#what if the people living in the same building know i got them delivered it's embarrassing bc I'm perfectly able to go get them

[flavia8]

Gotta go grocery shopping again and I gotta decide to either go out (anxiety) or get it delivered (different type of anxiety) RIP

[little-writers-posts]

Keeping You Warm (The Milkman x F!Reader)

Author's Note: It's been a long (LONG) time since I wrote smut, so please excuse anything, plus English is not my native language so I apologise for any mistakes. But I do hope you enjoy this!

Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+ Smut. However, it's quite light/soft, so to speak. The reader has a female genitalia.

Word Count: 1.957

“Double shift again, Francis?” I asked over the phone.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).” I heard Francis’ tired voice say in almost a whisper.

“Is there really no other person who could take the shift? It’s the third time this week, Francis. You’re killing yourself.” I sighed as I rested my head on my hand.

“Not really; everyone has been quitting lately because of the rise in the number of the doppelgangers' sights.” I heard the sound of glass bottles clattering in the background.

“Just… Don’t push yourself too hard, okay? You’re already tired and worn out. I understand that there’s a job that needs to be done, but you’re human.”

“I know. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of myself. Don’t wait up for me, okay? Get your rest. You need it more than I do. Bye.”

“Bye.” I hung up the phone, lowered my head, and laid it on the table.

It has been nearly two weeks since I last saw Francis, which is foolish since we live in the same apartment. However, due to our jobs and taking shifts, our schedules haven't been exactly the same. It’s actually gotten worse because he’s been taking double shifts to cover the lack of people, and now he has to deliver the milk and stay an extra shift preparing all the packs for the next day, which means not only collecting the empty bottles but also refilling them and sorting them out in the boxes. We only see each other when the other one is asleep since I start my shifts early, and he only gets home quite late.

As I was lost in thought, someone knocked on the window. Steven was waving his papers to get into the building.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, proceeding with my work.

Eventually, my shift ended, and I went to my and Francis’ apartment. While setting down my things, I checked my schedule for the next day, and a big smile spread across my face. It was a day off. I decided to wait up for Francis, so for the next few hours, I occupied myself with getting dinner ready and tidying up the house. When I ran out of things to do, I sat in the living room watching one of my favorite shows.

It was past midnight when I heard the keys to the front door. Francis walked in looking as tired as ever, sighing as he locked the door, the tension leaving his shoulders at being home becoming visible.

“Welcome home, love,” I said, getting up from the couch.

“I told you not to wait up, (Y/N),” Francis whispered as he wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me tight.

“I’m not working tomorrow, so I thought I would wait for you,” I whispered back. I held his face in my hands, and he looked exhausted. “Do you want to go to bed? We could cuddle a little before sleep.”

“I would like that,” he smiled.

He followed me into the bedroom and started to get changed. I got in bed while waiting for him.

Soon, I felt his arms around my waist and his lips pressed against my neck. I turned off the lights and faced him. I put my palm on his cheek and caressed it with my thumb. I heard him sigh and move his head closer and I held it between my hands. His lips met mine in a soft and slow kiss.

“I missed you” Francis’s embrace tightened.

“I missed you too, my love” I smiled.

We kissed again, our lips moving slowly, just appreciating each other’s presence. His hand moved from my waist to my hip and down to my butt, giving it a light squeeze. I gasped slightly, and Francis took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside my mouth. What was just a lingering kiss turned into something more pressing. The warmth and softness of our lips, the wet touch of tongues, and the subtle taste of each other only added to my incoming arousal.

Unconsciously, I pushed my hips against his during the kiss, feeling his semi-hard dick. Francis moaned into the kiss. With his hand under my neck, he grabbed a fist full of my hair at the back of my head, squeezing tight and deepening the kiss. His other hand moved back to my waist, slipping under my shirt, caressing my skin, leaving goosebumps all over me.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, breaking the kiss and leaving both of us panting.

Francis rested his forehead on mine, and his hands continued rubbing the skin of my waist and neck.

“I thought you were tired,” I smiled.

“I am, but I want you,” he said hoarsely.

At the same time, his leg slipped between mine, pulling me closer by the waist. I could feel his need pressing against my intimate parts. I squeezed his leg between mine, rubbing my heat trying to ease my aching, but I knew he was exhausted, so I took the lead.

“What if I keep you warm?” I asked.

I spit a bit into my hand and reached for his pants, slipping under the waistband and into his underwear. I took his dick and started slowly moving, feeling him twitch. Francis groaned, and I felt his breath at the top of my head; he hugged me tighter and started to slowly, rocking his hips against my hand. I felt a chill down my spine; my core throbbed, and I felt it was getting wetter.

“Prep me up?” I mumbled.

Francis hummed, agreeing. His hand went from my waist to my heat, massaging my skin lightly along the way, and he pressed one finger to my entrance. I moaned quietly, continuing to pump him. He started to spread my juices around my lips and then pushed one finger inside. I moved my hips along with his finger, Francis kept his movements slow, and with each thrust, he touched a new spot inside me. Soon, he added a second finger, making me moan again and grind my hips in his hand.

“And I thought I was in need,” Francis chuckled.

“Francis…” I whimpered.

He pressed his thumb into my clit and began his scissors movements inside me, also curling his fingers to reach that sweet spot and stroke it, making me roll my eyes and breath heavily. I lifted my head, looking once again for his lips, and captured them in a hungrily open-mouth kiss, our tongues stroking each other rapidly and messy, with spit starting to drip.

I felt my walls pulsing around his fingers and that tickling sensation in my lower belly rushing me to grind faster. But I forced myself to stop. I pulled my hand away from his throbbing dick and grabbed his wrist, moving him away from me. I pushed Francis by the shoulder, laying his back on the mattress, and undressed myself. I lifted my leg and sat across Francis's lap, pulling his clothes down, freeing his dick, making him groan.

I kissed his tip and licked his entire length, from bottom to top, taking him to my mouth next. I took him until his tip reached the back of my throat and pumped the rest with my hand. I bobbed my head, sucking him and pressing my tongue against his flesh. Francis gave a husky groan and thrust his hips, hands tangling my hair.

When his dick was all wet, I raised myself and aligned my entrance with his tip. I slowly sink into him, feeling him twitch, relinquishing the feeling of his dick filling me up until he was all of him was inside me.

I set my hands on his stomach, getting used to the sensation of having him inside. Francis released a strangled breath, his hands resting on my thighs, caressing them with his thumbs.

When I was about to move, Francis took a strand of my hair and nestled it behind my ear, pulling me towards him by the back of my neck right after. He kissed me again, lips moving rapidly, only pulling away when we needed air.

The sudden movement had me squeezing his dick and he grinded his hips against me.

“Fucking tight,” Francis whispered.

I began rocking my hips, Francis matched my pace by grinding into me. Grunts and pants echoed in the bedroom; my hands were back on his stomach for balance, his hands pressed firmly on my waist to guide my movements and leave bruises. Each thrust felt heavenly, his dick sliding in and out, hitting the right spots every time, making me whimper and my legs shake.

The familiar tickling feeling in my lower belly came back, and my movements became erratic, faster, and sloppier, chasing that rush.

“I’m cuming,” I begged.

“Wait for me,” Francis urged.

He grabbed my leg and pushed my back onto the mattress. Settled between my legs, Francis resumed his movements, thrusting deep and fast. The change in position made me whine and squeeze him even tighter; it was bliss, the feeling of his weight on me, his grinding, and his dick rubbing every part inside me and hitting just the right spot.

“Francis, please” I begged again.

“Almost there” he grunted.

I tried my best to delay my incoming orgasm, focusing on Francis, on his short breaths, his muscles stiffening beneath my fingers, his raspy moans in my ear, just everything about him, taking my mind away from the pleasure he was giving me.

I tightened my legs around his body and my nails scratched his back, I was so close.

“Cum with me,” Francis pleaded.

I focused back on the sensation in my lower area. Francis sped up his pace, with chaotic and messy movements, as he began to shake. I felt the buildup of tension that made my back arch and my toes curl, like a clenching feeling. As soon as I thought that I couldn’t take it anymore, I sensed all that tension being released and pulsing throughout my body, an all-consuming release and euphoria. I moaned loudly against Francis's skin.

At the same time, Francis tensed up gave his final deep thrust and his dick throbbed inside me, releasing all of his seed, filling me up.

Francis kissed my lips tenderly, again, again and again, holding my face while supporting the weight of his body on one arm.

“I love you” he whispered between kisses.

“I love you too” I giggled, kissing him back.

He lay next to me, pulling me onto his chest. We stayed like that for a while, still panting and recovering.

“I’ll get you some water and a towel,” he said kissing my temple.

“No, it's okay I’ll get it” I pushed him down and got up. “I have to use the bathroom anyway. Do you need anything?”

“Just some water, please”.

I went to the bathroom, cleaned myself and then got a glass of water from the kitchen. When I came back to the bedroom, Francis’s breathing was deep and slow, suggesting that he was already asleep. I smiled and placed the water on his nightstand, I gave a small peck on his lips and laid down in bed, feeling my muscles relaxing after so much tension and pleasure.

The fact that our lives are regularly in danger because of the doppelgangers leaves everyone on edge, meaning that our time together safe at home is a blessing and a getaway from everything on the outside. Losing ourselves in each other is not only a reminder of being alive but also a reassurance that the other person we love so much is still by our side.

Thinking about all the things we do for each other, and while caressing softly Francis's face, I also fell asleep.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 20: written but never sent

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

Spencer greatly enjoyed handwriting. Electronic devices irritated him to no end, as he felt that typing on them was so impersonal and trivial. Handwriting required careful thought, reflecting desires and passions in the shape of the letters, and capturing feelings in the prose... everything written by hand represented something intimate, at least to him.

That’s why, when he got a pen pal, it was inevitable that he would start developing feelings. He had contacted you as part of a school assignment, as both of you were studying the same Ph.D. in linguistics, and one of the tasks was to analyze how different people express themselves in writing.

All he had was your name and address, the strictly necessary information to send a letter. He was the first to send one, sharing some details about himself, why he was pursuing the degree, the work he did, and how he would apply the knowledge he was acquiring.

He patiently waited for your response, which arrived a week later in a small brown paper envelope with a maroon stamp. Your letter didn’t seem like just a required response to fulfill the assignment. You sounded genuinely interested in what he had shared, and you addressed every point he had mentioned.

What surprised him the most was that at the end, you talked about books he had mentioned and ended with a question:

Have you read The Resilience of Language? It's a great book that could help you a lot. I highly recommend it! Best regards, nice to meet you.

There was a question at the end. The answer was no, Spencer hadn’t read that book. He could have simply stopped there, taking your recommendation and using your letter to complete his assignment. But something inside him wasn’t content to just end the communication there; he thought it would be rude not to offer a reply. So, as soon as he received your letter, he took one of his notebooks to write back.

Spencer used one of his gel pens with a fine tip and deep pigmentation. If someone were observing him, they could say that all these actions reflected a sense of importance: selecting the paper, his best pen, carefully crafting his handwriting—all of this added weight to the act.

He sent the letter, still unsure, but hopeful nonetheless. He was amazed when he arrived at the building and found another letter in his mailbox, with the same characteristics as the previous week.

A year had passed since then.

Every week, without fail, you exchanged letters. By now, he knew you better than he had ever known anyone, as the semi-anonymity provided an extra layer of trust for sharing everything that had happened during your week. You started by exchanging generalities, talking about books, and discussing the Ph.D. classes. Slowly, you began to share less trivial things: how the place where you lived was, your job, elements of your identity.

In recent months, you were writing to each other as if you were close friends.

My migraines have improved, in case you’re wondering, and this week at work has been less demanding than usual. We only handled a fairly light case (if you can even call it that in my line of work), and I had time to analyze some of the works you recommended. How’s everything going with that guy at work?

When Spencer finished, he hesitated about how to sign the letter. At first, he would send you his regards, write some polite expression, or simply wish you a good day. But now, he felt the need to sign off differently.

Affectionately, Spencer.

He didn’t think you would notice, just a gesture of the growing trust between you. He patiently waited for the postman to deliver your reply, and after several days, he eagerly read your words on the paper.

I’m disappointed about the guy. Turns out he’s a jerk, you know? Sometimes I wish I could meet someone who can genuinely love me, without focusing solely on the physical. Maybe it’s bold of me to say that, but I think you understand. I want a connection that comes from appreciating who I am, with someone who shares my interests, someone respectful, intelligent... but I won’t bore you with my romantic nonsense. The point is, I’m not dating anyone at the moment. I’m focusing on our Ph.D., haha. I hope you’re doing well, and I look forward to your reply!

However, he was quite surprised when he read the signature that followed your name.

Yours sincerely…

Had you signed that way in response to the dedication in his letter? Something felt strange within him, and his chest warmed with an unfamiliar feeling.

For a moment, he wondered if there was any possibility that he could meet the expectations of the special person you described, and when he realized he was imagining himself with you in that kind of scenario, he felt embarrassed.

It was ridiculous to think about. You didn’t even know each other, and you lived miles away, you were just friends who had taken a school assignment too far.

Time passed, and the signatures grew more affectionate, more personal… just like the content of the letters. It got to the point where he couldn’t deny it anymore: he was in love.

Though after realizing it, he spent a long time wondering what he should do with that feeling. Weeks passed before he came to a decision.

Spencer was returning from Maine when he decided to finally write to you. He was sitting on the plane, with his notebook in front of him, and his mind as blank as the page.

“What are you struggling to write, Reid?” Emily asked, sitting beside him “You’ve been staring at that notebook for ten minutes without the pen touching the paper.”

“It’s nothing,” he murmured, trying to downplay it. He didn’t want to talk about it, not with Emily, not with anyone.

A couple of hours later, with a pile of crumpled-up drafts beside him, he finally managed to write something:

I can’t start this letter without first telling you how much I’ve come to value our correspondence. For over a year, our written conversations have become one of the most important constants in my life. Each week, I eagerly await your letters, and every one of them brings me a pause in the middle of my routine: a space of calm where our words connect in ways I never imagined possible. I’ve read and reread your letters so many times that, sometimes, I feel like I know them by heart. Even so, I always discover something new in your words: an idea that eluded me before, an emotion that makes more sense over time, or a reflection that sheds new light on my own experience. Although we’ve never met in person, I feel like I know you better than many people I speak to face-to-face. Is that strange? Maybe it is, but the truth is that there’s something about the depth of our conversations that transcends physical distance. All this time, I’ve tried to rationalize what you mean to me, but there are things that can’t be measured or analyzed logically, no matter how hard I try. What I want to tell you —and what has taken me so long to write—is that I’ve fallen in love with you. At first, I wasn’t sure what this feeling was. I thought it was just admiration or gratitude for the friendship we’ve cultivated, but with each letter, with each shared thought, I realized it was something deeper. I love you, not just for what you share with me, but for who you are. For the way you see the world, with such clarity and empathy. For your insatiable curiosity, for your unique way of finding beauty in the smallest details. I don’t want this confession to make you uncomfortable or push you away. I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same, and I’ll consider myself lucky just to have known you in this way. But I couldn’t go on without being honest with you. I hope that, whatever your response may be, we can remain the same two friends who have shared so much through these pages. With all my love, and praying to be able to be yours, Spencer.

He kept the written words as if they were a treasure, feeling his heart race every time he thought about that secret tucked away in an envelope on his desk. Unfortunately, that letter never saw the light of day, all because of his fear of losing who might have been the best friend he had ever had in his life.

[mllemaenad]

Listening to Wyll's backstory in context of all the details we're acquiring on devil's contracts and soul selling is fascinating.

