#I still don’t really know where to ‘belong’ especially as an author with all of my apparent setbacks

[hypaalicious]

Silly things I misunderstood in my quest to be a Professional Writer ™️

Dunno why I’m thinking of this today, and idk if it’s my neurodivergency causing the issues or just me being dumb asf in general… but man did I ever get butthurt over unspoken caveats I didn’t peep until after the fact.

For example, when I first finished my manuscript and got it accepted, I wanted to join a writer’s guild. So naturally, I thought of the WGA.

Imagine my shock that authors apparently don’t count as “writers”. I just sat there confused like “I literally write? Why call yourselves a writer’s guild when you do not mean all writers?”

So I found that there’s an author’s guild, and looked to join that… but apparently in order to even qualify you have to basically be a bestseller already. So much for that. 🥴

Another example is when I found a community of Black female indie authors to join and help promote my book. I submitted an application and got ghosted, didn’t understand why… until I noticed that everyone in the group are self-published authors and guessed that was the rub.

Once again, I was left hurt and confused like “I am literally a Black woman who writes and is indie. Your description states that I am the exact type of person to join. But I am apparently not the right kind of Black woman author to be accepted? That kinda sucks.”

I used to try and participate in writing workshops too, especially for unpublished marginalized voices and such, and was told I wasn’t a fit… despite me literally being a marginalized voice who (at the time) had never been published. I get frustrated at the invisible rules that blindside me because I take shit too literally, and then I’m left wondering if there’s any place someone like me actually belongs.

Well. I know where I belong; on Tumblr. 😂😂

[mythicalmisery]

Bull Rider AU: GhostxSoap

Bull rider Ghost and clueless Soap who doesn’t know the hat rule. 

Soap had a stupid smile on his face as he picked up a discarded, black cowboy hat and put it on his head while turning to Gaz. They had been heading back to their seats after a quick snack break when Soap had spotted it, unable to help himself. 

 “Ye think I can pull it off?” he asked grinning, completely unaware of the hulking figure that had appeared at his back only moments later. 

Soap froze at the deep, yet still whispered, “Don’t think that belongs to ya, mate,” spoken right beside his ear. He could feel the other’s hot breath on his skin.

His eyes went wide, pleading, as he looked at Gaz for a lifeline. His friend had the same expression reflecting back at him, unsure what to do either. Without any help from Gaz  Soap turned around.

His eyes met a broad chest clasped in a black leather vest, decorated with various patches of brands and sponsors he had never heard of. He slowly lifted his gaze to the man’s face, or at least what was showing of it. The lower half was covered in a black bandana with a skull design painted onto it.

It was real dusty and the man was clearly one of the riders competing, so Soap didn’t think twice about it. Hell, he wished he had one right now to hide his own embarrassment that was surely written all over his face.

The only thing he could make out underneath the stadium lights were amber eyes and blond lashes that matched his mop of sweat-clumped hair that stuck to his forehead. Those eyes that pinned Soap to where he stood and felt like burning flames licking at his skin.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, his voice coming out dry and crackly despite his efforts. “Sorry mate, didn’t mean to offend anyone,” he tossed out in an attempt of easement.

He grabbed the hat off his head, stretching out his hand and offering it back to its rightful owner. The man didn’t remove his gaze from Soap once as he took his hat back. 

Soap was all too aware he had been holding his breath during the whole interaction. He was hoping the man wasn’t offended by Soap touching his property. A fight was the last thing he needed right now, especially three beers into his night. His internal panicking was interrupted by the stranger’s gruff voice.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell ya not to go ‘round touching things that don’t belong to ya?” Soap took a reflexive step back when the man took a step forward. 

He could still see Gaz out of the corner of his eye, which helped a little knowing he wasn’t alone if things went to shite. Although, he would feel really bad if he made Gaz get into an altercation and ruin their night out due to him being an idiot. 

Soap laughed nervously. “Always seemed to have a problem with authority and rules.”

That had the other raising a brow. “That right?”

There were alarm bells ringing in Soap’s head. The adrenaline pumping through his veins should have been warning enough but he never claimed to be smart. The man glanced over Soap top to bottom, as if he was assessing him. The undivided attention had goosebumps breaking out over Soap’s skin. 

He leaned in closer, invading the already non existent space between them. 

“Do ya know what the hat rule is, mate?” he asked with a smirk, like he already knew Soap didn’t.

“Uh, n-no.” Soap felt like a bumbling idiot. 

The man simply nodded at the answer he was already expecting. He lowered himself until he was looking over Soap’s left shoulder, speaking directly into his ear.

“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.” 

Soap could feel the heat flood his face like a dam opening. 

Oh fuck.

It was as if Soap’s mind, mouth, and pretty much whole body went offline. He couldn’t seem to get anything to work after the other man’s words had registered. Well, except maybe one body part, that seemed to be working just fine.

After standing frozen like an idiot once again for too long, he somehow managed to stoke the last dying embers of a functioning brain cell and took control over his body once again.

With a nervous laugh he took a staggered step back, his arms outstretched in a placating way. The man wasn’t angry, but fucking hell was he intimidating and Soap needed some space to breath especially after that comment. 

“Oh, well that’s.. uh.. ye know, we really should be getting back to our seats,” he spewed out while grabbing Gaz by the shoulder. Soap didn’t wait for the man to say anything else, leaving him to stand and watch as he scurried away like a coward. 

He made a beeline for their section in the stands, subtly adjusting his now uncomfortably tight pants. He glared at Gaz when he made a comment at his flustered appearance, doing his best to block out his incessant teasing. He felt like he was fifteen years old again, popping boners when the wind blew just a little too strongly.

The announcer came back on over the intercom speakers, introducing the next round of riders as they finally reached their seats. Soap did his best to try and focus on the riders in the dirt down below, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of that man’s breath on his neck, the way his voice was that deep even at a whisper, the way his eyes made his skin feel like it was lit aflame.

And as if God was playing a cruel trick on him, his gaze was drawn to the rider getting ready to mount the bull in queue. It was him. 

He couldn’t make out too many details from this far up, but he was able to spot that familiar mask on the jumbo screen hanging in the center of the arena. The man had his hat on this time. The same hat that Soap had just been wearing. He couldn’t deny it, the man looked good in it. 

The announcer chimed in, getting the crowd going. Gaz leaned over, hitting Soap’s shoulder as he whispered, “There’s your man.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the slight upturn of the corner of his mouth at his friend’s words. Soap glanced back up to the screen, eyes scanning until he found what he was looking for in big, bold letters. 

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

Simon. Fuck. Even his name was hot. 

He looked back down to the roping box, the bull that - Simon? Ghost? - was about to ride. It was fucking massive. He could see it already bucking and ramming the sides of the fence from up in the stands and on the screen, clearly pissed off. 

The anticipation in the arena was electric, the crowd buzzing with excitement as Ghost settled himself on the bull. While the men around him steadied him with their hands,  Soap’s heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t even know the man but his stomach was twisting into knots. 

He watched as Ghost adjusted his grip on the bull rope and flexed his hand, his muscles tensing under the strain displayed on the big screen.

Soap’s breath stuttered as the gate flew open, the bull exploding out into the arena twisting and bucking with raw power. Ghost moved with fluid precision; the man’s arm raised into the air, his waist snapping back and forth in perfect sync with the bull’s wild movements. Soap couldn’t tear his eyes away, completely captivated by the sight.

The crowd roared around him, cheering and shouting their encouragement as Ghost held on. Soap found himself leaning forward in his seat, his breath caught in his lungs. He silently willed Simon to stay on just a few seconds longer.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the ride. Ghost leaped off the bull, landing as gracefully as one could while running from a crazed animal with horns. Soap’s heart was still pounding as he watched Ghost run back toward the gate, somehow still maintaining his casual demeanor as he climbed over. 

He watched as the rider disappeared behind the gate and out of sight. Gaz elbowed him playfully, a knowing grin on his face. “Go congratulate your cowboy, he just one first place,” he said, his voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

Soap whipped his head to the scoreboard, eyes scanning before he saw Ghost’s name jump to the top as his points were entered. He couldn’t help the stupid smile spreading across his face. 

“Ye sure you’ll be alright?” he asked, already standing up. Gaz scoffed, “Get the fuck outta here Soap.”

Soap put his hands together in a mock prayer. “Thank you, Garrick.”

He turned around and nearly sprinted down the stairs, cursing the crowds blocking his way. He had to make it down there before the rider left.

Soap finally managed to make it down to the ground floor, booking it to the area cornered off for the riders and their crew. He got farther than he thought he would before security stopped him, asking for his pass that he clearly didn’t have. 

He tried a handful of excuses but there wasn’t any reasoning with the man. He was about to ask if he could at least pass on a message for him before he felt someone brush up against his back. 

“He’s with me.” 

Soap swallowed. That low, gravelly voice back in his ear. Right where he wanted it.

The security guard stood there a moment before he nodded at Ghost and walked away, as if Soap wasn’t even there. 

It took a herculean effort for Soap to turn around. He was very close to losing his nerve and chickening out of this whole ordeal. Hell, he didn’t know this man. What was he doing? 

“Now, what are ya doing all the way over here. Breaking more of those rules, I see,” he said forcing Soap to take a step backwards. 

Soap cleared his throat, voice coming out surprisingly steady. “Well, I figured I would congratulate the winner.”

“That so?” he asked with a tilt to his head.

Soap took a step forward in a random burst of boldness. Now or never. 

“Aye, I also think I owe ye a debt,” he punctuated by grabbing the hat off the man’s head and placing it upon his own.

Soap wasn’t sure if it was the passing headlights from the sea of cars and trailers behind them, but he swore Ghost’s eyes flashed at his words. He leaned down in a mirror image of their earlier interaction, a strained “Follow me,” was spoken in his ear.

Soap let out a deep breath as he watched the man walk away. Not ashamed to admit he enjoyed watching him as he did so. Fuck. This was happening. 

They walked through a dirt and gravel lot off to the side of the arena. Soap observed the ranchers loading the livestock back into trailers under the parking lot lights as they passed through.

They ended up on the outer edge of the lot, the closest light post was a few cars down so it wasn’t overly bright where they were. Soap nearly missed it when Ghost turned a corner around a large parked trailer. 

He followed suit, unable to stop the embarrassing yelp that left his mouth as he was thrown against the side of said trailer. All thoughts of cursing the man out disappeared when Ghost’s lips were crashing against his. The initial impact had him grunting, the sounds immediately swallowed by Ghost’s domineering mouth. 

Soap couldn’t breathe, and normally he wouldn’t have any complaints about the matter given the situation, but he was starting to get lightheaded. He reached his hands up, gripping onto that leather vest and regretfully pushed the man off of him. He gasped at the separation, greedily filling his lungs at the first opportunity.

“Air, air is good,” he wheezed out.

The bastard huffed a laughed right in Soap’s face. Between the night sky and Soap’s racing mind, he hadn’t quite registered that Ghost had taken off the bandana from earlier. He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, just barely making out the details of the face currently six inches from his own. 

He was fucking beautiful. 

Soap didn’t need sunlight to come to that conclusion. He had strong features; a Roman nose that had clearly been broken one too many times and never healed quite right, full lips that had a small scar running across the bottom as if it had been split in a fist fight and never got the proper stitches. He had another scar going from his chin to his neck, the moonlight illuminating the silvery healed skin that was no doubt part of an impressive collection. 

Soap couldn’t help the heat rushing to his face when he realized how blatantly he’d been checking out the other man. To his credit, Ghost just stood there; not saying a word while letting him have his fill. 

His attention drifted back to reality when a wave of lights and shadows danced across their faces as a car drove by. Soap unconsciously grabbed onto Ghost’s vest, pulling him onto himself while trying to melt into the trailer out of fear of getting caught. 

“Relax,” Ghost whispered. 

His mouth moved down to Soap’s jaw, kissing his way across his flushed skin until he reached his ear. Soap couldn’t help the full body shutter that racked through him as the man licked up the shell of his ear before biting down on the tender cartilage.

He turned his face slightly to the right in a poor attempt at stifling his moan in Ghost’s shoulder as the other slotted his knee right between his legs. 

Fuck. He hadn’t realized just how hard he was before Ghost started grinding against him.

The friction was almost unbearable, just the right amount of pain to still be pleasurable but still not enough. “More,” he groaned out. All reservations about sounding too desperate were out the door, he needed this man. Now.

Ghost turned his head to stare directly at Soap with a smirk plastered on that stupidly handsome face. 

“Needy little thing, aren’t ya?” he teased. 

He didn’t even give Soap time to defend himself before he was reaching down to undo his belt buckle and slide his hand down Soap’s boxers. 

“Fuuuck,” Soap hissed out as Ghost gripped his cock with those rough and calloused hands. Every twist of the man’s wrist had a jolt of pleasure shooting up Soap’s spine. His hand had felt like a branding iron, scorching to the touch and Soap had no complaints over the claim.

He was full on panting now. The only air he could manage to get was what Ghost allowed him when his lips granted reprieve. 

Soap was gradually nearing his breaking point. He normally would have been embarrassed for not lasting longer, but he decided to give himself a break when he’d been sporting a semi nearly the entire second half of the event. No thanks to the bastard who currently had his tongue shoved down his throat. 

Soap hadn’t even realized the involuntary bucking of his hips, his body’s feeble attempt to get off. The shallow thrusts got quicker, insinuating his building release. Just as Soap was about to reach that blissful moment he had been craving all night, Ghost snatched his hand away and removed them from Soap’s pants entirely.

“Oh, you fuckin’ bastard,” Soap spat out at the other man. 

Ghost stood straight before clicking his tongue. “We have a debt that needs paid now don’t we, darling?” he cooed at Soap who did his best to not let the pet name affect him too much.

Soap groaned in frustration. “Then hurry the fuck up cause I’m not gonna last much longer, ya fucker,” he growled out.

Ghost shook his head at him. “Ya sure do have a mouth on ya,” he stated.

“Aye, ye can do something about it next time.” Soap didn’t really care that he just left an opening for this to occur again, mind too preoccupied on the fact his balls felt like they were about to explode. 

Ghost had that smug look back on face as he reached into his pocket for something. He pulled out a set of black keys and pressed a button, the black truck behind him flashing its lights twice before he put them back. 

“Are ye kidding me? Your car was here the whole time?,” Soap whined. 

