#you can tell the content drought got to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lilirari · 1 year ago

Text

𐙚 ⋆୨୧˚ KING OF MY HEART ⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡

𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. summary : charles' girlfriend releases an album full of love songs to commemorate his special day.

𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. pairing : charles leclerc x fem! singer! reader

𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. faceclaim : cho miyeon of (g)i-dle

𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. author's note : ahhh this is my first f1 related work + smau !! happy birthday to charles my beloved ❤️‍🩹 he deserves all the love & happiness in this world T_T making this made me realise that i don't know much western celebs with suitable fcs for smaus like this 😭 please do comment some western fcs so that i can use them in my next smaus ! anyways it's a little rushed honestly but i hope you'll enjoy it <3

yourinstagram

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, lewishamilton and 20,127,345 others

tagged charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, leclerc_pascale, carla.brocker, joris_trouche, riccardoberetta, mlnmarta

yourinstagram summertime happiness 🤍🫧

view all 2,129,567 comments

charles_leclerc my pretty girl ❤️‍🩹

yourinstagram i love you baby <3

charles_leclerc i love you more, mon amour

yourinstagram i love you most !!

landonorris ew get a room 🙄

charles_leclerc you're just jealous because you're still single and you got no rizz

landonorris I HAVE RIZZ

yourinstagram LMAOOOOO ok sure pinocchio 🤥

landonorris you guys are BULLIES

yncharles4ever omg my parents !!! they look so good 😭😭

pinkyn the hair, the fit, the smile.. everything about yn >>>>

luvleclerc CHARLES' DIMPLES 🥹🥹🥹

ynlover127 HELPPPP NOT Y/N AND CHARLES GANGING UP ON LANDO AND HIS NO RIZZ AGENDA

motheryn they're right though.. he doesn't have rizz 😭

landonorris HEY I DO HAVE RIZZ !!!!

danielricciardo sure mate.. you keep telling yourself that

landonorris I THOUGHT YOU WERE ON MY SIDE DANNY

danielricciardo i AM on your side.. it's just that charles, y/n and all the others are right

liked by yourinstagram and charles_leclerc

landonorris i hate it here you're all bullies

yourinstagram we love you too lando 🫶

landonorris 🚶🏻‍♂️

mlnmarta the most gorgeous girl ever !!!

carla.brocker my sister 🥺💗

leclerc_pascale je t'aime, ma belle-fille ❤️

yourinstagram je t'aime maman 🩷

lorenzotl ❤️

arthur_leclerc je me suis bien amusé, belle-sœur ☺️

yourinstagram aww, i had fun too, thur ! 🥹🤍

cl16supremacy he called her sister-in-law !!! this is not a drill !! i repeat this is not a drill !!!!

httpsyn i love how y/n is so close with all the members of the leclerc family and not just charles :( <3

arthlercluvr "belle-sœur ", " ma belle-fille ", " my sister ".. she's definitely a part of the family now

teamoyn y/n i love you and i'm happy that you're spending time with your loved ones but when are you going to come back ? 😭

iheartyn the lack of y/n content (music wise) is killing me

ynisqueen the y/n drought will end soon stay strong my brothers and sisters

ynsglasses i wish i had a positive mindset like you 😭

ynisqueen TRUST ME SHE'LL BE BACK SOON !!! i can sense it

ynsglasses i hope you're right 😞🤞

yourinstagram 30 seconds ago

seen by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo, oliviarodrigo and 6,098,154 others

yourinstagram

liked by charles_leclerc, taylorswift, f1 and 17,985,046 others

yourinstagram my new album 'reputation' will be out on october 16th ! this is by far my best album yet and i'm honestly so proud of the songwriting i've done for this ! i can't wait to share it with you all <3 you can pre-order it now on my site ! special thanks to taylorswift for directing the music video and guiding me throughout the whole journey of making this album happen 🤍🖤

view all 3,902,124 comments

charles_leclerc my stargirl !!! ☆

charles_leclerc wait oct 16... it's releasing on my birthday ???

yourinstagram yes 🤭

charles_leclerc judging by the aesthetics of these photos, your story update and seeing all the fan theories on x... i didn't do anything wrong, did i ? you're not going to break up with me through this album, are you ?

yourinstagram HELP CHARLES NO YOU DIDN'T AND NO I'M NOT 😭 you could never do anything wrong in my eyes.. i love you too much :( ♡ also you really shouldn't be on x reading those theories.. i can assure you that they're like only 10% accurate or so

charles_leclerc okay, love, i trust you 🤍 i can't wait to listen to it ! i'm sure it'll be amazing !

liked by yourinstagram

taylorswift i had lots of fun helping you, sweetheart ! i'm going to be streaming it on all platforms once it's out ☺️🤍

yourinstagram you're so sweet 😭😭 love you sm xx

oliviarodrigo the queen is back 🗣️🗣️🗣️

conangray BESTIE'S GOING TO EAT AND DEVOUR

lanadelrey 🤍🖤

danielricciardo album of the year

yourinstagram danny it's not even out yet 😭

danielricciardo i don't care it's the album of the year i'm already calling it

yourinstagram pleaseee i love u thanks for the support 😭🤍

yncore daniel's so real for this

stargirlyn we stan a supportive bestie

lilymhe YOU'RE SO GORGEOUS 🖤

francisca.cgomes my beloved ♡

landonorris i don't care if there's like only two months left before this year ends this album and all the songs are going to top my spotify wrap just you wait and see

yourinstagram NEVER BACK DOWN NEVER WHAT

landonorris NEVER GIVE UP RAHHH the grind is real !!!! 🗣️💪🔥

maxverstappen1 IT'S ABOUT DRIVE IT'S ABOUT POWER

oscarpiastri WE STAY HUNGRY WE DEVOUR

maxielmisser HELPPP WHAT IS WITH THIS REPLY SECTION

charlesxyn LMAOADHSHDH OSCAR ????

estiesbestie this is the funniest shit i've seen all day they're all so unhinged

goatifi wtf did fia feed the drivers today 💀

therock did someone call ?

ynnation IMCRYIGJSHDHSHD

carlando455 NOT THE ROCK APPEARING OUTTA NOWHERE GOODBYE

scuderiaferrari we'll be tuning in as well 😉

iheartyn y/n's reputation era... oh, she's so going to get back at all her exes, isn't she ?

24hrsofyn i was thinking the same thing too but she told charles that only 10% of the theories are true so...

ynarchive i think the aesthetics of this album might actually be misleading us and the songs might turn out to be so lovey dovey or 🩷🥰🧚🏻‍♀️💐🌈🍭

rosesforyn you're probably right ynarchive

leclerc_pascale impatiently waiting for the album to drop 🥰

ynisqueen YOOOOO WHAT DID I TELL YOU GUYS

anythingforyn never doubting you again girl

yncity next time we're on a y/n drought again, i'm coming to you

ynisqueen i feel so powerful

charles_leclerc

liked by yourinstagram, maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and 9,998,709 others

charles_leclerc feeling sorry for carlos for the issue on his car today. crossed the finish line p5, it was the maximum we could've done today. by far the hardest race of my career physically... gonna sleep well tonight 😅

also big congrats to max for winning his third championship !

view all 908,347 comments

yourinstagram you did so good, my darling 🥺🫶 i'm so proud of you !!

charles_leclerc merci, ma chérie ❤️‍🩹 please come to bed now.. i can't sleep without you

yourinstagram omw, baby <3

maxverstappen1 thanks mate ! you drove well today 💪

scuderiaferrari incredible effort, charles 🔥

schumisworld the third picture... i just know he's looking at y/n

leclerc_pascale repose-toi bien, mon fils 🫶

carlossainz55 ❤️

charlos.lesainz we love you charles 🥰

ferrarilover the way he's looking at y/n in the last pic.. he's so down bad fr 😭

pumamotorsport proud !! sleep well ❤️🤝

f1withamy sleep well, my goat !!!

ynsbiggestfan i need someone to look at me like the way charles looks at y/n 😞

yourinstagram & charles_leclerc 1 minute ago

seen by landonorris, conangray, pierregasly and 4,127,299 others

yourinstagram

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari and 27,982,000 others

tagged charles_leclerc

yourinstagram joyeux anniversaire, mon amour ❤️‍🩹 you've been by my side since day one and i can never thank you enough for everything you've done for me. i'm so proud of how far you've come and everything you've accomplished till now. i know that you'll achieve your dreams someday because you're the most determined and hardworking person i know so don't give up and just keep on trying to reach your goals, love.

and yes, the entire reputation album is my birthday gift to you. i couldn't just write a single song for you and leave it there so i went ahead and composed a whole album only for you. i hope you'll like your gift :p

i'm so glad to have met you on that one fateful day and i'm super proud to call you mine. you are my starboy, my home, the king of my heart and i will love you forever & always.

view all 4,098,346 comments

charles_leclerc merci beaucoup, ma bien-aimée. je t'aime pour toujours 🤍

yourinstagram je t'aime, charles 🥹

landonorris you guys are so cute it's sickening 🤢

leclerc_pascale 🥰

scuderiaferrari the best couple on the paddock everyone !! we're so glad charles has such a wonderful partner like you, y/n 🫶

scuderiaferrari also reputation's been on repeat the entire day ! our queen slayed !!!

liked by yourinstagram

redbullracing happy birthday charles !! and congratulations on the success of reputation, y/n ❤️🔥 our drivers have been bopping their heads to the songs all day long !

yncharles4ever MY PARENTS 😭😭 I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE

reputationyn REPUTATION IS SO FIRE, Y/N !!! U DID AMAZING WE LOVE YOU

ynshousewife the king of her heart 🥹🥹🥹

ynisaqtpie imagine getting a whole album dedicated just to you on your birthday.. charles is the luckiest man ever

conangray goals !!! <3 loved your new album, bestie 🫂🫶

mlnmarta cutest lovebirds 🫶

joris_trouche ❤️❤️

charles_leclerc

liked by yourinstagram, f1, sebastianvettel and 15,128,288 others

tagged yourinstagram, arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, leclerc_pascale

charles_leclerc 26 👑 celebrated today with my family. thank you all for the wishes and gifts, really appreciate it 🫶

also, to my darling y/n : thank you for making my day extra special by giving me the best birthday gift ever. i will cherish you and this album forever. i adore you so much, ma chérie, my end game, the queen of my heart 😘

view all 4 comments

yourinstagram you're too sweet, baby ☹️ ily ily ily mwah <3

leclerc_pascale je t'aime mon doux enfant 🥰

arthur_leclerc 🫶

lorenzotl ❤️🔥

comments on this post have been limited

charles_leclerc & yourinstagram 1 hour ago

seen by pierregasly, georgerussell63, carmenmmundt and 10,237,905 others

794 notes · View notes

dreamsofbroflovski · 4 days ago

Text

Leopold "Butters" Stotch x Reader - sweet escape

Also available on ao3!

Summary: When you and your darling boyfriend break up, Eric Cartman's inner cupid decides to make sure you two get back together... By fucking your way right out of that argument.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (EVERYONE INVOLVED IS ABOVE THE AGE OF CONSENT), Explicit Language, Cisgender female Reader, Aphrodisiacs, Nipple Play, Nipple Orgasm, Penis In Vagina Sex, Bathroom Sex, Creampie

A/N: I've had this in my Docs for almost 2 months now, and never got to properly finish it. Then yesterday I went berserk and stayed until 4am writing and cleaning up the draft so I could have it up by today.

We have an utter drought of Butters x Reader smut in this fandom, so I hope I did our sweet guy justice.

Obligatory "English is not my first language, if anything sounds like total nonsense it probably is so please let me know" This is also my first fic after whole years without writing anything creative and my first smut work in general and IDK how to feel about it

It was your average Monday morning in Park County. People from all walks of life had frowns on their faces as they made their way to school or work, missing the protection of their warm blankets and the peacefulness of a deep sleep. In your high school, most of the students hung about in the hallways as they waited for classes to start, and the cliques standing around together provided some warmth for its members, both emotionally and physically.

At the end of one of the corridors, in one of the staircases, hung out a particular group of young men, lazing around and chatting about their weekend like everyone else. Some of them stood, leaning on the wall or the handrail, while others sat on the steps, basically creating a barricade against anyone who wanted to go up or down the stairs - not that many people tried, anyway; over the course of their high school days all the way to the current senior year, the South Park boys had kind of made that particular part of the stairs their hangout spot, and the other students really just preferred to take any necessary detours than have to deal with the certified biggest assholes in the whole school.

As they began to engage in yet another heated debate over some useless topic, almost none of them saw a certain blonde man arrive. This was not abnormal - most people were never paying attention to Butters, unless they needed him for a favor. What was abnormal, however, was the expression he carried. Butters was a normally friendly and peaceful person, always with a smile on his face even in the most inhospitable of days; to see him like he was now, walking with heavy steps like a soldier, his face down and gaze fixed on his own feet, it didn’t take much from anyone to see that he was not doing well.

“Hey there, fellas.” He spoke in an unusually low voice, not looking up for even a second to acknowledge his peers. Almost all the other boys responded with a quiet Hey or a quick movement of the head, but he didn’t acknowledge either of those greetings, too engulfed in his own feelings.

“Oh, hey, Butters, there you are.” Cartman said, looking briefly at his direction but almost seeing past him, clearly not realizing what was amiss - Eric couldn’t care about someone else’s feelings to save his life. “Thank God you’re here, I have to talk to you about something later and it’s really important, if you didn’t show up it would’ve really fucked me over. You’re really gonna have to make up to me later for that. We’ll go over what you can do during lunch, so tell your bitch to - hey, where’s your bitch, anyway?”

“I DON’T KNOW, I DON’T CARE, AND IF ANY OF YOU DO THEN YOU CAN GO FUCK YOURSELVES!” was Butters’ immediate answer, in such a thundering angry tone that it made the whole group flinch in fear. This was the first moment he actually looked at his so-called friends that Monday, and his face was one of pure fury. “And if YOU-” he turned in his heels to face Cartman, pointing a finger at his face, “-think I’m going to be a part of whatever fucking evil deeds you have planned right now, then you better sit that fat ass of yours down, because I ain’t helping you anymore, got it?” He turned again to glare at the rest of the guys, who all had wide eyes. “Or any of you bitches either! I’m done with you jerks! DONE!”

“Dude, dude, calm down, it’s okay-” Kyle was the one to first try and appease the situation, seeing as everyone else was too afraid to make a movement. He tried to reach an arm out to Butters, but it was promptly slapped out of his reach by the latter.

“IT’S NOT FUCKING OKAY! Everyone hates you, y’all fucking hate each other, and then you sit around here and pretend to be best friends! Oh, but y’all won’t say anything because if you do y’all gon’ have to hang around with fucking Kip Drordy ‘till graduation! And I’ll tell you what else-”

He eventually became engulfed by his own rage, breathing rapidly as he looked around for anything else he could say his truth about.

“Easy there, buddy. Look, I haven’t had breakfast yet, how about you and I go pick up a snack in one of the vending machines?” Kenny tapped on Butters’ shoulder, gesturing in the direction of the canteen.

“I don’t want no goddamn snack!” Butters yelled right in Kenny’s ear, but the latter didn’t even acknowledge the rudeness, being used to worse back at his house.

“Yes, you do. Now let’s go.”

The whole staircase group watched in silence as Kenny dragged Butters far away, and then all faces turned to Cartman.

“Great job there, fatass.” Kyle snarled, rolling his eyes.

“Fuck you, Kyle! What the hell did I do now?” Cartman raised his voice, pointing a finger in Kyle’s face, then signaling with his other hand towards the corridor through which Butters had just left. “He’s the one that started acting like a chick on her period! That’s got nothing to do with me!”

“You provoked him, dude! You know he’s sensitive about that shit these days!”

“Butters is always sensitive, dude! What is his problem NOW?”

The other boys looked at each other, unsure if Cartman’s behavior was legitimate. “You really don’t know what you did?” Kyle asked, almost a surprised tone in his voice, his eyebrows arched.

“No! If I’m going to be blamed for shit, at least tell me what it is!” Eric huffed, tired of the back-and-forth.

Kyle took a deep breath. “Butters and (Y/N) broke up this weekend.”

The news had Cartman legitimately shocked. “Really? Why didn’t he tell me?”

“But he did. He told all of us.” Stan picked up his phone and turned the screen towards Cartman, with the messages app open, and started scrolling up quickly with his free hand, which made it impossible for the other to be even able to read anything. “It’s all over the group chat, dude.”

