#A book I had stopped reading to speak with her

[mariasont]

Be So Stupid - S.R

a/n: this has been sitting in my WIPs for so long and i finally finished it! now going to reward myself with online shopping xoxo

kind of inspired by when jj and reid split up in season 2 i think? when morgan was kinda being rude to her but i picture like season 12-13 spence

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: you make a mistake while on a case nearly getting spencer killed, morgan has some choice words and spencer is ready to beat his ass over it

warnings: morgan being a little shit simply for the plot, mention of spencer almost dying, spencer being a protective king pussy boss

wc: 1.4k

How could you be so stupid?

Those were the words that had been on replay, a constant loop, for the past two days. It's because, somewhere inside, you knew Morgan was justified in what he said. How could you have been so stupid to split up with Spencer at the unsubs house?

He was taken by the unsub, a trigger pull away from death. But the team got there, and he was okay. He was alive and breathing and healthy, and you tried to focus on these facts when your chest tightened with that familiar agonizing twinge.

It was a relief not to face anyone afterward. As soon as you got home from the case, you holed yourself up in your apartment, obsessively dissecting the events until the recollections twisted your insides with a nauseating sense of dread. You had run through every potential scenario in your head, agonizing over the grim outcomes if you hadn't arrived when you did.

You would've never forgiven yourself.

So here you were, hiding out in Penelope's lair, doing your paperwork. You convinced yourself it wasn't hiding; rationalizing it as a need for more peace and quiet than the bullpen could offer. You knew it was bullshit, and so did Garcia.

"Just so you know, I'm fully prepared to kick his ass on your behalf," she announced, swiveling to face her monitors, the ribbons in her hair trailing her movement like colorful comets. "It was totally uncalled for. Everyone agrees."

"Everyone?"

"Well, okay, not Spencer, but that's only because he doesn't know," Garcia continued, her pen tapping a silent code against her cheek, followed by the clack of keys. "If he did, he'd definitely kick his ass."

"I don't know about that," you said, repeatedly stretching and releasing the hair tie around your wrist, each snap a self-inflicted reprimand.

"He called you stupid." She was shaking her head so vigorously her blonde locks tumbled into her eyes as she paused her typing to look at you. "And you, my gorgeous friend, are anything but."

"Generally speaking, sure, but this time, Pen, I really screwed up."

"Who called you stupid?"

Spencer's voice was incredibly hard to ignore, distinct—you would recognize it anywhere.

Garcia and you stopped dead, your eyes growing impossibly large as she gave you a look as if to say, Morgan is screwed.

"No one."

"Morgan."

You and Garcia blurt your words out at the same time, your voices clashing in the air. You whipped your head to Garcia, the betrayal written on your face as she only shrugged her shoulders.

"Why would he say that to you?"

Spencer's steps towards you were measured, but each one amplified your unease, you hands wringing together as you looked away. He could read you like a book, and most times that was a good thing, but today it was definitely not.

"It's really not a big deal, Spencer," you insisted, pursing you lips as you dragged your gaze up and over him. "But how about you? How are you holding up?"

You were on your feet in an instant, a little too quickly, wobbling on your heel just a tab before Spencer grabbed your elbow. You ignore his touch, or at least you try, and press the back of your hand to his forehead.

He wasn't warm, but you sure were.

"You know, I don't think you should be back at work so soon."

You weren't lying when you said that. It seemed to soon. Was he looking a little pale? You couldn't tell. He should be home.

His hand was suddenly around your wrist, soft but firm, easing you away from his forehead, his eyes narrowing at you.

"Hey, I'm alright." He was trying to be assuring, offering a faint smile that only served to make your stomach do backflips. "Really, I am."

His fingers frapped around your wrist, not quite letting go, as he directed his attention to Garcia. "Why did he say that to her?"

"I'm right here," you grumbled under your breath, but Spencer was paying you no mind.

"I'm aware," Spencer answered without looking at you as his hands found their way to your shoulders, thumbs tracing absent patterns on your skin. "But you are not providing any answers."

Garcia cut in, folding her arms over her chest as her eyes pinned you with an unspoken accusation. "He said it because you two split up on the case."

Her words seemed to thicken the air itself, snatching away the previous ease as Spencer's expression darkened. It was a new and unsettling sight--the tightness in his jaw, the faint crease in his brows, and the steely sharpness in his eyes.

Without uttering a single syllable, he spun on his heel and strode out the door. You didn't hesitate to chase after him, an inkling of his destination propelling you forward. The look on his face had planted a seed of fear about what he was going to do.

Sure enough, there he was, just as you anticipated, in the middle of the bull pit. His gaze locked on Morgan with a laser-like precision, like a hawk eyeing its prey.

"How could you say that to her?" His voice was jagged, hands thumping against Morgan's shoulders in a way that you frantically looked around for Hotch. "What? Were you trying to make her feel bad? What's the matter with you?"

"Easy, Spencer, what are you getting at?" Morgan's hands went up defensively. But when Spencer's eyes flickered to you, the puzzle pieces clicked into place. "Oh..."

Morgan's eyes found yours. "Come here, sugar."

Morgan was your friend, a good one at that, and you really didn't blame him for what he said. He had good intentions. But here in the bullpen being open and exposed you found yourself stalling, glancing towards Spencer.

Only after he gave you a nod did you take that tentative step forward, clammy palms running down your pants as you stood in front of Morgan.

"Look, I was out of line. Calling you stupid was stupid of me," he started, hand grabbing on your upper arm as he spoke. "We've all been in tough spots and I was an asshole for adding to the pressure instead of helping you through it."

And you knew he meant it, even if it took Spencer nearly coming to blows to bring it about. 

"It's okay, I know you didn't mean it, Morgan. And it was my fault really, for not staying with Spencer."

"First off, we made that call together, so if anyone's at fault, it's both of us," Spencer reminded, his hand settling on your lower back as he moved closer to you. His gaze then drilled into Morgan. "And second, Morgan, she's too nice. I say you owe her a month's work of paperwork at least."

You opened your mouth to object, but Morgan cut you off, his hand on your shoulder stopping me mid-breath. "After what I said? I'll do you one better--I'll handle your paperwork for two months."

He was gone before you could even thank him, making his way towards the break room, leaving you and Spencer.

"Hey, look at me." You did, raising your eyes to meet his. "What happened on that last case—it's not on you. We made a call, and we did it with the best intentions. It's not your fault."

He regarded you so... softly. It stirred a flutter of goosebumps across your skin, your hands rubbing up and down your arms as if to smooth away the sensation.

"Seeing you in that situation, so close to..." You paused, drawing in a ragged breath as the sickening memories came flooding back. "I can't help but feel responsible. It's a tough guilt to shake."

He rearranged a lock of hair behind your ear. 

"It's a cognitive distortion to assume sole responsibility, but that's just your brain tricking you." Taking your hand he pressed it over his heart. "A human heart beats over two billion times in a lifetime. And every beat right now is telling you, I'm all good."

You could feel his heartbeat—thump, thump—against your palm. You caught yourself wanting to know what it would be like to fall asleep to the sound.

You were so close to each other now, the distance, or lack thereof, slightly overwhelming. "You're all good?"

He gave your hand a squeeze. "I'm all good."

You remained motionless, hand pressed to his chest, wondering if your heart could ever beat in sync with his.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath

[cbrownjc]

Hi there! I'm sorry if this feels super obtuse and it has been ages since I read the novels, BUT...

After this recent episode I was a little confused about what Armand had done to infuriate Louis and Daniel so much. If he simply wiped their memories so neither Louis or Daniel didn't remember everything that went down, that doesn't seem so awful, especially since what went down WAS awful. So I think I must have missed something substantial because I was distracted by my cat, or something. 😅

BTW I love your blog and all the fantastic insight you provide! I used to be ride or die with IWTV but haven't paid much attention to it in the last 15-20 years, so I'm finding it immensely helpful for getting back into the swing of things!

Hello!

So why Louis and Daniel are so angry at Armand isn't because Armand simply erased their memories. (And, to be clear, their memories weren't actually erased, but just clouded over and blocked). Armand rewrote them. Armand basically reprogrammed Daniel and Louis' minds after the OG interview, Louis' mind especially.

That was what that final scene was about, what it was demonstrating. The answer that Louis gave at the beginning of the episode, as to why Armand saved Daniel's life in 1973 was a word-for-word repeat of what Armand's own answer was at the end of the episode to that same question.

The answer wasn't something Louis truly felt wrt his own real feelings. It was something Armand put into Louis' mind to think and say about the incident after the events of it from Louis attacking Daniel on were blocked and clouded over.

As @virginiaisforvampires notes here, the way Louis speaks of Lestat in the OG interview vs the new interview is very telling wrt that reprogramming done. Yes, in the OG interview, Louis was talking down Lestat in spiteful ways, but it was all surface-level stuff. Just saying that the way Lestat spoke revealed how stupid he was and that he wasn't at all skilled when trying to play music.

That is all a far cry from the things Louis has said and spoken about in the Dubai interview about Lestat. Lestat's crimes, as they are being talked about in this second interview, are not just surface-level transgressions said to simply make Lestat angry and draw him out, as Louis was originally trying to do back in 1973. The crimes of Lestat laid out in the Dubai interview, in contrast, are very much there to justify the murder of Lestat.

Because without that justification?

Well, we see that starting when it comes to the false memory -- yes, false -- of Louis thinking Claudia couldn't burn Lestat. Louis thinking that -- that Claudia couldn't burn Lestat -- would take away Louis' guilt at having stopped Claudia from trying to burn Lestat if it was something they both couldn't do. Especially if the killing of Lestat had been justified.

But if there was no justification for killing Lestat? Then the reason Louis stopped Claudia from burning Lestat was because Louis knew that killing Lestat had been wrong. Louis knew it the night Claudia did it, which would be the real reason why he stopped her from burning him.

And because Lestat didn't burn, because he was still alive, that led to the events of the trial in Paris and what happened to Claudia there. And what is looking to be the show's version of the Merrick reveal about Claudia's true feelings wrt Louis. Which, in the book Merrick, the revelation of that is what sent Louis to try to destroy himself via sunlight exposure, as we saw him try to do back in 1973 -- which the cocaine and other drugs that were in Daniel's blood had Louis unable to either ignore anymore -- or lifted a veil that had been placed over his mind about it until then.

Do you see the cascade effect in all of this?

And look, maybe some will see what Armand has done here as not that awful, but Armand didn't do it just to try and protect Louis. That was very damn clear when he didn't relay Lestat's full "I love you" message to Louis after Louis' 1973 attempt to end his life. It's because part of Armand very much still wants to live with the illusion that he and Louis can be happy together, even after what happened in Paris and Armand's role in those events.

