#wrote all these details down for myself to remember everything

[blueberry-beanie]

Visiting Munich & Die Anstalt

8th October - 10th October 2023

A very, very long story about my first ever visit to Munich to see my favourite satire show Die Anstalt. Features long walks through the city, museum visits, Schloss Nymphenburg and its huge garden and a tale about being in the show's audience and meeting Claus. Many photos included. Bonus anxiety and Deutsche Bahn content. The text was written while I was still in Munich or on my way home.

Saturday, 7th Oct 2023: Packing and Heart Attacks

To say that I've been looking forward to going to Munich doesn't quite cut it. When I was still in school years ago, I used to joke that I'd move to Munich, just because it was so far away. I've actually never visited or even passed by - until today. And now the city feels just a bit more special because of the reason for my visit: I'm going to be in the live audience of one of my favourite satire shows, Die Anstalt. But that will be tomorrow. Before I can tell anything about today, I should probably mention what was going on yesterday, though.

Yesterday I posted a drawing of one of the hosts of Die Anstalt, Claus von Wagner. I was really nervous about it because I thought it's not good enough or maybe I'm really bothering him. On top of that I wrote quite a heartfelt caption and was anxious about that the whole time. Good thing I finished all important tasks before posting, because afterwards I was too nervous about everything: The drawing, the journey, the unknown city and of course going to the show. I barely started packing my bag and didn't eat for the whole day when I suddenly got a notification about a new message.

Needless to say my heart dropped and I actually didn't know what to do and sat down on the carpet. And yes, he shared my story and cheekily attached a little timer until the next show. I temporarily forgot how selecting emotions works and felt everything at once. N and I then later discussed why there was no like on the actual post (there wasn't one the last time either), when suddenly he also liked the post half an hour after he shared the story. I didn't care that this whole thing had only a handful of notes, he liked it and that's all the joy I needed.

Sunday, 8th Oct 2023: First Time In Munich

Unfortunately I had a bit too many emotions and it all got quite late - so it was difficult for me to actually wake up today morning. It definitely got better when I was greeted by Claus' very dorky "go vote" Instagram post. Later I discovered that he deleted yesterday's story in favour of election day. Hm, interesting. But I guess it's valid considering the important and serious topic of today's election in Hessen and Bayern.

The train journey started with buckets of rain, my new cleaned & repaired backpack and actually no problems at all until I got into the actual train to Munich. It turned out that seating reservations being displayed in the train was optional today. So I tried to be a decent person and just let the happy couple sit on my seat and went to find another seemingly unoccupied seat next to some guy. Unfortunately it later turned out to be occupied - so I had to go and get my own reserved seat. The train was very full so the strategy of sitting down somewhere else didn't work out anymore. I had a rather unfortunate conversation with the woman in my seat and felt quite bad afterwards. On the plus side, I had dug out an one hour long talk about childhood books with Claus yesterday and so I had the best time listening to this in the train. He's very nerdy and lovely and it was so entertaining to hear about his childhood adventures, teachers, hometown and about how he reads books occasionally with a Merkel voice to his daughter.

When the train finally arrived in München Hauptbahnhof it was an odd feeling to step outside. Like it has been a long time coming until I would finally arrive here. My first impression of Munich wasn't the best. The train station looked old and was being renovated. I stepped outside to look for the vegan restaurant I had saved in my plans, only to get lost in a rather spooky part of town and stand in front of closed doors. So I decided since it was already almost 2pm that I could go and check into the hostel nearby. That proved no problem and I relaxed for a bit in a rather nice five-bed room with a window into the inner courtyard. Knowing that it's not that easy to find food in Germany on Sundays, I ate some of the food I brought with me and then set out for a walk.

First I went to the old botanical garden, which was quite small, crowded with a group of cyclists and police with dogs and overall not very nice. Then I saw the first interesting building that turned out to be Landgericht München. From there I walked into the direction of the obelisk of king Ludwig I. I had an one-euro-ticket for the Alte Pinakothek, an art museum, so that's where I went. Somehow they are very strict there. No jacket, no hand bag, wear your bracelet and don't dare coming close to the paintings (which are already protected by glass). So I got stopped by a guard at some point, which has never happened to me before. Oops. But on the plus side I saw some cool art, for example the self portrait of Dürer, some cool Dutch portraiture, Manet, a little bit of Caspar David Friedrich (though Hamburg has a much bigger collection) and even the old friend Canaletto, whose paintings are always so recognisable, was there. Also they had quite some stuff by Rubens, Delacroix and even a few paintings by Van Gogh.

I didn't spend a lot of time there though and started walking into the direction of Odeonsplatz. Partly because there is the garden of the Residenz palace, but also because there has been this huge demonstration on the 4th October where both Max and Claus participated. I thought it would be fun to visit the place that I've seen many photos and videos of. Upon arrival I immediately understood how 35.000 people fit there - it's massive. The gardens nearby were small but beautiful, with a round Diana Temple in the middle. A lovely lady played the violin in there and gave the garden such a peaceful vibe.

Where to go next? I decided to visit the park near the Maximilianeum, where the Bavarian parliament is situated. So I walked past the huge impressive building of the Bayerische Staatskanzlei with it's huge wings of glass. Then I walked past two impressive buildings belonging to the government of Oberbayern and the museum of five continents towards a bridge over the river Isar. Unlike rivers in north Germany this one is very clear, which is probably because its proximity to the mountains the rocky ground.

The Maximilianeum is a big round building just by the river and I felt more and more as if Bavaria is truly its own little country because of all these monumental buildings. The park was very lovely, but I couldn't explore it fully because it was getting late and my feet were starting to protest along with my shoulders. So I turned around to cross the river at the Friedensengel statue and go back into the direction of Odeonsplatz. On my way I passed by more museums and theatres until I arrived at the tiny park behind the Staatskanzlei and crossed the palace garden again.

At the Odeonsplatz I took a turn into the Theatinerstraße. Suddenly there were many people. It's the center of Munich with fancy restaurants, bars and shops. I walked past the famous Frauenkirche and into the direction of Karlsplatz. Looking at all the people eating and drinking outside in the restaurants I realised I had almost no food at the hostel. So I looked for an affordable place where I could get something quickly and ended up eating a bit of noodles with tofu and veggies at the Karlsplatz. From there it was thankfully only a short trip back to the hostel, during which I listened to a voice message from my school friend Christina (the one I visited in Halle two weeks ago) who wished me lots of fun at Die Anstalt tomorrow.

At the hostel I was greeted by the most annoying shower ever (it turns itself off after ten seconds each time) and fell into bed. The other women in the room weren't very talkative and warned me that they'd get up at 4:30am and 6am respectively. Amazing then, I thought, and fell asleep like a stone at around 10pm. That was a good idea, because the night was loud and restless, but I slept through most of it and woke up in the morning refreshed and ready to go.

Monday, 9th Oct 2023: Palaces and Recreation

Today I woke up at around seven and stayed in bed comfortably until my roommates were done with everything. I got myself ready, ate the last of the food I brought with me and headed out to Schloss Nymphenburg via Tram line 17. It was easy to find and the tram took me right to the palace. Now I've seen some cool palaces in Vienna and London, but this one is truly impressive. It's so wide and the road leading up to it has a canal with huge fishes and some ducks. It's a white building with two huge wings, each of them with a clock tower.

Inside it was a bit awkward at first because there weren't many visitors at half past nine on a monday morning, and it felt like there were more security guards than visitors. The very first room is immediately the most breathtaking: a huge hall with the most beautiful ceiling and so many ornaments on the walls. The sense of wonder I felt while looking at all the extravagance was constantly accompanied by uneasiness. The amount of wealth needed to build this exceeds my imagination.

How could anyone live in such a house? How were the people like who lived in such circumstances? How many people had to be exploited to achieve this kind of wealth? I think it's very useful to keep these magnificent places for future generations to enjoy and maybe use for some art and culture but that doesn't mean their existence sits entirely right with me.

The part of the palace that is publicly open is thankfully not as huge as the palace itself. So after a short while I walked out into the gardens. And if the interior was impressive, the accompanying park is what truly made my day. It is so huge that you can forget you are in a city at all. Its size and the forest and field part reminded me a lot of Hampstead Heath in London, but the massive canal with the fountains in the middle is definitely more like the gardens I saw in Vienna, just even bigger.

The fun thing about this park is that it's publicly accessible, so people go on walks in groups or go for a run alone, go birdwatching or take their dog out. If you have a ticket like me though, you are allowed into the smaller buildings in the park. As if the massive main palace wasn't big enough, they also had smaller little summer houses there. The first I visited was inspired by Chinese art and adorned with porcelain tiles.

Then I walked past cascading waterfalls over a bridge to the temple of Apollo, which is set so beautifully at the pond among the trees. Honestly, the whole time I wished I had a horse to ride around in the park since that is clearly what it was meant for. I walked past a beautiful little fountain with a statue of Pan towards the Badenburg. This little house had a huge swimming pool inside that you can look at from a gallery, absolutely insane. I can't imagine how all of this was like when it was still used as it was intended. From there I saw the garden of the little princes with a hut that looks as if it will grow chicken's feet any minute and turn around.

One of the highlights came in the end: The Marstallmuseum with the carriages, sleighs and everything else that belonged to the royal mews, including two taxidermied horses. I've never seen so many carriages of such colossal and eye-wateringly extravagant quality in one place and I'm wondering how anyone would drive around in these at all. The sleighs looked more like pieces of art than vehicles and the saddles and bits were all so ornamented and beautiful. As a horse-girl I'd be scared to ride on one of these. But please send me my fave horsey Püppi for a turn in the park, thank you.

When the visit was over it was already half past twelve and I was starving. So I went back to the center and got lost in the absolute maze of the U-Bahn underneath the central station until I finally found the right one that took me two stations further to a vegan Döner place, where I had some lasagna. A good opportunity to buy some groceries (and getting lost once again, I have a talent) before going back to the hostel because my feet were killing me.

Overall I'm starting to get the appeal of this city. I'm sure there are many beautiful places to visit here. I like it much more than Berlin so far and I think if I stayed longer I'd get to know many more cool areas. Too bad that this doesn't matter much, because Munich is the most expensive German city. It's near impossible to find anything here even if you wanted to. Looking at how adventurous it is to get a place in Berlin or Hamburg already… no. But I'd definitely love to visit more often to get to know the place better. Now I'm resting in the hostel and slowly getting very nervous becaur it's almost Monday evening. The Monday evening of all evenings I've waited for during these last five months. It's time to visit Die Anstalt.

Monday, 9th Oct 2023: Die Anstalt

I didn't get too much rest because at around half past four the levels of anxiety had risen to such amounts that I jumped up and went for a very short and hectic walk. Then it was already time to get myself ready. I hid the three fancy chocolate bars I had brought from my university town in my handbag inside a black piece of fabric. This way nobody would see them when checking my bag. I didn't believe I would have the opportunity to hand out any chocolate to anyone, but I'll be damned not to try. Since I already can't bring cake to the studio. (There is a very old interview with Claus in which he talks about loving all kinds of cake "If there was cake on the table right now I'd be eating it and I wouldn't be talking to you. Where is the cake? Cake!") Then it was time to leave for the U-Bahn line 1. I was so nervous that even hours after everything would hurt from being tensed up. At some point I had to change to Tram line 25 in the direction of Grünwald, where the Bavaria Film Studios are situated. As expected, it's a rather fancy part of town with big houses and neat gardens. When we arrived at the studios, there were some more visitors heading in the same direction and I had a short talk with two people who also didn't quite know where to go. Thankfully the Anstalt team had set up signs with arrows leading us around the entire fenced off area to the very back. There some friendly people greeted us and directed us to the right building - studio six which I already knew the look of from several past episodes.

And we were not alone! Already a crowd had assembled outside the entrance tent. I didn't linger outside, although I saw today's guests, the duo Das Geld liegt auf der Fensterbank, Marie standing there. Instead I went inside to the queue that was very small still. I left my coat at the cloakroom they set up there and now it was time to wait a bit. After a while a big guy with a grey beard, who actually reminded me of someone I've seen at Die Anstalt, humorously asked us who was here for the first time and explained to leave all jackets here because it's warm inside and to use the restrooms now because there are none in the studio. Then he said, "Alright, let me check if Max and Claus are ready and then we can start." Shortly after we had a security check and were let inside.

The studio looked smaller and bigger than on TV at the same time. There were some chairs, but they were all reserved for special guests, as was the 2nd row behind us. So the two couples who queued next to me sat on both of my sides. The woman to my left quickly started a conversation with me about the show and her daughter who studies something like graphic 3D design and about all sorts of things. We figured out that she and her husband had been watching the show for many years and she was surprised I only started this year - and still seemed to know about all the lore. She even remembered the interview of Claus when he went hiking in the mountains with some guy - an interview I know exists but could never listen to because it's no longer online. We got excited about the little details on the set with a living room area, a court room and - of course! - a whiteboard hidden in the left corner. The reserved seats were filled in the last moment by late arrivals and by people from the back - and then it all started.

The following part I translated, because I wrote it down the same evening in German:

Claus was the first to enter the stage before everything started. He appeared to greet us and to raise our mood a bit. He did... not look too amazing - and that was on purpose. Today he was, as the woman next to me said later, a slimy AfD-politician in a bad suit and with a horrible hair style. But he was there and it was really him. It felt surreal to suddenly see him talking and gesturing, making jokes just in front of me. The same voice, the same smile. I was fascinated by the very fact he was suddenly at the same place as me and cursed the TV-cameras that sometimes obscured our view.

He started asking about who came from Munich and who ("that's the more interesting question!") came from the furthest place. Someone actually travelled all the way from Schleswig-Holstein and they got well-deserved applause. Then he started retelling the old joke about Munich being too clean and the Rats visiting the P1 instead. And the story about the parcel shop he already told at the demonstration. Apparently the joke ended with "Please nobody tell him about Deutsche Bahn, or they will want to overthrow the country." Suddenly Max appeared to a lot of applause - because he wore a Greek philosopher costume with a ridiculous wig and beard today and made us guess what it meant. Correct - it was an allegory for Democracy. He also retold his joke from the Demonstration about why not housing refugees in the palaces and private jets of the rich.

They were telling us about how the show would go. There would be two cuts ("Then we have a bit more time to change. We used to be live-live before the pandemic and only had one minute. That was a battle backstage, believe me. And since some of us are already a bit older...", Claus said, leaning on Max and grinning.) Claus also urged us to turn off our phones, not just mute them "but really truly turning them off". Of course I did that, too. And the people in front of the court practiced to get up when the judge would arrive and were praised for their services. In the end they started to introduce the guests. Das Geld liegt auf der Fensterbank, Marie (a duo "The money is on the windowsill, Marie") who had a long dialogue what annoyed him about her (so she can do it more often in the future). They also introduced Judith Richter ("We didn't just invite her because of her name!" Richter meaning judge in German) and Matthias Renger, who was there for the first time. At some point later Max said something about Claus' dance moves being horrible. Of course the dancer in question had to demonstrate a few moves, which was hillarious.

Then they prepared to start filming the episode. Everyone settled in the living room set and Claus held this stereotypical slate for all the cameras ("The director makes me do that every time and it never works out so well... That's unsettling to have all these cameras on me at once") and talked to the director . And then the scene started. Claus played the right wing AfD-politician Maximilian Krah, an absolute asshole. A disgusting guy who keeps hitting on everyone around him and lounges on the sofa like he owns the entire country. And drinks champagne. And hits Max straight into the eye. I really flinched, because the loud hitting sound effect and the sudden motion surprised me. Also that's not something you would ever expect from Claus.

Both of them are great actors. Neither of them read their text from the screens or had a problem remembering something. Claus was being brilliantly horrible in his role. I don't think I've ever seen him act like a complete villain in this way, it was unsettling. During the scene at the court he constantly kept making suggestive comments to the judge and it was sometimes difficult to look at all of this. Please stop talking man, who are you, this is all horrible and I didn't think I'd have to hear such words from your mouth!

Then he played the overtired Robert Habeck, first falling asleep on the sofa and then kneeling on the carpet with toy bricks. Did someone conceptualise this episode just so I'm alternating between staring, laughing and not being able to look at all of this? In the end they even had a whiteboard scene (of which I sadly didn't see much bc of the damn camera being in my way). There were two breaks indeed for poor Max to change his costume. He played Merz in one of the court scenes and it's so funny how he can resemble him and imitate all of his mannerisms and the voice so well. In the longer break they showed an excerpt from 2016 in which the AfD was a rather unpleasant and murderous baby in its crib. In the end they called on the audience to sign an online petition about making the Federal Institutional Court review a legal ban of the AfD. And then the episode was already over: "Das war die Anstalt!"

Claus immediately tried messing up his horrible hairstyle as if he really didn't want to resemble that despicable AfD-politician in the slightest. But that wasn't the end of the story. First they bowed and had to come out two more times because we didn't stop clapping and cheering. And then a few apprehensive minutes passed. Would they come out once more? And there they were, both of them. And Max even walked straight up to us with a determined face. He was looking for friends and family in the second row behind us. He did not care much for anyone else, and it appeared he was somehow looking for his daughter? This is how I got to see Max up close, but not talk to him. Therefore I couldn't give him the chocolate. But over there, on the stage, there was Claus. And I knew I had to go there right now, otherwise he may disappear and I won't sleep in peace for the next few months. So I parted with my seat neighbours and shyly went up to the stage. At first he was talking to a woman and then it was time for him to join the others for a group photo on the sofa. That was a whole show by itself. He sat on the backrest and firstly made funny and happy faces, then tried being serious and in the end attempted his most seductive look. That wasn't enough, because he leaned forward too much at some point that he slipped down onto the seat behind the others. Everyone started laughing as he had to get back up on his feet again. Sometimes he's really like a little kid. Some of the visitors were actually taking photos with their phones and then disappeared. So after the photo most of the audience had already gone.

But as the photo opportunity was over, Claus got up and walked to the left of the stage towards the backstage exit. I was scared that he would disappear in front of my eyes. But a woman came to the rescue and asked him for a photo. I just stood nearby and listened to the conversation about the show and about the AfD. They were discussing whether the courts could really be filled with right-wing judges and they also talked about the ban of NPD not working out years ago.

It was fascinating to listen to this, because of how knowledgeable he is and how he considers several view points in his arguments. About some things he admitted not knowing enough and needing to read about it first. He is a little waterfall, but so smart and thoughtful and also attentive to what the other person says. I was content to watch the conversation unfold in front of me and took in all the little details with his whole behaviour, intonation and gestures all being just as I know them from watching way too many videos. The biggest difference was how he looked like: He seemed smaller, more fragile and very tired. And still he was engaged in the conversation even more than this woman, despite looking like he needed a whole bar of chocolate and at least three days of sleep.

