#this is very niche. like for me and maybe two others

[persephonesque]

sharp objects, interview with the vampire, & hannibal + yumi sakugawa

[greghatecrimes]

help I've fallen and i can't get up (i nearly made myself cry working on in the dirt because i thought too hard about a post-canon house that's grown used to showing softness from loving and taking care of wilson, kissing thirteen very softly on the forehead after supporting her through a breakdown)

[rotisseries]

inspired by elli's poll lol cause this seems fun actually but if you guys have bad answers I'll kill myself on your doorstep or smth

[icewindandboringhorror]

The evil slow creep of it being like "haha these will just be quick little side quests, not much effort at all!" and then noticing each one is getting progressively longer than the last, thus no longer being minimal effort.. auGh....

[sceletaflores]

where there’s sparks, there’s fire!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.

—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.

word count: 4.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.

Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.

You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.

It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.

Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.

Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.” 

You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.

You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.

He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name. 

“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.

You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.

Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.” 

You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?” 

You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.

Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves. 

Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”

You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face. 

You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.

Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts. 

Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”

You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose. 

His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.

Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.

"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."

You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.

Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils. 

You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.

You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup. 

Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.

His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."

Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."

His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.

It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you. 

You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.

“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.

Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you. 

Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around. 

He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”

You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach. 

Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.” 

You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.

Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”

You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off. 

Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.

He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. 

You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.

He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness. 

It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.

The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.

“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.

Yeah fucking right.

“Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”

Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”

You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso. 

You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.

“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.

Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.

You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.

You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.

“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.

Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.

His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.

You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.

“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.

He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.

“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.

“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in.  You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”

“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.

“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”

Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.

He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass. 

The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock. 

You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.

Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.

He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.

You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts. 

The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks. 

Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door. 

“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.

He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted. 

Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.

You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.

Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.

arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???

tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!

[mouwrites]

Thinking thoughts about these guys again

Creepypasta/MH - Things That Make Them Think of You

Characters: Jeff the Killer, Jane the Killer, Clockwork, Nina the Killer, Tim/Masky, "Ticci" Toby

Jeff the Killer

Violence. Specifically, committing it

I know that sounds bad, but he gets so high off of that stuff

The adrenaline rushing through his veins, the wild smile that comes to his face, the noise, the sights... it's euphoria for him

And when he reaches his peak, endorphins at maximum saturation, that's when he thinks of you

It's almost like he subconsciously asks himself if there's anything in the world that could make him happy like this, and his subconscious responds by conjuring an image of you

As if he couldn't get any happier, thinking of you just pushes him higher

This happens a lot...

He'll be killing someone, already over the moon, then he'll blast to Mars when he thinks of you

And he starts associating you with violence; even if you're the gentlest person in the world

It's the happiness it brings him that links it to you

Though if you're a psycho (affectionate) like him, there might be another reason he associates it with you lol

It just gets worse over time; eventually he can't even see other people committing violent acts without thinking of you

He'll be watching a horror movie, and blood will splatter the screen and he'll be like: Nice. Y/n's nice too. Y/n... <3

Jane the Killer

Quite the opposite of Jeff; it's the quiet moments that get her thinking of you

(my reasoning is confusing but I'll try my best to explain T-T)

And there are two reasons for this

One, because whenever she gets a moment to think to herself, her brain always wants to think of you first

Maybe it's just hunting that hit of dopamine it gets when she imagines your smile, or the way your hands feel in hers...

Or maybe it's just that it's become a habit for her to think of you so often, so it's second-nature that she does so when she gets the chance

But the second reason is that she loves peace, and you are her peace :)

She's a vengeful person with a lot of turmoil inside, so when her environment is peaceful, she tries to follow suit

She's just taking what she can get before she has to go back to hate and obsession

So she imagines the peaceful things in her life

Namely, you

Even if you're not a very peaceful person, she feels at ease when she's with you

So, when it's quiet, she thinks of you to quiet herself

Memories of forehead touches and holding hands are more than enough to fill the silence :)

Clockwork

Literally everything.

I’ve mentioned this in a previous post, but Clockwork will find the most random things that remind her of you

She’s got a very creative mind; she can find the subtlest of things that make her think of you

Oftentimes they’ll be disturbing things…. Like a dead animal or smth

But she gets a little smile when she thinks of you anyway :)

She’ll probably send you a picture of whatever it was that reminded her of you

So you’ll just get a text out of nowhere like:

[picture of a dead wasp] “thought of you <3”

After a while you’ll learn to just not ask

Because you’ll definitely get one of these texts AT LEAST every other day, if not every day

Sometimes they’re actually nice things though! Like a song or a pretty sunset :)

Or something she saw while shopping that made her think of you; she always makes sure to steal …obtain those things

And ofc she gifts them to you 😌

Nina the Killer

I think it depends on your aesthetic

To me, Nina is someone who’s very in tune with aesthetics

Even if yours is super niche, or it doesn’t fit under a specific category like “emo” or “butch” or even “clowncore,” she’s got it DOWN

And so it’s always things that fit your aesthetic that make her think of you

Maybe it’s a view: a dark forest, a bright sunset in your favorite color, a sunny park, an eerily empty sidewalk…

Maybe it’s clothing: pants, shirts, dresses, jackets… always the exact kind of thing you’d wear :)

Maybe it’s music: she listens to music like. All the time. So she’s definitely at least dipped her toes into a genre that’s so totally you

Or maybe it’s something miscellaneous: a pop tart flavor, a blanket, a picture, the color on a soda dispenser…

No matter what it is, you’re guaranteed to love it

She always manages to surprise you with yet another random thing perfectly suited to your aesthetic

And she’s always on the hunt for more >;)

If it’s something she can physically bring to you, you best believe she will though

And if you decide you hate it (you won’t, but maybe later when your aesthetic changes), you guys light a bonfire and burn it together :)

Tim/Masky

It’s a Polaroid picture of you

He’s not in the picture; it’s just you

The flash is on, illuminating you and leaving the background in dark obscurity

He took it himself one night when he was just enamored with the way you looked

He did it casually, just telling you to look at the camera

The rest was all you; maybe you smiled, maybe you threw up a peace sign…

Whatever you did, he felt it captured your essence perfectly

He stared at the photo for a long time after it came out, and he still stares at it frequently

He carries it deep in his wallet where no one can find it

He’ll pull it out when he needs to think of you, usually when he’s especially down

Which is pretty often, my boy is troubled :(

He’ll trace his fingers around the edges, remembering that night

Your voice fills his ears, your scent fills his nose, and suddenly he’s aching to see you in person again

And he will; he’ll probably call or text you soon :)

“Ticci” Toby

Honestly? Probably something super obscure related to some kind of inside joke between you two

I’ll paint an example

Maybe you two were in the kitchen together, and you wanted him to get out the milk for you

But you ended up calling it a “mug of jilk” instead of a “jug of milk”

Toby, of course, bursts into laughter

He teases you for ages afterwards, calling milk “jilk” and always pointing out jugs of milk with a knowing grin

You’re in on it too though

You always snicker whenever he does those things

Maybe that’s why it becomes so special to him; it amuses the both of you

He gets to laugh and hear you laugh :D

So (in this case) he’ll think of you whenever he sees a mug of j (oh gosh oh no you guys got me too) jug of milk

And he probably takes pictures to send you too

You’ll just get a text that says “jilk mugs spotted ‼️” and a picture of the milk aisle at the grocery store

He likes to imagine your laugh when he sends texts like those :)

Thank you so much for reading!! Take care my lovey doves <33

(divider by saradika)

[keyotosprompts]

sweet nothing ₊˚⊹♡

domestic prompts

⇴ person a being mad at person b, so person b gives them some alone time. only to find person a trying to drag them back to bed bc they miss person b’s presence.

⇴ ^ "i thought you wanted some space?" "i don't need space, i need you" (died)

⇴ going over to family dinner with either person a/b and their sibling/younger cousin is IN LOVE with their partner. like they follow them everywhere and get mad when you guys act like a couple.

⇴ "are you jealous?" "of a child? no way." and person a SMIRKS.

⇴ person a wakes up earlier than the other, but person b is latching on so tightly and their sleeping face is just so cute that person a just falls back asleep anyway.

⇴ that thing when you guys are in bed and your legs wrap around each other. but you're also so close that your head is resting on their bicep and you're caged in their body.

⇴ grocery shopping with their partner. "we do not need those." "but they're so good!!"

⇴ target shopping with their partner. there's something very domestic and sweet about just hanging out in target for an hour or two.

⇴ i'll do you one better: IKEA SHOPPING WITH YOUR PARTNER. the furniture shopping banter. "does this match our living room or do you think it's too much?" followed by "well if we get that coffee table we'll have to get that rug." holding hands throughout IKEA while looking for home decorations.

⇴ person a is blasting music in the shower and person b is singing to it outside the bathroom. person b is so used to it by now and they know all of person a's favorite songs by heart.

⇴ staying beside the other when one of them is doing something. person a is working relentlessly hard on this one task. person b is just sitting there next to them on the couch/bed holding their hand.

⇴ "do you think this looks reasonable or should i change it up a bit?" "maybe switch that up a bit babe" [followed by a kiss on the hand for moral support]

⇴ cooking a meal together in the kitchen with fun music in the back, with occasional messes on the other person's face. person a smears flour on person b's face and person b flicks water on person a's face.

⇴ reading a book together and person b is providing commentary while person a keeps shushing them. person b continues the commentary, because deep down person a enjoys their voice.

⇴ ^ "shh. it just got good." "which is why i have to gasp and voice my opinion!"

⇴ watching tiktoks while the other person is around. (is this niche?)

⇴ having a routine together. like, person a & b are brushing teeth together while person b wraps their arms around person a and leaning into the nape of their neck (they are tired and they want to go back to sleep with a).

⇴ ^ bonus points if person b is extra groggy and still has their sexy morning voice. "i think i'm already missing you," person b says while their head is literally resting on person a's neck. "you're literally right here with me."

⇴ OR alternatively... person a & b are both doing their skincare together, except person b's skincare routine is entirely based off of person a and person a was their "dermatologist"

⇴ sleeping in the same bed, except person a is a blanket hogger and person b is sick of it. so, as a solution, person b literally just holds person a so close to their body so that the blanket isn't stolen in the middle of the night.