I've said before that Armand's flaw when it comes to love is that he will go way, way, WAY overboard to obtain or keep love. And this is all just, once again, him repeating that pattern. Armand rewrote Louis' memories of both Lestat and Claudia's actions all to try and assuage the true guilt and pain Louis has over everything that happened and Louis' own role (mostly due to his own inactions) in it all that has led to such suicidal guilt about it, but also because IMO Armand wishes to hide -- as much as he can -- his own role in everything that happened as well . . . and all of this so as to keep Louis by his side so that Louis doesn't leave him -- be it for Lestat, or even in death.

Armand isn't being altruistic in his reprogramming of Louis' mind and memories. Because really being so would have been not only telling Louis what Lestat was trying to relay to Louis back in 1973 but then probably having to let Louis go as well . . . let Louis go back to and be with Lestat, the person who Louis was trying to draw the attention of with that whole OG interview in the first place.

Honestly, I see the whole situation as kind of expanding on this line of Louis' in the book, as he and Armand are breaking up:

And when I came to Paris I thought you were powerful and beautiful and without regret, and I wanted that desperately. But you were a destroyer just as I was a destroyer, more ruthless and cunning even than I. You showed me the only thing that I could really hope to become, what depth of evil, what degree of coldness I would have to attain to end my pain. And I accepted that. And so that passion, that love you saw in me, was extinguished. And you see now simply a mirror of yourself.

With the rewriting/reprogramming of Louis' memories, this is very much what Armand has created with Louis in many ways -- a mirror of himself. The pieces of himself that Armand blocked and changed had Louis "knowing who he was" . . . but who that person is, isn't the real Louis. Just a reflection of the person who made those changes.

So yeah, that is where the anger is coming from. Moreso Louis than Daniel when it comes to the rewriting aspect of it all I'd say; Daniel is likely just angry that his mind was messed with in the first place. One thing you can say about Daniel is that he's brutally honest, even when it comes to his own foibles. He's the type who'd rather know all the horrible shit that happened to him, than not.

Anyway, I'm glad you like my blog and comments about the show, and I hope this answer explains some of it for you. 🙂

[bengiyo]

Love Sea: Tongrak is Kind of an Asshole, and I Like It

I watched this yesterday with some friends, so my Stray Thoughts were a little scattered because we were talking about BL conventions, Thailand's tourism goals, and who MAME was. Now, with some time to think, I wanna talk about my favorite thing: Tongrak is a rich asshole. I love this for Fort and Peat.

He Looks Down on People Poorer Than Him

We open with Tongrak dressed inappropriately for his trip and the weather, whining on his phone, just to show his disdain for even being sent on this vacation.

Then when he first arrives on the island, he looks around at people enjoying themselves and a sign they dedicated to their home reading "Heaven on Earth" and immediately called it hell. This is these people's home! He is a guest! I deal with this show in my home city all the time. Be respectful!

Next, the first thing he does is start shouting at Mahasamut about the motorcycle and his luggage. He doesn't slow down to ask if Mut can speak the central dialect, or if there are alternative modes of transport. Instead he just screams at the man and then starts talking shit in front of him like he can't understand what is being said. I give Americans shit for doing this in other countries, and I give northerners shit for acting like they can't understand our accents down here along the Gulf.

He was rude about that bar, too. He went there for attention, and got pissed at the idea that people there might be into Mut more.tjsn him. He then stormed off without paying for his drink!

This man is so stubborn and petty that he literally just starts sending him thousands of baht instead of just asking him to speak in the same dialect as him. I'm totally with Mut on not speaking to him nicely until Tongrak did it first. What's so wild about this scene is that it's text that Rak is mad that his condescension is having no effect.

Mahasamut is Responding to Tongrak's Energy

Mut is just responding to what Rak is giving him, and is doing everyone a favor by bearing the brunt of this spoiled man's fits. He was even kind enough to let this man know right away that he could understand him.

The big thing for me is he can see when Rak is trying to get one over on him and turns that around. Rak tried to play like he had the upper hand sexually and felt played. He tried to play about being full and got played.

We see that the people of the island admire Tongrak, and he's involved in their lives. He's clearly playing a role here that Rak's friends hired him to play to help their cranky friend relax and finish his book.

I also like that Mut has made it clearly he is down to fuck with Rak whether he pays for it or not, because Rak is trying to hook up with someone for inspiration for his novel. I like that he removed the wealth component there, because it's clear Rak is used to throwing money at all of his problems.

Finally, Mut stopped immediately when he realized he'd actually scared and upset Rak. He doesn't actually want to hurt this man.

Why This Rocks for Peat and Fort

These two found a good rhythm in Love in the Air. They're good at this form of asymmetric bickering and flirtation. However, this time Peat gets to play the older, richer character. It's fun for me, because I think there's going to be a bunch of transference from LITA that covers how much of a jerk Rak is being to others.

I am glad that these two aren't reprising the same characters, and are being given a reasonable way to take advantage of their existing dynamic and tools. It's interesting that these guys can tap into similar beats without it feeling like the same characters.

On the Colorism

I see it, and it's there. However, I don't think MAME is an outlier in using it in her shows. There's a really rough sequence in Fish Upon The Sky (with Neo no less) that comes to mind immediately. I also just think that the skin tone stuff seems built in to a lot of the works we encounter (especially considering that some of these guys are literally brand ambassadors for skin lightening products or clinics). I think there's something to say about the way Mut is teasing Rak with a country bumpkin bit that could almost be read as race play, and there's maybe something to unpack there with far more nuance than I think we normally bring to BL.

But hey, while I have you here, now's a good time to say that if we want to tackle how race affects the queer experience, For The Boys is right there!

[featheredclover]

For the historical AU- courtesy: @arshifiesta , @hand-picked-star , @phuljari

I present ' Carmine Veils' a SS.

Can also be read on Wattpad.

The smoke rose up with a menacing roar. The remains of houses were still burning with a light, visible miles away. Tapping his gun against his knee, Babu gathered his accomplices around him. They had burnt a whole village today. Some had managed to escape despite their vigilance.

Chapter One

Next chapter

“ Shabash! Not even a single stable was spared! And don’t be disheartened that a few escaped. They will make sure that buffoon Shashidhar realises our worth”

A meek young boy of seventeen spoke out “ Babu bhai, what do we really want from the ki- Shashidhar?”

“ Money in return of peace to his kingdom “

In that moment, the mask slipped and revealed the greed in his eyes.

The night had lost its warmth. Babu had his sights on the throne and everything it kept dear.

- - - - - -

Chandragupta hurried towards the king’s chambers. He clutched the letter tighter in his hand.

It couldn’t be. The king couldn’t have already given orders. He hoped desperately for some delay.

Shashidhar sat hunched over pieces of paper.

Without glancing up, he called out “ Bolo, Chandragupta. Have you decided to stop speaking to me as well?”

Chandragupta felt his lips twitch, but managed to reply.

“ Let go of those papers Maharaj, I have got the best one for you”

Shashi raised an eyebrow “ You seem awfully sure”

Without a word, he offered Shashi the letter.

A few minutes passed by, where only the swish of the windchimes was heard in the room.

“ Go ahead “, Shashi said, his face betrayed by only a glimpse of hope in his eyes.

Chandragupta smiled back and took his leave.

——————

She lightly stroked the kitten as it purred. Her other hand held a book, shielding her from the glare of the sun.

Payal’s scream reached her ears moments before her anklets.

“ Khushi! Didn’t you hear me? The new guard is here! And he is so dreamy! Lavanya met him and she had the audacity to flirt with him. Can you imagine? Haw! Why are you still reading that book? Your dashing bodyguard is here!”

Khushi shut her eyes and attempted to control her fury. She was a sensible girl. Payal was not to be blamed, neither was Lavanya. She grudgingly admitted to herself, neither was this guard her father had hired.

But her father? He had to be blamed.

It had been two weeks since she had been told her wings were going to be clipped. She could no longer go with her friends to the market, climb trees to eat fruits or steal some time away by swimming in the river.This new guard will keep her safe from the threat of the rioters.

Why couldn’t her father understand that she was more than capable of handling herself? He had trained her himself since she was 8 and from the past few years he even brought the famed warrior Manorama to teach her the art of war. But the attacks had put everyone on the edge and she will have to suffer for it now. She wished for one of the rioters to show up in front of her now, a slice of her sword would do the job before he had time to blink.

“ Greetings rajkumari “

Khushi felt her heart thump. She sat up inelegantly as she realised she had failed to realise when Payal had made herself scarce and this tall man wrapped in white robes had entered her chamber.

She froze.

The white turban sat regally on his head. A white scarf covered his face, leaving only his eyes for her to gauge him from. She had never seen this perfect shade of brown on anyone, she wondered absently. She had heard poems describe such eyes and suddenly it was imperative that she see him.

She stood on shaky legs, walking towards him.

Her hand rose to free the white scarf from his face.

She stopped breathing.

The facial structure was remarkable. His nose was textbook patrician. Something stopped her from detailing his features further.

Embarrassed now that she had not even addressed his greeting. Rather she had attacked the scarf on his face, she took a hasty step back.

“ Arnav Singh at your service, rajkumari”

He spoke again. And then he smiled.

Khushi forgot her own name.

Chapter Two

[s1m0nth3swaggy]

Painland - Edwin Paine x Charles Rowland

Small spin on the confession scene with a little more angst but happy end :)

Pushed out rlly fast because I've been sleep deprived for days straight! Not proofread lol

WARNINGS/ CONTENT INFO; Angst with sweet ending, fav silly boys, nothing much really

Edwin doesn’t mind. He really doesn’t. Why should he, Charles is only his best friend, after all. He isn’t jealous. He isn’t.

He shouldn’t be, at least. He shouldn't be feeling like Crystal is stealing Charles from him, like his best friend will leave him. He isn't allowed to feel that. Because Charles is only his friend, and Crystal is a girl. That's how the world works.

Edwin doesn’t like this feeling. He hates it, actually. He hates having to realise that he isn’t normal. He hates knowing he will never be. He doesn’t want to think that his father would’ve disowned him for his feelings, not that he’d ever told him about it, until recently, he didn’t even know it was possible to feel like this - much less that it was accepted by now. He was thankful Niko had shown him, definitely, but at the same time he couldn’t help but curse himself for believing that meant he could actually manage to have the courage to speak to Charles about it. He didn’t, swore he never would, Edwin was too scared of the possibility that Charles would react to it the way Edwins father always did - ignore it, call it unnatural, and pretend it didn’t exist. Nothing would ever bring Edwin to talk about his feelings - he’s never done it before. He won’t start now. Not even when Niko told him that attraction between boys is normal. Not even when he realises that whenever he looks at Charles, he gets that little giddy feeling in his stomach (he isn’t even sure if it’s an actual feeling or rather a psychological thing - he’d have to look into it). Not even when Charles rescues him from hell, definitely not then – the words tumble out before he can stop them.

“I love you.”