“Oh, right. I didn’t read that shit, I was rushing the battle pass for the new Fortnite season.” Cartman waved his hand in dismissal and Stan put his phone back in his pocket.

“Then you can’t complain about not being informed of stuff as soon as it happens.”

“Alright, alright, my bad. But man, hope they get back together.”

Eric wasn’t really feeling bad about causing Butters to snap or worried about your romance out of care for his friend. More so, like everything else in his life, the fatass wanted you to sort your issues because that would bring him personal benefit. He needed your lover for something in the coming days, a very important plan he had been cooking, and that breakup could very well ruin it all.

When you and Butters first got together, Cartman thought this was the death of his most useful pawn, maybe he’d even have to spy on your relationship to make sure you wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience. To his surprise, the opposite turned out to be true - the already affable young man became even more docile, if that was even possible. He was also willing to do damn near anything if it meant your happiness, so the only thing Cartman ever had to do to get his help was make up some bullshit story about how that scheme was actually going to be great for your relationship and how you’d be so glad if Butters just assisted him with this one thing (despite said thing having nothing to do with you at all, and you normally not being aware of the stuff until it happened). Since the blonde was mad at you, that meant the usual strategies wouldn’t stick.

Whatever it was that was creating this rift between you two, it had to end fast.

“But why the hell did they break up, anyway?” Eric continued, hoping to gather more information that he could use to reverse the situation.

“You’d know if you read the group chat!”, three or four of the guys answered in unison.

“Hell, I don’t read the group chat either and even I know what happened”, said Craig. He wasn’t usually one to engage in his colleagues’ dumb fighting, so, since the most aloof person on Earth had an opinion on the subject, Cartman knew he’d been missing out.

“You don’t read the group chat?!” Tweek yelped, looking at Craig with a panicked expression on his face - even more panicked than the one he had at any given time. “ACK!- You gotta read it, babe! What if one of us gets injured, dies, and you never find out because you didn’t read the group chat? What if EVERYONE dies and our last wishes are all in the group chat? UGH!”

He then seemingly got really scared of this hypothetical situation he himself created, proceeding to hyperventilate and tremble on the spot.

“I don’t read them because you do, babe. Then you tell me everything. Your texts are the only ones I ever need to read.”

Craig patted Tweek’s hair a few times and kissed him on the forehead after speaking, which seemed to calm down the anxious male, who let out a contented sigh as his lungs seemed to finally allow him to breathe properly again. Everyone else around rolled their eyes at this, and Jimmy, out of the couple’s line of sight, stuck his tongue out and made a gesture pointing down his throat as if going to vomit.

“What do you guys do when the girls are mad at you, though?” Kyle asked, looking across the group, focusing on no one in particular - Kyle was the only one there who never managed to be in a long-term relationship (his surreal bad luck with women was extremely good content for jokes around those parts), and wouldn’t have an answer to that particular question.

“I just fuck mine ‘till she’s stupid”, Clyde answered immediately, with a hint of pride in his voice.

“Jesus, Clyde!” Tolkien gawped at the man next to him. Even if they were used to that type of vulgar speech, hearing it early in the morning on a Monday was a less than ideal setup. “Didn’t your mom teach you some manners or something?”

“As a matter of fact, no. She couldn’t.” Clyde looked sad for a moment. “But it’s real, you guys. Whenever Bebe starts bitching my ear off about some nonsense, I just take her somewhere private and give it to her good. By the time we’re done, she can’t even remember what it was she wanted, so it’s a win.”

“She probably just drops the issue because she knows you’re too stupid to hold any kind of deep conversation with”, stated Craig, earning a chuckle from most of the guys.

“Hey! It’s not like you’re any kind of master communicator either, Mr. Don’t-Read-The-Group-Chat!” Clyde retorted, hitting Craig - and Tweek, by association - right where it hurted.

By then, Cartman had tuned out the voices of all the other guys, the gears in his mind turning furiously. Clyde, however much of an idiot he could be, had unironically given him the solution to his most pressing problem.

༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚

Later on, at night, the only lights on in a particular suburban street were those in the kitchen of the Cartman household.

Eric had an old cookbook open in the counter in front of him, alongside an assortment of ingredients and kitchen utensils. The food laid out seemed like your average components for making cupcakes - sugar, eggs, flour, the works -, but, hidden in the middle of it all, camouflaging itself nicely with the vanilla extract in a way that one would really need to pay attention to realize, was a bottle containing an edible aphrodisiac concentrate - the wonders of same-day delivery allowed it to be dropped off at Cartman’s doorstep right that afternoon when he bought it in the morning.

After being done with all the other ingredients in the bowl, following the instructions in the book to a tee - Cartman could fool around with many things, but food was not one of them -, Eric grabbed the tray with the liners he had set and transferred the mixture to them. After that, he picked up that one particular bottle, turning his attention to two specific tins closest to him in the tray, lined with red cases. The bottle had instructions in the back of it - thorough information about its content, advice about the amount that was to be used and general warnings -, but the cook was having none of that, instead dumping the liquid in the two tins until he felt satisfied. In his mind, the more effect it made, the easier for him.

When that was done, he carefully put the tray into the oven and moved on to other parts of the recipe.

༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚

The next day, Eric Cartman was on a mission. Along with the usual backpack, he carried with him to school a small box that smelled faintly of vanilla. The cupcakes had turned out really dang nice, if he could say so himself, and now it was time to pacify a certain pair of lovebirds.

After going to the usual staircase, he was surprised to find that his target, the only one of those assholes he cared to see today, was not around - but it wasn’t without reason; ever since his outburst yesterday, most of the other guys had decided to leave Butters alone with his anger until the issue was resolved, so he got warned to take his sulking elsewhere because it was bringing everyone down. As soon as he found that out, Eric turned on his heels and continued through the hallways, leaving his other colleagues very confused.

Making his way to Butters’ locker, he found the blonde male unaccompanied, mumbling some nonsense as he picked up everything he needed for the upcoming classes.

“Butters! Hey, buddy.” Cartman approached him with a smile.

“Fuck off, Eric!” Butters slammed the door to his locker, startling everyone who dared to be around him.

“Woah, calm down dude, I just wanted to give you this.” Cartman opened the box in his hands and carefully picked one of the cupcakes that had the red liner, handing it to his infuriated friend. “Might make you feel a little better.”

“Oh- huh- Really? Thanks.” Butters seemed genuinely surprised that someone, no matter who, was being nice to him. He picked up the cupcake, taking a bite out of it right away and getting some of the whipped cream on the side of his mouth. “That’s awfully nice of ya. You’re a good person, ya know, Eric. UNLIKE SOMEONE I KNOW!” He said that last part too loud, facing the corridor, as if he expected you to be around so you could hear all about how much he hated you right now. Unfortunately, you were nowhere to be found - instead, he yelled that stuff right while a group of young freshman girls happened to be passing through, laughing about something. They jumped in fear, looking at him like he was a maniac, and quickened their steps to leave as soon as possible while whispering to each other.

“Yeah, yeah, Butters, I know, I’m amazing” Eric replied, absent-mindedly, setting his sights on the end of the corridor, planning his escape route. “Look, man, I gotta go, see you in class or whatever.” Not even saying a word more than the absolutely necessary, he left Butters’ side as well, this time looking for his next objective.

Luckily, he didn’t take too long to find it as well. Right as he turned the corner, you stood next to another set of lockers, next to Red and Wendy. As they talked eagerly about something, though, you kept to your silence, also dwelling on your fight with your ex-boyfriend. You just weren’t trying to make your anger everyone else’s problem was all, but the other girls knew better than to talk about it near you or ask you questions, lest a wrong word also have you snapping.

Cartman beelined to your group, and as you all saw him coming up, the happy chatter immediately turned into silence. “Hello, ladies”, he spoke, earning a raised eyebrow from you and a questionable stare from the two other girls. “Might I interest you in some cupcakes?”

Before anyone could answer, he opened the box in his hands again, carefully picking a cupcake and handing it to every member in your trio, making sure to give you the one with the red wrap. He had made sure to bring extra cupcakes just in case anyone else in the class might see him with them or ask about it, since just giving sweet treats to you and Butters and no one else would look extremely suspicious. The red liners were to separate the laced cupcakes from the others, so he wouldn’t give them to anyone else unknowingly, and among the colorful liners in the others, no one could see you and your ex getting the same color as nothing but a funny coincidence.

As he closed the box, though, you didn’t make a single movement, still staring at him with the baked good in your hands. “No need to thank me, you know. Aren’t you going to eat it?” He asked, tilting his head to the side slightly.

Your eyes narrowed at him. “You put your dick in this thing, didn’t you?” was the question that came out of your mouth. Red let out an “Ewwwww”.

“NO! Why would you think that?” He gasped, his eyes widening in surprise, like it was an absurd thing to even think about - even though it was definitely something he was capable of doing and everyone knew that. “Who do you think I am, some kind of psychopath?”

“Yes.” Your eyes went from him to the cupcake, turning it around in your hand, analyzing it for any obvious signs of tampering. “Farted on it? Put cum on the whipped cream? Is my mom dead on the filling?”

“No, no and NO! Christ, you do something once and all of a sudden it’s all people ever talk about.” He didn’t actually expect you to start asking so many questions - who questions free food? -, so he hadn’t taken the time to build up an actual excuse. “I just had too much batter and made a few extra to bring to class, can’t a guy just be nice anymore?”

You waited a little bit more to see if he’d say anything, if he’d give away any evil plans. Unable to figure out anything, you took the leap of faith, getting the cupcake near your mouth and slowly taking a bite of it. The taste that your tongue could pick up - plain vanilla, whipped cream, a little bit of chocolate from the sprinkles on top - was good, but nothing out of the ordinary. Well, you weren’t expecting Cartman to be some kind of superb baker, and there wasn’t anything that struck you as odd, so you continued eating. Seeing this, the girls around you followed suit with eating theirs, since if you couldn’t find anything wrong with it they probably wouldn’t either.

“See? Pretty good, isn’t it? Anyway, I’m gonna go and give the rest away, bye.” He left before you could interrogate him any further.

“What a weirdo”, stated Red. Before you could dwell on the subject more, Wendy warned both of you about the time, and your trio started making your way to class.

༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚

For the next couple of hours, Butters felt like he was about to die.

His whole body felt hot, to the point where he was building up a slight sweat. During this time of the year and up in the mountains, this concept felt absurd, so when he asked the classmates around him to see if anyone else felt the same way, he was met with confused stares and Kenny putting the back of his hand on Butters’ forehead to check his temperature. He was warm alright, but he could tell this wasn’t a fever because this particular warmth felt more intense in the lower part of his belly, irradiating through his body.

The worst part that came with it, though, was the hard-on. It had popped up about an hour into classes, throbbing like crazy, refusing to go down and urging him to take action. He thought about asking for the hall pass to go to the bathroom and masturbate, but decided against it - because that would mean getting up in front of the whole class and standing there where everyone could see him. At this point, after so long, it all started to feel really painful, so he resorted to just curling onto himself on the chair as best as he could, waiting for the bell to ring so he could leave without drawing too much attention.

All the way across the class, you weren’t faring too well, either - just way better at hiding it. Some strands of your hair were glued to your forehead from the sweat, and you fanned yourself with an old crumbled assignment you found in the bottom of your bag. Under your table where no one could see, you pressed your thighs against each other, rubbing them together as silently as possible to create even the tiniest bit of friction to relieve yourself. As much as you did, it wasn’t nearly enough.

During this whole ordeal, you and Butters would look across the room towards each other regularly - even though you were mad at each other, you were the only person he could think about at a time like this, and vice versa. Every once in a while, your gazes would cross, both with completely panicked stares. Oh what you’d give to know what he was thinking at those times. But then, either you or him would realize the other was staring, and you’d immediately turn to the blackboard and pretend you were staring at it the whole time.

The bell ringing to announce lunchtime couldn’t have come soon enough.

“Alright class, off to lunch, we’ll-” The teacher started her usual speech to send all of you off, but before she could finish, Butters got up from his desk and bolted out of the door in extreme hurry, the speed with which he left being so intense that it knocked his whole desk back as he left and all his belongings scattered to the ground. “- Oh, I guess someone’s really into Taco Tuesday.”

As everyone got up to leave for the canteen, you thought about making a quick detour to the bathroom, maybe you could sneak in a little DJing session in one of the stalls, if you kept your quiet, just enough to get yourself through the rest of the day. Before you could make your way there, however, your girl friends made a whole group around your desk, and you had yourself cornered. If you wanted to leave anywhere, they were absolutely going to follow, so you begrudgingly walked to lunch alongside them, still trying to keep your legs as close to each other as possible. You weren’t sure if you’d even survive the rest of the day at this rate.

You hoped that lunch time and the interactions that came with it could make you distracted unlike the quiet classroom, but you were deprived of that as well. No matter how much you tried to pay attention to the conversations the girls were having around you at the table, the heat in your lower abdomen was too strong to ignore, and your thoughts always went straight back to poundtown at any given chance. More than once you had hands waved and fingers snapped near your face because someone asked you a question and you didn’t realize it.

Also, having scanned around the room with your eyes more than a couple of times like a turret looking for a target, you couldn’t find Butters anywhere in the canteen. You wanted anything from him, even his angry looks at this point were enough to get you going - your mind got busy drawing up all those detailed scenarios where he pinned you to the table, choked you, slapped your ass, pulled your hair, all that while pounding into you violently and calling you filthy names that you never thought you’d hear from his mouth, but that made sense in your anger.

But he wasn’t there, and you had honestly started to worry. The way he left class earlier had you wondering, who was he hanging out with that made him leave in such a hurry? Was he with some other girl? You usually trusted Butters a lot, he worshipped the ground you walked on and never gave you any reason to doubt his loyalty, but now that you had broken up, God knows what kind of shenanigans he could be up to. You certainly didn’t want to imagine the worst; not only because of the implication of betrayal on his end and the idea that he could already be loving someone else so soon, but also because it would mean he was getting a bunch of action while you couldn’t even masturbate.

“Earth to (Y/N)!” You were once again thrown out of your train of thought by Wendy Testaburger, snapping her fingers close to your ear to draw your attention once more.

“Wait, what was it again?”, you answered, looking around with your eyes focused on the peers closest to you. All the other girls at the table were staring back, some with anger in their eyes, some with concern.

“Ugh, nevermind. I’ll text you later, since you’re too good to listen to us today.” She made a dismissing motion with her hand. “The bell’s about to ring. Let’s head back.”

As your whole group got up to leave, you looked around the considerably less crowded cafeteria one more time, hoping to catch your ex lingering around, maybe he just came late for lunch? But unfortunately, he was God knows where still. You were expecting to catch some sights of him in class again, but that was unideal - the setting there was one of silence and concentration, two things that you had no intention of keeping up with.

You didn’t have to wait until then to see him, though. As soon as your group opened the cafeteria doors, he was waiting right on the other side of it, just waiting for you to leave for the hall. Coming up from your side, he pulled on the sleeve of your blouse to draw your attention. “Canitalktoyouplease?” was the sentence that left his mouth, almost too quick and slurred for you to catch.

“Huh?”

You turned to face him and the sight was almost absurd. Butters was usually well kept, his parents weren’t going to let him get out of the house looking less than presentable, but right now he was a whole mess. His hair was all shagged up and he was panting like he had just ran a marathon. The hairs closest to his forehead were wet and some droplets of transparent liquid were around it - could be sweat, the same problem you had, or he might’ve thrown some water on his face to cool himself down (which was also a great idea). He also had his jacket tied to his waist, which was weird considering it wasn’t hot this time of the year and he had been wearing it earlier. Did he spend the whole lunch period running track?

“Can- Can I talk to you, please?” He repeated more slowly this time, gripping your arm tight and making you wince from pain. He wasn’t aware of his own strength right now. Seeing the look on your face, he quickly removed his hand from your arm, but stayed still waiting for your answer.

“She doesn’t wanna talk right now, asshole!” Before you could even say anything, Red yelled out, moving right next to you and locking her arm on yours, to show him that you weren’t alone. “And it’s almost time for class anyway. Fuck off.”

