbers. You two began hanging out in private⎯getting to know one another. Learned so much about him and grew to form feelings for him⎯he felt the same way.

Two months later, Drew and you are happily together. Never felt this way about someone in a long time. Feels like he was sent to you for a reason. When you soft launched your relationship to the media, fans were nuts over it⎯even Adam.

Adam: so you're dating someone?

Y/N: and why do you care if you used me? goodbye.

Blocked.

⎯⎯ my taglist! 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line across your name that means i couldn't find your account

@rosezza @chenslucy @whorelaud @rafeyslamb @mymultiveres @runningfrom2am @drewsephrry @drewizz @diqldrunks @starkeyvhs @percysley @francislovergirl @sukuna-wafiu @skyslowalking @kneelarmhstrung @inthelibrarybtw @lilumz-blog @lovingsturniolo @xoxosblogsblog @darkacademictrash @claudiamoscatoo @starkeysturniolo @ratgirlcunt @eddxemxnson @rafespreciosa @yanna2coolz @raewontgoaway @definitelynotdomanique @isabellaxlilah @inlovewrafe @minyoon23 @stevesxwhore @skywalker0809 @yesshewrites1 @acidfeens @stxrzyn @sfotiegiuls @babypoguelife @dolletebun @stoned-writer @drewstxrky @drewwhor @my-name-is-baby @thesunflowersociety @kiiyomei @pwertiies @6r4cie @ifwfratboychris @sjmalfoy19 @outerbanksloverp4l

[nerdygirlramblings]

Hello! Ive been binging poly!141 and I keep coming back to your writing for my fix (because by now its basically an addiction😅)

I had this idea that the 141 are together with a civilian reader. And civilian reader works in retail, part time, and is mostly at home. Normally, they would be home by the time their boys came home, welcoming them with open arms, a hot plate of food, and time to rest and relax. But this time, the 141 get home early and realize where reader works: Walmart (or equivalent). Reader has been keeping this a secret cause they know its not cute like a coffee shop or cool. Its just their job. And now the most important men in their life know. Im thinking the 141 found out because they went grocery shopping and happened to come across reader or something similar to that.

I work at Walmart and it sucks🥲 thought that maybe something like this might help😅

Tysm, nonny! So happy to hear you like the writing. I hope this does your idea justice. (Walmart doesn't have stores in the UK, but they own ASDA.)

Also, thank you for my first request! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

pure fluff, bad accents (per usual)

Your boys find out you work part-time at ASDA on a random rainy Thursday in March.

You don't really need a job. All four of your lovers are officers with the British army. Prior to you, they all lived in base barracks. Prior to you, they lived fairly Spartan existences. Prior to you, most of their income sat in the bank, quietly accumulating.

They have plenty of money saved up that they love using to spoil you, when you let them. You know that if you asked, they'd give you everything, but you draw the line about asking them for an allowance like some tradwife. You want some pocket money of your own. Thus, the part-time job at the ASDA in town.

You're a people person, good at handling big personalities. You need to be to keep up with your boys. Between John's need for control, Simon's stoic dominance, Johnny's aggressive enthusiasm, and Kyle's blinding charisma, you aren't some shrinking violet. Within a week of your hire, your manager watches how you weather a nasty piece of work trying to demand concessions you aren't permitted to give and immediately puts you in customer service.

You're nearly unflappable in the face of frustrated pensioners and harried parents and entitled young professionals. Over and over, you're the one they call when a customer is going spare. Which is how your boys find out about your job.

They've been deployed for over two weeks, and you have no idea when they'll return. John had originally said they'd be gone for at least a month, so you aren't expecting them home any time soon. However, they'd come home much earlier than anyone thought, and they wanted to surprise you.

You're always so good about making the house feel like a home, with your bright smile and warm laughter, your home cooked food and soft touches in decor. You make them feel like people, not weapons, and they want to return the favor. This last deployment had been hard, and all four of your boys were missing your sweet voice and tender care. They wanted to show you that they loved and cared for you the way you always showed your love and care for them.

It was Johnny's suggestion to prep a meal for you as both a surprise and a thank you. After debrief, they pile into the car and decide to stop at ASDA for everything they need before heading home to surprise you. It's John who causes the code call.

You hear Susan's voice over the store-wide address system. "We could use a little Sunshine in the floral department." That's your cue. You finish with the pensioner at your till as Jacob, your manager, comes over to relieve you.

You take a deep breath and square your shoulders. In your experience, a Sunshine call in floral is a man angry the store doesn't have the fancy arrangements listed on the website. You wish the signage on the site would be more clear that the beautiful bouquets are online orders only. It would save you having to explain why the offers in store are so limited.

You hear him before you see him, smokey voice grumbling, "But if they show the bloody thing on the site as available, you should have it hear." You'd recognize the voice anywhere. He's not angry, not really, but Susan doesn't know that. Add in the sheer size of him, and Simon looming over his shoulder, it's no wonder she called for support.

You have never wanted to walk away from a situation as much as you want to right now, but before you can make an escape, Susan notices you over John's shoulder. Her little wave is enough for your men to notice, and they turn as one to see you coming towards them. Immediately their demeanor shifts. Simon's back sags as though his strings were cut, leaving him loose-limbed. John stands a little straighter, chin up as if to impress you. They've both broken out in smiles, though Simon's are only evidenced by the laugh lines you know to look for. It's only as you get close do they zero in on the badge on your shirt.

"I've got this, Susan," you say to your co-worker. "Jacob's on my till. Can you cover?"

Susan wrings her hands. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay and-"

"They're nothing I can't handle," you tell her, cutting off her worried rambles. There's a cheeky glint in your eye as you flick your gaze at your men. You clap your hands together and say, "Right, let's get this settled, then."

Susan takes one quick look between you and the now slightly less intimidating men and heads towards the front of the store.

Once she's out of earshot, John's face breaks into a frown. "What're you doing here, love?" He glances at your name on your chest again. "You work here?" He sounds almost hurt by the revelation. You can tell Simon wants to reach for you, and the only thing stopping him is you working.

You hear heavy footfalls behind you as Johnny's Scottish lilt reaches your ears. "Och, Cap! Ye said ye'd only be a moment. Gaz and I had a hell of a time getting the trolley on its lift ta find ye. How hard is it to buy bon..." His question dies on his lips as you turn around. "Bonnie?" He, too, sounds hurt to find you working here.

You can see Kyle over Johnny's shoulder, confusion written across his features. This is not how you wanted your boys to find out about your job, if you ever wanted them to actually find out. You thought maybe you'd surprise them with tickets to Hereford FC's opening game in a few months. And if they asked how you afforded them, you could handle this conversation then, but it's out of your hands now.

And as much as you don't want to have this conversation, especially not in the middle of the floral department, you can't stop the wide grin at seeing your boys again, home and whole.

"Hi, boys," you say, opening your arms. Disappointed he might be about finding you here, Johnny's no fool. He immediately steps into your embrace, and the others quickly follow suit. You're swallowed up by the smell and feel of them. The hug lasts one minute. Then two. Then they all slowly step back.

You can see the questions and cut them off before they get started. "I have another three hours before I'm off. We can talk at home, and I'll tell you anything you want to know."

John nods first. He recognizes your tone. You won't let them derail you for answers now, and they would be wasting their breath to try. "You heard the lady, lads. Let's get home."

They start to walk away when you tease, "Captain? Was there a reason you were arguing with Susan about the flowers?"

He halts his steps and turns to you, flush creeping up his neck. He brings his hand up to rub it as he says, "Er, I, we, wanted to get ya something nice, but they don't have the same ones as online."

You melt a little, watching the way your men shift nervously behind their captain. You smile softly and reach over, plucking a bouquet of rainbow poms from the rack. "These are what I usually get for myself when you're away."

John takes them gently from your hand and passes them to Gaz to put in the trolley. "We'll see you at home, love," he murmurs, leaning over briefly to kiss your cheek. Simon kisses the top of your head, fabric brushing your hair. Johnny pulls you in for another bruising hug and kisses your other cheek. Gaz puts his hands on your waist, drinking in the sight of you, before taking your hands in his and kissing your palms.

You watch them leave, wondering how you'll make it through the rest of your shift.

Three hours and fifteen minutes later, you cross the threshold of your shared home to the most delicious scents wafting from the kitchen. After slipping your shoes off next to the piles of boots at the door, you follow your nose back to the kitchen and the spread laid out on the large wood-topped island. There's a roast and mushy peas and mashed potatoes and stewed carrots and battered cod and crisps and spinach all surrounding the flowers you'd suggested, nestled in the vase you love most, the Caithness one Johnny'd bought you on your first trip with them to Scotland.