Then the producer made an announcement and asked all of us to be quiet because Max had to repeat a sentence which he somehow didn't say entirely correctly during the show. The three of us stood there together and Claus told us conspirationally "Ah yes, Herr Uthoff forgot his text again... happens all the time. And now this is particularly tricky because he has to repeat it with everyone looking at him." Max confidently repeated the short passage and Claus resumed his conversation with that woman. At some point I also chipped in, despite being really nervous about it. I said something about how satire shows seemingly unite to save our democracy at the moment with the ZDF Magazin Royale just having released two episodes about right wing extremists at the Frankfurt police.

It was really odd to suddenly have him looking me straight into the eyes. What do you mean he sees me and hears me and replies to what I said? Suddenly grammar and vocabulary were very abstract concepts. I have a general difficulty with looking into people's eyes, it is usually very challenging for me, but I really wanted to try. I knew how lucky I was to get to talk to him at all. Eventually the woman left and an older couple approached. The woman asked for a photo, but I offered to take a picture with both of them together with Claus which they gladly accepted and were really happy about it. They did not stay to talk for long and suddenly they also disappeared.

Now it was my turn to say something. I was very glad to have a reason at least. "Excuse me, may I also bother you for a few seconds? I brought something for you if that is ok." He had already kind of turned to go but agreed, "Oh, yes sure." So I got all three chocolate bars from my handbag and gave them to him. He thanked me and I remarked somehow that these are greetings from Sachsen. He was happy that there was some representation from Sachsen and assured me it is still valid, although I'm not actually from there. Then it dawned on him that all three bars are probably not for him and asked to whom else to give them. I said he can decide himself how he wants to distribute them. In response he cheekily hid two of the chocolates behind his back and joked that these will be for him only. I laughed and said that my friend (it was N!) had suggested to give all three of them to him, and he liked that idea very much. During the whole conversation he kept on shuffling them in his hands, a bit as if they were playing cards. Then he said more seriously that they will make up the main stash of sweets in the writers' room when conceptualising the next episode. I told him that I would have brought cake instead of chocolate if that was possible. The reaction to this statement was priceless. In this short moment I could see confusion about why suddenly cake is mentioned, then recognition that yes, it's something he likes indeed and again confusion about whether and how I could know this. He stammered something about "Ah yes, cake... yes, yes indeed", before he told me that Max apparently often brings all sorts of things to the writers room "but sadly not cake". Poor man, I would have brought an entire baking sheet of cake for him.

I asked him afterwards if I may have a photo together and he immediately agreed. So I reached for my phone and realised it was still turned off! "Oh no, sorry! I listened to what you said and turned off my phone!" He laughed and pretended to be incredulous, "Someone listens to what I say?" I don't know what hit me, but I managed to look him in the eyes and reply in the same joking manner "Yes, of course! I always listen to what you say." "And now we have to wait for three long minutes until it finally turns on again," he quipped with a smirk. Some guy who had joined us in the meantime, saw his opportunity and said "Ah well, then I could quickly ask you something in the meantime!" Claus agreed and they started a conversation about whether forbidding the AfD is really the solution to the problem or rather suppressing the causes or making it worse. In the meantime my phone had turned on again and I just listened to their conversation.

Suddenly a woman called Claus in an impatient tone. Fair enough, around us the technicians and helpers were already taking away chairs and diassembling the equipment. Claus shouted back, "Sorry, sorry! We are still talking. It's my fault, I have been talking way too much again!" The conversation somehow shifted to his (right now nonexistent) solo tours and he said that he is in fact planning to do one. I immediately chipped in, "Oh really? I would love you to go on a solo tour, please!" He said that he actually likes being on the theatre stage much more than "down here" but he hasn't managed to write a program because of family, health and because he writes eight shows for Die Anstalt each year ("And I really write a lot for them!"). I reassured him that a solo tour would be amazing and that I would definitely come to see him. He thanked me and remembered that actually many people have said the same and he really plans on making it happen "before 2025".

The guy wanted to to take his leave and Claus already wanted to say bye, too ("Otherwise I will collapse soon"). But I stood there with wide eyes and my phone and panicked a bit and shyly started "Oh, and the-?" And he remembered about the photo, "Ah yes, of course." That guy offered to take the photo but I said no thanks, I'll manage. And then joked a bit about "at least, if my hands aren't shaking too much", which was true, I was really a bit shaky. But Claus immediately replied "Oh no, it's alright. My hands have been shaky earlier, too." I managed to take a photo and thanked him profusely, also for liking my post. I didn't specify which post, but he understood right away and realisation hit him: "Ohhh, so that was you with the drawing?" "Yes, that's me who has recently been bothering you with drawings on Instagram." "Thank you so much for the drawing. It's great! I wish I could draw, too!" And then it was really time for him to go and we said goodbye. I turned around and realised, that I was pretty much the only crazy person left in the studio and quickly went outside to fetch my coat.

On my way back to the hostel I was still so full of adrenaline and my hands were still shaking. Everything was too much for me and I could not calm down until late at night at around 2am. Not only did I witness the show live, but I also had the huge luck to have met Claus. That I got to look him in the eyes and talk to him is more than I expected. And he even got the chocolate! Psst! I don't mind, you can eat all three of them. I won't tell, I promise. I am a bit worried and guilty about keeping him for so long and hope that the poor guy could get a lot of rest and cake and chocolate to recover. He really looked very tired, despite giving his everything for the show and for everyone who came to talk to him afterwards. I wish that I could have given him a big hug, but we are not at an EE concert where you can receive the prescribed eight hugs a day. That has never been a realistical wish anyway, and I know that very well. And it doesn't matter, because I got so much more than I dared to hope for and I am so thankful and happy.

Tuesday, 10th Oct 2023: A Final Day

Today I realised that I started to really like Munich. Maybe because it reminds me a bit of London. Not necessarily the Biergärten, but the impressive buildings, the wide roads and the wonderful parks. After three days I feel sad to leave this city behind. There are many beautiful things about Munich. In the morning I left around ten and made my way to the Münchener Stadtmuseum. First I got to see the beautiful Marienplatz with so many flowers and beautifully ornamented buildings. Then I got sidetracked a little and ended up at the famous Viktualienmarkt instead. It wasn't overcrowded in the morning and I got to eat an original Bavarian Brezel in the shade of a tree. The Viktualienmarkt has permanent stands with loads of different foods, but I also saw a plant shop and some shops selling souvenirs.

Then it was time to visit the museum. For students the entrance fee was very cheap and for the money you can enter all exhibitions, not just the permanent one. I enjoyed the chronological permanent exhibition, though I feel like the later history was missing, as they stopped with the end of second world war. Then there was an exhibition about displaced people after the war - it was just one room though and I found the one with a similar topic in Bremen much more educational. I made the mistake to go upstairs to the exhibition of puppets. That was eerie as hell and I quickly got out of there. The reason I wanted to visit in the first place was a temporary exhibition about the rise of the NS party and their mechanisms of executing power. A very interesting, but also dark and scary exhibition, especially since right wing parties are on the rise again. Parts of the exhibition also overlapped with what we learned last semester in media history.

After that I was quite happy to go outside into the sunshine again. Today was a very sunny and warm day, a perfect ending of a beautiful journey. First I got a smoothie and a banana at an overcrowded supermarket and then I made my way towards the Eisbachwelle, a permanent wave at a bridge in a huge park. Surfers are riding the wave with many spectators watching them. I kept walking to a place called the Monopteros that reminded me of the Apollo temple I'd seen yesterday. From there I had a wonderful view over the park and the city. I discovered afterwards that the Chinese tower was actually in a beer garden (of course) and slowly started to make my way back.

I passed by the house of arts with a certain golden bar and the P1 club that is famous, although not necessarily with a good name to it, just for being posh.

I went back through the palace garden and passed by the Odeonsplatz one last time. Originally I'd wanted to go and get some food right away but then I thought that maybe looking for some clothing without holes would also be a good idea (I didn't find anything, though). The veggie and rice bowl I got was really good, although a bit sour. And now it was already time to get my backpack that I left at the hostel and board the train. As I'm writing this in the train I'm happy because Claus has liked my comment under his promo post for the show airing on TV this evening. Maybe I'll still get to watch it when I come home... Thanks Munich for such a wonderful time, hopefully I'll be back soon!

[alllgator-blood]

'FOGGY STREETS AND CHRISTMAS LIGHTS'

(part 3/3)

I'm gonna infodump about the backstory of this comic, don't feel obligated to read it because it's not cotl related it's just personal stuff, I just want to be able to write about it somewhere cause I can't really talk to anyone about it.

As always, thanks for reading this far, sorry my stuff has been such a bummer so consistently. This comic goes out to all my "christmas induced depression" homies, I left my house maybe like ~5 times all month and it was NOT pleasant hearing "IT'S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR!!" on the radio when I'm so ready for it to be over. Gonna take it reaaaaal easy til the year ends, you guys take it easy too!! Got some asks I have to respond to when I'm more stable but probably no new comic pages til january

Alright uhhh so this part of the comic is pretty much taken directly from the last time I saw my great-grandma alive, a few days before christmas. She didn't remember me, but at the nursing home there was a piano, and I sat down and played some stuff because I didn't know what to say. I was really into lisa the painful rpg at the time, and I played that "I've got the joy" song that the villain sings without realizing it was an old christian campfire song. She didn't really say much or move that whole night, just kind of gave me a polite blank smile, but started singing the words when I played the notes to that song.

I kinda stopped in shock, my dad frantically asked me to keep playing, so I did. While the comic I made is way more sappy than the actual moment was, I wish I'd cherished the moment longer. I didn't know it was the last time I'd see her alive. Every family christmas was held at her house when she was around, so it's been weird the past few years. I actually lost another dementia-addled grandma to cancer on christmas eve in 2009, so the holiday was already kind of weird for me on top of everything else that makes me sad this time of year. That's what part 2 was about, I'll spare the details but I wrote leshy to act out how I felt back then. Why are we all sad? This is supposed to be a happy time, all the decorations are up and we're almost all here, so why is everyone smiling yet everything feels so wrong? I feel like since leshy's canonically the most ignorant one to things lurking below the surface, he'd be the one to try and make everyone feel better but not quite understand why everyone is so miserable. My first memory of having self injurious behavior came from then, hence why I had leshy pull his leaves off in the last comic. It was confusing and frustrating and I was just old enough to comprehend something was wrong, but not old enough to understand the depth of it, it DEFINITELY didn't help that nobody helped me back then so I made leshy's siblings actually come in clutch instead of grabbing him/yelling at him.

That night with the piano was something that's stuck with me the few years she's been gone, but I felt kind of strange when I asked my dad and my sister about it and neither of them remembered it. The room we were in was completely empty so nobody else witnessed it but us three. I myself have a history of head trauma and memory loss (plus, native americans are disproportionately more likely to develop dementia... lucky us) so if I ever forgot about that moment, there'd be nobody left to remember it. Sometimes when I do comics, it's my way of going "this happened at some point, and the only evidence it ever happened was me witnessing it, so if something happens to me I want the memory to stay alive in some form."

Anyway. The autistic urge to overshare, am I right? Idk what my religious ass great-grandma would think of me drawing demonic comics about my last memory of her, she'd probably think it's funny though cause she raised my dad whose interests have always been "death metal and devil worship". I'm not sure if anyone read this far, I just hope my dumb comics can convey the things I can't say with my voice and struggle to say through text. None of this was supposed to be "feel bad for me!! Woe is me!!", it was supposed to me more like...cathartic? Healing? I almost didn't post this comic because it felt kinda weird, but seeing people connect with it made it worth it imo. Thank you

[melioraskz]

Lee Minho, the guy who…

A/N : Wrote this in the middle of the night LOL !! Also my first written thing of 2025, it’s short af but enjoy !!! It’s like a headcanon thing idk

Warnings : mentions of sex, markings, Minho being a little jealous ig. Nothing crazy LOL!!

Minho x reader !

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Lee Minho, the guy who remembered your order at the local coffee shop in detail, if you hated coffee ? Then he’d order you something else like tea or matcha, point is he knew exactly what you liked and would always get you one if he was grabbing one for himself and knew he would be meeting you as well, sometimes if he knew you needed cheering up he’d come with one anyways despite not getting myself anything <3

Lee Minho, the guy who even before he knew that he had a crush on you would feel his ears burn up when your hands accidentally touched while you were handing him something, even if it was just for a second he’d think about it for an hour afterwards…

Lee Minho, the guy who who stared at you for a solid minute when you finally told him how you felt about him. Under that minute you had felt all your anxiety about being rejected build up to the point where you had to snap your fingers right in front of him to make him snap out of it. When you said it was fine if he didn’t like you the way you liked him he quickly shook his head in panic and waved his hands in front of you to signal a strong no. “No no no I like you! I like you too!”

Lee Minho, the guy who even a year into the relationship looked at you with such loving and genuine appreciation in his eyes. His lips curled into a crooked smile. You’d be doing your laundry in front of him and he’d be staring at you smiling like a goof with one elbow against the table with his hand steadying his tilted head.

Lee Minho, the guy who will act like he definitely doesn’t wanna help and that you’re so annoying for asking but secretly love doing anything and loves the feeling of being needed, even if it’s for something as small as reach the top shelf or open a glass jaw. (he is such a Tsundere…)

Lee Minho, the guy who definitely is rough in bed, you will wake up bruised up the morning after and he will have the biggest smug on his face as he looks at you trying to cover it up in the mirror, resting his shoulder against the doorframe as you swear at him for being too reckless.

Lee Minho, the guy who when you do get upset at him for marking you up will say something like “well you didn’t complain yesterday” and just laugh at you.

Lee Minho, the guy who definitely find it super fucking sexy seeing you marked up by him, however he will eventually feel bad as he does not wanna cause any trouble for you at work so he’ll try to help you cover it up to the best of his abilities <3.

Lee Minho, the guy who will be jealous over your boss, especially when he one day goes over to your work to give you your phone that you forgot at home on his way to JYPE. He casually walks in with cap & mask on hiding his identity and sees your boss trying to put his hand on your shoulder, on top of your clearly uncomfortable expression he just feels a rush of jealousy so he will straight up walk up to you, introduce himself as your boyfriend like. “It’s nice to finally meet you, sir. I’m Lee Minho, her partner”.

Lee Minho, the guy who after years of being with you, when his kpop career has calmed down a bit and he has finished his military service, will propose to you. He did definitely ask his members, most likely Jisung, for help on rings, making sure it’s the perfect ring that’s your style. He takes everything into consideration, what style you usually get drawn towards, if you’re out with him at a mall and walk past a jewellery shop he will see if your eyes linger just a little longer at a certain design as well. He wants everything to be perfect.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

PROVE IT ───

jackson rippner ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “You think you are possessing me / But I've got my teeth in you.” — ‘Unicorn’, Angela Carter

pairing. jackson rippner x reader

summary. after breaking up with your boyfriend. you meet a handsome stranger at a bar. you tell him your cunt’s better than the girl’s your boyfriend cheated on you with; he tells you to prove it.

warnings. swearing, slight breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, semi-public sex, porn with some plot, impact play, degradation/insults, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 3.6k

a/n. i seriously doubt i wrote jackson’s character accurately in this so please comment anything i can improve on LOL🙏

It’s not often you spill your entire life story to a stranger at the bar, but this one, this stranger with his watery blue eyes and plush lips, is oddly inviting; charismatic to a fault. It makes you want to give him everything, and absently, in your alcohol riddled mind, you think he’d make a good scammer. 

Or, serial killer, whichever he prefers really.

But it's not entirely his fault; you’re stress drinking, downing too many shots in too little a time frame, and the alcohol’s already hit your system ten-fold. 

You’re there because you’d broken up with your boyfriend the night before. You’d been dating just short of a year. He was required to travel a lot, mostly in Europe, as per his job, and you let him go each time without qualms - love them, let them go, right? 

Wrong. He’d been cheating on you since he went to Copenhagen — four months, now — with a pretty little Dane that wanted to marry. 

You were furious when he told you, of course, it’s fucking insanity for him to marry someone he’s known for four months, but you began seeing all the differences between you and the woman he cheated on you with: she, a perfect homemaker, you, a distressed professional he saw maybe once a month. 

“Hey, hey, don’t beat yourself up,” the stranger across from you said softly, breaking you out of your nostalgic stupor and back into reality. “‘cause he’s a right asshole. For cheating on you like that.”

The man had entered the bar hours after you did, housing a simple drink or two and absently watching the softball game on the bar TV, before you drunkenly inched closer to him, desperate to rant your dilemma to just about anyone who’d listen. He bit, and here you were now.  

You peered up at the man, inspecting him. He’s gorgeous, definitely, but you can’t tell if you actually think that, or your foggy, not-been-fucked-for-months mind just wants him to rail you into next week. 

No matter, you thought, downing another shot. It burned the back of your throat sweetly, fire trailing down your insides. “M’not beating myself up,” you protested weakly, “jus’ — m’just… wondering if her cunt was - so much better than mine,” 

He laughed, boisterously, the kind of laugh you hear rumble out from a close friend while you detail every wrongdoing or shameful memory in your life: he’s comfortable right now, as are you.

“Well,” he inched closer, large hand sitting itself on your thigh and slowly inching upwards, “if it bothers you that much, why not prove it? That your pussy’s as good as you think.” 

This wasn’t the first of his attempts to flirt with you: firstly he’d tucked a stray hair away from your face, later he swiped a drop of drink off your lip, then he’d clutched you by the waist, pulling you close to him when someone squeezed past you in the crowded bar. His brisk touch wasn’t unfamiliar by any means, but it did suggest more than the other ones, especially coupled with the lustful words he was purring in your ear. 

Then, there’s a gap in your memory. One too many shots, a stranger toying with the hem of the skirt you donned for the bar, and his sweet voice in your ear was too much for your dizzy head, and the only thing you remember is this: one moment, he’s getting braver, rough fingers ghosting the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and the next, you’re pressed against a bathroom stall wall, the handsome stranger’s knee pushing your quivering legs apart. 

You’re trading wet, messy kisses, and his hands are sneakily climbing up your shirt till they reach your chest. There’s a sharp intake of breath from him: “Fuck, sweetheart, no bra? You really were looking for someone to prove you right,” he cooed, touching your breasts needily. 

He’s kneading you artfully, fingers pawing at your flesh like he’s never felt something so soft, so plump. Your back arches as he does this; you’re practically putty in his hands. 

It doesn’t slip past you that you’re being felt up in a bar bathroom by a gorgeous stranger whom you don’t know the name of, but you don’t care. “Please,” you beg, his name coming up completely blank on your tongue, “please.”

“‘Please’ what, honey?” The stranger says huskily, one of his hands moving from your breasts up to your jaw, pushing it to the side to gain access to your neck. “Please kiss me? Finger me? Fuck me?”