You loved Red McArthur, you really did. That was one of your best friends right there. You didn’t regret at all having told her everything about your fight with Butters, were extremely grateful for the support she had shown you throughout, and you’d surely be glad for her intervention in any other situation. However, she was the one that should be thankful right now - thankful that the knives in the school cafeteria were dull, otherwise you’d have picked up one and stabbed her on the spot. You and your ex were still in a rift, sure, but he was the person you wanted to talk to the most right now and she was denying you that. Even if unknowingly, she was currently being the ultimate cockblocker, or pussy-blocker?

You took a deep breath, something that the other girls probably took as an attempt to dial down your anger at Butters, but that was in reality so you wouldn’t yell at your best friend in front of everyone else. “It’s alright, Red. Go on without me, we won’t take long.” You spoke as calmly as you could, waving them away with your hand and taking your arm away from hers.

As soon as you did so, Butters took you by the wrist and started to power walk in a completely different direction from everyone else, and you had a hard time matching his footsteps while trying not to bump into the groups of students everywhere. You wondered where the hell he was even taking you in such a hurry. For a while, he also seemed confused - he looked towards every door as you went, as if searching for something himself -, but then he made a decision, taking you up two sets of stairs to the third floor of the school building, where he surprised you again by pulling you inside the handicapped restroom.

Unlike the other toilets in the school, the ones reserved for handicapped people were single-user, and since there weren’t many disabled students that were willing to go all the way to the third floor to pee, this one was actually always seen to be in great condition. It was quite spacious to make it easy to maneuver wheelchairs, and also away from many of the actual occupied classrooms. Whatever it was that Butters wanted to discuss with you, he clearly didn’t want anyone else listening.

While he turned to lock the door, you took a few small steps towards the other side of the restroom, standing in the middle of it. You crossed your arms and straightened your posture, trying to look as stiff and unsympathetic as possible. Maybe it was overkill, you had agreed to be here so that already sent the message that you were at least willing to listen, but you didn’t want him to think for a second that he still had your heart on a chokehold like he did.

He took a deep breath as he turned to face you, as if trying to collect his thoughts. “Look, I know you’re mad at me and I’m mad at you and you prolly don’t wanna see me none, but I have no one else to turn to! I need your help!” He blurted out, his arms in front of him like he was ready to push you back if you were to become aggressive.

You frowned. “YOU need MY help? With what?”

“I… I can’t say it, okay?” He was fighting with his thoughts now, knowing that he’d need to speak up, but couldn’t bring himself to. “It’s a heck of a thing and I can’t really explain it and I don’t even know if it can be explained-”

“Stop with the rambling!” You stomped your foot on the ground to alert him. “Either you tell me what this is about or I’m leaving!”

At this moment, he averted his eyes to the ground, avoiding your gaze as if that would conceal his feelings of absolute shame. His hands moved to his waist, untying his jacket and letting it fall to the floor, and the reason why he wasn’t wearing it immediately became clear - he had a noticeable tent in the front of his pants, which the sleeves of the jacket previously hung in front of, covering the view.

As soon as you saw, it took you every little bit of restraint you had not to immediately drop to your knees, free his dick of its confinements and take it in your mouth to suck him dry. You felt your saliva building up, ready to make it as sloppy as possible too. But it would mean a complete lack of self-respect on your part to give in without at least him properly asking for it (you could faintly hear the voice of Red in your head scolding you for that), and you also needed to negotiate your own release, so you just swallowed it all back and waited as he built up the courage to continue talking.

“I tried jacking off in the stalls, watching porn on my phone, heck, even meditating to make it go away… It’s not enough. Nothing is. I NEED YOU.” He grabbed both your wrists with his hands and stared deep into your eyes as he pleaded. “I’ll do anything you want if you help me. If you never wanna see me again, I’ll leave! Forever! Just please help me! I can’t stand this anymore!”

You were far from wanting him to leave forever, not when he begged like this, looking like a hungry lost puppy. The poor man was so overwhelmed by his own arousal that he couldn’t notice the fact that you had taken a few steps towards him to close the distance between you instead of widening it. “Anything?” You murmured, to which he nodded vigorously.

You wriggled your wrists out of his hold and took his hand in yours, guiding it towards your crotch. Your other hand quickly opened the buttons and zipper in your pants, and you pulled it down just a little, just barely halfway down your butt. The wetness between your legs had created a damp spot in your panties, and when you guided Butters’ hand to feel it, the mere brush of his hand over your extremely sensitive area was enough to make your breath hitch even through the fabric. He noticed it immediately, and you saw his eyes widen. “I believe we can help each other.”

He needed no more explanation, maybe due to fear that talking any longer would make you change your mind. So he quickly clashed his mouth onto yours, needy and desperate, wrapping both his arms around you with unusual strength - whatever it is that was driving him mad was also making him act differently than what you’re used to, but you were here for it. As you kissed him back, you felt his usually soft lips to be slightly raw - he had probably been biting them in his anxiety earlier. You didn’t have a second to dwell on it, though, because his tongue swiftly started to brush over yours, an invitation for a dance that you gladly accepted.

Still completely glued to your mouth, Butters started to take small steps, which made you walk backwards, all the way to the other side of the restroom. As your back touched the wall, you felt one of the horizontal metal grab rails under you. You shifted so more of your ass was on top of it, not completely seated (the bar was too narrow for it), but just giving you the extra support in case you needed it. The current position had you firm on your right foot, while the other hovered slightly above ground. Your legs being more open also allowed for Butters to get even closer with his hips, his erection so close to your pussy, separated only by the clothes you both wore.

In one swift motion, Butters hiked up both your blouse and your bra, not even caring about the back clasps, taking everything off and exposing your breasts to the slightly cold air of the restroom as well as to his hungry gaze. The latter wasn’t true for much long, though - he closed his eyes and dove immediately with his mouth to your left nipple, sucking on it and flicking the hardened bud with the tip of his tongue, while his right hand took care of the other breast, massaging it softly. Your nipples were already sensitive by nature, but right now they felt connected to all other nerves in your body, and the stimulation had you whimpering in pleasure.

Your lover started to alternate between one breast and the other with his mouth, giving both the same amount of love and attention - wherever his mouth wasn’t, one of his hands was sure to be, kneading the soft flesh and flicking your peaks slightly. The other hand would then be running around your chest, arms and belly, feeling your soft skin and making up for lost time.

On your end, one of your hands grabbed hard on the metal rail below you, even if that wouldn’t do you much to make you stable. The other ran through Butters’ hair, caressing it - a type of caring behavior that almost felt out of place considering the borderline sinful thoughts you had all day and the situation you found yourself in right now, but that was doing wonders for him, since it made him even more eager to keep loving on your tits.

You could also feel his hips rutting towards plain air near you, as he tried to satiate his throbbing dick even a little bit. Not wanting to deny him any part of this experience when he was treating you so right, you moved one of your legs closer to him, putting your knee between his legs and allowing him to grind on your thigh. He took the offer immediately and responded by growling against your breast and sending some more shivers through your body with the vibrations.

The new stimulus had Butters going wild. He was getting more feral with his treatment of your body - taking your nipples between his fingers, tugging at them and twisting slightly. He started to graze your bud with his teeth, which soon turned into full-on love bites all across your nipples and breasts, the red patches not looking so jarring now that your whole skin was so flushed, but they’d certainly be a nice keepsake later.

When you started to feel that familiar tension in your muscles, the pleasure in your nipples spreading like a flame under your skin, it came as a surprise. You hadn’t ever climaxed from just him working your nipples before - hell, was that even possible? -, and it had sneaked up on you, first feeling like if lightning was gentle, an electric tingle all over your body that sparked like fireworks. Then there was no denying the well-known wave of pleasure that hit you like a tsunami, crashing your whole world around you and making your knees buckle.

Sensing your loss of balance in front of him, Butters quickly let go of your breasts and wrapped his arms around your waist. You wouldn’t have fallen either way, catching yourself in the metal bar behind you with a firm grip, but the consideration was appreciated. As he looked at you with a worried expression and breathing through his mouth anxiously, you felt the walls of your pussy spasming again and more slick dripping in your panties.

“You okay?” His eyes ran through your body, looking for anything that might be wrong, and coming up short. You were absolutely perfect as always.

“More than.” You purred with a smile, giving him a brief kiss. When your mouths parted ways, he tilted his head closer to yours ever so slightly, almost as if chasing your lips with his. Savoring his yearning, you pucker up your lips and make a kissing sound, before tugging at his shirt. “You’re gonna kill me like this though. Just let me feel you already.”

It was his time to smile. “Okay, honey”, he hummed, fixing his posture - and you closed your eyes happily, not having noted how much you missed him calling you pet names until now. He locked mouths with you again and his hands drifted down between you two, pulling further down the hem of your jeans and tracing your slit through the soaked panties, earning from you a sharp moan.

His mouth left yours so he could focus on ridding you of the rest of your outfit, and you held down on the grab rail with your other hand as he lifted your legs – first one, then the other so you could keep stability - to remove your shoes, pants and undergarments completely. You would’ve helped him to make the job quicker, but he seemed to be enjoying the ride now that he had you back in his embrace. Once he had fully taken everything off, he planted a quick kiss on the inside of your lifted thigh, making you shudder.

Slowly and carefully letting go of your leg, Butters took another look at your full body as you stood there naked for him. He wanted to kiss every inch of you, show you as much of his love as possible, but there was also this overpowering lust. Not wanting to spend another second more not touching you, he made quick work of his own pants and boxers while you grabbed onto his shirt and pulled it over his head, throwing it somewhere and allowing his bare chest to touch yours. You were both drenched in sweat at this point, and your naked bodies basically glued together like that, but in the haze none of that mattered.

Butters lifted your left leg up again and held your thigh firmly against his hip with his right arm, while his other hand stroked his shaft slowly as he moved to position it against your entrance. You felt your cunt clench tight as the head of his cock breached your folds, and you were sure he could feel it too, as his breath hitched and his eyes fluttered when you tried to look at them. “Need me that bad, huh?”, he murmured, giving you a kiss on the cheek. “I need you too, honey. Can’t be without you no more.”

With that, he thrusted into you in one swift motion - your surreal wetness making it easy for him to bottom out several inches deep inside of you, the familiar sting you felt as he stretched you being eased by how aroused you already were. The both of you moaned almost in unison at this very welcomed sensation, and in a moment of pseudo-clarity you remembered that you couldn’t be loud like this, a realization that did not seem to grace Butters as he started to push out and back into you with more fully open-mouthed moans. You quickly put one of your hands in the back of his head and push it towards the crook of your neck, where he starts to place quick but strong suckles and bites, not caring for - actually downright wanting - the marks they’d leave.

“Shh, honey” You whispered with the softest of voices, not wanting him to get discouraged, but still needing to give him a reminder. “Can’t get loud in here or they’ll catch us. Just do this for me, okay?”

It was hard for you to heed your own warning, though - with each quick and hard slam of his hips, plus his assault on your neck, you wanted nothing more than to have him hear just how good he was doing. You settle for biting your own lip and keeping your moans in your mouth, which to him seemed to sound even hotter - as he sped up the pace of his thrusts with newfound energy, getting high on the sound of your muffled whimpers and the wet sound of his dick plunging inside your weeping cunt.

The force with which his hips struck your body had you sliding up and down against the wall, your tits bouncing with the movement. His hot breath on your neck made the fine hairs on your whole body stand up, and your back arched, which made him hit that sweet spot inside of you even more perfectly now. Needing to be closer, closer, you let your hands go from the grab rails where they had settled before and wrap your arms around Butters’ neck, relying on him like your last connection to the Earth now. You were glad he had enough strength to hold you with just the lower half of your body pinned to the cold bathroom tiles while still jackhammering into you.

As Butters raised his head from your neck to take a brief look at you through his half-lidded eyes, he used a lot of self-restraint to not cum on the spot. You were a whole mess: disheveled hair, face moist with sweat, a soft reddish tint spread through your whole body, but more prominent on your cheeks, nose, and breasts. You weren’t staring back at him, eyes tight shut as the feeling of his cock inside of you distracted you from using any of your other senses. He wanted to kiss your rosy puffy lips again, but wouldn’t risk disturbing the pretty noises that came out of your throat as you tried so hard to not let out the loud moans you wanted to. “Yeah, that’s it, baby... You’re so… good to me...” He laid his head back on the crook of your neck, but didn’t go back to biting - instead, he inhaled deeply, taking all of your scent in, your faint perfume that he loved mixed with your sweat and… a hint of vanilla? “Lemme make you… feel even better…”

His last sentence slurred into nonsense, but in the blur you barely registered it. You also didn’t even notice how he sneaked his left hand between your bodies, coating his thumb with the splattered juices around your cunt before moving it up and rubbing quick circles in your clit, increasing your pleasure in an almost overwhelming way. You felt a sharp sting in your lip and a metallic taste - in your efforts to not make any noise, you had bitten your lip so hard it broke skin. The pain, however, was quickly overshadowed by Butters’ ministrations, and you slapped one of your hands over your mouth to silence yourself, leaning with your back against the wall again.

It wasn’t like any past fuck you ever had. Everything was heightened; You heard every slap of his skin against yours and all the little sharp breaths both of you took as you tried to avoid being too loud in your pleasure, you could feel every single vein in his cock squeezing through your tight walls, and you saw whole galaxies even through your closed eyes.

As that coil inside of your belly was getting tighter and tighter, so were your walls against Butters’ cock - and you knew that had to be catching up to him, as he started to lose the pace on his thrusts, and the muscle in his arms and legs seemed to become even more tense. “‘m- I- can’t hold much longer like this, sweets!” It seemed almost impossible for him to get the words out, having to say them through quick breaths as he got close to his release himself. “You’re just… too good…”

Then there was no warning as he let out a loud growl and his hips hit your body with one final deep slam, and you felt his dick pulsating as he filled the deepest part of you with his hot seed. The thumb in his left hand, however, still flicked your clit viciously, and so it didn’t take much longer for you to come undone, your cunt gripping his throbbing dick as the pleasure washed over your body for a second time.

As both of you dissolved into each other’s bodies, you found it in yourself to take his face in your shaky hands and press his lips to yours once more. Unlike your previous kisses of today, though, this moment was much more kind and full of tenderness, feeling exactly like the ones you shared throughout your relationship with him. You both felt loved and cared for, and while that rough fuck session took care of the needs of your physical bodies, the kiss took care of your souls.

You only dared part your mouths this time when it became necessary to breathe, and both of you sported soft smiles after you did, tired, but happy. You started using one of your hands to brush back through your fingers the multiple small strands of hair glued to his forehead, while the other caressed his cheek. He leaned into your touch, resting his hands on your waist. His dick was softening, but he didn’t feel keen on pulling out just yet, relishing the closeness of your bodies like this.

“I love you, Leo.” You finally broke the ice after a couple of minutes like this, giving him a peck on the forehead, to draw his attention back to Earth.

“Geez, by now I sure hope so!” You couldn’t help but giggle at his ever present sincerity. “I love you too, (Y/N).”

As you smiled and took note of your actual environment for the first time in a while, an idea came to mind. “Wanna get away from here?” You already knew what his answer would be to this offer, but you wanted to make your intentions clear nonetheless. “We can find someplace else where we can make some real noise.”

༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚

You and Butters didn’t come back for the rest of classes, and nobody in school had an answer to where you were, either. All texts sent to you or him went unanswered for that day, and your friends had no idea what happened.

What they could certainly say they saw, though, was the pair of you arriving at school together the next morning with a pep in both your steps, chatting away and smiling as you held hands. Everyone was left speechless, and some even questioned if the last few days had even been real.

The only person who didn’t seem confused was Eric Cartman, his nonchalant behavior earning him plenty of questioning from the other dudes the following days, but he refused to admit to anything. And why would he, anyway? You and his friend were back together, happy as could be, the sun was up in the sky, everything was right. And, if it ever stopped being that way, he had a certain tiny bottle in the back of his wardrobe to sort things out again.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

#south park #south park fanfiction #south park smut #south park x reader #south park x y/n #south park fanfic #butters stotch #leopold “butters” stotch #leopold “butters” stotch x reader #leopold “butters” stotch x y/n #butters x reader #butters x y/n #butters x you #sp x reader #butters #south park butters #south park butters stotch

37 notes · View notes

wishcamper · 2 months ago

Text

Nessian Week Day 6 - Legends & Destiny

Happy second to last day of @nessianweek! I have for you a Witcher!Cassian and sorceress!Nesta AU.

You can read here or on ao3!