⇴ trying to figure out how to defrost a car (i struggled my first time and i would have really enjoyed for someone to HELP)

[cthonic-bunny]

1. Natal Chart Observations

1. Libra Moon: decision paralysis that comes from feeling two contradicting ways about an issue. “I want my cake but I want to eat it too.” I feel like libra moons are the most sentimental of the air moon signs. Libra moons can constantly weigh out the pros and cons for every emotion you feel. “I want to do this but I don’t want to deal with how messy it’ll make things.” When libra moons are feeling a little lost, they can over-schedule themselves and their commitments to friends to avoid thinking about overly-vulnerable feelings. There is zero tolerance for imbalance in relationships. Poor behavior from a partner will be met with matched behavior to tip the scales back to a balanced one, even if the overall locational of the scale is descending into negativity. “You get what you give” mentality. Libra moons can be keen on the idea of karma. “Come to me with sweetness, or don’t come to me at all.” Daydreaming about romance is a relaxing way to pass time. Before maturity, libra moons might suffer from social anxieties when they find themselves in group settings where there isn’t a cohesive vibe. If someone around a libra moon doesn’t look like they are having a good time, it subconsciously makes it difficult for a libra moon to relax. The libra moon will then play the role of a diplomat or host/hostess to ensure the vibes equalize to restore their peace.

2. Mars in the 10th house: these natives are always making money. They are known for their side hustles too. They are always looking for new ways to make money and I feel like they are good at getting clientele. They will get their hands dirty for their job. For a man, this can point to a “blue collar ‘manly’ job.” I noticed 10H mars can be pretty generous with their money and services, but feel extremely terrible about getting help from others. If these natives aren’t confident where they are in their career or skill set(s), I noticed that they are likely to undersell themselves or undercharge for their services/time. It can also point to people in the workplace as perceiving the 10H mars person to be brash and outspoken. The authority figures in their career can feel a sense of competition with the 10H mars person, or wants to humble them in some way. I feel like it’s really easy for them to get good jobs or climb up the ladder when they do things the right way. They get impatient when they aren’t growing in their careers as fast as they want to. “Why am I not a millionaire yet.” They work hard for what they want and are very ambitious once they find their niche. I feel like these are often people who can find jobs that don’t necessarily need a degree. Their career mistakes feel explosive. They can be seen as “sharks” in their fields because they go in for the attack. They like to be the best and the most competent at what they do, and want their colleagues to see them as competition. “I’m the best and no one will tell me otherwise.” They can be known for being assertive and extremely determined in meeting their goals. They will work themselves to the core and utilize all their energy towards elevating themselves career and reputation wise.

3. Mars in the 1st House: These people might often be noticed for their bodies. They might be seen as someone you shouldn’t mess around with. They look athletic. Maybe they are known for fitness or for being athletic. These natives can be associated with the military, and probably look incredible in their uniforms. This is a man-eater or womanizer placement, for sure. “I get what I want when I want it.” They look like they have a rough exterior, even if they are sweethearts. They can be into martial arts. Commanding presence. They can make wonderful personal trainers. Regardless of gender, they can come off as being comfortable with their masculine energy. Reds look great on them. They might have thick eyebrows and a nice jawline. They look attractive when they are angry. They know how to make someone feel sexy. They have people chasing them or falling for them fast.

4. Pisces and 12th house placements: these people have no problem ghosting you. Pisces placements and 12H placements are always made out to be innocent and naive, but they are attracted to people and situations that have something a little “bad” about them. Savior complex. They can go through feelings where they feel detached from social settings and those they love, where they cannot fully escape the role of observer. They will always be able to fully escape into their internal landscape and get consumed by it— but it seems as though no matter how hard they try, they can’t have that same presence in the material world. This can lead to frustrating feelings of disconnection from the world and people around them. They can be smiling and staring off, but you will never fully know what they are thinking. They can make people really curious about them, because their thoughts always catch you off guard. Having an existential crisis on the daily. Casual things might have a bigger internal meaning to them that others might not always understand. We can find plenty of people attractive, but if the spark isn’t felt in the soul and doesn’t pique a deep curiosity, we will get bored and swim away. Liking people who are a bit “mean and dark” but wanting them to be sweet and soft with you. Using music to paint your daydreams, or to escape. Finding music that relates almost entirely to whatever they have on their mind feels like striking gold. They can like someone just for having the same interests as them. Feeling like a ghost in a flesh suit. Enigmatic. Can embody different vibes and personas depending on who they are around. They are sensitive and can adapt to the situations at hand. Too much self awareness can lock them in their heads. “I only jump into waters with the depth of an abyss.” Laying down for hours just to daydream and process your thoughts. Long baths feel like therapy. Moderation isn’t in our vocabulary. We love what we like, and we want to get lost in what we love. Not being able to properly process your day or interactions until you’re alone and can replay them in isolation.

5. Taurus Placements: I noticed Taurus moon women get spoiled financially by their partners. The type for their partners to say “don’t worry, I’ll work and you can be at home,” or that being their partners goal at a point. I noticed Taurus placements can enjoy the occasional shoplifting. They are not going to compromise their comfort, and if you come after that it will be met with intense stubbornness. They can seem nonchalant about a lot of things, but can be extremely unwavering in their opinions on certain things. In some cases, they can have strange eating habits or relationship to food. Thankfully, the Tauruses I’ve been around don’t project that on those around them. It’s more internal from what I’ve noticed, and they can enjoy feeding those they love and care for. They can have great taste in food. They love sensual vices and sex. They look great with pearls. They master an aesthetic and can stick to it. They are fiercely protective of those they love. They can be lazy at their worst and will not want to do anything that requires too much effort. They can be impressively good at couponing. Making money from home is the ideal setup for them. They will spoil their loved ones too, and can be great gift givers. They don’t cheap out with presents for their loved ones. They get much enjoyment from decorating their spaces and hosting their loved ones. They can be prone to overthinking and some may obsessive behaviors or crippling anxiety as well. They can honestly make the best scammers, as terrible as that sounds. They can sell someone a dream and make it sound beautiful, but can be lying through their teeth. Their jealousies can sometimes come from a place of vanity. Watch out for envying others, and appreciate your own beauty. They can focus so much on the beauty around them they forget about their own. They can be the image of beauty and grace, or strive deeply for that. They have pretty and soothing voices. Taurus placements can easily be the funniest person you know when they are in a joyful mood. I also noticed Taurus placements are wonderful at finding vintage pieces and re-selling them!

-D

[infiniteglitterfall]

I do realize this is a real niche post but I cannot tell you how many damn times over the past 10 months I've seen gentiles tell Jews some version of, "Your own holy book SAYS God doesn't want you to have a country yet!"

And it's such an incredibly blatant and weirdly specific tell that they're not part of something that grew from progressive grassroots, but something based on right-wing astroturfing.

1. Staying in your own lane is a pretty huge progressive principle.

Telling people in another group that their deity said they couldn't do X is, I think, as far as you can get from your own lane.

2. It's also very clearly Not In Your Own Lane because I've never seen anyone actually be able to EITHER quote the passage they're thinking of, OR cite where it is.

It's purely, "I saw somebody else say this, and it seemed like it would make me win the debate I wasn't invited to."

3. It betrays a complete ignorance of Jewish culture and history.

Seriously? You don't know what you're referencing, its context, or even what it specifically says, but you're... coming to a community that reads and often discusses the entire Torah together each year, at weekly services... who have massive books holding generations of debate about it that it takes 7 years to read, at one page per day....

And saying, "YOUR book told you not to!"

I've been to services where we discussed just one word from the reading the whole time. The etymology. The connotations. The use of it in this passage versus in other passages.

And then there is the famous saying, "Ask two Jews, get three opinions." There is a culture of questioning and discussion and debate throughout Judaism.

You think maybe, in the decades and decades of public discussion about whether to buy land in Eretz Yisrael and move back there; whether it should keep being an individual thing, or keep shifting to intentional community projects; what the risks were; whether it should really be in Argentina or Canada or someplace instead; how this would be received by the Jews and gentiles already there, how to respect their boundaries, how to work with them before and during; and whether ending up with a fuckton of Jews in one place might not be exactly as dangerous for them as it had always been everywhere else....

You think NOBODY brought up anything scriptural? Nobody looked through the Torah, the Nevi'im, the Ketuvim, or the Talmud for any thoughts about any of this?? It took 200 years and some rando in the comments to blow everyone's minds???

4. It relies on an unspoken assumption that people can and should take very literal readings of religious texts and use them to control others.

And a sense of ownership and power over those texts, even without any accompanying knowledge about what they say.

It's kind of a supercessionist know-it-all vibe. It reads like, "I know what you should be doing. Because even if I'm not personally part of a fundamentalist branch of a related religion, the culture I'm rooted in is."

Bonus version I found when I was looking for an example. NOBODY should do this:

There are a lot of people who pull weird historical claims like "It SAYS Abraham came from Chaldea! That's Iraq!"

Like, first of all, a group is indigenous to a land if it arose as a people and culture there, before (not because of) colonization.

People aren't spontaneously spawning in groups, like "Boom! A new indigenous people just spawned!!"

People come from places. They go places. Sometimes, they gel as a new community and culture. Sometimes, they bop around for a while and eventually assimilate into another group.

Second: THE TORAH IS NOT A HISTORY TEXTBOOK OMFG.

It's an oral history, largely written centuries after the fact.

There is a TON of historical and archaeological research on when and where the Jewish culture originated, how it developed over time, etc. It's extremely well-established.

Nobody has to try to pull what they remember from Sunday school for this argument.

[pedropascallme]

Yes, Mr Miller

Pairing: dbf!Joel x babysitter!Reader

Summary: "You yourself wouldn’t consider Joel a friend, he was more so an acquaintance who paid you to hang around the house with his kid. A very handsome acquaintance."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), age gap (reader is 20-22 age range, Joel is mid 50s), dom/sub dynamics (dom!Joel x sub!Reader), verges on exhibitionism but isn't quite, fingering, cum play, degradation, praise, Joel has an absolutely filthy fucking mouth, no outbreak, Sarah is like 9, if I missed anything please let me know!

AN: Part 2 here!!

If you had to choose one word to describe Sarah Miller, it would be “firecracker." Not only was she the most energetic child you had ever met, but there were days you genuinely couldn’t keep up with her antics; she ran circles around you, bouncing excitedly before jumping into the pool and demanding you race her—so that she could show you how easy it was for her to win.