At the table, your men sit, plates made for everyone, waiting on you. They've changed since you saw them. Gone are any traces of fatigues and tactical gear. Instead they're all in casual civvies, truly home for the first time in nearly three weeks. Simon stands as you come in and pulls out your chair, smile on his scarred lips. "Come sit, doll," he tells you, not quite an order.

You look quickly around. "Let me change," you say, tugging at your uniform top. "I won't be but a minute." You back out of the room before they can stop you. You hurry to your bedroom, pulling your top off as you go. Once behind the door, you slip from your trousers into comfortable leggings and a large jumper, one of Kyle's you think.

By the time you make it back to the kitchen, your men are more than a little antsy. Simon's smile is a little strained, Johnny is fidgeting, Kyle keeps glancing between you and John, and John is staring at you. Your chair is still out. He waves a hand at it, and gently says, "Come sit, love." It's couched as request, but you know a command from your lover when you hear it.

You take your seat at the table. "Listen-" you start, but John cuts you off.

"Are we not providing for ya, love?" You see the hurt in his eyes, how much it bothers him to think he, they, aren't doing enough for you.

"Oh, John, dear, no!" you reply, putting your hand over his on the table. "It's not that at all."

"Then what?" Simon asks.

You look at them all, the expectant faces waiting to hear how they failed you. "I get restless sometimes. I love you, and I love our life. I'm happy to take care of the house and make sure you're all fed after a long day. But I wasn't built for sitting around doing nothing. I like people; being home on my own all day can get lonely. Especially when you're deployed. I also like having my own pocket money."

John opens his mouth, and you know what he's about to say, so you continue. "I know you'd give me any money I need or want, but I like having my money. Money I earned myself." You look around at them, willing them to understand. "It's only part time. Helps me keep a little busy and have a little extra to spoil you and me with."

Johnny is frowning, but you see Kyle, head cocked, looking at you as a puzzle. "I think I understand," he says softly. "You were making you way just fine before us, and you gave up everything for us."

At his words, the crease between John's brow deepens, and you're sure he's remembering the job you had, that you'd somewhat enjoyed, when you'd first met them. You'd been working at RAF Lakenheath, living in a cozy flat in Cambridge, near The Backs, when the 141 had been coming through the base after an op. An injury had put Kyle in the med center for a week, and while he could have been transported to Hereford once stable, Laswell had worked it out for the whole team to have some R&R near the base.

You'd quite literally run into John one day, rushing to your office, after which he suggested lunch as an apology. You quickly became close with all four, smitten with them from the start. In turn, they fell hard for you. They wooed you over the course of several weeks, stopping through Lakenheath on deployments to spend some time with you. Six months in and you were completely gone on all four of them, so when they'd asked you to move to Hereford, you did without ever looking back. But it meant giving up the life you'd led.

Somewhere along the way, your happiness overshadowed all you'd left behind. After a few weeks, being home alone while your men worked started to feel isolating. You liked being a little busy, and there weren't enough projects around the house to keep you busy enough. You'd always been independent, but you didn't want to be stuck in a job with long hours anymore. You wanted to be home for your men. So you'd found the job at ASDA.

Kyle reaches over to where you hand is still on John's. "I'm sorry we didn't ask how you were coping us being gone all day," he says. He looks you in the eye as he continues. "I understand wanting to do something, wanting to be a little busy, and if this makes you happy, then I'm all for it, doll." He gives you a small smile and squeezes your and John's hand.

"Gaz is right," Simon rumbles. "We were so happy to have you here we didn't think about what you did all alone all day." He puts a heavy hand on your thigh, the warmth of him seeping through your thin leggings. "'m glad you have something to keep you from getting lonely."

"Sorry, hen," Johnny murmurs, just above a whisper. "We didnae think a' ye enough." You smile widely at him.

"Johnny, you think of me all the time. This isn't about neglect at all!" You try to catch his eye, but he's looking hard at the table in front of him. "You did nothing wrong, love," you tell him gently.

He looks at you, blue eyes bright. "Ye sure?" You've never seen him this nervous before, and you break a little.

"I'm sure love."

He smiles then, a little smile, but it brightens his face and shifts the mood in the room. You look at John who's been surprisingly quiet this whole time.

He's smiling, but it's a little sad. "I know ya said we didn't do anything wrong, but we feel like we did. We didn't notice you were bored, didn't ask if you were lonely." He flips his hand over under yours and threads your fingers with his. "Yer giving us a gift by not blaming us, and we'd be stupid not to take it, even though it feels like yer giving us an out. Thank you." He brings your hand to his lips and kisses it softly.

"Thank you. I was worried you'd be mad," you admit.

"Never could make us mad with something like this, hen," Johnny reassures you. "I'm sorry we had to spoil your day is all."

You turn back to look at the food on the island. "You didn't spoil my day. You made it. You're home early, and you made such a lovely spread. I think we should tuck in, yeah?"

Simon chuckles. "Point made, doll," he says, scooping a heaping helping of mash onto his fork. The rest take it as a sign to start eating too.

The room is silent save for the sounds of food savored until John pipes up, "Why'd ya come to florals, love? We might have missed ya altogether if not for that."

You giggle. "The sunshine call, John."

"Yeah?" He clearly doesn't understand.

"It's the shop call for a difficult customer. When I'm on shift, it's my job to handle those." You look at each of your lovers in turn. "Seems I've got a knack for dealing with muppets," you tell them with a smirk.

main masterlist

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

I am not the asshole, and I think this whole thing is stupid, but I was promised that if I sent my side of things to this blog I could pick the hotel for our honeymoon, and I am marrying a man who once tried to take me BACKPACKING of all things, so this ask has become a necessity. In light of that:

AITA (I'm NOT) for planning the seating for our wedding in a logical way?

I got engaged in June, apparently in part because of my partner writing in to this blog (I don't know how to find or link to his posts, but I'm the man who got the cat to bite him, if that rings any bells?). At any rate, for the past ten weeks, I've been in the beginning stages of planning our wedding with my fiance, whom I have been secretly attempting to remove from the planning process as much as possible. I have ALREADY been given a list of his must-haves, and I AM incorporating as many of them as our budget allows. This has NOTHING to do with the emotional side of the event, and EVERYTHING to do with the fact that this is an idiot with no real planning experience or taste who thinks he knows more than me.

For the most part, this has worked very well. I'm the one who's been collating all the contact information for things, so I just replaced all the emails for the tacky companies with false addresses, responded to his inquiries as the companies to say the date was already booked or the price was outside our budget, and let him filter his way to the ones I DO like on his own. I also made a fuss about being "willing to compromise" on the few things he's picked I'm completely fine with in the hopes I can use it to make him compromise later, and have been humming portions of the songs I want on the playlist in the hopes he'll think he came up with the idea to include them himself.

None of this is the real problem. The PROBLEM is that he is deliberately ruining my seating chart, by moving our horrible friend's seat when I'm not looking.

The man in question dated both of us at one point in our VERY early 20s (both ended BADLY), is generally the messiest person we know, and will almost certainly get sloppy drunk and try to make a speech IF he does make an appearance. I'm banking on the fact that he won't, because he's also ridiculously wealthy, and will almost certainly send us some very lavish gift in lieu of coming.

He is SUPPOSED to be sitting beside my fiances aunt, at the same table as his grandmother, his work friend, and her girlfriend, because all four of these women are stone cold terrors who I believe are more than capable of keeping him in line on the slim chance he does come. My fiance INSISTS they won't be able to have any fun if they're running interference all night, and keeps moving him to sit at the head table instead. You know, where WE are. I finally caught him switching the label magnets on my planning board last night, and confronted him.

I tried leveraging how much I've been compromising already, that he's almost certainly going to RSVP no, and that I shouldn't have to deal with him on our big night. My fiance said he knew about all the fake emailing and such, and told me, and I QUOTE: "Look, the mind game shit was hot when it was just about the colour scheme or whatever, but I actually care about this. So you can suffer with everybody else, or you can do the normal thing and not invite a guy you hate to our wedding, you weirdo."

I said that if I did that, it would take out half his groomsmen, he called me an asshole and said I should go explain this to "literally any rational adult" so they could tell me I was in the wrong, and now here we are.