Out of the Fog, Into the Mist

CW: consensual sexual content, reference to underage marriage and sex trafficking.

In the town of Mulbrydale, just north of the river near Hanged Man’s Tree, whispers rode the chill autumn air like restless ghosts. For weeks, the townsfolk held their breath as a dark shadow loomed over them: girls had begun to vanish. Four in total, all last seen in the gnarled woods at the fringes of their fields. And so a notice was put out on boards around Velen, that anyone who could find the girls (or the culprit) would eat and sleep well in any house, and could lay claim to a hefty sum.

It smelled like trouble, the sickly sweet of a body left long to rot, but Cassian needed the coin. And after four nights sleeping on the hard-ass ground of this war-ravaged cesspool, he wasn’t picky about how he got it.

“They go over the ridge to let the goats feed in the scrubs. Come sundown the goats come back, but not the girls,” the local innkeep explained, and Cassian saw the ripple of fear pass through him as he said it, the curl of his stooped shoulders.

“Right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ignore the stink wafting off his new employer, though maybe he’d ceased to be nose-blind to himself. “So you want me to find what’s killing them.”

“Not killin’, Master Witcher - snatchin’.” The man’s voice was grave despite the lilting accent. “We’ve searched these wood a dozen times and found naught, not a bone. Tweren’t even no blood. Must be a fearsome thing to take them without a trace.”

He gave Cassian a look he’d seen a thousand times then, the furtive dart of a gaze that lingered on the cat-like yellow of his mutated eyes, the two swords at his back: steel for men, silver for monsters. He tried to ignore it, along with the rage that bubbled up at how common folk saw him, a beast barely better than those he slayed.

“And it’s only girls? No boys, too?”

The innkeep shook his head, leaned in to whisper, “The boys come home all dazed-like, remember nothin’. Except for Young Ian, but he were half mad already.”

Cassian sighed and considered the possibilities. There were the tragic but mundane - the girls got lost, or else ran off, ending up for the wolves either way. Then the tragic and unjust, that someone or something was abducting them: slavers, traffickers. It seemed less likely the cause was supernatural, though hags were known to have a penchant for young females, maybe a lesser vampire.

He didn’t relish any of the outcomes, if he was honest with himself. But he’d seen the lavish church at the end of the high street and knew there could be no drought of money in this town, despite the dilapidated dwellings. Crisis had a habit of making converts of even the most secular, and the people of Mulbrydale shed their coin for the Church of the Eternal Fire like the yellow birch leaves now littering their street.

“What did this Young Ian claim to see?” he asked, and the innkeep shrugged where he’d turned to wipe a grimy mug. Whether beast or bastard, Cassian figured the snatcher must have a stash spot nearby since none of the bodies had been found, or else there’d be tracks from a caravan or band of outlaws.

“He says he saw a lady in the wood, the same day the last girl disappeared. Said she spoke to him day afore yesterday when he went lookin’ for his own sister, Abby. Didn’t find no trace of her, but came back babblin’ like a loon about how he met some Gray Lady. Blue eyes and hair spun of gold, he says.”

Instincts prickling, Cassian leaned closer across the grubby counter, trying to hide his voice below the din of other midday patrons who apparently had nothing better to do than drink. “Did he seem.. Out of it? Acted strange ever since?”

“Well he’s never been quite right, but he did turn down a sympathy romp with Marna over there when he came to tell the tale. Never afore he done that.”

The aforementioned must’ve heard her name, for a dull-eyed woman rose her head from where it had been plastered to a scrubbed wood table and offered him a watery smile. The innkeep gave him a significant look, eyebrows raised.

The pieces were beginning to fall into place, an artist’s first pass of paint over a canvas. It definitely wasn’t wolves, and while he hadn’t ruled out some other creature it was clear this being was intelligent, enough to cover his own tracks. That left fewer options, all of them dangerous.

Cassian straightened, confident he’d wrung every bit of useful information out of the man, tossed his last few coppers on the counter before draining his ale.

“Thank you. Tell me where to find this Young Ian, and the families of the girls, and I’ll be on my way. And as for my fee..”

They haggled for a moment, and he managed to get the innkeep up a few more crowns, enough to see him through until he reached Oxenfurt. Once there he could rest a bit easier, in more comfort with the dearth of contracts in the city. Maybe even spring for a sympathy romp himself.

Cassian left his horse tethered outside the inn and made his way to the main street. Townsfolk froze in their churning and smithing and general idling to gawk at him, some spitting in his path or crossing themselves and mumbling prayers to the Eternal Fire. Even the reedy looking man in the pillory had the gall to sneer at him, but they were all reactions he’d endured for many years, and Cassian only sent his well-practiced curse to his parents for selling him off so young.

For it was a witcher’s lot in life to be both needed and reviled, a freak mutated with poisons to be stronger, faster, with keener senses and quicker healing. His kind were made, not born, though he might as well have been for all the choice he had in it.

At the first three girls’ houses Cassian found similar scenes - weeping mothers, dull-eyed siblings, fathers crackling with impotent rage. And the same story thrice over: that their daughter walked over the ridge to the forest like she always did, and at sundown only the goats came home, no trace to be found.

The tale was simple enough, but something snagged in the back of Cassian’s mind as he trudged up the lane toward the last house. Maybe it was that all the girls were near age thirteen, all described as both comely and disobedient by their fathers. The way the mothers cringed away from their husbands, the young boys in each house better nourished than their sisters.

Abby was the third girl who’d gone missing, who also happened to be the sister of the young man who’d claimed to see the phantom in the forest. Her former house was a sad little cottage of pitch and straw at the end of the lane, leaning drunkenly to one side from time and shoddy construction. Its owner leaned in much the same manner where he sat out front, propped up on a stool with a jug between his feet, dirt and sweat caked along his hairline.

Cassian cleared his throat and the man jolted upright at the sound, somehow startled even though Cassian was big enough to cast a shadow across him from several feet away.

“I hear your daughter’s gone missing,” Cassian bit out, already expecting no useful information. “And your son saw a woman in the woods. What can you tell me?”

The man hiccoughed and blinked up at him, weaving slightly though he was sitting still. “My Abby. She’s gone. The Gray Lady took ‘er.”

“What Gray Lady?”

“Ian seent her, my - hic - son. When he went lookin’ for his sister.” He gestured toward the forest and belched wetly, making Cassian take a step back. “Said he saw a figure in the woods before passing out, and when he woke this was - hic - in his pocket along with one of Abby’s hair - hic - ribbons.”

The man nodded downward. Cassian looked closer now at the jug between his feet and saw a small flower sticking from the opening, an ordinary celandine. But the yellow petals shimmered in the light, strange, unearthly, and he felt his witcher’s medallion hum against his chest at the presence of magic.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It won’t die. The priest says it’s an omen from the Eternal Fire, that it marks the unnatural has - hic - taken ahold of her. That I gotta pay to have my home cleansed so the blight don’t spread to my others. But I think she sent it as a sign she’s still out there, that she needs me to come save her. Somethin’s not right in those woods, I’m tellin’ you. Somethin’ wicked snatched my girl, I feel it.”

Zealots and swindlers, all priests of that bloodthirsty religion, but Cassian couldn’t deny the wrongness that radiated from the flower, a clumsiness in how the magic wavered he couldn’t quite place. The girl’s father burst into pitiful tears then, and Cassian almost felt sorry for him, as much as he was capable of, anyway.

“And it would take her of course, my Abby. Most beautiful girl in Velen. She was supposed to be - hic - married next month, you know. I knew one day some important man would come through and see her and have to take her for a wife. Offered a handsome sum, too. My girl. Knew she couldn’t have been born so pretty for - hic - nothin’.” He dissolved once more into weeping, mumbling to himself, a man lost in his own head.

Yet despite the way his voice trembled, something about his grief left a bad taste in Cassian’s mouth, like beer gone slightly off. And not because of the myth that witcher mutations robbed one of normal human emotions - he had more of those than this man was having coherent thoughts at present - but he seemed much sadder about the lost coin than his own flesh and blood.

After a few additional questions that got him nowhere, Cassian left the man cradling the flower, stroking it with one delicate finger and muttering about farm equipment that needed repairing.

The mystery was starting to come together more clearly, though parts still felt obscured, a thick bank of fog blocking the places where it all connected. The flower was strange, the magic rudimentary, but Abby at least had reasons to run away, or perhaps a suitor uninterested in paying her father what he thought she was worth.

He trudged back up the lane, stomach growling.

With information from a street urchin he cajoled by letting her hold his sword, he soon found Young Ian hiding in the community stables. He could’ve been no older than twenty, sprawled in a pile of straw with one hand tugging hard at his fluffy hair, a ragged feather quill in the other. There was a piece of grubby parchment stretched over his knee, and Cassian wondered if the innkeep was right about his sanity when he saw line after line written and crossed out, fitful scribblings of an unsound mind.

“Wanted to ask you some questions about the missing girls,” Cassian said gruffly, and the sandy-haired head whipped upwards, startled.

“I didn’t see nothin’,” he grumbled, muddy green eyes hazy. “Now git on with ye, I’m in the middle of somethin’.”

“Yes I can see that. Mind taking a break so we can both get on with our business?”

Ian bared his teeth to retort but seemed to catch himself, spotting Cassian’s leather armor, his twin swords. “Aye, you’re one o’ them witcher’s, ye are. I heard stories about ye. No feelings, none at all.”

“Thanks for your input. Now tell me about the woman you saw.”

“N-no, I didn’t see no-” Ian stammered, but Cassian felt his patience growing short. His belly was empty and so was his coin purse, and none of that would be remedied by debating his own emotional capacity.

“I don’t fucking care what you were doing out there, just tell me what you saw.”

“She told me not to tell.”

Beyond aggravated, Cassian felt his hand moving up to cast Axii before deciding to do so. Ian’s eyes instantly went glassy, his own will dampened, and he glanced out the stable door before leaning in close.

“I saw her,” he said, voice wavy with delight. The reverence that broke across his face crinkled the dirt at the corners of his eyes. “The Gray Lady. She was there in the woods, in naught but a robe, and she was the most beautiful -”

“This was a human woman?”

“Tweren’t nothing human about her, Sir Witcher, sir. She was - She -”

A faint buzzing sounded, and Cassian felt his medallion hum against his chest again. Something was preventing the young man from telling what he’d seen despite Axii’s influence, perhaps from remembering it altogether. He could read now the scribbled lines on the parchment - poetry, declarations of love to a golden-haired goddess. The gifts he’d lavish upon her, where he’d lick -

With a groan, Cassian lumbered away from the young man, who returned moony-eyed to his musings with hardly a second glance. This job just kept getting worse.

It was too late to back out now, he reasoned, and he returned to the inn to wait for nightfall. And to stew over what the fuck he was going to do.

For this was no common trafficker or hag or even an incubus that took those girls, any of which would be preferable to what it probably was. It was most likely a creature more formidable than all others, against which he had a particular weakness. Cassian sharpened his silver sword while the townspeople descended into drunkenness that evening, trying to ignore the dread that had begun to coil in his stomach, wondering if the blade would even make a difference.

When the moon was a pale wisp on the horizon, he slipped out of the tavern and proceeded into the woods on foot, not trusting his horse to resist whatever tricks may lay in wait. The forest was dense and silent, quieter than it had any right to be, and he met none of the usual night creatures as he wound further between the trees. Cassian found himself holding his breath at intervals, the creeping feeling that he was treading somewhere he ought not go, pressing ahead in defiance. Perhaps in foolishness, too.

Water sounded close by, the smell of wet earth and something sweeter, trunks thinning to indicate a glade ahead. The ground was softer here, and with his witcher’s sight he noticed a crisscross of small footprints in the mud, a scrap of flowery fabric snagged on a branch. A twist of magic drifted on the air, sharp and metallic, making his lip curl and his medallion shudder.

Yet at the same time his better sense begged to turn back, a thread tugged low in his gut, pulling him forward. With the blessing of vision in the dark, Cassian crept through the trees until he came at last to a starlit clearing.

A gray-robed figure stood in the pool of a silver waterfall, hood shrouding the details of her heart-shaped face. He could tell it was a woman from the contours of her body, from the long, golden-brown hair that swayed like reeds in the updrafts from the falls. Though he’d approached on silent footsteps, she turned in greeting like he’d come crashing through the brush, her full mouth bracketed with annoyance as if he’d kept her waiting.

Slender hands reached up to remove the hood, and the woman beneath was unlike he’d ever seen, tall and willowy, her face glowing like the moon. And those eyes - he could see why Ian was trying to put his passion to paper. They were the blue-gray of a winter sky reflected in his sword, smoldering like white-hot embers in the night. His empty stomach fell out then, for such unnatural beauty only graced one kind of creature.

A sorceress.

All around him plants rustled in a phantom breeze, giant tropical flowers, willows with branches that trailed in the clear pool at his feet. He could see silver-scaled fish flashing in the water, chiming where they brushed against one another, against her shapely legs. Legs he’d die to have wrapped around his waist, or crushing his head as he -

A tendril of magic wrapped about his throat, choking off his breath before he could shield himself. Cassian saw one elegant eyebrow raise when he didn’t pass out immediately, knew it was a trap but oh, what a trap to die in.

Fucking sorceresses.

“You seek the missing girls.”

Her voice was like liquid starlight, and he tried to stammer out an explanation but found only a dumb groan pouring from his throat. “Do you mind toning down your glamour?” he managed once he’d collected himself enough. “It’s giving me a headache.”

The woman’s brow furrowed, and he wondered if she expected him to fall to her feet as the village boy had. As many others had before, he suspected.

But she relented, the intense aura around her dimming somewhat to reveal a woman more earthly, yet somehow more beautiful still. She had a severe look about her, her face all angles, and he couldn’t help how his eyes traced her lush body, more gorgeous than he’d seen in many long years. Not that it meant anything about her potential to rip him in half, though it certainly was an.. Obstacle.

“You know where they are,” he choked out.

She smiled, cloying, and the wind brought the scent of lilacs drifting toward him once more. “I take it you’ve come to rescue them from evil, brave knight.”

Her countenance was soft and inviting, but Cassian knew what wolves could live in pretty clothing. Knew the dangers in taking her kind’s word, drilled into him through experiences both vicarious and personal.

Don’t ever trust a fucking sorceress.

He should be better at learning from his mistakes by now.

“Where are they?”

“Safe.”

“And I’m supposed to take your word for it.”

He’d heard of crooked mages snatching girls to sell to the academies, earning commissions based on each student’s aptitude. In a dream world the law would put a stop to it, a fool’s dream given Velen had a skewed view of justice these days. But something about the woman before him gave him pause, a crispness in her manner that belied a stronger moral code. Mostly the fact she hadn’t killed him yet.

“What other choice do you have?” she said in her silvery voice, and a shudder threatened to steal through him.

“I could kill you.The families think some evil creature stole them. Want me to bring back its head.”

He knew it was a gamble, but he wanted to gauge her power, how much of a threat he posed to her. Her moonbright eyes darted toward his weapons - he saw genuine fear there, and Cassian wondered if he’d misjudged her before her expression melted back into smugness.

“Two swords. I should’ve known.” She wrinkled her delicate nose and gods, he wanted to kiss where the skin crinkled. “They’ve hired you to dispatch the monster, and here you are.”

“Tell me where the girls are and there’ll be none to kill.”

“Those zealots wouldn’t know a real monster if it were clawing at their hollow legs,” she muttered to herself before straightening. “Then it seems I must plead my case. Come. Let’s see if I can’t convince you to spare me.”

She flashed that sensual, terrifying smile again and Cassian was half tempted to turn around and sprint away. Sorceresses were of a duplicitous ilk at best, abjectly cruel at worst, and whatever this one was doing out here on her own, the whole thing spelled trouble. He got the distinct impression she was concealing something, though what it was difficult to say. But when she extended a hand out toward him, Cassian couldn’t find it in himself to deny her, to think anything but whether its owner would let him press his lips to it, among other places.

“Well?” she asked. “Are you coming in, or must we do this in the cold?”

She beckoned him forward before turning and walking straight through the waterfall. Cassian followed dumbly on leaden legs, braced himself for the rush of chill water but was met with only a whisper of warm air, the scent of lilac and parchment dancing on the wind.