“Sounds an awful lot like complaining, mate. Not a fan of being watched, are ya?” Ghost taunted. The way he talked to Soap like he was a child was some fucked up mix of extremely hot and infuriating. 

Soap glared at the man. “Get the fuck in the back seat. Now.” 

Despite Ghost narrowing his eyes, Soap didn’t leave any room for argument and the other man complied with no further complaints. 

Ghost climbed into the back of the truck, spreading out across the seats with his hands resting behind his head as he looked at Soap. Well, didn’t he just look like the cat who got the cream. 

God, he was fucking hot.

Soap climbed in after him without another word. With the door closed, the lights in the truck went out and the space was filled with darkness once again. Soap was straddling the man’s massive thighs, nearly hanging off the edge. It was cramped, barely any room to move but he would make it work. Had to make it work. 

“Just gonna sit there and look pretty, darling?,” Ghost snarked, breaking the silence. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Soap replied with no real heat. He reached out to undo Ghost’s belt, hoping the way his throat bobbed at the clear outline in the man’s pants wasn’t visible in the moonlight. Good lord he was massive. That earlier apprehension started to slowly creep back in and wash away his false confidence. 

Ghost made another one of those clicking sounds with his tongue that had Soap freezing his movements. When he looked up into the man’s eyes, he couldn’t help the way his stomach flipped. Ghost had a way of looking at him that sent every warning bell and nerve in his body off like a crack of lightning. Like a predator finally catching his prey after having it in its sights for too long.

“Get undressed,” Ghost demanded.

Normally, Soap would put up a fight just to be an ass, but he didn’t have much fight left in him at this point. He was so on edge, so close to finally getting off he was honestly scared what he would do just to make it happen. With nothing more than a roll of his eyes in complaint, he started undoing the buttons of his shirt. It was only a matter of minutes before Soap was spread across the man’s lap in the back seat, completely naked. 

He felt like his brain was melting. There shouldn’t have been something so hot about the fact he was completely naked and bare while Ghost hadn’t even removed so much as his hat during all this. He could feel the rough denim on the sensitive skin of his thighs, the cold buckle from the man’s belt when he leaned forward just an inch. Soap wasn’t even ashamed when he realized he had been slowly grinding himself against the man, anything to ease his burning desire.  

Ghost finally spoke up, but Soap didn’t even stop his movements. “What’s your name?” he asked with that low and rough voice. Soap’s own ego was slightly stroked, he could hear the strain in the man’s voice despite the calm demeanor he was trying to convey. 

“John, but most people call me Soap,” he breathed out. He was two seconds away from ripping the clothes off this man himself.

“Soap? What kind of nickname is that?”

“Says the man called Ghost?” he quipped back.

“Alright, I’ll give ya that one. Why don’t you go on and get yourself ready for me, darling?,” he asked, but they both knew it was another command.

Soap couldn’t help the pointed stare he threw at the man. “Ye gonna make me do all the work, is that it?”

Ghost’s lopsided smile was answer enough. “I’m not the one who picked up the hat, Johnny.”

Johnny.

Fuck, why was that so hot to hear coming from his mouth? He really needed to get this thing moving.

Soap held his fingers out in front of the man’s mouth. When all he got was a questioning look in response, he rolled his eyes and pushed them against his lips. “Suck,” was all he said, patience wearing thin now.

Ghost opened his mouth slowly, letting Soap glide his fingers over his tongue. They were probably dirty as hell, covered in germs and popcorn butter but he didn’t really care at this point. The bastard would live. 

He was mesmerized as he watched Ghost work his tongue across his fingers. His mouth was hot, but nothing compared to the flames dancing across his skin as Ghost never lost eye contact during the whole ordeal. He could probably cum from this alone.

Before that thought became reality, Soap pulled his hand back. Watching the string of spit connecting his fingers to Ghost’s mouth glisten in the moonlight. 

He cursed lowly as he gripped himself in one hand, rising slightly before reaching around. He entered himself without a fuss, moaning at the friction as he slid his fingers in further. It burned a little, Ghost’s spit only helping ease the way so much. He preened like a peacock when he felt, more like heard, the other man’s sharp inhale below him. 

He started moving with a little more urgency at that, opening himself up while rocking his body back and forth. He wasn’t overly moaning like a whore, but he wasn’t exactly trying to hold back anything either. Quite enjoying the sharp little intakes of air and jerky movements of the man beneath him. He managed to get up to three fingers before he found that particular spot inside him. This time, his moans might have been a little porn starry. Ghost finally lifted his hands at that, gripping onto Soap’s hips like he was his lifeline. 

Soap wasn’t having any of that. He swatted the man’s hands away, pushing down on his chest with the hand not currently inside him when Ghost tried to protest. “No touching,” he scolded, taking great pleasure in the frustrated look on his face. 

Ghost grunted in response, like a damn toddler who didn’t get his way. “Awww,” Soap cooed at him, “Needy little thing, aren’t ye?” he said, throwing the other man’s words against him.

Ghost narrowed his eyes at that, but didn’t complain any further. “Funny.”

“I’d like to think so,” Soap replied. 

This time, when he went to undo Ghost’s belt, he wasn’t met with any resistance. With quick movements, he had Ghost pulled out in no time. Fucking hell. Massive was an understatement. It took everything in Soap to school his emotions. He wasn’t letting this bastard know how intimidated and equally impressed he was. He must have done a shit job cause Ghost had that satisfied, smug look back on his face. He could probably read minds for all he knew.

Soap gave a few quick pumps to Ghost’s cock before he lined himself up. He froze just as the other man was about to enter him. 

“The hat,” he said. It took a while before Ghost could tear his eyes away from where Soap hovered over his cock, the words finally registering before he reached up and placed his hat on Soap’s sweat-slicked mohawk. 

They were both burning up, feeling like a damn sauna in the backseat of the truck. The windows had fogged up a while ago as they swapped air in the small space, thankfully providing a thin form of privacy. 

Soap smiled as he adjusted the hat with one hand, the other still lining Ghost up as he slowly lowered himself down. 

Fuck.

They both moaned in chorus as Soap’s still too-tight heat enveloped Ghost’s cock. He sunk lower and lower at a glacial pace, letting gravity do the work and take some of the strain off his shaky legs.

He bottomed out eventually, resting on Ghost’s hips as he caught his breath. Ghost was panting below him, chest heaving as his body was strung tight with tension. Soap knew the man was dying to take control. Too fucking bad.

When Soap’s world wasn’t spinning anymore, he lifted himself back up before repeating the process all over again while setting a steady pace. He wasn’t going very fast, but he didn’t really need to. Ghost was so big that he reached all the spots he needed him too, the stretch and burn sending bolts shooting up his spine was enough for him.

He gripped tightly onto Ghost’s leather vest with his right hand, his own make shift bull rope as his left held onto the black hat resting on his head. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Ghost, but he still had to lean and bend at a weird angle to fit in the cramped space. He started to pick up a little speed, his movements mimicking Ghost’s from when he rode the bull earlier. Soap snapped his own hips back and forth, occasionally grinding down in a circular motion that had Ghost groaning unabashedly. 

He wasn’t normally one to be overly cocky, but he basked in the satisfaction of ruining this man. That calm and collected demeanor washed away by the panting, barely held back animal beneath him. Hell, he was equally just as ruined. He couldn’t contain the little punched out moans that escaped every time Ghost hit his prostate on each rock backward. He wouldn’t last a minute longer and judging by the shaking man before him, he wasn’t the only one. 

“S-Simon, pleaaase,” Soap groaned out between moans. He tried to convey everything he was thinking and wanted in that one word. Ghost being the mind reader he was picked up on it without dropping a beat. Like he was waiting for it.

He immediately grabbed onto Soap’s hips with enough force to bruise. Fuck, Soap wished they would. With one last glance at the man below him, Soap closed his eyes as Ghost started jackhammering into him. The car was a symphony of curses, moans, and grunts. Neither man holding back now. Soap removed his hand from the hat and pushed it against the ceiling, trying desperately to find purchase and not fall over. The rough movements had the sweat from his forehead running down his face, beads dropping onto Ghost’s chest off his nose and chin. He couldn’t find a single fiber of his being that cared.

His end was nearing and he wasn’t going to deny it this time. “Fuuuck, don’t s-stop,” he moaned as Ghost abused his prostate at the angle they were in. If Ghost decided now was a good time to tease the man, Soap would probably end up committing murder.

He could tell Ghost was almost at his breaking point as well. The man’s thrusts started to become wild, losing all sense of coordination as he chased his release. Soap screamed out when Ghost lifted his hand off his hip and grabbed his cock, pumping it in an off beat against his thrusts, never allowing Soap a second of reprieve from overwhelming sensation. 

“Go on, cum for me, Johnny,” he rasped out. Who was Soap to deny him?

Soap’s whole body seized as Ghost slammed into that bundle of nerves harder than he’d done all night. It felt like lightning was shooting through his body as his vision whited out. He didn’t even feel bad that he made a mess all over Ghost’s vest, too blissed out to even care. Ghost lasted around three and a half thrusts more before he was following Soap over the edge as well, cursing his name as he did. It was the best thing Soap had ever heard in his life. He responded with a groan as he felt Ghost empty out inside him. The feeling making his own spent cock twitch in response. Round two was not an option currently on the table. Soap felt like rolling over on the floor right there and taking a twenty hour nap after this. He didn’t think Ghost would mind very much.

They sat there for a few minutes, chests heaving and skin sweaty where they were still connected. Soap started looking around, his eyes scanning the man’s truck before he found what he was looking for in the center console. He popped the lid off and held it between his teeth as he unzipped Ghost’s soiled vest and unbuttoned his shirt. He ignored the curious eyes watching his movements. With the man’s chest now bear, Soap moved the marker to scribble out his number in his chicken scratch. He pulled back, looking down at his work with a satisfied expression as he capped the marker and tossed it over his shoulder. 

“Give me a call next time you’re in town, cowboy,” he said as he slowly raised himself off of Ghost’s softening cock. 

He wasn’t sure if the man had even heard him. His attention drawn to where he pulled out of Soap, his cum slowly starting to drip down his thighs. It was gonna be an uncomfortable ride home. He glanced around and grabbed his discarded clothes, doing his best to put them back on in the limited space. Ghost just sat there watching him, lounging across his backseat without a care in the world. 

Soap finally managed to put his shoes back on, pulling out his phone and ordering an Uber ride. He turned down Ghost’s offer to drive him home, he needed to get away from the man so his brain wasn’t mush anymore. With one last glance around, he leaned over Ghost on his knees. 

“Ye know, I like this hat. I think it’s mine now,” he stated.

“That so?” Ghost asked as he looked up at Soap.

“Yeah, it’s mine. Ye know what that means?” 

“What?” Ghost responded, genuinely curious. 

Soap lifted up the hat before lowering down, placing it back onto Ghost’s head as he whispered low in his ear. “Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.”

Soap didn’t say anything else as he exited the vehicle. The smile was uncontrollable as he walked across the gravel lot back to the car pick up zone.

 A man with a short circuiting brain laid in the backseat of his car behind him.

[pretzel-box]

Hello!! I dont know if your requests are still open but if they are can you do one where sebastian realizes his feelings for reader? If your requests are close you can ignore this i love your writing

Mesmerised

words: 1k

tags: love at first sight, sebastian crushes on you

authors note: I kinda made it into a first meeting scenario, where Sebastian falls in love with reader without knowing them

if you want a friends to lovers type of thing just send another ask❤️

One thing that Sebastian had quickly figured out in the Hadal Blackside was that resources were rare and had immense value. The best source for them? His own customers—unfortunate souls who met their end at the hands of nearly every danger the abyss had to offer.

He didn't need to worry about Pandemonium or Wall Dwellers; most visitors sent by Urbanshade died to mundane things like a brightly burning door or a gas leak in a pipe. To Sebastian, they were nothing more than loot bags, ripe for the picking. He never even had to stress about them getting their hands on the silly crystal. At this rate, they’d all be dead long before they got close.

Tonight, he was out on a routine scavenging run, roaming the dark hallways after spotting an angler rush by. His eyes, perfectly attuned to the darkness, quickly picked out a lifeless corpse lying on the wet ground. Poor guy, Sebastian mused with a smirk, must be embarrassing to die to something so simple. 

He didn’t waste time, immediately crouching down to collect the scattered belongings. Among the items, he found a blacklight in good condition. That would fetch a decent price. He was so absorbed in his task, so confident and sly about securing new items for his store, that he failed to notice a pair of curious eyes watching him from the shadows.

“It’s not healthy to look at things in a dark light,” a voice said, startling him. You turned on your flashlight, aiming it just low enough so as not to blind anyone. You'd learned that lesson the hard way with your now-deceased teammate.

Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat as you stepped into the dim glow, unbothered by his monstrous appearance. You were a striking contrast to the grim surroundings—calm, almost serene, as if this hellish place had nothing left that could surprise you. You offered him the flashlight, your expression unreadable.

“No need,” Sebastian muttered in his usual grumpy tone, not expecting to be caught in the act, especially not by someone like you. He raised one of his three arms, switching on his anglerfish lure to get a better look at you.

The soft, eerie glow illuminated your face, and for the first time in a long while, Sebastian felt something strange stir in his chest. You didn’t flinch, didn’t recoil in disgust or fear as most others did. Instead, you met his gaze with steady, almost curious eyes.

In that brief moment, Sebastian found himself captivated. There was something about the way you stood there, unfazed by the corpse, by him, by everything that should have sent you running. Your calm demeanor, your willingness to hand over your flashlight without a second thought, it all left him feeling... something. Was this what they called love at first sight?

He’d always thought it was nonsense, a ridiculous human sentiment that had no place in a world as brutal as this. But now, with you standing there, looking at him with an unreadable expression, he wasn’t so sure.

He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the unfamiliar feeling. “You’re awfully brave, aren’t you?” he said, his voice gruff but lacking the usual edge. “Walking around here alone. Don’t you know this place is dangerous?”

You shrugged, your gaze never wavering from his. “Dangerous, sure, but I’ve seen worse. Besides, I’m not alone, am I?”

That simple statement caught him off guard. Not alone. Did you really mean him? The idea of someone seeing him as anything other than a monster, let alone company, was new. Unsettling, even. But it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

Sebastian straightened up, awkwardly holding onto the blacklight he’d just looted. “Well, you should still be careful,” he grumbled, trying to mask his flustered state. “Not everyone’s as... understanding as me.”