And you loved it. Babysitting her was a brief respite from your days of research papers and early mornings. You considered it luck that your parents had moved into the Miller’s neighborhood after you left for college; it meant job security when you returned home from school.

Your father had quickly bonded with Joel after the move over their shared, niche interests; the watch brand they both wore, the tools they used for odd jobs—it was sweet, really, to see two men with little outward emotion confiding in each other. Though you'd never heard either of them say it outright, the long nights they spent in your family's garage drinking and muttering football scores to each other was enough for you to deem Joel Miller your father's best friend. You yourself wouldn’t consider Joel a friend, he was more so an acquaintance who paid you to hang around his house with his kid.

A very handsome acquaintance.

When he called you that afternoon to see if you were around, you nodded against the phone, wrapping the wire in your fingers and enthusiastically accepting the offer to babysit. An opportunity to spend time with Sarah, and the opportunity to speak to Joel—no matter how short the conversation—was not one to waste.

It wasn’t like you actively planned to seduce your father’s best friend, but in your head, it was a fun game to amuse yourself with; you had never exactly been the sexually-outgoing type, and it was exciting to play around and flirt poorly with a man as stoic and flawless as Joel Miller despite the fact that you knew he would never acknowledge, let alone cave, to your shy advances. Who cared if every interaction was fuel for your late-night activities, alone in the dark with your fingers pressed against you? Who cared if you remembered every time he looked at you, and all the ways he brushed up against you?

Nobody had to know.

Clad in a sundress that let you show off maybe a little more skin than you should as a caretaker, you meandered down the path to the Miller household from your own. You rang the bell, always hesitating to walk right in despite the fact that Joel had told you countless times in the past that you could come and go as you pleased. Joel opened the door and gave you a brief up-and-down, letting out a playful whistle.

“Just babysittin’, darlin’, didn’t have to get all gussied up.”

 “It’s an old dress, Mr. Miller,” you blushed, always referring to him with the honorific, “not anything fancy.”

“Fancier than anythin’ I ever wore.”

You examined the well-loved flannel and jeans he wore, “That’s not saying much, is it?” You smiled up at him.

Chuckling, he ushered you into the house, and you leaned against the counter. You weren’t uncomfortable around Joel; he was a nice man, despite the grumpiness he exuded, and you’d known him long enough now to feel at ease in his presence—never mind the fire that ignited in you when he spoke. “Sarah’s out in the pool. You can order dinner, ’m good for it,” he grabbed his keys, “don’t know when I’ll be back.” He crossed his arms, biceps bulging through his shirt, mulling over any other details he had to share with you. “Remember where everythin' is? Food, bandaids?”

“Yes, Mr. Miller.” You spoke up. This had become the usual back-and-forth between the two of you: he would over-explain the job you’d been doing for two summers now, and you would let him.  

“I’ll have cash for you when I’m back.”

“Don’t need it.” This was another game you enjoyed—pretending you didn’t expect anything out of him. Obviously, you’d watch Sarah for nothing, you loved her, but a college student living with her parents didn’t necessarily have the room to deny money being offered to her. You did it more out of courtesy than anything, with the added bonus of getting to see the roguish frown he directed at you.

Joel made a noise in disagreement before opening to back door to call for Sarah. “I’m leavin’!”

You watched as Sarah, sun-kissed and still soaked from the pool, bum rushed her father, letting him kiss her on the head and exchanging “I love yous” and “be goods” before she turned her attention toward you, grabbing your hand and leading you outside. You smiled a goodbye at Joel as you were pulled through the door to the backyard.

~~~

You didn’t remember falling asleep. Not that anyone ever really could, but you had no recollection of setting yourself up on the couch and nodding off.

You woke up to the feeling of something gently brushing at your knee. Opening your eyes and looking toward the source of the touch, your hazy brain registered Joel standing in front of you.

“Sorry ‘m so late, darlin’.” He was speaking softly, but his voice still managed to come off gruff. You savored the gravelly sound, and the way the nickname made it seem as though he was apologizing to a significant other for coming home late, rather than a babysitter he paid to be there.

“It’s alright,” you rubbed your eyes, trying to delay the post-nap grogginess you already felt seeping into your bones, “what time is it?”

“Little after two,” Joel frowned, brow knit “should’a called you.”

“It’s alright,” you reiterated, “Sarah just ran me kinda ragged.” You explained why you were passed out on his sofa. “Gets harder to keep up with her every summer—makes me feel old.” You grinned, tugging the hem of your dress down to cover the bare skin of your thigh to retain a bit of modesty.

Joel watched your movements before quickly refocusing his attention to your face. “How’d’ya think I feel ’round the two of you?”

You smiled at each other, too tired to grasp the atmosphere of the compromising situation you had found yourself in. “I should get going.” You stood, but Joel blocked your path.

“Not this late on your own, y’shouldn’t.”

“It’s a five-minute walk.” It was more like ten, but you didn’t bother with details, trying to quell Joel’s anxieties.

“I’ll drive you.”

“Mr. Miller…that’s excessive,” you argued, “I’m a grown up.”

“Like hell—don’t want you walkin’ on your own. It’s dark," he put his hands on his hips, leaning down to meet you at eye level, "what would your daddy say?"

“Don’t want you to drive me if you’ve been working all day.” You muttered, ignoring the way his phrasing and tone nearly made your knees buckle.

“That’s sweet,” he quirked a brow, “get in the truck.”

~~~

You liked Joel’s truck, it smelled like him; sweat and shampoo and sawdust, with a hint of the cologne he wore. He’d driven you around plenty, but usually it was still light out, and Sarah or your father would accompany the two of you.

You were comfortable with Joel—but that comfort went out the window when you were tired and alone, with the man that consumed many of your private thoughts, late at night. You felt somewhat self-conscious sitting next to him now, watching him fumble with the keys and white-knuckle the steering wheel.

“Seatbelt.” Joel reminded you, bringing you out of your thoughts and allowing you to rejoin him in the waking world. You buckled yourself in.

“So…” Joel seemed to be aware of the tension, “What’s your plan, when you get your degree?” He attempted small talk.

“Dunno,” you were honest, “wanna stay here.” He nodded, starting the engine and peeling out of the driveway. “Don’t really see myself joining the work force. Not yet. I’m only a junior—still got time.”

Joel laughed softly, “Give it a few years. You’ll get sick of doin’ nothin’.”

“I’m not doin’ nothin’,” you mimicked his thick drawl, “working for you, aren’t I?”

“Hardly,” Joel glanced over at you, “not payin’ you nearly enough.”

“It’s a good thing I like Sarah, then.” You joked. You enjoyed this, the repartee you were experiencing with Joel. You had known him since you were 18; fresh and unsure of yourself. Not that much had changed, personally, but it was rare that you got to experience Joel all to yourself; it was riveting, and a little nerve-wrecking, but it was nice to be the center of his attention, especially considering he had always seemed to regard you as an equal.

“You’re a good kid, sweetheart.” Joel smiled, thumping a hand on your thigh, just below the edge of your dress. This was new. He had put a guiding hand on your waist or shoulder in the past, but this placement felt more intimate. You stared at it, letting the warmth that radiated from him drain into you.

“Thank you, Mr. Miller.” You squeaked, still enjoying the weight of his hand on your thigh.

“Why don’t you call me Joel?”

“Do you want me to call you Joel?” You peeked over at him.

“Can do what you want,” he explained, “but you’re the only person that ever called me that.”

“I like it.”

“Bein’ the only person to call me that?” He rubbed his thumb over your skin, and you could feel yourself blush, the fabric of your underwear damp.

“I guess. Like how it sounds.”

“Makes me seem respectable.” He grinned, and you leaned back in the passenger seat to appreciate his side profile.

“Aren’t you?” You pushed, emboldened by his sudden physicality and wrapping a hand around his forearm, tracing your fingers across the tanned flesh. You felt like a high schooler, so unfamiliar with flirting and making awkward somatic advances instead of addressing the crush you had head-on. Still, a shot like this wasn't one you were inclined to miss.

Joel pressed the brakes at the stop sign at an intersection concealed by foliage. “Do you think I am?” He felt closer to you now, despite being the same distance in his seat as he had been for the duration of the ride. He let you continue to clumsily hold onto him, his own hand tightening the grip he had on your thigh.

“I—I think so…” You stammered, lips parted, unwavering gaze set upon him.

Joel put the car in park. He leaned in close to you, removing your hands from each other as he shifted, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “Think I can prove you wrong.”

You breathed out, eyes dragging up and down his face, providing the tiniest nod of consent—afraid that if you moved too much he’d take his hand away from you.

He kissed you then, slowly, gently; he let you set the pace with small, closed-mouth kisses. His hand slipped below your jaw and the kiss deepened slightly, leaving enough space for him to lick and nip at your bottom lip. You let out a soft moan at the feeling, the way his stubble rubbed against your lips, and he grunted, smiling. Your hands drifted up to his chest, holding tight to the fabric of his shirt and encouraging him to come closer. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, and you sighed at the feeling. You couldn’t say how long you continued on like that; his hands in your hair and yours planted on his chest, tenderly exploring each other’s mouths.

You felt your panties sticking to you, and you subconsciously began to roll your hips atop the seat you were in, suddenly frantic to find some kind of relief for your aching clit. Joel noticed, chuckling at your desperation.

“Poor thing,” he tilted your chin up to look at him, “need me to help you?” His eyes were darker than their usual shiny umber.

“Yes, Mr. Miller—please.” You pouted, eyes wide, rubbing your thighs together, still hoping to dull the throbbing between your legs.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel reached down to help you hike up the skirt of your dress, “such good manners, so pretty comin’ from that sweet li'l mouth.” He traced a finger over your panties, running it along the seam of your pussy. You moaned, bucking your hips gently into his finger, and he smiled, tutting. “I know, honey.”

His smile faded when he felt the drenched fabric of your underwear, eyelids drooping slightly when he let out a gruff moan. “This all for me, darlin’? Tastin’ me get you all wet?”

“Y—es,” you managed to choke out, “yes.” His smile reappeared then, clearly proud of himself and infatuated with you. He moved your panties to the side, grazing his finger over your entrance to collect some of your wet before he began to knead your clit.