He shouldn’t have said them. He knew he shouldn’t have. Simply by the way Charles turned around for a glance, before dragging him up the few remaining steps - Edwins legs hurt from all the running, Hell worked differently when it came to feeling things, but he also wondered if it were only his legs that hurt. He could only keep it together because the way Charles squeezed his hand as he pulled him along made him have the slightest sliver of hope about the feelings the other might have. Deep down, he knew it was stupid. It's really stupid.

It only gets worse when Charles doesn’t talk to him afterwards - Edwin blames it on the fact that the whole ordeal was so hectic, with Niko immediately hugging them, the Night Nurse still being there, the whole situation of them maybe having to go to the afterlife after all… It was a lot, Edwin has to admit. It doesn’t help that afterwards, Charles joins Crystal in her room, and Edwin is convinced he just messed up the only friendship he’s ever had. He just lost his best friend because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

It was the first time Edwin didn't stay in Nikos' room for the night, like he usually would. He'd spend the night reading, sometimes her books, sometimes his own, succumbing to the weird relaxation that the presence of a sleeping person somehow brought to him. In a way, it almost made him sleepy himself, though it was impossible for him to sleep.

Tonight, he stepped up onto the building's roof. If he wasn't dead, he'd feel the coldness of the night - he somehow felt it in his heart nonetheless. He sat down on the edge, sighing as he viewed the street below. He wondered if they'd go back to London, open their actual agency room back up… Hypothetical futures that he probably ruined for himself. Edwin might have to continue the Dead Boy Agency by himself, he figured. He shook his head, not wanting to think about it. He didn't like the thought of having to be without Charles. If it was possible, he'd probably die again because of it. After all these years, a life - or death - without the other seemed impossible. Especially after Edwin realised he didn't just have friendly feelings for Charles. He ran a hand through his hair with an annoyed huff. He came up here to ignore what happened, not sit around and be depressed about it.

“It's probably cold, isn't it?” A voice behind Edwin spoke, and he immediately recognised the soft tone of mischief and teasing. His heart dropped as he turned to look at Charles. “... I suppose it would be.” He answered, slightly awkward. Would Charles mention anything? Would they talk about it? He didn't even care if he got rejected, honestly, he just wanted an answer. He turned back to the street, uncaring about how messy his hair now was. Edwin doesn't think he can look at Charles right now. He does want to, but something inside him would break if he did. So instead, he gazed at the street below, a weird comfort about the darkness only lit by Jenny's half broken light. Charles came to stand beside him, and Edwin silently cursed him for it. Even more so when the other lifted a hand to fix Edwin's hair slightly. Something so mundane, yet it made his non-existent heart jump. Charles noticed, he always did, even though until now he hadn't thought anything of it. “Look, Edwin, we've been friends for 30 years. I didn't think you'd ever… feel like that.” The curly haired sighed deeply, and Edwin knew what would come next, he'd read it in the books Niko had given him. This was a rejection. One that would hurt, at that. When he had read these scenes, they didn't feel like this, didn't make his stomach churn and his heart drop - metaphorically. In those books, it was so much easier. Some sadness, then acceptance, easily gotten over with. For Edwin, this was his life. If he didn't have Charles as a friend, he might as well step back into hell. It didn't matter anymore where he was, because he'd be without Charles.

There's a beat of silence between them, Charles tries to find the words. “It's okay. We can just stay friends. I don't mind.” Edwin speaks, and he's surprised that his voice doesn't betray him. “I do, though.” Charles grumbles, and for the first time, he doesn't struggle with finding the words to describe his feelings. “Edwin, you're the most amazing person I've ever met. Now, I haven't met a lot of people, most were either assholes or clients, but I would be lying if I didn't say that I'm glad to be here with you. I can't tell if I.. just want to be your friend or not but I don't know… I'm willing to try, I guess?” He rambled, his words coming out slightly too fast as one of his hands comes up to rest on Edwin's shoulder. The curly haired sighed softly. “I haven't exactly had the.. Best place to figure out feelings and stuff so… be a little patient?” He chuckles awkwardly, immediately trying to bring humour back into the situation - Edwin was more than happy about that. He didn't like the whole feely stuff as well. However, he still couldn't help the relieved sigh that fell from his lips. “..okay. Trying things out. That's… yes, that I can do.” He answers, and he smiles back the second he realises Charles’ face twists into his usual grin. “Guess we're two idiots with feelings, huh?” He chuckles, idly playing with the pins on his coat. “As much as I wish I could say that isn't true, I guess we are.” Edwin hums back, sighing softly as he feels Charles lean against him slightly.

“Well, at least we're each other's idiots with feelings now.”

[osterby]

What is your Hogwarts house?

Uhhhh, I'm a Virgo/Leo cusp, MBTI always comes out introvert with the other three letters randomized, my favourite colours are black, brown, dark red, and dark blue, I had a gender nuetral version of a "horse girl" phase, I enjoy pickled herring, and I thought Harry Potter had finally fallen out of fashion and people would stop telling me to read the darn thing. Does that answer your question?

[deepwoundsandfadedscars]

.

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[suzannahnatters]

all RIGHT:

Why You're Writing Medieval (and Medieval-Coded) Women Wrong: A RANT

(Or, For the Love of God, People, Stop Pretending Victorian Style Gender Roles Applied to All of History)

This is a problem I see alllll over the place - I'll be reading a medieval-coded book and the women will be told they aren't allowed to fight or learn or work, that they are only supposed to get married, keep house and have babies, &c &c.

If I point this out ppl will be like "yes but there was misogyny back then! women were treated terribly!" and OK. Stop right there.

By & large, what we as a culture think of as misogyny & patriarchy is the expression prevalent in Victorian times - not medieval. (And NO, this is not me blaming Victorians for their theme park version of "medieval history". This is me blaming 21st century people for being ignorant & refusing to do their homework).

Yes, there was misogyny in medieval times, but 1) in many ways it was actually markedly less severe than Victorian misogyny, tyvm - and 2) it was of a quite different type. (Disclaimer: I am speaking specifically of Frankish, Western European medieval women rather than those in other parts of the world. This applies to a lesser extent in Byzantium and I am still learning about women in the medieval Islamic world.)

So, here are the 2 vital things to remember about women when writing medieval or medieval-coded societies

FIRST. Where in Victorian times the primary axes of prejudice were gender and race - so that a male labourer had more rights than a female of the higher classes, and a middle class white man would be treated with more respect than an African or Indian dignitary - In medieval times, the primary axis of prejudice was, overwhelmingly, class. Thus, Frankish crusader knights arguably felt more solidarity with their Muslim opponents of knightly status, than they did their own peasants. Faith and age were also medieval axes of prejudice - children and young people were exploited ruthlessly, sent into war or marriage at 15 (boys) or 12 (girls). Gender was less important.

What this meant was that a medieval woman could expect - indeed demand - to be treated more or less the same way the men of her class were. Where no ancient legal obstacle existed, such as Salic law, a king's daughter could and did expect to rule, even after marriage.

Women of the knightly class could & did arm & fight - something that required a MASSIVE outlay of money, which was obviously at their discretion & disposal. See: Sichelgaita, Isabel de Conches, the unnamed women fighting in armour as knights during the Third Crusade, as recorded by Muslim chroniclers.

Tolkien's Eowyn is a great example of this medieval attitude to class trumping race: complaining that she's being told not to fight, she stresses her class: "I am of the house of Eorl & not a serving woman". She claims her rights, not as a woman, but as a member of the warrior class and the ruling family. Similarly in Renaissance Venice a doge protested the practice which saw 80% of noble women locked into convents for life: if these had been men they would have been "born to command & govern the world". Their class ought to have exempted them from discrimination on the basis of sex.

So, tip #1 for writing medieval women: remember that their class always outweighed their gender. They might be subordinate to the men within their own class, but not to those below.

SECOND. Whereas Victorians saw women's highest calling as marriage & children - the "angel in the house" ennobling & improving their men on a spiritual but rarely practical level - Medievals by contrast prized virginity/celibacy above marriage, seeing it as a way for women to transcend their sex. Often as nuns, saints, mystics; sometimes as warriors, queens, & ladies; always as businesswomen & merchants, women could & did forge their own paths in life

When Elizabeth I claimed to have "the heart & stomach of a king" & adopted the persona of the virgin queen, this was the norm she appealed to. Women could do things; they just had to prove they were Not Like Other Girls. By Elizabeth's time things were already changing: it was the Reformation that switched the ideal to marriage, & the Enlightenment that divorced femininity from reason, aggression & public life.

For more on this topic, read Katherine Hager's article "Endowed With Manly Courage: Medieval Perceptions of Women in Combat" on women who transcended gender to occupy a liminal space as warrior/virgin/saint.

So, tip #2: remember that for medieval women, wife and mother wasn't the ideal, virgin saint was the ideal. By proving yourself "not like other girls" you could gain significant autonomy & freedom.

Finally a bonus tip: if writing about medieval women, be sure to read writing on women's issues from the time so as to understand the terms in which these women spoke about & defended their ambitions. Start with Christine de Pisan.

I learned all this doing the reading for WATCHERS OF OUTREMER, my series of historical fantasy novels set in the medieval crusader states, which were dominated by strong medieval women! Book 5, THE HOUSE OF MOURNING (forthcoming 2023) will focus, to a greater extent than any other novel I've ever yet read or written, on the experience of women during the crusades - as warriors, captives, and political leaders. I can't wait to share it with you all!

[erwinsvow]

random but i can see rafe giving shy!reader like a large amount of “pocket money” and she’ll always wait until she’s fully broke and runs out (if she doesn’t have a job), she’d be so nervous to ask him for more.

at first you're so shy around rafe you can't even find it in you to question what the money is for—you just assume it's some sort of test. you keep the cash in your pretty pink wallet until it's so full it won't fit in your purse.

rafe has no reason to be giving you money—you've got your own, your parents', that is. and suddenly you start to question everything, start overthinking like normal. does rafe think you're reliant on him for money? if so, is he mad at you because of it?

one day when he comes over to your place for once, claiming he wanted to get away from his noisy house to the serenity and peace of your bedroom, you dig out the wallet from under your bed and drop it next to him. he's laying on the mattress, sprawled out playing chess with a robot. the wallet lands with a thud.

like always, you let him speak first.

"what the hell's this?" he asks, lifting the thoroughly packed leather.

"i'm giving it back," you state, trying to remain a little firm. it's so hard around him though.

"jesus, kid," he comments, flicking through the cash. "did y'spend any of it? huh?"

"n-no," you stammer, suddenly nervous. "i kept it safe for you, like you wanted." you look at him with big, confused eyes and he looks back at you in disbelief.

"s'not for that, baby. it's for spending. for nice things, y'know, all the crap you like."

"crap?" you question back.

"stuff. books and records and ice cream when m'not around. y'know, pocket money."

"but i already have that," you reply. "did you think i didn't? did i ask for it?" suddenly confused, you wonder how you gave rafe this implication. "sorry, rafe."

"why are you apologizin'?" you perch yourself next to him.

"i guess because i didn't spend it.."