A small, almost playful smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Noted. But I think I can manage.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but admire your confidence. There was something magnetic about it, something that drew him in despite himself. He found himself wanting to know more about you, to understand what made you so different from the others who came through his shop.

“So, what brings you out here?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation going, though his usual gruffness couldn’t completely mask the curiosity in his voice. “You don’t exactly look like the looting type.”

You glanced down at the corpse, then back at Sebastian. “Just exploring for something. This place has a lot of... mysteries. Thought I might find something interesting.”

“Mysteries, huh?” He couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest. “You’ve definitely found something. Not sure if I’d call it interesting, though.”

Your smile widened just a fraction, and Sebastian felt his heart skip again. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He was a shopkeeper, a scavenger, not some lovesick fool. But there was no denying it—he was drawn to you, and he had no idea what to do about it.

“Maybe I’ll find something even more interesting next time,” you said, your tone light, almost teasing. “Who knows?”

Sebastian found himself nodding before he could think better of it. “Yeah... maybe.”

As you turned to leave, he couldn’t stop himself from calling out, “Be careful out there. And if you ever need... supplies or anything, my shop’s just down the hall.”

You paused, glancing back at him with that same unreadable expression. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, your voice soft but clear.

And with that, you disappeared into the darkness, leaving Sebastian standing there, holding a looted blacklight and wondering what the hell had just happened. 

“I should have asked for the name…”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Sebastian felt a strange flutter of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was something worth more than all the loot in the Hadal Blackside. And with such a cute prisoner in the hallways, he might feel generous enough to leave you the one or other discount. 

[gwen-novella]

Ivar Ragnarsson - Nsfw Alphabet

Pairing: Ivar x female reader

Word count: 3.5K

Warnings: Smut (18+ !!!), it's a nsfw alphabet so expect all things sex, all kinds of kinks, no use of y/n

Summary: A nsfw alphabet for our favorite boy that's only soft for you. Can be read as part of TPAW.

Author’s note: I have reappeared from my hiatus. I decided to finally try my hand at writing fanfics again and thought I'd start off with something short and easy - ended up writing 3.5K words anyways. Mission failed successfully. Please excuse if my writing is a little rusty.

Please consider commenting or reblogging - it really makes my day!

(*) smár brandr = little blade

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Anyone that knows Ivar and has seen the two of you together will notice that he is uncharacteristically open, affectionate, and kind to you. Whenever this is pointed out to you, you always struggle to hide an amused snicker behind a bashful smile. If only they knew. 

The two of you lay entangled on the bed. Your left leg is thrown over Ivars midsection and your arm traces invisible shapes on his chest. Ivar is laying on his back, his left arm lays underneath your body and is stroking up and down your back. Both of your breathing has calmed by now and with the gentle hum of satisfaction in your veins you’d be perfectly content to stay like this forever. 

The almost meditative state you’re in is broken when your left hand is halted in its movements, now gently held in Ivars right. Tilting your head up to look at him, you meet Ivars gaze and the intensity in his eyes almost makes you shy away. "I treasure you, smár brandr." (*)

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Ivar doesn’t give much thought to his body. For quite obvious reasons he avoids it as much as possible. He does like his hands though. He’s quite good at using them, whether that be spinning a dagger or wrapping them around your throat. 

Ivar has also become more accepting of the rest of his body as your relationship progresses. How could he not, when you hold his face in your hands, your delicate fingers tracing his features, when you constantly compliment his strong arms and back and when you don’t even bat an eye at the sight of his legs.

When it comes to you, there isn’t a part of your body that Ivar doesn’t like. Though he has a strange fascination with your neck. Kissing it, biting it, but especially wrapping his hand around it. It’s not so much the choking itself that turns him on - but the trust you show him when you allow his fingers to slowly tighten around your throat. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Further elaborated under K = Kink, but Ivars favorite place to cum is deep inside you. "Where I belong", he’d once told you, caressing your lower stomach. However, when the night is still young and he plans to make the both of you cum several times, Ivar enjoys watching you swallow his cum.

Ivar’s sat, fully clothed, at the edge of his bed, his unfocused eyes gazing down at your kneeling form on the ground, your sweet lips wrapped around his cock. You’re sat between his legs, one hand stroking along the length that doesn’t fit in your mouth, the other underneath your skirt, drawing circles over your clit. 

You can tell Ivar is close, his breathing labored as his cock throbs against your eager tongue. His arms move from their place at his side and you’re certain he’ll pull you off him and toss you on the bed, as he does so often, but his hands find their way into your hair, gripping tightly and aiding your movements. 

"I’ll cum down your throat", he raps, sending a bolt of arousal through you, "and you won’t dare swallow until I tell you to."

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

When you and Ivar first slept together it was you who took the lead to begin with. And even though his touches became more confident and urgent throughout, they were clearly still laced with inexperience until they weren’t. 

"Your eyes snap open as you feel a finger drawing circles on your clit, looking down to see Ivar has taken one of his hands off your hips and is instead circling your sensitive nub with his thumb. How he knows to do this, you do not know, but you are thankful for it, already feeling the coil in your stomach tightening."

Ivar would rather spend the rest of his days locked in a shed with an ever-singing Sigurd than admit that he knows those things because he had watched some of his brothers with Margrethe. Looking back, he is deeply embarrassed. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

None. Well, that is if you don’t count his horrid encounter with Margrethe (which you don’t). You were the first woman he ever slept with. 

Don’t worry though, Ivar is very quick learner. Whether that includes learning alongside you, if you’re equally inexperienced, or learning from you, if you’re more experienced. If the latter is the case, expect your prior partners to have some less than pleasant encounters with Ivar.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

It very much depends on his mood. If he wants you to take charge: cowgirl. 

He’ll either sit back against the headboard or lay down flat on his back to watch you bounce and circle your hips above him. Don’t think him to be a passive participant though. Much like his eyes, his mouth and hands won’t stop wandering. His lips find their way to your neck, leaving evidence of the nights activities on your skin for all to see, sucking and biting on your nipples until they’re sore and whispering the filthiest of commands and praises.

Every tilt of your hips grinds your clit against his pubic hair, sending sparks up your spine. So caught up in your pleasure you don’t notice Ivars hand moving until it’s slipped its way around your throat, making your eyes flutter open once more. When had they even closed? 

"Look at you", Ivar groans, "riding me so well, smár brandr." Using his hand to tilt your head down to look at him, Ivar fixes you with his piercing gaze. "Mhm", he hums, "Like a goddess… or a whore." The hand around your throat tightens. 

If Ivar is in the mood to watch you squirm underneath him (which is often) he’ll take you from behind, pressing you flat on your belly and draping himself along your back. 

If anyone has given him reason to be possessive, or jealous, expect to wobble your way around Kattegat the next day. Instead of gripping your throat, like usual, his hand will grip your hair in a makeshift pony tail, either pressing your head into the pillow, or raising your ear to his lips, making sure to tell you who you belong to.

The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your muffled moans against the furs. Ivars hips pound into yours so deeply, you’re sure that you won’t be able to sit properly tomorrow. Suddenly your head is yanked from the pillows and you feel Ivars breath against the side of your face. 

"You’re mine", he hisses. "Mine to love, mine to kiss, mine to fuck." Nibbling along your shoulder Ivar promises darkly: "Tomorrow, when you’re not able to leave this bed, I’ll kill Earl Leif… Perhaps I’ll bring him here first. Would you like that, hm? Make him watch how good only I can make you feel?" 

You don’t even remember what the foreign Earl had done to anger Ivar, your brain not absorbing anything that isn’t the drag of Ivars cock along your walls.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Ivar is a very passionate lover. As such he does really immerse himself into the act. It’s not so much that you’d call him serious in those moments, it’s just that he’s so zeroed in on you - the rest of the world could burn around him for all he cares. 

Sex is also a very vulnerable thing for Ivar. In your chambers, when it’s just you and him, he’s a very different man than the one most perceive him to be. Most people know not to intrude upon your little safe haven, at least if they want to keep all their limbs. 

Hvitserk learned this the hard way one night when in a drunken state he mistook Ivars room for his own. He had barely stepped a foot over the threshold when a dagger had already planted itself into the wooden frame next to his head.

In the afterglow of it all Ivar is probably at his most vulnerable and most relaxed. The two of you will cuddle, talk about everything or nothing at all and sometimes that includes laughing together.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

As explained above Ivar tries to avoid thinking too much about his body. As such he doesn’t groom. His medical condition however has lead to him having impeccable personal hygiene, since his legs often need to be washed, moisturized and bandaged.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Again, Ivar is a very passionate and devoted lover. Most times this will express itself in a raw, sort of untamed way. Some may label this rough - the way his hands firmly grip your hips, the firm snap of his hips and the incessant way he kisses and bites anywhere he can reach can certainly feel like it. Everything he does though is born from love, from devotion.

Occasionally, he slows. Ivars passion become gentle and sweet, drawn out like strings of honey - seeking comfort in you.

You can feel the warmth of his release coat your walls, a pleasant hum of satisfaction in your veins, not as pulsing and exhausting as you’re used to. You make to raise yourself from Ivars cock, from his lap, to cuddle up beside him, when his hands that so softly caress your hips tighten for a split second. 

"Don’t move", Ivar whispers, the first words he’s spoken since he’s entered your heat. "I want to stay like this for a while." You don’t decline.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Since Ivars relationship with sex started off the way it did, sex isn’t really about "getting off" itself. Don’t get him wrong, Ivar enjoys having sex, enjoys cumming, as much as any man. It’s just that he doesn’t crave for it, if it is not with you. 

Ivar doesn’t need sex - he needs sex with you. Ivar doesn’t need release - he needs release with you. If he can’t have you he doesn’t bother.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding Kink

Ivar never thought he’d be able to have kids. He didn’t even think he’d be able to fuck. When one fateful night with you led him to discover that he could in fact please a woman, sex was the only thing on his mind. For weeks you spent every night in Ivars bed, his head in between your thighs, your mouth around his length and his cock deep in your cunt. It was a comment from one of his brothers over breakfast that planted an even deeper desire into his heart. 

Ivar had teased Hvitserk for looking so tired, knowing full well his room was right next to Ivars and that Hvitserk had probably been kept awake by your squealing the night prior. It was then that Ubbe, in an attempt to prevent a fight, almost mindlessly commented: "Don’t fret Hvitserk. Not much longer and he’ll have put a babe in her belly. Then Ivars tiny room will no longer suffice and we’ll be rid of them."

Trust Kink (?)

Hear me out. Ivar’s never really had anyone he could trust completely, some he’s comfortable being vulnerable around. Likewise, he’s also never had anyone that trusted him, that willingly was vulnerable around him. And whilst it took a long time for your relationship to progress to this state, now that it has Ivar cannot get enough of it - this feeling of safety and belonging. 

As such, everything that reminds him of this, anything that is proof of this precious trust is an instant turn on for him. His hand around your throat, him caging you under his body, restraining your hands above your head, cutting your clothes from your body using his dagger… 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

As explained, Ivar does not take kindly to his time with you being interrupted. Therefore his room it is.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Short answer: You. Long answer: Also you. 

As explained above, once Ivar realized he could have sex, there wasn’t a lot of holding back on his side. He was insatiable. Though, the thing that gets him going more than anything else is the realization that not only could he fuck you, but you wanted him to.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Hurting you.

Anything beyond reddish handprints in the places he grabs you, love bites across your throat and chest and the wobble in your step the next morning is a hard no. Ivar cherishes the trust you two share - he’d never think of doing something to break it.

Sharing.

Even though, when possessive or jealous, Ivar sometimes talks about showing off how well he pleases you, it is all talk. He’d never consider someone intruding in such a vulnerable situation. Besides, you’re for his eyes only.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

"I can show you that there are other ways to please a woman too, if you so wish."

Ivar remembers you whispering those words against his lips the first time you were intimate together, gently reassuring him. After the first few times following that day, when his eagerness to feel your walls wrapped around his cock as fast as possible had slowly calmed from a raging fire to a steady flame, those words of yours kept echoing in his mind. You’d proposed it as an alternative, so technically there was no need for that now, but Ivars curiosity was peaked.

His breath is fanning over your lower stomach, Ivars blue eyes are looking up at you for guidance, between placing kisses on and nipping at your skin. 

"You told me you’d show me. I do not know how to make you feel good like this." A breathless laugh falls from your lips. "I promise to tell you if something does not feel good." 

Ivar huffs but relents nonetheless, his nips and kisses moving lower, a few of them straying to the inside of your thighs, before his tongue suddenly licks a broad stripe up your cunt. Something between a whimper and a moan tears from your throat and Ivar decides right then and there that he wants to hear that sound over and over and over again.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

As explained under I = Intimacy, Ivars love making is usually very passionate. If not fast, his thrusts will at the very least be hard and deep, hands firm on whichever part of your body he chooses to grab, his love bites just on that fine line between pleasure and pain.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He isn’t exactly opposed to the idea, it’s just that your circumstances don’t really allow for them. Between the daily bustle of Kattegat, your respective duties throughout the day and Ivars reluctance to have sex outside the safety of his chambers there aren’t really opportunities for quickies. 

It’s fine by the both of you though, you prefer to take your time anyways, especially the calm and intimacy afterwards is treasured by the both of you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Ivar is ever learning, he’s willing to try most everything you’d approach him with, so long as it doesn’t fall under his hard no’s. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

In the beginning Ivar was insatiable. Once he got you into bed you could expect not to leave it or go to sleep for quite a while. 

That is still the case, though the way you spend your time in bed has changed. The two of you used to go as many rounds as either of you could take until sleep took you.

As your relationship blossomed, it became less about sex itself and more about being intimately connected - whether that be foreplay, sex, or basking in the afterglow of it all. Rounds became fewer, but more drawn out. On the days Ivar seeks comfort, the intimacy of you laying on his chest afterwards, warming his cock, both of you speaking in hushed whispers have become his favorite part.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Since it’s the early 800s … there are no toys. The closest thing would be his daggers, perhaps some rope.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Ivar has no patience to actually tease you in terms of withholding his physical affections. He excels at making your squirm with his verbal teasing though.

You’re circling your hips above him, eyes screwed shut, clearly focused on chasing your release, but slightly overwhelmed by the pleasure all the same. A sudden pressure makes you moan out and look down to where Ivar has placed his hand against the little bulge in your lower stomach. 