You grabbed his wrist, whimpering. “Oh! Uh-huh…” Your mouth fell open and you looked up at him from under your eyelashes.

“Don’t look at me, sweetheart—watch me fuck you with my fingers.” Joel lowered his hand from your clit and plunged two fingers into your cunt. You cried out, squeezing his wrist in your hand, feeling so full from only his fingers. You watched him pump his hand, fingers thrusting in and out of you, accompanied by a squelching noise as your cunt wept for him.

“Oh, yes—yes, Mr. Miller—fuck, yes!” You shrilled the only words you could remember, finally throwing your head back in ecstasy, no longer able to abide by the rule Joel had set for you.

“Young li’l cunt,” Joel pawed at himself over his jeans, still focused on the sounds coming from your mouth and your pussy, “fuckin’ tight f’me.” He pulled his fingers out of you, bringing them to your lips and silently encouraging you to lick him clean. You did, taking them both into your mouth and licking your juices off of him. He slipped one more into your mouth, watching you struggle to handle all three, cheeks puffing out.

His hand came down to your hole once more, and this time he pushed all three fingers into you, using your saliva and wet as lubricant to ensure that they all fit securely inside, stretching you out as best he could.

“That’s it…need’a open you up, darlin’,” he watched the effort it took for you to take his fingers, spearing you on the thick digits while you moaned wantonly. “How’ya gonna take my cock if I can barely get my fingers into this pretty pussy?” You bucked your hips into his hand upon hearing his words, striving to make him proud by fucking yourself open. “Good fuckin’ girl.” He watched you bounce your hips back and forth on his hand.  

“Mr. Miller it—fuck, want—want your cock.” You moaned out, wetness dripping from your cunt and onto the fabric of the passenger seat, the moisture sticking to your thighs.

Joel grunted, punching his fingers up into you and making you scream out. “Yeah? Want my cock, let me fuck you nice ’n’deep?” Your eyes rolled back, and you couldn’t be certain if you were more impacted by his movements or his words, both working in tandem to ensure you were made a mess of.

“Yes! Want your cock!” You let your fingers rub circles over your clit, trying to match Joel’s rhythm, however awkward it was due to the center console he had to lean over.

“Can’t fuck you here, sweetheart,” he didn’t stop, “what would people say if they saw a sweet little thing like you taking Mr. Miller’s cock in his truck?” He was teasing, and he pulled the straps of your dress down, letting the fabric bunch and exposing your chest to him. “They’d know what an easy fuckin’ whore you were.”

You whined, back arched, and he slapped your hand away from your clit, taking over completely. “Want them to know—want them to know I’m a whore for you.” You felt filthy, loving every second of it.

“Comin’ to my house, dressed like a slut every fuckin’ time—this what you wanted, girl? Wanted me to use you like a fuckin’ toy?” You felt his fingers make a beckoning motion, curling up inside of you and putting pressure on your g-spot. You scratched at the headrest behind you, slumping down to let Joel have complete and total access to you, letting him use you up to his satisfaction. Moans and whimpers of his name fell from your mouth as he continued his ministrations. “Yeah, you fuckin’ like that, honey—just needed to whore yourself out.”

“I—‘m gonna cum!” You felt the strain in your body increase, muscles tightening at the impending release of all the tension they held.

“Who’re'ya gonna cum for, sweetheart?” Joel pinched your clit before resuming the massage he’d been providing it.

“You, Mr. Miller, gonna c—um for you!”

“Tha’s’right. Cum for Mr. Miller, darlin’. Be a good girl and cum on my fingers.” He was demanding it; telling, not asking, you to soak his hand with your cum. You felt the gratification come to a head, and your back arched further as you cried out his name. Joel watched with wonder, jaw slack, as your cunt clenched around the three fingers he had buried inside of you. He felt himself try to rut against the fabric of his jeans, horny like a teenager after watching you cum for him with such intensity. But he had meant what he said—he couldn’t fuck you here, at this tiny intersection where anybody could wake up, come out, and see you both. As much as he would’ve liked to fuck you there, it was overruled by the want to do it properly, in a more private space.

“Good fuckin’ girl…so good f’me.” Joel slid his fingers out of you, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm with every movement he made as you continued to squeeze around him. He sucked on his fingers, eager to taste the juices he had pulled from you. Your chest heaved and your body trembled lightly; when you looked up at him and saw him cleaning his fingers off, you found the strength to lean over and take one of the fingers into your own mouth. The two of you licked at each other around his hand, moaning and panting at the indecent display.

He dropped his hand, focusing on you entirely. If you hadn’t been tired before, you were now, and the satisfaction Joel had given you was enough to put you to sleep where you sat, while his lips brushed your neck and cheeks.

“Think I respect you more after that,” you leaned back in your seat, recalling the conversation that had led you to this, throat verging sore after the screams he had pried out of you. “Been wanting you for so long.” You sighed dreamily, looking up at him through hooded eyes and reaching over to fiddle with the collar of his shirt.

“Could’a said so,” Joel took the hand you had on his chest and kissed your palm, “would’a been happy to give you what you needed.” You rubbed at his stubble, and he kissed your hand again before letting it go. He leaned over to help you fix the straps of your dress, covering your breasts. You sat quietly before he started the car, and he continued to drive you home, placing his hand on your thigh again, holding tightly, as if now that he’d seen you in such an amorous, vulnerable way, you’d disappear. You put your hand on top of his, weaving your fingers around it.

When he parked in front of your house, the clock in the truck read 3:08—a drive that should’ve taken two minutes had taken an hour, and you were glad your parents wouldn’t be awake to question why it had taken you so long to get home. Joel looked at you, tired eyes conveying a glint of gratification when he smiled.

“Thanks for the ride.” You found your voice again, leaning towards him to analyze and appreciate his features.

“My pleasure.” He smiled, just barely, and took your chin in his hand. You stared at each other, not yet wanting to get out of the car despite the fatigue you felt all over. “Y’know,” he spoke again, still holding your face, “think I’ll need you to come over tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm. Think you’ll be around?”

You smiled, letting yourself melt into his touch when his hand wandered over your cheek. “Yes, Mr. Miller.”

[leafostuff]

Off*Iz - Camera shy [Ft. Ex-Iz*one]

Tags: Smut, Secretary!Nako, Boss!MReader Sex in Secret, Handjob, Thigh worshiping, Anal

Author's Note: thanks for @iznsfw for beta reading and of course making the Off*iz, I'm honoured to be the first fic of the collab, another thanks goes to @octoberautumnbox for beta reading as well.

hope yall enjoy a quickie for the girl that made my debut smut

=================================

"God, I hate picture day."

It wasn't hard to hear Nako's attitude through her words, looking toward the camera while the photographer instructed her to smile. Even though she smiled a modest yet cheerful smile, you could see it in her eyes that she couldn't wait for this to be over.

A loud snap comes from the camera.

"Oh come Nako, it's not that bad, isn't this better than sitting around on our computer, writing some random numbers?" you said while Nako was getting out of the frame and heading toward you. As you handed her the purse, thanking you quietly as she takes it

"Yeah, until I have to see Ms. Diva here posing to the camera" .

You looked behind her and saw Jang Wonyoung. Her face is made for the camera lights, no wonder she got that modeling gig last year for some prestigious makeup company. It took only 10 seconds for her manager to cough loudly, signaling Wonyoung to remember where she was and remain professional.

"Oh come on. She’s young, let her live like she doesn't have to pay rent this month." It didn't seem to raise your secretary's mood as she simply rolled her eyes and took her phone out of the purse., "And honestly, don't underplay yourself. You are not so bad looking compared to her," you awkwardly said, trying to remain as professional as possible with this sentence.

Her gaze leaves her phone, "Not so bad looking?"

"Do you want me to sound like a weirdo calling you pretty?" you rhetorically asked as the both of you giggled lightly at your joke. It’s the first smile you saw from her ever since this morning.

"Joking aside Nako: you are pretty, even very pretty if I do say so myself," you added. Taking a second look at Wonyoung, you notice her manager looking disappointed in her behaviour.

"Sometimes beauty is best when only one person can admire it."

Nako couldn’t help but lightly blush at your sweet words. For a moment, the atmosphere was pure. Both of you couldn’t help but smile at each other, however...

"You know, I have a lot of data that I need to show you from this morning."

You couldn’t help but raise your eyes a bit from Nako's words as her mouth formed a devilish grin. Instead of her right hand returning her phone to the purse, it rested itself on her waist, her eyes locked themselves on yours.

"From that early? Why didn't you tell me before?" you asked, matching her grin.

As the boss of the Data analytics department in Off*iz inc, it was important that your secretary would share with you the day’s early morning data. You both knew that with how close you two were standing in front of each other (while still keeping a professional distance from each other), the way you smiled at each other—you two look at very different data from the other employees

"I didn't have time, morning was so hectic, and now the photoshoot was happening so this is the soonest chance I got," she explained.

"Besides, maybe showing you today's data can help me... de-stress after the photoshoot~"

=================================

Professionalism was something essential for the work environment. It can help everyone stay focused on the main goal, devise a strategy together and help anyone be happy in the workplace. However in some cases, some very niche cases, professionalism takes the back seat.

Case in point? You right now, making out with your own secretary in the printing room, the only room . It was hard to not say “fuck professionalism” when your hands glided across Nako's soft flesh, from her round cheeks to her toned back, all the way to her plump butt which you had the opportunity to squeeze. It caused her to moan quietly from your kiss, all the way to her milky thighs.

You felt Nako's weight pressing on you as she straddled your lap, her lips still not leaving yours. However her hands did find themselves on your slacks, unbuttoning them as fast she could.

During her attempt to take off your slacks you have free access to her neck, leaving small, invisible marks.

"You put on that cologne I suggested to you the other day," she said. sniffing around your neck. "I'm already wet just smelling it," she purred.

Your hands were not idle as they ripped off Nako's shirt, letting you see her small, petite chest covered in a black lacy bra.

A couple of forgotten pieces of clothing later, the both of you were naked, Nako was irresistably drawn to your already hard cock. Her body and soul started to fill with joy, and from what it seemed she wasnt the only one

“Let me help.” a flirty wink as Her small hand attempted to cup around your base, rubbing it up and down. You couldn’t help but moan at her soft touch.