"well, stop. just use it for somethin' nice. for yourself, not me." he clarifies because he knows you—knows you'll go find him a new polo or golf glove if he didn't tell you otherwise.

and the way he says it—you comply, pressing a kiss to his cheek, mind floating to all the ways you could use it—a new beach read, a new bikini for boat days, ice cream nights with wheezie and a big tip for the nice girls who worked at the parlor.

you were used to spending your dad's money, now you were spending daddy's money. it wasn't that big of a change after all.

and it's really not.. until you run out.

you never had to ask your parents twice for anything, but rafe gives you cash and you don't question why, but now that you're used to getting things from rafe's money, you don't want to revert back. in all honestly, it felt nice when someone asked you where you got something from and you could tell them your favorite words.

"my boyfriend got it for me!"

credit cards are unlimited, but cash runs out. and asking rafe for more seems like the absolute worst thing in the world, especially when you were so hesitant to even start using it.

approaching the door to rafe's bedroom, you pace infront of it for a moment, thinking of the right words to say. ward walks by and smiles at you, though he's confused at what you're doing. panicked, you run in, standing in front of your boyfriend while he's looking at something on his desk. rafe glances up when you walk in.

"hey, kid."

"hi." it even comes out nervous. rafe shuts his laptop at the sound of your voice.

"what is it?" he asks, and you blink back in response.

"what's.. what?"

"y'think i can't tell when you're off? c'mon, start talkin'." you give in immediately.

"well... it's just, um, this cash. your cash. i ran out. and, um, this book i wanted releases out tomorrow. and i told wheezie i'd take her to the movies because that book we both like is a movie now, and it comes out this weekend, and y'know she's a child so-"

"yeah. m'aware."

"sorry," you reply, feeling your cheeks heat up. "sorry." he gets up from the desk, and you wonder if you really messed up by demanding so much.

"what'd i tell ya? stop apologizin'." when he gets close, rafe does what he always does, lifting your chin up so you're looking at him, his fingers resting on your jaw. "what'd you think? i'm gonna say no to you?"

"maybe. i'm being kinda greedy."

"nah, kid. be as greedy as you want." when you smile, he laughs at you, at how nervous you still get, how worried you are that you're doing something wrong. "besides, i got some ideas on how y'can make it up to me."

sounds like a win-win for you.

[neil-gaiman]

Will you read this? Eh, perhaps. You're a busy man with quite a lot of asks. But there is a very human part of me that wants to say my piece because I owe you quite a bit of thanks. And I shall express this thanks with a story of my first words.

When I was 2, approaching 3, years old my parents were worried I'd never speak. The child therapist we went to - quite an old bat if you ask me, considering the stories I've heard, but what do I know I was 2 - had told them to ever give up hope of hearing my voice.

On the way back from the appointment, my Godmother - the driver of the car used to take me to the doctor - stopped by a small bookshop and took me inside so my mother could weep appropriately out of line of her child. We went inside and she told me to look around for a book for myself. She knew I loved books - wasn't sure if I was reading them or not, but knew that I at least liked looking at them and wanted to keep me occupied.

I apparently stumbled around for a while, grabbed one small book off the shelf and plopped my little arse right down and started flipping through. About fifteen minutes go by - and my mother has thoroughly cried herself dry - and my Godmother comes up to me and scoops me up with the book.

I - being the obstinate two year old that I am - refuse to let go of said book and it's only about 50 American cents so she simply buys me the book.

For the next few weeks I only carry around the book. I do not touch any of my other toys or stuffed animals, only the very small picture book. I sleep with it under my pillow, carry it around happily, flip through it every so often.

And then one unassuming day, at the dinner table - with a set of non-prepared parents - boldly yelled out my first words ever: Blueberry Girl.

Now, I'm sure you've figured out at this point of the story that the book my little self was holding was none other than your boo Blueberry Girl - and this is where my thanks comes. I have spent the last sixteen or so years since first acquiring it repeating the words to myself, asking Ladies of Light and Ladies of Darkness and Ladies of Never-You-Mind to watch over me if they could spare moments of their time. I repeat them whenever I have a difficult test, and even in the few moments right before my graduation speech of high school.

So thank you for the words that touched my little soul and stuck with me till now.

You are so very, very welcome.

[strang3lov3]

Spencer's

Summary: You and Joel visit Spencer's. You snag some toys, then steal some batteries from Joel for those toys. He's not pleased.

Warnings: DRAMATIC!Joel, implied age gap, Joel is jealous of certain inanimate objects, Joel is winnie-the-poohing it, overstimulation, masturbation (m/f), general filth, unprotected piv, creampie, brat-taming (if you squint), spanking, use of sex toys, joel is pro-participation trophy, joel reads Savage Love, soft!dom joel, dom!joel, mall rats!joel

A/N: thank you thank you thank you to @papipascalispunk for editing and proofreading this story. I am so thankful for her help and lucky to know her 🩷

W/C: 4.3k

It’s patrol again. You’re in that old mall with Joel. And he’s quiet today, like he has been the past couple weeks. No shitty comments or dumb jokes. Hardly any of his usual grumbling, just quiet and stoic. He’s wearing a green flannel, sleeves rolled up. Beard recently trimmed, his hair a little less unkempt than usual. And he seems nervous, antsy, bouncing his foot as you both sit on a bench, taking a short break. 

You could help him relax. 

“Victoria’s Secret is back that way. Kinda wanna try on some more lingerie,” you suggest, hoping he’ll take the bait you’re offering.  

“Pass,” Joel says, “You know I don’t like that place.”

“You could watch. We had fun last time we did that, didn’t we?” you reach for Joel’s arm and try to pull him from his seat and toward that dreaded underwear store. He doesn’t budge. 

“Joel?” you ask, confused by his reluctance.

“I don’t know about all that, hon. Thinkin’ we should go to that bookstore, find some more books for the library back home,” Joel points toward a nearby Barnes & Noble, “Yeah?”

You shrug, “Sure, after.”

“After what?”

“This,” you lean toward Joel and grip onto the collar of his flannel, pushing it back to expose more of his neck. Pressing your lips to his throat, nipping and kissing the skin as your hand trails down his torso, fumbling with his belt. 

You’re not wasting time. 

“Oh,” Joel breathes shakily, “That.”

“Yeah,” you say with a satisfied smirk, “That.”

You nudge his head to the side with your nose and try to push him back into the bench, pushing his flannel further over his clavicle to expose more of his neck, but he stays firm. He grabs the hand fumbling with his belt and pulls it away. “I don’t think so,” he says. You pull away immediately and Joel looks at you with sympathy, concern. 

“What’s wrong? What’d I do?” you ask, feeling insecure, self-conscious all of the sudden.

“You didn’t do anything,” Joel says. 

It’s been a while since you’ve been with him, he knows you’re probably antsy for more because he is too. But he’s feeling apprehensive. Each time you’ve fucked, it’s been quick and dirty. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. He’s not sure what exactly your history with other men is, but Joel fancies himself a gentleman and believes in the campsite rule. Believes that you deserve better than what he’s been giving you. Starting with, say, a bed. You’re exhausting, troublesome, and you’re like a tick the way you get under Joel’s skin, but you still deserve decency. 

Decency won’t stop him from fucking the living daylights out of you, though. He’ll just be a little more gentlemanly about it all, moving forward.  

Joel clears his throat, “You’re young, you know. And I–”.

“And you what?” your tone is snarky.

“Jesus Christ, motormouth,” Joel snaps, “Would you let me finish speaking before you start arguin’?”

You shrug but remain silent, motioning for him to continue. 

“I just think we should do things by the book from now on. Dinner, talking, that kinda stuff. You know, I just want things to be sort of…nice for you. I dunno the word exactly, just...nice, I guess.” You watch Joel blush as he struggles to spell it out.

“Do you mean romantic? Like a date?" Excitedly, you gasp, "Are you taking me to the Rainforest Cafe?”

Joel stares at you blankly before speaking. Rainforest Cafe is a no-go, you're guessing. “No. Not romantic. And not like a date. A date is for two people that actually like each other.” 

And just like that, the attitude is back. He just exudes charisma. 

You pout, “You don’t like me?”

“No, I don’t. I barely tolerate you. But, you know. I still wanna - want you - I want us to…I don’t know,” Joel groans. It’s entertaining, watching him try to spit it out. 

Awh. He barely tolerates you.

You smile, “I barely tolerate you, too.” But Joel won’t look at you, keeps his eyes focused ahead. Still nervous, he fidgets with his hands and continues bouncing his leg.

“Was thinkin’ tomorrow,” Joel mutters quietly, “Y’could come over. Could be…nice. Maybe. Probably not, ‘cause you’ll be there.”

“Yeah. Sounds nice. Maybe. Probably not. ‘Cause you’ll be there too,” you mock his low tone. 

Joel glares at you, “Seven. My place. Be on time.”

—

After your break, you explore the mall further. There’s a store called Spencer’s, which looks neat. Joel agrees, unaware of exactly the kind of store Spencer’s is, so you both go inside. There’s funny t-shirts, cool knick-knacks and tchotchkes. Joel is looking at various lava lamps as you make your way toward the back, and he follows you. 

Holy shit.

There’s all sorts of things on this back wall. Handcuffs, lingerie, lubricants, vibrators, dildos, costumes.

“Wow,” you say, “Looks like your kind of party, Joel.”

Joel rolls his eyes, annoyed, “Shut up.”

“This looks nice. Not romantic at all,” as you poke Joel with a vibrator. 

He flinches, “Get that shit offa’ me, freakazoid.”

“We could use it tomorrow. On our not-date,” you smirk.

“Don’t need it,” he huffs. 

“Wow. You seem confident about that,” you say. Joel shrugs, a look on his face you can’t quite read. “Whatever. Maybe I’ll take it for myself. You know, for alone time.”

His face falls immediately. Joel, prudish as he may seem, truly does not have an issue with masturbation. It’s natural, it’s human. But something about you doing it makes it a little… jealousy-inducing. The thought of you, one of those toys between your thighs, you making all sorts of pretty noises that he can’t hear; it’s just too much for him. “Yeah, knock yourself out,” he says sarcastically, “You’ll have a lot of fun with a battery-less vibrator.”

“You still have some, don’t you?”

Joel scoffs, “I do. But they’re mine, and I sure as shit ain’t sharin’ with you, ‘specially not for those things.” 

“Sharing is caring, you know.”

Joel rolls his eyes, “S’a bold assumption you’re making there. That I care about you.” 

Rude. 

You poke him with the vibrator again. “Quit that,” he grumbles, “Now stay here a minute. Gonna take a leak, I’ll be right back.” He drops his bag and heads for a private area nearby. You stare at his bag on the floor and wonder if he’s fucking with you, because he never goes anywhere without his bag. Better to be safe than sorry is what he always says. And you know he keeps batteries in that bag. 

Ah, fuck it. He won’t know. 