They emerged into a circular courtyard, surrounded on three sides by a stone villa tucked into a mountainside, archways leading to various chambers beyond. The remaining side stood open to the night air, the steep drop beyond, shadows shifting in the light of several braziers along the perimeter. His hostess looked different, too, her roughspun cloak transformed into a high-collared gown, the deep plum fabric spotless where it swept against the polished stone floor. A lush banquet was laid out before them, and even as his stomach growled Cassian knew this was a mistake, knew she already had her hooks in him and was just waiting for the right moment to pounce.

“Let’s have dinner before you decide to kill me.” Her smile was luminous and terrifying, and he swallowed in spite of himself. She gestured to a plush-cushioned seat at one end of the long table, draping herself in the one opposite. “Well, witcher. Have you the courage to drink for a sorceress’ cup?”

Along with her clothing, she’d transformed into an even smoother, more self-assured woman now they were in her bower, a spider biding time at the edge of her web. A goblet appeared before him when he eased into the chair, as if dropped out of thin air. The wine within was blood-red, and Cassian felt himself overcome with a thirst that he tried to resist.

“Depends.”

“On what?” She quirked her head to the side, amused.

“Whether I can be of some use to you.”

Her eyes flashed, and he thought saw something like his own hunger mirrored there, but it might’ve been a trick of the light.

“Oh I’m sure you can be very useful, Lord of Bloodshed.”

He balked when she used his nickname, the one he’d earned on the battlefield in the last Temerian rebellion. Her smile widened.

“Let’s negotiate. You believe I’m involved in the girl’s disappearance. The villagers have asked you to come kill me, and offered you a certain amount of coin to do so.”

“That’s right.”

Cassian eased his swords off his back and set them against the table beside them. That she’d let him keep them would’ve been comforting to a novice, but he knew enough now to tell she wasn’t foolish. Just secure enough in her own power not to worry.

“So it would stand to reason that if I offer you the same amount of coin, you’d happily be on your way.”

It might not be an empty promise - along with the fine dishware on the table, all manner of gemstones and arcane artifacts cluttered the high shelves between the archways, any one of which would’ve doubled his commission.

“That would be true if I didn’t have a reputation to uphold. A witcher doesn’t skip out on a job without good reason.”

“Am I not a good enough reason?” she asked, fluttering her lashes.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the supple curves of her breasts visible above the table. With great effort Cassian managed to keep his expression stony and shake his head.

She huffed.

“You’re a harder nut to crack than the rest. I don’t imagine threatening you out of it would work either. Oh, don’t get twisted about yourself,” she added when his hand moved automatically toward the hilt of his silver blade. “All that would happen is you’d break a lot of my things and then I’d have a great bloody mess to clean up. Truthfully I can’t be bothered.”

“You’re wasting my time, sweetheart,” he growled, patience waning. “Where are the girls?”

“Don’t be beastly,” she scoffed, disgusted, and Cassian bristled at her offense, at the accusation in her eyes. Here she was trying to lure him into a trap, bribe him from his duty, yet acted like she saw nothing but a brute across from her, just like the townspeople.

“Snatching children from their homes, I could argue you’re the beast. No better than a bog hag, bathing in blood to stay young.”

It was a low blow but he didn’t care, wanted to see her face twist with fury, relished the silver fire that sparked at her pale fingertips.

“Of the two of us at this table, who was crafted to kill?” she snarled, jumping to her feet to lean toward him, an accusing finger pointed at his heart. Rage pounded harder through his skull, and Cassian found himself on his feet too, fuming at her across the banquet table.

“Tell the truth for once in your crooked life, sweetheart. All this is an illusion. At the end of the day, you’re just like me. Blood and guts, bones and coin. Only you like to pretend the dirt doesn’t cling to your skirts.”

“The girls are never going home.” Her skirts whipped up in a sudden wind, a whirl of violet, lighting crackling overhead. “Tell the families they’re dead, bring back my head if you must. It will not change the facts.”

“Then you’re every inch the fucking monster you pretend not to be.”

He braced himself for her wrath, the wave of magic coming to steal his breath. But to his surprise she stilled, watched him for a moment, that same evaluating stare from the clearing. Something sad passed across her face, and Cassian felt like he could see through a chink in her armor, just a peek at the scared girl she’d likely once been.

“You think I look at you and see a brute. But I know you and I both have curses to bear. Doomed to live on the outskirts, worth just what we offer to others. I only wish for my freedom.”

An understanding passed between them, of two people stranded in an eternal no man’s land. For himself, Cassian had surrendered long ago to his fate straddling the fringes of society, helping people who smiled in his face and spat at his back. He’d tried living away from civilization altogether for a few decades but found it brutally lonely.

There were respites, of course, when he found favor with a noble or a woman who could tolerate him for more than a night, but he aged so much slower that eventually everything permanent proved it was not.

They both sat back down in unison, a truce. Cassian took a sip of wine, and her stormy blue eyes tracked the movement, a blush creeping across her chest.

“You could have both,” he observed, and she wrinkled that perfect nose again. “A sorceress like you could easily find home in a court. Why hide out in this shithole?”

“A boring, sad question with a boring, sad answer. You and I have more interesting things to discuss, I think.”

The hunger rose in her eyes once more, and he saw them rove over his body, pink tongue coming out to wet her lips. He chuckled. So this was the trap at the web’s center.

“You must be wanting for bed partners if you’ll have me, sweetheart.” An understatement given he’d been sleeping outside for a week, but his hostess stood after downing her own glass, waving a bored hand.

“Nothing a little water can’t fix.”

She crossed to one of the archways and opened the door to a lush bathing chamber, the sunken pool steaming with fragrant water, lilac and sage. Cassian rose and followed, but he caught her arm on the threshold, heard her breath hitch when he pulled her body flush to his.

“I don’t make a habit of bedding women whose names I don’t know.”

“It’s Nesta,” she said, smiling, and the wind echoed her: Nesta Nesta Nesta.

He let her have her way with him the first time, knowing from experience she wouldn’t be satisfied until he was on his knees before her, where he belonged. She combed his hair while he recovered, and atop her silk sheets had her way with him again, only allowing him to explore her once she was wrung out and purring. Squeezed those lovely legs around his head and ceded the high ground at last, crying out beneath him as he took her as he’d wanted to from the beginning, hard and fast and desperate. Whimpered so sweetly when he kissed a line down her back and claimed her from behind, though they both knew who was in charge. He thought he might die from it, from her pressing back into him just as eagerly, the roundness of her hip in one of his hands, her pleasure in the other.

He brushed the hair from her forehead where she lay against his chest after, skin glistening under the soft blanket of the moon. Her bedchamber was cluttered with books, piles of them on the dresser, the small desk. A portrait of her and two other young women hung over the hearth, all with the same gold-brown hair.

Nesta flinched when he bent to kiss her soft cheek, just the smallest amount, that mortal eyes would likely miss. There was something heartbroken about her he couldn’t quite place, a loneliness even their coupling hadn’t remedied. Like she still expected to have to kill him.

Then light shifted in one of the archways, the air rippling, and he knew.

“They’re here.”

She hummed in annoyance and kept her eyes closed. “Don’t speak yet. You’re ruining this for me.”

“Tell me where they are.”

She pulled back and regarded him for a long moment, evaluating, and he tried to be whatever it was she was looking for, if only so she would keep looking.

Nesta nodded, having found it, and strode toward one of the archways wrapped in the blanket, drew back a curtain of air with a graceful sweep of her arm. A portal.

Inside lay a stone chamber filled with moonlight, a round table in the center carved with runes and littered with herbs and gemstones. Beyond a door on the far wall he could see rows of bunks built into the stone, the forms of children sleeping, their gentle snores carried to him on a lilac-scented wind.

“Are they here of their own will?”

“Somewhat.”

“So, no.”

“They are my pupils.”

“Some would call them hostages.”

She clenched her fists, incensed, and he saw the waves of power gather about her, Chaos begging for her touch. “What shall I do, leave them to be used as pawns by their families? Sold to wretched old men or wasting away in that cesspool? I’m giving them a way out.”

“And condemning them to walk alone in the process.”

“They deserve to decide their own fate.”

“And be like you? Hiding in the woods?”

“Do you pity me, witcher?” She was so close he could see the veins of magic in her eyes, as if her very blood was luminescent. “I may not have the splendor nor the influence of a court mage, but I am shackled to nothing but my own desires. Do you not seek the same?”

I seek nothing but a warm bed and a hot meal, he thought. But when he tried to say it, Cassian bit his tongue so hard he drew blood, and her eyes blazed brighter. He tried again and bit down even harder, the spell preventing the lie from passing his teeth.

“Do you not?” she repeated, and he heard the broken edge there, the plea. “When you sleep on the ground, do you not do so with a glad heart because it is ground you have chosen?”

“We’re all shackled to our fate, sweetheart. Trying to defy it only makes it come faster.”

Before Nesta could respond, there was a small cry from the bunk room and she rushed to attend to it, exposing her back to him without a second thought. Guilt leapt in his stomach, and Cassian couldn’t tear his eyes away as she comforted the girl, pulled the quilts back up over her and stroked her hair.

Feeling intrusive, he moved to don his trousers, and was just reaching for his shirt when she reappeared. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You weren’t wrong. About the solitude. Though it does help to have visitors, to pass the time.”

She trailed over to kiss him again and her mouth was sweet as Toussaint wine. They tumbled back to bed once more, slower this time, and he pretended not to see the shine of her tears in the starlight.

“One of your pupils sent something to her family. An everlasting flower. Gave them hope she’s still alive,” he panted when they were spent, having somehow ended up on the rug before the fire.

“Foolish girl. Her father was preparing to sell her to a traveling merchant. Thirteen years old.”

“One of them will go back one day. Bonds of family are strong. ”

“Not for us though, right?”

Cassian swallowed, knew it wasn’t worth bothering to refute her. His own family was likely long dead by now, and he didn’t even know where they were buried.

“You put yourself at risk doing this,” he warned, not wanting to touch that tender spot any longer. “You’ll have to stop or move on soon.”

“I don’t recall asking for advice.”

“Not advice. Concern.”

“I can take care of myself, witcher.” Nesta looked down from where she sat astride him now, smirking. “Haven’t you learned that by now?”

Cassian woke hours later at the edge of the waterfall’s pool, a spray of shimmering lilacs tucked in his pocket, sunrise just a few breaths off. Felt the ringing in his head as he plodded back through the woods, the fuzz of wine, the ghost of her fingers in his hair.

He didn’t bother thinking of a tall tale to appease the townsfolk, didn’t even consider stopping at the inn to finagle his commission. On the way out of town he passed Abby’s father sprawled stone drunk by his front gate. Clutched in his hand was the enchanted celadine, still glinting weakly.

Cassian made the sign for Igni and set the flower alight before kicking the man awake.

“Your daughter’s dead.”

He turned his back on the howls of despair, tucking his cloak tighter about him as he headed down the road toward Oxenfurt.

#nessianweek2024 #nessian #the witcher #sorceress!nesta #Witcher!cassian #Day 6: legends & destiny

25 notes · View notes

foxy-eva · 2 years ago

Text

Sunday Morning

Summary: Spencer really enjoys Sunday mornings with his girlfriend

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff, Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) showering together, heavy kissing, a little bit of teasing, oral (male receiving), fingering, unprotected penetrative sex

Word count: 2k

Masterlist

As the morning sun slowly began to illuminate our bedroom, I started craving the sensation of my girlfriend’s body pushed against mine. Moving closer to the heat she radiated, I pressed my chest into her back to breathe in her sweet scent. There was no need for me to be fully awake to seek out the softness of her skin, my fingers still a little uncoordinated as they found their way under the hem of her shirt.

She was still breathing steadily, her senses dulled by her drowsiness while I felt like tasting the first droplets of water after an endless drought. Feeling the tenderness of her skin underneath my fingertips was everything I needed to fully wake up. It was hard to explain but her body somehow felt extra delicate this Sunday morning.

I flattened my palm to let it wander over her side and stomach, noticing her abdominal muscles twitching right before she hummed, a clear sign that she was slowly waking up. I placed my lips on her neck to leave a featherlight kiss before whispering, “Good morning, my love.”

Her hand joined mine under her shirt, moving it upwards until I was cupping her breast. I smiled against her neck, more than happy to cater to her need for more than innocent morning cuddles. Gently I let my thumb rub over her quickly hardening peak, a raspy sigh falling from her lips before she had even opened her eyes.

As I touched her chest just the way I knew she liked, she started to squirm, pressing her backside against my hips and humming content to feel my own excitement straining against my pants. I started nipping at her ear before breathing, “Did you have a nice dream?”

“Yes,” she purred, her voice still heavy from sleep, “you were there.”

She finally turned around to find my eyes, a smug grin prominent on her face. How she always looked so beautiful right after waking up was something I would never be able to fully understand.

“I was? What did we do?” I wanted to know before kissing her lips.

Her hand was quick to sneak down my body, making me groan when she pressed her palm against the thin fabric covering my hardness.

“This,” she mumbled against my lips before deepening the kiss.

It was so easy to get lost in her touch, it felt like I was melting into her as our tongues brushed over one another. My hand found its way to the curve of her backside, burying my fingertips into her supple flesh while she let her palm wander over my thigh. When she leaned back to let some air into her lungs, I made sure to close the gap again, peppering her face with little kisses until she started giggling.

Still curious where her subconscious had led her those past few hours, I asked her, “Can you tell me more about your dream?”

With raised eyebrows she cooed, “I’d rather show you,” before tugging on my shirt, implicitly telling me to take it off.

With little grace and a bit hurried I got rid of all the fabric covering my body, noticing how her eyes started darkening as I revealed myself to her. She had told me countless times how attracted she was to me but I only really believed it in moments like this. She put her hands on my shoulders, gently pushing against them until I was laying on my back with her kneeling beside me.

She took her time to let her eyes wander over my body, licking her lips as her sight fell to my center. I couldn’t hide how excited I was getting, my skin feeling heated, certainly displaying the rosy shade she always liked to tease me about. Placing my hand on her thigh, I let my palm wander to her hip, gently squeezing it to bring her back from her reverie.

When we locked eyes again she purred, “You’re so beautiful, Spencer.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” I reminded her before sitting up to help her out of her shirt.

She moved with me, pulling down her shorts as well so our bodies could meet without any barrier. With my hands on her sides I guided her into my lap, letting her find her seat like a queen on a throne. She leaned down to capture my lips in another kiss while adjusting her hips to grind against my erection, making me whimper into her mouth.

My hands were roaming her back while I felt the evidence of her excitement spreading along my hardness. Her lips left mine in favor of exploring my neck, kissing and sucking the sensitive skin until she got the reaction she wanted. A sigh escaped her throat when I involuntarily bucked my hips up slightly. Moving further down, she left soft kisses on every inch of my body she could reach until she gripped my shaft and placed her face just above my leaking tip.

I could feel her hot breath on even more heated skin, making me shudder in anticipation. We looked at each other right before she closed her lips around me, slowly sinking down as far as her throat would let her. The sensation clouded my mind and the sight in front of me was almost too much to handle. When I remembered that she was probably able to taste her own arousal on my erection, it almost made me finish on the spot.

By closing my eyes I was able to stay in the moment for a while longer while moans and sighs fell from my lips. Being enveloped by her warmth felt heavenly and for a moment I had trouble realizing that this was in fact not a product of my imagination. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen was really there, keen on bringing me pleasure in such an intimate way.

I dared to open my eyes for a moment to adore her the way she deserved but seeing her lips wrapped around me seemed downright sinful. Right before I got to the point of no return her mouth suddenly left me, having me whine in protest for a second. She sat up, smiled at me and wiped the saliva from her chin with the back of her hand.

“That’s where my dream ended,” she teased.

I only groaned in response as I pulled her down to hastily kiss her. There was no willpower left in me to hold back for much longer, especially not when she let me feel her heat pressing against me once more. With one swift motion I turned the both of us around so she was the one on her back with me hovering above her.

“I’m really glad we don’t have to stop now,” I mumbled into her neck before biting down on her skin until she whimpered, “Me too.”

I pushed my thigh between her legs and noticed how her hips began to rock against me. It was obvious that she was becoming just as desperate as I was. I left a trail of kisses down her neck while brushing my fingertips over her heated cheek. She turned her head to find my fingers with her lips, kissing them before opening her mouth to let her tongue meet my digit. Right before she closed her lips around it, I pulled my hand back, certain I’d lose my composure if she started sucking on it.