"Look at that", he grins, "Look at me all the way inside you. Such a little thing, can barely fit me." A frustrated whine bubbles up in you. Ivars face morphs into one of mock concern, "What’s the matter sweet thing?" "Please..", you whimper. "Please what, hm?" 

When his question goes unanswered, the rock of your hips only growing more frantic, Ivar sits up, the sudden shift of the angle of his cock making you gasp. "Can’t even make yourself cum, is that it? Poor, dumb little thing" A quick, filthy kiss is planted on your lips, and you don’t even have the time to reciprocate before your world spins and you’re suddenly on your back.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

"I don’t growl." Ivar halfheartedly glowers down at you, you grin in return. "Oh, you definitely do."

"I do not."

Your grin grows mischievous, "Mhm, fine. I do suppose it was far more interesting how you whimpered when I li-"

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

You joined Ivar in his bed every single night, following the day you first laid together. After a while your monthly bleeding made its appearance one morning. You thought this would surely put a temporary stop to your shared nights of passion, but Ivar surprised you. 

As soon as you sit down on the edge of the bed you’re ambushed. Giggling you let Ivar lay you down on your back and eagerly welcome him into your arms once he dips down to kiss you.

As always the kiss deepens and your hands wander - yours to his hair, combing your fingers through his silky strands, whilst Ivars hands caress your sides. When his fingers slip under the hem of your dress, you draw back from the kiss and halt his hand on your thigh. Immediately Ivars face furrows and his hand lifts to hold the side of your face. 

"My moon blood started this morning", you answer his unspoken question. Ivars eyes widen and he props himself up on his hands, lifting his hips off of yours. For a second you think he’s disgusted, but your worries disappear as soon as they come. "Oh fuck - am I hurting you, smár brandr?"

Pulling his body down onto yours again, his weight and warmth actually comforting, you shake your head. "No", you reassure him, "I’m just bloody. Some women say release eases their discomfort, but it’s not exactly… appealing to most men."

To your surprise Ivar barks out a laugh. "Some Vikings we have in Kattegat then, hm? Bothered by a little blood." Shaking his head, his hand makes his way under your dress once more.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

To quote TPAW:

"Looking down at what you have just undressed, you are surprised a second time this night. For all the burdens the Gods have made Ivar carry, they sure have blessed him with a gorgeous cock. Its head is flushed a lovely shade of red, and with a length and girth that promises a delicious stretch once inside you, it was simply perfect … and hard - very much so."

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High. That’s all I am going to say. Sometimes the gods can see it all the way from Asgard.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

You’re usually asleep before Ivar is. He very much treasures just laying with you. Tracing shapes on your back, enjoying the warmth of your body next to his and watching your pleased face lowly morph into the relaxed expression he associates with you sleeping.. this is probably the most peaceful time of his day. 

Please consider commenting or reblogging - it really makes my day!

(*) smár brandr = little blade

[nuumbie]

DRAMATIC IRONY

Prompt: You witness a memory bubble at Sir Edward’s. A product of a dream belonging to the trailblaze. Unlike the last Dream Bubble isn’t very much fun at all.

Author’s Notes: Less of Akivili!Reader x Aha. More like Reader reads a self-insert of Ahavili Fanfiction. Romantic-Undertones. A character study based on my perception of both characters based on what little crumbs Star Rail has given us. Hope you enjoy.

You had gotten a text from Sir Edward… apparently you are moving up in the ranks! You are a prized enough customer to get told when they’re having a sale on memories… obviously to maximize your achievements and to fully grasp all of the expierence! This was a must to go and see.

It’s a little exciting to witness the dreams of a long dead Aeon in order to understand them your fingers grasp the bubble. It’s warm as you hold it delicately within your fingertips. A precious memory that belongs to the Astral Express. It’s a little giddying of a thought to understand the crew better. To know of the paths your predecessors had laid out for you… and to understand the Aeon Akivili a little better considering how much of your life revolves in their footsteps…

You note in the back of your mind to tell Himeko… maybe Danheng and March? Perhaps, even Mr Yang would be curious! You can’t help but to imagine their reactions. Pompom’s especially! They seemed a little curious with the last memory bubble you bought… perhaps these souvenirs could serve as precious to the conductor? Such thoughts motivate you forward to press on! “So this is it…”

“You’re excited aren’t you?” Edward’s pupils widen at you. “This was recommended by a certain party. I’m not sure how they got their hands on the memory. I haven’t looked at it myself. You’ll have to tell me how much fun you’re having.”

You pause catching his words. “Eh… you didn’t check? Isn’t that apart of your job?”

“That it is, that it is… this isn’t mine to look at however. The person who left it with me said it was a gift for you and said ‘not to ruin the surprise no matter what’. It’s your choice whether you look at it in the end.”

Oh, that makes you less-wanting to open it up to peek inside. What if they downloaded something scary on it? What if it isn’t a memory of the Astral Express at all but a bunch of jumpscares or even worse… a Rickroll? The memory that once pleasantly reminded you of jelly now hangs like slime between your fingers… “Was… it a girl with pigtails? And a fox-mask…? Kind of short?” You even your hand around where she usually stands when compared to you regardless of your own height.

“Ah, how elaborate of a description!” Edward cheers. “No, it was this blue-haired man—“

You immediately feel all joy you felt suck out of you in instants. A world record pace.

Technically, it still could be Sparkle. That doesn’t narrow it down at all now that you really think about it. You suddenly don’t really want to do this. Because it’s either Sparkle or him… a gift from any of those two hasn’t really ended well for you in the past the more you think about it. Actually, all it’s gotten you is bucket loads of trauma and pains in the butt. But…

“…”

“Will I get stellar jades if I do this?”

Edward blinks a couple of times in confusion. “Ah, they did leave some around here somewhere in there now that you mention it… you’d have to stick your hand inside to get it.”

You immediately stick your hand within the dream bubble and grab hold of it and you don’t look back. Such is the will of the trailblaze.

-

Akivilli’s form is unknown to you yet you can feel the wet grass on your tush as the memories rush into your brain and take hold of your consciousness.

Things you know about Akivilli, perhaps bipedal? Ah, with how things are. They could possibly be a walking trash can on legs and you wouldn’t even know the difference. You try to focus through the haze of the memories.

The words are not your own. But the voice that leaves your throat is yours without any doubt in your head. A shame that you couldn’t choose for another to read it to you again… or at least have the option of it.

You find yourself laughing. Your voice calling back at you despite not knowing the words until you hear them. It’s a bit unnerving, but you soon sit back, relax, and then the dream plays out as your vision returns.

It’s a starry night sky. A view you’ve grown accustomed to. It hasn’t lost its luster yet and you fear the day that the sight of the stars no longer excites you. You reach your hand out towards the stars, tracing the constellations. Although, you can’t see your hands. You can somehow feel its warmth. It goes from your hand to your chest, leaving you warm and fuzzy inside like you drank a bunch of hot cocoa. You can’t stifle the giggle that escapes your throat. It’s you but it isn’t. It’s a strange, disembodying feeling. You should be used to it by now, but you can’t say you are any closer to coping with it than you were before.

“I think I’m really happy.” An emotion that’s not yours, a feeling that doesn’t belong to you, the bubbly, overwhelming feeling of happiness. One that you don’t understand overwhelms you. “Right now. I wonder. Is this what humans call peace? I wish this feeling could last forever.”

But it can’t. It’s a sad and happy thought. The fact you’ll go to experience many more joys and sorrows. That you’ve yet to feel even more highs and lows. For the reason for living is to go through the good and the bad.

“Ah, Akivili, Akivili—“ perhaps, you should have expected it. considering who gave you the dream bubble, but you’re still surprised. a shapeless miasma, surrounded by masks, your sight is blurry when you gaze directly at the figure. without a head THEIR arms wiggling as they hold a multitude of faces, masks, they circle between them on a dime. the mask that looks back at you in THEIR iconic smile. THEY laugh. “The real star is right here. Before your eyes. A touch away! Yet, you yearn for something so far away? How silly, how cruel, to call the night sky beautiful when I’m right here!”

A resounding sound of a million hands snapping. Louder than a gunshot.

“Pay attention to me instead.”

THEY snap their fingers.

The star you were tracing bursts into bright, colorful confetti.

A deep sadness consumes you. The constellation has lost a piece of itself. Millions of years into nothing but scraps of paper floating through outer space. “Agh— AHA.” what a hard name to yell. you weep for the fallen star with your whole chest so it knows it was loved “… you guys never change. I liked that star too.”

“Oh, but we do.” THEY tilt the mask, facing upside down. The smile is curved into a frown. “Nothing lasts forever, Akivili, my Akivili. I’m sure at the end of the universe that IX will swallow all of us down and eat us up. We will change inevitably. Ena turned into Xipe’s late night snack. This moment will go away. That is why I wish for you to admire Aha’s radiance instead! You can disappear. I would spend my eternity thinking about the time you preferred a star over me.”

You feel a deep sadness that isn’t yours. You crush it in your palms and hold it in your hands.

“Don’t get jealous. I do prefer you.” THEY giggle. you don’t turn to face THEM despite that. Glancing out towards the night sky. Bright stars hang across the planet. a planet so small and insignifant in the face of such a big universe. but that’s why it’s so important. your fingers line the stars in the sky into a million different shapes, you can taste the thrill of adventure, the loving unknown. the future and the heat of it on your tongue. a million light years away. “I like that you’re here next to me. I like that you’re with me. This sight is only so enjoyable because I have someone to love it so throughly with.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t though.” you grab where your heart would be. but as an aeon, do you even have one of those? nobody’s ever dissected an aeon before. perhaps they’re made out of rock candy, gears, oils, and a dash of love. because you don’t know. it’s as possible as any other possibility. “Can’t you at least try to hold a little empathy? That star had a long time left. And even if it didn’t— stars usually last a long time after they die. But now it’s just gone. The sky is missing a piece of itself. What will people look at when they place their eyes on that particular patch of sky?”

“Ewww!” THEIR voice transforms. the sound of a child, a mimicked sound and replica of a hundred crying children. THEIR face morphs into disgust. the haughty laugh is accompanied by a loud boo you’d hear from a game show. you have to stifle a laugh as they whine. “You’re killing me, killing me. Ah, dearest, loveliest, Akivili— are you trying to shackle me?”

“My detested, beloathed Aha.” you laugh loudly and try to match THEIR joy. though, a part of you lingers on the fallen star, the fallen aeon, and you resolve to live and hold onto this feeling even tighter until it sears a hole in you that’ll last forever even when you’re gone. “If only I could.”

You don’t know what love is. But you capture it in bits and pieces. You feel it ringing in every piece of you and it calls out to you when you look out at the express crew, whenever you glance up at the night sky you promised to explore, whenever the astral express warp-jumps and even you feel a little dizzy with the sensation of truly being alive.

And you feel it, too. Even for things you shouldn’t. To the things that feel like sand that flows through your fingers. To the things that will move on without you. Because worlds spin, the galaxy changes, every time you close your eyes for as much as you gain there is always something to lose.

Aha doesn’t have a face. THEIR fingertip press against your face, however, pressing your lips into a smile, you think despite being the embodiment of joy they can not smile without a head. “Ahaha.”

“Didn’t you say you could die without regret?” THEY reach out for your hand with their other arms. they move your body, while you stand there uselessly, positioning you like they were inviting you to dance. but they don’t move. neither do you. “You’ve got plenty of regrets itching at your lips, Akivili. So many words left unsaid. You should say them. You have so much power, you have the ability to reach the heavens, to reach for the stars you like so very much. But you always refuse to take.”

“It was a metaphor.” you mutter back. though, it sounds more sad than you intend. Aha notices. they ruffle your hair giggling at your sorry attempts. You don’t resist as much as you should.

“A trailblazer isn’t meant to stay in one place, Akivili. Isn’t that your path? You should tread it properly.” THEY make a buzzer-sound effect. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“You’re so strange.” THEY laugh harder and harder. their hands reach for their stomach to hold it. like THEY would fall over if they hadn’t. “Except, not strange at all! You’re strange because you’re an Aeon— but you’re so lamefully, painfully, mundane from your pinky finger to your toes. You’re a walking, talking, contradiction. To be honest, it’s lame, so dreadfully, drearily, lame.”

“Akivili, Akivili.” THEY smile and they sing a song, out of tune, manical. “I love that part of you, though, you who’s is one-and-only across all the world trees…”

You don’t understand THEM at all. But they just insulted you. You stare at THEM dumbfounded, with crossed arms, but the mask smiles back will a look filled with endearment.

“You know.” You pout as your fingers— does Akivili even have hands? But, you can feel something reaching, weakly lifting, trying to cling to them and hold onto something that touches back. “I want you to stay. The Astral Express. You could join me. We accept everyone. You could be a nameless, too. On the express, everyone is the same.”

“Everyone’s accepted me.” Your heart sings at the thought. “They’d accept you, too. That’s what I want.”

“I know.” Aha‘s smile is strange. “I wanted to hear you say it anyway! Akivili wants me. Akivili wants me. They really said it! I should sing it to so everyone in the galaxy can hear. I wonder if they’d create a holiday over it? So everyone can memorize the date you poured yourself out to me!”

“Don’t.” You pout knowing where this is going. It’d only serve as a reminder. “You’re too cruel, sometimes.”

“I’m the nicest to you.” AHA smiles. “Isn’t that so funny? I care about you. I’d miss you. That’s such a funny thought to me! I can’t help but to laugh.”

You flashback to a time where they wondered out-loud how you’d react if THEY blew up the express. You remember silence before THEY laughed it off and said it was something for the back-burner.

Nice is subjective.

“Would you join me, though? Would you leave your express for me?” Aha giggles. “Would you watch the stars burn with me. All the way from the theater seat? Would you come with me, instead? We could do other things. Everything. I could show you things you’d never get to see on your train if you’d let me.”

“I wouldn’t.” you repeat before you can even think about the words leaving your mouth. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“I know, too. See? You can live up to your namesake.” THEY tap your nose. “It’s written in you. It’s interwoven in you. You shouldn’t forget your beginnings despite all the time that goes by.”

“It’s your meaning.” THEY cackle. “No matter how hard you try, so better to embrace the upcoming tragedy.”