Would you recommend calling my fiance's bluff, since he doesn't want the man sitting near us either? Or should I focus on ensuring he'll turn down the invitation no matter what, so the matter of where he WON'T be sitting can be a moot point?

What are these acronyms?

Original post

The update

[wilwheaton]

EVENT DATE: April 27th EVENT TIME: 10AM PT/12PM ET

Hi Tumblr buddies! I wanted to make sure you all knew about this thing Anne and I are doing next week.

Momentus hosts virtual events that raise money for charities while they bring fans and creators together. We are going to talk about writing our books, our creative experiences, and whatever is on your mind during the Q&A.

Some of my friends have done events like this, and they all tell me that they are the most fun they have ever had. They tell me that they tend to sell out quickly, so keep that in mind if this sounds interesting to you.

We are raising money for The LA Regional Food Bank in Los Angeles, which is helping people who were displaced by the fires earlier this year, and other people who have been affected by *gestures broadly at all this entirely avoidable bullshit*.

You can find out everything you need to know about this at the link above. I really hope lots of y'all will join us, because it's going to be special.

[deadsetobsessions]

The first person who asked me to put my writing on AO3, thank you for your appreciation and I'm honored to have a piece of my work considered so highly... but also count your days bc I genuinely believe my life spiraled after posting that first chapter. The curse is real, and that website is like moldavite istg.

----

Tim made a miscalculation.

He wasn’t aware of the true nature of Deathstroke’s tension with his older brother until he witnessed it first hand.

Creep. He thought uncharitably, nay, spitefully.

No. Absolutely the fuck not.

He ruined Catalina’s life. Considering Deathstroke had no life, Tim will just have to go the extra step to end it. So what if the man was Ra’s former student and one of the best assassins around? Tim used to foil League plots for shits and giggles. Maybe the 8 year old Tim of old would never have considered going against a big baddie, but 24 year old Tim ran circles around bigger fish.

Tim scowled, stowing away his binoculars before shimmying down the fire escape. He counted at least three propositions! In the five minutes they were duking it out! His big brother was too bright for those losers! Maybe he could get Sandra Wu-San to do something about her fellow student? Or Tim could hit two assassins with one Robin and get David Cain to murder Deathstroke while nabbing Cass?

Ooo, he likes that idea. Maybe he'll get lucky and they'll kill each other while fighting and then Tim won't have to worry about how to keep Cain away from Tim's sister.

Bruce would have been disappointed about how cavalier his approach was in terms of preservation of life, but Tim had always thought that ideology applied to his days as a Bat-affiliated vigilante. And since Tim was an itty bitty civilian instead of an (older, taller) ass kicking vigilante, Tim has concluded that Bruce's mildly irritating morality didn't apply to him in his current state. Besides, it wasn't like he was an angel during his tenure as Robin anyways.

"Guess I gotta embezzle some more money." Tim grimly put his backpack to his front and ran to catch the first bus home. Too bad. Deathstroke had proven useful.

————

David Cain leaned against a transport cargo box, breathing heavily from wounds. His commission was done, and the amount promised would allow him to buy an island and then some. His fellow student laid at his feet. His bank account was fuller than Ra's, he was sure.

He never sees the tranquilizer dart coming.

And really, Tim’s had enough experience to hide the mark from the dart and more than enough to murder the man and make it seem like he bled out.

——

“Odd.”

“Tell me about it.” Nightwing crouched, his sparkly costume hidden partially in the shadows. “Why’d they have to duke it out here?” He whined. Honestly, he’s been down in the dumps with what happened to Jason but having Deathstroke dead and gone for good was a balm to his soul.

“Hn.” It’s true. Bruce knew that it was weird Ra’s al Ghul’s students would murder each other like this. He searched the bodies, lifting up a burner phone and a bunch of weapons.

“Can’t you say something other than monosyllabic grunts, B?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to?”

“…No.” Bruce made a funny and seemed rather proud of himself.

Duck stared at him. He lifted a hand, watching Bruce’s face fall into dread.

Dick pulled the zipper down on the top of his costume down to his navel, flaring the collar and exposing his mesh covered chest.

“No.”

“Fuck you.” Dick flips away, leaving a despondent Batman behind with two dead bodies.

In the distance, the girl who would be come Cassandra Cain took the hands of a boy who would become here brother.

Tim Drake grinned, like an adorable, blood frenzied baby shark.

[hittmeandtellmeyouremine]

𝙣𝙤, 𝙞'𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 | 𝙧𝙖𝙛𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙣 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

pairing: bsf!rafe cameron x bear!reader

summary: you and rafe cameron have been best friends for forever, feelings always teetering on the edge of something more. summer's finally starting and when the lines of your relationship star to becoming blurred, your friendship ends up on the rocks. you guys love each other, of course. but there's no way you're in love with each other, you're just... close. best friends.

warnings: swearing, mention of family issues, smut (mdni), mentions of injury, mentions of drugs mentions of piercings, and suggestive content. (will be updated as more chapters are released.

word count: 8.5k (will be updated)

a/n: this series uses characters and events from the netflix show "outer banks". i've also created a few original characters that are listed below. tate mcrae's song "no i'm not in love" pushed me to publish this so go listen to that! this series will also include "bonus" smau chapters that are not vital to it, but can add more to the experience. i hope you love it as much as i do! ♥

status: currently in progress...

©hittmeandtellmeyouremine | this is my only account across all social media platforms. please do not translate, copy, or repost any of my writing.

meet the characters! ✩ bear!reader ✩ rafe cameron ✩ lina rivers ✩ nora garcia ✩ parker knox

chapters: ⁃ chapter one ⤷ socials - chapter one ⁃ chapter two ⤷ socials - chapter two ⁃ chapter three

[hungyhouse]

Please spread this around!

Hey folks! There is a majorly important election happening in Wisconsin on April 1, and it affects the entire country: here’s how you can help!

The basics: Wisconsin has to vote for a new Wisconsin Supreme Court judge, they currently have a 4-3 progressive majority, and are fighting to keep it. 

Elon Musk and other right wingers are trying to buy this election so they can have more power in state courts. [link]

Wisconsin is a very competitive battleground state and races like the 2026 House race as well as the 2028 presidential election will most likely be contested in this very court. Keeping a progressive majority is key to winning those cases. 

Not only that, but the Republican candidate, Brad Schimel, supports banning abortion, is anti-affordable health care, and defended the Jan 6 insurrection. He could hugely impact the lives of everyone living in Wisconsin and America. [link, link]

The progressive candidate, Susan Crawford, is a former prosecutor, attorney, and current circuit court judge. She has tons of experience, and has worked on cases defending voting rights in Wisconsin, and defending Planned Parenthood. [link, link]

How can you help?

If you’re like me and you’ve been an anxious pile of knots since January you’re probably both rearing to do something and paralyzed with indecision. But that’s not going to get us in the clear! Here are some options to help fight for the future.

For people in Wisconsin:

VOTE! Vote vote vote! The election is April 1, make sure your registration is active and valid and get the vote out!

Also, canvass! Talk to your neighbors, go door to door, find a democratic group in your area that is doing outreach in your community and help them out! It’s so crucial that we reach undecided voters and let them know what is at stake, and that they should ignore any drivel Elon Musk is paying to shove in their faces!

If you are not in Wisconsin:

There’s still lots of options to help! Democratic orgs like Swing Left [link] have local chapters you can join, and they are organizing phone banks and letter writing campaigns to reach Wisconsin voters and let them know that the country is counting on them! Donating your time is a great way to maximize your outreach.

If you don’t have time: donate to Crawford’s campaign and orgs campaigning for her [link]! Elon Musk is the richest man in the world and is pouring millions of dollars into Schimel’s campaign - we need support for Judge Crawford to reach even more voters. Even a small donation is helpful! If every person who voted for Kamala Harris last year donated $5 we could raise over $375 million! [link]

This is an insanely important election and we need to act upon it! Don’t just reblog dunks on the far-right - hit them where it actually hurts! Everything we can save right now is worth saving!!

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 19

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Warning: Dark, Mystery, Betrayal.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 💖💖💖

“Don’t you dare take the medicine they gave you!”

Your voice came out sharp, panic twisting every syllable. Your hands gripped the hospital bed's railing so tightly your knuckles turned white.

Ransom frowned. “What the fuck is going on? You’re freaking me out.”

“This will be the third time.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “Ransom… My dad was diagnosed with cancer here by Dr. Stark. Almost a year of chemotherapy and medication. But I kept noticing something—cancer patients always seek second opinions. So I took him to see Alan.”