You’re too drunk - and fucking horny - to deal with his theatrics, so you whine instead of answering, your weak fingers carding through his brown locks. 

“God,” he says, “How long has it been since you’ve been properly fucked? Just some touching and you’re already too fucking dumb to speak.”

His words make your cheeks burn with shame, but it also makes your core throb. The oh-so sweet stranger who listened to your problems all night telling you you’re just a dumb horny bitch is such a juxtaposition it's got you all hot and bothered. 

“Please,” you beg again, more desperate than before, “I need you.” 

The man let out an incredulous chuckle, head cocking back. “Baby, don’t tell me you like it like that. God, you’re such a fucking whore,” he said, before undoing his belt buckle and fly. 

He had noticed how your legs clenched around his knee, how your breathing got sharper as soon as the words “dumb” and “whore” slipped out of his pretty mouth, how your fingers trailed his back needily, desperate for any kind of touch. 

You bit your lip, watching the stranger through bleary, hooded eyes. He’d pulled his pants down just enough for his boxer shorts to be visible, before he grabbed you by the waist and turned you to press your face against the wall. 

One of his arms then draped across your shoulders, pinning you down and arching your back, hard, making your ass press flush against the large tent in his underwear. You let out a small gasp at the feeling, and you could practically see the smirk curling slyly on his face. 

He can’t be that big, right? It was just your drunk mind, making him feel bigger than you thought through his shorts. Plus, you hadn’t been fucked in over a month — you were probably just not used to it. 

Because, that’d be totally unfair - he’s beautiful, charming, an amazing kisser, and has a huge cock? No fucking way — if he was all that, he’s definitely a secret terrorist, or something. 

However, these days, you’ve learned that you don't have the best intuition. First, with your boyfriend, then again, with the man who just pulled out his thick cock, stroking it gently. 

“Oh, fuck,” you cursed, head straining to look at him behind you. Unconsciously, you shyly closed your legs at the sight of him. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” the man crooned, his other hand sliding between your legs and spreading them apart once more. “No take backs, honey. You did say you wanted me, did you not?”

The two of you were flush against each other, and you could feel his hard length resting between your legs. Just that, just him between you, already had you trembling in anticipation. 

“Then fuck me already,” you bit back, feigning confidence. In actuality, you were thinking: how was all that supposed to fit? And, of all people, you, who hadn’t been stretched out to fit any cock at all, not since last month, when your boyfriend made his routine visit. You were a loyal girl, alright, and your fingers never went as deep as any cock could.

But the moment for you to reveal your worries passed, and he simpered. “So fucking eager.” 

Then, his large hands smoothed down the swell of your ass, following the curve, before he lifted his hand up and came down on your cheek, making a loud noise reverberate throughout the empty bathroom. 

Your breath caught in your throat, a choked gasp mixed with a tense moan coming out instead, and you flushed. Thank god you were pressed against the cold bathroom stall wall, for it provided a miniscule relief to your burning face. 

He’d spanked you, and you fucking moaned. 

“So you do like it dirty.” he cooed, fingers returning and hooking into the waistband of your panties. 

“I bet,” he said, dragging the thin fabric down extremely slow, “that you didn’t come to the bar tonight to just drink,” he pressed closer against you, your folds now sitting right above his thick length, “you came, with no bra and a slutty skirt on, looking to get fucked senseless, didn’t you?”

He slowly slid in and out against your folds, his cock just barely grazing your clit, and you swore you could have screamed. The way he was teasing you was absolutely delectable and, in the same vein, incredibly torturous. 

“Answer me, honey.” he hummed, free hand rubbing circles on the skin of your hip. 

You let out an exasperated groan. “I - I came here tonight, to - ah!” you squeaked when the fat tip of the man’s cock poked your tight hole. 

“You came here tonight to… what?” He said, nonchalant, as if he wasn’t slowly driving his large dick into you. 

“I came here to…” you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ground your thoughts, and squarely not think about how mouthwateringly good the handsome strangers cock felt, “to get—“

Then, the loudest keen you’d ever heard tore out of you, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, when he suddenly shoved all of his length into your soaking cunt. 

He bottomed out with a breathy laugh, watching your knees buckle and your mouth hang wide open. Then, once more, his calloused hand came down on your ass, a large crack sounding out within the bathroom. 

“Shut the fuck up, whore. Someone’ll hear.” The stranger said, as if he hadn’t just made a loud noise spanking you like that. 

But the way he insulted, complemented, mocked and teased all in a few sentences had you shuddering; never in your life did you think such dirty words could make you so wet. 

You barely kept in another whine, waves of pleasure ebbing throughout your body. The burning pain of the spank in combination to how your walls squeezed around his cock had you barely coherent, your face taut with pleasure. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping all over my cock,” he whispered, leaning down for you to hear. As he did so, however, his dick pressed further into you, and another helpless groan rolled off your tongue. 

“But you’re too goddamn loud.” The stranger growled, and the arm of the hand that was pressing you against the wall shifted, now covering your mouth. 

Before you could protest, he slid out, then snapped into you. Immediately, you saw stars, and a muffled mewl slipped past your lips. 

“Jesus christ,” he murmured, “your little fuckhole’s taking me so well.” He began to slide in and out at a fast, rhythmic pace, so fast you could barely comprehend the ecstacy you were feeling. 

“Oh my god,” you barely stuttered out past his large hand. He was pounding in and out of you relentlessly, selfishly, no regard for your moans or helpless whines, merely focussed on thrusting his fat cock into your sweet cunt. 

Then, the both of you heard the bathroom door open, and you froze. The handsome stranger moved quickly, grabbing you by the waist and planting you on his lap as he sat down on the toilet. His other hand, still trained on your mouth, gripped tighter than ever when he felt the groan bubble up from your throat: this new position of you on his lap had his long length pressed right against your cervix.

“Now you really gotta be quiet, honey,” he whispered, pressing his face into your neck. You shut your eyes helplessly, a dejected whimper exiting your mouth. 

“Just be fucking quiet. You don’t want everyone in this bar to know what a dirty slut you are, spreading your legs for a fucking stranger in the bathroom, right?” He said, words foul and like poison, but actions completely stark to it: he was pressing sweet, chaste kisses on your shoulder, laying his head on your back. 

The man in the other stall was taking so fucking long to finish, and, despite the stranger’s words, he began to slowly rut into you, his large hands coming to rest on your hips and help you slide up and down on his cock.

Your eyes widened. “What are- ah, wh— what are you doing?” you said, a stuttered, hesitant moan leaving  your mouth, but you were completely without the motivation to actually stop him: the pleasure you felt earlier had increased immensely in this slower, riskier pace he took on. 

“Shh,” was all you saw him say, as you strained your neck to look at him. He looked the epitome of smug, lips curled, cheeks flushed attractively, strands of hair falling down onto his forehead.

Without his hand to muffle your groans, you muffled them yourself, biting down on your tongue. One hand of yours gripped onto the stranger's thigh to keep your balance, and your other hand sneakily traveled down to your wet, hot mound, fingers beginning to rub at your clit. 

He noticed this, however, hand gripping at your wrist and pulling you back to pin your arm behind you. “Only I get to touch you,” he snarled, “because this fuckin’ pussy’s all mine. Gonna be all mine.”

You let out a shaky exhale at his words, but you found your cunt more flexible than before, the soft slapping of your skin between each other sounding easier, wetter. Jesus, did you really get more turned on by what he’d said?

Finally, the person who had wandered in and entered the stall beside you exited the bathroom entirely, and you belted out a sharp moan with how the stranger swiftly picked you up and pressed you against the wall once more, this time facing him. 

He plunged his big cock into you like nothing before, animalistically, nails digging so hard into your hips you swore he drew blood. His pace was stuttered, desperate, like nothing could distract him from pounding into you, not even a fucking meteor. 

You, on the other hand, were arching, the pleasure taking your body over completely. Your hands carded through his brown hair, tugging when he hit that particularly spongy spot into you. He groaned, a rough and stuttered thing, feeling himself brush against that spot every time. 

Your tight cunt was stretching and contracting around his dick, like you were made with his fat length in mind, and it drove you up the fucking wall: the pain in your hip, the cold linoleum wall, his cock thrusting in and out — it was all so much, and your orgasm began to spill out from under you. It was slow, like water coming out of an overfilled glass.

“You — god, you’re fucking coming, aren’t you,” the stranger said knowingly. Your cunt had gotten tenser, stickier, trying to grip at him like you were afraid he’d never come back to you. 

You nodded rapidly, opting to do so in fear an unintelligible string of groans would come out instead of your words. 

He grinned, and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, allowing his cock deeper access into you. Your toes curled, the new angle like being impaled, his dick easily slipping past your slick folds. 

One of his hands lifted off your hip and trailed across your lower stomach, “Can you feel that, honey? Its my fucking cock, so deep m’gonna shoot my come right in your womb,” he purred, pressing the bulge. 

Both of you were affected, a breathy grunt slipping past his lips, and you a feverish mewl. You couldn’t believe how big he was, large enough for him to be fucking visible on you from the outside. 

Suddenly, you remembered the man’s name: he’d said it, offhand, to the bartender before you dragged him to the bathroom. He asked the bartender to put your drinks on his tab, under the name Jackson. 

You face grew taut, your orgasm suddenly switching from a slow, sneaky drip to a hard smack, right across your face. “Jackson! Jackson, please,” you moaned at last, his name sounding right at home on your tongue. 

“Fuck, honey, you remembered? God, that’s so hot,” He whispered sweetly, then dragged you through your orgasm, thick cock pounding in and out of your throbbing core. 

It was like all the pleasure had steadily built up within your insides, all up into a big ball, then had suddenly burst, flowing throughout your entire body like you weren’t already being fucked relentlessly. 

“Such a - fuck - tight and pretty pussy,” he said, leaning into rest his head against your chest. You were weak, sensitively riding out your high, but you knew Jackson wasn’t quite as close. 

His thrusts began getting sloppier, harsher and focussed merely on feeling your walls against every inch of him. Your head rested beside his own, your eyes practically crossing with the overstimulation. 

Despite your orgasm, your cunt was still soaking, definitely dripping and marking a wet patch on both your skirt and his pants. It made you tremble, thinking of you two tiredly exiting the bathroom, disheveled and having to cover the other up. 

At this point, you didn’t know what kind of filthy fucking noises were exiting your mouth, with Jackson’s grunts and groans covering up your whines completely.

“M’gonna come,” he said a few long moments later, almost inaudible. “Say my name, say who owns this tight fucking pussy.”

“You do! Jackson does!” You exclaimed, his cock ripping in and out of you quicker and more jolted. “Jackson owns this pussy!”

Jackson grinned weakly, and with one final, harried thrust, he let go deep within you. He clenched his jaw, piercing blue eyes shutting tight and losing himself within the warm and wet feeling of your cunt squeezing him for every drop. 

You were so fucking full, and even when Jackson pulled his softening cock out of you — which, was still huge despite its idleness — you felt stuffed to the brim. 

His come dripped down your leg, and he promptly pulled your panties up, patting your worn out cunt as he did so. “You’re taking all my fucking come, so good honey.” he said, pressing a hungry kiss to your neck. “You were right: this cunt’s better than whoever your shit ex cheated on you with.”

“Told you so.” You gazed up at him through heavy-lidded, gleeful eyes. He was an absolute darling sweetheart, it seemed, switching from degradingly fucking you to romantically praising you. “Are you… up for round two?” you said, as he slipped his hand within your own, clasping tightly. You didn’t really mean round two - though, you wouldn’t protest it, especially with his delectable way of fucking you - you actually just wanted to go home with him… see where this relationship could lead you.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to ask. You’re comin’ home with me tonight,” he saw through you cheekily, pulling you close to him. 

So, you did go home with him, and in the morning you laid beside him in the ruffled white sheets, counting the freckles on his face.

His eyes fluttered open when you shuffled. “Were you watching me?” he said, voice low and sleepy. 

You nodded silently, your hand coming up to pet his skin comfortingly. After a beat passed, you asked the question that was bothering you all morning. “Jackson, you wanted to fuck me first, right?”

He blinked, tense for a moment, before smoothing out his expression. “What?” he opted on saying instead, sounding every bit clueless and entirely convincing.

Not convincing enough for you, however. “Baby, you think I didn’t notice the shots you were calling over and inching toward me? I was drunk, not stupid.”

“Are you saying I took advantage of you?” He said darkly, a side of him otherwise unknown to you ‘till now. 

You raised a judging brow. “No need to be offended. I wanted to see where it was going to go: ‘did the handsome stranger want to fuck me, or did he want to kill me?’.”

He pulled you close to him, his arm snaking around your hips. “So, what are you saying?” he said, pressing a patronizing kiss to your forehead. 

“Hm. Well, I jus’ wanna know if this is a one nightstand.”

“And you don’t care about the - drinks, the “taking advantage” part?”

You let out a laugh. “I was confident, darling; I keep pepper spray and a pocket knife in my purse. Even if you did - which you didn’t - I’d make it out alive.”

Jackson bit his lip, looking up at you. This had meant to be a one night stand, considering the job he had, but you were looking at him so sweetly, so accepting, like you secretly knew what he did for a living and wanted him despite it. 

“Not a one night stand,” he murmured, leaning into your touch. 

You beamed, and, later, when you did find out what he did for a living, you merely cocked your head. Thought about it… outweighed the pros, the cons, (and the fact you were completely right: he was perfect, but also a fucking sociopath), and merely shrugged. 

“Honey, you’ll never do anything to me. Why should I care what you do for a living? Just don’t,” you warned, staring at him like you could and would fucking kill him, “cheat on me.” 

You didn’t have the best intuition. And, as it turned out, a great moral compass, either. 

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 30 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley's excitement over the first set of ultrasound photos is unparalleled. He has never been so happy and so overwhelmed in his life, but at times he feels ill equipped to process everything that's happening. And the last thing he wants is to make you feel like he's growing tired of you.

Warnings: Swearing, smut, pregnancy topics, doctors, angst, fluff

Length: 6600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

Bradley wanted to be able to explain it to you, but he wasn't really sure he could. Sitting in the waiting room with you and anticipating an ultrasound to see the baby was honestly more than he ever thought he could have. You were more than he ever thought he deserved, and you wanted him anyway. But a baby? 

He barely had a baseline to build off of. His dad died when he was young enough that he only had a handful of fleeting memories. The sound of a laugh. Two big hands lifting him up when he fell. A lullaby sung softly as he drifted off to sleep. Besides the photos that you and he collected from his storage unit and the stories his mom recounted when he was younger, that's all he had.

But he could practically hear his mom telling him how excited Nick Bradshaw was to be a dad. Bradley could remember the joy in her voice whenever she told him about the way she would catch father and son goofing off together. She was adamant that Bradley cried almost nonstop the first day his dad was gone for a deployment. And now Bradley desperately wished he could remember these little details that made up their relationship. Because soon, god willing, he was going to be on the other side of things: the parent who loves goofing off and singing, but who also gets deployed and causes tears to fall.

It was all too overwhelming for him to put into words, but as he laced his fingers with yours, he knew he didn't have to figure out how to do everything all at once. 

"Are you nervous?" you asked.

Bradley looked at your open expression and immediately felt better. Talking through things and sharing his thoughts was the best way to keep from driving himself crazy while also letting you know how important you were. "Excited," he replied, kissing your cheek and ear. "Just really fucking excited. I've been thinking... about starting a notebook. Kind of for the baby? Like how sometimes I like to write down what I'm thinking and feeling for myself."

He still felt silly at times for sharing the notebooks with you, but you nodded with a little smile on your lips. "I love your deployment notebooks. I love what you wrote about me."

He reached for you and kissed you without hesitation. "I think I want the baby to be able to read about how much I was looking forward to meeting them. When they're older, I mean. They can read about how I feel like my heart is going to pound out of my chest right now. And how I can't wait to hold them and give them a name. All about how much I love their mom."

Bradley let you bury your face against his neck. It didn't feel like you were hiding from him so much as giving him a taste of the kind of response he'd get if the two of you were alone. "I like that idea." You kissed the side of his neck and said, "I adore you, Roo. You'll be the best daddy."

Bradley almost laughed when you jolted in your seat after the nurse called your name. "Come on back, you two," she said with a smile. "Hopefully mom and dad can leave with some new family photos."

"Holy shit," Bradley replied, palms suddenly sweaty. Baby photos. He was on his feet in an instant, ready to go. And maybe this was what his dad felt like. Perhaps his parents didn't know what they were doing either, but rather they just counted themselves lucky to go along for the ride. He wished one of them had left him a notebook.

You were smiling up at him as he reached for your hand again, and your fingers felt sure and steady all wrapped up with his. "I'm excited, too," you whispered, answering your own question from earlier while he ran his thumb along your rings. "And maybe a little nervous."

"I'm right here," he promised as the two of you followed the nurse into a room filled with equipment. "I'm not going anywhere."

He kissed you and then begrudgingly let go of your hand when the nurse gave you a hospital gown to change into. As she left the room with the promise that your doctor would be in shortly, Bradley dragged his palms across his khaki covered thighs as he sat down and watched you change. Even though you were suffering from near constant nausea, he thought you looked incredible. Your face was glowing, and you kept looking at him with adoration in your eyes. 

"Jesus," he grunted when you removed your bra. Was it possible that today he was the hornier one for once? "Sweetheart. Your tits," he whispered as he ran a hand over his face while you giggled. "Unreal." Then your underwear went sliding down your legs, and he reached down to help you out of them. "Hand me the gown," he told you as he folded your underwear across his knee.

You slipped into the gown when he held it open for you, and then you stood between his legs while he secured the ties and kissed you through the fabric. Your laughter filled the small room, and when the doctor walked in, she found you sitting on Bradley's lap while he ran his knuckles gently across your belly. 

"I'm Dr. Morris," she said, shaking hands with you as you stood and then reaching for Bradley's. "I love it when partners show up for appointments, too. It's a lot more fun."

He watched Dr. Morris help you up onto the table, immediately missing your warm body next to his. "I plan on being here for every appointment unless I'm deployed." Your smile faltered a little bit at his words, so he added, "And even then, I'd steal a jet and fly in for a few hours. This is that important to me."

Your smile was restored and then some. Bradley scooted the chair a little closer when you reached for his hand as Dr. Morris started to ask you some questions and enter them into the software. "Do you recall when you last menstruated? I'd like to calculate a due date assuming we find a healthy fetus."

Once you told her the date of your last period, Bradley blurted out, "Why wouldn't it be healthy?"

Now he had two pairs of eyes on him as you squeezed his sweaty hand. "It's very early," Dr. Morris said. "Complications are more likely to occur in the first trimester than in the second or third. And your wife is just between seven and eight weeks along based on her cycle."