“I know.” Aha hugs you, deeply. “It’s okay. Akivili, my Akivili. Don’t cry! I’ll always take time out of my day to see you! You’re the most exciting show which always gets me to smile the most! I’ll always be watching over you. Maybe, one day. If you miss Aha so much. THEY would like to see you personally from first-ticket seats every now and again on your little missions, too.”

“We could never give each other our forever.” THEY squeeze hard enough for it to hurt, hands wrapping around you, possessively. but, you know better than that. you know they’ll let you go. maybe, you wish they would try a little harder to stay. “My Akivili. I’ll give you all of my now. Because I really do enjoy this! And maybe I’ll give you my later, and even more of a latter after that, and even more. Even if that seems sad. It’s not. We can’t give ourselves everything to each other.”

“But I’ll give more to you than I’ve ever given anyone else.”

“After all, I’m one of the few things that won’t go away, won’t I?” a deep sadness spills in your gut threatening to pour out. “You’re the same. Some things get boring with time. But you grow more wonderful with time. I fall a little deeper in love with you each time I see you!” ❤️

“I love you, Akivili, my Akivili.”

You ignore the burning sensation in your stomach. This grief is another feeling to cherish. A grief for something that hasn’t happened yet. Aha calls you THEIRS. But, you know deep down—

THEY would never be YOURS.

“I think I love you, too.”

Your hold is so tight it burns. You hold onto this. Knowing the moment you open your eyes it will all disappear. But that’s okay. You repeat to yourself. Because this moment is so good. And it’ll happen again. Even if it won’t last.

It’s so good because it won’t last, that means you have to make it. You try to tell yourself that. Repeating the words like a prayer. It really is funny. You’re an Aeon who begs.

“You sweet-talker!!!” THEY laugh. “You should tell me more of this Express! Aha is curious, Aha is curious! Ahaahaa… maybe I’ll take some time out of my schedule and go and visit! Would that make you happy?”

“Don’t play with my feelings like that after so throughly rejecting me.” You deadpan back, but you can’t help but to stifle the sound of your own laughter, however sad. “The express really does welcome everyone. Even if it’s only for awhile.”

And you’re right.

Like everything.

This fades away, too.

-

You wake up standing up. The dream bubble in your hand oozes through your fingers. Leaking onto the floor. Edward’s voice brings you from your stupor.

“Oh, it’s not meant to do that. Forgive me. I don’t think you’ll be able to view this memory for a second time. I wonder if I could recover it…”

So you won’t be able to bring it to the express. You wonder if you would’ve. Knowing what you saw.

It felt more personal— too personal to share. Can you bring yourself to say anything to Edward? Not really. You just shake your head. It’s okay. It’s really better this way.

Looking into your hands now sticky with the hopes and dreams of a long-dead Aeon, you find a measly 75 jades. It’s coated in the sliminess of the dream bubble.

It’s barely enough for half a pull.

[tiannasfanfic]

Second Place

Eddie Munson x Reader (Angst)

| Eddie & Steddie Masterlist | AO3 Link |

Summary: Four years ago, when Eddie Munson chose Chrissy Cunningham over you, it sealed the coffin on your budding romance, as well as your longtime friendship. Now, seeing him at a bar one night brings back a lot of painful memories.

Rating: General Audiences

Author Note: Gender neutral Reader, they/them pronouns used (if any). Angst and Hurt. I have no idea where this came from, I had the idea today and put everything else on hold to write it.

CW: Eddie being a dick; two different breakups; social alcohol use; tobacco use; mentions of past sexual encounters (suggestive, no details); suggestive dialogue.

Word Count: 2,123

“We’ve only been dating for three weeks, Y/N. I don’t see what the big deal is. We can just go back to being friends while I see how this plays out.”

“It doesn’t fucking work like that, Eddie! Not for something like this!”

You sighed, remembering that night four years ago as if it were yesterday.

The memory of all the pain, the hurt, the anger you felt back then rose up to the surface of your mind. You vividly remembered how sick you felt, how fuzzy your head became, how much your heart broke.

“If things don’t work out with Chrissy, we can pick this up right where we left off, I promise.”

But instead of making you rage or even have a panic attack, watching Eddie on stage from across the bar just made you sad.

Sad for so many years of friendship ended.

Sad for a romance that had only just begun.

And sad that looking at him still made your heart ache.

“I’m not going to settle for being second place, Eddie.”

It had all been so great at first, all those years ago. Eddie asking you out had been a dream come true after falling hard for him years before in middle school. While you knew he had a sweet side, you didn’t know how sweet until you were the object of his affection.

There were a few dates, a few hangouts, a few steamy nights in the back of his van. It was amazing and everything you had ever wanted with Eddie

But then he started dealing to the newly single head cheerleader at the start of Spring Break and soon it was all over.

Despite the fact they hadn’t spent time together since middle school, Eddie’s childhood crush on Chrissy Cunningham had carried over throughout the years. Seeing and talking to her on a regular basis brought it right back to the surface, especially once they began hanging out after each deal.

Since your relationship was so new, not many people had really figured out that the two of you had made the transition from best friends to lovers. The guys in Hellfire knew, your other best friends, Robin and Nancy, knew but that was really about it.

And so, when Eddie told you that Chrissy asked him out, you couldn’t be mad at her. It was an honest mistake, especially since you and Eddie were on the opposite end of the social caste from Chrissy.

However, you could be mad at Eddie since he told her yes.

It was the most bizarre experience of your life, listening to him tell you how much this meant to him having Chrissy notice him, and how excited he was about it, and how he knew with you being his best friend that you would understand that he had to see where things went with her.

You most certainly did not understand. Who would?

This resulted in an argument that ended all aspects of your relationship with Eddie, both the long term friendship and the new romance.

Once the words were said and ties were severed, you were both quiet as you gathered up the belongings you had left at the trailer over the years. You were quiet as you walked through the living room, passing by were Eddie sat on the couch, eyes downcast. You were quiet when you walked out the front door, careful like you always were to not let the screen door slam behind you.

And you somehow managed to stay quiet until you were alone in the confines of your room, where the dam finally broke.

Luckily, you only had to put up with seeing them together at school for a little over one month. Once you all graduated, you hadn’t seen Eddie at all except for in passing, neither of you acknowledging the other.

Presently, your friend, Gina, elbowed you a bit roughly in the ribs.

“Hey, no sad faces on my birthday!” she giggled at you, already a bit tipsy.

“Hmm?” you said, finally breaking your gaze away from Eddie to look at her. “Oh! Sorry.”

“You alright?” she said, eyeing you worriedly. “For a second there, you looked like you were about to charge the stage and punch that lead singer in the mouth.”

The visual her words conjured up in your brain made you chuckle, but you shook your head.

“Nah,” you said. “That song just reminded me of someone I used to know.”

Gina nodded knowingly and patted you on the arm. She understood all too well what kind of power music had. Sensing the need to cheer you up, she broke off that line of questioning and steered you back into the conversation at the table, which steered your thoughts away from Eddie.

The conversation flowed for the remainder of Corroded Coffin’s set, as well as afterwards. Once the band was offstage and the sound system switched back over to the jukebox, it was a lot easier to hear each other.

Having spotted you in the crowd, it wasn’t long before Gareth, Jeff and Grant made their way over to you to say hello.

They never stopped being your friends after the breakup. They had been just as surprised as you by it, always figuring the two of you would end up together, and we’re a bit angry about the whole thing.

So angry, in fact, that when Chrissy broke up with Eddie two months after graduation, Jeff called to excitedly tell you all about it.

Chrissy thought they were just too different. They didn’t have much in common, she said. Their interests were too varied, their life goals on different paths.

While you could have told Eddie all of that yourself beforehand, and did, you didn’t feel vindicated like Jeff sounded.

No, you actually felt really bad for Eddie as Jeff was filling you in about it all.

Despite how hurt you were, you did still care about Eddie and you really hoped it would work out for them. You didn’t want Eddie to go through what he put you through. Plus, now he had to live with the knowledge that he sacrificed one of his oldest friendships with someone who truly loved him for nothing.

Okay, so, maybe you were a little vindictive and that latter bit was nothing more than wishful thinking on your part, nut everyone has dark thoughts like that from time to time when they have been hurt.

But, from the sound of it, Jeff was feeling vindictive enough that he really wanted Eddie to think about that exact thing, too.

“Give him a few months,” he said. “He’s going to realize how much of a dumbass he was. You’ll have him back before you know it.”

“Jeff,” you sighed. “I don’t want him back.”

“Don’t you still love him?” he asked. “Four months isn’t long enough to get over someone you liked that much for so long.”

He was right and there was no point in trying to deny it.

“Of course I do,” you said. “But no matter what, I’d always be his second choice. I would think about that every day, that he’s only with me because Chrissy didn’t want him anymore. I’m not going to do that to myself.”

Thankfully, the topic never came up again, but you were even more thankful that Jeff’s prediction didn’t come true. Eddie never tried to contact you in the years since then.

The guys didn’t visit for long before going to hang out with their friends who came out to see them play.

After some time had passed, the bar had gotten busier and the noise level of the crowd started to get under your skin. You excused yourself away from your friends to step outside for a cigarette and a bit of fresh air.

Not long after you settled back against the building to smoke, you heard the door of the bar open.

“Those things will kill you, you know,” came a familiar voice.

You looked over to see Eddie walking towards you, lighting his own cigarette.

“So I’ve heard,” you said, taking a drag off yours.

Eddie came to a stop near you and, leaving a few feet between you, also leaned against back the building.

“Nice night tonight,” he said, looking up at the sky.

“Yeah, it is,” you agreed, as you gazed across the parking lot.

And then silence.

While you’d imagined what you would say to Eddie if he ever talked to you again plenty of times, you found that you weren’t as riled up by his presence as you’d pictured yourself in those scenarios. You felt pretty neutral about his presence, not really bothered by it except to wonder why he followed you out here.

You didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“Hey, um,” Eddie said, breaking the silence. “I just wanted to say, I’m sorry I was such a dick to you. That was a bullshit move I pulled, and I’m really sorry.”

You turned your head to look at him. Eddie was still looking at the sky but lowered his gaze to meet yours. You could see that he was genuine. It was all over his face and in his eyes.

While you’d also imagined what you would say on what you thought was the incredibly rare off chance you ever got an apology from Eddie, you suddenly realized none of those responses you always saw yourself saying seemed appropriate anymore.

Instead, you nodded politely to him.

“Thank you,” you said. “I really appreciate that.”

Eddie nodded in return, then you both looked away to stare at the pavement.

Neither of you spoke again until after you had finished your cigarette and ground it out on the sidewalk with your heel.

“Hey, Y/N?”

You looked by over to Eddie to find him watching you with a nervous expression.

“Would you ever want to go out sometime?”

You stared at him for a moment, seriously thinking it over. He watched you, waiting patiently for your answer.

This was another one of those scenarios you had thought of often, especially after Jeff had put the idea in your mind. But, unlike all those other scenarios you had thought of, this one you never could imagine how you would react to.

After you thought it over, you met his gaze and slowly shook your head.

“I told you, Eddie,” you said. “I won’t settle for second place.”

The disappointment was evident in his face, but he nodded understandingly.

“Can’t blame a guy for asking, can ya?” he asked, throwing you a halfhearted grin.

“No, I can’t,” you agreed, but didn’t return his smile.

You walked past him to head back inside, but then stopped halfway to the door. A spark of anger suddenly ignited into a tiny fire in your brain. It took a lot longer than anyone would’ve thought, but Jeff’s prediction had come true.

And, after four years of radio silence, that suddenly struck you as the most ridiculous thing you had ever heard.

Suddenly, you found yourself turning around.

“Hey, Eddie?” you said, keeping your voice steady despite your sudden anger. “Can I ask you something?”

He turned to you with a hopeful look on his face.

“Anything, sweetheart.”

It took you a moment to figure out the way you wanted to phrase your question.

In the meantime, you looked him over while he patiently waited. You couldn’t deny he was as gorgeous as ever, especially when he was still flushed and hot from the flushed high of adrenaline of performing on stage.

Briefly, your mind flickered back to the memories of the nights you came to see Corroded Coffin perform while you were dating. Eddie nearly ravaged you after each show, leaving you sore, walking slow and grinning for days.

Judging from the slight dilation of his eyes, and the way they kept flickering to key spots on your body, you knew all it would take is a word from you and his lips would be at your throat, his hands wandering all over your body in all the places you’ve missed them.

But even as your anger drained away as you looked at him, you decided you needed to know the answer now that the question crossed your mind.

“Looking back on it now,” you said slowly, keeping your tone even and measured. “Was it all worth it?”

Eddie studied your face for a moment then his expression fell into one of regret as sighed sadly and looked down at the ground.

Even though he said nothing, he spoke volumes. It was all you needed for an answer.

You turned around and went back inside the bar, not feeling any happier now in the least.

Eddie Munson Taglist: @eddie-swhore @tayhar811

[thrashkink-coven]

I am not Mesopotamian, Cannanite, Greek, Phoenician, Egyptian, Roman, or Persian, and yet there are many deities from these societies that I revere, worship, and/or work with.

As a black Caribbean Canadian who has had much of my ancestral spirituality ripped away from me through a history of slavery, forced assimilation and segregation, I do sometimes wish I could worship deities that I know originate within my own culture. I do wish I had these strong ancestral ties and comfort in my culture. I do wish I knew the stories of our tribes and had relationships with elders. The reality is that I don’t, the reality is that my people were collected and dispersed among the Americas to be oppressed, and the destruction of our homes, our culture, was the destruction of our legacy. I am the result of this destruction, a lost immigrant to a land that I never chose to be in, estranged from all that I would have been. and my descendants will not know the stories my ancestors told. I mourn that, especially on days like today.

But seeking out deities simply because they originate in my culture doesn’t feel sincere to me and my practice. I don’t believe I should be forced to only worship names with black faces. Every deity I have approached and loved I did so because they called to me. I had an immense appreciation for the peoples who documented and encountered them, and I was mesmerized by how these deities reflected the society and attitudes of the time. But I know I am not Cannanite, Egyptian, or Iranian, I know I can never fully assimilate into these religions or cultures and that isn’t my goal. And to be honest, I don’t really even know what I am. I know where my mother came from, the Caribbean islands, that’s about it. I have little to no understanding of my lineage beyond that. I do not know what things I have the right to, so I assume I don’t have a right to any of it. Nothing in the world belongs to me but my love.