Ransom’s jaw clenched. He knew that name. Alan was a top-tier specialist, the kind people flew across the world to see.

You took a shaky breath and continued, “And my friend—misdiagnosed, too. The first doctor told him he wouldn’t be able to use his hand for six months. Then the second doctor checked and said it was bullshit—his injury wasn’t even that severe.”

Ransom’s stomach twisted. His back was already screaming in pain, but now a new fear crept in—was he even injured as badly as they claimed? Were they experimenting on him?

“That’s terrifying,” he muttered. His voice dropped lower. “I don’t want to fucking die because of this.”

You grabbed his wrist, your fingers pressing into his skin. “I’m afraid too. I don’t want you to become their test subject.”

Ransom exhaled sharply, then nodded. He squeezed your hand, his grip firm, steady. “Get me the fuck out of here.”

You didn’t hesitate. “I will.”

His gaze flickered with something unreadable before he added, “You should come with me.”

You shook your head. “I can’t.”

“Are you nuts?” His voice was sharper now, laced with frustration.

You exhaled. “Ransom, I have something to deal with.”

He was about to argue, but then you said it.

“The audit is incomplete. Needs an extra review.”

Ransom froze. His expression hardened. He wasn’t stupid—he knew exactly what that meant.

It was a code. A system you both had built working in finance, a way to alert each other when things got dangerous. Because let’s be real—most people with obscene amounts of money were crooked, and sometimes, that meant walking into situations that could get you killed.

This was Code One: "I’ve got an investigation going on. I’ll call you when I need help."

His jaw tightened, his blue eyes searching yours. “You sure?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Without another word, you turned and made a call. Right now, you were grateful you’d left this town and built connections that could make things happen with a single request.

Exactly one hour later, the sound of whirring blades filled the sky. A medical helicopter descended onto the hospital’s landing pad.

Ransom smirked as he sat up, wincing at the pain but pushing through it. “I’m only one call away.”

You met his gaze, your lips pressing together. “I knew I could count on you.”

As the helicopter doors slid shut, you stepped back, watching as the aircraft lifted off the ground and disappeared into the sky.

“Why did he leave so suddenly? He still needs treatment,” Bucky’s voice came from behind you.

You didn’t turn around. “His mother sent the helicopter for him.”

“Oh.” There was a pause, then Bucky asked, “You’re not going with him?”

You finally turned, shaking your head. “I can’t.”

His eyes studied you carefully.

“I’ll be staying to continue the deal.”

A small, satisfied smirk curled at the corner of Bucky’s lips. “Good. I assure you, your bank won’t regret investing in this town. Especially with the new hospital—it’ll help a lot of people.”

“And your dad could come back and get treated here.”

You froze mid-step at the mention of your father. Your fingers curled slightly at your sides. “Yeah.”

Bucky hummed, watching you. “Are you heading home?”

“Yup.”

There was a pause. He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… so, actually—”

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“I was planning a surprise.”

Your stomach dropped. “What did you do, Bucky?”

His smirk deepened. “Well… I decided to renovate your house.”

Your jaw nearly hit the floor. “What the fuck?!”

Bucky lifted his hands in defense. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. But don’t worry—it's all on me.”

“What gave you the right to renovate my home without my permission? Or my dad’s?”

He didn’t flinch, staying perfectly calm. “Did you forget your dad agreed to give me the funeral home when he retired?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Yeah? But he’s not retired yet.”

“I bought it.”

The words hit you like a punch. Your mouth went dry. “So all this time… my dad’s just been living there for free?”

Bucky exhaled, his expression unreadable. “It’s… yeah. And I have no problem with that. I would never force Tom or you to leave.”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding as you turned on your heel and headed toward your house.

He wasn’t joking.

The second you arrived, your stomach twisted. Construction workers were everywhere. The house had been completely renovated—even your room. Fresh paint, new furniture, everything different from what you remembered. It was like walking into someone else’s home.

You rubbed your temples. “Where the hell am I supposed to live now?”

Bucky stood beside you, unfazed. “You can stay at the hotel again.”

A deep sigh left your lips. “Fine.”

His smirk returned. “This one’s on me too. I’ll give you the best suite in the hotel.”

You shot him a pointed look. “You better.”

As you made your way downstairs, something caught your eye—a dusty old photo frame sitting on a table. You stepped closer, your breath hitching.

It was a picture of your mother.

The first time you’d ever seen one.

Other kids were in the photo, kids who were obviously older now. Your gaze traveled over their faces—there was a boy who looked like Bucky, which had to be Alex, then Tony, the mayor, and Mr. Rogers. And then, at the very back of the group, barely fitting into the frame, was your father.

Like an outcast.

Your mother, on the other hand, stood at the center like a queen, beautiful and radiant. It made you wonder—why did she choose your dad?

She could have had anyone.

“Don’t worry about Tony.” Bucky’s voice cut through your thoughts. He must have assumed you were staring at Tony in the photo. “I’ll make sure he gets what he deserves.”

You glanced at him, nodding. “Thanks.”

That night, your new hotel suite was undeniably luxurious. Soft sheets, the perfect temperature, the best accommodations money could buy.

And yet, you would have preferred your old home.

What made it worse?

Bucky leaned casually against the doorway and smirked. “If you need anything, just knock. My room’s right next door.”

Your stomach sank.

Shit.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

A sharp knock echoed through the room.

You sighed, glancing at the door. If it was Bucky, you’d pretend you didn’t hear it. But when you peeked through the spy hole, relief washed over you—it was Jake Jensen.

You quickly unlocked the door and pulled him inside before he could even finish saying, “Hi—”

“Oh…” He blinked, adjusting his glasses. “I heard what happened to your friend. I’m sorry.”

“He’s fine.” You shut the door behind him. “Please tell me you’ve got something.”

Jake hesitated. He had the information you needed—you could see it in his eyes. But something was off.

“Yes.” His tone was uncertain.

Your stomach tightened. “But…?”

“I think it’s better if you meet my mother instead.”

Your brows furrowed. “Why?”

Jake scratched the back of his neck. “She wants to meet you.”

You exhaled sharply. Of course. Miss Gossip herself.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Sloane sat in her worn armchair, knitting with steady, practiced hands. The dim lighting of the small parlor cast long shadows, giving the place an eerie, timeless feel. She barely glanced up as you and Jake entered, but you could tell—she already knew you were there.

With a quiet sigh, she adjusted her glasses and let her sharp gaze travel from your head to your toes.

“No matter what she did, you still look like her.”

You raised an eyebrow, cautiously taking a seat on the couch nearest to her. “You mean my mother?”

“Yes.” Her voice was calm but laced with something deeper—something knowing.

You exchanged a glance with Jake before turning back to her. “I heard from Jake that you have information about Stark and the mayor.”

Sloane gave a small nod, her fingers still working the yarn as if the conversation meant nothing. “It all comes back to your mother. Luna.”

Your stomach twisted at the name. “What did my mother do that made everyone in this town hate my dad and me?”

Sloane chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “It’s not hate, child. It’s fear. Guilt has a way of turning into fear.”

You swallowed. “What do you mean?”

She sighed, setting her knitting down for the first time. “It all started the moment she arrived in this town.”

“Arrived?” You frowned.

“You probably don’t know this, but your mother was adopted.”

Your breath caught in your throat. A cold chill ran down your spine, and for a moment, you thought you misheard her. The room suddenly felt smaller, like the walls were closing in.

Sloane watched your reaction carefully. “Judging by your face, I was right. You didn’t know.”

You could only shake your head.

She leaned forward slightly. “Your mother was adopted by the previous mortician—your step-grandparents.”

Jake shifted uncomfortably beside you, clearly as shocked as you were.

“It happened fifty years ago,” Sloane continued. “A car accident on the outskirts of town. A young couple died on impact, but their child—Luna—survived. She was only three years old.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

“The ones who took her in were your grandparents. They saw her as a blessing, a miracle, because they couldn’t have children of their own. And in a town like this, adoption was difficult—there were hardly any orphaned children. Even when there were, no child wanted to live in a funeral home.”

Sloane smirked slightly. “It scared them.”

You swallowed hard, your hands clenching into fists on your lap.

“But Luna… she was different. Your grandparents gave her everything—beautiful clothes, the best toys. They finally have a daughter so they spoiled her to death. And everyone noticed. Every child was jealous of her. And when she grew up, she became the most beautiful girl in town.”