"Oh," Bradley said, swallowing hard. You'd tried to tell him all of this information before, letting him know it was too early to inform your parents or Nat or any of your other friends. But it felt somehow wrong coming from someone else. He didn't like this information when it was laid out before him in the exam room. 

"It's okay, Roo," you told him, a sweet smile still on your face. So he nodded and watched your lips and the curve of your cheek as you answered a few more questions and asked about prenatal vitamins.

Then eventually Dr. Morris said the only words Bradley really wanted to hear right now. "Let's see what we can find with the ultrasound."

He was sitting on the edge of his seat, elbow leaning on the exam table as he gripped your hand for dear life. As excited as he'd been, now he was on the verge of being sick. What if he'd been too rough with you in bed? What if the football at the beach really did hit you in the wrong spot? What if all of the vomiting had been worse than either of you considered?

One thing was for certain. Bradley was going to love you no matter what, until his dying day. So he held onto your hand and kissed your knuckles as Dr. Morris squeezed lube onto a wand that looked a bit like one of the vibrators you had at home. "Is that for the ultrasound?" he asked, watching you spread your legs wider. 

"Yes," the doctor replied, and a huge computer monitor lit up. "We need to get really up close at this stage to be able to see anything, so we're doing a transvaginal ultrasound today. The ones you're thinking of that use a paddle on the belly will come later."

"Right," he replied, and as soon as she slipped the wand inside you, he watched you purse your lips in slight discomfort. "You okay, Sweetheart?" he whispered, eyes glued to your face for any sign of pain. But your pinched expression melted away, and your lips parted softly as you sighed and stared at the computer monitor. 

"Oh. Oh, Bradley! Look!"

When he turned toward the screen, he slowly stood as you pulled his hand closer to your body and held it with both of yours. Everything looked a little fuzzy at first, just some gray and black shapes. But then a cute little bean started to take shape as Dr. Morris adjusted the wand, and Bradley rasped, "Is that the baby?"

"Yes," she replied evenly, also watching the monitor. "And everything looks great."

Warmth spread through his entire body as Bradley huffed out a laugh while you giggled. He wasn't sure if his hand was shaking or if it was yours, but he leaned down and kissed your wrists before finding your lips with his. "That's our baby," he whispered, kissing you once more.

"It's adorable," you said, smiling nonstop. "Like a little bean, or a chicken nugget."

Bradley leaned on the table, keeping as close to you as he could. "I'm already so in love." He could feel tears in his eyes as Dr. Morris froze the screen. "Is it over?" he asked in a slight panic. In all honesty, he could happily spend the rest of the day right here with you and the baby, and he wasn't prepared to say goodbye yet.

"Just capturing some images," she reassured him. "Baby's first picture."

"Oh my god," Bradley groaned softly, and you ran your fingers through his hair as he ducked his head against your shoulder. "That's the first picture, Baby Girl."

"The baby looks just like you, Roo," you told him with a laugh, and he kissed you until the doctor cleared her throat.

"Let's see what we can find if we zoom in a little more."

With rapt attention once again, Bradley stared at the screen. It looked like the baby was bouncing around a bit, wiggling to an unknown song. "Is that movement good?" he asked. "And what's that little flickering spot?"

"Very good," she replied. "And the flickering is the heartbeat."

"The heartbeat?" That was inexplicably what threw him over the edge as a tear managed to squeeze its way down his cheek when he blinked. "Holy shit."

He just let his head rest against your chest and basked in the feel of your fingers in his hair as you whispered, "I love you." Bradley had no idea if you were talking to him or the baby. Or maybe both. Or maybe you loved Dr. Morris, because in this moment he certainly did as she snapped more photos. Maybe you loved everything right now just like he did.

"I love you, too."

--------------------------

Bradley was falling apart as you ran your fingertips along his scarred cheek. Or perhaps he was completely keeping it together. You weren't really sure. He had some tears in his eyes even though he was smiling, and the two of you were holding onto each other. 

"Do you want to listen to the heartbeat as well?" Dr. Morris asked, and the two of you responded at the same time. 

"Yes!"

She laughed and adjusted the ultrasound wand inside you which was actually extremely uncomfortable, but you were starting to think Bradley would cry harder when she removed it. And then you heard it. Dr. Morris adjusted something on the control panel, and set a device on your belly, and you could hear the heartbeat. 

"Why is it so fast?" Bradley asked, squeezing your hand. "That's like really fast."

Now your heartbeat was picking up, but Dr. Morris said, "One hundred and fifty two beats per minute. That's perfectly where it should be."

"Oh, okay," Bradley sighed, eyes transfixed on the monitor. "That's good then. That's a strong Bradshaw heartbeat right there. Can you take another picture? The nugget looks really cute like that."

You laughed and reached for him when she eventually shut off the equipment and removed the wand. At Bradley's request, she printed out enough copies of each image that you'd be able to give them to your parents, all of your friends and even Bradley's cousin Brenda in Virginia. 

"This seems like overkill," you whispered as the printer just kept going and going.

"It's not," he promised. "I need all of them to wallpaper my locker and fill my helmet bag. Just a bunch of pictures of you and now the baby, too."

"We'll get more ultrasound photos at the next appointment. And the next one after that," you reminded him. 

"Good. We'll have enough to wallpaper at home, too." Eased himself back down into the chair as you sat up a little bit while Dr. Morris cleaned up her workstation. 

"When is the due date?" you asked suddenly. 

"March 24th," she replied, and you and Bradley shared a smile. "Do either of you have any other questions for me?" she asked as she handed a massive stack of ultrasound photos to your husband who looked like he just won the lottery. 

"When can we find out if it's a girl or a boy?" he asked, looking through the images with a crooked little grin on his face. 

"In the second trimester," she assured him. "You'll make a special appointment for an anatomy scan."

You cleared your throat and said, "So... I've been really quite... I'm sure it's the hormones and everything, but I've been extremely aroused for the past few weeks." Bradley gave you a wide eyed look as you asked, "Basically, I want my husband around the clock right now, and I want to know if that's normal?"

He let out a strangled choking sound, and his cheeks started to flush pink as Dr. Morris said, "That's totally normal. Have at it."

You pressed your lips together before you quickly asked, "And rough is okay? Like pretty rough."

"Yep," she replied, completely unfazed by your words as Bradley looked like he wanted to run out of the room with his stack of baby pictures. "Anything else?"

A smile crept to your lips, one that Bradley would have probably found alarming if he were looking anywhere else except the door at the moment. "Actually, yes. I do have one more question for you, Dr. Morris. Based on the size of the baby and the date of my last period, can you tell me when you think the baby was conceived?"

"Sure," she replied, turning the monitor back on and scrolling through all of the information in your electronic file. 

"You did not just ask her that," Bradley whispered, his voice deep with annoyance and maybe a little bit of desire as you grinned at him and bit your lip. 

"I would say you probably conceived right around June 27th."

You squealed with delight as Bradley groaned. "Thank you so much, Dr. Morris. We'll see you again in a few weeks."

When she left the room, you hopped off the table and started to untie your gown, pausing to pump your fist in the air while Bradley held his forehead in his hand. "Okay, okay. You win," he whined as he laughed. "You win."

"I told you the baby was conceived in the Honda!"

---------------------------

Later that night, Bradley kept reminding himself that Dr. Morris said rough sex was okay. That seemed to be the only way you wanted it as you got on all fours on the bed and said, "Fuck me hard, Daddy." And Bradley was never going to be one to deny his wife anything she asked for. 

Beads of sweat were rolling down his face, occasionally dripping onto your back as he leaned over you. He was panting next to your ear as he went as hard as he could, fucking you until your knees buckled and he had to hold you up. "You know, I used to have a wife who liked it sweet sometimes. I wonder what happened to her?"

"You knocked her up," you gasped as he rubbed your clit with his fingers. 

Fuck, he was getting close, and your words were not helping in the least. "Come on, Baby Girl. Come for Daddy." 

A few more swipes of his fingers and a little more dirty talk, and you were coming. Holy hell, you were coming hard, which was a good thing, because Bradley needed a break. You released an unholy moan as your legs gave out again, and this time, he let you sink down to the bed as he grabbed his cock in time to come all over your ass and your back. 

"Roo," you gasped as he painted you up, and you met his eyes over your shoulder. "That's so fucking hot!"

"I'm glad you think so," he grunted before he sprawled out on the bed next to you on his back. "I got nothing left in the tank, Sweetheart. Do not ask me for more tonight."

You crawled over to kiss his sweaty face and whispered, "You did so good," as you patted his abs adoringly. "You're already the world's best Daddy." Then you leaned down and cleaned his cum from the head of his cock with your tongue, and Bradley moaned as you climbed out of bed. "I'm going to shower and get ready for bed."

He raised his hand in a wave or surrender, he wasn't quite sure which. Forty-five minutes of nailing you until you screamed his name was the most intense workout he'd had in weeks. He needed to hit his home gym in the garage a little harder. Maybe he could invite Jake over to lift weights with him, and then he could sneak away and take a nap while you and Jake had one of your gossip sessions. That actually sounded pretty great.

Bradley managed to get out of bed long enough to let Tramp out and brush his teeth. By that point, you were getting out of the shower and drying yourself off,  humming and sighing softly. 

"I know what you're trying to do," he said with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. "And it's not gonna work."

You looked at him with one eyebrow raised as you ran the towel across your chest. "I'm sorry. What exactly am I trying to do that's not going to work?"

He spit out his toothpaste and rinsed his mouth, sending a glare at you in the mirror. "Look at your fucking tits, Sweetheart. Now you're just flaunting them."

"I'm literally just standing here."

He shook his head and kissed your forehead as he walked past. "You know what you did."

When you slipped in bed next to him, he pulled you close while you laughed softly. You were wearing nothing except for his old UVA shirt, and when you curled up next to him, he pushed you gently onto your back. Then he yanked the shirt up and shimmied under the covers so his lips were next to your tummy. 

He kissed up and down your side before laying with his cheek on your hip and one hand on your belly. "Listen kid, I don't know what you're doing in there, but I need you to chill, okay? Someday soon, you'll get to see how pretty and perfect your mommy is. Yes, I think about her all day long. Yes, I love her, but I can only take so much. Your old man is an old man."

You lifted up the covers, and Bradley felt your fingers in his hair. "No, you're not."

He kissed the spot just below your belly button before returning to his pillow. "I'll be close to thirty-eight when this little nugget arrives."

"That's not old."

When you curled up on him this time, he collected you in his arms. If you were surprised by his words, you didn't let on. "My dad died when he was twenty-nine. My mom died when she was forty-two. You're a bit younger than me, not that I mind. But my age is something I think about a lot. I'm older than all my friends. I like to be prepared for things before I jump into them. I like to feel out my surroundings. Except when it comes to you, apparently."

You snuggled in a little closer, voice soft as you asked, "What do you mean?"

Bradley kissed your fingers before lacing them with his in the dark bedroom. "I was all in with you as soon as you looked at me. Zero hesitation. No turning back."

You buried your face in his chest and moaned. "You can't just talk about me like that. It makes me insane for you," came your muffled voice, and Bradley laughed. 

"I guess I never had any hesitation about us having kids either. And I'm just saying... it's nice to have time to think about the baby before the baby actually gets here. But I'm also in my head a lot right now about my parents and how much more flying I've got left in me and how I don't actually know how the fuck to take care of a baby."

"Bradley!" Your voice was scolding as you propped yourself up on him. "We're a team. And I wouldn't lie to you. You're not old, and I'm pretty sure nobody actually knows how to take care of a baby until they have one in front of them. Then you just kind of do it, I guess. The fact that you are so excited about this pregnancy is at least half of what's turning me on so much. You will be the best dad imaginable, because you love me so well, and I don't doubt you have more of that to give."

He was exhausted, and your words settled over him like something he could physically feel. "I really am so excited. Today felt like a dream. I just want to cover the whole house in the ultrasound photos, and I can't wait to get another smaller paper airplane tattoo."

He felt your fingers trace his tattoo in the darkness. You knew exactly where it was without guidance just like he knew exactly where yours was. "You'll get it right here? With the baby's name on it?"

"Yeah," he whispered, starting to feel like he was going to doze off.

"I have a question," you said, and he squeezed your hand softly. "Earlier you asked when we can find out if it's a boy or a girl."

He smiled at the hesitation in your voice. "What's your question?"

Bradley could feel your heartbeat against his body, and he thought about how he had been able to see and hear what the baby was doing just a few hours ago. The beautiful sound of that rapid heartbeat that belonged to his child. 

"Do you care? If it's a boy or a girl?"

"No," he answered honestly. "Not one bit. I just care that it's ours."

"Me too. I'm happy either way." Your words sounded soft and dreamy, and he believed them.

"I love you both. Now let the old man sleep."

--------------------------

The rest of the week felt like a bit of a reality check. You tried taking the prenatal vitamins from Dr. Morris, but you threw them back up almost instantly every single time. "Just skip them," Bradley said on Friday morning as you threw up in the toilet when you were trying to get dressed for work. 

"I can't," you practically wailed. "They are supposed to keep me healthy so I can keep the baby healthy." You looked up at him from where you were sitting on the floor.

He sighed and checked the time. "Why don't you just stay home today? You're looking pretty green, and it's Friday anyway. Text Bickel."

Anger flared inside you. He was standing there looking nice and tidy in his khakis while you were on the floor turning yours into a wrinkly mess. And the reason for that was the fact that you had to deal with all of this shit. He just got to enjoy your libido while being excited about the baby. You really didn't want to start resenting him right now when you were leaving for Maryland soon.

"I can't just skip work on a whim like what I'm doing isn't important," you snapped. "I'm trying to get my presentation ready for Annapolis, in case you forgot you offered to help me with that."

He was on his knees in an instant with your chin in his hand. "Hey, that's not what I meant. I just don't want you overexerting yourself, especially since your work is important and you'll be traveling soon."

You still felt bitchy, even though he made you peanut butter crackers and took Tramp for a walk while you stayed curled up in bed for an extra twenty minutes. "That's right. I'll be gone for a week. I'm sure you're looking forward to having a break from the near constant sex."

You used the vanity to pull yourself to your feet while your stomach lurched, even though he was holding his hand out to help you. "Look at me," he demanded without touching you at all. You didn't want to, but you shifted your gaze to his face as he stood too. "If you really think that's true, then we have a serious problem. I'm going to assume that you feel the need to take your nausea out on me, and that's fine. I don't really mind. That's what I'm here for. But do not accuse me of ever wanting to be separated from you."

You pressed your lips together and just nodded as he leaned down to kiss your cheek. You didn't want to be away from him either, but you felt another wave of sickness rolling through your body.

"I need to go, Sweetheart. I'll stop and get you some of those ginger pills on my way home. Maybe they'll help. I love you."

After he left, you threw up again and fought the urge to throw the bottle of prenatal vitamins across the bathroom. Even now you were horny enough that you considered climbing back in bed with your vibrator to take the edge off, but you knew nothing would be as good as the real thing. And you'd have to apologize to Bradley before you could have that, and it would undoubtedly make you cry when you did. 

When you finally made your way back out to the kitchen, you found more peanut butter crackers arranged on a plate in the shape of a heart with one of the ultrasound photos next to it. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you tried to call your husband, but it went to voicemail. You listened to his raspy voice before ending the call and texting him instead.

I'm sorry. If you want Marry Me Rooster for dinner, pick up some chicken along with the ginger pills.

After you tucked the ultrasound picture in the new Bronco, you spent your whole morning sitting quietly with Cat, the two of you going over each presentation slide with a fine tooth comb. "Is that calculation correct?" she asked, pulling out a calculator. 

"It fucking better be. I did it myself. Months ago."

She looked at you with wide eyes. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you lied, anxious that Bradley hadn't responded to your text. Two days ago, you were having the absolute time of your life with Dr. Morris, and now you wanted to scream. "Can we just finish this?" you said through gritted teeth as Cat checked your math which was obviously done correctly. 

"That's what we're working on," she said smoothly, using her mom voice on you and making your nerves prickle. "Finishing the slides so we can spend next week practicing and getting our notes in order for all of these meetings and cocktail receptions."

The last thing you wanted to do right now was pretend you were drinking alcohol while trying not to vomit. Nothing about this trip to Annapolis seemed appealing. And you didn't want to have to try to hide your pregnancy from your parents if you drove to see them one night. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" Cat asked, and you had to steel your spine as you nodded. 

"I'm perfect." There was no point in making her mad at you when the two of you would be in close quarters for several days, so you rolled your shoulders and got back to work.

-----------------------------

Asking Jake if he wanted to workout actually wasn't the best idea Bradley had come up with recently. It would be nice to have someone to spot for him at the weight bench, but if you were making his favorite dinner, he'd rather spend the time with you. 

"Fuck," he groaned as Jake followed him to the grocery store on his way home. Apparently he needed protein powder and didn't mind that Bradley had to stop for chicken. Of course now he had to try to discreetly grab the ginger pills that you wanted to try for your nausea. 

It ended up being easier than he thought since Jake took fifteen minutes to decide which flavor of protein powder he wanted. He was still looking at them when Bradley went back to that aisle. "Are you almost done?"

Jake shot him a nasty look from where he was squatting at the bottom shelf. "Listen, it would go faster if I didn't get hit on constantly when I'm wearing my uniform."

Bradley rolled his eyes so hard, he was afraid he'd get a migraine. "Keep it in your fucking pants. I'll meet you at my house."

Jake grabbed a container and followed him to the registers. When they passed a hot sauce display, he grabbed one and handed it to Bradley. "Get this for Angel, and maybe you'll get laid. Sounds like you need it."

"It's literally the last thing I need," he mumbled, but paid for it anyway along with the ginger and the chicken. When Bradley slid his credit card back in his wallet, he saw the corner of the ultrasound image he had tucked in there last night. He unfolded it and took a peek as Jake paid for his powder. You were everything. And the baby was everything. And he should have been a little more patient with you this morning. 

"You coming?" Jake asked, and Bradley shoved the nugget photo back inside his wallet before slipping it into his pocket. 

You were already home, and Bradley parked the blue Bronco next to the red one. Jake came careening into the driveway, stopping about two inches from the back of the new Bronco. "Show her a little respect, okay?"

Jake snorted as he climbed out. "You literally fucked the other car to bits. I didn't do shit."

Bradley groaned as he walked inside with Jake on his heels. The first thing he saw was you in the kitchen, feeding Tramp a treat. You had on some skin tight yoga pants and a little shirt without a bra, and you turned to him and said, "Can we talk?" He opened his mouth to tell you that you could have any damn thing you wanted, and then you said, "Hi, Jake," with a look of surprise on your face. "I didn't know you were coming over."