There’s a sign that says “buy two toys, get one free”, and you’re not one to pass up a good deal, even if that deal means nothing now being twenty-or-so years into a fungus apocalypse. So you stuff three toys in your bag, along with one of the lava lamps Joel was checking out. You rifle through Joel’s belongings and pull out a handful of batteries, then stuff those into your bag too. Six should do it, hopefully. After twenty years, a lot of them are duds. You’ll try the toys out tonight, then sneakily put the batteries back in Joel’s pack tomorrow night on your not-date. And Joel will be none the wiser. 

—-

Joel is livid. 

Someone called off patrol today, so he was volunteered by Tommy to fill in. He’d still be back in time for your not-date, and although the change in his plans was not ideal, it’s not what set him off today. No, that was all you. 

His radio had died toward the end of his shift. No big deal, he thought. He reached into his pack and fumbled through his belongings to find his spare batteries. Only, they weren’t in his bag. So he searched a little longer before he realized he actually knew exactly where those precious batteries would be. No doubt inside you at the moment. 

Was he in danger without a working radio? Could’ve been, but no, not really. Will he never find batteries again? Yes, he will. Joel’s crafty and good at scouting supplies like that, even when supplies are sparse. What did pissed him off, however, is the fact he knows you consciously went behind his back to steal his batteries for those toys. You’ve probably spent all last night and all day today fucking yourself silly, couldn’t have waited just one more day. He feels a little insulted, topping off the jealousy already simmering.

Joel comes back to Jackson around five in the evening. He should be showering, cooking, setting the table, and tidying his house. But instead, he makes a beeline for your place. 

He doesn’t bother knocking on your door. He knows you keep it unlocked, something he constantly advises you against. He closes your door, and hears your long and pretty moans coming from upstairs. He’s not sure what’s coming over him or why he cares so much. He prides himself on being level-headed, rational. But all of that’s out the door when he hears your moans, moans that he believes should have been all for him and him alone. 

At least he gets to catch you in the act. 

Joel tiptoes up your steps, fighting his urge to stomp angrily. Your bedroom door is wide open, lights dim. There’s a lava lamp bubbling next to you on your nightstand. You’re laid out on the bed, legs spread, one toy between your thighs and two others lay next to you. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you moan Joel’s name. It’s a nice touch. Maybe he’ll go easy on you. 

Probably not. 

He stands in your doorway and clears his throat, “Enjoyin’ yourself?” 

“Joel!” you yelp and your eyes fly open. Joel moves to stand next to your bed, his gaze dark and intense, his mouth forming an unamused frown. 

“You think you’re slick, don’t you?”

Your words are caught in your throat. Ohh, you are so busted.

“How many’d you steal from me?”

The vibrating dildo you were fucking yourself with is still humming loudly, and in the otherwise silence of your room, it’s deafening. You fumble to try to turn it off. 

“Oh, no. Don’t let me interrupt your date. That’d be awful rude of me.” 

Too shocked to make any moves, you freeze, dildo still humming away inside you. And as anxious as you feel, you’re equally excited. You’ve picked up on Joel’s jealous side, and you’d be lying if you said some part of you wasn’t trying to rile him up. 

“I just, mmmm,” you moan, “Just missed you a lot. Couldn’t wait for tonight.”

“S’that right?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“You missed me so much you decided to deliberately go through my bag and steal my batteries?”, he spits, sarcasm lacing his words, “Yeah hon, sure looks like you missed me, fuckin’ yourself on that plastic cock.”

“Silicone,” you correct, though now definitely isn’t the time to bother with semantics. Joel notices you rocking your hips ever so slightly, chasing your orgasm as subtly as you can. You’re right, right fucking there. He can see it on you, you’ve got that look about you. Your breathing is shaky and your body trembles. 

“You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve,” Joel hovers over you, one hand next to you on the bed and his other reaching for your toy. 

“Please,” you beg. 

“Think you’ve made yourself come enough, impatient goddamn brat,” he mumbles as he pulls the toy away from your center, tossing it aside. You groan and whine in frustration. Just three more seconds, you would have been there. 

Fucking Joel.

“I’m at a loss on what to do here, sweetheart,” Joel says as he kicks off his shoes before sitting on your bed, his back against the headboard, “Can’t fuckin’ take those batteries back on account of they’ve all been inside ya.”

“Joel, I did not fuck myself with your batteries. That’s…not how that works.”

“Shut up, wiseass.”

“Joel, I was gonna give them back, I swear. I just wanted–”.

Joel cuts you off, not caring to hear the rest of your explanation, “All half used and out of juice? How generous. Lucky me,” he muses, annoyed.

“Joel–”.

“Don’t think you fuckin’ get it,” he snaps, “Y’got no fuckin’ self control. You’re lyin’ to me, stealin’ from me, sneakin’ around. And it breaks my heart, ‘cause I was startin’ to look forward to our date.”

“Date?” you ask in confusion. Joel’s cheeks turn rosy as he refuses to acknowledge his slip up. The not-date turned actual-date. “Joel.”

“Need to get through to you somehow,” he ignores you, still too upset,  “Got a couple different ideas in mind. I guess we’ll have to see which one sticks.”

He pulls you up and over his lap, your head laying on the crumpled sheets. He presses a hand firmly on your neck, holding you in place as he gently runs his other hand over the swell of your ass. 

You know what’s coming. And it’s been a long time coming, at that. You've noticed the way Joel looks at you, his angry stare and how he chews on his inner cheek. How his hands ball into fists, like he’s fighting the urge to strangle you. Wrap his hands around your neck and just fucking squeeze. 

Crack. 

The sting of his hand striking your ass is as delicious as it is painful. He smacks you again, harder. And it’s just as incredible. That sharp bite, how it sends arousal gushing from your core. You can’t help the moan that slips from your mouth. 

Joel pulls you off his lap abruptly, onto your knees between his thighs, and faces you towards him. He wears a puzzled expression, like somehow he wasn’t aware that spanking is more of a reward than it is a punishment, at least to you. “Ya weren’t s’posed to enjoy that so much.”

“Joel–”.

“Yeah, we’re not doing that. Fuckin’ weirdo,” he interrupts, shaking his head a little. Joel thinks for a moment, staring at you as he contemplates his next move. His eyes flicker to yours, and you can practically watch the gears in his head begin to turn. “I think,” he lifts his hips to pull both his jeans and boxers down his thighs, and his cock springs free. It’s the first time you’ve really gotten to see it. Long and thick, prominent vein, blushed tip a bit wider than his shaft. Curly dark hair surrounding the base. It’s artwork. “Think we’ll try Plan B,” he says firmly as he reaches forward, wrapping one hand around himself to stroke his member, thumb swiping across the tip. 

It should be your hand. And he’s well aware of this, but he’s giving you a taste of your own medicine before moving on to the main event. You extend your arm in front of you, but Joel doesn’t allow it.  “Ah ah,” he tuts, slapping your hand away, “You can go play with one of your rubber cocks. Since you love ‘em so goddamn much.” His words are biting, acrimonious.

He’s throwing you off. Joel, who says he couldn’t give a “fiddler’s flying fuck” about you, is upset that your pleasure wasn’t brought on by his hands today. Joel, who barely tolerates you. “Joel, please, I want you. I’m sorry,” you cry, “I need you, Joel, been missing you so much. Please, Joel. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“Layin’ it on pretty fuckin’ thick, sweetheart.” 

You cry in frustration, “Joel, I’m sor-”.

“Cut that shit out. You ain’t sorry. You’re sorry you got caught, ‘cause now you’re in trouble,” Joel keeps stroking himself, taunting you, “This is on you.”

Joel thinks back to when he was a teenager, when his father caught him with a lit cigarette hanging from his lips, how his father’s punishment was to make him smoke the whole pack, and how before he was even halfway through the pack the nicotine had made him sick to his stomach. 

Same idea.

Still stroking himself, Joel grabs one of the vibrators sitting next to you. It’s a wand type, light pink in color. He holds down a button and it buzzes to life, “C’mere. Between my legs. Do it now,” his voice is stern, authoritarian. You assume the position. Joel parts your legs wider, pulling your knees back before guiding your hands to hold the backs of your knees, keeping you open nice and wide for him. “You stay like this. Don’t move.” His flannel feels soft and warm on your skin. You feel his hot breath on your neck, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back. Wordlessly, he brings the vibrator to your core. He drags it over your lips, through your folds, coating it with your arousal. 

Joel circles your clit with the toy now, and your hips to follow the sensation. The way you’re sighing, moaning, grinding with his movements, Joel can tell you haven’t picked up what he’s putting down yet. 

Poor thing. Fucked herself stupid on all these plastic cocks. 

“Yeah, Joel, like that. Fuck, feels good,” you breathe, “Right there. S’good.”

Joel’s silence is disconcerting. There’s no dirty talk, no snide remarks like usual. But you’re too worked up to worry about why. Within seconds, you’re coming. Sweet, breathy moans and whines falling from your lips as you ride out your high. 

Joel presses the button on the vibrator, taking it up a notch. The buzz is louder, the feeling intense, nearing on too much. Finally, he speaks, “I really do hope your thievery was worth it, sweetheart,” he whispers in a low, raspy voice behind the shell of your ear, “Now tell me, exactly how many batteries am I short?” 

It’s getting uncomfortable now. You wrap your fingers around Joel’s wrist and try to pull him away from your core but he doesn't budge, “What? Joel, let up.”

“What’d I say? Hands on your thighs. Y’don’t move,” he barks. You do as you’re told, and he hums in satisfaction, “Now answer my question.” 

“I don’t know, six? I–oh, fuck. I was gonna give them back. Please, Joel, I can’t– ”

Joel scoffs, “Six? You stole six batteries. What, were you stashing them for winter? Squirrelier than I thought.”

“No, just…you know how sometimes, they-they-they, and they’re old, so–Joel, m’serious–”, you whine, almost pleading for mercy from the overstimulation he’s causing.

Joel pulls the vibrating wand from your core, and you exhale in relief, resting your head back on his shoulder. He’s showing you mercy. Or so it seems. 

But the sound of the vibrator clicking on is back in an instant. Slightly different pitch this time. You pull your head off his shoulder and watch in shock as he guides it to your pussy, notching the longer end inside. He doesn’t bother going slow as he parts your insides with the toy. You worked yourself up plenty.

“Whatever. Damage is done. So here’s the deal,” Joel starts, “You’re gonna come for me six times, one for each of the six batteries you stole from me. You’re gonna keep count, too. Got one down, right?” but you’re a mess of whimpers and whines, which is the wrong answer, “Or are we doin’ more?”

“One, one, we’re at one. Oh, god. Joel, please. Please.”

“Y’don’t even know what you’re beggin’ for,” Joel mumbles. His hand crosses over both his and your bodies to hold your jaw firmly, keeping your sight set on the picture between your thighs. The toy sliding in and out of you, wet and sticky with your juices. The shorter end sliding over your clit. He’s hitting your g-spot with precision, each thrust sending you closer to the edge. Within seconds, you’re seeing stars as Joel fucks you through it. 