Your voice came out quieter than you expected. “This is when she met Alex, right?”

Sloane nodded. “Not just him. Everyone. Everyone wanted to be her friend, to be near her. But they were jealous, too.”

She exhaled, eyes distant, as if recalling an old memory. “She was beautiful, just like her name. Like a goddess of the moon. People couldn’t look away. Men were drawn to her—sometimes against their better judgment.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “Did they…?”

A grim expression crossed Sloane’s face. “Sadly, yes. More than one man tried. And their eyes… they never hid their lust when they looked at her.”

Your stomach churned.

“Alex,” Sloane said after a beat, “Bucky’s father… I remember him and Luna being a power couple. But he was possessive. He had to be—his closest friends wanted her, too.”

Your lips parted slightly. “You mean the other three? Including Mr. Rogers?”

Sloane scoffed. “That man? Please. He could only admire her from afar.”

She sighed, setting her knitting aside completely. “One day, Luna broke up with Alex. And she chose Tom instead.”

“Why?” you asked, almost breathless.

Sloane’s next words made your entire world tilt.

“Because she found out the truth.”

Your body tensed. “The truth?”

Sloane’s gaze locked onto yours, unflinching. “About the car accident that killed her parents.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “Alex was involved?”

“No. But his father was.” She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. “Along with the other fathers in their little gang.”

Your breath hitched, your hands gripping the armrests of the couch. Your heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst.

Sloane’s voice was quiet but razor-sharp. “Bucky is just like his father. And Alex? Just like his father. Like father like son. They were reckless. Popular. Untouchable. They drove like they owned the roads, ignoring every warning. The sheriff tried to stop them, told them not to drive under the influence.” She scoffed. “They didn’t listen.”

Your mind reeled. It all made sense now—why your mother left Alex, why your family was treated like outsiders.

Your mother’s real parents were killed by Alex’s father and his friends.

No wonder she couldn’t stay with him.

No wonder they feared you and your father.

You exhaled shakily. “And my dad?”

Sloane smiled faintly. “Ah, Tom. The quiet one. He was a runaway, just a lost boy. Your grandfather took him in, trained him to be a mortician. Nobody noticed him.”

Your chest tightened. “And when he got close to Luna?”

“He became their favorite punching bag.”

A deep, aching anger twisted inside you. Your nails dug into your palm.

Sloane studied you carefully. “Do you want to know why she truly chose him?”

You shook your head, but she told you anyway.

“Because he was the only man in town who didn’t look at her with lust. He respected her. Gave her space.”

She also chose Tom so her future children wouldn’t inherit her beauty. Luna saw her beauty as a curse. She doesn't want her child to suffer like her. But if she were still alive, she would be disappointed that her plan had failed. Look at your daughter now, Luna, Sloane thought as she watched you step into her house. She’s not as beautiful as you, but she carries the same confidence—the kind that draws everyone in, just like you did.

You inhaled sharply.

“That’s why they fear you,” Sloane continued. “Every time they see you or Tom, they remember what they did to her. And to him.”

Your jaw clenched. Every piece of the puzzle fit perfectly now, and it only made you hate this town more.

Sloane leaned back. “Now, about Stark. You should know—he was obsessed with your mother.”

You barely had time to process that before she dropped another bombshell.

“And the mayor?” She smirked. “Everyone knows he’s corrupt. But what people don’t talk about is the fact that he’s Thor’s real father.”

Your mouth fell open. “What?”

Jake finally spoke, his voice low. “Wait… how do you know all this?”

Sloane chuckled, picking up her knitting again. “Honey, I own a hair salon. My mother owned it before me. Do you know what that means?” She raised an eyebrow. “I hear everything. And let me tell you something—rumors? They’re always based on truth.”

Jake sighed, rubbing his temples. “Mom…”

“What about Natasha?” you asked.

Sloane’s mood soured instantly. “That snobby brat. She insulted my salon. I never liked her.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “Thank you for telling me all this. But why now? Why are you helping me?”

Sloane grinned. “Because I heard you’re rich.”

Jake groaned. “Mom!”

You blinked, caught off guard.

Sloane shrugged. “I also saw your car.”

You couldn’t help but smirk. At least this made things easier. “What do you want, Mrs. Jensen?”

Sloane’s eyes gleamed. “A cruise. Around the world.”

Jake buried his face in his hands. “Mom, stop. You’re embarrassing me.”

You chuckled, standing up and extending your hand. “You got it, Sloane. I’ll book you the best cruise money can buy. You won’t ever want to leave the ship.”

Sloane smirked, holding up the business card between her fingers. “This is what I’m talking about.”

You reached into your wallet, pulled out another card, and handed it to her. “Call this number. Give them my name. Then tell them exactly what you want.”

Sloane took the card, flipping it over with mild curiosity. When she read the title, her eyebrows lifted slightly.

"Vice President of Drysdale Co."

“Awesome.” She grinned, tucking the card into her apron pocket before standing up. Without another word, she headed toward the stairs, disappearing onto the second floor.

Jake let out a long breath beside you, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh… I’m sorry about my mom. She can be a bit much.”

You leaned back on the couch, stretching your arms over the backrest. “I don’t mind. Actually, I got everything I needed.”

Jake blinked at you, clearly surprised. “You did?”

You nodded. “More than I expected, actually.”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “Yeah… that was a lot.”

You tilted your head slightly, watching him. “Could you get someone to meet me?”

Jake’s posture straightened. “Of course. Who?”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “Natasha.”

At the Arcade

The neon lights flickered against the scuffed tile floor, casting an eerie glow over the buzzing machines. The scent of buttered popcorn and cheap soda lingered in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of coins and the distant beeps of arcade games.

You leaned against a pinball machine, arms crossed, watching the entrance. People came and went, laughter and shouts filling the space, but you weren’t here for fun.

Then, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“I heard you wanted to see me?”

You turned your head, meeting Natasha’s sharp gaze. She stood near the entrance, arms crossed, exuding her usual air of arrogance.

“I am,” you replied smoothly, straightening up.

Natasha stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor. “Well, here I am. So, what do you want?”

Join the tag list? 🩷💙🩷

@winterslove1917

@thezombieprostitute

@namoreno

@sagebarness

@tenaciousathleteoperatorgarden

@unaxv

@missvelvetsstuff

@kjah97

@hopeful-daydreaming

@freshlemontea

@eat-limes-bitches

@kandis-mom

@scott-loki-barnes

@winters1917

@differenttyphoonwerewolf

@arunabraganza

@ordelixx

@esposadomd

@sapphirebarnes

@cjand10

@bellabarnes1378

@thetravelingtyper

@buckitostan

@mostlymarvelgirl

@5upersoldiers1xt

@jjanereid

@cakesandtom

@queen2234

@learisa

@springsheep

@mrsstuckyboo

@read-just-cant

@loki-laufeyson68

@anixerz

@ghalouha

@jeremyrennermakesmesmile

@emerald-writes

@mcira

@barnesxstan

@bxtchboy69

@lokislady82

@mrsnikstan

@calwitch

@thedonswife13

@calwitch

@otterlycanadian

@bonkybarnes106

@tinkrogers

@chimchoom

@winchestert101

@raajali3

[novlr]

I have a bad habit of never finishing writing I start - I work hard on a story, make it to 3/4 of the way through, then lose passion for it and start something else. I know the key to overcoming this is discipline, and I’m trying very hard to make myself keep going with my current story that I like very much and spent so much time researching and outlining, but it’s a struggle every day to make my writing goal. Any advice for how to re-ignite writing spark or how to push through to the end?

We can lose our drive to write for a lot of reasons. It often indicates a growing maturity as an artist — you understand the craft better and your own (current) limitations better, and so you begin to feel overwhelmed in a way you didn’t before. It can also be that external anxieties are getting in the way or simply that you’ve lost interest in your current project. 

Hope is not lost. Read on for some tips on reclaiming your writing spark. 

Shift gears

Sometimes, all you need to reignite your writing spark is to engage your brain in a different way. If you’re struggling with your novel, take a break and try writing a poem or a piece of flash fiction. Or, you could try drawing sketches of your characters, a map of your story’s world, or some possible outfits for your climactic battle scene (it doesn’t have to be good. No one’s going to see it). 

The trick is to stay creative but to approach your work from a different angle. 