"Fuck yes Nako, just like that, it feels...ngh so good."

Nako's smile got bigger seeing small drops of your fluids leaking out of your cock. Her pace sped up with each passing second, forcing your hands to clench her shoulders, holding on to dear life. Eventually your orgasm came, spilling out strings of cum all over her thighs.

"On my thighs again?" she asked.

"It's not my fault that your thighs are so damn thick, I didn't lie when i said you are very pretty." You lean forward, letting your hand attach themselves to her thighs like magnets. While giving them a loving squeeze, your lips go to the back of her neck, causing her to quietly gasp. "Especially,” you add, “down there."

"Oh really?" she asks, turning herself back to you as once again she gets into your lap, spreading her thighs as wide as she can. "Tell me how."

"How can I even begin," you ask as you lower your head, giving her outer right thigh a kiss. "As I said before, they are very thick, they might as well be a choking hazard," you tease.

"Oh wow, I'm flattered," she replies, and you can hear the happiness in her voice., She gently pushes your head down, forcing you to kiss her right thigh again, this time closer to her sacred area. "What else? And not so loud, I don't want to get caught."

"Well they are also... soft, and creamy, I bet a lap pillow from them will send me to heaven," you add, but not before moving yourself to her left thigh, now licking it instead of just giving pecks.

"Okay, I’ll make note of that when we go on dates that don't include us hiding in the printing room and fucking each other." The sarcasm in her voice rings clear as you know you can't meet outside; one wrong step can cause a huge dating scandal and get you both fired immediately.

"Oh come on, I know you like it, the thrill of possibly getting caught by our own coworkers. You want this as much as I do." You decide to tease her by kissing her pussy, earning you a melody of stifled moans. If she wasn't such an excellent secretary you would've sent her to an idol company.

"What can I say, I'm a bit camera shy," she replies, now letting your head rise from her thighs. Nako brings you to face her hardened nipples. "Anything else?"

"Well I bet they can be great handles for when I fuck you in the ass." You push your limits, and as expected Nako seems to be taken aback by your words., However, she gains her composure, and flashes you a smile.

"Hmm... interesting claim, you want to test it?" You are taken by surprise as Nako turns herself 180 degrees in your lap, her back completely exposed and her ass in full volume. "Well? what are you waiting fo- OH FUCK!"

Poor Nako did not have time to finish her sentence as your primal urges took over, gripping each of her thighs and pushing your cock inside her ass, deep enough to make Nako almost shout her moans.

"Quiet down, you don't want people to hear you right?" More pumps from your cock go deep into her asshole, and moans come out of her mouth in various pitches and lengths. Your hands remain on her thighs as you tease her "Well I guess I was right about that one".

"Shut up and fill my ass already! I need it so bad inside me…" Such profanities coming from a girl that looked pure and precious when you first met her. Just starting out in Off*iz inc you were already fond of her, and from how you ended up now, it seems she’s fond of you too.

"Fuck Nako, I am so close, your ass is so god damn tight," you say between pumps.Nako brings herself closer to you, taking your dick inside her ass even deeper than before, while the both of you became a moaning mess.

"Please just cum inside my ass, make me feel even better than I already am," she says,her tone is beggijg , even without seeing her face directly you can feel how lewd her expression when suddenly...

*Snap*

"What the- FUCKKKKKK!" Amidst her confusion, you finally released all of your load inside of her ass., She collapsed onto your chest, both of you sighing in relief and staying like that for a minute or two, just kissing each other calmly and sweetly. As you look at your phone and can't help yourself but chuckle.

"What's so funny?" she asks. Instead of saying anything, you flip around your phone to show what you are looking at: a picture of Nako with the lewdest of faces while you were fucking her ass.

"Well I guess when I fuck you in the ass you aren't so camera shy are you?" She delivers a small hit to your chest, her cheeks now red from embarrassment

"Whatever, let's get out of here," she says as she pulls herself off your lap. It takes just a few minutes before you’re both fully clothed and free of any leftover marks on you. Without any suspicion, you manage to leave the printing room quietly.

"Gotta say, for a first time getting fucked in the ass, it didnt end up too bad," Nako says as you both walk toward your office. “I might ask you to look over some ‘Data’ more often"

You finally reach your office and pull open the door.

"Well Nako, we should now focus-"

"On your work? Thought so as well." An unexpected voice comes out from your office and both you and your secretary draw your attention to its source. your own chair is occupied by a blonde girl, one that both of you know very well.

=================================

I finished writing it in a day (22/3/24), lost all of the text once and managed to recover it by memory alone, but yeah I had a lot of fun writing this fic, hope that the Off*iz Series will succeed as much as I want it to succeed

Have a rest of a good day leafies

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (i)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or any shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, Very Loud reader, images and memes that all have alt texts.

A/N: yes this is literally harmless in a different font. do not ask me if anything doesn't make sense. i cannot explain. i resurface every 3 years to present you with ideas born from menty b's. ANYWAY shout out to my beloved ryan and shane. pls enjoy <3

Bucky doesn’t appeal to the youths.

Apparently. 

On God, he cannot fathom why.

He had definitely left the house in the last six months, maybe. Smiled in at least two pictures that existed on the internet. He even knew what Discord was. Sort of.  

By all accounts, he should be treated as the modern day icon that he was.  

“The youths?” he repeats, the word so foreign on his tongue it felt odd to even say it.

“Your numbers are the lowest of the whole team.” The latest tech-dude, with a tablet twelve models ahead of the one Bucky had in his room, tells him monotonously. “Wilson, Romanoff and Barton score the highest. Everyone else lies around the middle. You are dead-last.”

Bucky has the audacity to look offended. 

“Anything to say?” Their PR head, Maya, asks him, amused. 

He stares, formulating the wittiest one liner he could in three seconds.

“I don’ care,” he mumbles. 

Maya sighs. “Look, the team took the decision together. As far as I’m aware, you are still a member. You need some PR if you guys want to stay in the public’s good books.”

“No one’s gonna listen to me.” Bucky wasn’t exactly the poster child for American values. He couldn’t even vote until three years ago, and that came only after the full wrath of a Steve Rogers descended on the email inbox of the DMV. 

“That’s why it’s important to get them to like you,” Maya emphasizes. “Or the idea of you at least. A very sanitized, corporate friendly version.”

His eyebrow twitches unintentionally.  

“And also you signed the contract.”

Well. Shit. 

Truth be told– and he has openly and rather loudly stated this on numerous occasions even especially when no one asked– he doesn’t understand why they need a PR team. The world has calmed down significantly over the last few years. Bucky hadn’t really been out crime-fighting as much as he was people-watching. There hasn’t been an earth-shatteringly dystopian-level event in the longest time, and there seemed to be a group of spandex-clad teenagers who seemed to do a good job at taking care of them when they did threaten to occur. Go kids.

Even if they needed PR, he could arguably understand the appeal of Sam and Nat and why the people would want to see more of them. Bucky, on the other hand, looked like he crawled onto Earth most days of the week. 

“What do I have to do?” he asks ultimately, knowing there was no way to get out of this. “Interviews?”

The intern shares a look with Maya. Bucky shares a look with the ceiling. 

“The team agreed to do a series of videos, each focusing on a different niche,” she begins, “Crash courses on science, pointing out mistakes in spy movies. Once a week.”

Bucky nods along. He can pinpoint Bruce and Nat for those.

Maya stares at him.

Bucky stares back.

“So,” she says slowly, like he’s a moron, “you would–”

“No.” 

The intern sighs heavily like they discussed that this was going to happen. Bucky was getting predictable. This annoys him even further, for some reason.

“Only once a week, and it doesn’t have to be anything crazy–”

“I’m not doing videos,” he interjects. “I’ll tweet a few times. I’ll even go outside. But ’m not doin’ videos.”

A big step was to get the Avengers off Twitter after the regular shit-storm that occurs every time they’d quote-tweet another politician calling them shitheads. Getting them back on seems counterproductive. 

“Fine,” Maya relents, looking at the intern. “We'll work something out.”

Bucky leans back in his chair, and meditating on ways he can weasel his way out of those too.

So they stick him in a couple of interviews.

Bucky, as the recluse extraordinaire that he was, does unsurprisingly terrible at them.

Variety does a piece on him that was supposed to take up 2 pages. They send back half a page worth of usable material and Bucky gets a lecture on how monosyllables don't count as answers.

He grunts in return. Maya’s itch to smack his shoulder with the rolled up draft increases.

They set him up for pap walks. Just him getting fast food for the team, or sitting in the park.

They don’t take into account that Bucky was trained professionally for years on how to hide, sneak in and out of places without a soul knowing he was ever there. 

The paparazzi spend three hours waiting for him outside the pizza place, while he’s been home for two hours with two demolished pepperonis and an order of mozzarella sticks. 

They give him access to his Twitter. 

He tweets some dumb shit and gets shadow banned by that evening. 

Maya is sick and tired, and the interns have shifted three times since the whole ordeal started. Bucky honestly feels a little bad. Maybe he should try to be like Scott, who not only wrote a book, finger-gunned at photographers, did an interview a week, but also agreed to a podcast and a video series about literally anything they suggested. 

“Play nice,” Sam tells Bucky one evening. 

It’s an off-hand comment, not even really looking at him while he says it. 

Bucky doesn’t need to ask what he’s referring to, but he thinks that maybe he has gone too far.

He begrudgingly agrees. 

Therefore, it begins. 

They stick him in the background of a few videos. Just to interact, add his commentary on what was going on, suggestions. 

Then the jokes really start.

“I just don’t got anything to add,” Bucky tries, in a failure of an attempt to justify his lack of contribution. 

Maya only stares at him, but Bucky swears he can hear her curse quietly, even though her lips don’t move even a millimeter.  

He is not put in another video. 

And so he finds himself here. 

In a meeting room that he’s convinced is barricaded from the outside so he can’t slither out the door again. Another intern with pink-tinted glasses that took up half their face.

Maya’s in the midst of explaining to him that sure, his numbers had gone up by a decimal, but that was because people had started editing him into the backgrounds of other pictures for other users to find in a perplexing take on Where’s Waldo.

“Videos seem to be working,” she ties it together. “But we need more than you just standing silently behind Captain Rogers.”

“But it’s working,” Bucky objects. “I don’t see why it has to change.”