See - I listened to Lann Tarv's three tales to get my soul coins. I felt bad for making Karlach listen to that, obviously, but to be honest I didn't even want the coins that much. I actually wanted the stories. I wanted a better understanding of how this works.

And what I'm learning is - for the gods (and godlike beings) of this world, cruelty seems to be the point. I mean - it's possible there's a god in this world I wouldn't want to stab to death with a rusty fork, but if so I have not met them yet.

These beings have the power to save people and places, to change lives, to do anything. And when someone asks them to - they demand a terrible price. But they don't just demand a price. They subvert the original request in such a way that they utterly fail to deliver on the original promise.

An abused woman wishes to be loved - and her true love appears, but dies instantly. A man wishes to save his children from starvation, and ends up personally growing masses of meat on his own body - not only painful for him, but forcing his children into survival cannibalism, which they were trying to avoid.

Auntie Ethel works the same way. Every one of her customers is left in a tortured state, while Ethel still takes her payment.

The idea is that the person must come to regret their wish long before the payment comes due. Every cry for help must be met with a boot to the face. Or else the mortals will get uppity? Or something.

What is interesting is how consciously Wyll defies that. And how much Mizora is dancing around, trying to force him into that state of miserable regret.

Wyll was manipulated into selling his soul. He was a kid, and he was summoned into a terrible situation - and in that moment, he could see no other way to save the city. Mizora did need to save Baldur's Gate to serve her boss's purposes, so she couldn't take that victory from him - but she did everything she could to take the joy of it.

He didn't get respect, or admiration, or his father's pride for saving the city. He lost his home and his family. He was assumed to have done something monstrous because he was denied an opportunity to defend himself.

That was supposed to fill him with bitterness and regret - but he got to work building his own life instead. By the time you run into him, the Blade of Frontiers is a hero of some renown. He's remade himself, and found a way to enjoy what his powers can do, however he came by them.

So that didn't work.

Then Mizora sent him after Karlach, and that was a mission tailored to break him. Karlach is kind and heroic herself, and that the start she has been sold into slavery, mutilated and forced to fight in a war against her will. If Wyll killed her, and then found out who she really was, then he betrayed everything the Blade of Frontiers is supposed to stand for - and he would lose the life he made for himself.

But he didn't, and that didn't work either. He's got a friend, now, who at least knows part of what he's dealing with.

So Mizora gave him demonic features. That would destroy the life he's made for himself, because no one would trust him to help them.

Except now Wyll basically goes nowhere on his own, and a small army of people can attest that he got those horns and eyes as punishment for being a good man. Mizora might be able to shut his mouth, but she can't silence his friends - and the group absolutely have shouting sessions about everything. Wyll's horns become a battle scar, like his missing eye, and nothing more.

And beyond that, if you are playing as a heroic character, a significant throughline in the game's story is the journey of the tiefling refugees. The story makes it clear that these people experience a constant barrage of racism, due to their appearance and "demonic" heritage. It also makes it abundantly clear that this prejudice is entirely undeserved - they're just people, with virtues and flaws like everyone else, and what is happening to them is terrible. So Wyll turns up to assist a bunch of people whom he now at least somewhat resembles - and with Karlach along, you have two people in the group who technically count as "infernal", but haven't got an evil bone in either of their bodies.

Mizora created solidarity. Oops.

Wyll is deeply suspicious of gods and higher powers. He doesn't want to make more deals with devils. When Elminster arrives to tell Gale what Mystra demands of him, he explicitly says he does not do religion. When you get Mizora to agree to let his contract expire in six months, he starts by casually invoking the gods - but switches to thanking the player character instead, because he knows who helped, and who did not.

But he utterly refuses to regret the pact he made. That can be a struggle. He clearly misses his dad, and would like that relationship repaired. The fact that he was transformed very much against his will is clearly a source of distress from him.

But if he regrets, then Mizora wins. That's it. Game over. She gets what she wanted all along. So he doesn't.

The main companion characters all have this kind of problem, and naturally have different ways of dealing with it. You have characters like Shadowheart and Lae'zel, who were indoctrinated as children, or Gale, who was literally seduced by one of these nightmare deities - and with them you have to start out by convincing them they they were the wronged party in the first place.

But Wyll knows exactly what game he's playing, and he's been screaming defiance the whole time. It's just that, in his case, the "defiance" is grinning and carrying on every time Mizora inflicts some more bullshit on him.

[tanadrin]

RE "revolutionary leftists are revolutionary because they know they can't win electorally."

It astounds me a little that there are leftists who think that a communist revolution is more likely to work than, like, fifty years of community-building and electoral politics. Sewer socialism, union activism, and other boring activities have brought much more success in the U.S. than agitation for a revolution.

What I mean is, setting aside the moral concerns (violence is bad, even when it's necessary, and if there are practical alternatives then we should pursue them), I am not a revolutionary leftist because I think we would lose a revolution. For one thing, there is a considerable right-wing element in the country that is much better prepared for this kind of thing, and I think that the majority of the institutions in the U.S. would pick fascism over communism if they had to choose, but also, prolonged violent action is ripe for breeding authoritarianism.

Goatse is concerned that "the party" might "abandon or neglect its primary ends," but what is leftism if it is not, at bottom, an attempt to improve the living conditions of all people, et cetera et cetera? To the extent that social democratic parties successfully pursue this end to some degree, they're better than than an ostensible communist party that talks the talk but commits human rights abuses. And, more than the fact that U.S. leftism has some pretty fierce opposition that would probably fare better if The Revolution happened tomorrow, I think that, even in winning, we would lose, because what came out the other end would look a lot more like Stalinism.

I think one thing the hardcore revolutionaries in OECD countries don't realize is that the reason they can't marshal support for their revolutions is that the socialists won most of the issues that were salient in the early 20th century--workers got more rights, better pay, unions were legalized, etc., etc. But it didn't take restructuring the whole political economy to do it, which is immensely frustrating if you believe that any society without your ideal political economy is inherently immoral and impure, so in order to justify an explicitly communist platform you have to rhetorically isolate it from the filthy libs and feckless demsocs who it turns out have been pretty effective within the arena of electoral politics in which supposedly nothing can ever get done, and treat them as of a piece with the out-and-out fascists and royalist autocrats of the 1920s and 30s.

Which, you know. Is not persuasive to most people! Most people understand intuitively the vast gulf between the SPD and the Nazis; they see that, milquetoast and compromising though they may be, the center-left can deliver substantive policy improvements without the upheaval of a civil war or political purges, and this is attractive to people who are not of a millenarian or left-authoritarian personality.

Which isn't to say that communists don't often make important points! It sucks having to fight a constant rearguard action against the interests of capital rolling back the social improvements of the 20th century, and it sucks that liberal governments in Europe and North America have historically been quite happy to bankroll and logistically support fascists and tyrants in the third world against communist movements (which invariably only exist as communist movements because these same fascists and tyrants have crushed more compromising movements and only the most militant organizations have managed to survive).

But I agree with you: communists also talk a big game about how liberalism is the real fascism (what's that line from Disco Elysium I see quoted everywhere about how everybody is secretly a fascist except the other communists, who are liberals?), while also being awful at democracy. Suppressing dissent because your small clique of political elites is the only legitimate expression of the people's will (which you know, because you have declared it to be so) really is some rank bullshit. A system with competitive elections is still, well, a system with competitive elections, even if those elections are structurally biased in certain ways; all the bloviating that attempts to justify communist authoritarianism cannot really obscure the fact that authoritarian systems are cruel and brittle, regardless of the ideology being served.

[twelvemonkeyswere]

I re-read Good Omens via audiobook and I just collected my favorite details

"Crowley rather liked people" is a quote I still love so much. Even though he is a demon with the job of making people upset each other, he likes humans. The contrast between what they make him do and how he experiences Earth.

That scene with the ducks where Crowley almost drowns a duck and Aziraphale is like "I say, my dear" and Crowley is like "Oh yes I forgot myself" and allows the duck to return to the surface. Crowley is usually very polite about the most unhinged things which I just find endearing

All the times Aziraphale calls Crowley "dear boy"

The fact Aziraphale has "exquisitely manicured" hands lmao. I like to think he does go to the manicurist, same as he has a proper barber in the show

Aziraphale blushes sometimes and often gives mean looks to customers to push them out of shop

I like the on-going theme in the Good Omens universe of wanting to build a better world for loved ones, but how that drive, when taken to an extreme, is self destructive. Adam says he'll make the earth good for the Them, and will make sure the Them will be protected and happy in it. But the Them don't want it, they understand Adam is acting out and is not thinking things through. There is no point in trying to possess something and bend it to will forcefully. It wouldn't be good. It wouldn't be of free will. It would make them just another of his whims and no one, either the Them or Adam, actually want that

Aziraphale thinks Crowley is a creature of God when you "get right down to it", which is a thought both meaner and kinder than he realizes

Crowley is described to have "a voice so laid-back you could lay a carpet on it"and it's my most favorite thing ever lmaooo

"You're seducing women here!" /"I think perhaps you got the wrong shop" is always a brilliant line

Even though everything in the Bently turns into Queen's Greatest Hits, I love that Crowley actually loves music, and keeps his collection of records highly organized

Also love the fact that Crowley keeps his apartment orderly, though that's probably in big part because he doesn't really live there

I do appreciate that Crowley sleeps because he wants to, not because he needs to. Truly a relatable guy.

There's a big HOLY SHIT moment in the audiobook - the speech the American evangelist gives about the apocalypse. It's fucking incredible. The actor is amazing, delivering fire and brimstone and absolute hatred and certainty until Aziraphale pops inside of him.

Death really is Azrael, literally the angel of death

Aziraphale comes up with the solution at the end but ONLY because of Crowley, who challenged Aziraphale about the difference between the great plan and ineffable plan at the very beginning of the book

There are many moments where both Crowley and Aziraphale are thought to be a gay couple, but it really made me laugh that they are at the end of the world, telling each other it's been a pleasure to know each other all this time, and then Shadwell interrupts to call them "Nancy Boys"

Everyone in the Good Omens fandom is right, I do love that in the book, the wings of demons and angels are the same color

Crowley thinks the biggest battle will be heaven and hell vs humanity. This has got me thinking a lot. I figure this is because at some point humanity will rebel against any divine intervention, once we figure out that heaven and hell have been playing dice with us. But we'll see.

It does warm my heart that the story begins and ends with a garden and with the eating of the apple - Adam doesn't know why the old man hates people touching his apples so much, but the world would be a lot less interesting if he didn't. It's a fitting end for a fitting beginning.

[crguang]

a lover’s goodbye kiss

Are we ever truly done with grief?

angst, gn!reader, ptsd. 6k words of mourning and bitter reunions

A/N: this really got away from me, i also cried while writing it so do with that what you will. not entirely satisfied with it, but it’s okay. hope someone enjoys it regardless

Grief is a part of you. It seeps into your pores, settles in your bloodstream like cancerous chemicals and forces you to live with it, to endure the brunt of it lest memories pull you under permanently. For long-life species, grief is ironically common. The belief that Xianzhou natives are unaccustomed to death is a false one; though it is slow to come, it envelops them regardless, often twice over. The Mara curse is first. Its inevitability leaves an imprint in people’s hearts, a sort of impression they are born with and cannot outgrow. To be a long-life species is to become Mara-struck, a shell of your former self driven by bloodlust and fragmented memories. That, in itself, is death. Your body is no longer your own and neither is your mind, you are a senseless abomination destined to roam the world until someone or something delivers the fatal, long-awaited blow needed to end your misery. Though this heavy subject is not often discussed among the people, accepting that fate is done with bloodied teeth and scorched fingertips, a personal battle with grief from which you come out only somewhat victorious. Knowing that you’ll eventually be stricken by Mara is one thing, accepting that your loved ones will walk the same path is another entirely. No one talks about the worst part. Nobody tells you what you’re supposed to do when the memories fade away, replaced by the acrid smell of sulfur and a chill in your bones that you can never shake.

Hundreds of years of memories— content smiles, sun rays onto sweaty skin, cold hands in pale locks of hair, unspoken devotion— are hidden behind mist requiring immense focus to see through. You are not Mara-struck yet. Your mind is still your own, as much as it can be, and you are still alive. You ask yourself why often. Why it was her, first, and not you. Why you’re stuck living with holes inside of you when maybe you should’ve died along with the hundred Cloud Knights that had the misfortune of crossing her path that night. Loss has made you ashamed, you can’t even speak her name. It’d been erased from history and forbidden after that night, out of social disappointment and shame, but that is not why you can’t bear to utter it. It’s unfair that this is what you remember most of her; the collapsed buildings, the unbearable smell, the frozen corpses… Her beloved blade through your stomach. The way her gaze softened after a few glasses of wine has been replaced by the flash of crimson you caught a glimpse of before her sword buried itself in your guts. You vaguely recall how endearingly tight her muscles always were, how you or Baiheng had to smooth the knots out of her body once in a while. The news of her breaking out of the Shackling Prison, however, along with the screams that followed form a clear image in your treacherous mind. What use are memories if they are so fickle, so easily supplanted by horrors that quicken your heartbeat on thought alone?

If anything, you do not shoulder this immense grief alone. Jing Yuan was a scrawny, eager boy when you first met him, almost half your height and always trailing behind her like the dutiful apprentice he was. His enthusiasm lit up the training yard and his youthful determination quickly earned him a place amongst your most cherished. He would seek you out after hours of conditioning, sweat still clinging to his bushy brows, and request a friendly spar to show you what he’s learned, how fast he was getting, how swift he could slash his sword. Your position as a Lieutenant of the Cloud Knights made him look at you with naked admiration, he’d hang onto your every word with a seriousness unfit of his age and at times offered insight only a boy who had never known war could come up with. You think you remember a figure in the shade of a growing tree standing several feet away from where you and Jing Yuan sparred. Quiet as a golden eagle, diligent gaze making note of every sloppy thrust and slow retreat she would reproach her retainer afterwards, his master only revealed herself when the tip of your blade against his neck announced his defeat.

Jing Yuan was the one to rescue you on the ice. His quick intervention allowed for healers from the Alchemy Commission to reach you in time and tend to your injuries. He was also the one to end her. It had to be him, you know, but you regret your own weakness, your faltering steps and half-hearted parries— it’s a burden you wish he never carried. He bears it with a solemn glint in his eyes and an impeccable posture but he’s not General of the Xianzhou Luofu to you, and so he lets you keep him close whenever he visits your empty home. His appreciation for the comfort goes unsaid, though his shoulders stand inches lower once he sets out the door. After all, he lost her too.

You get déjà vu when Jing Yuan walks across the training yard with a skinny blonde boy in tow and introduces him as his retainer, Yanqing. His apprentice is just as eager and energetic as he was, and it’s easy to fall back into old habits when the boy eventually nags you into sparring with him. He’s talented, determined to achieve his goals, but a little too proud and overconfident. His arrogance reminds you of an old friend who once forged the sword you still wield like an extension of your arm. It’s somewhat endearing, and not entirely unearned. A part of you vaguely recalls the annoyed purse of the Sword Champion’s lips whenever your mutual friend would go on another spiel about mastering the way of the sword. Your fingertips trace the sheath of your blade at the thought.