Change location

If you’ve been trying and failing to write at your desk, surrounded by crumpled up dreams drafts and last week’s candy wrappers, you may be suffering from an environment with stagnant energy. Try taking yourself on a writer’s date: go to a location that fits the tone of the project you’re working on (lux hotel lobby, seedy theatre bar, the wilds of a nearby park), and see if that gets your creative wheels turning. 

Dress [in]appropriately 

In Writing Down the Bones, Natalie Goldberg has a chapter called “Blue Lipstick and a Cigarette Hanging Out Your Mouth”. By this she meant, “Use outfits and props to step outside yourself and get a new perspective”. You might find it helpful to have a special “writer’s sweater” that you only wear when you’re writing or to dress like someone confident and cool enough to smash writer’s block in the face. 

Do some soul-searching

What’s really going on here? If the above tricks aren’t doing it for you, there may be some bigger issues at play that are inhibiting you from connecting to your writing spark. 

Write letters

I’ve written about the restorative powers of letter writing before, and I’ll mention it again: handwritten letters are a great way to get the words flowing. You don’t actually have to send them when you’re done (although you can if you want to); the recipient doesn’t even need to exist. Simply by putting your thoughts down in a low-risk way, you’re unclogging your creative pipes. 

Join a writing group

There’s power and accountability in numbers. You can find writing groups online, through community centres and writers centres, or by sticking a flyer up in a bookshop and starting your own. There’s even a Novlr writing community on Discord where we share tips, struggles, and just generally talk craft! By inviting other people into your writing practice, you’ll have some support and encouragement to keep you going. 

Find your writing spark with writing prompts

The internet is awash with writing prompts. These can be a helpful way to get something down on paper and stretch out your writing muscles. Whether it’s a premise, an opening line, or a character study, writing prompts can give you a gentle, creative push and even inspire new work.

Experiment with found structure

If writing a traditional story feels like pulling out your own teeth, try a found structure story. This means using fictional “found material” like shopping lists, calendars, to-do lists, ticket stubs, banking records, and so forth to create a narrative. 

Here’s an example: Imagine a week in which a bride-to-be prepares for her glorious wedding, is left at the altar, rages in misery, and ultimately emerges healthier and stronger. Now, write her shopping list for each day of that week. How does it change from beginning to end? How much emotional detail can you communicate to the reader through the items that appear on these lists? This can be a fun way to create a story without the anxiety of writing it.

Set a petty life goal

I am a proud champion of the value of pettiness as a motivator. There are plenty of noble reasons to write: to share powerful stories, to help readers in need of healing, to inspire others to write stories themselves, and to draw attention to important social issues or minority identities. 

There are also some really inane and selfish reasons to write: to become more famous than your ex, to appear on TV and make your ex regret everything they’ve ever done to you, to have your book made into a movie and receive casting consultation rights and pitch your favourite actor in the lead role and allow them to take you for coffee as a thank you. But the thing is… these are the motivations that are really going to pull you out of the dirt when you need it most. Find the silly driving goal that really gets under your skin and hold onto it for dear life. 

Forgive yourself

Many writers experience a lot of shame when they aren’t writing as much as they feel they should. Needless to say, this shame only makes the writing harder. Allow yourself the space to take some time when you need it, process your struggles, and return when you’re ready. The page will be waiting when you get back. 

[worfsbarmitzvah]

in the coming weeks, months, and years PLEASE be mindful of posts that rile you up but include no useful or actionable information.

an example i just encountered on tiktok: “they’re banning these books!!!” who is banning them? what, exactly, do the bans entail (are they banned from being taught in schools, removed from school libraries, from public libraries, etc)? in what parts of the country? is this coming from school boards, local legislators, or somewhere else? what is the source of this information? am i supposed to be able to do something about this, or am i just supposed to get mad, leave an incredulous comment, and scroll on?

social media makes it easier than ever for people to feed off of fear and anger. misinformation spreads like wildfire online. BE DILIGENT. do not let people use your outrage to farm engagement. direct that energy toward action based on verifiable information. attend local government meetings. find a real-life community (even one that isn’t oriented toward activism — you will make connections that will be essential in the coming years whether your community is a volunteer group or a dnd campaign).

you are not obligated to complete the work, but you are not free to abandon it. getting worked up over posts feels righteous, and you think you’re gonna put that energy away to do Something with it later, but i know from experience that that doesn’t work. you overwhelm yourself with all the bad news and you keep doomscrolling.

here are some actions that make a difference:

get some rubber gloves and a trash bag, go for a short walk, and pick up all the litter you see.

donate to the aclu.

draw or write something. in times like this we need art.

call your local food bank and see if they’re looking for volunteers or donations.

this website lists various ways you can help undocumented people.

go to or contact your local public library and find out what groups, activities, and programs they have available. even if there’s nothing there for you, get a library card and use it regularly.

there is so much more you can do, but it will vary from place to place and person to person. my point is: find what you can do and do it rather than doomscrolling for four years straight.

remember to practice self-care. you cannot boil an empty kettle. tidy up your living space, take a bath or shower, do some stretches or jumping jacks or push-ups, take a few deep breaths.

if you are a minor right now, especially if you won’t be 18 before the next election, your job right now is to SURVIVE. that’s everybody’s job, but kids and teenagers especially. do not burn yourself out on despair before you ever get to cast a ballot. i know it’s terrifying right now. i was 12 on january 20, 2017. i know how you’re feeling. it won’t be easy and the you that you are in 2028 will not be the you that you are today. be good to your friends, do your best in school, and take care of your body and mind. that is your ONLY job. you might see kids your age doing activism, like kids my age saw greta thunberg and x gonzález during trump’s first term. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO BE THEM. you just have to keep yourself going. the future needs you.

again, whatever you do, DO NOT GIVE IN TO DESPAIR. do not give your attention and energy to people that just want your like and your outraged comment. save that energy for things that help heal the world.

[starryblueeyesandstarryblueskies]

The Princess and The Pogue | J. M.

Pairing: JJ Maybank x reader

Summary: Your daughter comes home from school telling you about a local OBX fairytale. It turns out it’s about you and your husband.

Listen to But Daddy I Love Him for full experience

Requested by @idontevenknowbsblog

A/N: This turned out way longer and more angsty than I had anticipated but I’m a sucker for the angst. I just can’t help it. I’m sorry this took me a million years to finish!

As I am an adult, all characters I write for are written as adults. Any minor characters will be aged up to the general range of their actor’s age.

Warnings: allusions to domestic abuse, controlling parents, forced engagement, so much fucking angst, only kinda proofread

Word Count: 3.5k

-

Your daughter’s tiny feet press against the back of your seat as you head home after picking her up from school.

“Mia, stop kicking,” You laugh, “Mommy’s trying to drive.”

“Sorry, Mommy.” Your daughter giggles. “I’m just so happy today!”

“I’m so glad you're happy, Baby.” You smile at the five year old in the rearview mirror. “What did you do at school today?”

“We got to draw all our shapes today and we sang the alphabet song a bunch of times!”

“Ooh sounds like a fun day.”

She claps excitedly. “Oh and Kylie’s older sister told us a fairytale at recess!”

“A fairytale? Very cool. What was it about?”

“Did you know a princess used to live here? A long time ago. She ran away with a pogue because her evil king father wouldn’t let them be together.”

Your eyes widen at her words, a small smile forming on your face as she tells the story that takes you back to what seems like a lifetime ago.

-

“Mom, I’m headed out,” you yelled through the foyer.

“Ok, hun.” Your mom poked her head over the stairwell. “Just don’t stay out too late. We have that business lunch with the Cameron’s tomorrow and it’s very important that you be there.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” you promise, “besides I’m just going to hang out with Sarah.”

“We just love that you and Ward Cameron’s daughter are friends. It looks so good for your father’s business for the families to be close. Especially with you set to inherit the company someday.”

With Ward Cameron being the biggest real estate developer in the Outer Banks and your dad owning the biggest construction company, the two men worked closely on most of their deals. They were also the closest thing to friends that either of the men had. The two richest men in the island made for a powerful team.

“Glad I can help you keep up appearances,” you muttered under your breath.

“What was that, hun?”

“Always happy to help the family.” You gave your mother a forced smile and made your escape, slipping outside and into Sarah’s waiting car.

“Ready to go see your man?” She grins at you and you return the gesture.

“God, yes.“

-

You hadn’t expected to fall in love with JJ Maybank. Considering the very different lives the two of you led it was surprising the two of you ever even crossed paths, but that was one of the perks of being Sarah’s friend. When she fell in love with John B and got involved with the pogues she dragged you along with her.