I know that I belong to Venus, whatever name she takes. I don’t know what that name would have been to my people. I have hope that I have found her in the tales of others. I have hope that I would have been hers regardless of where I ended up.

When I say I am devoted to Inanna, Ishtar, or even Aphrodite, I hope that it is clear that I know that I could never understand what Inanna was to the Sumerians of the time, I could never speak to the personal name of Venus that they discovered and how she manifested in their society, I simply can’t. They are long gone and their stories are now legend. I can study them as much as I want, but the reality is that I will never know what it meant to worship Inanna in Sumer all those years ago. I know that when I say her name I can feel her presence and love. I know that I have found a home in her, and she has embraced me. But I can never claim to be an authority on Mesopotamian mythology or the worship of Inanna.

Even though I know the Cannanite, Sumerian, or Egyptian pantheons are not closed, I am constantly aware that I will always be approaching these things as an outsider. That doesn’t mean I can’t participate in worship or reverence, but I also understand that I cannot truly replicate the Egyptian rituals, the Sumerian prayers, the Greek holidays, and that’s also okay. I don’t need to. The Gods never commanded me to. I approach all of my deities and my craft in a personalized way that still recognizes the origin of these things, but does not attempt to embody them, because I know I simply can’t. I wasn’t there, and I’m quite sure my ancestors weren’t even there.

I use these names because they are the only things I have to make sense of who she is, not because I believe that I am Mesopotamian or Roman, but because I recognize that she was known to these people, and I take their accounts as evidence.

This is something I think about very often, especially when I’m diving into learning more about the deities I worship. Many of these names, Attar, Astarte, Ishtar, Inanna, they are always on the cusp of being lost to time. Am I justified in saying these names even if only to keep them alive? I don’t know, I really don’t. Am I justified in being a devotee of Inanna because I truly love her? I don’t know. If not for people like me, would she still have devotees? I don’t know.

These things are nuanced and complex and I will not claim to have the answer. But if you’re someone like me, especially a black person, struggling with the reality of worshipping deities from other cultures, please know that you are not alone and it is okay, actually it’s better than okay, it’s very good that you are questioning yourself. It’s very good to be aware of our human limitations when it comes to understanding things that we are so in love with. There is no rule that says your worship must stay within the confines of your own culture. But it is also infinitely important to be aware of how your perspective informs your ideas about these ancient cultures, both negatively and positively. As much as I love how trans people may have been regarded in the cult of Inanna, it’s important that I also don’t idolize, fetishize or romanticize a Sumerian society that I have never witnessed. As much as I may study and practice I cannot pretend to know everything about an ancient Goddess from a culture that I am not from. I simply can’t. and that’s okay.

anyways, Happy Emancipation Day.

[charmac]

They’re not allowed to read fanfic? Darn, I kind of assumed Rob found your Twitter handle from reading your fic since he didn’t seem to do anything else on twitter when he followed you

So it comes down to the basic idea of copyright. It’s not illegal or technically even banned, but since RCG are creators, writers, producers, etc. on Sunny and not just actors, it’s really a dicey area for them.

The copyright laws/legality of fanfiction is actually really interesting, there’s a long, messy modern history of fighting for the right to publish and protect fanfiction from studios and/or creators claiming copyright infringement. This use to be a huge issue where authors would send cease and desists to websites like Fanfiction.net to take down all fanfiction of their work. OTW (Ao3) kind of spearheaded the right for fanfiction to exist apart from what it's derived from. The T standing for Transformative argues that because fanworks ‘transform’ the content they are based off, they are exempt from copyright law, as long as there’s no profit. So we cannot find ourselves in legal trouble for publishing fanfiction. As long as it's transformative (aka you're not just republishing source material), it's new/original content.

So that means fanfiction kinda has its own protections in return. As long as you're not profiting off of your work, you have a right to claim that your fanfiction and the ideas that are new/original belong to you. Which means if there is ever any proof that a creator read your work and then a later episode (or sequel, book, etc.) reflected anything you wrote that was not already in the source material prior to that, it can get very messy, in that there may be grounds for you to claim they profited off of your work. So most creators (writers especially) avoid reading fan works.

You can see why for a show like Sunny they might be especially careful reading anything, since there’s so much you can do in that show. If RCG have an idea for something as simple as The Gang Goes Camping, for example, but they’ve previously seen or read a fan work that hit that plot they’d be pretty inclined to never make the episode.

The basic idea being that you don’t want to hinder what you can in good conscience, with no legal issues, write, so you avoid fanworks all together.

I'll give you an example based on what happened with Charlie: he was in public and surrounded by fans and one fan hands him his spec script, or plot idea for an episode. If he had read it, all of a sudden whatever was on that paper becomes a legally grey issue in the writers room. If they liked the plot idea or dialogue (or whatever was on that paper) and end up using something in an actual episode, what claim does the fan now have? Everyone at the event could potentially tell you that this fan contributed to the show, so it's best not to read it. Don't risk ruling out a plot line you may have wanted, don't risk accidentally stealing from a fan, don't risk the show ending up in a legal battle.

Also, first anon: I still don't know why or have any solid proof as to how Rob found my account, but at the time he followed me I did have a 5hr old Tweet with ~15k likes reposting one of his TikToks and calling him the cringiest person alive. I didn't tag him or name him, he didn't like it, or interact with it or any of the replies or literally any other Tweet that day, but I have to imagine he saw it and that's why he followed me. Degradation kink overrules everything else.

[mirkwoodshewolf]

No following; Planet of the apes fanfic Chap. 3

*Author's note*

Here we go with yet another chapter update. And here is the introduction to Caroline into the Rodman troop. But we also get introduced to the awful neighbor that is such a Karen to the Rodman family but no worries, he'll get his comeuppance soon enough as we know.

Taglist:

@queen-paladin

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@gay-and-ready-to-cry

@psychosupernatural

________________________________________________

But as we all know with life, there can’t be the good times without the bad.  And things at the Rodman household were slowly turning dark with each passing day.  Grandpa’s mental health was greatly deteriorating to the point where he had more bad days than good.

He hardly calls me by my own name anymore, instead he keeps referring to me by my mom’s name.  There’s also more arguments with Irena either due to property or his health affected his memory of her.

It was now summer vacation but I still had lessons at the Community center with Maestro Pierre (my orchestra teacher’s friend).  I had just came home from a rehearsal when I heard a scuffle happening in grandpa’s room.  Both his voice and Irena’s voices carried over the house and I quickly raced up the stairs but before I could enter inside, uncle Will intercepted me and said.

“Just stay here Lin. I’ll handle this.”

“But uncle Will—”

“No buts, stay put.” He ordered me as he entered inside.  I heard the smashing sound of a lamp and loud thuds as the scuffle finally ended but I was left petrified at the unknown of what happened. “I’m so sorry Irena.” I heard uncle Will say.

“I can’t do this anymore. He belongs in a home this is no way for him to live.” Irena’s panicked and strained tone said as she raced out of the room in tears.  I slowly peeked through the door as I heard grandpa muttering.

“No way to live. No way to live.” My heart sunk as I took notice of the blood on my grandpa’s right hand probably from the broken lamp on the floor.  I raced to the bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit before racing back in and started doctoring up grandpa’s injury.  “I’m fine Maria, I’m fine.”

I turned to Uncle Will brokenhearted before going back to grandpa’s injury as he continued to mutter to himself rocking back and forth on his bed.

When nighttime came around, I was in my room curled up on my bed trying to contain my emotions.  Tears were burning behind my eyes lids as I tried to suppress my sobs when I heard a gentle knock at my door.

“Hey kid.” Uncle Will’s voice called out softly.  I wiped my tears and sat up while Uncle Will sat down beside me.

“Are we really gonna put grandpa in a home? You know those people can’t take care of him, I’ve heard all about it from several of my friends of how their grandparents were treated.”

“Hey, hey listen. Your grandpa isn’t going anywhere. This is his home.”

“But what are we gonna do Will? He’s getting worse and worse each day. What if—what if he forgets us entirely? Or if he—”

“Hey, don’t talk like that.”

“I’m scared uncle Will. I don’t wanna lose him like I lost…..” I sniffled as uncle Will brought me into his arms.  Gently shushing me as he rubbed my back.

“Don’t you worry about this stuff, you let me handle it.”

“But I don’t want you to do this alone.”

“You’re still young Lin. You shouldn’t have to worry about stuff like this. All you should be worried about is your next concert performance next month in LA. You let me worry about Charles, okay?” he wiped my tears away as he had me look up at him. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Atta girl.” He kissed my forehead before pressing his forehead to mine.  A common thing we do now, especially ever since having Caesar.  “Now go to sleep.” I softly smirked before getting under the covers and he kissed me goodnight before turning off my light and fell fast asleep.

The next morning I awoke to hear the sound of the piano playing, however this wasn’t like the last few years grandpa tried to play.  This was something I hadn’t heard ever since I was really, really little.  The skill my grandpa had been known for when he was a music teacher.

I quickly got up and headed downstairs and I stood by uncle Will as we both stared at grandpa in awe as he rapidly played the piano like Mozart.  When he came to the end of his playing, I couldn’t help but applaud loudly.  He turned towards us and said.

“I can play again.” I nodded as I let out a few giddy giggles. “Lin quick go get your violin, I wish to do a duet with you.”

“Hold on a second dad, I just wanna see something real quick first. Come with me.” He took grandpa’s hand and led him into the dining room and set him down by the window.  There he began to take his blood pressure, checked his eyes all the while saying.  “I’ll need to keep track what I take from the lab. Although I don’t foresee you needing more than one treatment a month.”

“Something amazing has happened.” Grandpa said in awe.

“Yeah, I’ll need a blood test, and a scan and the dosage. You’ll have to be carefully monitored.”

“Will….”

“Now if I can sneak some….”

“Will! I’m not sick anymore.” Said grandpa with relief.  I don’t know what Will was talking about earlier, all I could think about was just seeing the clearness in grandpa’s eyes.  The eyes that I vaguely remember long before he got sick.  He was back, he was truly back!

“It’s nothing dad.” Said uncle Will with a smile.

“Caesar. Where’s Caesar? I want to see him.”

“I’ll go get him for you.” Uncle Will said before heading upstairs.  Grandpa turned to me and immediately embraced me as he even picked me up and I let out a small shriek of excitement.

“Oh Lin my little songbird.”

“Glad to have you back grandpa.”

“Tell me again, when is your first orchestra performance with the Community center?”

“Next month down at the Zipper concert hall in LA.”

“Well save me an extra spot of roses for your dressing room cause I’ll be there cheering you on.” I smiled and hugged grandpa again.

“That means a lot coming from you grandpa.”

“Guys!” uncle Will called out alarmed.  He soon came racing down the stairs and he said, “Caesar’s not in the house.” My heart sunk as I raced upstairs thinking he could’ve gone under my bed without me noticing.

“Caesar? Caesar? Okay don’t play around here, we’re getting scared.” All through the house I could hear both uncle Will and grandpa calling out for Caesar.  When I came to grandpa’s room and saw the open window I immediately called out, “GUYS!” I heard them racing up the stairs and I pointed towards the window.

We came outside as both uncle Will and I called out Caesar’s name.

“CAESAR!”

“CAESAR WHERE ARE YOU?!”

“Alright he can’t have gotten far.” Grandpa tried to assure us as we all raced down the sidewalk calling out Caesar’s name.  As we came to the Hunsiker’s home, that’s when we heard the sounds of Caesar’s panicked shrieks.  Uncle Will ran as fast as he could with me behind him and to my horror I came to see Mr. Hunsiker wielding a bat trying to beat Caesar who was trying to escape his backyard.

“HEY! HEY! HEY! ENOUGH! ENOUGH! The hell’s the matter with you!?” I came up and Caesar immediately jumped into my arms and I held him protectively as I glared at Mr. Hunsiker.

You know how you always have that one neighbor whose purpose is to piss you off? Well Hunsiker is that neighbor.  He hates all kids except for his own, spoils them rotten.  Just a few months when his boys kept throwing things into our yard while I was trying to practice I yelled at them to stop and soon he comes up screaming in my face telling me to leave his boys alone.

Just because you’re a pilot doesn’t give you the right to be an asshole.

“If I see that animal anywhere near my house or my kids again….” Hunsiker yelled at uncle Will pointing the bat towards Caesar.

“He’s not dangerous.” Grandpa told him.

“The only one whose dangerous is you waving that bat around like a mad man you fucking psycho!” I snapped as I rubbed Caesar’s head.

“Lin! Language! C’mon. It won’t happen again.” he took Caesar from my arms and gestured for me to move as we left the Hunsiker’s yard.

“You’re damn right it won’t!” Hunsiker sneered as he kept his eyes on us.

“He just wanted to play.” Grandpa said one last time before closing their gate and we came into our backyard.

“I told you not to go out without us.” Uncle Will reprimanded Caesar as he sat down on the back deck stairs.  Caesar grunted in pain as he began patting at his right leg.  I leaned down and could see through his fur some redness on his leg.

“How bad is it?” asked grandpa.

“It’s really red guys.” I said concerningly.  Uncle Will sighed as grandpa asked.

“Where should we take him?”

“I doubt the local vet knows how to treat chimpanzees.” I told him.

“I might know somewhere. The San Fransisco zoo, they’ve got vets that specialize in wild animals.”

“Uncle Will, how are you gonna sneak him in without people seeing him?”

“I’ll think of something. We’ll be right back.” Uncle Will stood up and carried Caesar out to the car as Caesar signed out my name.

‘You’ll be fine. I’ll be right here when you come back.’ I signed back.  I felt grandpa’s hand on my shoulder and he told me.

“He’ll be fine Lin.”

“I know. But I still worry over him.”

“Already a big sister to him. Your mother was the same with Will whenever he got hurt. You have her caring nature.” I smiled solemnly.  “Come on, let’s settle down and have some breakfast.” He guided me back into the house and prepared our breakfast.

“Glad I won’t have to be cooking breakfast for a while huh?” I asked as he began cooking the eggs like he was a master chef.

“Just glad to finally be able to provide for you again. Do you remember when you first came to live with me, and I helped you make your first set of pancakes? You ended up with flour all over yourself from your head to your feet.”

“Sorry gramps, I don’t really remember that.”

“No matter, you were a lot younger back then. But I remember it, I remember it quite well. Felt like having my own personal little chef again, like your mom before you. And Lin,” he turned to face me.  “If you ever do wish to hear more stories about your mom, you know you can talk to me, right?”