The Stellaron crisis plunges the Luofu into disarray. It brings destruction and death to the Xianzhou on a scale that reminds you of her, of the illuminated moon in the night sky and the blood on your hands. You can’t allow the memories to paralyze you like they often do, however, so you work with Jing Yuan and the Master Diviner in order to eliminate the internal threat that pose the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus. The Mara-struck fall twice under your steel and the rest of the Abundance’s abominations quickly become light work for someone as experienced as you are. Since the Ambrosial Arbor crisis, they’ve been gathering in Stargazer Navalia the most, forcing an evacuation of all civilians to safer areas of the Luofu.

Though he has plenty of work on his hands, this is where Yanqing likes to disappear for an hour each day— additional training, he says. You trust his abilities, but today he is needed at the Alchemy Commission and is currently unreachable. No one has seen him for a while. You have an idea of his whereabouts, so you offer to look for him and relay the General’s message.

Two Cloud Knights stand guard as you enter Stargazer Navalia. Their posture straightens when they see you and they nod once in greeting.

“Has anyone seen Lieutenant Yanqing come through here, by any chance?”

One of them replies, “He was there an hour ago on an official investigation. Passed through here and went further into the docks.”

You don’t know about any official investigations but you offer a thankful nod anyway before walking past the Knights. The large shipping containers and crates create paths that workers use during the day but you figure it’d be easier to look for Yanqing if you had a better view of the area. You jump on top of a container and carefully skim the place ahead. As expected, abominations and Mara-struck lay on the floor, strewn about like discarded clothing. You follow their trail further inside Stargazer Navalia, between growing starskiffs and through already opened doors. It takes a little over ten minutes to catch up with the freshly cut-down enemies laying about as you hop from container to container. Shards of rock hard ice glimmer in the sun near the bodies, no doubt Yanqing’s doing. Honestly, that boy…

You can see his blonde hair when you advance a little further. He’s turning a corner, so you take a shortcut running above a long, empty container and land on the one behind him with a thud. The sudden noise alerts him and he swirls around with a hand on his sword, ready to attack, but you’re not looking at him. The ghost of a woman long gone stands beside him, her back to you, with a stillness that indicates she’s been aware of you before you made your presence known. The sight of her pale locks burns into your brain. The intricate design of the familiar attire she dons chokes you like firm hands around your throat, and you falter. The blues and whites and reds mix together as you blink to regain your footing.

“Lieutenant!” Yanqing straightens up, sheathing his blade. “What are you doing here?”

You taste ash on the roof of your mouth. Your fingers curl around the handle of your sword. Falling buildings, frozen corpses, sulfur burning your nostrils. Her blade through your stomach. (Hesitant fingertips against your cheeks, implied confessions, oiled palms on tense muscles.) A feeling that has been dormant for centuries stirs in your guts, snakes around your intestines and tightens your stomach. It travels through your ribcage and up your bobbing throat, forcing you to swallow it back down. There’s the slow ascent of the moon behind your eyelids with each blink and the stutter of your chest with each breath— a chill spreads over your limbs and they tense as if frozen in place. It paralyzes you; you feel mocked by the way your feet are glued to the metal under them. You are reminded of your previous weakness, of your blood on the ice and its frigidity seeping into your skin. You grit your teeth.

“Jingliu…” Her name is forced past your lips, evicted after uncomfortably sitting on your tongue for hundreds of years.

She does not move, except for the flicker of recognition that goes through her fingertips. A mirage, she has to be— a nasty trick of your fractured mind because she cannot be here, breathing, when Jing Yuan assured you of her demise.

“Huh? You know her?” Yanqing asks, oblivious to your struggle as he glances back to the woman next to him. His query confirms that she is flesh and blood but leaves no hint as to her state of mind. If she is the same as she was centuries ago, then he and the Luofu are in great danger.

“…Yanqing. The General is looking for you. Alchemy Commission.”

The boy frowns. “Did something happen? There’s something I have to finish up before—“

“Yanqing.”

He stops in his tracks with furrowed brows, displeased at having been interrupted. You finally tear your gaze away from Jingliu’s tense posture to look at him. He sees your hardened eyes and hesitates, turning towards his new acquaintance for a few seconds before clenching his jaw and nodding once. You outrank him, and though it often pains him to do so, Yanqing knows to respect the Cloud Knights hierarchy. He walks away without a word and disappears between the various shipping containers.

You stand above her, a hand on your blade, and breathe in the smell of the docks to loosen the pressure in your guts. It’s the middle of the day, the weather is warm, your skin is uncut. Blurry images of grasping hands sinking into bed sheets and locking lips fill your mind until you can’t see anything but the way her asymmetric bangs frame her face as she hovers over you, breathless. The crimson of her irises are dulled to a lustful cherry and she looks at you like she doesn’t believe you’re real. A fragment of her one-track mind and hateful heart made tangible for one night, to appease the disgusting yearning for closeness that lingers in her bones. She is not a weapon used against the Abundance and you are more than the fellow Cloud Knight that joined the ranks before she was thrusted into them. As her knuckle trails down your cheekbone to the corner of your parted lips, you are a new constant in her future, an immovable force that she cannot plan around, and she is just a woman. Not a survivor, not a fighter, she is a woman who longs for another’s recognition and gentle hands. And as she leans down to graze her bottom lip against your top one, you feel the searing pain of her blade piercing your flesh.

Blood trickles on your tongue and you realize it is from how hard you are biting the inside of your cheek. The visions are gone, replaced by Jingliu turning around to face you, her free hands limp at her sides. Her chin tilts slightly upward. She’s wearing a dark blindfold over her eyes— some part of you is grateful to be hidden from her sight— but you know it wouldn’t alter any of her abilities.

“Lieutenant…” She only says a word, trails off as if it leaves a strange sensation in her mouth. It’s not a question or a tentative statement; she utters your title with an infuriating fondness, like you’re an old friend she hasn’t seen in a while. It makes you sick.

“…You are not dead,” you state blankly.

Jingliu takes a short breath. “Not yet, no.”

There’s a sluggishness to her words and a rasp more prominent than you recall it to be. Her voice is raw and breathy like every sentence comes at a price, and you are reminded of the curse that plagues her. You don’t understand how she’s standing here, seemingly sane, when the Mara had overcome her the last time you laid eyes on her. Still, the hand on your sword tightens its hold. There’s a thousand things you want to ask, a thousand more you wish to convey through touch alone, but you cannot trust her.

You wonder if she remembers almost ending your life. You wonder if she is haunted by regret and grief the same way you are. You wonder if some part of her still clings to that stricken body.

“You can let go of your sword,” Jingliu says, “I mean the Luofu no harm.”

“And me?”

“...You?”

You swallow a lump in your throat. Your toes tingle with sudden restlessness and it thaws the rest of your limbs, allowing you to take a measured step forward. “And me, Jingliu? Will you draw your blade against me once more?”

She is silent for some time, tense, and her fingers slightly curl inward in a momentary loss of composure. You can’t tell if it’s because she doesn’t recall ever doing that or because she does and the thought brings her pain. Finally, she shakes her head.

“You are not my enemy.”

“I wasn’t your enemy back then, was I?”

“…Your trust in me is inconsequential. I came to the Luofu to atone for my sins and surrender myself to the Alliance.”

Your jaw clenches. Past the initial confusion, you feel cheated. Angry. Hundreds of years of broken memories, lasting grief and paralyzing terror have eroded you, flayed you until you are nothing but bones and ligaments. You are walking the earth as less than half a person for no other reason than this is the destiny of all long-life species. Your closest friends have either fallen or withered around you, and that loneliness has debilitated you. How utterly unfair. You have dedicated most of your life to the Xianzhou Alliance and its people, you have been selfless, understanding, devoted, and you are rewarded with injustice. The person who you once called your strength has become the main character in your nightmares, and here she stands, ready to give up the pieces that are left of her to the same people who have ostracized her out of shame for centuries. For all the unbearable pain she caused you, she came back for them. You are the one she has a history with, you are the one whose life is intricately woven with hers. You are who she should be seeking atonement from, not the Ten-Lords Commission and the Arbiter Generals.

You don’t notice how pale your knuckles are from the grip on your weapon or the heaviness of your chest quickening your breath. You stare her down with gritted teeth and Jingliu doesn’t shy away from the growing fury in your gaze.

“Inconsequential,” you repeat in disbelief, your voice a little louder. “Inconsequential, me!”

“This is what I have to do. It is bigger than you, bigger than me.”

You jump down the container to land in front of her. She simply adjusts the inclination of her head.

“Do you remember, Jingliu? What you did to me?”

Her lips form a thin line. Her lack of response angers you further. You unsheath your sword and point the tip to her own weapon resting against her hip, then to her chest.

“Draw it.”

Jingliu makes no move to obey. “I will only unsheath my blade against my enemies, and you are not one of them.”

“You are cursed to forget, but I cannot. It is in every blink, in every pause; the destruction you caused, my—” you swallow, features twisting in a pained grimace, “my blood on your sword.”

Jingliu doesn’t reply, though her fingers twitch with restraint. Her chest rises and falls a beat faster, the only indication that your words are getting to her. You know this is unfair, that you’re only contributing to the injustice you have to face as a long-life species, but anger clouds your judgment and incites this hostile behavior.

“Draw it!” You exclaim in frustration. “Unsheath your blade and face me!”

You lunge forward in an instant, your weapon raised in a practiced arc towards her neck, forcing her to move out of the way. Her body instinctively bends into a defensive stance, but she makes no move to use her sword. You repeat the motion, over and over, and Jingliu evades each strike with an expertise only she possesses. She still refuses to fight you, to revert to the mindless abomination she was that night. You force her into a corner and as your blade descends at an angle to make contact with her bare shoulder, she leaps high over your head and lands gracefully behind you.

“Must we do this?” She sounds mentally exhausted, each word is spoken through pursed lips and a quiver goes through her sword-wielding hand.

You swirl around, molars grinding in anger. “Yes! You have haunted every part of me and replaced every cherished memory in my mind! You are what I see when I lay down at night, standing over me as I choke on my own blood!”

Jingliu brings a clawed hand to her temple and utters, “Enough…”

“You are the face of my nightmares, Jingliu.” Your voice cracks halfway through the sentence. “It ends today.”

When your weapon comes down to strike her this time, its steel meets Jingliu’s specially crafted blade. She uses the momentum of her parry and pushes you back with so much force it sends you flying, your back colliding into the side of a shipping container. You rise to your feet with a shaky breath.

The clash of swords rings in the air as you move between incubating starskiffs and metal crates in an emotional dance. Street lamps fall, stationed starskiffs are cut in two, jade wheels are damaged and incubators break. Jets of their liquid explode everywhere Jingliu returns your strikes with stronger ones, and soon you’re crashing into yet another door. Blood trickles down your nose. There’s a nasty cut on your hip that will require medical attention. You stand, unwavering, and pounce towards the other woman once more. Jingliu grits her teeth as her parry brings your face close to hers. The distinct melody of her blade in movement fills her ears and the ground shakes under her feet. All around you structures are falling, narrowly missing you.

Your muscles strain with exertion but with the feeling comes a strange sort of relief that only intensifies when Jingliu has you pinned to the pavement, swords previously discarded some feet away with an experienced flick of her hand. You’re both breathless for a long moment and for the first time since her reappearance in your life, you don’t taste smoke in the back of your throat.

The pink of her parted lips is the same shade it was almost a millennia ago. The world blurs and you see a flash of a moment long passed of the two of you in the same position; Jingliu’s smug smile hides the sun from view and the bustle of the training yard resumes the minute her victory is announced. When you blink your way back to reality, only a few seconds have gone by. You stare up into the blindfold, chest heaving. Your fingers hesitantly lift to graze the apple of her cheek. One of them slides under her veil and her hand wraps around your wrist to stop you from going further.

Her name is a breathy exhale past your lips. Her shoulders suddenly tense and her head tilts away from you. The moment breaks as she separates from you, rises to her feet and takes a couple steps back. Almost immediately, Cloud Knights rush to the scene in formation, followed closely by the General and his retainer. You let out a sigh, gaze raising to the clear sky. You lose yourself in its endless blue, a heaviness in your chest, until Jing Yuan’s outstretched hand appears in your vision. Jingliu is gone when you accept his help and stand with difficulty, along with Yanqing and the squad of Knights. Jing Yuan wraps a strong arm around your shoulders, steadying you, and you make your way back in silence.

He doesn’t leave your side even as you step into your home and make a beeline for the bathroom. His arms are crossed over his chest and he leans on the doorframe as you rummage through your cupboards for bandages and disinfectant. You find what you’re looking for after a couple minutes and sit on the toilet seat, lifting your armor over your head and discarding the bloodied shirt underneath. The cut on your left hip stings when you gently inspect it. It’s deep enough that it won’t be able to close on its own but not life threatening. You softly apply disinfectant so it doesn’t get infected, clenching your jaw at the pain.

“You should let the Dragon Lady take a look,” Jing Yuan finally speaks up, “or the Alchemy Commission have other experienced healers. They’ll treat you in minutes.”

You almost roll your eyes. You’ve been patching up wounds before he could hold a sword.

“Pass me the stitches.”

He complies, tossing you the plastic box on the counter. You catch it with a hand. Another silence settles between you as you sink the needle into your skin and tighten the thread, occasionally sucking in a breath. The space lingers with tension but neither of you acknowledges it until you break the thread of the stitches and apply a large bandage over the wound. You sigh tiredly and raise your head to meet his guarded gaze.

“Why did you lie, Jing Yuan?”

He takes a moment to reply. There’s a hint of guilt in his golden irises. “…I thought it to be the best course of action at the time.”

You don’t blame him. The days following Jingliu’s departure from the Luofu are a blur, hidden behind a smoke screen so thick you might as well have forgotten them. You only recall the sting in your throat, raw from how much you cried, and the darkness of your bedroom. Jing Yuan was there, as much as he was able to, so he must remember those days better than you; how shattered you were, like fractured shards of glass swept under the carpet. You can’t fault him for wanting to bring you closure.

You rise from your seat and put back the supplies in their rightful place. Jing Yuan steps aside as you walk out the door and watches you disappear in the bedroom for a change of clothes. You grab the first top you see and shrug it on. You don’t bother fixing your hair, you just make your way back to the living area to put on your boots and grab your discarded sword near the door. Jingliu should have been brought to the Shackling Prison after her arrest, so this is where you’ll go.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jing Yuan says from behind you, making you pause. “We don’t know how stable she is.”

“She seemed stable enough.”

“For now.”

You turn to face him. “Then, why are you here? We both know bars can’t hold her.”

“I wanted to check up on you.”

“...I need to do this.”

Jing Yuan only shuts his eyes in defeat and nods once. He doesn’t follow you when you leave the house and shut the door behind you.

You have no issue getting into the Shackling Prison and acquiring Jingliu’s cell number. It’s not a place you visit often despite your position, the memories it holds have a way of consuming you and leaving you clenching your throbbing head. You navigate its somber hallways and silent cell blocks with an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your steps are swift, determined. You don’t stop to think about what you’re going to say once you’re face to face with her again. Jingliu is being held in a special containment chamber only used for dangerous criminals, with two Cloud Knights standing guard in front of the reinforced steel door. They look at each other when you plant yourself before them.

“No one gets in, General’s orders,” one of them says.

Your relationship with Jing Yuan is not a secret and often opens a lot of doors for you but encountering soldiers eager to please is a common occurrence. You have a few dozens under your command, they’re usually easy to deal with. However, the day has been long and you’re lacking the required patience to do so.

“Take it up with Jing Yuan, then.”

You push past them and they hesitate to stop you, glancing at each other. They grip their lances tighter when you open the door but don’t move as you enter the cell and close it after you.