“Count,” he demands. “T-two,” you moan, but Joel doesn’t relent. A third washes over you just as quickly as the previous one. “Three, s’too much Joel, please,” you beg.

“Quit whinin’,” he mocks, “I’m goin’ easy on ya, considering the fuckin’ stunt you pulled. You wanna make it more?”

“No, please. M’so tired.”

“Quit your whinin’. S’a punishment. Ain’t supposed to feel good,” he growls, “You’re gonna give me my batteries’ worth out of these little fuck toys. Make you come until you can’t fuckin’ walk.” You’re still holding your knees back as Joel fucks you through your third orgasm. The hand that was holding your jaw is now traveling lower, groping your breasts and teasing your nipples. Hot, salty tears of overstimulation and exhaustion roll down your cheeks. You’re shaking, trembling, and he knows it’s all too much. He wonders how many times you came before he showed up. So Joel decides to show a bit of mercy, feeling that pulling three orgasms from you is sufficient enough. For now.

He pulls the toy from your pussy and tosses it on your nightstand. He gives you a moment to breathe, to let your legs down. He rubs deep and firm circles into your sore, aching hips before lifting your limp, pliant body up to straddle his lap and face him. His eyes are soft and sincere, his quiet way of telling you he’s still here. And when this is all done, he’s gonna take care of you.

He’s still gonna fuck the living daylights out of you, though.

“You’re doin’ so good,” he tells you, “Almost there.” You nod and Joel lifts your hips, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance and pulling your aching pussy down onto his cock with a soft groan, slower than he did with the toy. He knows you’re sore. 

He fucks you deep and hard, just how you like. You fall forward, resting your forehead on the thick line of muscle between his neck and shoulder. Whimpering his name into his hot skin, moaning somewhere between agony and ecstasy, “I-Joel, I'm serious. It’s t-too much, please.”

“I know it is,” he whispers as he bounces you on his cock, chasing his own release, hanging by a thread with the way you’re squeezing around him. You think Joel is feeling sympathetic maybe, as he decides to offer a compromise. “I’ll make–oh, fuck,” he gasps, “Make ya a deal.” You mumble incoherently against him, and Joel sits you upright, his cock stiff and filling deep inside you. 

“Right here. Look at me,” he breathes out, gently gripping your jaw to tilt your face up. You look at him with burning, tear stained eyes. He can see the exhaustion on your face. “Breathe, sweetheart,” he coos, “How many left you owe me?”

“Three,” you answer, breathlessly.

“Mhm,” he mumbles, rolling his hips slowly, “I know you’re tired, honey. Probably pretty sore. S’that right?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“Christ, poor thing. What a mess you got yourself into. I know you didn’t mean to, hmm?” You nod in agreement quietly as he fucks you a little more gently, offering you a slight break. “Just curious, wanted to have some fun, huh? I know how ya are,” his tone is soft and kind, but still teasing. 

You smile with a slight shrug. 

“Tell me you’re sorry for stealing, and you only have to give me one more tonight. Just gotta apologize, real nice f’me.”

“Mmm,” is all you can muster. You’re so spent, muddled and incoherent noises seem to be the only sounds your voice can make. 

“Words, c’mon now, baby. ‘I’m sorry, Joel’,” he instructs you.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you repeat, “For taking your batteries.”

“There ya go, sweetheart. That's it. Good girl,” he praises.

You sigh and collapse on his chest once more as Joel snakes a hand between your bodies. He finds your clit, his fingers warm and soft. With your face against his body, you bite down on his shoulder as his fingers begin rubbing slow, precise circles over your aching clit. No toy in the world could compare to the way his touch makes you feel. 

Just one more. 

He starts to fuck you deeper again, his free hand sliding up your up to grip around the base of your neck as he thrusts up into you, bouncing you on his cock. You’re liquid in his hands as he continues to steadily work your clit. That all too familiar pooling heat in your core is building back up for the last time, this one far more intense than the previous three orgasms he’s pulled from you. It crashes over you in waves, white-hot pleasure coursing through your veins. Joel feels your body tremble and shake, your fluttering walls choking his cock, pulling his own orgasm from him as he spills inside of you, filling you up with loads of his hot seed. 

God, how you missed that. Missed him.

It could have been minutes, maybe hours that you stayed seated on his cock like that, just breathing with Joel. He runs his fingers up and down your spine, strokes your hair.

Finally, you sit up and extricate your body from his to remove the batteries from the toys. “Here,” you hand them to him.

Joel wears kind of an affected scowl on his face as he takes them from you. “Batteries feel light.”

“Sorry,” you say.

Joel smiles softly, his eyes glimmering as he hands them back to you, “Keep ‘em. Got a stash at home anyhow. Now get dressed.” 

“Why?”

“Jesus, sweetheart. Y’got the memory of a goldfish. Cause we’re havin’ dinner, that’s why.” 

You bite your lip and smile mischievously, “Because it’s a date.”

“No. S’not a date, wiseass. You’re a lady and you deserve…hey-”, Joel stops himself, noticing the bubbling lava lamp next to you, green with blue bubbles, like the one he was eyeing back in Spencer’s, “S’a cool lava lamp. I always wanted one.”

“I know,” you smile shyly, “Picked it out for you. Just wanted to make sure it worked first.”

Please please please reblog, comment, send me asks! Talk to me! Your interaction means the world!

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[honeipie]

TWO MINUTES

katsuki x fem!reader

synopsis: your child is learning how to brush their teeth for the first time, but need a little extra motivation

“torami, baby, at least hold it for me-“

“no!” your little girl went running out of the bathroom making you throw your head back with a groan.

“it’s not gonna hurt you! it’s just a toothbrush okay?” you walked out of the bathroom to chase your little girl. torami was about three and a half, so you were trying to teach her how to be a bit more independent. she wasn’t up for it though. at every turn she’s given you some sort of problem.

you stopped in the living room where katsuki sat reading his book. there was a lump of blankets on the couch next to him moving more than regular blankets should. the annoyance you once felt dispersed from your body as you walked closer. carefully you plucked the book out of his hand and placed it upside down on the table so he wouldn’t lose his spot.

“i was reading that” but even through his feigned irritation he placed his hands securely on your waist.

“hm were you? didn’t notice” you placed your head down on his shoulder eyes going over to the restless lump of blankets “i dunno what to do with her kats. no matter what i do she just doesn’t wanna brush her teeth”

he let out a scoff moving his one hand up and down your side “you gotta be firm that’s why. can’t let her wiggle away”

speaking of wiggling away, torami had enough time hiding under the blanket and decided to crawl out slowly, but she wasn’t fast enough. katsuki grabbed her one ankle and pulled her right back to the both of you. giggles erupted from her tiny body as he flung her over his shoulder “watch and learn”

the two of you got up from your spot on the couch and headed back into the bathroom. katsuki placed your daughter on the counter her face still flushed from laughter.

“listen brat, you have to brush your teeth-“

“no!”

"hey! you can't just tell me no! i'm your fa-"

"no!"

katsuki looked back at you in absolute disbelief and all you could do was give him a smirk "c'mon kats, put your foot down. be firm."

katsuki didn't give you any type of look. instead he took the classier route, flipping you off. you didn't have time to be shocked, your daughter did that for you.

"daddy that's not nice! say sorry!"

his eyes widened as he sputtered to get his next words out "what? but she- that's not-" with an annoyed huff he placed two fingers on the bridge of his nose "fine.. i'm very sorry y/n-"

"it's not y/n. it's mommy!"

"i'mverysorrymommy. are we happy now?" he asked looking between both of you.

"yeah, that's fine" you shrugged deciding that was enough teasing for today. with a relived sigh, katsuki went to reach under the sink. the three of you had went toothbrush shopping hoping that it would make her more excited, you were both wrong.

"alright pick one of these you wanna use" his eyes scanned the selection of toothbrushes just as hers did. he scoffed seeing the one at the end. he lifted it up giving you a confused look "how the hell did this get in there?" in his hands was a deku themed toothbrush.

"i mean we were just letting her pick up any toothbrush she wanted. maybe that got into the mix"

wanting to be in the conversation, she leaned her tiny body over to see which one you were talking about. her eyes got big at the sight of the green colored toothbrush in his hand.

"i want that one! the green one!" leaning over just a bit more she was successful grabbing the toothbrush from his hands "uncle deku!" she squealed showing it off to you "mommy it's uncle deku!"

"that's right amibaby! i'm glad you found something you like, and so is daddy" you placed both hands on his shoulders feeling them tense up at the toothbrush "let it go blondie. just be happy that she's excited to brush her teeth" He nodded straightening up his back.

"nice toothbrush you got there kid. now we put some toothpaste on" katsuki grabbed the kiddie toothpaste from its cup on the sink. he placed a pea sized amount on the tiny toothbrush before placing the cap back on “and now brush”

torami looked down at the toothbrush and then at him. her chubby little hands switching the toothbrush from one hand to the other until she reached it out to them “you do too”

if there was one thing you could both agree on, it was that your daughter had this power over both of you. the way she tilted her head so slightly, and made her eyes look just a bit bigger. it always seemed to work.

“let’s do it” you said scooping her up from the counter. the three of you made your way into yours and katsuki’s shared bathroom. gently, you placed her down on this counter and got your own toothbrush ready. katsuki reached for his, which looked like it had been used for a good while even if he had just replaced it.

“now remember we have to brush for how many minutes?” you asked setting up your phone. one of the ideas you saw that worked with other kids was playing a fun little video with music and a countdown.

“two mommy!” torami said an excited look on her face.

“alright! three.. two.. one.. go!” at the same time you all started to brush your teeth as the music started. which was quickly drowned out by the sound of aggressive brushing from your husband. turning your head, you watched as he aggressively scrubbed his teeth, making sure to reach every single one.

torami looked at him rather concerned and shook her head “daddy not like dat” the toothbrush still being in her mouth affected her words slightly. torami went to stand up right in front of him. reaching both of her hands out she placed them over his. he stopped watching as she moved his hands gently back and forth “be nice..” she mumbled.

katsuki almost melted on the damn spot. he focused on her face, the face that he helped make. the one that was a perfect mix of both you and him. she had the same messy, blonde hair pulled back into two ponytails. but the eyes were all your doing. every time he looked into them he thought of you. the day you told him that you wanted kids, the day you told him you were pregnant. damn, he remembers them like it was yesterday.

he snapped out of it when you bumped your hip into his. all you did was give him a look, and he knew exactly what it meant.

‘you good?’

He sent back a nod your way along with moving his arm to rest lazily around your waist.

‘i’m good’

this became a special moment in the day for each one of you, though katsuki would never admit it. you could tell by his actions. how he would pick torami up, and turn her upside down mumbling something about ‘time to brush’. or how he would usually take night shifts, but now somehow ‘his schedule didn’t benefit him anymore’.

you never brought it up though. katsuki loved in his own way, and you loved it.