Maya sends him a glare. Bucky decides then it’s good to shut up. 

“Are you on the internet a significant amount?” the intern asks. The glasses on their face have changed colours to green. Bucky’s eyebrow furrows. 

“No.” 

For the next thirty minutes, he is subjected to a pop quiz about too many words ending with ‘core’, ‘coded’ and ‘eras’. He’s surprised that he knows what cottagecore is. He definitely doesn’t fucking know what a tomatogirl, nor does he want to. 

“What do you like doing?” the intern enunciates, pulling up a spreadsheet of niches that had built a dedicated community around themselves over the years. “Makeup? Cleaning? Parkour?”

Bucky wonders if they’d really create a montage of him just micro cleaning the kitchen every week. It doesn’t sound half bad. 

Beyond that, the only thing he can think of is woodworking, which Sam introduced him to. While he spends time creating little figures, he wouldn’t say it was– 

“You really are dead silent,” the intern breaks his train of thought, tone almost that of wonder. “Guess the whole ‘ghost story for seventy years’ is more true than I thought.”

Bucky throws him a weary look, and works on unclenching the fist that tightened involuntarily. 

“Was that necessary?” Maya’s voice comes coldly. “Take fifteen. Go find the other one we were supposed to meet.”

While sheepish and somewhat apologetic, the kid still looks relieved to be out of there. To be honest, Bucky isn’t really offended– he’s grown a thick skin over the years. But he also thought the guy was a little shit now. 

Maya turns back to him, but Bucky finds that the table contains wonders far more interesting than the conversation at hand.

“Back to what we were talking about.” She ruffles through something on her laptop. “Puppets? History?”

He wordlessly shakes his head. 

Been the former, seen too much of the latter.

Maya’s head tilts abruptly. “You like ghosts?”  

He wonders if the prior conversation had anything to do with this insightful question. 

Bucky shrugs. “Don’t exist.”

“Really,” Maya deadpans. “Aliens and multiversal baboons are fine, but no ghosts.”

“I’ve seen aliens and multiversal baboons. Never seen a ghost in my life,” Bucky argues right back.

“Other people have seen ghosts.”

“Good for other people.”

The door swings open right as Maya’s eyes narrow at him. Guess it wasn’t padlocked. 

“Whatever it is you think I did, Maya, I didn’t. I think,” you announce in a volume too much for a closed room, stopping when you see Bucky sitting cross-armed and looking delightfully disgruntled. “Oh hey, Barnes. Fancy seeing you here.”

Bucky had met you. The newest addition to the team that had made a grand entrance a couple of weeks ago. He thinks you stay on the floor below him, but he has nothing backing this hypothesis other than the disco funk music that had started appearing at odd hours of the night. 

“Please sit,” Maya cracks a smile at you that Bucky had yet to earn. “Sorry, I know our meeting is scheduled for later, but I figured we could kill two birds with one stone.”

You look between her and Bucky, who hasn’t moved an inch since you got here, much less even said hello.

“You must be really bad if Maya had to call me in,” you tell him outright. “I’m usually like, her last option.”

“Thanks,” Bucky replies dryly. 

“Look, here’s my final pitch.” Maya sighs, before turning to you. “You’re new, and we need something to introduce you slowly to the public.”

“Oh, am I finally getting hard launched?” You grin, and Bucky doesn’t know what that means. “Just imagine me kicking my feet, giggling or whatever.” 

“And he needs… an upgrade.” Maya’s thumb juts out towards Bucky who simply rolls his eyes.

“Right.” Your sight lands on him from across the table. “I’ve seen the memes.”

“What memes?” he grunts, because while the team had definitely seen them, it didn't occur to anyone they should show it to him. He loves them. Really. So much. Die for them. 

You only look too happy to pull out your phone and start typing.

“Do you know what skinwalkers are?” 

“No.”

“That’s what they say you look like, lurking in the back of all your friends’ videos,” you continue, swerving around your phone to show him.

Bucky doesn’t look impressed. He can’t say he blames them either, which makes him inexplicably maddens him.  

“At least they’re calling you their boyfriend,” you add, entirely unhelpfully. “That’s gotta count.”

“Right.” Maya clears her throat. “The both of you–” 

“Are getting paired together, I suppose,” you hum. 

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together. 

He barely knows you. Just a little bit on how you ended up here, that you enjoyed hanging out with the team, figuring out your place in the compound, and were seemingly doing a great job at it. 

You were… loud. And open. 

Bucky feels the compulsive need to compensate for that by doubling down on how silent he could get, as if the two of you couldn’t co-exist in the same space in equilibrium. 

Maya pointedly raises a finger at you. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“For the right price, I will believe in whatever you tell me to.”

Her face lights up brighter than Bucky's ever seen.

“Great.” Maya slams her laptop closed. “See you later.”

Bucky’s left staring as she exits, not even throwing the both of you another look.

“That was quick,” your voice cuts through the silence. “What was that all about?”

 “Don’ ask me,” he grumbles, with a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what was about to follow. 

“Ghost hunting?” Bucky echoes a week later, as expected.

“Yes,” Maya tells him simply. “Two of you. A series based on paranormal activity.”

“I don’t even believe in them,” he reiterates. 

“That’s the point,” she emphasises. “Skeptic and believer. It makes for a good contrast.”

“Why us both?” He hopes it doesn’t come off as offensive. He just doesn’t see why he can’t do this with Sam. Even Clint, if a gun was really pressed to his head. 

“I’m new, no one gives a shit about me,” you say brightly and full of promise. “Yet.”

“Exactly. It’ll be low key. Not an overwhelming number of viewers, no expectations. It’s perfect for launching one Avenger and re-launching another.”

“Sounds rad.” You grin, leaning back as your feet rest on the chair in front of you.

Maya looks relieved for a moment that at least one of you was on board. “No promises on anything. We shoot one video, and if it does well, we stick with it.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Bucky argues. 

“Then you have until tomorrow morning to give us another feasible idea,” Maya dishes back.

Bucky retreats into his seat, arms crossed over his chest. 

Truth be told, he considered himself to be the most boring person in the team and though he had made his peace with that, he was sure thar bringing that up now would entail Maya shooting him in the foot.

“Fine,” he agrees and the sighs around the room are loud. 

He scoffs. So fucking dramatic and for what.

“Put her there, partner.” You stretch ungracefully over the large table, sticking out your hand.

Bucky eyes your hand. “Do you even believe in ghosts?” 

“I do now, yeah.” You nod seriously. “Love ‘em. Can’t get enough of them.”

“One video,” Maya reminds him as a balm. “And if it doesn’t work, you’re off the hook forever.”

Off the hook? Forever? For Bucky?

Yay. 

“One video,” he reiterates.

You roll your eyes before smiling when he leans forward to grab it. You yank it up and down clunkily. He blinks at you, letting go slowly. 

“Thank fuck,” Maya groans, head dropping onto the table. 

Your smile is wild. “Guess we’re doing this shit together.”

He doesn’t even have to look very deep in his soul. He already knows he’s going to suffer.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!

also i'd absolutely love to make this a community led fic like how harmless was! if you have memes or any paranormal ideas or just any prompts in general, please please send them my way <3

Next part

[hauntedbythefanficsofmypast]

Past, Present and that of Space

Masterlist

Dead-ends and Surprise Visits

“Alrightie, Duke your classes don't start for an hour right, LightBrite?” Duke snorted, nodding as he got comfortable pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders. “Good good, should be enough time, ehhhh maybe we'll see, anyway!!” 

Harley snagged a cookie munching on it before she began. “Sooo years ago before I was a doctor and your daddio a crime-fighting college drop-out vigilante, we went to Gotham Uni. Bruce had been studying to be a Doctor like your granddaddy, so all of us had the same base classes. We actually had a study group and we'll as a ‘Fuck Professor Tanner’ club.

We met in advanced Calculus, I sucked and Brucie was my seat buddy along with Vladdie. After a bad failed test on my part and Professor Tanner purposely marking the others down, we formed a spite study group. I dragged Crane into it and Vlad pulled Jackie and Mads in! It kinda cemented our friendships a bit!” Harley snorted, shaking her head while reminiscing on the old days.

“Jackie, Mads, and Vladdie we're going for Doctorates in Science and Engineering. Jackie was more towards Engineering that was his crazy strong point while Mads and Vladdie were genius to boot. Would've fit in very well with your bunch now that I think ‘bout it! It grew a pretty decent friend group between us. Of course Brucie dropped out after that year, but Crane and I stayed pretty close with them. It was our final year when a lot of drama happened.” Harley sighed before grabbing her Tea cup downing it.

“The three of them were convinced that another universe lay parallel to ours. Called it the Ghost Zone, they'd been attempting to make a portal to it for months. Then the accident happened, it exploded and Vlad got carted off campus, didn’t see him again after that. He transferred out and last we heard he went to Wisconsin. Jackie and Mads were heartbroken, they’d been friends for a while at that point and losing Vlad made them a little unstable. Not ya know, rouge unstable but they started designing weapons to hunt ghosts. Caught some attention shortly before graduation and got a couple grants, they were really ecstatic. They left soon after we graduated, Jackie proposed and Mads said yes, went back to Mads hometown for the wedding. I got invited but at that point I was already at Arkham and well, you know my story already.” 

Tim stopped his note taking, looking up at Harley, who seemed slightly trapped in thought. He coughed slightly, breaking her out of her remembrance of who Harleen Quinzel used to be. 

“Ghost Zone? Huh? Weird niche of all things but ya know, we dress up and go fight crime nightly.” Duke elbowed him teasingly as he ate a cookie, and Tim rolled his eyes. “Right, right I forgot one of us is  a weirdo and patrols during the day time!”

“Oi! At least I don’t have an ugly ass cowl, owl head ass.” Tim gave him the dirtiest look, already calculating how far Duke dropped on his favorite sibling list.

“Congrats Duke, Damian has officially passed you on my favorite siblings list. It’s a sad day when two siblings drop below the one that has stabbed me multiple times.” Duke went to respond but was cut off by Harley’s barking laughter. Harley was bent over holding her stomach laughing so hard Duke contemplated running to get a cure for Joker Venom, but seeing the satisfied look on Tim’s face calmed him. Tim’s plan to distract her clearly worked, besides he had enough to work on now.