The chamber is big enough to hold a single bed and a toilet in the corner, though its grey walls make it seem smaller than it is. The room would be casted in total darkness if not for the dim glow of the singular lightbulb on the ceiling. Jingliu is seated on the untouched mattress, legs crossed and palms flat on her knees. Her back is straight, her blindfold in place even in the low lighting, and you seem to have caught her in the middle of a meditation. She doesn’t speak as you stand awkwardly near the door, a hand curling around the handle of your sword in search of familiarity.

A couple minutes pass in tense silence with only the gentle buzzing of the electricity crackling through the lightbulb. You take that time to observe Jingliu for any sign of Mara. The even movements of her chest indicate her calm state of mind. Apart from the veil, she looks exactly the same as she did centuries ago; there’s no trace of the curse on her, and you are suddenly reminded of the first time you noticed her— you were the previous Lieutenant’s apprentice and she was a thin, pale girl haunted by nightmares of burning planets and suffocating fumes. That day, she crossed the training yard with a limp and cuts over her body, shattered sword held tight in one hand. You hadn’t gone out onto the field yet, your master didn’t think you were ready, but Jingliu had and you remember thinking that despite her poor state, she must be stronger than you. She would walk back at the end of each day with splintered and bruised skin and you would sneak her a glance, wondering what enemy she could have encountered this time. She was forced to survive and grew on the battlefield long before you did.

While you both learned the way of the sword, you did it to protect and she did it to cut down the object of her nightmares. Together, you climbed the ranks of the Cloud Knights and surpassed your masters. The burden of war brought you closer and your relationship transformed over the centuries; from comrades, to friends, to the one she went to whenever she craved peace from the visions plaguing her, to something more. You are deeply embedded in each other, her life story is yours and your mind is hers. The Mara curse might twist your perceived memories of her but it could never erase the affection you hold for her. It’s precisely because she means so much to you that thoughts of her have been tormenting you so.

Jingliu raises her head in acknowledgement and you’re brought back to the present with a blink.

“Sending you to interrogate me,” she says with a short exhale, words slow and raw, “how cruel.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

She doesn’t reply, waiting for you to continue. You swallow the emotion in your throat.

“I’m here for closure.”

You take your eyes off her and turn away, facing the blank wall with a hand in your hair. You take in a slow breath and exhale through your mouth as fatigue begins to take over your limbs.

“You don’t get to come back,” you start. “After all those years, you don’t get to reappear and trail all those memories along with you. You said you were seeking atonement from the Alliance. So you remember, then.”

Jingliu is silent for a moment. Your back makes contact with the wall as you sit on the floor with your legs limp before you. You don’t look at her, instead staring at your covered toes.

“…I remember the voices,” Jingliu says softly, “so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. I remember people, the ice… you.” She takes a breath and shakes her head. “I am aware of the hurt I’ve caused, of the sins that cannot be erased. They will follow me until the end, but I cannot let them hold me back.”

“From what?”

“From cutting the heart of a star.”

The turn of phrase transports you back to a drunken evening and Baiheng’s contagious laughter, to the sweet aftertones of fruit in red wine and the flush in Jingliu’s cheeks as she stares at the setting sun. Flashes of that day appear in your mind; Baiheng’s ridiculous dares, your shared competitiveness, Jingliu’s tipsy kisses as consolation prizes. The unexpected memory warms you.

“Revenge, then. Even stricken with Mara, this is what you hold on to.”

“I was never satisfied with letting our enemies come to us.”

That much is true. Jingliu only ever plays the offensive.

Your head turns to face her. “Do you remember us? Even I only recall bits and pieces, now.”

Jingliu’s pointer finger taps her knee for some time. Then her chin tilts to the left, towards you.

“Bits and pieces, yes…” she repeats pensively. You wish you could see the pinch of her eyebrows. “You used to hate losing to me in duels.”

“Of course you’d remember that.”

There’s a hint of a smile on Jingliu’s lips. A light silence descends between you. It’s strange, being in a confined space with someone who you thought long dead; even stranger conversing with Jingliu after everything that went down with Yingxing and Imbibitor Lunae, with Baiheng, and the Luofu’s growth that she didn’t get to witness. You never thought you’d have a chance to see her again, let alone hear her voice speak back to you. Your fingertips twitch with the desire to hold her close.

“I forgot to ask, earlier,” you say, “about the blindfold.”

“It keeps me from seeing that which pulls me under the influence of the Mara. I have pushed past the limits of my mind a long time ago, but… the reprieve it gives me is welcomed.”

“Your will is admirable. Always was.” You think for a few seconds, then speak up hesitantly, “Will my touch be a trigger?”

Jingliu is slow to respond. You see her lips part to let out a sharp exhale and notice the new tension in her shoulders. You feel selfish for needing a semblance of the intimacy you once shared when her mind is so fractured and fickle. The feeling tightens your throat.

“…It shouldn’t.”

Your emotions threaten to consume you as you stand and wipe your palms on your thighs. You take some steps forward, hesitating when you reach the bed. Her head tilts backward as if staring at you through the cloth over her eyes. With a gentleness that surprises even herself, Jingliu uncrosses her legs and outstretches her hand. Your fingertips touch hers and with a flick of her wrist, slowly lace with hers. She pulls you into her, your knees on each side of her hips and your nose in her shoulder; her freezing hands travel over the expanse of your back and her head dips to breathe in the smell of your hair. You pinch your trembling lips and squeeze your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay, but it’s no use when you can feel the empty sockets that loss has dug inside of you over the years fill up with tenderness. A quiver runs through you. You feel Jingliu’s shaky breath near your ear as she pulls you tighter into her. Your arms wrap around her with as much emotion and warm tears roll down your cheeks over her frigid skin. Her touch makes you whole again, if only for a moment— she is tangible against you and not a fragment of the darkest recesses of your mind. It would seem unreal if you couldn’t feel the softness of her flesh beneath your fingertips.

“How lonely you must have been,” Jingliu mutters into your hair. You know she relates.

“I mourned you,” you manage to say, voice tight. “I’ve accepted that you’re gone. I won’t grieve any more.”

“Good. Then allow me a proper goodbye.”

You cry into her for a long time. Jingliu simply holds you closer with a hand on your back and fingers buried in your hair. You won’t see her again, she will be tried and judged on the Xuling and will go back to being a ghost of your past years. You only hope that this time the memories will be softer, full of her touch as she cleans your cuts; the curve of her mouth when you whisper good morning into her shoulder; the exhilarating sensation of her lips on yours after an exhausting day of wielding the sword. She remains your strength even as your tears dampen her clothes, with the scent of her around you and her breath in your ears, you feel strong enough to let her go. You lost her to the curse of the Abundance once, but she won’t slip through your fingers now. Regret and shame fade away, replaced by this new warm memory of you in each other’s arms. Her unnatural coldness expands your heart instead of constricting it and you let go of the collapsed buildings and acrid sulfur in the air; there’s only Jingliu’s lingering fondness and her calloused palms on your body. In this confinement cell, you say goodbye to a part of you.

[beefrobeefcal]

Being Neighbourly feat. Frankie Morales x neighbour f!reader

a HeftyThrowaway one shot drabble | Rated: 18+ | word count: 1,681 warnings: f masterbation, feeding, belly rubs, belly kink, oblivious people liking each other

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, y'all! Here's a ditty that's been sitting in my wips for months. It's not Mouse and Frankie, but similar dynamic.

It was only a matter of time until you fell for one of your neighbours. And in doing so, you had proven that food was the way into a man’s heart… or bed.  

It started when you cooked up a batch of meatballs to freeze for future use on a Saturday afternoon. You had all the windows open to avoid overheating your apartment. Leaning out the window that faced the parking lot of your complex, you watched as Frankie parked his truck. As he walked towards the building, he looked around then up and waved at you. 

You gave a small smile and a wave, thinking that would be the end of it, when he called out to you. 

“Hey! Neighbour! Uh… is that you making something that smells good?” 

“Just meatballs.”, you called back. 

“Just meatballs, my ass. They smell amazing!” He looked like he wanted to say more but just smiled back at you. 

“Thank you! Um… do you want one?”, you said back, not sure why you only offered one when you had four trays of them. But his eager nodding and scampering into the building made you happy you did. 

You’d seen Frankie around the building in the usual places you meet your neighbours: the laundry room, the parking lot, the mailboxes. He was tall and lean minus the small tummy he sported, but still looked like he hadn’t had the comfort of a home cooked meal in a while. He seemed sweet and helpful, once even helping you bring your groceries up the stairs when the elevator was out of service. He lived in the suite right below you, and some nights, you’d hear him and another male voice out on the balcony, enjoying a blunt or a cigarette. Beyond that, you didn’t know much about him. 

After the initial introduction to Frankie as a guinea pig for your cooking, you found him to be quite handy to have around. For every issue you had in your suite that the landlord had ignored, Frankie had a fix. For every fix, you had a thank you meal ready for him. This became a regular occurrence and slowly turned into either you made enough food for both you and him then delivered it to his suite, or him joining you for dinner and you giving him the leftovers. This carried on for a while, and you noticed that Frankie’s small tummy was not so small anymore. The topic came up after he completely annulated an entire baking dish of your home-made enchiladas in one go. 

Sitting back at your table, his belly pushed out and stuffed, he sighed a little laugh. “Fuck, I just can’t help myself. You cook too good.” 

All you could do was smile and look down, trying to stop him from seeing the bashful glee on your face. You’d watched him eat the entire thing and all you wanted to do was go to his side, rub his stuffed belly, and feed him yourself. It had been a running theme in your head when you laid in bed at night, vibrator on high while you cried out his name. You’d never gotten off on anything like this, but it worked. You just wished it wasn’t a fantasy. 

“I mean it. I had to get new pants last week. Not that I’m complaining at all about your food.”, he reasoned, making sure you knew that he was not upset. “But if we’re gonna continue to be neighbours, I need a spandex wardrobe.” 

You both laughed at his little joke as he rubbed his belly, signalling an end to this topic. But god damn it, you wished you could just reach out and touch it, feel his belly and tell him he’s got more room in there, and then feed him. But you didn’t, and he continued to come around throughout the week for dinner; you both played this same routine: you made the food, and he ate it. It wasn’t lost on you that Frankie liked to eat, but what you didn’t notice was how much he really liked that it was you feeding him.  

On one Saturday summer night, you were sitting on your balcony, far later than you normally would be, enjoying a sangria. You heard the sliding door open below you from Frankie’s and could hear him and that other male voice talking.  

“Drop it, Pope.” 

“Dude, I can tell. It’s written all over your fucking face when she comes up. You’ve got it bad for this chick.“ 

“Fine. Yes. Happy?” 

“Sure. But you have to tell her. There’s no way-“ 

“Yeah, and have her laugh in my face? She’s not into me like that.” 

“And how the fuck would you know?” 

“Because she’s too fucking gorgeous and out of my league.” 

Your heart dropped; Frankie was head over heels for someone - someone who wasn’t you. Before you could quietly leave your balcony and mope inside, you heard the other voice, Pope, say, “No one feeds you like that if they don’t at least like you, Francisco.” 

You froze.  

Frankie sighed. “Fuck you, man.” 

“All I’m saying is if a beautiful woman like that keeps inviting you back to her table when you’re getting fat on her cooking, you’re in. You just got to make a move.” 

The last thing you heard Frankie say as they began their exit from the balcony was, “Shit, Pope. I’m fucking hungry.”, followed by the two men laughing. 

You sat silently on your balcony and let a breath out that you didn’t realize you were holding in. You ventured inside and laid in your bed.  

**** 

You had made yourself scarce the rest of the weekend, no sure how to interact with him after what you had heard, but you’d returned home exhausted from work on the following Monday to find a note on your door form Frankie that read: 

Want to go out for dinner? You can have a night off.  

x F  

You grinned to yourself, hopeful that this was Frankie trying to make a move and went into your apartment, got changed into a more casual outfit, and headed down to Frankie’s. 

He opened the door and gave you a big smile while telling you where he was going to take you - his favourite Tex-Mex restaurant.  

The car ride over started a little awkward, but you soon fell into an easy conversation. 

“So why the dinner out? Sick of my cooking?”, you poked, watching to see how he would react. 

“Fuck no!”, Frankie barked out laughing. “I just figured that maybe I could get dinner for you, and since there’s not a snowflake’s chance in hell that I could even compare to you in the kitchen, I thought I’d take you to my favourite place to eat… other than your table, of course.” 

You felt your cheeks turn pink and you could feel Frankie smiling at you. You felt bold as you thought of what you’d heard on Saturday night and wanted to test the waters. 

You reached out and put your hand on his that was on the gear stick. “Thank you, Frankie. You’ll have to show me your favourites on the menu.” 

Frankie sucked in a breath at your touch and nodded. “Yeah… uh, I pretty much like everything they have.” 

You smiled and nodded. 

***** 

“Recommendations?”, you asked looking over your menu. 

“Well, like I said, I pretty much like everything. But my favourites are, uh, the burritos and fajitas. Can’t go wrong with those, and the elote is great, too.” 

Once again, you felt bold. Without the restrictions of what you had cooked and the ingredients you had on hand, Frankie could really let himself loose in here and you were more than happy to encourage him. 

“How about you order, Frankie? I normally decide what I’m cooking, so you get to decide tonight. Order to your heart’s content – I’m in.”, you say, leaning forward and cocking your head. 

Frankie’s eyebrows twitched and his lips parted. His tongue flicked out and he nodded. “You sure you’re up for that? It’ll be a lot of food.” 

“I’ll be fine, Frankie. The question really is will you be okay. Because food is more of a spectator’s sport for me when I’m with you.”, you say with a wink.  

Frankie just stared back at you, his breathing getting quicker. His brain was trying to wrap around that fact that Pope was right: you were into him and like to feed him. He thought he’d died and gone to heaven. 

Before he could pinch himself, the waitress approached the table. Frankie placed the order – it was a lot of food - and you just sat back and smirked as he spoke. 

“You sure you’re gonna be able to handle all that, Frankie?”, you questioned with a wry smile and teasing tone. 

Frankie gave you a flirtatious grin and took your hand. “Yeah, and there’ll even be room for dessert.” 

By the time Frankie had eatten two plates of food, he was sitting back in the booth, finishing his pop.  

“How’re you doing? You still got another plate.”, you gave him a coquettish smile, pushing the plate forward to him. 

“Oh, honey. I’m full.”, Frankie chuckled, patting his belly. 

He watched as you got out of your side of the booth and slid in next to him. Throughout the meal, you and Frankie dropped silent hints as to where you both wanted this to go. You again felt emboldened and reached out to rub his belly. He watched you, his eyes pleading with you to keep going. 

You leaned in and purred into his ear before nuzzling it with your nose, “Oh, Frankie. You’re not that full, are you?” 

Frankie shivered and gulped. Once he had cleared the last plate, Frankie huffed out a breath and tried to hide a small burp. You sat at his side, continuing to console his overstuffed tummy, and gave him a kiss on his cheek. 

“What’s next?”, Frankie asked, looking at you with a lazy smile.  

--------<3---------

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[deansapplepie]

Till THE DEAD do us part |Chapter 18

Chapter 17 Chapter 19

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 18: I ain’t sleeping with Hershel

Summary: The group is hopeless until they find the prison, now they try to build a new home. While which one of them have to deal with their own issues.