I found her smirking at me when we locked eyes again and I could have sworn that she had never looked more beautiful. When I let one of my hands descend down her body to touch her where she wanted to feel me the most, she closed her eyes for a moment. As I dragged my fingers through her silken folds, the wonderful sounds of her undoing began slipping from her lips.

It had only been a few seconds but I already longed to see the sparkling of her eyes again, making me plead for her to open them.

“Look at me, please.”

It took her a moment but she managed to open her lids, her pupils blown wide when she found me staring down at her in awe.

“I’m right here,” she reminded me with a slight tremble in her voice and added, “I love you.”

“I love you more,” I cooed right when I entered her body with two of my fingers.

My palm was covered in her essence within moments and I couldn’t stop the smirk from forming on my face once I felt her clenching around my digits. She arched her back as I worked my hand against her center, bringing her closer to the edge with every second passing. I would have gladly let her fall over it too, but she stopped me right before she lost herself in ecstasy.

“Please, Spencer. I need all of you.”

Only a fool would have been able to refuse her that. She opened her legs further to make room for me while her eyes fell down to where our bodies were about to connect. With wide eyes she watched me lingering at her entrance, a loud moan falling from her lips once I finally started pushing into her.

It was impossible for me not to get lost in the sensation of being completely enveloped by her softness. With legs and arms wrapped around my body she allowed no room between us as our hips moved against one another in rhythmic motions. Our lips connected like the rest of our bodies and only separated when we couldn’t ignore the need for air.

Together we chased our sweet relief, the room filling with the sounds of our excitement as I accelerated the pace of my hips pushing against her. With her fingernails digging into the skin of my back she let me know that she couldn’t hold back any longer. When her walls began to pulse around me, she pushed me over the edge with her. She caught my moans with a kiss while she kept rocking her hips against me until she was sure I had nothing left to give to her.

I lingered in her embrace, my face buried into the crook of her neck while she played with my hair. Neither of us dared to separate our bodies although we knew that our connection was so much more than just physical. Still, I couldn’t help the whimper from escaping my lips when my body betrayed me as I got soft and slipped out of her.

She brushed her hands over my back as if she was apologizing for what she was about to say.

“I need to get up.”

“Me, too,” I told her as I got up from the bed. “It would be irresponsible to let you shower alone.”

“Yeah?” she snickered. “I agree. My knees are still weak.”

We hopped in the shower together to rid us of any remaining stickiness while not allowing any distance between our bodies. The water ran over us as our lips met in a kiss while our hands were still yearning to feel the other’s skin. There was no need for us to rush, this Sunday morning allowed us to take all the time we needed to revel in the sensation of having each other near.

The woman I was so desperately in love with turned around to press her back into my chest as she led my hands to touch her breasts, similar to how she let me feel her right after waking up. My lips attached to her neck but instead of kissing her, I smiled into her skin, unable to shake one particular thought.

Even though I knew I was wide awake, being with her still felt like the sweetest dream imaginable.

Taglist: @nomajdetective @reidsbookclub @spookydrreid @gspenc @justreadingficsdontmindme @samuel-de-champagne-problems @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @malindacath @pauline5525mgg @sanaz1dlol @luredwithpretzels @reidselle @alexxavicry @frickin-bats @spencersprettyslut @s4r4hsblog @sebs-oxygen @reidsmilf @beepbooptoop @lovejules888 @liltimmyst @encyclo-reid-ia @lilibet261 @fandomstuffff @spencer-reid-wonderland @happymangospot @airconsbeswag @conniesanchor @jordierama @reaux02 @daniacat @ellamaianderson @cynbx @sweetannanas @feltonswifesworld87 @snowsnow27 @dashneydanger

Tumblr might be hiding some posts from you! Learn how to change this setting here so you can see all of my stories.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

607 notes · View notes

raguonmynieceandnephew · 2 months ago

Text

I fucking love Shadowlands and I am tired of being silent

This is probably gonna be long. TL;DR at the end.

Look, Shadowlands is the second worst expansion this game has ever shipped, besides WoD. I know this is a WILD opening sentence for a defense argument, but I am a romantic, not fucking delusional. This is a fact. Point blank period. The content drought was absurd, the legendary system was completely fucked, the maw in general, the lore reduced Arthas and Garrosh quite literally to dust, The Jailer as the main villain and FUCKING THORGAST, the overall alt unfriendliness, borrowed power cranked to a million, and I have expressed how much of a fucking joke I think putting Pelagos as the new Arbriter was.

It was bad.

This has been stablished, not just by me, but by the entirety of the wow community.

But even though I agree, all these things made the game worse, I still enjoyed my experience, and I have a positive outlook on the expansion overall, which seems to be the greatest sin a World of Warcraft player can commit: I liked Shadowlands. I dare to say I liked it more than I did Dragonflight, if I think really hard about it.

You simply cannot say you liked Shadowlands in the any circle of the WoW community online, from what I have seen. I remember Kraken Latte put it in first place in a rank she made of all expansions and got shit on for days on twitter, with people failing to see what she saw in the game.

Now, I feel like I have pointlessly yapping till now, so without further ado, here are some of the Shadowlands features i like the most:

1 - THREADS OF FATE

I am a simple man, who likes to do 2 things in wow: Mythic+ and leveling. That is pretty much it. I don't PvP, I rarely raid and I occasionally indulge in RPing as a Tidesage on Moonguard. And let me tell you, this baby right here was lifechanging.

Threads of Fate is by far, the single best feature (before Warbands, lol) in my entire World of Warcraft experience. I loved it. I loved it dearly. I don't think I have ever had so much fun leveling 60-70 through Revendreth and Ardenweald with ToF. I still have the route I took memorized, it was SO good. So many bonus objectives back to back to back, world quests and that goddamn gorgeous blue forest had the FATTEST questing hubs in the game.

I was so excited to play this combined with Chromie Time, like IT WAS ON BETA, until it was ruthlessly taken away from me for no goddamn reason AT ALL. Like, what the actual fuck blizzard. Y'all don't understand how delightful it would have been to level like that in ardenweald in the mid thirty levels, right after clearing Loch Modan (or the Silverspine and Hillsbrad, for horde). I barely touched SL since it got removed.

BRING IT BACK BLIZZARD, I AM BEGGING YOU, JUST DO THIS ONE SOLID FOR ME.

2 - COVENANT CALLINGS

Speaking of features I thoroughly enjoyed that were pried from my hands, we have the best iteration of daily quests this game has ever had. They actually worked as good dailies that gave actual gold, was a good reliable source of reputation and was amazing for anima and cosmetics.

This + the recent nerfs to the Dragonracing WQs make me feel like blizzard doesn't like when players make their gold independently, like, jesus christ not all of us have time to be profession moguls.

3 - THE 4 ZONES

What inspired this post was the fact that SL raids are now on legacy loot (if you didn't know, now you do) and I had to go to Bastion to buy the weapons with the thingy that drops from Nathria and...look at this. Just look at this.

This place is one of the most beautiful things this game has to offer. Like, the entire zone is gorgeous byt seeing this for the first time since DF came out legit moved me bro, LOOK AT IT.

And while the covenants were kind of a shit show gameplay-wise, in EVERY SINGLE OTHER ASPECT, it was a 10/10 feature, argue with your mom. Aesthetics, themes, everything, simply gorgeous. Also, it got bonus points from me bcs i really do not like to use training dummies in current expansions because of the sheer amount of people blasting them at any given time, so each covenant having their own Dummy Room, was a ++++ for me.

4 - THE NECROLORDS OF MALDRAXXUS

The Necrolords were the best covenant, their campaign was the best and their characters were the best. Like, come on now.

Draka? Mother. Vashj? Mother. Emeni? Mother. Sin'dane? Mother Stradama? Grandmother. Like, are you kidding me? I know lore was one of the Weakest points of SL overall, but you are insane if you include anything involving these guys. Even the Korthia campaign was enjoyable when they had the spotlight. And I only listed the female characters lmao, don't forget The Primus, Krexus's meme death, the five houses, Morgraine, Grahmal, Marileth, like C'MON!

5 - THE DUNGEONS

Except for the Theater of Pain, and arguably the De Other Side (I personaly love it), Shadowlands has the best overall roster of dungeons in the entire game.

Sanguine Dephts is, in my opinion the second best dungeon in WoW, period, behind only Freehold, Tazavesh is the best Mega Dungeon they ever made. Mists is a banger, Plaguefall is a banger except for the tentacles, Halls of Atonement, Spires (controversial take, ik), Necrotic Wake is amazing, like, you can say whatever you want about SL, but you cannot talk shit about its dungeon design.

Except ToP.

Fuck ToP.

Now, it's getting late so imma speedrun the rest of the items:

6 - COSMETICS

SL changed the transmog game, and all cosmetics from it (all the mounts and sets from all sources) look phenomenal, and if you disagree you are simply lying to yourself.

7 - ZERETH MORTIS

The zone was good and had tons of stuff to do and collect, plus, the introduction to the Catalysts was a plus.

also, nothing will be funnier than Taelia fucking Fordragon being the talking quest bubble for WQs in THE REALM OF ULTRA DEATH

8 - RAIDS

CN: Vibes? Immaculate. SoD: Horrible systems, cool mechanics SoFO: Cool systems, mid mechanics overall a positive for me

9 - CHARACTERS

Already mentioned a lot of characters from Maldraxxus, here are my other faves: Lady Moonberry, the gay unicorm, Denathrius, Theothar, basically ever steward, The Accuser, Kael'thas, General Draven, Remornia and many more.

There are probably more reasons to list to justify my love for SL despite all the bad it has in it, but I simply do not have the mental fuel to keep going rn, i need sleep.

TL;DR: I like Shadowlands despite it being bad and would appreciate it if ppl didn't throw a fit everytime someone talks about it in any sort of positive light. I then listed Threads of Fate, Callings, the first 4 zones, dungeon design, the fuckton of collectibles, characters and the beginning of the shift in game philosophy as positive and valid reasons to be a SL enjoyer.

26 notes · View notes

astraxxei · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! I'm here to provide a request for the drought of Lyney x male reader content.

I had an idea where the reader could be a Kelpie that serves as a guardian of a lake in Fontaine and was loyal to the old Hydro archon. Some Fatui were polluting or destroying his lake and he became angered and fought them. Lyney and Lynette would come in and help him repel the Fatui which is how they meet each other.

You could write more about how the two bond as friends, idk anything is fine.

Thanks!

Hello!!! This is a really interesting prompt imo, so I'll do my best! Feel free to point out any misunderstanding or mistake <3

Lyney x Kelpie!m!reader

Fluff/sfw - no warnings!

Reader uses he/him pronouns.

A/n: I feel like I kinda did Lynette dirty here, This escalates a little quickly help, I'm sorry if it's short I tried.

❝ I was bound to meet you...↝

Y/n was sleeping soundly in his lake. Trouble wasn't really common in this, almost abandoned, though elegant thanks to the wonders of nature, place.

Despite the peace and quiet in y/n's sleep, something was clearly off.

He heard sounds of laughter in his sleep. Y/n's eyes opened and he felt something land on his head. It was an empty can. He looked at the can, angered, determined that whoever had the audacity to throw trash into his lake would pay. He took on his human form, hair falling to his shoulders and a beautiful gown made of water. He rose up to the surface of the lake, an angry look on his face, his beautiful eyes shining. Y/n saw the four fatui members, who were throwing trash in the lake, engaging in a conversation and laughing to each other. Furious, y/n stomped his foot on the surface of the water, yelling at the fatui.

"You dare pollute my lake, ignorant mortals?!"

Y/n and the fatui soon got into a fight, the sounds of the battle echoing in the distance. Lyney and Lynette soon approach, startled by the sounds. Lynette turns to Lyney.

"Do you think the fatui are causing trouble again?"

"Let's find out." Lyney replies, as the two approach the location of the battle. They see y/n slightly injured, still trying to hold the fatui back. Lyney bursts into the battle, dragging his sister along with him.

"I'm not going to let this happen! Come on, Lynette!"

Y/n soon drives away the fatui with the help of Lyney and Lynette, the fatui running away defeated.

"Do not approach my lake again."

Y/n turns to the siblings.

"I am very thankful for your aid. Could I repay you in some way?"

Lyney shakes his head. "You must be a Kelpie. It's our pleasure and honor to help someone as powerful and graceful as yourself."

Y/n blushes lightly at Lyney's compliments.

"Very well. I can assure you I will return the favor." Y/n turns his head to Lyney, smiling. With a nod, he turns to Lynette. "Excuse me, miss. Could I ask you to leave me alone with the young sir for a moment?"

Lynette nods and steps aside, heading to a nearby log and sitting there. Y/n turns at Lyney, lifting his chin up with his fingers.

"I must admit you've caught my attention. Tell me your name."

Lyney smiles and introduces himself, a faint blush on his cheeks. Y/n smiles, looking down at him, speaking in a flirtatious tone.

"My, my. Lyney, huh? What a beautiful name. It certainly matches it's beholder's energy."

Lyney nods, trying to stay calm despite blushing a little brighter now.

"Thank you. What's yours?"

Y/n introduces himself, looking into Lyney's eyes.

"You know," Y/n coos, walking around Lyney slowly, smiling warmly. "I don't have a lot of friends despite the creatures of the lake. It would be relatively nice if you'd like to come here more often."

Lyney smiles and nods, giggling quietly. "Of course I will...after all..."

He looks into y/n's eyes.

"...You caught my interest as well. The first time I looked at you earlier, it felt like I was bound to meet you."

With a smile, leaving y/n slightly surprised, Lyney starts walking away, towards his sister.

"I'm looking forward to seeing you again very soon, y/n."

Y/n turns around to head into his lake again and chuckles.

"Very well. I promise you will not regret any of our future encounters, Lyney."

With that, the two part ways, smiling to themselves. Lynette gives Lyney a teasing push with her elbow.

"Don't you think he's very attractive for a Kelpie?"

Lyney blushes and giggles nervously.

"Oh, shut up Lynette~"

#lyney x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #male!y/n #male reader #male!reader #kelpie #fontaine #lyney and lynette #genshin lyney #genshin impact lyney #lyney #genshin fluff #genshin fontaine

98 notes · View notes

diazsdimples · 5 months ago

Text

Truth or Dare tag game

Thank you to @spotsandsocks @kitteneddiediaz and @dangerpronebuddie for the tags 💙

Which friends/mutuals would you call to hide a body?

@watchyourbuck @babybibuck and @hippolotamus (y'all give good body-hiding vibes idk)

How many user subscriptions do you have on Ao3?

140, apparently!!

Do you have a crush on someone? OR If you're with someone, tell us one thing you love about them.

He's somehow stuck with me despite all the shit we've been through together, and he makes it his goal to make me smile at least once a day

What does the last DM/text you sent say?

Give me strength 🙄

List the three friends/mutuals with the best takes

@canonbibuck @evnnkinard and @gayhoediaz for sure

Share one of your favorite fics of all time

I can't pick one 😭

Honey, when you call my name by @hippolotamus

because we'll all arrive in heaven alive by @neverevan

My Blood on Your Skin (My Rose on Your Snow) by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

Tell Me It's Not Too Good To Be True by @princessfbi

List three of your favorite content creators

@letmetellyouaboutmyfeels, @buckttommy and @princessfbi for their fics (buddie or bucktommy) and their takes/hcs

Write one thing you love about yourself

My resilience

Which fandom of yours (past or present) has the best fics?

Tbh I've only read fic for 9-1-1, Sherlock, or the MCU so 9-1-1 is going to very easily take the cake here

Which creation of your own are you the most proud of?

Can I say 3? I have 3

Play me like a fiddle (my Buddie orchestra AU)

You've got me whipped (Brat!Buck bdsm fic)

In a drought I'll give you water (dry spell Karen ties Eddie up so Buck can fuck him fic)

Have you ever read RPF?

Read, written, regretted

Tag the mutual(s)/friend(s) most likely to get away with murder

Honestly I have no idea, none of you give off murdery vibes (but I guess that's the point?)

Tag the mutual(s)/friend(s) who know(s) the most about you

@hippolotamus @theotherbuckley @watchyourbuck and @daffi-990 for sure

Now tag some friends to play!