"Hey, Angel," Jake crooned, walking into the kitchen and pulling you in for a tight hug. Shit, Bradley forgot to text you and let you know he wasn't going to be alone. "Didn't see you at lunch today."

"I worked through lunch," you replied, your eyes on Bradley. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"Nah, just going to lift weights out in the garage with Rooster for a bit. I'll be out of your hair after that."

"You can stay if you want," you told him, but he was already heading toward the hallway bathroom with his gym bag. "Why didn't you tell me he was coming over?" you whispered. "I'm not even wearing underwear, and you left one of the ultrasound photos on the fridge."

Bradley quickly pulled it down and stuck it in the freezer on his way to get to you. "I'm sorry. I meant to text you, but then I got in the Bronco and forgot." Tears welled up in your eyes; he should be used to this by now, but he was not. "If you're horny, I'll take care of you as soon as Jake leaves."

You scoffed at him. "It's not that. I don't just want that. I wanted to talk. You're not just a gigantic, walking dick to me."

Jake cleared his throat, and you and Bradley both turned to see him standing there in his gym clothes. "I'll meet you out in the garage," he said with a smirk. "Take your time."

"I'll just be a minute," Bradley called over his shoulder, but you'd already started to open the chicken he set on the counter. "Do you want to talk now?"

"No." Great. You were giving him one word answers now. 

"Would you like me to get changed and get out of your hair?"

"Yes."

---------------------------

As soon as Bradley walked through the sliding glass door and headed for the garage, you broke out in tears. What the fuck was your problem? You didn't mind if Jake was here or if he stayed for dinner. You didn't want to completely discourage Bradley from hanging up the nugget photo. You just couldn't control your emotions, and you had zero patience today. And you couldn't stop running to the bathroom to pee. 

You decided to fill up some travel mugs with water and take them out to the guys to smooth things over. Tramp ran around in the grass as you walked across the yard, and you could already hear the two of them talking over their playlist as you approached the doorway. 

"Is Angel's ass bigger now?" Jake asked, pointing to the dirty calendar that Bradley hung on the wall and strategically covered part of with a post-it note.

Your husband shook his head. "Stop staring at my calendar," he replied as he added weight to one side of the bar. "And stop talking about my wife's ass."

"She's in a feisty mood today. You probably didn't even need that hot sauce to get laid, old man." Based on Jake's response, you were pretty sure neither of them had seen you in the doorway yet as you stood there awkwardly. 

Bradley's brow creased. "She's been a real handful, actually."

Jake hooted with laughter. "In the bedroom? Never mind, I don't want to know."

It took Bradley a few seconds to respond. "Can we talk about anything else other than my wife? Please? Literally any other topic would be great."

You turned on your heel and carried the waters back toward the house as soon as you heard Jake say, "Speaking of asses, you know who has a great one..."

They were out there for a full hour. You made what turned out to be perhaps the most incredible looking batch of Marry Me Rooster of your life while you stewed. Even your husband was already sick of you. Soon you'd gain so much pregnancy weight, your ass would probably be enormous. He'd probably have to close his eyes just to have sex with you. 

You froze as you were putting the chicken onto a plate. What if he couldn't stand the sight of you with a belly at all? All stretched out and weird? Bradley had probably glorified it in his mind, but you knew it wasn't going to be all that appealing when you were nine months along in the middle of March with stretch marks galore. You were already bloated enough that Jake noticed.

You were turning and looking down at your body when they both came walking back inside, out of breath. "Smells good in here. Are these for us?" Bradley asked, pointing at the waters on the island. 

"Yes," you whispered, afraid to meet his eyes. As soon as you heard his voice, you were horny again, but you didn't want to keep forcing him to have sex with you just because you couldn't help yourself.

Jake kissed you on the cheek, and when you told him he was welcome to stay for dinner, he said, "I'll take a raincheck. See you for golf on Sunday, Rooster," and headed out to his car.

"Do you think you can eat dinner?" Bradley asked you softly. When you turned away from him and nodded, he said, "You didn't have to wait for me if you were hungry. Do you want me to shower first?"

You burst into tears once again. "I don't know if I'm hungry. I don't ever know. Sometimes I just grow up. And I can't stop fucking crying! And I don't want you to be so sick of me that you'd rather talk about literally anything else with Jake, including someone else's ass."

"Whoa, whoa," he said quietly, spinning you around again. "I don't want to talk about anything else besides you, Sweetheart."

You shook your head and covered your eyes with your hands. "I tried to bring the waters outside. I heard you."

When you were pulled snug against his sweaty shirt, you felt slightly better. "Baby Girl. I was not about to get into a conversation with Jake about how I can barely keep up with you in bed. In order to keep my pride intact, I would at least want him to know you're pregnant if I'm admitting that you're wearing me out." He kissed the top of your head over and over.

"It feels like you're getting sick of me," you sobbed softly. "And you brought me hot sauce even though I can't eat it right now, and that made me so sad."

"I couldn't be less sick of you if I tried. I just needed to keep Jake off my back rather than let slip that you're pregnant, so I got the hot sauce. And it's completely my fault I forgot to tell you he was coming over, but I had a lot on my mind today."

"Like what?" you asked, inhaling how delicious he smelled even compared to the dinner you made.

"Like possible baby names and the look and feel of your pussy when I fuck you. Do you need me right now? Because I'm ready to go when you want me."

"So badly," you squeaked. "I'm sorry, Roo."

"Don't ever apologize again for wanting to have sex with me. I will be the one to apologize if I don't last as long as you need me to."

You nodded against him. "Well then I'll apologize for having a bad attitude."

"Do you need me to fuck the attitude out of you?" 

"Yes, sir."

-------------------------------

Imagine how excited he'll be holding that baby in his beefy arms. Just stay calm, sweet Roo. The hormones won't last forever. Up next, we're going to Annapolis. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 31

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@wintercap89

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@chaoticassidy

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@sylviebell

@wkndwlff

@horseslovers2016

@gennyanydots

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@magicalmorg

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@ughthisisntright

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

[imsandra]

Red to Gold

Pairing: Eris x female reader

Summary: From the fire of the past are born the flames of a new beginning.

Warning: Mentions of torture, whipping, violence, death (nothing in too much detail), Beron. Let me know if anything happens. Word count: 1183

Notes:The idea came out of nowhere, I hope you like it. Leave your comments on what you think, suggestions, everything is welcome as long as it is with the motivation to teach and with respect.

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any spelling and grammar problems.

Original story, I wrote it myself. Please do not copy or plagiarize my story.

I appreciate the comments, reblogs and likes I receive.

Happy reading!

Master list

The sun would rise again over them.

That was what his mother always said whenever his father did atrocious things to her. His father wasn’t known for being the best; his tyranny was his strength and worth at that time, but it never led him to victory. So when Eris became the new High Lord after killing his own father, his dreams were plagued with nightmares of his past, but he always remembered his mother's words.

“The sun will rise again over us,” the Lady of Autumn would whisper to her children.

“How do you know?” Eris would always ask.

“Because one day, you'll feel that all the bad will go away, and the good will settle deep in your soul, healing the broken parts,” she said as she kissed his forehead.

“Mama, do you feel it?” he whispered. He had always been curious with her, only with her.

His mother took longer than usual to respond. She clung to her little son and answered:

“Yes, I feel it every day,” she finally said.

The little redhead, deep down, knew it was a lie. He knew his father tortured her. She thought that at 8 years old, he wouldn’t be aware of the atrocious things his own father could do. But Eris was always aware, and although he sometimes tried to defend her, which cost him several whippings, he knew his father would never show mercy to a child. So, Eris would have no mercy for him. Never.

When his brothers came into the world, he tried to protect them from Beron's torture, especially his younger brother, Lucien. The only one of his brothers with whom he formed a close bond. The only one he could save from his father's poison.

Lucien and Eris were united by their shared love for their mother. Eris tried to give him a peaceful childhood: he tried to play with him, teach him to read and write, teach him to defend himself. He didn’t care about the consequences that followed. He would do that and more for him and for his mother.

He promised himself: the sun would rise again over them.

A couple of years after becoming the High Lord of the Autumn Court, he found his mate; he found his sun. Y/N was his sun during his dark nights when the storm raged through his body. It was she, with her light, who made him shine like a diamond. His life improved with her, and his mother couldn’t be happier for him, and he couldn’t be happier with her, because he could finally live a free life.

He could never blame her for wanting freedom. Everyone deserved that. Freedom.

Now, while lying on the couch in his home with his little redhead asleep on his chest, he knew his mother was never wrong.

All the bad was going away, and the good was binding to his soul, mending his broken parts.

His little girl stirred on his chest. He gently stroked her back, with tenderness, with love, with the affection that only his mother had taught him, what it meant to be both father and mother at the same time. He swore that the moment his daughter, Emberlyn, was born, he would do whatever it took to give her a childhood full of joy and peace, everything he didn’t have. He would give it to his children.

Emberlyn was his little sun, his passionate little warrior, and even though she was now 5 years old, she was still his little baby. The little redhead claimed to be a little adult, but the fact that she was now lying on her father, her head buried in his neck, showed she was still a baby.

If those thoughts came to light, Emby would get a bit upset and tell her father to have a small sword battle until one of them won. That's why she was his little warrior.

Who would’ve thought his girl was such a fan of swords?

The scent of his mate filled the room; she had entered through the door that connected to the garden. Emby had been helping her mother in the garden they had built together before ending up in her father's arms, fast asleep.

“I love you,” Eris told his wife.

His wife only smiled radiantly before approaching him. When she reached him, she leaned in to kiss him; their lips met gently. A kiss full of so much love, soft as a feather. Both parted, breathless; if it were up to them, they would stay like that for eternity. But they had to breathe at some point.

“I love you more, dear husband,” Y/N whispered near his lips.

Eris made space for her so she could lie down with them. His wife slid onto the couch and nestled into the arm her beloved husband offered her. Y/N rested her head on his shoulder and buried her face in his neck, inhaling his rich scent.

“Maybe we should have another,” Eris said quickly.

“Another what?” the woman responded.

“Another baby,” he said with a smile.

Y/N only laughed and pulled her face out from Eris' neck. She looked at him with a smile; she would never tire of seeing his face, the shape of his nose, his kissable lips, his beautiful freckles adorning his cheeks. Eris locked his gaze with hers, and countless moments flashed through his eyes. He couldn’t believe he was building such a wonderful life as a husband, father, and High Lord of his court.

“I’ll give you all the children you want, my love,” she said with a giggle. She kissed his jaw and buried her face back in her beloved's neck.

The redhead just chuckled, causing his daughter to stir. Emby just wriggled around; she seemed to be a heavy sleeper, just like her mother.

The High Lord of the Autumn Court was more than happy. And though sometimes that happiness was clouded by horrible moments from his past, it was his present that brought him back. His doubts about not being a good father were answered in the moments he shared with his baby. She loved him and reminded him that he was raising her in the best way possible.

He would build that legacy worthy of being told in future generations.

The sun would rise again over them.

*divider by @tsunami-of-tears , thank you.

I red you!

[saltpepperbeard]

Call It Through as a Crew: Alleviating Some Phone Anxiety

Hello everyone! So as you probably already know, there has been a recent call to make, well, calls! Another member of our crew figured out that the max customer service line (855-442-6629) is a very effective way to get our feedback heard, as the feedback gets transcribed and shared to a multitude of teams.

I already sort of briefly shared my experience on this post, but I wanted to go a bit more in detail to offer some solace for those who are also phone averse, as well as share resources and get the word out even more.

And y'all, when I say I'm phone averse, I mean PHONE AVERSE LMAO; MY FEET WERE SWEATING JSDKLS LIKE I WAS FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE. So I totally, TOTALLY get it, and am here to walk you through everything in detail!

So I called that number and was on a brief hold--probably like 5 minutes or so. The customer service representative (Margot my bestie Margot) then picked up, and asked for the email associated with my account as well as my full name.

I was extremely extremely worried and anxious about being bothersome/annoying the person on the other end and just being able to feel it in their tone, so I was shivering and sweating all the while. But then when she asked for my reason for calling, I said, "Oh, it's actually in regard to some feedback," and she went, "Is it for Our Flag Means Death?"

And we both laughed, and I was like, "Haha how did you knooooowww?" And she laughed some more and was like, "Let me tell you, I have never seen anything like this in all my years working here. We are getting so many calls. It's incredible."

And by that point, a large weight was off my chest because she was friendly, I was friendly, EVERYONE WAS FRIENDLY.

I laughed and told her that we were a very passionate and concerned bunch, and she told me that she thought that was so cool and also super important. She then allowed me to tell her my feedback, and she transcribed it as I talked. This was the little script I had prepared in case you'd like to reference it:

I just wanted to call and express my disappointment, dissatisfaction, and concern with the recent cancellation of Our Flag Means Death on Max. As a queer person myself, this show has a tremendous impact on me. And in a climate where so many diverse and LGBT-centric shows have unjust ends, I’d just like to express my wish for reconsideration, and just the hope that…Max will allow LGBT stories like ours to live and flourish. And I’m really worried about there being some kind of…homophobic angle to the cancellation, so it would mean the world to myself and so many others if the decision could be reversed, and we could get our third and final season.

I went a little graver than originally planned, because I saw talks that taking a DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) angle, as well a "hey I'm a queer person and this feels like a decision made for a nefarious purpose" angle, are supposedly more likely to be noted.

Anyway, she allowed me to say my piece and wrote it all down, and then actually stayed with me on the line to chat a bit more. So, the phone call didn't feel rushed or anxious which was SO so huge to me; it felt far more conversational.

She was like, "I don't want to toot our little horn or anything, but Max really takes all this feedback into consideration. It will be passed to the properties team (or something equivalent, I can't remember the EXACT term she used), and they're in charge of what goes on Max and why. So, I really feel like you guys have a fighting chance with these efforts."

And of course I was thanking her profusely for telling me all of this, and for listening; polite menace, that will be my brand!

But man, the coolest part of all? She told me that she was POC, and a queer person herself, and that this was all so cool and so amazing to see. She applauded our efforts, and expressed interested in the show. I laughed and said, "Well uhhhh I might have a BIT of a bias, but I cannot recommend it enough."

And then she proceeded to tell me that it might be even MORE effective to hit from different angles. So, keep calling (they're available 24/7), and also keep utilizing the online feedback form. Basically just keep FLOODING them with how much this means to us and why.

I then expressed a lot of gratitude, we exchanged pleasantries, and there was a brief survey at the end. I don't think the survey is necessary, so you can probably hang up by this point, but I stuck around for a little more horsepower. It tells you to rate the customer service on a scale of 1-5 with 5 being the highest, and you know I gave my bestie a fivvvveee. It also tells you to press 1/2 if your issue was resolved or not. I said HELL TO THE NO, DUDE SJDKLS. And THEN, it asks you to leave a voice message after the tone describing your experience. I said that I was with the customer service representative Margot, and that she was extremely friendly and helpful, but that the issue at hand will not be resolved until Max reserves their decision about the recent cancellation of Our Flag Means Death (I'm also always saying the show title in full as opposed to just the acronym, just for more OOMPH).

...And thennnn I proceed to shake it/shriek it all off LMAO.

Buuuut yeah! Probably took a total of 10 minutes or so. @xoxoemynn also shared with me that she's seen people say that these customer service representatives likely deal with older folks who need help with technology, and are subsequently stunned (and maybe even excited) to talk to younger people who just want to voice concerns instead of chew the poor customer service people out lol! And Margot also mentioned that they were eager to take calls no matter what, so as long as we're all polite and succinct, I don't think we'll have to worry about a very tense and awkward call.

I hope this alleviates some fear a bit! We got this, crew. We're doing so, so much. And it seems like it's being heard all over the place; it also seems like we've got so many people on our side, too. Big big hugs, and I'll share the necessary resources once more-

Customer Service Number: (855) 442-6629

The Online Feedback Form:

The original tumblr post with all the information:

The tumblr post where Fox and others were sharing even more information:

[moirasdolly]

would you be willing to do JQ with a chubby femme reader who is insecure about it, and perhaps doesn’t realize that Dez is attracted to her because she feels like someone that looks like Dez would never find her attractive? sorry if that’s too specific, just having a hard time with self image lately 🩷

˚ ⋆ﾟ୨୧ Plush ୨୧ ˚ ⋆ﾟJunker Queen x Fem Reader

Synopsis: Dez shows you just how perfect you are <3

Contains: NSFW (men and minors dni), body image issues, hurt and comfort

Listening to ♪ ིྀ: Mine - Slayyter

Notes: As a chubby femme girlie myself, writing this soothed my soul ( ◜‿◝ )♡ I know Dez would loveeee chubby girls!! Our bodies, and every body is beautiful, never forget that my loves <3 P.S. I wrote this on my phone so sorry in advance about any mistake TT, I read over it and tried to catch anything noticeable, but there may be something I missed.

You hummed softly to yourself as you made your way to where your girlfriend’s meetings were being held. It had been a long few hours since she had been called in to discuss Junkertown’s future and changes that were just begging to be made, and you brought it upon yourself to make lunch for her, it was the least you could do after everything she’s done for you. You were privy to easy access into the building since Dez had made that extra clear to those who had given you trouble last time, the guards swore they didn’t know you were the queen’s beloved, but they weren’t let off easy. You were sure Dez chewed their heads off about it, but she spared you the details. An almost silent giggle slipped past your lips as you remembered the look on the guards faces as she pulled you closer to her and peppered your soft cheeks with dozens of kisses before pulling you with her past the guards.

You were snapped out of your fond little memory when you heard several high pitched, shrill giggles echoing throughout the halls. The giggles were accompanied by a voice you knew all too well, one that belonged to Dez. You slowed down before you could make your presence known and you peered through the door, curious. There were at least four girls, all thin and toned, surrounding your girlfriend. It was clear to anybody who had eyes that Dez was attractive, and apparently the women practically hanging off of her had noticed too. She didn’t seem to be entertaining their antics, but you still couldn’t help but feel hurt.

Suddenly the stockings you were wearing were too tight around your thighs, your favorite little shorts felt too revealing, and too much of your stomach was showing in the shirt you had picked out that morning. Every fiber of your body felt like you weren’t good enough for her. You didn’t know why she chose you when she could have had any other woman in Junkertown, any woman in the world and you felt like she had just… settled for you. You tugged at your shirt gently, starting to feel anxiety about your body crashing down on you.

Your legs moved on their own and carried you away from her office, away from the giggles of those who you viewed as better than you, and abandoned her lunch in the trash on your way out. The guards shared a look but didn’t question you about it, instead bidding you a good rest of your day. You shot them a halfhearted smile, it was really the best you could do, before making your walk back home.

You didn’t want to cry, but crystalline tears began to trickle down your blushed cheeks and down your chin. You wiped your eyes gently as you kept your head down the whole way home, practically counting the seconds until you could just curl up in bed and isolate yourself.