Warnings: swearing, outbursts, walker killing, blood, gore, nightmares, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of baby being possibly dead, misunderstanding, fights, reader can be a brat, insecurities, jealousy (nit the reason for insecurities), reader and Lori implying Daryl would substitute reader for Rick (that’s a joke). Minors do not interact. (I probably forgot something because this chapter have a lot of things happening)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Grimes!Reader (Rick’s Sister)

Word Count: 4,615

A/N: Not proofread. Not one of my best writing. This was a chapter I was expecting to write since I started, and I’m a little disappointed on how it came out. My summary also sucks.

It had been 8 months, 8 long months of survival on the road, finding shelter here and there but never for too long. You had found a house near a small road, the men and little specimen of man (Carl), went to the house to clean it of walkers. You preferred being in action, killing walkers and shit, but Lori had a enormous belly, soon she was going to give birth, so all care she could have was necessary, so you’d better stay behind and take care of her.

Hershel was trying to teach you how to deliver a baby, well you knew the basics, you had already helped many puppies and kittens born. Ok, it wasn’t the same thing, but… you had also told Hershel you didn’t know if you wanted to do this. She was your sister-in-law, medically speaking you shouldn’t perform any surgery on her. ‘If something happens to me, I need someone that’s going to be able to do so.’ He used to say, and you would always say the same ‘nothing is happening to you, I’m protecting you.’. To which he always replied he was too old, and you couldn’t protect him from that. Being responsible to act on big medical ‘events’ of the group still made you nervous and uncomfortable, you wish you had an actual doctor in the group so you didn’t need to be one of the docs and be put in the same level as Hershel, when you clearly wasn’t. You still doubted your abilities as a vet, which you studied to actually be one… how could you take care of humans? You knew it wasn’t like there was many doctors around, so you’d have to do.

You entered the house carrying all the things you’d need, it was a lot of things for people that didn’t have a place to live. There were days since all of you had a decent meal, everyone looked apathetic, as if life had been drawn from you. You gathered around what looked like a living room, silent… Daryl sat by your side, an owl at his hands, plucking it. You used to love owls, so beautiful and majestic, symbol of wisdom… but at this moment you couldn’t care less and was even proud your man had caught it.

You noticed Carl at the corner near Beth, he had a can of something in his hand and was opening it. Was it dog food? God, how did you end up like this? You’d eat it and wouldn’t complain. You’d be happy to have whatever in your stomach. Looking at that food, you remembered Luna and how you had missed her all those months… before you could go deep into your thoughts you got startled when Rick took the can from Carl’s hand and threw it to the other side of the room, making a resounding noise that echoed around the house.

What was his problem? That was food, regardless of what kind! You were ready to get up and tell him off, but Daryl grabbed your hand and motioned with his head for you to not do that. You deep breathed and started counting… until T. announced there were a large group of walkers coming and you need to flee as fast as you could.

At some point you stopped again to make some fire and cook the owl Daryl had killed. Owls were mostly made of feathers, there was little meat, but beggars can’t be choosers… so each of you got your small share of it.

“Let’s go hunt something.” Daryl told Rick. “The owl wasn’t even a starter.”

“I’m going with you.” I promptly said, but I already knew they would refuse my company, again. They often did it, and it was annoying.

“Stay with Lori, she might need you. Besides that you’re better trained than the others, I need your protection here.” Rick stated and you just rolled your eyes.

“You don’t even believe your own words.” You said, then you turned to the hunter. “Don’t take too long and bring something delicious, ok?”

“Yes ma’am! I’m at yer orders.” He kissed your temple before taking his crossbow and disappearing with Rick.

You stayed behind with the others against your will, you crossed your arms and observed the two men disappearing in the woods. Soon Lori, Carol and Maggie joined you. “Stop pouting, they just went hunting.” Maggie elbowed you playfully.

“Without me.” You stated. You got frustrated every time they left without you, especially Daryl. “They spend more time together than with me! It’s like they’re substituting me.”

“Seriously, Y/N/N? Are you jealous of them?” Carol asked with a smile of amusement.

“Rick can substitute you, but Daryl can’t…” Maggie affirmed. Rick couldn’t, he was substituting you… it was rare when he seek you to talk or advice.

“Rick, it’s true. But Daryl… I don’t know, Rick has a quite beautiful ass.” Lori joked, Rick and she were still not talking, but moments like this would bring her some sense of normalcy, just as if they were friends gossiping in the kitchen and there were no walkers around.

“Hey! I have a beautiful ass too.” You protested.

“Of course, you’re siblings.” Lori shrugged then she put one of her arms around your waist. “You worry too much, they’re men. They need this time away from us. Besides… I need you here, I feel better with my sis and the baby too.”

“Ugh… you always know the right words to convince me. Ok, let them be. I’d rather pass my time with my girls.” You told them and hugged Lori resting your hand on her belly.

“Or boy.” Lori completed, because you didn’t know the baby’s gender.

“Nah, I have a feeling it’s a baby girl. So, I prefer to pass my time with 4 of my favorite girls.” You said a grin on your face.

After a time, that felt like eternity, they came back with news that they found a place, a prison and you could stay there and make it your home. You just had to… take it back from the walkers.

You had to work together to take the yard. First you had to cut the fence so you could enter and after it you needed to close it again. That wasn’t the most difficult part, there was no walker in the corridors around the fence, but the yard…. It was full of them. Also, one of the gates was open and it needed to be closed otherwise you’d not be able to fight all of them. Rick wanted to close the gate while the rest of you distracted the walkers and covered him. The plan was perfectly executed and you could all clear the yard out of walkers.

It gave hope to all of you. If you could clean part by part, soon you’d have a place you could call home. A safe place to live. A place for Lori to have the baby, a little bit of the domestic life again. Later that day you were all reunited around the fire, eating the little hunt Daryl and Rick got earlier. Some chatted, Beth sang a beautiful song… Rick was near the fence that separated you from the walkers on the patio, it was safe, he could come to the fire, but he wouldn’t. You could go and try talking him into resting and relaxing near the bonfire, but you knew he wouldn’t listen to you. He never did. Not anymore.

Daryl was on top of a toppled bus, watching or something. Carol went there to take some food for him. They had developed a nice and kind friendship since the farm, you were glad he was getting close to everyone in the group. Even though you sometimes felt jealous, you just pushed this feeling to the coffins of your mind and didn’t think about it. You knew him, you trusted him. You knew Carol, she was your friend. Besides that you were also jealous of him and your brother, so this wasn’t something you had to take seriously.

Later that night, you were laying on a blanket close to the fire and in Daryl’s arms, and you couldn’t help but think about the future. “Do you think we’ll be able to make this our place?” You asked him, your hand playing with a thread from his poncho.

“Ya’re the positive one ‘ere. Don’t you think we’ll make this place our home?” He told you. You had changed during the last months, all of you. You and him, you that would always reassure him, not the opposite. You used to always see things on the bright side of it, but you found closure and lost it so many times already, that you didn’t know if you could be like that again.

“I dunno. It’s just… we’re looking for a place for so long that it all just seems unreal. It’s like tomorrow I’m opening the eyes and we’ll still be on the road, or maybe something will happen and we’ll need to leave.” You tried to explain what you were feeling, but that wasn’t even the start of it.

“We’ll be fine. We can do it. I know. We’re making it a home.” He told you, he didn’t even know if he believed in his own words, but he trusted Rick and he said it would work. Also, he’d do anything to take those worries from your mind.

You snuggled into him and the warmth of his body and his unique scent, even when you didn’t have a descent bath in ages, engulfed you in comfort. After some time of comfortable silence between you, you drifted to sleep letting the exhaustion take you.

The next day you needed to take the patio and try to clean one of the cell blocks. Rick, Daryl, T.Dog, Glenn, Maggie and you worked together on taking the patio while the others kept at the fence trying to distract them. You used your crossbow and knife, you also had a gun, but all of you would rather not use it, since you were low in ammo and of course it attracted many of the dead if you used it. Some police walkers gave you a hard time, but soon Maggie discovered how to kill them and it became easier for you. As soon as you finished, you entered Block C and killed the few remaining walkers that were still inside.

After, all of you started to enter the Block and settle in, bringing your belongings and cleaning what you could and the best way you were able to. While that the men started to carry the corpses from the block and from the patio so they could burn them and finish cleaning the place you already had. You chose a cell in the upper floor, you looked at it and could already see you and Daryl living there.

You let your belongings outside of it and started to clean. You shook the bedsheets to take away the dust and then arranged it all again. The bunk was rather narrow, but you two pretty much slept so into each other that it wouldn’t be a problem and you could arrange it in the future. For someone that the day before wasn’t so sure if you could make this place a home, you were very excited.

You heard some cries coming from some cells away from yours, you walked there and found Lori. Carol was squatting in front of her, trying to comfort the pregnant woman. “What if the baby is dead?” She cried. “I feel like there’s something wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong. You’re good, the baby is fine. Your belly is perfectly normal.” Carol reassured her.

“Yeah” you intervened, sitting by your sister-in-law side and caressing her back. “Don’t worry. I’m a doc, ain’t I? I’m saying it and you can trust me.” You weren’t sure of your words, you were not this confident about treating people, but you wanted to soothe Lori in some way. “Do you want me to take Rick?”

“No! Not him. I… bring Hershel, please.” She asked, Rick wouldn’t give her any comfort. He didn’t even hug or kiss her in months… what good could possibly do having him around right now?

“Ok. I’m gonna take Hershel.” Carol got up and left to find the old man.

When the doctor of the group arrived, you left to give them some privacy, even though you already knew her worries.

Later that day everyone that hadn’t claimed a cell yet, was claiming one and preparing to have a well deserved rest after such hard work. You approached Daryl, excited to tell him about the cell you had arranged for both of you, but you weren’t expecting his answer. “D., I cleaned that one for us. We just need to take our things there.” You said pointing to a cell further in the end of the corridor upstairs.

“I ain’t sleeping in a cage like a damn animal.” He was quick to answer, giving you his back and going to a place on the stairs where he’d placed a mattress and his things. He didn’t know his words had come so harsh, he didn’t even reflect about it before saying. His aversion was exclusively, because his brother had already been in jail, also being on jail was something that everybody where he came from expected from him, even though he had never been, not even because of bar fights or shit, and let’s say that the Dixons never ran from a good fight.

He had hit right at your feelings. You were taken aback by his harsh words, you weren’t expecting this. You were tired, the last months had been exhausting and for the first time in months you had a safe and rather decent place to rest. You turned your back and walked in the direction of the cell. When he turned back he saw you getting distant, with your back turned to him, he didn’t see the hurt you were feeling, but he was also with questions on his mind, why wasn’t it obvious to you that he didn’t want to sleep on a cell and neither alone? He had no reaction.

‘Maybe she needs some time alone’, he thought throwing himself at the mattress not even caring about taking off his boots.

‘Maybe he doesn’t want me’, that was what was in your insecure ass mind, everything was so good, so why couldn’t you just get over it.

You took your things from outside the cell and entered it, throwing you shoes anywhere and after jumping on the bed. This was the most comfortable bed you had had in months, but you felt there was no joy in it, if you weren’t sharing it… well at least he had his own mattress all alone somewhere. The exhaustion took your body and soon you drifted to sleep, but that didn’t mean it would be a good restorative night of sleep.

You were at the prison patio, the sky was cloudy and the air was sultry. Near the gates you saw a group of people, they were inside and had their back turned to you… but their silhouettes were so familiar… one of them wore a fisher hat and wasn’t very tall. “Dale? Is that you?” You asked, it just could be him, but how was it possible. Then they turned one by one…

Dale with his guts falling outside his stomach, a walker. Also, Amy, Jim, Jacqui, Sophia, Jimmy, Shane and Patricia. All of them walkers, even Amy, Jacqui, Dale and Shane that you knew there was no chance of being there. And then, contouring them, came a dog, a german Shepherd, your Luna and god… how you missed her! But she wasn’t her anymore, she had also become a walker version of herself. You didn’t even know if the animals could be affected, but you didn’t have time to care, because she ran in your direction and jumped on you.

You woke up sitting in the bed. You were sweating. A scream caught in your throat, unable to get out. That was better, you didn’t want to wake everybody up. One hand on your chest feeling a burning sensation you always woke up with when you had nightmares. The other hand on your mouth muffling your sobs. You were tempted about getting up and looking for Daryl’s arms, but you resisted the urge. He was the one that made you sleep alone. You weren’t thinking straight. It wasn’t that you never had nightmares sleeping with him, you still had them from time to time, but at least you were in his arms and felt protected. It didn’t let you sink in your intrusive thoughts.

After some time, you didn’t know how long after, you laid again in bed and tried to think about anything else else that wasn’t that nightmare. It would be good if you found the infirmary, you would complain if the library was still good and had good books, you’d love if you found some ammo…

You woke up with the sun touching your face, you felt as if you had been hit by a truck. Your body was painful and you were super sleepy. You put your shoes on, the gun in the holster, the knife on your waist and the crossbow across your body. You left the cell while you made your hair into a ponytail and walked to the stairs. Daryl was already up, he stopped everything when he saw you. You looked at him and remembered what you went through having to sleep by yourself. “Good morning.” You said, you were still a polite person after all, even angry at your boyfriend.

“ ‘morning pup.” He caught you when you passed by him, before you could finish descending the stairs. Both of his arms wrapped around you, he pulled your back against his chest and his face on your shoulder.

Ok. You were not understanding him at all. The day before he pushed you away, and now he’s all lovely to you. You inhaled, and delicately you took his hands from you and left his embrace and went down the stairs. He didn’t understand a single thing. You loved morning hugs, you needed them to start your day and he was there giving you that without caring if anyone would see and he would feel embarrassed, so why were you so cold?

You walked to the common area where most of the awake people were gathered, you didn’t have anything to eat, but it wasn’t any news. You saw Rick, wished him a good morning and hugged him. Ok, now Daryl was remembering every step he gave in the last months just so he knew exactly what he did wrong. “Your eyes are swollen, have you been crying?” Your brother asked, first time in a long time he noticed something about you.

“No, why would I? Just If I was too happy we have a decent bed to sleep after a long time.” You said, a tad bit of acid in your tone. Your brother knew better than pushing you, so he let it be. He looked at the archer, which he discovered to be a good friend after many months on the road, and Daryl’s eyes showed he was as clueless as him.

You soon start talking about going further in the prison and cleaning other places, finding new places and supplements. “ I’ll be very glad if we find the library!” You said getting a little bit excited just by thinking about having books to read it.

“Oh it would be fantastic!” Hershel agreed. “I haven’t found a single good book the whole time we were in the road.”

“Alright” Rick said after you finished talking about everything that you could find in the prison. “I think we can go.”

“Don’t go.” You heard Daryl by your side, a gentle hand on your upper arm.

“Why shouldn’t I, Dixon?” God, he was so screwed… now he knew he was the problem, you almost never called him Dixon, not even in a sweet playful manner. So he knew it.

“Ya don’t look good.” He tried again.

“Well, good thing I’m going to kill walkers and not to a fashion show.” You faked a sweet smile.

“Wha’s up with the attitude?” He asked, he himself already getting annoyed.

“Just, I’m tired of being left out. I’m no damsel in distress so you have to tell me all the time to stay behind. Also, I’m not staying to be ‘protected’ by a 12 year-old.” You finally took a breath between your words. “ ‘sides that you’re not my father, nor my husband to tell me what to do. Even if you were…”

“Are you two done?” Rick tried to intervene while everyone watched the discussion without understanding a single thing, just as lost as Daryl was.

“Shut up Rick, I’m not over.” Your brother’s eyes popped and he was ready to tell you off.

“Also, you are taking Hershel with you, an old man, but the idea of me going is so absurd! No offense Hershel, but you guys are taking our best doctor in a risky mission. And I should not go, because I don’t look good?!” You vomited facts all around that weren’t needed to be said, none of those people around you were the reason you were so pissed off. Maybe Rick, because he was always leaving you behind.