“Yeah grandpa, I know. Thank you.” He nodded before going back to prepping the breakfast.  About an hour or so later, Caesar and Uncle Will came back and Caesar immediately raced up to me and I held him in my lap.  “How was he?”

“Needed a couple of stitches. She told us we wouldn’t need to come back since their dissolvable. But to keep an eye out for redness, fever, that kind of thing.” That’s when Caesar let out a few grunts and signed to me with a wide smile.

‘Asked pretty vet for dinner.’ I smirked as Uncle Will shushed and said.

“Don’t tell her any of that Caesar.” Caesar hooted as he came around and placed himself on my back, his arms draped over my neck.  I stood up, holding his legs, being careful around his stitched leg and hoisted him up to adjust his position.

“Boy Caesar before long you’ll get too heavy for this.” I then took him upstairs so that we could watch some tv together.

Later that night I noticed Uncle Will getting all dressed up in his finest that wasn’t work related.  I leaned against the bathroom doorframe and said with a knowing smirk.

“What’s her name?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know Caesar never lies, and you hardly ever go out on dates. So c’mon tell me, what’s her name?” Uncle Will sighed as he paused getting his cufflinks on.

“Her name’s Caroline. She was the vet who stitched up Caesar’s leg. It was all his idea, not mine.”

“Is she cute?” I asked.

“She uhh—” he chuckled nervously.  “I’d say she’s more than cute.”

“You gonna introduce us to her?”

“What’s with the third degree huh?”

“It’s not third degree, I’m just wondering if you’re gonna keep her around or not.” I walked up and hopped onto the bathroom sink.  I placed my hands on his shoulders and said as I looked him in the eye, “You deserve happiness too Uncle Will. Lately you’ve been burying yourself into your work, taking care of not only Caesar but gramps and me. You never do anything for yourself anymore, I want you to have that again.”

“Oh Lin,” he cupped the side of my face.

“If the date works out, promise you’ll call her back. Don’t be like most guys who always say, ‘yeah I’ll call you later’ but then you never do.”

“If it all goes well I promise to call her back. Third date at least, I’ll even bring her around and introduce you and Charles to her.”

“You better.” I looked him over and took off the bowtie.  “Lose the tie, you look better without one.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. And try not to put on too much cologne. What you have on now is enough.”

“Okay Miss ‘date expert’ anything else I should do or change?” he asked incredulously but also in a laughing manner.

“Yeah, make sure to take a breath mint or two cause you’re breath reeks!”

“You little—” he picked me up and took me off the sink before head locking me and gave me a hard noogie which made me shriek and struggle before I finally got out of his grip.  “Now run along, I’m picking her up at 8 and I don’t wanna be late.”

“You could not, would not want to wait.” I couldn’t help but tease a rhyme back to him.  He gave me a teasing crossed look before resuming his date preparations.  Once he was done, he ruffled my head and said.

“Stay out of trouble, don’t let Caesar watch too much tv and don’t stay up too late. Just because it’s summer vacation for you doesn’t mean you can stay up all night.”

“I know, plus I’ve got rehearsal tomorrow anyways. We’ll probably watch one more movie and then I’ll head to bed. Have fun on your date, but not too much fun. I don’t want to have a little cousin just yet.” Uncle Will gawked at me as I laughed and raced back upstairs.  As I came back into my room, Caesar turned to me and signed.

‘Has he left yet?’

“Just about. Don’t worry as soon as he’s gone I’ll play the movie. But we gotta keep it low, don’t wanna wake up grandpa.” Caesar and I sat by the window and watched as Will left the house and headed for his car.

The headlight came on and we could faintly hear the engine coming to life from his station wagon.  Soon he eventually drove off and I told him.

“Now we can watch it.” He leapt over and quietly shut my door before turning off the lights and I turned on my tv and got the movie set up.  Soon the main menu for Jurassic Park came on and I said, “You sure you wanna do this? It can get quite scary at times.”

‘Caesar can handle dino movie.’ I raised my brow at him.

“Okay, but if you get nightmares, I’m telling uncle Will this was your idea.” We cuddled up in my bed and I pressed play and soon the movie began.

About two weeks passed and as promised after their third date, Will actually brought Caroline into the house to meet both me and grandpa.  We heard the door open and immediately Caesar raced down the stairs and I heard him hooting and panting excitedly.

“Hey pal, glad to see you too.” As I came down the stairs I then saw as Caesar raised his hand to Caroline hooting softly.

“Nice to see you too Caesar.” I titled my head at the interaction.  Even though Will said she was a nurse for the local zoo, sometimes you hear those stories about people who just don’t really have the animals best interest at heart.  But Caesar did seem to like her, and you can always trust an animal’s instinct over a person’s opinion.

“Guess Will wasn’t lying when he said Caesar liked you.” I fully came down the stairs and Will introduced us.

“Caroline, I’d like you to meet my niece, Lin. Lin, this is Caroline.” I walked up and extended my hand and she shook my hand telling me.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you Lin. Will talks about you all the time.”

“Really well now you get the face to match the name.”

“You know, when Will told me he had a niece I half expected to meet a little girl but you are so grown up.”

“So do you help all the animals at the zoo or just the primates?”

“If I’m asked to tend other animals, I do. But mostly I keep to the primate exhibits. I’ve always been fascinated by the great apes, but chimpanzees I’ve especially loved. And Caesar is something truly remarkable.”

“That he is, that he is.” I said as Caesar came up to me and took my hand swinging it back and forth cooing softly.

“Okay well why don’t we move this conversation elsewhere and I can also give you the grand tour of my humble abode. Maybe we’ll even find my dad so you can meet him.” Said Uncle Will.

“Last I saw him, he was in the study reading Julius Caesar.” I told him and he nodded before escorting Caroline further into the house.  Caesar hooted as he pulled on my pant leg and he signed concerningly.

‘You no like Caroline?’

‘Just trying to get a feel of her. Make sure she’s good for uncle Will.’ I led Caesar towards the kitchen where he got up onto the table and leapt onto the pot rack and swung up to get him and myself cookies from the cookie jar at the very top of the shelf.  Once he got the two cookies, he placed the lid back on the jar before hopping back down and handed me my cookie.

I ruffled his head and we soon heard grandpa, Will and Caroline coming into the kitchen.

“So after 35 years of teaching I had to retire but I was granted one of the best awards by my school. They treated me like a soldier going off to war.” Grandpa told Caroline of his days as a music teacher at his old school.

“And never was there anyone like you since. One of the people who plays the cello at the community center in my group told me that their current music teacher sucks.” I told him.

“Lin.” Uncle Will reprimanded me.

“Oh come on, sucks is not a bad word old timer.” I teased as I took a bite of my cookie.

“You play at the community center?” asked Caroline.

“Yep. Soprano violin.”

“One of the best violinist I’ve ever heard.” Grandpa praised.

“Grandpa, I’m the only violinist you’ve ever heard.”

“Not true. I’ve heard several violinists back during my schooling years, but none could compare to you my songbird.” I playfully rolled my eyes before joining them at the table.

“In fact, she’s got a performance happening in a few weeks. You should come see her play if you don’t believe us.” Will suggested.

“I think that’s be up to Lin, Will. I wouldn’t want to impose.” Caroline said.

“I don’t mind. If you don’t mind sitting for two hours for a jazz concert.”

“Then it’s a good thing I happen to love jazz music.” She said.

“It’s pretty cool. Hard to play at times especially if we do swing jazz. But nothing compares to when we get to do program music.”

“Program music?”

“It’s the technical term for film scores.”

“Ahh.”

“Yeah, that’s what she wants to be when she grows up. A film composer.” Said uncle Will.

“I see nothing wrong with that.”

“Thank you! Uncle Will thinks it won’t pay the bills in the future that I should have something to fall back on.”

“You smashing your niece’s dreams?” Caroline asked accusingly.

“No, no, no! All I meant was that while doing that, she should have a backup plan to fall on. The world’s always in a competition over something.”

“While that is true, there’s nothing wrong with chasing after that dream. And I see before me a young woman whose going to chase that dream no matter what.” Caroline said firmly as she looked at me and gave me an encouraging wink.  “We ladies got to stick up for one another, right?”

“We sure do.” The rest of the night was spent having conversations between the five of us until Caroline had to leave.

My final verdict after that night, I believe we had just found a new member to join the Rodman troop.

Months passed and it was getting towards the end of summer and close to the start of not only the school season, but also the autumn.  Caroline and Will were still going strong and whenever she had a free day off work, she’d come by the house to visit us.

Like I said, she truly started to become a member of the family.  Caesar adored her so much, grandpa liked having her around, and I did too.  She really became the female voice I could go to for advice if I didn’t feel like going to either Will or grandpa with something.  And being a teenage girl, I was really going to need that more than ever.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning when Caroline had came for her daily visits on her flex days.  It was also the first time Caesar had wanted her to see his room so we all spent the morning up there.  We all watched in awe as well as amusement as Caesar acrobatically climbed over the railings before going over to his monkey bars.

“Hey Caesar, come on.” Uncle Will said. 

“Good to see you again, Caroline.” Grandpa said. “You coming Caesar?” as grandpa left the attic, Caesar continued to play along the rooftop as Caroline asked.

“So what’s your secret?”

“I can’t take any credit. It’s in his genes.” Uncle Will said humbly.

“I think you’re being very modest. He’s pretty amazing. I think you’ve built a pretty good home for Caesar here.” I shook my head playfully as he was now walking along the railings like a balance beam before he hung upside down by his legs chattering happily.

“But?” uncle Will said as he sat down on Caesar’s bed.  Caesar hopped down and came over to him then Caroline said as she sat down beside uncle Will.

“He won’t stay this way for long. He’s gonna soon grow into a large, powerful animal.” Caesar, completely oblivious to their conversation, continued to chatter happily as he looked between both Will and Caroline.  She told him to hop up onto the bed, which he did as he chattered away.

Now this I knew was going to happen.  After all Caesar isn’t a dog or a cat, he’s a wild animal and wild animals shouldn’t normally be kept as pets.  And I’ve heard the horror stories of pet chimps suddenly turning on their owners and ripping them apart to the point of unrecognition.  But Caesar isn’t like other chimps, he’s way to intelligent to suddenly go primal like that.

“How’s he been doing?”

“Okay, I think.”

“I love chimpanzees, I’m also afraid of them. And it’s appropriate to be afraid of them.” Caesar broke the tension by going up to Will and began playfully shaking him.  We all laughed as uncle Will said.

“Caesar would never hurt anybody. Hey! Hey! He’s happy here, come on.” Caesar began to playfully wrestle with uncle Will before he rolled himself off the bed and I came over to him as we now began to wrestle with each other.

“He’s way to intelligent for that brutish behavior.” I said as I playfully pinned him down before he squirmed his way out of my grip and tackled me to the ground.  He then came close to my face and just when I thought he’d give me a kiss, it was actually a raspberry to my cheek and I exclaimed in playful disgust as Caesar grunted out a laughter.

“Yeah I can see that.” Caesar then leapt towards his window to look outside and beat on the window excitedly.  “Can we at least give him some open space?”

“That’s what I’ve been telling him for over a year now Caroline.” I said as I came up and rested my arms over Caesar’s bed wiped his spit off my cheek.

“Yeah that probably would be a good idea. I know a place right across the bridge. The redwoods. It’s paradise.”

“Wow, I hadn’t been there since I was a kid with grandpa.”

“We’ll have to go early, before it gets too packed. That means you’ll need to get up early tomorrow Lin.”

“For this guy, I’d get up at the butt crack of dawn.” I said going over to Caesar.  “You here that brother ape? You’re finally gonna go see some real trees. The redwoods, your own personal jungle away from home.” Caesar grunted excitedly as he looked between me and beating against the window.

The next morning as promised, we all packed up the station wagon and drove over the Golden gate bridge and towards Muir Woods, aka the redwoods.  Caesar sat in the back looking out of the car in wonder and awe.

All the times he did ride in the car, all he ever saw were the tall buildings and city lights.  But now for the first time he’s getting to see nothing but trees as far as the eye could see.  I sat in the back with grandpa but turned towards Caesar as he signed out.

‘Big trees.’

“Yeah pal, as tall as some of the buildings back home aren’t they?” he nodded.  After about 10-15 more minutes of driving we soon reached the entry way into Muir Woods.  The car turned off and Will rolled down the back window so that Caesar could peek out of the car.  We all soon got out of the car and Will came around with a leash and attached it to the collar he had put on for Caesar.

“Come on, come on.” Uncle Will said as he opened the back door and Caroline came and rubbed the back of his head.

“He doesn’t need a leash, he’ll be fine.” Grandpa said.

“Just to be safe, come on.” Uncle Will stated.  I rolled my eyes but didn’t say anything.  But I couldn’t help but smile at Caesar’s excitement as he bounced around and walked between all of us.

“Come on Caesar.” Grandpa called out.  We passed under the sign and Caesar continued to look around in awe.  “This is the redwoods.” Grandpa pointed out to Caesar and we continued to walk along the trail until we got towards the bridge that stood over the creek and eventually led into the depths of the woods.

Grandpa and I were already a quarter of the way across the bridge when Will called out to Caesar telling him.

“Alright. If I take this off, you cannot leave my sight. I would never find you again. Okay?” uncle Will slowly took the leash off of Caesar but he didn’t immediately go running off, in fact his excitement dwindled and he did something that we had never seen him do before.

He bowed his head and slowly extended his right hand out, palm facing upward.

“What’s this?” grandpa asked as we came back over to him.

“He’s never done that before.” I pointed out.

“What’s he doing?” he asked Caroline who didn’t seem confused but surprised.

“I don’t believe that.” Caesar briefly looked up before gesturing to his palm again.

“What?” asked uncle Will.

“He’s asking your permission. It’s a supplicating gesture.” Caroline then took Will’s hand and had him gently run his fingers across Caesar’s palm softly saying, “It’s okay.” Will gave him a nod and I told Caesar.

“Go on brother ape, off you go!” Caesar chattered excitedly before bounding across the bridge, hopping over the railing and running through the trees at the side of the bridge.  We saw the rustling of the shrubs and his excited shrieks echoed through the woods.

“Look at him go!” grandpa called out as the four of us ran across the bridge to follow him.

We entered deep into the forests where the only trail you had was the natural one before you.  All of them leading you in different ways and directions, and the encompassing trees almost makes you feel claustrophobic to some who don’t know these woods.