Don't feel obliged to but @theotherbuckley @daffi-990 @neverevan @bidisasterevankinard and @slightlyobsessedwitheverything

#tag game #truth or dare #although mostly truth it seems #btw tagging non mutuals is SCARY #it's like leaving a sacrificial offering to the gods

16 notes · View notes

choicesficwriterscreations · 2 years ago

Text

CFWC Writer of the Month: the-pale-goddess

Each month CFWC highlights one of our talented fanfic writers, and this month’s writer of the month is @the-pale-goddess! We hope you will enjoy learning more about her and her work below! The writer is selected at random. More info can be found on the navigation page.

Quick Links:

Tumblr Blog: the-pale-goddess Blog Masterlist

1- When did you start playing Choices? What was the first book you played?

I downloaded Choices in an extremely terrifying moment of my life in late 2019. I was seeing the ads everywhere and thought that this game might serve as a fairly decent distraction. Well, I wasn’t wrong skfjksjfk

I’m not sure which one was actually the first, but it was either the default TRR or Save The Date promoted at that time.

2- When and why did you join Choices fandom?

My obsession with Open Heart and Ethan Ramsey tied nicely with the release of the second book in 2020. The lockdown allowed me to explore this fictional world further, so I started looking for more content. I found the legendary Denise, aka @justanotherrookie, while lurking on IG. That’s when my long-forgotten Tumblr account came to my mind, and I logged in with the intention of scrolling through the tags to satisfy my EJR thirst.

3- How did you pick your blog name?

Oh, dear…It’s very silly! My skin is extremely pale and I have always been obsessed with music; hence the combo.

Fun fact: this account is quite old (though still not as old as my tumbroke card; I had like three other accounts before this one), and I was slightly embarrassed to enter a new fandom with my dusty aesthetic blog signed by some ominous name, but decided to go with the flow. Then the-pale-goddess has become my brand, and it was too late for any changes–anyone who has changed their URL knows how problematic blogging is afterward.

4- Pull up the first post in your archive, and tell us about it!

My first fandom post was inspired by the frustrating ending of the softball chapter AND the first hiatus announcement…It didn’t age well. As we all know, Ethan & MC didn’t ‘talk about it.’ What’s more, we had to survive a long OH drought before PB decided to resume the second book.

Three years later, the very same shitpost is still the most popular Choices post on my silly little blog lol

5- How long have you been writing fanfiction?

3 years, fanfiction is my pandemic baby! Though I’ve been writing since I was a kid, it was mostly poetry and never in English. But as time passed, I got more occupied with my teenage life and eventually lost motivation to write. That old passion resurfaced several years later, at the beginning of the pandemic. Apart from the obvious need for distraction from the COVID situation, I was frustrated that my English skills were getting rusty, so I decided to dive in.

6- What is your favorite Choices book, and what is your favorite Choices book to write about?

No surprise here: Open Heart (the first book) and Open Heart 😂 I never tried writing about any other Choices book.

7- Share the first fanfic you wrote with us. Do you still like it, or would you change it if you were writing it today?

Miami Heat aka my smutty Miami AU. The concept is brilliant, but the execution…Yikes! I often think of rewriting the entire thing because the writing is amateur at best and my inner perfectionist cringes whenever I think of this mini-series.

8- What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

It all depends on my mood, so here’s a list of my favorites!

9- Do you have a fic that you didn’t expect to be well received, but it was? What about one you expected to be but found could use a little more love?

Cabin Fever - apparently this 69 plotless smut is iconic for some reason? I don’t really get the hype. It has an insane amount of kudos on ao3, my other fics can’t compare lol

Burnt - Book 1 mutual pining E&T classic and one of my absolute favorites (we’re talking top 3); it could definitely use a little more love!

10- If you could write only angst, fluff, or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

I’ll shock you all and say that I wish I could write fluff for the rest of my life kjgkdgjkdf But since I suck at it, I’d love to be stuck with angst and a dash of smut.

It’s probably a sad thing to admit, but I feel the most comfortable while writing angst. The realism of pain and the emotions that follow are simply very familiar, and it’s easy for me to conjure up a creative image to match the idea. Besides, there’s so much to explore in the angsty realm: all the flavor, nuance, layers, and symbolism. The possibilities are endless!

Smut doesn’t need an explanation, does it? I live on the thirst street 🤡

11- Do you ever recognize yourself in any of your MCs or in your writing?

I do. That’s probably why Open Heart got me sucked right in–OH MC felt very real and relatable, I couldn’t help but see bits of myself in her. Though we share many traits and experiences, Tiffany definitely isn’t an extension of me. I poured my heart and soul into this woman, but she has become her own person and I try to avoid self-projecting into her character unless there’s a clear purpose.

12- What element of writing do you struggle with most?

Recently, I have been struggling with writing in general lol The internet is ruthless!

My biggest issue is that self-loathing perfectionist who doesn’t let me enjoy the process, nothing seems to be good enough for her, and that attitude dims my motivation and hinders creativity.

On a more technical note, I absolutely suck at describing basic movement. I could churn out a long essay on a character’s internal struggle explaining the most complex emotions or a 4K elaborate smut, but when it comes to finding the right words to portray the simplest action, like walking down the stairs or setting the scene for an early morning conversation at the hospital, I feel lost kdhdkhdkdb

13- Do you have any neglected work you really want to finish?

Pretty much all of my WIPs are neglected 🤡 But here are the most important projects I’m hoping to finish at some point in the not-too-distant future:

Home With You AU

Past, Present, Future

My Way Home Is Through You

14- If someone you know in real life (who isn’t involved in fandoms) asked to read your work, would you let them? If yes, what would you recommend they read first?

Since fanfic is based on an existing work of fiction, and the core plotlines and characters should be well-known to the readers, I guess it could be a tedious and confusing read for someone who isn’t involved in the fandom. But then I have received comments from people unfamiliar with OH who have stumbled upon my fics and gave them a chance, so maybe I’m wrong lol

I like to think that I would be okay with sharing my works with someone I know and trust in real life, but let’s be honest: my crippling anxiety would stop me ksjfkjssd However, if I were to pick a fic rec, I’d choose Heaven Upside Down AU because it doesn’t need an extensive OH knowledge. Plus, I’m very proud of this series.

15 - Are there any writers (published authors and/or fanfic writers) who influenced your writing?

While I try to keep my writing style unique and simply mine, there are three lovely ladies who had a huge impact on my writing journey:

@writinghereandthere (aka an actual genius and my writing role model) was the direct source of inspiration behind my fanfic revelation. I fell in love with Ethan and Mariana, Ana’s beautiful prose, her wit, unparalleled talent, and fantastic characterization. Her writing changed the trajectory of my life. Though she left the fandom long ago, her masterlist is a must-read for everyone, trust me! (Ana, if you’re reading this: I miss you more than words can convey. Sorry for the spam I leave in your inbox every now and then skgjksgjk Hope to hear about your original work soon ❤️)

@starrystarrytrouble & @terrm9 - these two literary geniuses have inspired me to follow my own writing path and develop a distinctive style. Their masterpieces offer poetic, raw emotions, encouraging me to allow myself more creative freedom. I’m in constant awe of their unmatched talent and come back to their works whenever I want to feel things ❤️

16- Which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series?

Can I have all of them, please?

I would pay all my money to watch a TV series based on my canon OH plotline…I’m not kidding, I even made a bunch of Netflix edits because I need it in my life. On the other hand, my precious AUs would look amazing on the big screen! The most scrumptious one still hasn’t left my head though, so you have to trust me–the cinematic potential is truly there kdgjkdgjk 17- Do you write original fiction?

I have a few ideas, but they’re so complex I’m stuck on the outlining phase. Mayhaps one day?

18 - What other hobbies do you have?

I’m a certified music freak and a cinephile. I practice destroying male egos on a daily basis. I love photography, niche sports, playing with my dog, lifting people’s moods, random unhinged facts, and ignoring reality, and I have just entered my skincare expert era.

19 - What’s your favorite emoji?

🥰 + ✨ + 💀

These three emojis perfectly encapsulate who I am as a person, I think: full of love and magic, but also dead inside ksjgksjgks

20: BONUS - tell us anything you’d like (if you want to)

I’d like to thank our lovely admins for giving me this exciting opportunity to ramble about my tiny corner on this hellsite and showcase my word vomit. My heart is full of gratitude! I may not be as active as I used to be, and real life doesn’t allow me to change that, but our fandom will always have a special place in my heart, and I feel very lucky to be a part of this community. Thank you for still putting up with me and supporting my fictional world ❤️❤️❤️

#cfwc writer of the month #open heart #the-pale-goddess #choices fic writers creations #choices fanfic #playchoices fanfic #writer of the month #tiffany addams

72 notes · View notes

little-creature-business · 8 months ago

Text

TRANS SANJI RAMBLE!!

I am an enjoyer of headcanons and WILL and HAVE headcanoned the straw hats and other characters with different/conflicting headcanons bc you wanna know why?? I can make different universes and versions of them bc DAMN a lot of these headcanons are hella good

Though I will say, as an enjoyer of headcanons, I am in a drought of transmasc Sanji stuff <\3 I DUNNO IF IM LOOKING IN THE WRONG PLACES OR NOT qwq

+before anyone says, I adore transfem Sanji w all my heart and I am glad she gets the representation bc WOW a lot of people are clever w the stuff they come up will, I really do love it and a lot of you even think of things I would’ve never thought about !! ^o^ jus a little bummed out there’s not as much transmasc Sanji content bc as soon as I saw him on screen I was like “the radar is going off”

ps if you read this far, transmasc Sanji headcanons (hear me out, most likely ooc) (also zosan)

I have been thinking about them SOOO MUCH tbh.. Sanji doesn’t feel 100% while cooking because of cramps?? You bet Zoro will notice and try and help out best he can in the kitchen despite how many times he would get kicked and/or yelled at..

sparring?? Sanji feel miserable and always thinks Zoro is going easy on him so he accidentally blurts it out one time while they are going at it and Zoro is just like “No lmao??” And might reveal smth about Kuina.. and then Sanji cries about it because even in smth like sparring he’s seen as equal to him

I think during WCI (I have not.. watched it yet teehee) while Sanji sees his brothers + sister again they’re all like “what the fuck happened to you” and Sanji is all high guarded about it but says he’s trans and he’s a guy now and they’re all like “oh ok, anyway-“ and it goes on like normal but they respect him (please pleaseeee)

Sanji while he’s with Zeff,, ofc Zeff is like “well now I got an 8-9 year old daughter to take care of” and Sanji doesn’t mind at first because he doesn’t exactly know what he’s feeling but he knows that being called “daughter” doesn’t feel right. I feel like he would discover later on what being trans meant from a frequent customer and he’s all happy because!! Wow he found out!! What best describes him!! And the next time he talks to Zeff he’s all like “so you know that regular we get through the door?” And then tells Zeff and Zeff is all like “well then, I’m happy either way for you, do you want your hair cut or different clothes?”

Running with ideas,, Sanji would probably be scared of taking testosterone/one piece equivalent because of the needles if they didn’t have a gel form. Which is why awhile after chopper joins he asks the little reindeer about it..

I also have a feeling Sanji would be afraid of surgery?? He wants to get top surgery but the idea is SO scary to him,, so he ops for binding,,

Mainly Zoro but also the crew has to remind him to not bind for too long since he can get caught up in cooking, Zoro will ALWAYS ask him to take whatever he binds with off before they spar/fight not wanting to let the cook hurt himself

this is it this is the post (I’m so mentally I’ll)

#trans sanji #ramble #dare I put the main tags #I do #one piece #vinsmoke sanji #transgender #headcanon

11 notes · View notes

puckpocketed · 7 months ago

Note

Apartment 1, End Times, and Haunted Focaccia <- if nothing else PLEASE ask me about this one

Well now i GOTTA know!!! Please tell me about this it sounds soooo interesting (Tapedsleeves on main)

@jules-in-deep @dwisp thank u for asking too !!! <3 OUGH. OH. OKAY. People who have followed the Deep Cuts of puckpocketed have seen me reference 'The Manifesto' in my drafts - it's unrelated to my hockey essay writing, in the sense that it doesn't mention hockey (yet); but totally related because ALL of my stuff veers sharply into the realm of the confessional/autotheory/memoir, and thus Themes begin to crop up no matter what genre I'm writing for.

Apartment 1 is some memoir stuff I started writing late last year. It's about... a lot of stuff. It's about learning to bake bread. It's about my dead neighbour. It's me grappling with the ethics of writing real people in my life. It's being 25 (now 26) and realising that everyone around you is waiting for the world to end even though YOU thought we were all joking. It's about direct action and coalition-building and communities of care. It's about practical optimism. It's about the one time I threw a dead pigeon into my neighbour Heather's balcony. It's everything. It's my Manifesto <3

(ALSO: There's a BIG chunk of cut content from my last hockey essay that was basically a very very very long tangent about Hauntology insofar as how it relates to ice hockey narratives and players... I cut it because it was gratuitous and indulgent and Not on-topic for the broader thesis of the essay - and because it was already something I was writing about in The Manifesto.)

Read some of it under the cut if you like!! <3 it is very very long and I'm not really looking to get it published, just hoping to get it all out before I am burned by academia!!!

If I was the kind of person capable of committing to journaling in private this is what I might have written that evening:

April 18th. Got first zine interview done. L’s cool. Think I changed his mind about trans stuff. Come home to find neighbour in apt 1 downstairs passed. Police had questions. Her gate’s still open, they left the lights on too.

I’d be someone who keeps a neat record of things, tucked away in routines and discipline. There’s a dream of this timeline where I figure out how to end sentences and truncate my runny egg thoughts (I play-act this fragment of me when writing emails). I am not that person. I journal in winding truths muddled by vision, by the aesthetic canons of the autobiographers I admire — Joan Didion, and, lately, Elvira: Mistress of The Dark — I journal because despite the nightmarescape of being known — published, seen — I want to be read.

The woman in apartment 1 reads like a bit part given to an ageing starlet who still loves acting (I only feel this way because we never spoke). I rarely saw her out of hot pink fast fashion t-shirts. Her lace curtains hung in defiance of the rest of the building's slate grey blinds, never dusted. Her garden was always well mulched and lush with something green, a pollen bomb waiting to go off in my nose and eyes every year come springtime. She watered it ritualistically. We’d catch each other as I left for uni, sometimes, and I’d think: fuck, this is such a waste of water, aren’t you old enough to have lived through the droughts? The holiday season saw a bedecking of her wattles and bottlebrushes and westringias with Christmas ornaments. Baubles, tinsel, lights, plastic cherries of holly. A ceramic nativity scene. Most memorably, something I can only describe as an effigy of Rudolph.

I know she is not a character, and that by writing this I risk crossing some threshold; that hazy shifting boundary between my ethics and whatever lies beyond. I’m not writing this to ask if it’s possible to be haunted by a woman you never met — I already am — I’m asking if it’s polite.

Poetry, an old but welcome lover, demands of me:

I feel a truth that doesn’t ask the usual kind of knowing. She is a cracked open vein of ore. Her story a conflict mineral. I refuse to mine it.

The messages I sent to friends that day went something like this:

UM. One of my neighbours fucking died The police are here they took details and asked the last time I saw her

Don’t talk to cops is one of the first, most vital things you learn navigating marginalised spaces. An officer was stationed at the security gate, two more hung about in their patrol car. A fluorescent vest drifted in and out of view in the glass sliding door leading off into my neighbour’s house. The one that spoke to me had a notebook out and leaned against her fence. My experiences with the police up until then, summarised:

They showed up when President Obama visited my highschool.

I served them coffee intermittently during my years as a barista. Most recently, a regular group on my opening shifts at the café.

My neighbours across the hall had the police called on them many times. The one time they responded, an officer pushed past me and into my apartment to ask questions. After, the fights got quieter. The wife stayed.

I’d never been rich but I had lived up until then in relative privilege that rendered me invisible and safe from their violence; and I’d never approached homelessness, or looked like the kind of person who makes trouble (any genre of dark skinned); and I’m outwardly queer, but in a way that reads as eccentric rather than threatening and deviant (I want to be a threatening and deviant fag-dyke one day).

So, not talking to cops was a kind of radical praxis I didn’t get to have. I hadn’t earned it by getting arrested at a protest. It was an inheritance left to me by videos of police brutality, and the memorials to my queer elders who died, and scraps of essays written in blog posts and Twitter threads circulating endlessly on progressive clicktivist socials. At least, that was the post-hoc excuse I fabricated. Mostly, I was just reacting.