.

.

a/n: a little extra to brighten your day :)

torami sat in her college dorm room on her newly decorated bed that she'd be sleeping in for the next year. it was a hard concept to grasp, being this far from home even though she begged you both to go here. there was an unfamiliar twisting in her stomach that she couldn't quite place.

her eyes glanced to the open window that had been decorated with white curtains. the sun had already set, even though she felt like she had been sitting here for only a couple of minutes. you and katsuki had left early that afternoon. he insisted that you all woke up early to get a head start before the rest of those "extras". the one trait that he most definitely didn't pass onto your daughter was being an early bird. so even though she complained through half of the process, she was happy to know that she wouldn't have to stress setting up with a sea of people wandering through the halls.

deciding that it was time to stop wallowing on her butt, torami got to her feet to get herself ready for bed.

right before she could go into her bathroom, she heard soft vibrations from her phone. leaning over, she noticed your face flash across the screen. torami answered it as she headed into the bathroom.

“hi mom. i’m alright if that’s what you called for”

you shuffled on the other end of the line before showing your full face “hi baby! don’t rush me off the phone so quick! i just wanted to see you settling in and say goodnight. you’re not out partying are you? is that a boy?”

“better not fuckin’ be!” katsuki yelled across the room and quickly made his way over into the camera “where the hell is he?”

“mom was messing with you”

you had bent over in laughter, but the other two bakugou’s didn’t think it was that funny “oh boo! y’all are no fun!” you and katsuki bickered all the way into your shared bathroom, but all was forgiven when he sent a slap to your ass and whispered something in your ear.

torami groaned loudly on the other line “guysss! if you’re going do be nasty at least don’t do it while i’m on the phone please”

you set the phone down on the counter, propped up against the wall “no! we’re sorry, tora” your eyes glanced over to the cup on the side, yours and katsuki’s toothbrushes sitting next to each other. with a smile you grabbed it putting it in the camera “wanna brush our teeth?”

torami gave you a look through the phone, but quickly caught herself “i’m a little old for that don’t you think?”

you shrugged grabbing katsuki’s brush and handing it to him “not to us, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to”

torami thought for a moment before smiling “let me get my toothbrush”

[magicalmanhattanproject]

man im just like. thinking about egg signs and how they've evolved over the course of the qsmp and how the qsmp has evolved over the course of the qsmp and just feeling so much love and affection for every part of the project. i dont have any grand overarching point with this just. like. here's a history of egg comms bc of the kind of person that i am

so wayyyy back ten months ago now at the start of the short and sweet egg event that was planned to last maybe a month at most, the eggs had their own custom, decorated signs!

[ID: Leo with a pink sign with an egg on the bottom corner that reads "hello" in all caps. Her nametag reads Leonardo. End ID]

They were extremely simple, single word signs. There was hello, hola, story, feed, sleep, and maybe one or two more and each was its own separate sign. The eggs could only communicate the most basic needs in words and everything else was through minecraft body language or just hoping their parents guessed right.

But obviously, there was a lot more that parents wanted to hear from their children. I'm not sure who was actually first, but the earliest departure from this system I know about is BadBoyHalo giving Dapper a simple oak sign so he could name his pet slime. (Screenshot from @/lxrd-ren)

[ID: Dapper wearing a diver's helmet standing next to a tiny slime in a boat with an oak sign reading "Bouncy (slmecicle but better)" End ID]

Parents quickly realized how much more convenient this was and pretty soon every single egg had stacks of signs to communicate with.

The next innovation came from Vegetta, who was the resident mod knower at the time. He knew about colored canvas signs and gave Leo signs in her favorite color purple because he loved her and gave her everything she wanted.

[ID: Leo's bed in her room under some Fooligetta fanart with a purple sign reading "<3" End ID]

Colored signs obviously had a lot of advantages. Being able to tell at a glance which egg placed which sign was a huge step forward in eggs being able to have long, complicated conversations as well as leaving obvious marks of their personality everywhere they went. It took a little while for them to be standard for every egg though. Bobby never stopped using oak signs even after Richas and Pomme both showed up with colored signs.

[ID: Two signs reading from right to left a red Pomme sign reading "we already started working on a guillotine factory" and a dark grey Dapper sign reading "thats the most french u have said so far pomme" End ID]

And this was the system for a while! And it worked pretty well for most people! The biggest struggle most people had was egg signs not being translated, but streamers adjusted to that by reading signs out loud so the translators would pick up on them. This also lead to adorable and fascinating dynamics like Richas swearing in signs he wrote for Bad and then warning Bad not to read them out. There was also the genuinely phenomenal development of Leolingo where Leo writes only in Spanish to Foolish because it's easier for her to write and he takes his time to puzzle his way through it and learn in a way that's super cool to watch someone else do onscreen.

Then Tubbo joined the server. And Tubbo himself had no problems at all with the system, but he is dyslexic and he casually mentioned offhand that it was getting kind of annoying to read signs after a ten hour long stream and the admin team Fucking Cooked.

Within 24 hours, they had TTS working on the signs. Within 48 hours, it was working on books too. I can't remember how long it took to get translation working, but it was definitely under a week.

And this opened up a whole new world of possibilities for the entire QSMP. The admin team has been on top of capitalizing on it for story purposes, but also just allowing the egg admins to speak in their native languages to everyone whenever they want has been so enriching for everyone involved. Leolingo is awesome but Foolish has been learning Spanish insanely fast and his process is a lot slower and more frustrating than most people can do in front of an audience of thousands of people without feeling discouraged. That's also one language. We've had everything from Foolish being able to check his work a bit more faster to Phil insisting on his eggs taking a day to speak to him in their native languages to Ramón writing a book for Fit in Cantonese, a language we haven't even seen on the server in any other context!

And all of it is fully understood and fully communicated! Sometimes the translators mess up but no one expects them to be perfect and people ask for clarification if the translator says something that doesn't sound right. It's not only a massive step forward in communication technology, but it's a great demonstration of how to use it and when you can and can't rely on it.

And finally, the most recent innovation! One of BBH's viewers sent him a dono saying they had trouble reading certain signs because they were too low-contrast. Bad, Richas, and Pomme just. Took it upon themselves to fix the problem right there and then. Based on One (1) bringing up their own personal struggle, those three came up with new signs that innovate tremendously on the originals.

[ID: Two separate images of the before and after. The first is the egg signs in their original colors with the corresponding egg's name written on them to demonstrate the font color and the second is in the new, higher contrast colors with the same text. The new signs also have custom decorations for each egg. The second picture also has two signs from Pomme in all caps that read "Send all the love to Richas he spent a whole night making this he's the best <3" End ID]

There are three main innovations visible in the above pictures

1: Obviously, the colors are higher contrast. The signs with white text have darker colors and the signs with black text have lighter colors.

2: The colors themselves are lower saturation. Richas said this made it easier for him personally to read them so he corrected that way, but that's open to change if it causes difficulties for more people than it helps

3: The decorations are for accessibility reasons! People with various different forms of colorblindness will find different sets of colors easier or harder to distinguish, but any of them can look at the decorations and use them to identify whose sign is whose instead.

But! Those innovations are not why I made this post! It's these ones!

[ID: The backs of the new signs when placed on the ground. Most visible are Chayanne's with vines and a hardcore heart, Sunny's with shining sunglasses, and Pomme's with an apple and the Eiffel Tower. End ID]

Richas added distinguishing marks to the backs of the signs too! This is something that Bad brought up specifically as something he wanted because it was hard for him to tell who was talking when he was using TTS from behind signs and couldn't see the colors at all.

We went from custom egg signs (a hotbar or so of words and nothing else to communicate with) through a long journey of expanding communication and expanding who we're bringing along on the communication and how easily they can join in and we've circled all the way back around to custom egg signs (they can say anything they want in any language they want and anyone will know it's them saying it from any angle)

and i guess i have enough feelings abotu that to write All This about it

[earthtooz]

you're the only one that can tame diluc's anger. reader is called 'lady' but other than that no pronouns are mentioned, fluff, diluc being a softie in this, 1.2k wc.

your husband is notorious for being the stoic, level-headed character that he is. unperturbed by all things so long as mondstadt was safe and at peace, and when the city had someone as diligent as diluc protecting it, there was virtually nothing that ever made him falter. as much as you love and adore his rationality and straightforwardness, there was nothing that you hated more than his unwillingness to compromise in an argument.

his bullheadedness caused you to storm out of the manor, trek through the expansive fields of the winery in order to reach mondstadt. there, you calmed yourself down with a quick bite from good hunter before heading to the library because a quick rant to lisa would generally soothe the anger you felt. 

however, your original plans of returning to the winery changed when a book that was recently returned caught your eye. noticing your fleeting glance, the electro-user recommends it, detailing its popularity and captivating storyline.

when lisa feels so passionate about something, how could you not be curious? she rarely gets a sentence out without a yawn nowadays so to hear her speak animatedly about a book is bound to get your attention.

without a second thought, you postpone your plans of returning home and find a comfortable couch to sit on before reading.

you must have spent longer than planned, and a favonius soldier barging through the library doors indicates as such, whose expression so panicked you would have thought there was a hillichurl invasion. he takes a quick scan of the room and relief floods his posture when his eyes land on you.

“lady y/n, you must come with me this instant,” the soldier demands after a quick salute.

“what is the issue?” you ask, undeniably curious.

“master diluc is searching for you and i fear that he is very angry. not even barbara can calm him, some of flora’s flowers have been singed, and he might burn down monstadt next, please come with me before it’s too late!”

you know that the soldier is merely exaggerating because as long as you were in mondstadt, diluc would never dare harm the city. moreover, he would never dare lay a finger on the city he loves, but his anger is nothing to take lightly, and you understand the knight’s fear.

although, you really don’t want to meet your husband.

“fine, i suppose i can classify this matter as urgent,” you sigh. “lisa, could you please let me borrow this book? i’ll return it in two weeks.”

“not a problem dear. better run along now before your husband supposedly burns down the city,” the librarian waves her hand, beckoning you to go, so you do.

the knight leads you to the whereabouts of angel’s share and before you could even turn the corner, you hear a mix of kaeya and diluc’s voices.

“i don’t know where y/n is, which is why i have my knights running around to find-” exclaims the calvary captain, beginning to sound perplexed at his brother’s uncharacteristic display of irrationality and franticness. 

observing the scene, you see your husband right in kaeya’s face and suddenly you understand why the knight who brought you here was so frightened. the air had risen significantly in temperature and if you were a moment too late, he actually might have drawn out his claymore.

his red eyes glance behind the navy-haired to see you and in the blink of an eye, the red-haired pushes past the knights before storming down the street, right towards you. 

“where have you been?” diluc asks, stopping only two feet before you. the deep frown on his face is evident of his displeasure, but the concern swimming in his eyes tell you that you don’t need to be scared.