The moment you stepped through the door a small sob racked through your body, then another, and another. Soon you were inconsolable, not that there was anyone to even console you in the first place. Your friends were at work, and your girlfriend was busy being ogled at by girls who were just jumping at the chance to get with her. You buried your face in your pillow and cried your heart out. You felt pathetic for being affected like this but you just didn’t get why Dez would ever pick you.

Her body was so perfect… dreamy muscles that subtly flexed whenever she picked up anything heavy, a waist that you loved to wrap your arms around, and thighs that were sculpted by the gods. Every inch of her was beautiful and the complete opposite of you. You were soft and plush from head to toe, and Dez always made sure to let you know how much she loved your body, but sometimes you weren’t so sure if she meant it. You had no reason to doubt her, but on days like this it’s all you could think about.

-

Your day dragged on and dread filled your body as the clock ticked closer to Dez coming home. She always made it home on time, it was one of the things you loved most about her, but today you had wished you had a few more moments alone before having to face your beloved.

A sigh pushed past your plump lips as you rose to your feet to change into something less revealing. You settled for a large lounge shirt and a pair of comfortable shorts Dez had gotten you. You felt sick even wearing something that showed your legs, but you didn’t want Dez to worry or ask questions. The last thing you wanted was for her to feel bad about your own silly problems.

You were too busy living inside your own head to hear the heavy footsteps of her boots against the hardwood floors. It was only until she appeared in your shared bedroom that you noticed her. Her face softened once she saw you on the bed and quickly made her way to you to plant a kiss on your cheek. You smiled as best as you could as she left a faint mark of dark lipstick on your soft cheeks. The hands that she had planted firmly on your shoulders crept down to your waist and you made a noise of discomfort. It came out louder than you expected, and you stiffened up as Dez quickly removed her hands from your body. “Angel, did I do somethin’ wrong?” Her voice was sincere as ever.

Your lip quivered slightly as you shook your head no, but if Dez was anything, she was observant. “Don’t give me that crap, angel. Tell me what’s goin’ on in that head of yours.” She had situated herself next to you on the bed, but still gave you the space you needed.

“It’s nothing, seriously Dez…” You trail off. You were fidgeting with your fingers when Dez’s hand eclipsed your own and pulled both of your hands to her lips to press a gentle kiss. You peered up at her and when your eyes met she didn’t say anything, she just gave you the time you needed to talk when you were ready. She brought your hands back down to your lap, but she held onto them, stroking her thumb gently over your fingers.

“Why did you choose me?” You huff out, letting your emotions get the better of you. Dez let out a chuckle, not quite sure what you meant. “Because I love ya’!” She said as if it was the most obvious reason. You frowned at her words, she didn’t get what you were asking. “No, I mean what is there to love about me? I’m sure there were other women jumping for an opportunity to be with you. Women who look better than me…” You mumbled the last part, ashamed to even say it.

Dez’s face contorted into one that almost looked like anger and you thought you had really messed up. “What brought this thought upon ya’?” She questioned, and you recalled the moment you saw the women in her office and frowned at the thought. “I came by to drop off your lunch today, and it seemed like you were having a great time with those women in your office.” You may have sounded bitter, but you were over the conversation. You just wanted to go to sleep and forget about the day.

Your girlfriend’s eyes searched yours to see if you were serious and when you furrowed your brows at her it was clear to her you had misunderstood the situation. “I’m afraid ya’ got the wrong idea, angel face. Sure they were making moves on me, but I shut them down, none of them compared to ya’.” You hummed at her explanation, “But why were they even there?” You still didn’t understand how a meeting on Junkertown’s future turned into a fan meeting for your girlfriend. “Those good for nothing guards let ‘em in. They said they were here for a meetin’ with me.” Dez held your hands firmly as she explained her side of the story and she was so sincere that there was no doubt in your mind she was telling the truth.

“I promise to ya’ I had them escorted out when they pushed my boundaries.” Dez scooted closer to you and in no time you were pulled onto her lap. She was so warm and inviting that you couldn’t help but nuzzle into her. “None of them even compared to ya’, my own personal angel.” Your silence filled the room and she shook her head softly. “Don’t tell me ya’ don’t view yourself the same.” Her hands were planted firmly on your plush thighs, rubbing little circles into your skin.

“I’m not like them Dez…” You mumble into her neck as her hands snake up to your soft waist. “I’m not skinny, petite, or light…” You began to shift off of her lap, but her strong hands were quicker as they tugged you back onto her lap. Your thighs splayed over hers and she held you impossibly close. “And?” She spoke into your ear, leaving a soft kiss on your neck. “I don’t know, why can’t I just feel perfect?” You sniffled softly as tears welled up in your eyes.

“I’m going to show ya’ how much I love you, how perfect ya’ are.” She lifted you and placed your back against the mattress like you were feather light. She slid to the end of the bed and trailed gentle kisses up your legs to your thick thighs. “Look at how beautiful your thighs are, fuckin’ perfect when they wrap around my head.” Her rough hands kneaded your flesh and they parted slightly for her to do whatever she pleased with them. She lifted them to rest on her broad shoulders and she kissed the soft skin of your inner thighs. She kissed back down to your knees before laying your legs back onto the bed. You whined softly and she just chuckled, “Don’t worry angel, we’ll get there.”

She remained slotted between your thighs but made her way up to your soft tummy to press kisses over your shirt. “May I?” She motioned to your shirt and you nodded carefully after a moment. She lifted your shirt up to expose your tummy to her and she planted her hands back on your waist before kissing up your stomach to your chest. “God I can’t get enough of ya’…” She mumbled in between kisses. You squirmed around as she kissed all over your body and finally up to your face.

Your legs wrapped worked her as she cupped your cheeks and captured your lips into a kiss much more passionate than the one she planted on your cheek earlier. You whined into the kiss and tightened your legs around her, pulling her closer. The kiss was getting more intense by the second, but she broke the kiss reluctantly to let both of you catch a breath. “Angel face, you’re the most gorgeous girl I’ve laid eyes on. Nothin’ will change that.” Her thumb absentmindedly caressed your cheek as she spoke, “Your body is my favorite, fuckin’ love it, and you.” You nodded slowly, her words finally sticking with you.

“Thank you Dez…” You gave her a real smile this time and she couldn’t help but pepper your face with little kisses. Your giggles rang out in the room and by the time she was done attacking you with kisses you were breathless from all the laughing you had been doing. The two of you locked eyes and Dez thought you looked like the prettiest girl alive, your cheeks blushed from the affection and a pretty smile resting on your lips. She wanted nothing more than to make you feel good.

You wrapped your arms around her neck to pull her closer and her lips twitched up into a smile before closing the distance once more. This kiss was much shorter though as your lips moved in sync, Dez’s fingers slipped in between your thighs and pawed at your clit through your soaked shorts and panties. You gasped at the slight friction and broke the kiss to whine out her name. It seemed as if she didn’t want to tease you either because she pushed your panties aside and easily slipped into your glistening folds. “So easy… S’good for me.” Her raspy voice called out.

You tried to squeeze your thighs around her hand but you were stopped by her body between your legs. Lewd, melodic moans flowed from your mouth as she pleasured you endlessly, knowing all the right spots that would make you sing for her.

You came hard and fast, but she showed no signs of stopping and you were writhing against the mattress as she pressed into you. “Perfect… Just like that, angel.”

Her fingers were milking you for all you were worth and after a long night of multiple orgasms, Dez promised mercy on you if you repeated after her. “Say it.” Her tone left no room for arguments, so the words tumbled right out of your lips. “Perfect… ‘M perfect Dez.” You whined out and after pulling one more orgasm out of you her fingers slipped out of you gently. You sighed at the sudden loss, but you were too tired to even react. “Damn right you’re perfect, love.” She kissed your stomach softly before letting her head rest softly on you. You ran your fingers through her unruly blue hair as your breathing returned to normal.

The two of you just laid together, her head resting on your tummy as she let you calm down. “I sure love this, but I reckon we get ya’ cleaned up.” Dez spoke from her position on you and you giggled before nodding your head with a hum. “Yes please.” You say softly and as Dez rose to her feet she brought you with her, holding you like you were a princess in her arms. “I’ll take care of ya’ don’t worry, my angel.” She had effectively swept you off your feet and you wouldn’t ask for a partner better than her. There would be days where you didn’t feel quite good enough, but Dez would be there to make you feel like the only girl in the world.

[defectivevillain]

home where

pairing: Wally Darling/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: You wake up in an unfamiliar place. The only other occupant, a friendly man named Wally, seems to think it’s home. …You disagree.

word count: 1.5k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical derealization

author's notes: I know virtually nothing about Welcome Home and its characters. It seems really cool, but I just didn’t have enough energy to commit myself to another fandom when I first wrote this (and I still feel the same). Maybe I’ll come back to WH and do a deeper dive someday! Who knows. I certainly don’t.

On a related note, I’ve decided I want to do some sort of Halloween oneshot collection this October. I have quite a few drafts for various movies and series that I wrote up a few months ago in preparation for this Halloween… and when I stumbled upon this draft, I realized it would be a great way to kick things off. So yeah! I will admit, without shame, that many (if not all) of the works in this "collection" will be slightly unfinished (aka less detailed than I may want them to be). But I still wanted these fics posted, and I know that they’ll likely just rot in my docs forever otherwise.

Your eyes are stinging. You rub at them roughly, letting out a quiet sigh. It’s been a pretty long day. You stumble through your nighttime routine with a bit less finesse than usual, counting down the seconds until you can collapse into bed. When you finally get back to your room, you move to turn off the lights—only to realize you forgot to close your laptop. The screen’s vividness immediately sears into your eyelids. Blinking tears from your eyes, you close it and head back to your bed to go to sleep. 

Fortunately, you’re tired enough to find sleep rather easily. But even when your eyes slip shut, remnants of that bright light from moments ago burn through your vision. 

When you wake the next morning, sunlight stretches through the gaps in your curtains—illuminating your room in a dim glow. You blink several times to make your eyes feel less dry, before taking a deep breath and pushing yourself up to a sitting position. The bedspread is weirdly scratchy. You look down at it, entirely perplexed when you find a multi-color patchwork quilt instead of your normal comforter. You run a hand along it, trying to rationalize how you could’ve gone to sleep and woken up in a bed with different dressings. 

But your bedspread isn’t the only thing that’s changed—as you glance about the room, you realize that everything looks slightly different. The posters and photos adorning the walls are unusually colorful, and any harsh corners on your furniture have been smoothed over into neat curves. And as your hands investigate the quilt on your bed, you realize that you look strange too. The mirror on the wall casts a familiar reflection, but with softened edges and vivid coloring. Your clothes are far too bright than you remember them being—the same goes for your eyes. 

After a lot of exploring, you come to the unfortunate conclusion that your surroundings are drenched in technicolor. Even more surprising and inexplicable is the unshakeable fact that you’re not dreaming. Several hard pinches to the skin on your forearm cement that unfortunate reality. 

You step outside of your living space, only to find that the surrounding town is just as blindingly bright-colored. Vivid trees in neon colors surround the various buildings. With a churning stomach, you walk through the waving grass and desperately look for a clue to explain your unfamiliar surroundings. Some time later, you’ve explored the entire area—only to yield no new information. 

It’s only when you approach the outskirts of the humble town that you hear a voice. “Where are you going?”

You freeze. For a moment, you contemplate ignoring this new presence; then you realize this may be the only way for you to understand what’s going on. You turn around to find yourself staring at a man with yellow fleece skin and blue hair styled elegantly above his head. He wears a bright blue shirt and multi-colored pants. Looking at him makes your head spin. 

“I’m trying to go home,” You respond, watching as the sidewalk stretches into the distance. You shove your hands in your pockets to quell some of your restless energy. It doesn’t work as well as you’d like. 

“This is Home,” the newcomer frowns. He looks confused but sympathetic.

“My home, I mean,” you clarify. Surely, if this guy is a local, he should know you’re a stranger. You don’t belong here. 

“This is your home,” he insists. For a moment, his voice almost sounds forceful. “Our home!” He then chirps, as if attempting to distract you from his brief slip in composure.

You stare at him for a moment, unable to shake the strange feeling of foreboding running down your spine. “Who are you?” You finally relent and ask. 

“I’m Wally Darling,” he responds. “Who are you?” Wally peers at you curiously. 

You return his gaze, struggling to find an answer to the question. Who… are you? What’s your name? And, most importantly, why are you here?

You try to deflect. “Where is everyone?” You ask, looking around at the quiet town. It feels weirdly empty. There’s almost something… sinister about it: this cute little town, entirely vacant. How can something so colorful be so lifeless?

“They’re sleeping, I think.” Wally responds smoothly, breaking you out of your thoughts. You swear you see his smile falter for a second, but the expression vanishes just as quickly as it appeared. 

Adrenaline courses you at the thought of being trapped in this unfamiliar place with no one but this stranger for company. You try to take another step towards the forest, but it feels as if some invisible force is fighting against you. You’re then shoved backwards, colliding with Wally in the process. 

“Easy there,” he smiles, steadying you with hands on your shoulders. The gesture doesn’t reach his eyes. 

You nod and quickly excuse yourself from the conversation, citing your growing headache as justification. In your defense, you do have a rather painful headache growing to inhabit your temple and stretch through your cheekbones. Wally seems to sense that you’re telling the truth, because he just smiles and bids you good day, after one final remark welcoming you to the neighborhood. You continue to explore the town throughout the remainder of the day, despite the uncanny feeling of eyes on your back. 

As time passes, you start to notice that there’s a friendly sort of malice in the way Wally carries himself. He’s a bundle of contradictions: misery behind a paper-thin smile; glee behind a disparaging frown. He’s always lingering in the corner of your vision: when you’re getting up in the morning; when you’re taking a walk. He tells you virtually nothing about himself, yet he seems eager to learn anything and everything about you. You can’t help but be wary around him. 

But somehow, he wants to be friends with you. Wally’s idea of friendship seems to bleed into something far past platonic, though. He regularly makes remarks about how his life has changed for the better since your arrival; his eyes gleam with something close to envy when you talk about your friends outside this colorful town. You don’t want to overanalyze things, but then you notice the rapt attention he pays you when you speak. Then you notice the freshly trimmed flowers in the vase on your front porch—the one you’ve walked past every day without a second thought. 

Although Wally’s behavior is a bit puzzling, he dominates your thoughts for a different reason. Safe to say, he unnerves you sometimes. And you can’t shake the conviction that he’s hiding things from you. Sometimes he’ll look at the other houses with nostalgia in his eyes; he’ll reference people you’ve never heard of and then clam up when you ask about them. 

He greets you every morning, without fail. The first few times, you smile and wave back. But as time passes and you still can’t find a way out of this place, you start to ignore him. However, this behavior only seems to encourage Wally—as he begins to tag along on your morning walks. 

And it only takes you so long to break. After all, he’s the only other form of human (?) contact in this place. You need to talk to someone about something—anything—and Wally is your only choice. It’s only natural that you stop resisting. Not to mention, Wally is a superb listener. He’s almost too good at it. You get the feeling that he would let you talk for hours, content remaining silent and digesting all the information you give him. You’ve made sure not to reveal too many private details about your life—your real life, outside of this town—but Wally seems to know you anyway. He knows things about you that you’ve never told anyone; sometimes, he even references conversations you think you’ve had with friends over direct messages. 

Ultimately, it doesn’t take you long to come to the conclusion that Wally is the key to leaving this place. You’re not deluded enough to think he’ll let you leave, but you can’t deny that he knows more than he’s letting on. He is far from innocent in this whole affair. He must be pulling the strings from somewhere, somehow. You can only dismiss these thoughts as paranoid for so long, before the dots begin to connect and you’re faced with incontrovertible evidence of his malevolence.  

And while you relented and allowed Wally to join you on your morning walks, you never stepped foot inside his residence or took him up on his offers to spend more time together. 

At least, not until now, when you find yourself standing on the doorstep of Wally’s home with your heart racing in your chest. Despite the dread prickling along your skin, you extend a hand and ring the doorbell. You don’t understand what’s happening here, but you know one thing for certain: Wally is at the center of it. 

The door creaks open ominously. Wally stands in the doorway, an easy smile plastered across his face. You both know it isn’t genuine, and within moments, it starts to melt and slip off his face. A crooked grin shudders over his lips. “Hey, neighbor!” He says brightly. A thick tension descends across the space. A stiff breeze ruffles your clothes and sends chills down your arms. Wally’s dark eyes almost seem to engulf you; there’s a faint ringing sound echoing in your ears. “I’ve been expecting you.”

thanks for reading! <3

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[clumsiestgiantess]

At last! A new Erica pov! I’ve been rather busy with life stuff since it’s the holiday season and whatnot, but I’ve seen interest in the Erica pov I wrote all the way back in October, so here it is!

I recommend reading the original Ruler of Everything AU before reading this one. While this short does happen before the events of the original, it’s written with the intent that you know about the world this AU takes place in.

(Warning: There’s a bit of gore but nothing too detailed)

[Erica pov of the Ruler of Everything AU]

Once I became a complete puppet for my unknown puppet master, I didn’t think things could possibly get worse, but boy was I wrong.

For her — some sort of gigantic all-powerful person — one puppet wasn’t good enough.  She’s got the whole city and everyone in and around it under some sort of mind manipulation.  She gives them whatever they want, but they forget about everything horrible she’s done.  They forget about every time she’s crushed cars or leveled homes — everything.  And I feel like I’m going insane, because I’m the only one who remembers.

For whatever reason, probably because I’m the first she’s controlled, my captor likes keeping me around.  She lets me remember everything, but she keeps telling me it doesn’t matter if I do, because nothing here is ‘real’.  I’m not sure what she means by that, but it’s.. upsetting.

Today, I’m at her desk.  I’m a little living figurine with a little corner of her desk set up with a beanbag chair and mini fridge just for me.  Her hand reached for me absentmindedly as she looked over a paper she’d slid through the growth machine.  What I wouldn’t give to slip into one of those myself — give my captor the wake-up-call she deserves.  However, the machine is built like a copier; the only thing that can fit in it is paper.  

I complained lamely as her gigantic fingers coiled around my torso.  There was no use trying to actually get my discomfort across to her.  Alexis doesn’t believe I’m real.  She won’t care how much I yell, though I can’t help but struggle.  I’m brought away from the safety of the desktop and pressed into her palm.  It’s slightly rough, and I wedge my shoulder against it.  I gasp — accidentally shifting myself out of a safe grip.  Grasping desperately at her skin, I begin slipping down her hand.