It wasn’t like you had anything against the pogues. In fact, you had admired them from afar your whole life. Their freedom and adventures were something you envied, forever stuck in your kook bubble. You didn’t have a choice but to follow the plan your parents had created for you.

JJ, on the other hand, hated kooks with a passion. He had a hard enough time with Sarah joining the group and when she brought you in, arguably the even bigger kook princess with the even bigger kook king of a father, he vowed to himself he would never accept you. After all, you represented everything he hated, the life he always dreamed of but would never attain.

He would sneer and call you “princess”, his voice dripping with disdain, doing everything in his power to piss you off, but you didn’t mind. You loved his passion and the way he would do anything to protect the people he cared about. You ignored his insults, treating him just as well as you would anyone else.

Before he knew it, your soft words and beaming smile had softened JJ. He began to actually look forward to your presence in the group, feeling sad when you couldn’t get away from your parents to spend time with them. Then, one day the two of you were the only ones to show up to a pogue hang out. You ended up spending hours just talking and getting to know each other. The rest was history and you had been together from that day forward.

Unfortunately, you knew that your parents would never let you spend time around a pogue, let alone be in a relationship with one. So, like Sarah and John B, you and JJ had to keep your relationship hidden. Thanks to the help of the pogues, the two of you had been successfully seeing each other behind your parents’ backs for over a year.

-

“I’ll be back to pick you up at 8:00,” Sarah reminds you. She pulls up to the little cove where you and JJ liked to meet. “We only have a couple of hours tonight because of that lunch tomorrow. Don’t want our families to get suspicious.”

You nod. “Got it. I’ll see you then.” You slip out of her car. “Tell John B I said hi.”

“Will do.”

She pulls away as you make your way around the rocks hiding the entrance to your spot.

“Hi, princess.” Your boyfriend grins at you in the orange light of the sunset, pulling you into a hug.

“JJ,” You breathe him in, soaking up the comfort he gives you. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, baby. Four days without you is four days too much.” JJ leads you over to the blanket on the sand, sitting back so you can settle between his legs.

“I know. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t get away much this week. My parents are going crazy about this lunch tomorrow.”

“Aren’t they always crazy?” JJ jokes, poking your side. You squirm a little bit, trying to escape his prodding.

“I mean, yeah. They’re just extra crazy this week.” You settle further into his chest, JJ giving up his attack in exchange for wrapping his arms securely around you. He nuzzles his head into the side of your neck. “But, it’s okay because at least we have right now.”

“How long do we have until Sarah comes back to pick you up?”

You let out a sigh. “Two hours.”

“That’s it? Damn.”

“I’m sorry, J.” You look back apologetically, but he just shakes his head.

“Hey, don’t apologize. We just have to make the most of the time we have, like usual. It won’t be like this forever.”

“Right.” You give him a small smile, turning back to face the sunset before he can see the doubt in your eyes. You hoped JJ was right, but you had no idea how things would ever change.

As expected, your time together flew by too quickly and before you knew it Sarah was back to take you home.

JJ was reluctant to let you out of his embrace. “We’re still on for tomorrow night, right? After you finish up with all your kook business?”

“Of course, baby. I wouldn’t miss it.” You give him one last goodbye kiss, distracting him long enough to slip out from his arms. He pouts, but lets you go, knowing if it was your choice you would never leave.

-

You stare numbly at the wall, unable to will yourself to move from your position balled up on the bed. You aren’t sure how long you've been laying there looking at nothing. You didn’t feel anything, having cried out all your tears hours ago. A buzzing sounds from the other side of the room, your phone going off once again, but you don’t pick it up. It’s probably Sarah calling again to see if you’re okay after what happened at lunch. You’re not.

Having sat in silence for so long, you jump when you hear a rattling at your window. It takes you a minute to clamber over to the window with the lights out in your room. You hadn’t realized how dark it had become outside.

You peek out warily, trying to determine the source of the noise. “Shit.” You mumble under your breath as you realize JJ is perched in the tree closest to your room.

You unlatch the door so he can climb inside, turning away from him quickly. You’re thankful for the darkness in that moment as you scramble to make yourself look presentable, flattening your hair and wiping at your face. You pull down the sleeves of the massive sweatshirt you’re wearing, one you stole from JJ months ago, making sure you are completely covered.

“JJ, what are you doing here,” you whisper, “What if someone sees you?”

“I was worried about you. You were supposed to meet me hours ago, remember?” He sounds frustrated.

“Shit. I’m sorry. I totally forgot.” You run your hand down your face stressed. “I didn’t mean to stand you up.”

“You forgot? Y/N, I’ve been calling and texting for hours.” JJ moves closer, but you step back. “I thought something bad had happened.”

He takes another step back. Again you back away, trying to keep him from seeing your face. Brows furrowed, JJ moves towards you again. This time you can’t move away fast enough, bumping your dresser as you try to get away.

“Woah, wait.” JJ takes your face in gentle hands. “Have you been crying?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” You try to pull away, but he doesn’t let you off that easily.

“Baby, what’s going on? Is it something I did?” The worry in his eyes brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes. You shake your head, willing them not to fall.

“No, no. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Something with Sarah?” You shake your head again.

“Your parents?” That stills you. “It is your parents. What is it? Did something happen at lunch?”

You don’t answer.

“Talk to me, baby. I can’t make it better if I don’t know what’s wrong.” JJ’s voice is so sincere and his touch so soft. He really thinks he’ll be able to fix whatever the problem is.

You gather your strength and gently pull away from him, not wanting to see the look in his eyes when you tell him.

“My father and Ward Cameron have decided that it is in the best interest of their respective businesses for our families to be officially joined.”

“What on earth does that mean?”

You feel like you're going to be sick, but you force the words out anyway. “I am set to be married to Rafe Cameron.” You keep your eyes on the floor, waiting for JJ’s response. He stays silent.

“I had no idea they had this planned until my parent’s announced it at lunch.”

“What do you mean you’re marrying Rafe Cameron?” He tries to keep his voice calm. But you can hear the venom behind his words anyway. “You can’t just marry Rafe.”

“I don’t have a choice, JJ. They practically signed my ownership papers over to Rafe right there.”

JJ is pacing your room now, hands constantly running through his hair. “He can’t just do that. You’re an adult, Y/N. Tell him no.”

“I can’t tell him no JJ.” He stops in front of you, the look on his face half shock half anger.

“What are you talking about? You can’t just tell me that your father is marrying you off to Rafe and not even try to fight him on it.” You turn from his intense gaze, unable to handle it any longer.

‘Y/N-” JJ reaches for your arm to turn you around and you flinch back hissing in pain. Your sleeve rides up, revealing a number of dark bruises.

“I tried talking him out of it, JJ. He made it clear saying no wasn’t an option.”

JJ seethes, body tense with anger. “He hurt you.” It’s not a question which is just as well because you have no response.

“I’m gonna kill him.” He growls.

You lay your palms flat against his chest. “No, you’re not. We can’t make this situation any worse than it already is.”

“He can’t just get away with this!” JJ’s voice rises with his anger and you shush him quickly, looking back at your door.

“Please, Y/N.” His voice cracks on your name. “Things can’t just end like this.”

The pain in his words breaks your heart. You let the tears fall freely, unable to hold back the emotion any longer.

“I’m so sorry, JJ.” He cradles your face in his hands like he did at the beginning of the night. “There’s nothing either of us can do to change this.” JJ brushes his thumbs against your cheeks, brushing at the tears. “You should go.”

“No, Y/N.” He has tears running down his face too. “I can’t leave you like this.”

“Please, JJ. You have to go before something wakes him up. I don’t know what he’ll do if he finds you here.”

JJ’s eyes flit down to your wrists, taking in the bruises once more before he nods slowly. He won’t be the reason your father hurts you again. You lips press against his slowly, both of you pouring all the love you have for each other into the kiss.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips.

“I love you, too. Always.”

With those last words, he slips back out your window, closing it quietly behind him. You watch as he climbs back down the tree and crosses the property. As he finally fades out of blue, you sink down to your floor, your knees unable to hold the weight of your body as it’s wracked with sobs.

-

You don’t leave your room for days. All you can do is lay in your bed and cry, mourning the loss of the man you love and the life you had planned.

If it was up to you, you would never leave that room. Unfortunately, your parents have other plans. They parade you and Rafe all over town, making sure everyone on the island knows the two of you are “madly in love” and engaged to be married in the spring. The whole pageantry of it makes you sick.