“Well, I ain’t sleeping with Hershel!” Daryl blurted out the sentence, losing his temper.

“Neither with me, apparently.” You retorted, and realization hit him.

“That’s why ya’re upset and causing an scene?” He threw at you.

“Upset? I was upset yesterday. Now, I’m angry.” You took a breath and just as if nothing had happened you told the others. “I’m waiting for you on the patio.”

You left and everyone stayed behind sharing looks and glances between them. Daryl grunted in frustration, god damn, he thought you wanted to be alone the day before, but in fact you probably understood he didn’t want to sleep with you.

“When you wanted relationship advices you should have asked Hershel, not me.” Rick patted his shoulder before leaving.

“Yeah, guess so.” Daryl mumbled under his breath.

“Son, you two need to communicate better.” Hershel said to him. “Also, be grateful you don’t sleep with me, I snore quite a bit.” The old man joked.

Daryl breathed one more time and looked around, his eyes landing on one of the bulletproof vests that you were able to find. He took it and his crossbow and left block C, joining you on the patio. He came in your direction holding the vest and you almost rolled your eyes.

“Hands up.” He said.

“I’m not wearing this shit. It’s heavy and I can hold myself well without it.” You said.

“Yes, you are if ya wanna go inside with us.” You laughed.

“And what are you going to do? Are you going to lock me up in a cell.” You teased.

“If ya continue to act like a fucking brat, yeah” he said. “Now put yer arms up. We’ll talk later. We suck at communication sometimes.”

“You two, stop it. We have work to do.” Rick told you, a finger pointed in your direction. “Watch duty for both of you tonight, and you better make up.”

You rolled your eyes and put your arms up, Daryl slid the vest through your arms and then adjusted it on your body. “Stay close, and dun do anything reckless, ‘kay? I ain’t protective ‘cause I think ya’re useless. It’s ‘cause…” ‘I love ya’, he completed in his mind. Why was it so easy to tell you while you were sleeping, but so difficult to say with you wide awake. “… I can’t lose ya.”

You really wanted to be mad at him, but you just couldn't. You almost broke when he back hugged you earlier, and now even if he called you a brat, and was even harsh, you just couldn’t when you saw his blue eyes soften on you. You had really been a brat, but who wouldn’t in your place? Rick retold all of you what you were supposed to do and reaffirmed you shouldn’t leave formation, and like this you entered the building.

It was very calm at first, no walking corpse on sight, but soon they started to appear, small groups of them, you killed one by one. You used the crossbow to stop them from coming closer, but when they did you’d use your knife. That was great until a group of them separated all of you. “fuck…” Where was everyone? You kept walking in the dark trying to avoid the walkers and killing them before they’d kill you.

You walked on your side trying to maintain your eyes everywhere until you knocked into something and almost panicked before discovering the something had arms and wrapped one around you and covered your mouth immediately so you didn’t scream. “Told ya to stay close.” Daryl whispered.

“I can guarantee, I didn’t separate from you on purpose.” You whispered as soon as he took his hand from your mouth.

You continued to walk together, till you reunited with the others and… the worst had happened. Hershel was bitten, god damnit! Couldn’t they just say no to the old man and have left behind? You were all cornered in a corridor when you found the cafeteria, without much thinking you all got inside and ran to Hershel’s aid.

You ripped the leg of his pants and looked at the bite. Fuck. Your doctor was bitten. You had to be the doctor. ‘Think fast! Think!’, you repeated it like a mantra inside your head, and then the idea hit you.

“A BELT! Someone give me a belt!” You commanded and Rick was fast to give you his. “I’m sorry Hershel, we have nothing to lose anymore, so I need to try this.”

You put the belt around his leg and restrained his blood from flowing. “Rick, you do it. I don’t think I’m strong enough to do it in one.” Rick took his hatchet and did what he had to cutting off the bitten part of Hershel’s leg. The doctor got unconscious, Maggie was despaired and blood was everywhere. Suddenly you heard a sound coming from the very end of the cafeteria, most of you aimed your weapons in the direction of the sound just to be met by 5 strange faces and none of them belonging to a dead person.

“Holy shit!” Exclaimed a ginger man.

Wanna be added to my tag list? Let me know. (Please tell me if you want to be tagged on everything or just specific series) Everything Taglist: @lilyevanstan1325

Till THE DEAD do us part Taglist: @sunnybunnyy2 @royaltysuite @isakyakiisak @milopenne @celtic-crossbow @mel-wcst @gabriella-aesthetic @duckybird101 @the1eyedmonster16

Some of you I wasn’t able to tag, I’m sorry.

[littlexscarletxwitch]

── ༊*·˚⋆ 𝗻𝗼 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗹

paring: yelena belova x fem!reader

tag(s): nsfw, smut with no plot, needy yel

warning(s): MDNI, +18 ONLY read at your own risk, explicit wlw smut, wlw sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, kinda public sex, kinda cnc, grammatical errors, unedited

word count: 2.6k

requested?: yes, you can find the request right here

note: The winner of the poll is hereeee!! Nonnieeee, it's finally here! I really hope you like it, it was so thrilling to write this lol. Thank you, anon, for this request ily. I'm not a native english speaker, so please let me know about any sort of mistake. Love you, guys <3

requests are open! + check my rules + masterlist <3

Yelena squinted her left eye as the other one adjusted her vision through her rifle's sight.

Her mind was set on one thing only, and that was the man she was currently staring at. She didn’t know who he was, she was barely given his name and the place where she and her team would find him and that was the end of the story. She didn’t need to know more, nor that they would have let her either way.

She was supposed to take him out, making it look like an accident, a shooting, a terrorist attack. The Red Room didn’t care how, they just wanted him out of the picture and that was exactly what she was going to do.

Yelena didn’t know what she was doing, well, technically she did. But she wasn’t aware of it. She was one of the first subjects to have been tested the mind control gas on and now she had lost all senses of a moral compass. Her mind was completely clouded, full of her own thoughts but her mind wouldn’t listen to them. Her mind listened to The Red Room and did as she was told to.

“I’ve got eyes on the target,” she muttered, her voice being picked up by her team through her earpiece. “Where are my explosives?”

“We’re almost done.”

“Come on, guys. He’s about to leave, we have to be quick,” she said anxiously.

When she was given her target’s file, she was instructed to memorise his routine. The man woke up at 7am, left for work at 8. On mondays he would go out for lunch, on tuesdays he would just order something to have it delivered at work. At 7pm he would be ready to go back home, but before that he would always stop at his local cafe. It was now Yelena realised that he always did so so she could see the lovely waitress tending to his table.

And any minute now he was going to walk out the door and Yelena would pull the trigger, the bombs would go off at her command, distracting everyone and she could get a clean shot. At night the local news would communicate the tragedy, her target being the only casualty and she was sure they would claim it to be a terrorist attack or something similar, still she did not care.

“Guys, hurry the fuck up!” she couldn’t fail this mission, they couldn't fail or they will all face the consequences.

“We’re done, bombs are to explode in minus 2 minutes.”

“Roger that, let’s get this over with,” she said, adjusting her rifle aiming right at her target.

She was already annoyed, she appreciated the fact that being hidden on the rooftop of a building meant none of her partners could see her. She was almost going to lose it. Things didn't go as smoothly as she had planned but it was fine, she wouldn't fail them.

An explosion was heard a couple of metres away from her, people started shouting and running in fear afraid for their lives. Yelena watched as her target did the same, she could tell he was terrified, his eyes were wide open in horror.

She was ready to finally pull the trigger when something else got her whole attention —you.

You were running back and forth, helping people up, getting them to a safe place. She could tell you were worried and afraid, and your forehead was slightly bleeding, but that didn’t stop you from helping as many as you could. Her brows furrowed as she stared at you, her heart sinking into her tummy, her heartbeat speeding up and it felt as if someone was hammering her brain.

“Yelena, status on target,” the voice took her out of her thoughts, burying all the new emotions deep down inside.

“I’m on it,” she said, once again adjusting her rifle, this time there won’t be any inconveniences.

But she was wrong. Another bomb went off, this time a car set on fire, and you were right there watching the whole thing. You cried out loud, scared for your life. But you weren’t alone, the target was right beside you. She couldn't take a shot while you were right there. There wasn’t supposed to be any collateral damage, that was how Widows did things, the only casualty being the one who they were supposed to take out.

“Fuck!” she needed to get you out of there.

“Yelena, what’s—?”

“Lerato, I’m gonna need you to take my spot. Take him out.”

“What? But you are—”

“Do as you are told, I’ve got something to deal with,” she said, leaving the rifle on the rooftop for her partner to find.

Her eyes were set on you as she ran down to meet you. She didn’t think twice and just grabbed your hand and pulled you towards her. You were so shaken that you didn’t realise you were being pulled away by a stranger until the both of you started running away.

“What are you—? Who are you?” but Yelena wouldn’t answer you. “Hey! No, stop! Please, don’t take me. Please!”

“Just keep going,” she said, getting a firm grip on you, scared that you would run away.

The two of you stopped five blocks away from the chaos, she gently pushed you inside an abandoned building.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, not waiting for you to freak out even more.

“I, I— I can’t breathe,” you said, gasping for air.

“Hey, it’s okay. You are safe now, it’s okay,” she got closer to you, reaching for your hand and resting it on her steady heartbeat. “Here. Focus on my heart, try to steady yours.”

“I can’t—,”

“It’s okay, just breathe,” she motioned for you to copy her as she took a deep breath in and then she breathed out.

After a minute of breathing in and out, you felt your heart beating at a regular pace again. Still you were scared of what you had just witnessed and being alone with a stranger didn’t make things better.

You cleared your throat, “why did you take me?” you ask carefully.

Her green eyes found yours, her brows were slightly burrowed. She was lost in her mind, going over the last few minutes and everything that had happened before she took you away. She didn’t know why she did that. She could have had someone take you away and she could have taken the shot. But for some reason she couldn’t quite explain, she didn’t.

She didn’t take her eyes away from you but still she didn’t answer your question.

“Lerato, did you take the shot?”

“Yes, the target's dead. Just got confirmation from Helen. We’re heading back,” she heard as the girl struggled to breathe. She was probably running. “Where are you, Yel—?”

Before she could finish, Yelena took the earpiece out, throwing it to the ground and stepping on it, losing all sort of communication with her team. Something she will regret later but now she wasn't thinking properly.

“Shot? What are you talking about? Who are you?” your tone was filled with worry and fear.

“It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise,” she smiled at you, trying to comfort you.

“What’s going on? I don’t, I don’t understand…” you sounded desperate. And you were, a fucking car exploded right in front of you, you were about to lost your shit again.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she whispered gettin closer to you. You could feel the warmth radiating from her body. “This doesn’t make any sense, I know, I’m sorry,” she dropped the tough act, wanting to be as gentle as she could with you.

“What are you—?” you swallowed hard as you watched her tug a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I just,” she licked her lips, your eyes watching her carefully. “There’s something a need to do.”

The closer Yelena got to you, the more she felt like herself again. There was something about you that just felt right. She couldn’t put her finger around it, but she felt good, you felt good and she wanted more of that. She needed more of that, of you.

Slowly but surely her lips found the soft skin of your neck, you let out a moan as soon as she made contact. You lost all sense of reality for a few seconds as she bit and kissed your sensitive skin. But then you came back to your senses and pushed her away from you.

“No. Don’t…” you said, but deep down you wanted to eat your words. “Who are you? What is this?

Yelena backed up, confusion written all over her face as she also didn’t quite know what was going on with her.

“I don’t know either, okay? This has never happened to me before but… Look, I don’t have much time, they’re probably already looking for me—.”

“Looking for you?”

She nodded, “You are doing something to me, alright? I don’t know what it is, I’m not in control,” you noticed her breathing was getting heavy. “You are doing something to me, and I— I need you…”

“You need me?”

“Will you help me out?”

“I, I don’t under—.”

“It’s okay, just do as I tell you, okay?” her voice was so soft that you just couldn’t deny her.

You could only nod at her, getting lost on her mesmerising bright eyes. Her lips found yours, in a desperate kiss, tongues fighting one against the other, her teeth bit your bottom lip, moans escaping from the both of you. You felt your body warming up under her touch and felt your tummy setting on fire as her finger squeezed the flesh on your waist.

She pressed her chest into yours, making you take a few steps back and finally you hit the cold wall, a shiver crawled up your spine. Yelena slipped her knee in between your already slightly parted thighs and gently pressed it against your clothed core.

Her fingers traced the curve of your ass to finally get into your panties, you were already wet for her and she had barely touched you. She felt like she could get used to this, to you. Seeking for both comfort and pleasure in each other, two things The Red Room had taken away from her. But maybe, with your help she could get that and more back. You groaned into her lips the moment she pushed two of her fingers inside of you.

“Shit,” you mumbled.

“You like that?”

“Yeah. Don’t stop, please,” your hips moved into her fingers, wanting her to keep on thrusting them in and out of you.

“I won’t.”

Soon enough her fingers picked up their pace and the only thing that could be her was Yelena’s finger sloppily thrusting into your cunt and the loud moans coming out of your mouth, which were quickly silenced by Yelena’s lips.

You had just met the woman and she had you almost falling to your knees. You could feel it too, she was different than any other person you had ever met before. It was as if she was intoxicating, and the only thing you wanted at the moment was to get drunk on her.

“Faster, please.”

And she did as told, like she always had. But this time she felt like she had a choice, and she chose to please you, she didn’t mind being at your mercy. She could tell you were close to your release, so she got on her knees, took your trousers and panties down and pressed her lips to your soaking wet cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned out, your hand reaching out for her shoulder in some kind of support.

She bit, licked, sucked and kissed your core like a starved woman, which she was actually. She could count with her fingers all the times she had been intimate with someone else in The Red Room. She didn’t have time for things like this in there, she barely had time to take a breath.

So she enjoyed this, eating you out, getting whimpers and groans out of your pretty lips, making your legs tremble. She slipped her tongue inside of you, her nose hitting your clit and you felt like it was all becoming too much for you to handle. She felt your nails digging into her shoulders and then a second later you cried out, getting your juices all over Yelena’s lips.

Yelena moaned into your cunt and she sucked all of your juices, not wanting nor even one bit to go to waist. Once she was done, she pulled your trousers and panties back up, stood up and crashed her lips into yours, wanting for you to have a taste of yourself as well.

Your legs literally gave up on you as she kissed you, and then your butt hit the ground. Yelena took that opportunity and decided you needed to return the favour. So as best as she could, she took part of her suit off for you to work her magic on her cunt.

Yelena knew that she wasn’t going to last long, she was already so wet and on edge, she just needed some of your help to finally come. She knew you had to be quick for her to get her sweet release, so without a warning she pushed your head in between her thighs and soon enough she felt your lips beginning to work. You pushed two fingers inside of her while you sucked on her clit.

She could feel her orgasm getting closer, it was a shame she couldn’t keep this going on for a while more, but any minute now her team would be on her ass.

“Fuck, keep going,” she had your hair on her fist, helping you out.

Yelena buck her hips into your lips picking the pace and with a loud ‘fuck’ she came onto your lips. It was as if she was on cloud 9, she had never felt something like this before, not even with those few girls in The Red Room. This was new and thrilling, and she felt more like herself again. Like that little girl who was once free and unaware of the danger she was getting into. She felt like she belonged. But soon enough the happy bubble she had created for the two of you popped.