Seconds away from screaming for help, Alexis’ fingers quickly slide up behind me.  They tuck behind my back and beneath my arms, hauling me up into her hand again.  “I’ve got you,” she mumbles without taking her eyes off the paper.  My heart slams wildly around my ribcage in terror.  You’re fine, you’re ok, it’s fine, everything’s fine.  Despite her being.. her, Alexis had never once dropped me further than a few feet — and that was only because I’d writhed in her grip and struggled my way out.  She had quick reflexes for someone so unnaturally gigantic.  Even if they often lead to bruises, it was still infinitely better than letting me fall.

My throat choked shut as her fingers laced against me.  They slid across my arms, her thumb atop my chest.  A giant digit nestled between my legs to offer me a place to sit, causing me to squirm uncomfortably.  A rumbling chuckle causes the actual air around me to vibrate like a clap of thunder — stilling me instantly.  

“It can’t be that bad,” she sighed, bringing me in front of herself with a little smile.  I returned it nervously.  Alexis brushed her thumb gently over the top of my head, stroking my frazzled hair.  I had to bite my tongue to keep from snapping at her to stop petting me.  “You must know by now that I’m not going to hurt you.  I’ve been taking good care of you for so long, yet you still somehow don’t trust me.”  

Alexis giggled, squeezing and rubbing my limbs through her threaded fingers.  I swallowed my scream of helpless fear down to only a brief yelp.  She flinched at the sound, but continued massaging me around her hand like I was some kind of fidget toy.  I quickly shoved away the thought before I could think on it long enough to realize that I am a toy to her — or something of the sort, something that isn’t considered truly living in her eyes.

Fuck, it’s so awful.  My stomach churned nastily, reminding me exactly why I have to squash those thoughts before they develop any further.  All things considered, I was by no means in danger.  Alexis does take care of me — so much so I lose my mind over it.  Not having a shred of decision-making agency with what happens to me, where I go, or what I get to have is something I’d only wish on my worst enemies.  I’m not in physical danger, but mentally I’m on the verge of collapse.

I let Alexis do with me as she pleased — toying with me in her hand, threading me over and through her fingers, pinching my limbs to move them at her leisure.  Eventually Alexis truly focused on her work, and became all the more dangerous.  Unaware of what she was doing, the pads of her fingers suddenly dug into me; she squeezed inward, pinching little bits of my skin away from my body.  Almost instantly I felt bruises blooming across everywhere she touched.

It hurt so awfully my breath caught and crushed in my throat.  Her thumb pressed in on my stomach and chest, digging beneath my shirt and squeezing against my body.  I couldn’t even gasp a breath of air as my lungs crushed flat, followed by faint crackling noises that were likely my ribs detaching from me.  She rubbed her finger up and down my body as I tried desperately to breathe.  Her rough movements squishing and dragging my innards up and down with her stroking.

Finally managing to cry out in pain, I shoved uselessly at her.  “St- Stop!  You’re killing me!  PLEASE!”  Thankfully, Alexis quickly realized what she’d done and released me onto her desk.  “Oh!  I forgot I still had you in my hand!  It’s ok, I’ll put you back down,” she calmly told me as I fell to my knees.  I crumpled in on myself in agony, clutching my raw skin as hard as I dared.  Every breath hurt and came out as a wheeze.  “Why.. p-please…  Just make it stop!” I gasped out, the pain of it all making my eyes water.  A second later, I keeled over and vomited — just blood.

“Wait.. why are you-?”  Alexis gasped, “What did you do with it?”  The rumbling slide of wood on wood made the desktop shake as Alexis searched it for something.  “Why would you take it off?” she muttered, eyes rapidly scanning the desk.  “Where is-  Aha!”  Tearfully, I blinked up at her.  I could barely see through the black spots dancing in my vision.  Pinched between her fingers was a little bracelet.  Oh thank fuck.  Gently, Alexis held out a few fingers and I shakily placed my hand on them — coughing up blood because I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

The moment it slipped onto me, my whole body went numb until I felt like I wasn’t physically attached to anything at all, then every sensation came rushing back to me at once, this time perfectly fine and unhurt.

I lay there panting for a moment; my brain was still convinced I was deathly injured.  “Erica.”  Her stern voice commanded me upright.  “I gave this to you for a reason.  Remember when you asked me for it?”  I glared my strongest most hateful glare at her.  “I asked for you to stop using me like a toy!  I asked you not to hurt me!”  “So I gave you that bracelet!  You can’t be injured when you wear it!”  I shot to my feet, storming as close to her as I dared.  “I don’t want your dumbass magic shit!  I WANT YOU TO TREAT ME WITH AN OUNCE OF FUCKING RESPECT!  IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?!”

Alexis stared at me, shook.  “I don’t give a damn if you think I’m ‘real’ or not, but you can clearly see I’m a person, right?  Treat me like one!”  She swallowed weakly, “but you.. are a toy.  I- I’ve seen what you are — what your world is.”  A brief drop of existential dread briefly halted my anger.  Too disoriented to continue arguing, I simply told her to put me down.  Alexis left me on the floor and I marched out of her room.

Really, I had no clue what she meant when she said those kinds of things, but they scared me.  Every time an argument leads down the path of ‘nothing you know is real; I’m the only real one, and no one you know including you can do anything that matters’ I end up with nightmares for days.  What does she know that I don’t?  Obviously it isn’t the truth… but what the hell has she seen to believe that?  What aren’t I seeing?  I sighed as I stepped into my ‘home’.  For fuck’s sake she makes me live in a goddamn dollhouse.

I sat heavily on the sofa just inside, staring down at the bracelet on my wrist.  Slowly, I reached down and felt around my torso, fearfully checking that everything really was alright.  If she’d pressed on me any harder I would’ve.. fuckin… burst.  If I died, would she let me live again?  Could she let me live again?  Do I even want to keep living like this?

All I could think of was how hellish my life would become the longer I stayed trapped in here.  It was only a matter of time before I snapped and started truly believing Alexis.  I didn’t know why she believed what she did, but there had to be a way to get her to see the truth.

God, that’s what she says to me.  ‘Isn’t there some way I can get you to believe me and see the truth?’  This is why I get fucking nightmares.  If- If I’m not real, what am I?  I’m living to one day escape this awful place, but what then?  Where do I go?  I don’t have money, I don’t have anything that hasn’t been given to me by Alexis.  

How did I manage to end up stuck with someone worse than John?  I hadn’t even finished getting away from him before she came and stole me.

Eventually, the sound of footsteps thundered through my sad excuse for a home — their tremors rattling things off of shelves.  I’m going to start leaving everything on the floor at this point.

I flung myself down the hallway and rushed for the little closet beneath the stairs.  My ‘home’ is actually quite nice — a gigantic mansion-like place that had several floors and everything you could ever want in a home, and even some things you’d never need.  However, the colossal building is nothing compared with the giant one it sits inside of, belonging to the person — if that’s even what she is — who just stepped in.

The frightening whack of something large hitting the wall rang repeatedly from the side of my house.  The horrible giantess rapped on the wall beyond my hiding place.  “Hello?  Anyone home?”  I flinched, though I knew it was coming.  Keeping silent would do me no good.  If she really wanted, Alexis could reach out with a horrifying sixth sense and immediately know how to get to me.  So instead, I answered her.  “No!  Go away!”  A brief silence deafened me, followed by a patronizing ‘aww’ that made me feel like strangling someone.  Preferably her.

“Still a bit worked up?” she asked me, voice raised like she was speaking to an animal or small child.  “Yeah, I’m fucking pissed at you!” I answered angrily.  “Go away.”  A creaking groan echoed ominously through the house; she had NOT went away.  My heart skipped a beat and bile heaved up my throat as I piled a few cleaning supplies in front of me, putting as many objects between me and her as I could.  That groan always happened every time she pulled out a wall.  

The single most awful thing about this place is that a giant like Alexis could open up the walls to any room she wanted like a, well, a dollhouse.  The only one she couldn’t get to was this one and one of the bathrooms.  A while ago I’d hidden in that bathroom; she’d crushed the connected bedroom and tore a gigantic hole in the place just to drag me out of hiding ‘accidentally’.  Either I believe it was an accident and she really has that kind of strength, or it was purposeful and she’ll claw her way through anything to get me.

God, I feel sick.  Please just let me have one hiding spot, please.  The feeling of hiding from someone bigger than me — locking myself in somewhere so I don’t get hurt — it brings back such nasty memories of my childhood.  I hate it here.  I hate it here so much.

“Erica?  Where are you?”  Sounds of furniture being carelessly knocked over rumbled through my little hiding place.  Closer and closer, the sound of scraping dragged its way to the door.  My eyes widened as splinters of wood cracked inward from outside — my eyes tearing up as I clasped my hands over my mouth to keep from shrieking.  “Ohh you’re in here,” I heard her quietly gasp in the same volume as a strong gust of wind.  The door cracked down the middle.  Pressure sent wooden shards flying into the room.

Sobbing, I buried my head between my legs — curled up in the far corner beneath every object I had in the cramped space.  “Don’t come in!  You can’t come in here!”

Silence.  The tension on the fractured door released.  “Why?”  I panted for breath, trying my best to speak instead of vomit.  “I- I don’t want you in here.  This place is mine.  You said it-” I had to close my mouth as an awful acidic taste hit my tongue.  Nervously, I swallowed it.  “You said I could have it to myself.”

“I.. guess I did say that, didn’t I?” Alexis mused.  “Alright, I’ll leave you in there.”  I breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the cracked wooden door groaned with the release of her finger.  

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.  Even if you are a toy, you’re clearly sapient.”  Everything was so silent I felt like I was choking; a keening noise cut through the silence, abruptly stopping when she spoke again.  “You- You aren’t a doll.. in this world.  I’m sorry for treating you like one.  I’ll stop fiddling around with you, I- I’ll stop dressing you and carrying you from place to place.  You’re so cute sometimes I forget that you have autonomy.”

My face heated up in angry embarrassment.  It was really starting to feel like some sort of awful confession rather than an apology, though I knew all of it.  I was all too aware of what she’d done to me — how many lines she’d crossed and boundaries she’d overstepped.  How much of an object I am to her.  Or.. was?

“You’Ll-” my voice cracked.  “You’ll stop?  You’ll let me go home?”  “You are home,” she told me, “I can’t let you leave here, but I can let you have some space.”  I was such a mixture of overwhelmed by both disappointment and excitement that I toppled over as I tried to stand.  “You can start that right now!  Close the house!  Don’t open it again.  Just.. knock.  Carefully.  If you really have to.”  I peered out of the closet doorway just long enough to watch the wall fit back into place.  “Can I go outside or-”

“Don’t push it,” Alexis interrupted.  “You stay in here.  I’ll let you do whatever you want — to a degree, don’t burn the place down or anything,” she chuckled, “But you’re not allowed out there.  I can’t risk letting anyone besides you know what I’m doing.”  By ‘what I’m doing’ she meant the way she casually erased everyone’s minds of any events that might make people dislike her.  

No matter how many times I tried to convince her, or how many times I managed to prove that I was a real human being, she would never believe it.  She doesn’t want the truth.  That would make everything she’s doing horrific — not the fun little game that she sees it as.  She’s not going to stop.

I slept in the closet that night.

[books]

Writing Workshop Week 1: Show & Tell

Hello, writers of tumblr! It’s @bettsfic again with this week’s generative workshop. 

Today we’re doing what might be my favorite class activity: Show & Tell. 

You might be thinking, do you teach kindergarten or something? No, I teach college. But my students are often weary, downtrodden 20 year olds who are more than happy to go back to basics. Tumblr—being a website of people who care deeply about things and share that passion with others—seems like a great place to host Show & Tell.

Speaking of basics, let’s first talk a bit about…

The Writing Identity

The goal of many writers is to become better at writing. While I think this is an admirable goal it’s also a complicated one, because good writing is entirely subjective. Everyone has their own definition of what good writing looks like based on their knowledge base, history, and personal tastes. And so I often encourage my students, before they begin their journey of becoming a better writer, to step back and ask themselves, “What does good writing look like to me?”

And that’s the thing: you can’t really become a better writer. You can become a more patient writer, with the ability to write and revise multiple drafts of a work. You can become a more ambitious writer, with the ability to write longer stories and deeper themes. You can become a more detailed writer, with the ability to render images and the small details of living that maybe other people don’t notice. Writing is a skill that requires practice, but it also requires joy. You have to enjoy the work more than you fear the potential for failure. And to enjoy the work, you need to honor yourself, your interests, and your ideals. In other words, to become a better writer, you have to become more you.

I remember when I first started writing, I frantically sought out writing advice. I clung to simple adages and rules: active verbs are stronger than passive verbs; remove words like “think” and “realize” and other indicators of your characters’ interior experiences; take out adjectives and adverbs. If you were to adhere to all this advice, your writing wouldn’t become stronger, it would become colder. You would write like Hemingway. There’s nothing wrong with Hemingway, but Hemingway already did Hemingway, and that means you’re free not to be Hemingway. 

Don’t we read to feel closer to people, to experience that which we couldn’t otherwise experience? The beautiful thing about prose is that it’s the only medium that conveys consciousness, because language is the way we contain our thoughts, and writing them down offers others the chance to understand them. E.M. Forster in his book Aspects of the Novel says that the only difference between a character and a person is that a character’s secret inner life can be known, but a person’s can only be understood in observed behavior. Novels are stories of consciousness; biographies are stories of deeds. 

In my early days as a writer, those inane adages of “good writing” began to weigh on me, and I found myself frequently opening a blank document and telling myself, “I’m just going to write something for fun, for me, and so I don’t have to follow any rules.” Every time, that lawless thing I wrote would become better than anything I’d written when I followed the rules. And in this case, “better” means I was proud of it; in writing as close to myself as I could, I was able to help my technical skill reach the level of my personal taste. 

Good writing advice doesn’t spout shallow adages of what should be, it tells you all the things that could be; it opens your mind to possibilities and techniques. “Should” restrains creativity; the entire point of writing is to be creative. To be creative means to make something that has never existed before. And so one of the first things I tell my students is: You already know everything you need to know about your own writing. You already have good and important stories in you. You just have to sit down and write them.

“Show, Don’t Tell”

One such adage that still really gets to me is “show, don’t tell,” which a lot of writers believe. Many people take it to mean that you should describe the exterior circumstances of your narrator in order to allow the reader to interpret meaning. Instead of describing how your narrator feels, these people would rather have you describe their facial expression. But if you’re so interested in rendering the exterior rather than the interior, you’re better off becoming a director. 

Others take it less literally: you show your story instead of tell your story, which, sure, is a valid personal belief for your own work but it’s ambiguous and impractical, and also denies the nature of people to tell stories. Fairy tales and fables are stories that are told. Telling stories came long before showing them.  

In some ways, “show, don’t tell,” can be useful. If you spend a thousand words of character A lovingly and carefully describing every detail of character B, you don’t then need to say something like, “She was pining for him,” because you’ve allowed your description to do that work for you. So no, you don’t need to say it, but maybe you want to. Maybe you want to make it inarguable that character A is pining for character B; you don’t want a reader to say, “I think she’s paying that much attention because she wants to kill him and she’s looking for his weak points.”

And so that’s what it comes down to—choice. Ultimately, writing is about making decisions, and those decisions are stronger when you understand all your options.

Behind the adage is a more difficult truth to swallow: prose is both infinite in its potential and also frustratingly limited, because you have no control over your audience. You can lovingly describe every snowflake that falls in a blizzard, and your reader will be taking their own meaning from it—for people who can mentally visualize things, it’s the images their mind conjures; for those who can’t, it’s a mass of facts. And there are also those who are sleepy and missing details, or who are skimming to get to the bits they’re most interested in, or who accidentally dropped their book in the bath and now the bottom half of every page is warped and unreadable.

Or you can say, “It snowed.”

No matter what your beliefs are on “show, don’t tell,” the truth is that it’s a false dichotomy. The very nature of prose is to navigate this divide. Some stories call for more showing, for example when your narrator is at a distance, when we don’t have much access to their thoughts or feelings. Other stories will ask you to tell, especially if we’re deep in your narrator’s head and they’re giving us everything. Showing lends itself to setting, imagery, and plot. Telling lends itself to character, voice, and style. One is not inherently better than the other, in the same way that a screwdriver isn’t better than a hammer—the tool you use depends on the task at hand.

Any time you encounter a trite rule in writing, it’s usually pointing to something much greater and more fun to think about. In this case, showing and telling are two integral tools in meaning-making. For this week’s activity, we’re going to use both show and tell to make meaning.

Prompt time!

In Donald Barthelme's essay “Not-Knowing,” he calls objects magical. “What is magical about the object is that it at once invites and resists interpretation. Its artistic worth is measurable by the degree to which it remains, after interpretation, vital.” 

So what does that mean? Although this essay is a hot mess (lovingly), part of its intended work is to be a mess. In fact Barthelme describes the mess of his desk and allows it to define him. It’s covered in coffee cups, cigarette ash, unpaid bills, and unwritten novels. In reality, those objects are just objects, but when rendered in prose, they give us an impression of this particular world and the character within it. The writer renders; the reader interprets. The things we own, that mean something to us, are also things that can define us. Who is the person who carries a leather wallet embossed with their initials, with the inside holding credit cards and a stack of neat bills? Who is the person who carries a canvas wallet with a faded Punisher logo on it, attached to a chain, and the only thing inside it is a Subway rewards card?

Objects are important. Especially in this world we live in where so many things have become virtual, tangibility will always be integral to us. We are a species that reaches out and touches. We like to hold things in our hands. We love things which cannot love us back. 

For this week’s prompt fill, I want you to find a magical object for Show & Tell. Ideally, it’s something with a long personal history that’s important to you. Maybe it’s the object you would save in the event of a fire, or maybe it’s something you lost long ago. 

First, I’d like you to show us the object by describing it. Then, tell us the story of it.

You can write about how you acquired it and the memories it conjures. Allow yourself to link and associate memories and feelings. Don’t box yourself in too much—just see where it takes you. 

But you can also put a spin on it. Here are some ways you can do that:

If you want to try fiction, you can write the same story about your favorite character’s beloved object, or you could completely make up an object and its history. 

If you want to try something experimental, you can write a story from the perspective of the object, and maybe its beloved thing is you. 

If you want to try poetry, write a poem of your object. This is a separate lesson, but T.S. Eliot’s concept of an objective correlative may be illuminating to consider. 

The purpose of this activity is to dig through your memories and/or observations, connect them, and use something external to conjure meaning from them. You begin with what your object is and it will eventually lead you to what it means.

Questions? Ask ‘em here before EOD Tuesday so @bettsfic can answer them on Wednesday. And remember to tag your work #tumblr writing workshop with betts if you want her to read your work and possibly feature it on Friday!

And, for those just joining us: @bettsfic is running a writing workshop on @books this month. Want to know more? Start here.