Of course Danny had contact with the Realms, his parents succeed in making their portal after all. 

Alfred hummed lowly to himself as he entered his bedroom for a short break. He set the tea tray down before pulling out both his chairs and sitting down.

“You were cutting it close you know, old friend.” He sipped his tea slowly before looking up at the person now sitting in the chair across from him. “You’ve set my charges into a protective mode that will lead to less sleep. Honestly the extra stress you’ve added to my plate with this stunt.”

“Apologies are in order for that, you know I should not interfere too often. Their eyes weren’t on me for only a few seconds, talking with Young Timothy was not possible.” His form shifted and Alfred hummed taking in the appearance of the elderly man in front of him.

“Your form has changed. I see you added to your family circle, congratulations.” Clockwork chuckled knowing he had taken some aspects from the kids he had practically adopted when they were fourteen.

“Indeed, not as many as your brood, but I am content. They have fine futures, fine futures indeed.”

“I see, and their futures are now intertwined with my charges.”

“Yes they are, we will be seeing more of each other in the future. Young Timothy will get along very well with my Phantom. They will be a force to be reckoned with.”

“Dear Clockwork, I believe they are on their own, together they could rule the multiverse.” Clockwork and Alfred were silent for a while, simply enjoying tea together. However he was the first to break their silence with a chuckle.

“I believe you are quite right Alfred. Quite right indeed.”

Dani typed silently on her phone as she sprawled across Danny’s back. The other Halfa too busy editing a video to pay attention to her. The others in their family were in varying places of Fenton Works but the two self-proclaimed siblings had holed up in Danny’s room. At first they simply sat staring at the ceiling, or rather staring into space, literally. After discovering Danny was the new Ancient of Space came even more power training that had Danny wish to rip his hair out.

Danny had discovered the ability to make a rift that could remain open until he willed it away, it was unlike portals that he needed to concentrate on to keep open. No those portals were Dani’s expertise, able to portal them to any place and even universes. Danny’s rifts allowed him direct access to space, and since discovering it his ceiling had been a constant show of the different galaxies that graced their universe. So often the others would come to call them for dinner and find the two’s eyes locked on their stars.

Val often joked that Dani’s love for space came from her template. Of course Dani wasn’t as crazy about space as Danny was but she still loved it. Dani paused her typing looking up at the ceiling for a moment before grinning.

“Danny, I have a great idea. Our next video should be in space.” Danny stopped editing mind racing between different ideas before his core was vibrating so hard in excitement that he was purring. Dani’s mirth couldn’t be contained as her body took flight lifting off him and towards the rift. “We could do so much!”

“Visiting other planets!”

“Space fights!”

“A day in the life with off-world species!”

“Jumping universes! People will lose their minds if we go to the ‘Futurama’ universe!”

“Oh my crown Dani! The possibilities are endless!!” Danny laughed as he took flight playfully taking the girl out of the air, both phasing through his bedroom floor and bouncing off the couch as they began a mini fight. Wes watched them amused as he paused his show, thankful he was sitting fully to the left of the couch and not in the middle. “Black holes! We can explore black holes!!” Danny announced laughing as he got Dani into a headlock only for her to phase out and land a hard elbow to his gut.

“Yes! Oooooh I want to kick you into a black hole so bad!!” We can cut the video there and the next one can be you in the Futurama Universe trying to find your way back!!” The two cackled together as their fighting amped up. 

“That is a pretty good idea.” Wes hummed, blinking as mischievous eyes locked on him. “Don’t even think about it you two.” He warned as they started grinning, he threw himself to the side flipping over the arm of the couch as they lunged at him phasing through and landing on the other side in a crouch. “Damnit!” Wes yelled as he scrambled up taking off up the stairs. The two grin as they jumped flying up through the floor to the hallway waiting to ambush him, only to be surprised when the front door slammed shut.

“Did he just?” Dani asked as she stuck her head through the wall Danny followed a second later as they watched Wes booking it down the street.

“He just juked us. Oh we gotta get him now!” The two flew through the wall, not even transforming as they rushed after him, waving to a few people who called out to them. Jack and Maddie watched them go from where they were unloading groceries from the Fenton Ghost Assault vehicle.

“Oh I hope they have fun hunting Wes!” Jack said with a laugh as Maddie slid a fifth bag onto his right arm. “Ah these kids keep up young Mads!” Maddie laughed leaning up and kissing his cheek as she grabbed the last four bags and locked the assault vehicle.

“Those kids of ours they really do, and they’re all growing up and breaking my heart! I wish we could have more.” Maddie said with a small laugh as Jack wiggled his eyebrows at her, Tucker opened the door for them as they approached and Maddie kissed his forehead in thanks as they walked to the kitchen. “Thank you Tucker dear. Are Sam and Val here?” Tucker nodded following them after he took some bags from Jack.

“Yes, they’re in the kitchen waiting to help with groceries. I was gonna let the other three know but Danny and Dani were having one of their bonding fights, then Wes got dragged into it.” Jack laughed as he put the last bags on the counter.

“We saw that! If it wasn’t for the groceries I had I would’ve ran after to join them! It's that Fenton blood after all!” Maddie chuckled, sharing a look with Sam before she moved over to the fridge starting to clean it out.

“And the fact that ghosts literally bond through fighting, it's like another language to them.” Val said with a chuckle as she unpacked some bags. “How about spaghetti tonight?” Moving aside the needed ingredients as agreements rang out from the room. “Sweet, is it alright if I invite my dad? He makes some mean garlic bread.”

“Of course Val! You’re our kid now and that makes him a Fenton too! The more the merrier!” Jack said moving over to pull out the needed cooking utensils. Sam was quick to take them from him, shooing him away while waving a spatula.

“I’ll invite my grandma over too. She made cookies yesterday and wanted more people to try her new recipe. I’ll make dinner with Tucker, you two aren’t allowed to make food anymore after those hot dogs took over the town.” Jack held his hands up defensively with a laugh as Maddie didn’t make eye contact with anyone.

“In my defense we didn’t know they were hot dogs from the Infinite Realms!”

“We came back to them trying to sacrifice Lancer, Dash and Kwan to their god.” Val said deadpan remembering the return home from their senior trip. “I smelled like hot dog water for weeks. I couldn’t look people in the eye anytime they questioned the smell.” Maddie couldn’t hold back her snort as she continued to not look at them. He shoulders shaking as she remembered the look on their kids faces the moment they stepped through the portal in front of City Hall. Laughter finally burst from her lips as she shook her head sitting on the floor in front of the fridge.

“Your faces that day!! You all, you all looked so done!” Soon everyone joined in laughing with Maddie as they remembered that day and the fight that followed.

“What's so funny?” Danny asked from the doorway Dani standing next to him with a slightly bruised and pouting Wes slung over her shoulder. Everyone turned to them laughter pausing for a second before they just laughed harder remembering when the biggest hot dog attempted to eat Danny.

Universe Hopping and Reunion Trip Planning

[withleeknow]

cats and soup.

note: i have a newfound obsession and it's cats and soup so this might be a little niche but it's meant for me and i just wanted to word vomit lmfao

cats and soup, that's your latest obsession. all it took was five minutes of your friend introducing you to the game before you were completely captivated by the world of cute little animated cats making soup on your phone.

so much so that you had to show your boyfriend.

obviously. it's a game about cats. who else would you rather squeal about it with?

though, much to your disappointment, minho doesn't seem very impressed as you try to get him to look at your phone screen for more than ten seconds.

okay. little meanie.

"why would you need to play a game like this when you have our actual babies right over there?"

"i have them in here too!" you'd argue. "look! i named them soonie, doongie and dori. aren't they so cute? soonie is on soup duty, doongie is chopping carrots, and dori is grating cabbages. i even got them cute little hats!"

the mention of his cats featured in the game gets minho to spare you a glance, intrigued for a fleeting moment before he's turning away again.

you'd scowl at his refusal to entertain you but then you'd admit defeat pretty quickly in favor of immersing in your phone once more. it's cats !! making soups !!

it's not unusual for you two to be in separate bubbles while sitting side by side. you're not one of those couples who has to do everything with each other, but you did kinda hope that this would be something for you to have fun with together.

but oh well, if minho isn't interested, then you can't force him. the game is still fun though. even though you go to bed that night a little bummed out, you still fall asleep thinking about getting a black kitten and naming it mimo. it'd be cute, maybe you'd even put him on lemon squeezing duty.

fast forward to the next morning, when he literally shakes you awake at the ass crack of dawn, calling your name frantically.

your first thought is the house must be burning down, because lee minho never acts like this.

"i finally got you!"

"you got me what?"

"i got your cat!"

"what?"

actually, on second thought, the only time that you've seen him this hyped up was when you'd gotten you two matching pjs with soonie, doongie and dori printed on them.

"see?!" then the guy is full on shoving his phone in your face, the sudden brightness of his screen almost taking your eyes out that you have to push his hand away.

"min!"

"sorry. here."

he'd lower the brightness and hold the device a safe distance from your face, impatiently waiting for your eyes to adjust to whatever it is that he's trying to show you.

it's a cat.

an animated cat.

specifically, a cats and soup animated cat, named after you.

"you named a cat after me?"

"yeah i was waiting for ages to get another black cat. i got one first and named it after me. now we can be a black cat couple. look at the cat tower i got us-"

"minho, what the fuck? when did you even start playing?"

"i downloaded it after you fell asleep."

"have you been playing all night? did you even sleep?"

"no, but that's beside the point. look, i'm trying to show you!"

you love him, you do. truly. completely. most ardently. you recognize that this is one of the cutest things that he's done. but jesus christ...

"it's sunday. it's 6 in the morning."

"yeah i know, but-"

"i'll look at it later."