“i was reading in the library,” you gesture to the book you were holding. “enjoying a peaceful afternoon until i got word that you were creating a ruckus.”

the winery owner visibly relaxes, tension flooding from his shoulders whilst a gloved hand runs through his hair, causing his bangs to fall messily in front of his eyes. “let’s talk about this at home,” he states, tone returning to normal as he takes your book from your hand, his vacant hand finding yours. diluc’s grip is tight and unrelenting, leaving no room for you to slip away as he turns to apologise to the knights of favonius.

then, the two of you leave through the main gates. 

“are you still upset?” your husband asks and you squeeze his hand.

“a little,” you murmur before a small laugh escapes your lips, “but i wish you would have seen how terrified that knight was when he found me. it entertained me quite a bit, guess a thank you is in order for that.”

diluc doesn’t say anything but the guilt dripping from him is practically tangible, pooling around your feet and reminding you of the unpleasant argument you had earlier. as the sun begins to dip below the horizon and the sky turns a calming shade of orange, you realise just how long you spent away from him. no wonder why he was so frantic about finding you. 

“the next time you storm out of the winery, can you at least let me know where you are going?”

you laugh at his proposition, unsure of how to respond but he stops. you’re forced to stop too when his unwavering grip makes you turn and look in the ruby eyes that set ablaze in the gold of the setting sun. diluc’s beauty is truly undeniable, and it’s moment like these that make you feel a little jealous that he was graced with such a gift. 

“i’m serious, y/n, you worried me to end when you didn’t return after three hours. i thought something might have happened to you.” his gaze falls downward with his soft confession. “your safety is the most important thing to me, even when things between us are rocky, because- well, you know…”

your heart tightens and the step you take closer to him is instinctual, letting go of his hand to hold his face instead. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to worry you.”

“no, you have nothing to apologise for, it was my fault for being so unbearable in the first place,” the red-haired shakes his head, his hands finding a home on your waist. “i’m sorry too.”

“i forgive you,” you hover a kiss over his nose, causing it to scrunch at the sensation. when you lean back, the softness in his eyes and smile is unmatched and you’re grateful that you’re the only one with the luxury of seeing him as such. the only person he’s let into his kingdom of concrete walls is you, gifting you a more vulnerable side of him that the rest of the world has not seen in years. 

“i love you,” you murmur and diluc hums, tapping your waist three times in response. “oh but diluc, you must tell me how worried you were over me, i think i deserve to know.” 

the red-haired rolls his eyes before dragging you down the hilly path back home. you are perhaps the only one in mondstadt who could perplex him to no end, but that is just another testament of the love he holds for you. 

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[papercorgiworld]

No girls, no fights, no smokes

The things Mattheo Riddle does for love

This is like Theo’s ‘Tutoring first years’ a request based on the scenarios from Pansy’s Interrogation.

If you want a little more context, you can read Pansy’s interrogation, but it’s not a must.

No warnings except maybe foul language, but mostly just fluff and a bit of angst.

Picture source: https://pin.it/4r1PsBsvn

Not proofread. Feedback is as always very welcome. Happy readings, my dears!

“Slughorn is too lenient with him, because Riddle suddenly decided to show up to class, he gets an assignment to improve his grade. Ridiculous.” Hermoine says and Ron raises his eyebrows. “Slytherin privileges.” Harry joins his friends in their judging. “Not just that, Slughorn is making the same mistake he made when he trusted his father and told him about the horcruxes instead of sending him straight to Azkaban.” The three of them are startled to hear Mattheo’s voice from behind them. “You want to say that to my face, Potter!” Harry curses himself, he really wasn’t looking for a fight.

The trio turns around to face Mattheo, but they all keep their mouths shut and surprisingly so does Mattheo. The rage in his eyes is undeniable, but he simply walks by giving the trio only a quick death glare. When the trio is sure Mattheo is out of earsight Ron is the first to speak up. “Odd.” Hermoine shakes her head. “Not as much as you would think.” Harry and Ron give their friend a questioning look. “I don’t know why but he’s been on his best behavior for the past weeks. When was the last time he punched or hexed someone?” No one can immediately come up with an answer, proving Hermoine’s point.

***

“Matt, that’s my jacket.” Theo drily states thinking Mattheo mistakenly took his, while Mattheo searches every pocket of Theo’s jacket. “I know, I’m stealing your cigarettes.” Mattheo mutters with clear frustration in his voice. “You lose your own?” Theo asks as he takes his cigarettes off the nightstand to offer one to Mattheo. “No, I quit a month ago, remember.” Theo thinks for a moment, eyebrows knit together. “I honestly thought that was a joke.” Mattheo just flings Theodore an agitated glare. “Look, Matt, you can’t quit smoking, fighting and fucking at the same time.” Mattheo doesn’t say a word and lights the cigarette, just as Enzo enters the room. “No smoking inside!” “Say that one more time and you’ll be the first I punch in two months.” Enzo stops in his tracks at Mattheo’s ice cold voice and looks over at Theo with raised eyebrows.

“So, if I’m correct, no sex or blowjobs for three months, no fights for two months and almost one month of no smoking.” Mattheo lets himself fall on his bed. “Theodore?” Mattheo asks calmly, making both Enzo and Theo hold their breath. “Shut up.” Enzo can’t help but laugh as Theo rolls his eyes. “Pansy and Blaise were right the other day weren’t they? You’re doing this to impress (y/n).” Mattheo forces his eyes shut. He can barely admit it to himself, leave alone to his friends, but it is true. He so desperately needs you to like him. You are always nice to him, but you rarely ever approach him and honestly he can’t blame you.

***

Transfigurations, that’s where Mattheo realized that you weren’t just nice on the eyes. Three months ago Mcgonagoll had assigned everyone new seats and Mattheo had ended up next to you. Suddenly you weren’t just a kind stranger anymore, you became the girl that he can so easily talk to and laugh with.

Mattheo smiles when he sees you’re the first in the classroom. “Eager to score points with professor Mcgonagoll.” You look up and instantly a little blush creeps up your face. “Apparently, I’m not the only one.” Mattheo avoids your eyes, but takes his seat next to you. “I’m not early for Mcgonagoll, trust me princess.” You stare at your book and press your lips into a line in an attempt to not look like a total love struck idiot. Mattheo glances over at you while reaching for his books. When he notices your cheeks redden his heart fills with joy.

A few more students enter the classroom, forcing you both out of your love bubble. You watch him out of the corner of your eyes, while you gather enough courage to talk to him about what you saw yesterday. You lean closer to him so you can talk without being overheard and Mattheo turns towards you. “I’m sorry about what Harry said yesterday. He’s an idiot sometimes.” Mattheo keeps his eyes focussed on you, but it takes all his effort to not get angry again especially now that he knows you heard what Harry said. “I want you to know that despite that they’re my friends, I really don’t think like they do.” You slowly move your hand to lay on top of his arm as a way of showing him you care and aren’t afraid.

Mattheo searches for words, but all his mind can think of is how badly he wants your arms around him and not just your hand on his arm. When he finally opens his mouth Mcgonagoll walks in and you pull your hand back and focus on her. Mattheo adores you quietly before quickly brushing his fingers against yours. You turn to look at him and he leans in. “I know you don’t judge like they do. Maybe you should hang out more with me, could be fun?” His sweet whisper and genuine smile have your cheeks redden again. You smile and nod, thus silently agreeing that you should most definitely hang out more with him.

You spent the afternoon studying with Mattheo and right before dinner you even spent some time with his friends. It made it obvious that there was something blooming between you two and when you finally said your goodbyes you walked away the happiest girl at Hogwarts, unable to hide that happy glow around you.

***

After you spent yesterday afternoon together, Mattheo hadn’t been able to talk to you. It was like your friends were purposely keeping you away from him or maybe you didn’t like spending time with him. Either way Mattheo’s mind was working on every possible worst case scenario. Part of him wanted to stop pursuing you, because getting attached and then losing you would be worse. Maybe that thought is why he couldn’t keep his cool this time. “Everyone knows his dad’s evil and insane, but I mean his mum must’ve been absolutely mental.” Mattheo clenches his jaw but decides to turn around and follow his friends to the great hall. “Why else would the whore fuck someone like Voldemort.” At those words Mattheo snaps, dropping his bag and taking a few long strides to tackle the asshole who was talking. “Didn’t you hear that you need to keep your mouth shut, ‘cause their son is equally insane.” His fist hits the guy right in the face, causing his nose to start bleeding. The second punch doesn’t come in as hard since Blaise already has a hold on Mattheo.

When Blaise puts some distance between Mattheo and the other guy, Mattheo takes a breath and looks away from the douchebag. Mattheo’s heart breaks when his eyes land on your horrified face. No need to worry about losing her anymore. You just lost her, well done. You watch his figure disappear in one of the hallways and make your way to the great hall for lunch. You feel miserable for not being with him. Even worse, you can’t spot him anywhere in the great hall. During transfigurations the chair next to you stays empty and it’s almost impossible for you to pay attention, but you try your best to make notes with the intention of giving them to Mattheo later.

No need to worry about losing her. You’ve already lost her, well done.

***

The knock at the door of Mattheo’s dorm startles him mainly because he doesn’t hang out with the kind of people that knock. I’m either going to punch, smoke or fuck the idiot that’s come to bother me. He opens the door to see your flustered face, making him drop his attitude. “I first thought you were in the infirmary, but I’m glad to see you’re alright.” Mattheo nods still shocked to find you at his door. “You came to check on me?” For a moment you feel a bit like an obsessed person, showing up at his dorm without invitation, but then you remember your notes. “I also brought you these.” Mattheo laughs a moment and you look confused. “That’s sweet, thanks.” You feel awkward, but Mattheo notices. He clears his throat and opens the door a little more. “I’m really grateful for these, I just- my mind wasn’t thinking about class at all.” He signals you to come inside and you carefully take a few steps. “I honestly didn’t expect to ever see you outside of class again.” Mattheo admits, making your eyebrows knit together as you shake your head expressing confusion.

“The fight, earlier, I know you hate it, me.” You take a step towards Mattheo when you sense the vulnerability in his voice. “I don’t like it when you fight, but I do get that some people really deserve to get punched.” Mattheo stares at you trying to figure you out, but failing miserably. “I remember your face from a few months ago when I was fighting, I’ll never forget the disgust in your eyes and today again you looked horrified.” A soft chuckle escapes you as you feel the embarrassment boil up about what you’re going to confess. “I probably made that face, because I hate to see your pretty face all beat up. That’s why I was so relieved that you didn’t get hurt today.” At a terribly slow rate a bright cheeky smile creeps up on Mattheo’s face. You can’t help but feel like you’re dying of embarrassment as his face lights up at your confession. I’m such a love struck loser with my notes and petty excuses. He totally knows I’m in love with him. This is so embarrassing. You get pulled out of your train of thoughts when Mattheo’s hand reaches for the back of your head pulling you into an intense and loving kiss.

When he realises you really like him.