[killervelveteenrabbit]

The Harry Potter series got popular enough that I learned about all the characters and plot elements from cultural osmosis without picking up a single book. Eventually I reasoned that this might be a series I enjoyed, even though I'd been spoiled on all the major developments and the ending. Sometimes it's worth hearing a story you already know just for the telling.

But then J. K. Rowling revealed herself as a raging TERF, actively squandering her reputation and considerable fortune to persecute transfolk. I realized any money I spent on her books would fuel her engine of hate, so I reconsidered. To this day, have never actually any of her work outside of the occasional excerpt I've seen online.

Later after I joined Tumblr, I noticed that Neil Gaiman maintained a blog there. Again, I'd never interacted much with his work. But I knew he was a big damn deal and I was stunned to see someone that famous be that accessible, posting witty observations and answering questions from random people. He even responded to a question I sent him, providing me with some admittedly valuable writing advice. And I thought to myself, "Well, if I like his Tumblr posts that much, I'll definitely have to sit down and read some of his books."

Then the sexual assault allegations came out. I was disinclined to believe them because I'd never heard of the website that broke the story. And I remembered a similar smear against George Takei turned out to be false. So I waited to see if the story grew legs. It proceeded to grow tentacles instead.

More women have spoken up, and earlier this week I read the Vulture/New York piece outlining all the things Neil Gaiman has done to so many women over the years, in detail that goes beyond "not safe for work" straight into "not safe for lunch".

To put my own spin on that "Phineas and Ferb" meme: "If I had a nickel for every time I considered reading a beloved author's books just before they were exposed as a monster, I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice, right?"

BTW, in the event @neil-gaiman should read this: I get that you had a traumatic childhood that left you with a control complex, but not everyone who suffers abuse inflicts that abuse on other people. You are no longer a victim; you are a victimizer. Someday in the future, people will be able to enjoy your works again, but only divorced from the context of the person who wrote them. For the moment, you are getting what you deserve and you deserve everything you get.

[itgomyway]

(you)r sp and you ♡

i have already made a post about how you should love yourself and your sp will love you almost as much (bc they actually are you!) but lets go into more detail

a lot of you guys, including me, wanted to get into a relationship. and with that, youve discovered the law of assumption. the basics start off with whatever you assume will be. but after months of arguing, harassment, and bullying on twitter, you’re probably confused and too scared to ask.

FUCK THAT. let me be the one to tell you that none of it matters. you very much can and WILL manifest your sp. others false opinions (false because theyre not real) mean nothing. this isnt a loass post though im talking about non dualism (which is not the same).

“but wait… i want my sp and non dualism isnt about getting so why would i-“ because your sp shouldnt be someone that brings you happiness. they should be someone who adds to your quality of life. why does that sound like loass vs non dualism? because it is.

people use the law of assumption to manifest desires for their physical world. theres nothing wrong with that! that is how i manifested my current relationship. however, when we speak about non dualism, it goes beyond trying to get anything. youre just being. and “getting” into a relationship can very much help or make your false sense of self feel better. you as consciousness know relationships themselves dont exist because it is you but your ego, the false sense of self doesnt know that. it wants to experience love as part of the human condition. but youre still not getting anything. lemme explain.

you were trying to “get” something that was never outside of you TO make you happy. that doesnt make sense when not only are they you, but they are apart of you. everything your awareness is on “reflects” how you feel about yourself because all there is is you.

lets go back to non dualism’s basics. everything is consciousness = you creation is brought on by your awareness = you. “but back when x happened-“ the past and the future do not exist. the only thing that exist is now. you cant “apply” this way of thinking to something that doesnt exist. that makes no sense. youre just going to confuse yourself. i am telling you RIGHT NOW the only truly real thing is YOU. that is all there is and will ever be. you can control your awareness through observations meaning youre in total control. read that again.

so when it comes to your sp, romantic or not, they are never not yours. they were never not you or not a part of you. every thought, feeling, affirmation, or word you wrote down, they have received. because its you. think about it. are you ever aware of anything youre unaware of? (no). because things only exist the moment youre aware of them!

and remember, if something can come to our awareness like a relationship and leave our awareness it is not real. but you, as consciousness are infinite and are always here and always consciousness. so you are real!

after discovering non dualism i have thought about the feelings my boyfriend has presented to me and how they currently match the feelings i have for myself. i have always loved myself and will always love myself. if i didnt, how could i expect my creation, which is a projection of my own self image, to have different feelings than me? your sp isnt a separate person. Your relationships will always show how you feel about yourself, romantic or platonic. they’re not real because they come and go through your awareness but your ego as the false self believes they are. and thats okay. thats its job. let it be and observe them as consciousness.

nothing can happen outside of your awareness because the moment you are aware/conscious of something, it exist instantly. so if your sp is treating you the way you dont want to be treated then reflect on your own feelings about yourself. this DOES NOT necessarily mean work on your self concept. ask yourself if “you” think youre worthy of what it is your ego desires. a lot of my blockage came from that. i had to fall in love with myself so my ego could comprehend how i could be loved. because its still me.

lets talk about “free will”.

“free will” doesn’t exist. lemme tell you why. the idea of free will is a person outside of you having a say in their own life. the basic principle of non dualism means theres only one being, consciousness (you). so tell me how can “another person” “outside” of you have a say in their “own lives” when none of that exist in the first place?

your sp having or not having free will shouldn’t effect how you feel about them unless you see them as a separate entity outside of you. they’re not an “object” you control theyre your creation and another form of consciousness so of course you have control over your creations you have control over EVERYTHING.

your sp feels the same way you feel about yourself. always. if you dont feel good about yourself then i do suggest working on your self concept. not to “get” anything but for YOURSELF! why not love yourself? why cart that responsibility off to your creation?

at the end of the day, itll just be you surrounded by your creations. you can pick and choose what they are specifically BUT THE ONLY REAL THING IS YOU

© itgomyway

[star-neo-love]

lover in my dreams

don't mind the tags, this was included in the terms of my bet😔 this is just some random ranty writing I did, not my usual sturniolo content ik, and I'm gonna take it down soon, BUT I needed to prove a point to my friend 🙏anything to win a bet ONGGGG🙏 also, if you guys like this for some reason, check out my actual blog for this kind of stuff!! @solarstorm-heart

Do you believe that those strangely meaningful dreams are glimpses of our past lives?

I, for one, hope it's true, for it would mean that some version of me in the past held you, and was held by you in turn. It would mean I loved you as you loved me. It would mean I was happy, at least once.

I had a dream last night that you were my lover. We were with others, we were alone, we were apart, we were together. We were happy. We fought. We made up. We loved one another as though we were each other's sun.

I don't know your name, I don't know your voice. I don't even remember your face. Every single identifying detail of you faded with the last clinging vestiges of sleep as I awoke.

And I am left consumed by the ache of a lost love that never existed, bereft and desperately grasping at false wisps of imagination.

But I remember how you felt, how you held me, how you laughed. I remember how I loved you and how you made me feel as though my chest was given wings to fly to you. I remember how we shifted toward each other unconsciously whenever we were together, like magnets - or perhaps more like taffy, melted together and refusing to be seperated, sticky and sweet. I remember how I was drawn to you inexplicably the first time I saw you. I remember how your name always tasted perfect on my tongue and lips, like my favourite candy.

I remember the tiny details, the habits you had, the way you liked your coffee, the way you loved the sunlight filtering in through thin white curtains, the way your grin was always just slightly lop-sided, the way you could never be serious unless you were mad, the way your arms felt around me, the way you always sat on my right, the way you brightened up when I walked into the room, the way you ran cool but still warmed my life, the way everyone who knew you loved you a little, and the way you made me glow.

Most important of all, I think, I remember you.

I don't remember your appearance, nothing that helps me envision anything in my mind beyond a rough shape [taller than me, slightly broader, radiant] but I remember everything about you that made me fall in love. I remember how you were so much like me and yet my complete opposite. I know everything about you, better than I’ve ever known anyone, even myself.

You are nothing but a figment of my imagination, a figure in my dream whom I will never meet. But I loved you. I love you. And I suspect I will keep loving you until you fade with the remnants of my failing memory.

I can only hope with all I am that you will embrace me each night as I fall into the abyss of sleep, and grant me that brief solace of warmth and joy. Love me. I beg of you.

Please allow me to love in return, my faceless darling.

anyways yeah, hope you enjoyed, I wrote this all in like ten minutes in a craze because I woke up from a beautiful dream lonely and hurting over an imaginary man 😔😔i need a bf man...

[interstellarsystem]

Waking Up After 10 Years of Dormancy – Identity, Grief, and Change

Long post ahead. This is a recount of my experiences as a headmate who was present in childhood, and then went dormant before waking up again in our 20s. There will be discussion of grief and dormancy in here, and mentions of abuse and headmate death without going into detail.

This is partially for the alterhumanovember / alterhuman writing challenge, and partially to get all of my thoughts out.

I’m Dain, a member of my system that all of the others never knew existed. I was here during childhood, though the exact year I came into existence is unknown, we think I became alive around 2008-2009. I lived alongside others sharing my body for years–maybe even up until 2014-2015. I fell into dormancy around then, and the current system had no idea I ever existed, as when I went to sleep, I took a lot of memories with me.

I don’t remember many of the others I shared time with, just that there was one we considered “the child”, what we would now call the original. I now know there was a switch between the original child and a new headmate, Archie, who isn’t the same person–but I’ll refer to them collectively as “the child” from now on, as my perspective was at the time. 

We–the others in the body–were there, living alongside the child, and I was protecting them along the way. I don’t remember fronting often, moreso… Silently observing, unable to move the body or communicate with them, but still there. Like a background process on a device. If emotions got high enough, I found myself in full control of the body, and I could get us out of whatever situation we had gotten ourselves into. Bullies at school, abusive figures in our lives be it parents or teachers, and other general stress–that was my battle to fight. I was the anger stored up behind the child’s fear, ready to lash out if needed.

As we got older, I started taking control less and less–not because we stopped needing me, but because the child had closed themselves off. They stopped allowing themselves to feel as deeply, and I was triggered into the front a lot less. Nowadays, I’d be aware it wasn’t a conscious choice, and was heavy dissociation, but back then I didn’t know. Some of the others–namely, the Pokemon I also shared the body with–had disappeared since our parents and friends were belittling us for still having “imaginary friends”. The child never spoke of me to anyone though, if they even knew I was there. So I think I only remained a little longer because of that. I’m not sure when I fell into dormancy, or if there was something that triggered it, or simply a gradual slip into sleep.

I woke up, though. At the end of last month, some others in our system had been looking at my source material. Deltora Quest, an anime based on an Australian authors novel–niche, mostly known to those who grew up in the time to watch it air on TV, or had ever picked up the books. We were looking at it again with our partner system, because we remembered it had been a huge special interest of ours as a kid, and had finally gotten around to watching more of it. Something about rekindling the interest woke me, and I was suddenly in the body again.

It, to me, was like I blinked. A foggy memory of being a child, still stressed about school, parents, and whatever else–and then a blink–and then, here. In a body I didn’t recognise, in a house I’d never been in, sharing control of the body with people I had never in my life met before. I still had all those memories of trauma, hurt and fear from before–and they all surfaced at the same time with me. I instantly panicked. After explaining where I was, Xeros, the person in cofront with me, told me that writing out everything coming into my brain could help us all organise and piece it together later. I did what it said, and wrote well over 2000 words before my thoughts slowed down a little bit–enough to actually focus. I called our partner system, calmed down after processing a bit more, and then got into bed to sleep off the residual panic.

It’s definitely taken a long while to come to terms with it. Effectively, I was in a coma for around 10 years, and the whole world moved on without me. I wasn’t in contact with any friends I remembered from before except one–who had changed a lot in the time that passed. I didn’t live where I remembered. Our siblings were so much older, as were our parents. We dropped out of school (though we’d be well past finished it by now). We got diagnosed with a whole bunch of things. We came out as transgender and are essentially completely socially transitioned and looking into HRT–even our parents know. And they know about our system too! Almost everything–if not absolutely everything–I knew before had changed in the blink of an eye. It absolutely shook me, to have my entire world uprooted and rearranged into something I couldn’t recognise as being something I have any part in. 

I felt an intrinsic heartache and felt full-blown grief over a life that, in my own experience, was “lost” through the irreparable change of time. There was no way of going back, no way of gaining back my lost years, and no way of bringing people I was close to back in contact with us or out of internal dormancy aside from sheer chance. We hadn’t died, but I had effectively died for years, and came back to a world that just… Kept moving. I mean, of course it would–the earth doesn’t stop for a single fragmented piece of trauma stored in the recesses of someone's mind. But coming back and not recognising anything or almost anyone around you… It was horrible. The sensation of loss was immense. I felt that I’d “failed” by going dormant, and learning that the child was no longer a part of the system. I felt that my entire purpose had fell through, and I was brought back for… No reason at all.

But… It’s not all bad. Far from it. The child may be gone, but our body isn’t. We’re not doomed to fail at life, as we thought back when I first existed. We’re volunteering and looking into getting an actual job, we have a stable group of friends, a loving partner system, and are on the road to moving out and getting some much needed time away from our home situation. Life isn’t horrible, and while it moved on without me, it moved in ways that were both bad and good. I don’t actually despise being here, even if I might have in the day or so after I woke up. The new group of people I share the body with is supportive, and I’ve already gotten closer to some of them. We’ve made real progress in the time I was gone, even if it all feels uncanny overall. I have a different mindset to what I had when I first woke up–I didn’t fail, I kept us going when we needed it back then. I didn’t give up, and there’s no way of telling where we’d be now if I never was there in the first place. Things are… good.

Though… I’ve got some confusing things within my own identity going on, since I woke up. Before, I was simply a fictive of Dain from Deltora Quest. Nothing much else to it, really. The child’s brain latched onto him as a strong character and implemented me into the system as a protective measure against outside forces. It all makes sense. But now? I feel like since I’ve been back, I’ve become a multifictive. Some part of me now is Tomura Shigaraki from My Hero Academia–something we’ve also been watching through, around the same time we got back into DQ.

It confuses me, in some ways. Makes sense in others. A lot of my mannerisms have changed to be slightly to-the-left of what I was before… Which does happen to lean me more toward acting like him. I questioned it without much deeper thought for a week or so, but found myself saying and doing more and more things that lined up with how he is. I suggested that I was a multifictive to our partner system, and on their second guess (and mind you, their first was a joke guess) of which character I could possibly be, they got it right. I acted enough like him to the point that others could see it, without even any hints. But it’s hard to tell where this came from.

See, I feel like if I wanted to, I could call myself a median subsystem. Others can tell which of my two fictive identities I’m leaning closer to at any given time–my voice, speech patterns and general attitude are instant giveaways. We don’t argue with each other, and the lines between Dain and Shigaraki–if there even are any–are so blurred they’re impossible to define. We can’t talk to each other, and we don’t feel a switch between us. But it’s so obvious that there’s two people, two whole identities, within what I call me. It’s incredibly confusing to think about the possible origin of how I came to be so… Fragmented within myself.

Am I the result of a new headmate that was forming (Shigaraki) getting stuck to whatever remained of the original Dain after he went dormant? Am I the original Dain with a new identity just sort of.. Added onto him? Am I two fully formed headmates put into one as a median entity for some reason? Does it even have a proper explanation that I could come to a concrete conclusion on? Well, no. Like most things that operate within systems, concrete explanations are hard to come by. My origin of why I am who I am now doesn’t matter, in the grand scheme of things, but I still feel the drive to know why I was changed by the time I woke up.

Overall? Life is confusing. Waking up has been a shock, but honestly, I’m glad I did. I’m glad I get to have a second run in this body, with new and kinder people than before to support each other. I’m still working a lot of stuff out, and I’m sure I will be for a long while after this. But… I’m here again, and it’s been a pleasure becoming a part of our new life.

[ofmermaidstories]

Bad day for nosy people who need to know what old fandom is 👀👀

lmao, i’m trying to talk myself out of it so that i don’t turn my current WIP list upside down on itself but. 🥹 i fear it has very powerful claws. 🦞 i’ve been mulling over like, why it ([Old Fandom]) is so attractive to me right now and i think it’s a combination of a few things!! like, one is the fact that i never originally left it by choice—real life kinda forced me away from my hobbies, and by the time i could circle back again, the fandom had died (i find it really interesting that so many modern fandoms don’t have staying power, but that’s a different discussion) and i was interested in different things. but now it’s seeing a revival and i’m remembering how much i loved it and how i never really… got closure for it, LOL, as silly as that sounds. 🥹 i never finished any of my ideas. 🥺 i went back into my old account actually, like a couple of weeks ago, and went through my fic drafts i had at the time and it—idk. i guess it just made me nostalgic. 🥹 it’s different, tonally, to what we do here in the bnha/x reader niche!! and it makes me itchy. 🥹😩 god!! so itchy. i wanna dig my fingers into it and move things around. dig it up from the garden. perform necromancy on the lover that doesn’t even know they’re dead, and blinks and finds themselves sitting in the same old kitchen with a cup of coffee in their hand. 🥹🥹🥹 i’m better equipped now—i know how to keep myself interested in long-term projects, how to finish them and, most importantly, what i like.

there’s a lot of stuff i like to write that i just don’t, here in our niche. either because it doesn’t fit in with the bnha world or just doesn’t like… suit the x reader POV. and that’s on me LOL, a better (or maybe more determined) writer could make all those things work, but part of what i like about bnha and x reader and [old fandom] is that they’re distinct—they all feel different. i wrote a lot before i got here!! i wrote so much. i wrote so much that i like, kinda burnt myself out on it LMAOO. there were tropes i liked and settings and tricks i used all the time that after a while they got boring to me. 🥹 and now after a million years of doing something different, i’ve realised—oh. i really liked all that. 🥹 i really like it, still.

idk!! idk. part of not naming the fandom is also because i haven’t decided if i wanna jump back in or not lmao. do i do it, knowing it’ll slow everything up even more? we tell ourselves all the time here in fandom circles that it’s just fanfic/fanart! you’re here to have fun! if it gets hard or boring or you wanna try something new—drop it! do it! you don’t owe anybody anything!! which is all very true yes sure. except i, me, mermie, want to finish things. i want the satisfaction of finishing the IAL series. im actually very proud of the fics, and while i know i will finish shouto’s (barring being kidnapped by pirates or aliens or death himself ig 💀), i also know im a slow writer, and that letting myself deviate off path into a completely different fandom will make me slower. 🥹 so idk. i guess ive just been ruminating on fiddly details like that LOL. also i don’t have a solid plot in mind yet (even tho i have a general gist of what i want) so that’s also probably the main leash rn LMAOOO. tbh if i get one im going in swinging, fist first, so let’s all hope that i remain idealess on that front lest the demons take me. 🥹🙏🏽