"you're up, you can look now. i got you a potted plant that grows from your head and-"

"lee minho, let me fucking go back to sleep!"

you may have unintentionally created a monster.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne

[sunnie-angel]

Ily and ur takes so much you wanna talk about anyone you want x a reader who never got a chance to do a whole bunch of romantic stuff so they have a lot of firsts like reader’s first museum date, coffee date etc

aish darling i hope you don't think i've been ignoring this!!! i've been thinking about it ever since you sent it in, writing's just been a little hit or miss lately (unless its been one very niche topic). going to cheat and use this for two characters to make up for taking so long.

jason todd

he went on a few dates before he died, sweet fumbling things that never really went anywhere. since his resurrection he hasn't really been romantically inclined but those memories carry him through your first few dates. he's so worried the first time he takes you out, nervous that you'll notice he's not as smooth or as practiced as he pretends to be, pulling out your chair for you and always walking between you and the road.

it's almost a relief then, when you confess to being new to all of this too. there's some embarrassment on your part at the confession but he's filled with glee. not only does he get to help you discover what you like to do, but he gets to discover with you what you like to do with him.

he takes you out for coffee (another first!), pulls out two sheets of paper and two pens. suggests the both of you write out dates you've never been on but want to, see how many of them match up. the next 20 minutes are filled with furtive glances, arms curled protectively around your lists, hissed no peeking!s. it's fun to see what you both dream of, what things you think will sweep you off your feet.

never kissed in the back row of a movie theatre, never won a prize for someone at a fair, never fed someone by hand on a picnic. want to wander through a museum with you, want to go to a concert and sing all the words with you, want to cook dinner for you. wish someone would give me flowers, wish we could dance on a rooftop, wish we could dress up and take pictures and go no where.

together the two of you work through your conjoined list, ticking off activities as you go, slowly working out for yourselves what makes butterflies take up residence in your belly, what you think could maybe be shelved. it's fun, being in this together, partners in this (love) crime.

conrad oxford

this boy is so sheltered, i don't think he's ever even thought about going on a date. he definitely grew up on stories of his parents' great love affair but they met at a dinner party and in a ton of group settings before immediately getting engaged so it's not like he's working from a ton of reference from those either?

he asks you on a date - hands shaking and absolutely sure you'll turn him down - so when you say yes he's got absolutely no idea what comes next. he invites you out for afternoon tea (everyone likes sweets right?) and the two of you are suddenly so awkward now that it's in the context of a 'date'. stuttering and talking over one another, grabbing for the tea pot at the same time. it's excruciatingly painful and neither of you know what you're doing.

just as the two of you go to part, he apologizes for not knowing what he's doing. at all. you have to laugh and explain his apologies away because clearly you're no more of an expert. it breaks the weird tension that's been building, the two of you able to laugh now at your terrible facades. you tell him next time you'll plan the date and he agrees with relief.

the two of you take turns planning out what to do. somethings you like and somethings you don't. but you both tell each other beforehand if you've done this before, the two of you agreeing to flail through the embarrassing moments together, rather than try and cover them up in an attempt to impress each other.

you take him to an art exhibit and make each other sick with laughter giving voice to the painted figures. he takes you flower viewing at the park and the two of you get chased by bees. you take him to a coffee tasting and two of you sheepishly agree you don't get any of the tasting notes. he takes you to a food festival and you share bites off each other's plates. you take him to an amusement park and take pictures with all the character mascots you can find. he invites you to a party, all glittering lights and champagne, and the two of you make the society pages the next day.

[books]

Writer Spotlight: Rose Sutherland

Rose Sutherland @rosesutherlandwrites is a Toronto-based writer who grew up a voracious reader with an overactive imagination in Nova Scotia (where she once fell off a roof trying to re-enact Anne of Green Gables!). She's been to theatre school in NYC, apprenticed at a pâtisserie in rural France, and currently moonlights as an usher and bartender—in between writing queer folktales, practicing yoga, dancing, singing, searching out amazing coffee and croissants, and making niche jokes about Victor Hugo on the internet. She's mildly obsessed with the idea of one day owning a large dog, several chickens, and maybe a goat. A Sweet Sting of Salt is her debut novel.

Keep reading for more about character arcs in A Sweet Sting of Salt, Rose's favorite fanfic tropes, and some excellent reading recs 👀

Can you tell us about A Sweet Sting of Salt and how you came to write it?

A Sweet Sting of Salt is a queer (f/f) historical reimagining of the classic folktale of the selkie wife, set in 1830’s Nova Scotia. I call it a “reimagining” because while it draws on the folktale, it’s not a retelling of that tale so much as a story playing out in relation to that mythology. I’d wanted to write something centering a love story between two women for a while, but the initial spark came from a Tumblr post! It suggested the idea of selkies testifying before the UN as victims of human trafficking, which reminded me of all the things I disliked about the original folktale and its inherent darkness that is generally glossed over, starting me down the rabbit hole toward finding my own story.

How did you approach research for A Sweet Sting of Salt, and what is a favorite historical fact you learned?

I joke that I did a lot of research by osmosis: I already had a lot of base knowledge about the location, having grown up in Nova Scotia, and then set the story in a period that I’ve been absorbing information about in a low-key way for ages—1832 is also the year of the student rebellion in Les Mis, so I’ve been gleaning tidbits about this era since I first got into the musical and book back in high school. However, I had to do more specific research into things like British divorce law, period midwifery, and animal husbandry. I also visited some small, hyper-local museums on the South Shore that gave me an invaluable glimpse into daily life. I also did some fun practical research into things like “How long does it take to walk from x to y?” and “How cold IS a plunge into this body of water in March?” (Spoiler: Very.) 

A fact that fascinated me but didn’t make it into the book was that some early European settlers in the area were granted lands by luck of the draw, pulling from a deck of playing cards: Each card was assigned to a specific 50-acre lot, and whatever you pulled, you were stuck with it.

When we meet them, Jean and Muirin are isolated for different reasons. What do you hope readers still searching for their people take away from A Sweet Sting of Salt?

That there’s always hope. It’s valuable and important to keep reaching out to the world around you, to be open, and not cut yourself off—the biggest reason for Jean’s loneliness at the beginning of this story is the way she has come to keep everyone around her at arm’s length, shutting herself away out of fear, and refusing to let anyone truly get to know her because she thinks that’s the best way to protect herself from being hurt again. Reaching out to others can take a real act of courage, especially if you’ve had bad experiences in the past, but “your people” will reach back to you.

Found family elements play a strong role throughout the novel, within supernatural and mundane settings and across species. Was this something you intended from the beginning, or did this grow out of writing the relationship between Jean and Muirin?

I always intended for Jean to have a found family of this type, which is something that a lot of queer people identify with, but those bonds also got stronger and more meaningful as I wrote, especially once Jean and Muirin began growing into their own family unit—their new relationship and the real danger that comes along with it put pressures on Jean’s other relationships that I hadn’t originally considered. Disagreements with Anneke and Laurie over Jean’s choices arise from their deep concern and love for her, and her own love and care for them, reflected in her responses, is a big part of what made them feel like a real family, for me. Jean and Laurie always having each other’s backs while also being the first to call one another out on their bullshit ended up being one of my favourite dynamics in the whole book.

The selkie myth carries an inherent element of transformation. What is a character transformation you most enjoyed writing, and why?

On a character level, the change in Jean’s worldview following a conversation with her childhood sweetheart meant a lot to me—it heals an old wound for her. I love how grounded and self-assured she is afterward, in spite of the daunting task still ahead of her. But my favourite transformation to write was the antagonist’s mask-off moment, where they directly threaten Jean for the first time. It’s so sly and coded so that only she will understand the menace behind it, a real dun-duh-dunnn moment, which was a lot of fun for me—I also enjoy the foreshadowing elements in that exchange.

This is your debut novel. Did anything surprise you about getting it from manuscript to published book?

Oh my gosh, how LONG it took! After I finished the original draft and decided it was worth attempting to publish, I spent over a year revising based on my own thoughts, input from beta readers, critique partners, and my mentor, Maureen Marshall (whom I connected with through the now defunct Author Mentor Match program, and whose book, The Paris Affair—about a young gay engineer attempting to help Gustave Eiffel secure the funding to build a certain celebrated Parisian landmark— is coming out in May). After that came a full year of querying agents and getting rejected. A lot. People loved Salty but weren’t quite sure what to do with her or where the book would fit in “the market,” which was hard to deal with at the time but is hilarious in retrospect: Salty was snapped up less than a month after she finally went out on submission! But that was back in 2022, and the book is only coming out now. Publishing can be painfully slow.

You’ve written fanfic in the past—do you have a favorite fanfic trope?

I’m not sure either of these counts as a trope, but I adore a character that’s “pure of heart, dumb of ass”, and love a truly unhinged Fanon Explanation For Canon Object. As a longtime Les Mis stan, I ship Tholomyes/Getting Punched. If you know, you know.

Do you have any favorite queer retellings of folktales you can recommend?

Right here on Tumblr, I’m a huge fan of @laurasimonsdaughter, who writes delightful riffs on classic folktales, truly inventive urban fantasy spins on old lore, and her own original folktales. 

I’m currently reading Spear, an amazing queer, gender-bent, Arthurian novella by Nicola Griffiths. Anna Burke’s books Thorn and Nottingham are up next on my TBR. Lately, I’ve been reading a lot of brilliant queer historicals that aren’t retellings (I recently loved Suzette Meyr’s The Sleeping Car Porter and Heather O’Neil’s When We Lost Our Heads) and wonderful historical retellings that aren’t queer (I highly recommend Molly Greeley’s beautiful, heartbreaking Marvelous, about the real-life couple that inspired Beauty and the Beast). Queer, historical retellings aimed at adults seem to be considered quite niche, still, and can take some digging to find! So, throwing this out to Tumblr: Do you have recommendations for me?

Do you have a writing routine? Is there a place/state of being/playlist you find most conducive to your writing practice?

My routine is chaotic at best, but I find I do my best work earlier in the day, so I usually scribble in my journal while I have breakfast, and then progress to working on my current project as I drink my second cup of coffee. I’m lucky—my day job is an evening gig, which mostly allows me to write on my preferred schedule… but I’ve also been known to have a bolt of inspiration strike at 10pm and dash home to write until well past midnight on occasion. Nothing quite like the hyperfocus zone!

What’s next for you? Are you working on anything you can tell us about?

No official news yet, but I’m currently working on a story set in 18th-century provincial France based on a true unsolved mystery of the past. It has me delving into a very specific branch of French folklore, and I hope future readers will pick up on common threads with one popular fairytale in particular. I’m really excited about where this one is headed, but keeping the details close to my chest for now!

Thank you Rose for taking the time to answer our questions! If you love queer fantasy and old folktales, grab yourself a copy of A Sweet Sting of Salt, and be sure to share your queer folktale reading recs with Rose on @rosesutherlandwrites!