“I need you to listen carefully, okay?” she said, helping you up on your feet while the two of you tried to catch your breaths. She quickly put back her suit and cupped your cheeks to get your attention. “You need to leave. Run, run as fast as you can. Don’t look back.”

From the corner of her eyes Yelena could see some shadows getting closer, her team was there, ready to take her away.

“What? What about you? Where are you going?” your mind was rushing with thoughts, not wanting to leave the beautiful woman.

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine,” she lied, but it was for the better. She needed you to be okay, she could handle The Red Room, she always had.

“No,” you protested. “Don’t leave me,” you felt tears burning your eyes.

“I’ll find you again, I promise,” she caressed your cheek one last time, leaving a peck on the corner of your lips. “Go!” she ordered you.

And so you did, leaving Yelena behind much to your dismay, unaware that she was being taken back by her team to drug her up once again. But you broke her out of the mind control, and Yelena was sure you would do it one more time. And as many times as it’d take for her to be free.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

-M

[morskisir]

Answer to this ask I had to post seperately because I reached the character limit or something.

OHHHH Anon you are not ready. I think about this bastard so much and too deeply.

Before I get into it:

I love how you worded this question- gives a nice atmosphere.

Just to be clear this is all about RED Sniper. I apologise to any BLU Sniper enjoyers for I don't have thoughts about that guy.

I'm not the biggest fan of the comics for many reasons so don't mind me retconning a lot of that.

In the end these are all MY opinions and views of him- if you don't like them that's no problem. It's free real estate.

And FINALLY; my thoughts, under read more:

OKAY, let's start with what even got me to interpret him the way that I do; hell yeah baby, it's Meet the Sniper time.

I've seen MANY people often assume that Sniper is one of the most normal/chill people of the 2fort nine- but the impression I got is that he wants you to think he's normal so desperately despite everything else pointing to how fucking weird he actually is. Simply noticing the stuff he's saying makes it a lot more clear. The very beginning where he goes "Boom, headshot," making light of taking another person's life so swiftly. "Cause at the end of the day; as long as there's two people left on the planet- someone is gonna want someone dead," really positive light you see the world in, Sniper.

Of course you can take this as him being "realistic", and I do agree he's more of a realist than a pessimist or optimist, but "...have a plan to kill everyone you meet," is SO fucked up. Why is his first thought when meeting someone to know how to kill them? This to me is him not being able to properly connect to other people/understand them or actually SEE them as people. Not to mention his smile after delivering that shot in the timelapse of him sniping (AND after stabbing Spy). This cunt enjoys killing. He's not the type to slowly kill someone or torture them- but he is the type to feel satisfaction after planting a bullet in someone; give himself a pat on the back for it- or perhaps find humour in the kill.

The conclusion this brought me to is that he is an unreliable narrator in "Meet the Sniper". (Also the "..be polite," line. Yeah, sure, dude. Your voice lines are very polite.)

CAN WE TALK ABOUT HIS FUCKING TEETH? The way his teeth look and how much they're shown to the viewer by exaggerating his mouth movements feels like a "this guy is NOT normal" sign. No one in the game has teeth similar to him and his canines are HUGE. Like holy shit, he's an apex predator.

A comment @cheebuss (I know you wanna get tagged) saw once has been a running joke between us- it was basically "He indicates so he's normal," which is fucking hilarious, but I can genuinely refute that point. First of all we see him fucking speeding in the beginning of the video- to be fair we don't know what the speed limit on this road is, BUT:

Cunt drives around with a broken side mirror. That's really unsafe, obviously. A good chunk of that mirror has gone to shit and he does not care to replace it (which feeds into my headcanon of him being stingy/not wanting to spend money because he lived on a farm and they did everything themselves). Speaking of his van; it gave me the impression he likes having everything he needs near him- he doesn't need a grand, expensive space to feel comfortable. (I headcanon that he's actually scared/unnerved by vast, empty spaces/buildings) ALSO I think he's messy and prefers the claustrophobia of his van. I like to believe his childhood room was much the same (to the detriment of his mother)- that's his safe space damn it!!!

And here I can transition into talking about his parents!!! : D Of course, not much was shown to us of Mr. & Mrs. Mundy, but we can still glean some stuff from the video- and partially- the comics.

His father very obviously disapproves of his job, calling him "a crazed gunman", and showing his morals do not align with Sniper's. Sniper calls for his mum during the phone call shown at the very end of the video- looking annoyed and somewhat distressed. It's clear to me that they've had this argument many times and Mrs. Mundy is the mediator in them. I think she disapproves of the job as much as her husband does, but is sick of hearing them argue to that extent. Regardless of this conflict, Sniper loves and cares for his parents- they are his world. He doesn't care for anyone else, most of the shit he does is for their sake and continuing to provide support so they can live a stable life at their farm as they get older. It's one of the nicest things about Sniper.

Although, I do think he struggled to get them to understand him properly. He is a quiet man who doesn't express a lot of his emotions. That will complicate things, especially if he doesn't talk about it- and he doesn't!!! : D

Despite this, I think they were the people he was closest to. Sniper, to me, is a guy who's never had friends and has been lonely as well as isolated his entire life. "Too weird to live, much too rare to die." And this is a VERY long time we're talking about; DECADES. Decades of minimum to no human connection. (Just to note; he is almost 50 to me. The comic writers fucked the timeline up and made him a 20 something year old. The Sin. Do not speak of it to me. It makes him less interesting/compelling I'm not kidding.) He is anxious in social settings, barely speaks up, and prefers to simply back away when he doesn't know how to deal with something. (SUPER DUPER AUTISM + SOCIAL ANXIETY!!!) Does he try to interact with his co-workers? Veeeeery little. He yearns for connection he convinces himself he doesn't need. He trusts no one. He's a mystery to them.

But hey!!! Less distractions from his job!!! (Bad transition) This man is genuinely incredible at what he does- I keep replaying the part where he reloads his rifle. He was not kidding about being efficient (he also kills the entire BLU team in that video??). The lad's got incredible patience, aim, control, and overall understanding of what he's doing. There's something fucked up about him observing the people he's targetting like prey, but let's leave that for when I mention his previous job as a tracker (if I do). I imagine the only thing he excelled at in school (he did go there!! He can write!!!) is maths, as that is very much needed when you're a sniper.

BTW I think he barely passed school; he hated being there, had no interest in school work and his teachers kept pestering him about his social life. Leave him alone, he doesn't need that (he does).

Most of his focus went to his parents' farm where I think he mostly took care of the animals....or went out to hunt them; which is how he learned to shoot out of a rifle in the first place. (His dad taught him.) He's not exactly an animal guy but he's also not not an animal guy.

It's complicated.

ANYWAYS, I've talked enough about one single video. Let's mention his in game voice lines a bit!

There's a LOT of material there but here's the stuff I want to mention:

He talks to himself a lot. He isn't out there with the others- his job is to be perched up somewhere high and shoot from a distance so he doesn't get spotted. He makes so many jokes that only HE's going to find funny, except "You've got a forehead on ya like a coffee table," which is genuinely the funniest thing he's ever said. Boy voices his thoughts and tries to entertain himself when he's alone- I don't judge him for that. He has to sit there for hours in complete focus (he helps himself via a lot of coffee). I DO judge the things he says, however.

He's violent. (WHAT!?) There's plenty of examples but I would like to mention one adressed to his teammates. One of the "Jeers" commands is "Should've saved a bullet for some of you blokes!" which, hey, what the fuck? That's scary. He got so frustrated he threatened his own team with murder. (It's kinda funny) To me this shows he's bad at controlling his outbursts or that he never learned how to deal with them. (Autism moment!!!)

He literally growls.

There's this line addressed to Spy: "What goes around comes around, you snotty little nance." If you're not aware- "nance" is derogatory Australian slang for a prissy, effeminate gay man. I headcanon Sniper as a homosexual man so it tickles me that he's so insecure about this fact. It's sad, absolutely, but I find humour in this horrible man being a homophobic homosexual. Project your insecurities onto a guy who can read people extremely well, why don't you. He won't do anything about it, I promise :) (Lie)

I was doing my best to not mention SniperSpy but CAN WE TALK ABOUT HIS LINES AIMED AT SPY AND HOW THEY'RE DIRECT RESPONSES TO THINGS SPY SAYS? (plus the highest number of revenge lines he has directed at someone is Spy)

-> = response to:

"Aww, did I get blood on your suit!?" -> "You got blood on my suit."

"I was never on your side either! Wanker!" -> "I never really was on your side."

"Ah, my God, you've been shot. Did you get a look at the handsome rogue who did it?" -> "I'll see you in hell, you handsome rogue."

BY THE WAY, THAT LAST LINE? SPY ONLY SAYS THAT TO HIS COUNTERPART. WHAT, WERE YOU LOOKING AT HIM? WERE YOU WATCHING HIM ALL DAY? WHY DO YOU REMEMBER SO MANY THINGS HE'S SAID? WHY ARE YOU SO FOCUSED ON HIM? ARE YOU OBSESSED WITH HIM? ARE YOU OBSESSED? WHY ARE YOU OBSESSED WITH A LITTLE NANCY BOY? HM?

There is so much more I could mention. I think whatever thing he has going on with Spy is super important to him, but I will hold back for your sake as I can talk about this for hours. You have no clue how many parallels there are, etc.

Anyways, he's in Expiration Date! A little bit! He doesn't say anything. <3 I'm proud of him!!! <3

He literally just stands around ominously in the shadows (and finds RED Spy being made fun of very amusing).

"Hehe."

(I just noticed he took his watch off and put it on his vest. This is an autism moment because I, too, hate having something on me that I don't usually have so I need to balance it out by removing something else; if I have it on me. Either way it's sensory suffering.) (Him being super attached to his hat and glasses is also an autism moment. He is no one without them.)

And then he has that one part in The Bread Fight(tm) where he gets confused by Pauling and Scout pushing the bomb.

"Tails gets trolled" looking ass.

I like watching him fall over.

After he falls here, he takes his kukri out which was... attached? situated? It was behind the strap of his arrow carrier. I think that's cool. I also think he wouldn't be doing that during matches because Spy is very much capable of stealing it/putting it away without Sniper noticing, even if it was literally on his back.

Also, I am a firm believer in "Sniper can only do one thing extremely well and has little to no interest in creative stuff," so I disagree with the idea of him being able to play a saxophone. You could say he was made to do that in school, but this guy is a smoker. I do not believe he can do that. You cannot convince me.

I think that's enough! This doesn't even go past the hypothetical tip of the iceberg, but it's a lot of words. This is the very basic stuff you have to know about how I see this cunt.

Thank you for letting me share some of my insanity.

[clumsiestgiantess]

My first piece for the @gtgotcha4gaza fundraiser! This one was donated by @biggnansmol with the prompt Overhead; enjoy!

My body presses close to the ground as I watch the traffic rush by in a cacophony of tremorous footsteps and raucous voices.  I hunch down near the street corner of a building who knows how many thousands of times my size, looking intently out over the giants walking past.  They travel without a single downward glance at the tiny man just barely taller than their palms.

Many, if not most, of my kind avoid anywhere near this kind of foot traffic.  As a borrower, you can only withstand so much noise and movement constantly around you before your instincts tell you to run.  What separates me from the rest is that my instincts can guide me through the crowd of gigantic beings, to other places entirely.  I can make it to stores all the way on a different street if I really want to.  I haven’t, but I can.

Cracked Concrete Colony — my home — lies halfway between the giants’ colony above, and the giants’ watery wasteland below.  You’d think the giants — humans, they call themselves — would try pitching in to help us ever since they found out we exist.  They didn’t.  In fact, they now have the audacity to label us as pests; vermin.  No wonder we decided to stay away from them.  

As a seasoned package-runner, my job is to deliver supplies from our place to other smaller groups above, and sometimes bring supplies back again.  Oh, and myself.  I bring myself back every time.  Not everyone does.

The worst shape I’ve come out of running is a sprained wrist, but there are some who’ve broken bones, lost limbs, and even died on the exact routes I take.  I’m not too worried, though.  My instincts are better than theirs, I’m sure.  No one in the history of my colony — that people know of — has survived as long as me.  I’m the best there is.  Sure, I’ve come a mere arm’s length away from the sole of a shoe multiple times, but that’s normal for my line of work.  Defying certain death is my average Tuesday.

So, once I see a break in the crowd, I make my move.

My brain and eyes work in tandem to spot every potential danger coming at me.  Thankfully it’s mostly coming from the same side.  The first few pairs of feet I dodge with ease — weaving in and out between the giants’ legs with perfect timing to their methodic gait.  

However, one giant hurriedly stumbles through the crowd in the wrong direction.  I have just enough time to brace myself before their foot rushes up to meet me.  For a brief moment, I believe they’ll dash by right overhead, but the idea is short-lived.  

The tip of a gigantic shoe digs into my stomach, catching on my side and kicking me across the rugged surface of the cement walkway.  I cry out in pain as skin tears off my bare arms in shreds and I land in the ditch between the walkway and the awful road of machines.  Rule number one of package-running: never go into the road.  Ever.  Everyone knows it’s certain death.

Agony spreads through my body, but I grit my teeth and bare it.  I have to get back up onto that walkway.  After a few minutes of desperate struggling — getting blown down and dragged backwards by the sheer force of the machines’ speed — I realize it’s pointless.  It’s hard enough just hauling myself up with my scratched arms.  Even without the machines, I don’t think I’d make it.

Just as I break out in a cold sweat, a shadow descends over me.  A giant’s hand grabs me from above — fingers coiling around my midsection.  Shrieking in both fright and pain, I claw at the human’s hand and get this close to biting them, when I’m flipped over and tucked much more securely against their palm.

Only briefly do I stop struggling to wonder why their grip is so cautious before trying to escape it again.  “Hey, no no; it’s ok!  I’ve got you little guy, you’ll be alright.”  I… what?  The giant slides their hand up against me to keep me from squirming out of their grasp.  Their palm settles against my chest and my heart skips a beat.  “Let me just find a safe spot to put you down.”

Fear still spikes through me like lightning at the way their fingers wrap around my torso to keep me still.  My mind screams at me to keep fighting them because they’ll hurt me for sure if I don’t.  However, there’s something about the way they’re handling me — as much as I hate the fact that they are handling me — that deters me from wanting to escape.  

Then there’s the way they spoke… they immediately wanted to assure me that I’d be alright.  The only things I’ve been told by giants are “Get out of here!” and “Oh eww, what the heck are you?!” so it’s quite the unexpected upgrade.

Suddenly, the hands around me slide away and I’m deposited gently in a small alleyway.  I peer hesitantly up at the giant, kneeling down over me.  Their worried expression softens slightly when I do.  “There you go, safely away from the road and people.  Don’t go back there anymore, ok?”  My mouth drops open, utterly shocked.  “Th - Thank.. you?” I say in awed confusion.  How am I not dead?  Were they helping me get out of the road?

With a small smile, they stand back up and walk off into the crowd of other giants.  I was left standing only a storefront or two up from where I began.  In a few minutes it’s as if none of it had happened at all.

Briefly, I think about trying to go after the giant — ask them why they did that for me.  Then, I take a step and my entire body tenses in pain — dragging me out of my stupor.  Actually.. I think I’ll just head back and get healed up.  I’d tested my luck enough for one day.  Even without the giant’s help, I’m still lucky I hadn’t been stepped on, only kicked.

Maybe I’d dodge past my unlikely hero on the walkway sometime again and ask them then.  I’m just lucky that the strangely benevolent giant had given me another chance to keep surviving.  Hauling myself to the street corner once again, I dash off into the crowd, making it home in only a little less time than usual.