The cherry on top of the whole ordeal is the engagement party that you parents planned for the weekend. They rented out the whole club and invited every kook on the island. You’re pretty sure it’s your own personal hell.

Sarah pins one last curl to your head. “Done. You look beautiful.”

You give her a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks, Sarah.” You were dressed in a white sundress that your mother had bought for the party and Sarah had done your hair and makeup to perfection. The whole look was stunning, but you just feel like a trophy being shown off.

Sarah gives you a sympathetic look. “You ready for this?”

“No. But I have to be.”

It takes everything in you to keep a smile pasted on your face as Rafe takes your hand and leads you out to the throng of people. Everyone smiles and hugs you, offering their congratulations. You do your best to seem gracious and excited, but all you feel is emptiness and the faces move before you in a blur.

You make it two hours into the party before you can’t take it any longer. The panic that has been creeping up your throat all night takes hold and you have to break away. You excuse yourself from Rafe, claiming a need to run to the bathroom. He gives you a harsh look and makes you promise to hurry back, but ultimately lets you go.

You hurry away from prying eyes, not letting yourself break until you get inside. Chest heaving, you gulp down air like you’ve just run a marathon. One of your hands is pressed against your chest, the other braced against the walls to hold you up as you stumble towards the bathroom.

Before you can make it more than a few feet an arm catches you around the waist, pulling you into an alcove you had never noticed. You stumble back, trying to pull yourself together, not wanting whoever grabbed you to see your harried state.

“Hey, hey. It’s just me.”

Familiar hands rub up and down your arms, grounding you. You look up to see the blue eyes that you love so much.

“JJ,” you whisper, breaths still coming fast and hard.

“It’s okay, baby. Just breathe.”

JJ holds you close as you will your body to calm, feeling safe for the first time all night.

“What are you doing here?”

“I had to see you, talk to you.”

You sigh, looking at him with sad eyes. “As happy as I am that you’re here, you have to go. If anyone sees you. My father, or Rafe-”

“What if you didn’t have to worry about them anymore?”

“JJ, we’ve been over this. I can’t break this engageme-”

“What if we just left? You and me. Right now.” His eyes bore into yours, willing you to see the possibility.

You can’t act like you haven’t had the same thought yourself, but you just didn’t see how it would be possible. “How would that work, JJ? My father controls my whole life. My money, my future, everything.”

“You don’t need anything he has to give you, Y/N.” His voice is pleading.

“JJ…”

“We can figure it out. You have a degree, I have experience. We’ll get jobs. We’ll make it work.” He reaches a hand into his pocket. “I know I can’t give you a life like this-”

“I don’t want a life like this.”

“-but I will do everything in my power to give you a good life, to make you happy.” He holds up a simple, beautiful band of silver. “Will you marry me?”

You stare up at him with wide eyes. “Are you serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life. Say you’ll marry me. We can leave right now. I have a plan to get us off the island. Your parents won’t know until it’s too late. Just say yes, please.”

“Yes, yes.” You nod vigorously. “I’ll marry you.”

You rip off the gaudy ring currently on your hand and JJ replaces it with the silver band. He kisses you so deeply you think you see stars.

“I love you, JJ Maybank,” you whisper when you part.

“I love you too, Y/N Y/L/N, so much.”

You could stay in that moment forever, but you both know you don’t have time to waste. JJ begins to pull you to a side exit, but you stop him. There’s one last thing you have to do before you leave.

You find a piece of paper, scribbling out a few quick words and titling to your father.

Have fun explaining to the Cameron’s that your daughter ran off with a pogue

Y/N Y/L/N

You set the folded paper on the center table, placing Rafe’s ring next to it.

“Ready to get off this island?”

You grab JJ’s hand. “God, yes.”

-

JJ was right, the two of you figured it out. You both found jobs on the mainland and created a happy life for yourselves. You and JJ got married a few months after you ran off and Mia came along a few years later.

You had kept in touch with the pogues of course and they let you know when your father and Ward Cameron’s businesses had come crashing down, forcing the two men off the island. They had no power anymore, so eight years later you decided to move back to your home. People had gossiped at first, but they moved on to the next big thing when they realized that neither you nor JJ cared what they had to say. You wanted to be in the place where you grew up and fell in love, and you wanted Mia to be surrounded by the friends that you called your family.

Mia was just about bouncing in her seat by the time you got home. You hurried to get her out of her carseat so she could rush inside and see her dad. Friday’s were always her favorite because JJ got off work early and was already home by the time you brought her back from school.

She pulled you along by the hand as she continued on about her fairytale. “The evil king disappeared and they lived happily ever after.”

JJ scooped Mia up as the two of you entered the house, making the little girl squeal in delight.

“Daddy!”

“Who lived happily ever after, Mia-mine?” She giggled as he burrowed his face in her little belly.

“The princess and the pogue!”

JJ’s eyes met yours over Mia, giving you an intrigued look.

“Kylie’s older sister told her a fairytale at lunch about a couple that used to live on the island.” You tell him with a knowing grin.

“A fairytale? That’s awesome, baby.” JJ lowers Mia back down to her feet. “Hey, why don’t you go wash up and Mommy and I will make you a snack.”

“Okay, Daddy!” The little girl runs off happily.

You make your way to the kitchen, JJ coming up behind you and snaking his arms around your waist. “So the princess and the pogue, huh?” He smirks as you turn to face him.

“Who knew we’d become an OBX fairytale?” You reply.

“It makes sense. It doesn’t get much more ‘happily ever after’ than this. Right, princess?”

You give him a gentle kiss. “Right, pogue.”

-

Writing Masterlist

[creacherkeeper]

the reliance of college students on gen ai thing is particularly crazy to me as a college writing instructor whos also about to finish an educational psychology certificate because like one huge thing ive learned in my classes is that the american college system is pretty dogshit at teaching students when it comes both to content mastery and also preparing them for the workforce. like these kids are graduating college and going into jobs that they have their degrees in and dont know how to thrive in the workforce and Also dont really know much about the thing they got their degree in. and theres a lot of reasons for that that i could go over in depth but i'll spare yall

BUT the thing that college is like the most decent at is changing the way people think about knowledge itself. further education (high school to undergrad to graduate school) is a huge factor in what develops your epistemological beliefs (epistemology being the nature and theories of knowledge). like your epistemology does naturally change as you get older, but with further education you learn that knowledge itself is complex, ever changing, and interrelated, meaning you inherently trust "facts" less and actually perform critical thinking when presented with new information

but,,,,,, with that new study microsoft did on generative ai showing that usage of gen ai in the workplace can lead to the degradation of independent problem solving skills and that people who trust gen ai actively use less critical thinking to do tasks,,, and that giving yourself fewer opportunities for critical thinking degrades your ability to think critically at all even when it comes to important tasks,,,

like. all these students are using gen ai and sometimes their classes are actively encouraging them to use gen ai and i fear were losing like the one big thing american undergrad is good for bc lets be real its pretty dogshit at everything else

and considering the nature of the topic:

Bransford, J. D., Brown, A. L., Anderson, J. R., Gelman, R., Glaser, R., Greenough, W. T., Ladson-Billings, G., Means, B. M., Mestre, J. P., Nathan, L., Pea, R. D., Peterson, P. L., Rogoff, B., Romberg, T. A., & Wineburg, S. S. (2000). How people learn: Brain, mind, experience, and school. National Academy Press. (pp. 31-50) Lee, H.P., Sarkar, A., Tankelevitch,L. Drosos, I., Rintel, S., Banks, R., & Wilson, N. (2025). The impact of generative AI on critical thinking: Self-reported reductions in cognitive effort and confidence effects from a survey of knowledge workers. CHI Conference in on Human Factors in Computing Systems. https://doi.org/10.1145/3706598.3713778 Mezirow, J. (2000). Learning to think like an adult: Core concepts of transformation theory. In J. Mezirow (Ed.), Learning as transformation: Critical perspectives on a theory in progress (pp. 3-34). Jossey-Bass. Svinicki, M. D. (2004). Learning and motivation in the postsecondary classroom. Boston: Anker Publishing Company, Inc. Torff, B., & Sternberg, R. J. (1998). Changing mind, changing world: Practical intelligence and tacit knowledge in adult learning. In M. C. Smith & T. Pourchot (Eds.), Adult learning and development: Perspectives from educational psychology (pp. 109-126). Lawrence Erlbaum