“Which apartment do you live in?” He was blank, serious. Too many police procedurals primed me for cops who asked permission before starting on the interrogation, the usual: we have some questions for you, if you’d just step aside?

Here was reality: I pointed, unprepared, and said, “That one.”

And he said, “When was the last time you saw the woman living here?”

I answered, “I don’t remember. Maybe not long after the holidays?” Because who remembers exact dates, keeps track of the comings and goings of their neighbours, besides some shut-in creature LARPing Notes From Underground?

“Does anyone else live with you?”

“My mother. She won’t be home for another half hour. Her English isn’t good, if you want to talk to her she can come get me.”

“Can we get your details?” And I was seized by the urge to blurt out: some of my friends don’t even know my birthday.

“What’s going on?” I asked instead, “Is that lady okay?”

He shifted, uncomfortable. “She’s passed.”

“Oh.”

The same way a painter may gather visual libraries of light and texture, a musician samplings of treasured beats, everything I witness is forfeit to becoming material; a potential symbol or phrase or reference point. It goes: that primordial instinct to make art, and then the sum of me, and then the world. That’s the two-way mirror lodged behind my eyes.

A guest lecturer, J, confirmed my long-held suspicions that artists are all the same (wretched) animals by relating her own experiences. She, too, felt the friction of being behind the glass, of seeing something upsetting unfold and watching closely from another room inside her. That observation always has to end, and then you are left with the sum, and you think: that would make an excellent… And then you think: how could I have been scraping that for material?

I walked J to her office, was enchanted by her sparkling grace, her warmth, her command of the language that feels ungainly in my mouth (still) 20 years fresh off the plane. My questions for her were short, shy, barely aperitifs, but underneath them was the plea: solidify these boundaries, I am lost. She answered, more or less: there is an ice shard in my heart, too. For her, it was a fact of the human condition that we would always be doing the wrong thing.

Her questions for me were a banquet: why do you want to do it, who does it hurt, and if it does hurt are those hurts large or small? And, as a garnish, she added that: if those hurts are so small then, well… And then she told me about finding a love letter in the leaves of a book and doing the diligence of tracking down names and histories and then, at the end of it all, communing with beloved friends and writing, writing, writing…

Our walk ended outside the building that housed faculty offices (walkable communities are conducive to this). I never answered her, but here’s the morsel I scrounged up after I collected myself at home: thank you, that was so unhelpful, that's what I needed to hear, I didn’t want to hear that, do you think art is bigger than us, I think I understand.

The woman in apartment 1; I never knew her name. The Canberra Times Obituaries are available online, and for this piece I’ve gone to look, in case some bolt of lightning strikes as I skim the names. I like the idea that she was a Val, or Rosie, or Alma (it’s not my place to think this, I think it anyway). Here, I leave my pickaxe at the mouth of the obituaries section — that’s enough digging.

She died, and no one noticed. I didn’t notice. I walked past her arum lilies every day, saw their faces wilt under our Australian sun, thought wouldn’t it be fucked if she was dead in there, and moved on with my life. The police never told me how long, but I can shoot the memory of those lilies back at least a month. Too long. She was off-putting, never friendly, and her garden — a colossal vanity project which guzzled water like the droughts never happened — assaulted me September through to December.

They left her fucking lights on.

The handful of hours before I came home to patrol cars and blue uniforms I was conducting an interview for the very first zine I ever produced. L and I settled at a table inside The Coffee Grounds somewhere between midday and evening. The floor plan was akin to a misshapen tangram, our table sat in an awkward bottleneck between covers and the end of the bar where drinks were dispensed for staff to deliver. I spent the interview conscious of the space we took up, the familiar hiss of the steam wand to my back a shallow comfort.

With his sandy hair buzzed short and wearing big dangly acrylic earrings — lightning bolts an homage to Bowie — L was painfully 19.

We exchanged small talk, pronouns, and areas of study. Then I started, “You’ve seen the news. Hate crimes, suicides, the culture wars online. Transphobia’s this inescapable black hole, right?”

I mistook his anger for righteousness, his energy as something that was directed at change. “Yeah, it’s fucking awful.”

“So I’ve seen all this, and I’ve seen how it’s been affecting my friends, and I have this assignment…”

The assignment: identify a cultural narrative, devise some social campaign to challenge the narrative, then execute and evaluate. And I explained that I was frustrated and hurt and I’d hung up my ambitions for politics when I realised I’d never have the showmanship for it, and so my only recourse was making art.

“How much do you know about zines?” I asked. And then, explaining, “They’re, like, underground DIY print media.” My answer was a zine made in the traditions of our punk underground forebears, small press community propaganda to combat the grey tide of transphobia-driven pessimism that gripped so many genderqueer youth.

I asked, “What are the joyful aspects of a trans existence that we could point to?” And it was a mistake to assume he’d have something ready, some beautiful quote I could scribble down onto my notes app. People speak in half-sentences, stutters, ums and ahs. And L was a frustrating mix of leftist sentiments and slogans (trans rights are human rights, eat the rich, time’s up) and a fatalistic what-if-there-is-nothing-else doomerism. It was the same story I’d seen etched between the lines of lectures and conversations with friends, black-pilled and devastating: we are trapped in late stage capitalism, climate change is beyond critical mass, electoralism has failed us, we will eke out a life just short of awful and hold each other until the world ends.

I was a poor interviewer (still am). We drifted off topic, I forgot to take notes intermittently, and — if you don’t know this about trans people yet, you’re in for a surprise — I challenged him on his notions of gender and presentation openly.

“I feel like a man because I can wear earrings, and despite their femininity I’m comfortable in my masculinity,” he said.

“I think my painted nails and earrings are masculine because I wore them,” I said. “Cis men define their own masculinity, cis women do it too; why can’t the rest of us?”

There are too many conceptions of gender and presentation to describe. The idea is that we come together under the trans and queer labels because our solidarity makes us strong, because you can’t build coalitions with sectarianism, and a transphobe doesn’t distinguish between stargender-queergender catgirls and transmedicalist FtMs. There are a few of us who haven’t gotten that message yet. I hope to welcome them back when their rights are under scrutiny, after the world is done with the rest of us.

“What could we be if we divested ourselves from a world that wanted us dead?” Was not a question he could answer, because he didn’t believe that we could. For him existing within the system was a given, and the system would never be for us. Abolition? Divestment? Decommodification? Pipedreams.

I was asking him and asking myself and asking the world; I was my Global Studies class assignment asking us to analyse vaccine distribution and suggest fixes to the worldwide vaccination equity crisis.

“What makes our lives happy and meaningful not in spite of, but because of our trans identities?” A few answers. I became a better interviewer as the afternoon progressed (do journalists know all the tricks? Is that what they learn in their classes?).

As a barista, I found it easy — to borrow a phrase from Disco Elysium — to can-open people. If it was quiet enough a given customer could stay a while, and I’d chit chat as I cleaned. All you had to do was find a vulnerable notch and dig, and once you were in it was only a matter of twisting until they popped. With the torque of genuine interest and patience, I could get them to admit to almost anything over a coffee. People spill their secrets to me willingly, happily (maybe not their secrets, but definitely their stories). If you get someone alone and let them talk and let them feel that you’re listening, they become endless wells of experience. I’d heard about people’s messy divorces, their mental health struggles, and I’d seen at least two regulars through the entire lifecycle of several romantic entanglements. And I always thought: these are treasures, mine them.

For example: John (who gets a large cappuccino and two sugars, who went on a diet for eight months because his wife did too, who laughs and makes friends with all the new staff no matter how terrible they are), hunts ghosts. The conversation came up over a game I’d played with my friends called Phasmophobia, whose premise was hunting the supernatural in haunted houses. Once in a while, John takes a few days off of his day job at the ATO. He gathers his EMF readers, his lasers, his tripods, his smoke machines, his infrared cameras and night vision goggles; bundles everything into his car and drives to the most haunted locations in the Canberra region.

On the tip of my tongue: “You hunt them, okay, but how do you escape a ghost that won’t leave you alone?”

And I imagined him laughing, imagined him saying, “That’d make my job easier!”

Right now, I could walk into any given café and be somewhat at home. It’s the same anywhere you go: the rumble-purr of coffee grinders and scratchy sharpie orders running up the side of takeaway cups and exchanges of large mocha, have a good one, thank you.

I’d truly loved making coffee, would’ve contented myself serving regulars their sugared lattes and extra-hot flat whites until I dropped, if not for the pressing reality of wage stagnation. And Kate, a university lecturer, who stumbled into my English class in the last year of my pathways course, overqualified and too sincere, who tried earnestly to get 20 or so barely conscious young adults to analyse fairy tales. (“You don’t have to go right away,” she once said, “I could see you spending more time doing coffee, collecting all sorts of stories for your writing, and you’d do well.” Sometimes being told you have a choice is what gets you over the line.)

The day all these things turn strange will arrive soon, I fear (I hadn’t operated a machine in maybe a month by then; my last being a celebrity shift at the place I quit to go to uni). It’ll pass and I won’t know what the knobs and buttons do anymore, won’t be able to read the rhythm of loading shots and pouring and queueing up jugs of milk. My poor interview skills, I think, are because I’m slowly forgetting how to be a barista. One day I’ll look at an espresso machine, the grinder, the scales, the tampers, and the precise sequencing for a dial-in will have faded; the memory like looking through an oily, smudged lens.

I asked L, “What are your hopes for the future? What makes you hopeful? What’s worth fighting for?” The ambitions I had for the zine were furtively held secrets for a while, things I was too embarrassed to say out loud (you can’t just admit you sort of want to save the world). L’s answer made me embarrassed at my past self.

“That’s a really difficult question,” he said. “I guess your zine is aimed at people like me, because I can’t think of anything.”

The zine was aimed at people like him. Loosely. Theoretically. Execution pending. And confronted with the reality of just how deeply troubled my peers could be; it was crushing. And halfway through the interview I thought; what am I doing here?

And then he said, “I’m not going to be out when I enter the industry. I don’t want anyone to know. I just want to make my art.” And shattering is something glass does, not people, but there I was. It’s a different kind of closet, to go stealth; to fully transition, to pass, and then to carefully erase all traces of who you were before you transitioned and to pretend you’re cis. Trans Joy Matters is the title of the zine, and it fucking does, because when you don’t spread the message that being trans can be an inherently happy and fullfilling experience, you get 19 year olds who break your heart because they’d rather go stealth than possibly have to deal with their identity being public knowledge.

What do you do when you find out your entire social circle and all your peers and even your mentors have given up the fight, have refused to try because the foe seems insurmountable? What do you do when the bastion of like-minded progressives you expected to meet at university are just as disaffected, just as sure that there is nothing after this?

You find yourself drifting, oscillating in and out of the something-more you’d been building since you pulled yourself free of your adolescent fugue and enrolled. You reflect with a growing apprehension that maybe you are the one who is painfully 25 and naive to the end of the world. You consider half-assing this stupid zine project because, even if you succeeded and produced something good, the impact would be so negligible to the grey tide’s advance that you might as well not try. You think, maybe I can crawl into some warm private place and find small joys with loved ones until it’s all over, maybe that’s the best we can do.

And then you come home and the woman in apartment 1 has died, and you blink awake and think, wow, fuck that.

The lights stayed on. Come evening, I’d step out and they��d greet me by giving her lace curtains new faces: eyes and noses and mouths gaping through the flyscreen. The police had used bolt cutters to break the padlock on her gate. It was set down on a fence column and forgotten. One day, I picked up the corpse and turned it over in my hands. There were bite marks where the teeth had sunk in and severed that arterial silver loop. Underneath was a patch of grey concrete where it blocked the bleaching sun, and around it spread a halo of grime.

Three months after the police came knocking, on the 12th of July, I wrote to a friend:

finally sent cleaners to my neighbours place jesus made very uncomfortable eye contact with one of them as i went in through the security door

I watched from my kitchen window while they packed her life away. I was certain these cleaners moonlighted for shadowy service that would, for a price, disappear undesirables. Or garbage collectors, given how they piled her possessions carelessly into the back of their truck. I imagined that somewhere in the detritus there was a box of tinsel and baubles and her Rudolph effigy, crushed under splintered furniture. Everything that wasn’t nailed down — everything but the kitchen sink, everything, and a thousand more clichés of everything — they took. Though they left her garden, her lilies were black bagged for the crime of being potted.

If you ask academics about hauntology you might get a garbled mess of references and a finger pointed at Jacques Derrida and Mark Fisher. The core of it is political according to Derrida, who conceived of a West that would, in the wake of liberal democracy’s triumph over communism, go on to be haunted by the spectre of Marx and the futures that could have been. For Fisher, contemporary music culture’s rolling pastiche of the decades reads as hauntological phenomena; nothing sounds new, all is made in service of referencing something already gone. Fisher diagnoses this as a longing for the future that was promised in these decades that remains unfulfilled (to him it is a false remembrance, one that smooths over the flaws for a mirage of better days).

The haunting is the essence. We typically think of hauntings as the past coming back to the present, ghosts as temporally bound, but hauntology goes both ways. To say something is hauntological is to say that it is nostalgic for a dead future.

I am haunted by the woman in apartment 1 not because we knew each other, but rather because we didn’t. I am in mourning for the future we can’t have; one where we say hello, and how are you, and I notice she’s missing. Where I realise that industrial agriculture and garment factories take unfathomable amounts of freshwater and turn it undrinkable, and how futile, how unkind it is to condemn any single person for using water to make her garden beautiful. A future where we know each other. Where writing this makes any fucking sense.

I carried on after she died, cleaving to something new, a hauntological mass, and though I didn’t know it, the force of my yearning for that lost future propelled me. I booked more interviews, more hours-long brunches and video calls and text exchanges. The zine got made. It was good, and the grey tide didn’t stop. But I was okay with that. I had to be.

[later excerpt]

Whoever said guilt is a bad motivator? Incorrect.

It was small as a football, appropriately pigeon-sized. You’ve probably had a close encounter with one before, waddling up to you like nothing would ever touch its pretty grey plumage. As a kid I used to run at them, try to put the fear of God in them. Well, it seemed that day it was my turn.

The sliding door did nothing for me. Whether the pigeon was between layers of glass and wood and metal or two feet away and rotting made little difference to the lizard hindbrain processes that seized me upon catching sight of its body. I made a guess at the timing, it must’ve dropped onto my balcony and died at some point after I last looked out my bedroom window that morning. Its little feet and wings were tucked, aerodynamic even in death.

I armed myself with a single thong and crept out onto my balcony like there’d be snipers posted on the roof of my Woollies, ready to gun me down for the thing I was planning to do. I certainly deserved it. With my thong clutched in hand (you know the grip, the one that’s meant for swatting flies), I stretched out and gave the pigeon a nudge. Then another. It rolled away, awkward and slow, over and over on itself.

It was definitely dead, and there’s no way to say this where I look like the good guy but here goes: I was going to push it into apartment 4’s yard.

It gets worse.

See, it was an irregular shape and my balcony guardrail was not the kind that would permit a clean drop. It got stuck.

Not lodged, per se, just not quite flat enough to fit under the horizontal strip of metal that supported the vertical bars sticking up from it. I rolled it. It rolled back. I rolled it again. It rolled back again. And this time mockingly, like as punishment for the misdeed I was committing, I’d been condemned to a Sisyphean tragedy. Committed was the right word for it, because at this point, I’d sunk at least 3 minutes in and soiled a perfectly good shoe and was definitely going someplace bad when it comes to my turn in the great Beyond. This was the reasoning of a brain in lockdown, of course, and so was the next decision I made.

I wish I could say that what was going through my mind was the notion of fulcrums, leverage, something to do with physics. But no. The demon that gripped me was screaming for blood. PUNT THAT PIGEON. GET IT OFF OUR BALCONY. DO IT. DO IT NOW.

A series of complex scooping manoeuvres. A thump. It was through the bars and in her yard, (aerodynamic even in death!), and my thong would never be the same.

The guilt over this pigeon and for the old woman living downstairs has proven an excellent motivator. It took five years of avoidance before we really spoke. She let me in through her house a year ago when the security door was locked due to a power outage. A few months ago, I gave her something I baked. Last week, I asked her name.

(Heather, if you ever find out it was me, I’m sorry it took so long. I hope you liked the bread.)

#oh this ones a doozy! thank u for asking about it i am sooooo not well about the world. but im trying to be <3 #my writing #asks #tag game #user tapedsleeves #user dwisp #jules tag

6 notes · View notes