[dirtybg3confessions]

Blog Moderation FAQs

Hi everyone!

Every time we answer an ask about the queue/inbox situation we get several of the same suggestions in our inbox. While we truly appreciate those of you trying to be helpful, I wanted to take some time to address some of the suggestions and the reasons behind our position on said suggestions.

Have you considered closing the ask box for a while until you work through what you have?

No. With as many asks as there are in the box, it would result in the ask box being closed for quite some time, which we don't think is really what anyone wants!

Closing the box would allow for us to "catch up", but it also would mean potential dry periods of content.

Keeping the ask box open means we need to scroll forever to reach the old asks, but it also means that we are set to deliver consistent content for a while, and are never at risk for an empty queue when the inevitable drop in fandom interest hits.

Why don't you post more frequently?

Actually, we do! We've exploded recently, so many of you may not remember ye olden days of our blog's founder doing their best as a one person show and we got one post a day... ish. Then, when the ask box exploded to 100 asks (haha) they brought in the first round of new mods (including me!). During this time, we were able to build a solid queue. We were then able to post 5-6 times a day.

With a healthy queue and a healthy ask box, we were able to bump the post frequency to 12 times a day. Most of the first wave of mods worked through some asks and then largely went inactive. This is fine, it happens. After struggling to keep up a frequency of 12/day as a one person show once again, we recruited new mods with some activity guidelines.

To maintain a posting frequency of 12 times a day, each mod needs to add 3 posts to the queue a day, or 21 posts to the queue a week. We ask that every mod contributes 30 times a week, that way we have a healthy buffer of content for holidays, emergencies, and just general time away from the internet.

While the confessions are sent in by y'all and editing them in photoshop is a generally simple process, it still does take time. Time in the game to find and take the screenshots, time in the editing software to create the image, then posting and tagging appropriately. Those cursed edits y'all love so much take even more time.

We're all adults here. And your mods are too. They have lives off of tumblr, often complete with bills and day jobs. Honestly, less fun than the little horny blog, but *vague gestures towards capitalist hellscape*

For these reasons, posting 12 times a day is going to be a hard cap for the foreseeable future. In the most loving way possible: If you are submitting an ask now and expecting to see it a week or even a month from now, you are going to be sorely disappointed. Submit your ask and know that it will be appreciated by the community when its time comes.

"A confession is never late, nor is it early. A confession arrives precisely when it means to." - Elminster (probably)

Why don't you just get more mods?

Have you heard the phrase "too many cooks in the kitchen"? Every person added to a process adds another variable, and the more variables, the harder it is to deliver a consistent experience. Additionally, the goal is to find people who can stay pretty consistently active, which can be a hard ask for a lot of people. We're very grateful for the team that we have now, and we aren't seeking new mods at this time.

Why don't you post more confessions about (character/female/etc)?

We are a submissions blog. We work with the content we are given. You need to be the horny you wish to see in the world. I know in general there's a lack of confessions for female characters, and there's an analysis to be made about how different gender/sexual identities interact with fandom and how that affects the content available in communities for consumption, but I'm not the person to make it.

Thank you all for continuing to be amazing, it is truly an honor to serve 🫡

[gxthicupid]

LMK OC REVEAL?!

(Totally didn't make the blue look green during the colour theory process -)

BASIC INFORMATION

Name: Hai, Dajing [海 大 靖]

Alias: The Water Serpent Demon

Age: 36 [Biological] 2,643 [Chronological]

Gender: Female ♀

Pronouns: She/Her

Height: 150 cm [4’11ft]

Nationality: Chinese

Status: Semi-Immortal

PERSONAL DETAILS

Personality: Courageous, Bubbly, Optimistic, Patient, Calm, Empathetic and Kind

Quirks: Awkward, Meek, and a Nervous Wreck

Likes: Marine Animals, Summer Days, Playing Pípá, & Calligraphy

Dislikes: Negative Emotions, Cold Weather, Violence & Loud Noises

Alignment: Good

Abilities: Demon Physiology, Snake Physiology, Regenerative Healing Factor, Hydrokinesis, Hydroportation, Shapeshifting, Enhance Strength, Enhance Agility, Heat Detection & Aquatic Breathing

RELATIONSHIPS

PRINCESS IRON FAN

● Dajing has considered Princess Iron Fan as one of her closest and trustworthy friends, so much so she views her as a sister.

● Princess Iron Fan is the older and stricter archetype yet deeply cares for her family, while Dajing is the younger and carefree archetype, but does get serious when it's needed.

● She often advises Princess Iron Fan once she met her family and understood their intentions with the Monkey King and his successor but isn’t fond of their evil schemes.

“You have certainly changed…”

“I wouldn’t say the same to you.”

DEMON BULL KING

● Dajing does not interact much with Demon Bull King since they’d have nothing to discuss, but she does accept him as a suitable spouse of Princess Iron Fan.

● Since Dajing never met Demon Bull King before, sp he does not have any grudges from the past and is on good terms with Dajing.

● Both of them do talk every now and then, but their conversations don’t go anywhere.

“So… how have you been?”

“I am fine”

REDSON

● Redson’s relationship with Dajing was complicated in the beginning, since Redson, at first, doesn’t view her as someone worthy to talk to anyone in the Demon Bull King Fortress, but for his mother’s sake, attempts to build a bond.

● She tries to get along with him, and whenever either Demon Bull King or Princess Iron Fan tends to talk about his failures, she is willing to listen or comfort him.

● However, over time, Redson and Dajing have built an aunt-nephew relationship, as she’s the only one who smothers him with affection (familial) despite his embarrassment.

“Why must you… comfort me? I don’t need this form of sympathy.”

“Because I do not like to see you feeling sad.”

SANDY

● Outside the Demon Bull Family, Sandy is one of the first and strongest friendships out of MK and his friends, since they both have the same belief of “violence isn’t the answer” and often want to ensure their friends are okay.

● They also hang out the most, as they’d often be in his home at the cargo and would have tea sessions, and Dajing would even bring new ingredients for him to try.

● Whenever Dajing is in the city, she’d often cling onto Sandy, as the futuristic appeal of cities scares her from how different the world looked from thousands of years ago.

“I’m glad you can make it, Ms. Hai. I just recently got delivered new types of tea. What would you like? I got yellow tea, oolong, lavender tea, green tea-”

“I would like lavender tea, thank you very much”

MEI

● Dajing really likes Mei, as her eccentric and snarkiness intrigues Dajing since she doesn't know or meet many people who have such a young and lively personality.

● Mei also sees her as a good friend, someone to hang out with whenever MK would go training with Monkey King, and a person who helps her forget about her family’s expectations.

● Both of them explore the city (as Dajing disguises herself as a small snake and hides inside Mei’s jacket), and Mei shows all the new locations, foods, clothes, etc. Dajing is curious about learning about the new world.

“Goodness…These buildings seem to be reaching for the skies. Are you sure these are not reserved for the ruler of this city?”

“Nah, they’re mostly shopping malls, arcades, stores - you know, all that sorta stuff.”

MK

● Whenever Sandy wasn't hanging out with Dajing, it led to Dajing hanging out with MK when he’s on break from delivering noodles.

● Oftentimes, he’d treat him similarly to Redson. As someone who'd lend an ear to listen or try being so protective and gentle towards MK, Dajing sees and treats him like he's her child.

● For MK, he sees Dajing similar to the way he sees Pigsy, as she takes a more maternal role into his life, and over time, he begins to view her as his mother figure.

“Wait - If you’re just as old as Princess Iron Fan, have you ever met Monkey King?”

“I am afraid not. I was not around when Monkey King and his friends were travelling the west.”

PIGSY

● Pigsy did not trust Dajing at first, considering that she was close to Princess Iron Fan, as well as the rest of the Demon Bull Family, and assumed she’s evil.

● However, Dajing proved him wrong and showed she wasn’t intending to hurt or fight against MK before the truce between the Demon Bull Family and the Monkie Gang.

● Both Pigsy and Dajing don’t talk as much, but do have a passion for food and love the show, Cooking with Chang’e.

“I must say, your technique in cooking is quite remarkable. I haven't seen someone use such old methods in a long time."

“I prefer to cook the right way. Cooking is a form of art when you create the noodle, the broth, and the flavour!"

TANG

● When Tang first met Dajing, he wanted to ask her SO MANY QUESTIONS about demons, if she knew anything about the Celestial Realm and other related topics; and Dajing didn’t mind talking to Tang.

● Dajing is fond of Tang, and she adores his passion for the history and tales from the Journey to the West, and likes listening to him whenever he wants to talk about new information.

● When Mei and MK are having fun, Dajing does talk to Pigsy and Tang since Sandy will either be busy with fixing his vehicle or other things.

“Really?! I can't believe that's how it really worked back?”

“Yes, it is quite an interesting fact, if I do say so.”

SUN WUKONG

● At first, Dajing was warned by Princess Iron Fan about Wukong and his reputation, making her worried and often stayed close to MK whenever he’s near.

● However, the more time she spent with MK, the more she saw how much Wukong cared for him and led Dajing to warm up, but was still cautious.

● Wukong and Dajing don’t talk too much, but do like talking about MK, and how he’s doing in his training, job, etc.

“Yup! The kid’s getting better every lesson.”

“That IS impressive, but please don’t push him too far. He’s still quite young.”

MACAQUE

● Dajing has a lot of mixed feelings about him, considering she first knew him as someone working with the Lady Bone Demon and actively putting MK and his friends in danger, but also helping MK defeat the enemy at the last minute; something doesn't feel right.

● After Macaque joins their side, she tries to act nice towards him. However, deep down, she can not forgive him for all the trouble he has caused.

● Unlike Wukong, she does not talk to him at all and hides her dislike for Macaque from everyone in order to not draw unwanted attention.

[DIALOGUE UNAVAILABLE]

A/N: (Wow, this took longer than i would to post this) Sorry for all the people who have voted the LMK OC at the and again sorry for keeping you all waiting. (Also, hi @keykittygirl I finally posted my OC if you want to check it out ) I'll be posting another poll about my OC very soon. Stay tuned for that ;)

[nijigasakilove]

I’ll never be the same after watching this show. The way these girls have altered my life’s story won’t be forgotten. Called it AOTS from episode 1 and it firmly stayed that way throughout. What a special anime and group of girls. Thank you Yaku sensei and Doga Kobo for this masterclass.

Kano overcoming her past and fear by delivering the performance of a lifetime was so beautiful to see. That wouldn’t have been possible without Mero telling her to look forward at the “aquarium” art Kano built on the buildings was such a great scene.

So many people, myself included thought Mahiru was snakey for working with Yukine, but it ended up being the best possible gift for Kano and the others. I just wish we would’ve been able to see more of the performance :/ we all know how good Doga Kobo can do idol performances.

That escalator reunion scene with Mahiru and Kano was everything to me. Them going in opposite directions initially before linking up was basically their relationship summed up. And Kano finally found her reason for singing! I love love love how it progressed from having no reason to sing, to Mahiru being the reason, to wanting to bring joy to peoples’ lives and help people who were lost like she was move forward.

In some more cliche stories, they would’ve kept it with the simple “I sing for you”, but that’s not really sustainable long term. You have to do things you enjoy for you.

Yukine finally acknowledging Kano as who she really is brought tears to my eyes man. All she wanted her entire life was to live up to her mom’s standards and make her happy. She also fulfilled her promise of selling out Tokyo dome with the number of live viewers 😭 I can’t man this was amazing. It’s so Yukine to not give a direct apology with words, but with her actions.

“Graduation” is a fitting literal and metaphorical way to end the episode. Everyone finally moving past their trauma and insecurities and just starting a new phase of life. Yukine showing up to Kano’s graduation and congratulating her was so sweet. I’m happy for them.

Mei trying to lift her skirt up for the farewell video got me dying 💀 she so slow man.

Is that Mahiru’s dad?!! Wow this was a perfect ending for everyone man. I don’t get the “rushed” complaints. Everything that needed to be wrapped up and addressed got addressed. And there’s still the LN for anything else. We will be reading.

Review: https://myanimelist.net/reviews.php?id=528446

[wolfgirlandfarmboy]

OK SO a very brief introduction to the 1920s themed AU for Jack and Nana.

A quick explanation though for why I keep saying 1920s themes instead of flat out saying "1920s au". BASICALLY It's the same way Beanstalked has a medieval-ish setting as a theme but it's not literally during medieval times (it's just easier for me to use it for building a fantasy setting). For this AU, it's the same but instead of everything being medieval themed. everything is 1920s in decor with the additional magic intertwined with technology.

Think of deco but magical.

That being said, this AU isn't a straight one-to-one of Beanstalked but with 1920s dressing on it. It's a completely different plot with the same characters.

The main setting Jack and Nana's story takes place in is a place called the "Big Poison Apple", an obvious spin on New York City. It's one of the best places to be if you want to make a name or living for yourself. HOWEVER, the "Poison" part of the name comes from how this city has one hell of a shady underbelly.

This underbelly is so bad because of the fact magic and all things magical are VERY regulated. There are a ton of speakeasy places where people can go and get magic potions or just be in an environment where magic can be used and discussed freely.

The entire regulation (and borderline ban in some places) of magic is a whole thing in itself as there's been a rocky history with spells and curses and fairy tales walking amongst mundane people.

ANYWAYS, Nana happens to be a club singer in these speakeasy locations. She mainly prefers one very specific club, meant to parallel the main hub in Beanstalked, but she has bills to help pay back home so she jumps around when she has to.

That's not to say she takes every club offer she gets. She prefers people hiring her because of her voice and not because of her body. And she also doesn't like the more seedier places the Big Poison Apple has to offer.

Jack moved to the Big Poison Apple from a small farm town with big dreams of experiencing the magic of the city. It's a very big city though that has a reputation for chewing people up and spitting them out so Jack can only really land a small little job at a bookstore/tea shop run by Mr. Blacksheep aka Baba.

This shop doesn't see a whole lot of action, even though it's near one of the busier parts of the city.

However, Baba happens to be an old family friend of Nana which means she occasionally pops in to get some tea for her Granny since the tea in the shop comes from places far and wide thanks to Baba's connections from years spent traveling the world.

Jack doesn't know this yet, as his first actual interaction with Nana isn't entirely direct and is just him going to see her performing at a club. And even then, he wasn't entirely planning on actually seeing her, as it was a completely accident stumbling where he winded up in a speakeasy without fully knowing what he was getting into (probably delivering some specially enchanted tea to a smaller one and not realizing "Oh wait there is actual magic going on here")

ANYWAYS, Jack is smitten by Nana's voice because he's never heard singing quite as soulful as hers before. BUT she is a very popular underground singer and Jack is very aware of this so he doesn't expect to really see her outside of her performing.

So imagine his surprise when he sees that enchanting voice walk into Baba's shop the next day.

I don't have a lot of the conflicts and new character roles super ironed out. I do know Pin works at the shop, or begins to work at the shop, and has past history with one of the gangs in the city that he would REALLY love to put behind him.

It'd be a good way to have someone who knows some of the seedy underbelly of the Big Poison Apple since I know Baba ain't got that dog in him (he is an old sheep man who prefers his exploring AWAY from danger).

And it's so important to have some way for Jack to be more aware of the dark side of the Big Poison Apple because I want Nevermore involved in this new setting somehow. Her goals won't nearly be as destructive as her canon self but I do want her to still hold a big bad status. I like to idea of her being the head of one of the biggest criminal groups in the city that works in the shadows.