Both uncle Will and grandpa were calling out for Caesar, uncle Will more frantic as we couldn’t find Caesar anywhere.  But if I knew him, I knew he wouldn’t just run off.  This is all still new to him, he probably ran off before stopping somewhere to admire the view of these trees.  After all, throughout the entire car ride here he couldn’t stop signing about the trees.

As Caroline, uncle Will and I came to a clearing where the tallest trees stood in a circle, there at the center of the clearing stood Caesar.

“I knew it.” I muttered with a soft. comforting smile.  Caesar was absolutely mesmerized by the size of these trees and couldn’t wait to climb them but he wanted to wait for us to see him do it.

“Caesar!” grandpa called out as he came and joined us.  Caesar turned toward us and he encouraged him, “Go on Caesar, climb!” at that statement, Caesar ran towards the first tree he saw and immediately began climbing up it.

“Go higher!” cried uncle Will.  We all watched with pride as Caesar’s natural climbing abilities took over as he scaled higher and higher into the skyline of the forest.  Grandpa let out one more encouraged ‘climb’ towards Caesar as he was now no more than a speck up in the trees. “Be careful! Caesar be careful!” Uncle Will advised.

“He’ll be fine, you worry too much uncle Will.” I said as we heard Caesar’s shrieks echoing through the woods one last time but it wasn’t out of fear, but pride.

Any chance we could, we’d always bring him out to the redwoods so he could get more practice in climbing.  No matter what the weather was, we’d bring him out here.  Caesar proved to be a natural climber, and every day he’d go higher and higher until he’d eventually climb all the way to the top of the trees, tall enough to probably see the entire skyline of San Francisco.

[whiskeyswifty]

What phenomenon could explain how swifties can be even more obsessive and creepy than other fandoms?

I think it’s pretty obvious in my personal opinion, and it’s the whole gimmick of how she founded her celebrity persona on the idea that she was knowable in a way other celebrities were godlike. Not only did she present that idea but she encouraged her fans to seek out her life with the secret messages and being not so coy about how her songs were in almost direct dialogue with her life if you paid just a tiny bit of attention. By being knowable she was thereby relatable and accessible which is very appealing to her then target demo of teen girls searching for belonging, and it worked extremely well and still does to this day. The perhaps unexpected consequence is that where does the fantasy of curated knowability end and the delusion of intimate knowability begin? Surprising to NOBODY a teen girl is unable to find that balance, and that’s fine and normal for teen girls to be obsessive and naive. but it gives them this inflated sense of authority over a person they don’t actually know at all, that is inadvertently validated by that person themselves when she invites them to a secret session or meets them backstage. Even now, Taylor tries to distance herself from being Knowable in her music but it looks like she still enjoys that connection (if not depends on it more than she wants to), however frayed and corroded it has become, and keeps returning to it. it’s very human to want to be known, especially if you’re a lonely person which she has spoken about feeling quite often over the years. So she keeps feeding that illusion of knowability just enough to sustain it for her benefit at least. But it has spawned this artificial but deep personal connection in her fans’ minds that is unique to her in a way that breeds entitlement among them. That entitlement can come back around to mean they feel they are owed some piece of her, which leads to stalking and creeping. When engaging with other people, it also makes defending her (really the version a fan has created of her in their minds that MUST be true) a far more emotional and deeply personal enterprise, than that of the Beyhive or whatever Ariana grande stans are called or whoever else. For other fans it’s more idol worship, where as for Swifties its as if she were a friend or a loved one they’ve known their whole life, who they stand by as a person sometimes more so than a creator of content they enjoy. and therein lies the root of most of the behavioral issues I’d say.

[monstersinthecosmos]

can i ask what you mean re: disliking how the amc show deals with SA? (zero judgement ftr i just love hearing opinions about this show from other simple italian perv enjoyers. btw you're one of my favorite fic authors ever ever & i think abt gallows bird daily 🙈)

Obviously since you mentioned Gallows Bird in this very ask (thank you btw dskjglads I’m blushing) I’m not going to sit here and say people should never write about rape!!!!!!!!!!!  And I’ve been soul searching and talking this out with a friend today to make sure I’m not just being a hater and that I’m not having cognitive dissonance over the difference between writing porn (intentionally, intended as porn, labeled as porn) vs lazily throwing sexual assault at female characters for “character development”.

(putting this under a cut bc I'm not trying to hate on youse guys's show!!)

It's not that we should never talk about it, or never write about it, but I think it’s like any other storytelling where like, the framework and intention inside the text matters, and criticizing if it landed the way the creator intended is worth discussing. So like, I’m a fan of noncon smut fic, I won’t deny that. I also approach it in a context where I know I’m consuming smut, and it was intended as smut, and it belongs in its own lane. And I think, personally, I enjoy fics (which by nature are anarchistic and transformative) because they tend to be a commentary either on our culture or on the canon source material. Even when fanfics are PWPs that don’t go out of their way to talk about character arcs or make profound commentary on the canon, fanfic EXISTS as a commentary on canon in the first place, so it’s there by default.

So with AMC there’s a few things that really bother me about how they wrote Claudia in S1, and full disclosure I haven’t watched S2 yet, so take this with a grain of salt.

I don’t think it’s cool when a production team of mostly cishet men think that the only way to develop a female character is to have her raped. It’s lazy and it’s hurtful to the audience, and in this particular show it was not handled with sensitivity to make the story worth it. Like, what was the weight of the scene vs what it told us, and what was the payoff? Did the show earn this? (I personally don’t think it did.)

RJ himself said it was to “toughen her up” and that’s just, absolutely fucking nauseating to me, especially when it’s stamped with so many hallmarks of How Not to Write Rape. For example, the fact that they use it to tell us about LOUIS. It’s about LOUIS. It’s not about Claudia at all; we see her assault and the net result is seeing how it affects the MEN in her life. And even using her diary as a framing device for these moments, to tell it from her own words the best they can, it’s still about Louis. The pages being ripped out (in S1, idk how this lands in S2) are about protecting Louis. Claudia didn't remove the pages to protect herself, as far as we know--the men in her life removed them to protect Louis. Fridging a female character for the sake of developing the mens feelings is lazy and obnoxious, and in this story in particular it felt extremely unnecessary to the plot, and adding it at all just came across as gratuitous to me.

(Also, I can tell that this show is like, an exercise in slow burning, but, I just think the bar is really fucking high if they make this all mean something smarter but made everyone sit through this and wait 1.5+ years to get around to tucking it in lol. And like, idk what the pages could possibly say/how they will present it that will change my opinion, but RJ's comments can't be unheard so I'm not sure it matters and the trust simply isn't here, for me. Personally I don't have the patience to wait years for a show to close a loop like this but maybe you're more patient than me.)

I don’t want to get into a whole side essay about how gross I find the Claudia writing in general, but like, as a TLDR the way they aged her up only to reduce her to sex is just so fucking gross to me, and not like in a IT’S HORROR, IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE GROSS way, but in a This Is Kinda Fucking Sexist way. Especially with the sexist comments RJ has made about Anne Rice herself, while piggybacking her IP to make his show. But like, there were OTHER things about Claudia already. They already told us she came from an abusive background. She did not need to be raped for her to come home and recognize the abuse between her parents. Any number of horrific things could’ve happened to her out in the world, but the only way this team knows how to traumatize a girl is to have her raped.

And again I didn’t watch S2 yet so like, I’m not entirely sure how it shakes out, correct me if I’m wrong, but we find out now that it was prolonged and worse than what S1 showed us?

Like, why.

Who does the torture porn serve. We already got it, it was already horrific. We already got it. You’re overselling lol.

Claudia is already tough. She survived her dismal mortal life, she survived Lestat. She was brave enough to wander into the world, not just as a teen, but as a Black girl! She was already independent! In the book, she was the driving force behind helping Louis escape Lestat, and she was pulling the strings in getting them to Europe. The show has that material to pull from. We can see that she’s strong already. We don’t need more rape to communicate it. It’s lazy and gross. Especially when, in the same episode, they are able to traumatize Louis with horrific violence. The show knew how to use violence, mind gift manipulation, race and age and power dynamics in ways that did not involve rape, but still chose to have Claudia raped.

I don’t have an issue with stories talking about sexual assault but I think like, especially after Game of Thrones, we’ve had like, 10 years of media criticism mapping out how to write sexual assault successfully or respectfully, we’ve had endless commentary about how we can find other ways to traumatize women that do not rely on sexual assault, we’ve had endless commentary about how stories about sexual assault would be more effective if they were about the victim and not ultimately about the men in the story.  Like, enough of this already.

So, I’ll be curious to see how the show handles Armand’s sexual assault history, and if we see the writing handled differently because he’s a man, or because we have him directly on screen to tell us about it. This might reveal if this is a like, “only tool in the toolbox is rape” situation or a “women exist in fiction to be raped” situation. But if Lestat suffered at the hands of Magnus without being raped and Louis suffered at the hands of Lestat without being raped*, I have to ask why it was okay to have Claudia raped, why that was the thing they came up with, and while they can’t backpedal and fix the way RJ spoke about it during S1, they have an opportunity to be more intentional with the way they write it for Armand.

(*I do want to add that S1E5 being bookended by blood drinking was a hint that Lestat drinking from Louis during their fight was also rape, contrasted by the way Louis drinks from Armand in the beginning as ~ lovemaking ~; imo that could've been a more tasteful way to handle it in this universe specifically, when that’s the sex analog in the books. So like, yes in some ways Louis was raped by Lestat in this episode, but that also shows we respect Louis enough to have it symbolic vs Claudia’s being literal.)

But I just have a real bad feeling, the way they made Lestat WAY WORSE I just imagine they’ll do the same to Marius. And it’s sort of ironic that the show in a lot of ways exists in conversation with the book canon, like, the racial commentary feels at times like a commentary on the books’ racism, and I wonder what the decision making process was when they were picking which themes to correct, or comment on. Because a LOT of people criticize themes of rape and abuse in VC, and in some ways the show making it more overt feels like they’re putting a huge spotlight on it to acknowledge it properly, and in other ways, having Claudia raped feels like it’s going down the same path of insensitive, shallow writing.

And also, idk where I’m supposed to tuck this thought lol, but as an addendum I can’t not mention that I think it’s really fucked up that they’ve talked nonstop about how much they respect AR and the canon and yet had the analog character of her daughter raped. Like, in S1 they burn the tapes, in S2 they mock the plotlines as being a soap opera, and they have her daughter raped. Like, Claudia was the REASON for VC in the first place. IWTV is about Anne Rice grieving her daughter, and it sucks that the best way they could come up with existential cosmic horror for a teen girl vampire was to give her a perma-hymen and have her raped. It’s just gross, I don’t like it lol.

The first quote I saw from RJ when the show got announced, he said something like "IWTV was written by a grieving mother" -- not Anne Rice, best selling author who reinvented the vampire genre, but "a grieving mother." And it's just, idk. Rubs me the wrong way that he can reduce her that way and be this disrespectful for the character based on her daughter. =/

[writing-blocked-me]

A Lost Chance

CW: Angst, betrayal, PM!Dazai, Dark Era Spoilers!, Mafia stuff ig?

Pairings: Akutagawa x reader, Platonic!Oda x reader

Author's note: A little OOC sorry! I don’t think I’ve really got Akutagawa down yet in terms of character.  Trying to expand beyond writing just for Dazai and Chuuya - though I have loads more fic ideas for them! 

Anyway hope you enjoy :)

You had been with the Port Mafia ever since you could remember.  Kouyou had recruited you at a young age, seeming seeing, as she put it, “a darkness in you akin to the flower of darkness being nurtured in me.”  She trained you and showed you how to flourish in the darkness.  You’d never questioned it; never asked why.

You took it all in stride, stayed in the darkness and even became comfortable there.  Making friends in the mafia was easier than it sounded.  Despite it being a criminal organisation, there were surprisingly many people your age.  The Akutagawa siblings were surprisingly who you’d grown closest to over the years.  Although each of you trained under different executives, in different factions of the organisation,  you became really close.  

Ryunosuke in particuar you felt you gravitated to.  He was angry and brash, so desperate to prove himself to Dazai as strong that he was often blinded to things around him.  However, you  admired how driven he was and how hard he worked.  Though, he wasn’t always so rage-fuelled.  Sometimes he could be gentle and sweet, especially when it came to Gin.  He was always soft and considerate of his sister and protective of her as well.  It was incredibly sweet.  

He was also soft with you, and just as protective of you as he was of Gin.  He had grown fond of you, as you’d pretty much grown up together.  You always stuck by him and seen his worth even when Dazai did not.  You were one of the few people he completely trusted and allowed himself to open up to.  It was not until his early teens when he realised he was falling for you, or rather, until Gin realised and told him.  He was never good with his emotions, often acting on whims, usually in violence or anger.

However, unknown to the Black-Fanged Hellhound of the Port Mafia, you were just as smitten with him.  Though, on your side you were aware of his short temper and inability to confront any emotions outside of the negative.  So, you were content to wait until he was ready for the next step in your relationship.  You had always been content within the darkness of the mafia’s walls.

Until you weren’t. 

When you met Oda Sakunoske, it was supposed to be a simple job.  You were there as extra muscle and firepower during what was later called the Dragon’s Head Conflict.  You were only 14 at the time and so had been kept out of the main action.  Though the mafia was desperate, so still they sent you in.  That’s where you first saw him.  Picking up any stragglers he could find, rescuing children and protecting them from the conflict.  He seemed determined to keep the kids out of the darkness - a concept completely mysterious to you.  At first you had been confused, but curious.

The second time you met him was when you sought him out.  He had sparked your curiosity and you wanted to know more.  You hung around with him; you asked him questions.  He always gave you the same blunt answers about wanting to help the kids.  He showed them kindness, a kindness that stemmed from light.  You had never been exposed to light before Oda; it was then that he opened the door for you, leading to light.

From then on, you had decided to help him, to be more kind.  You would look after the orphans when he was gone too long on mafia jobs and contribute to their living costs.  Eventually, they began to see you as an older sibling and, eventually, you became very attached to them.

Regardless of how kind you were when it came to the kids, you never forgot where you worked, where you believed you belonged.  In the darkness.  You continued to work as a member of the mafia, alongside your friends.  You still cared for the Akutagawa siblings, still infatuated with Akutagawa, though you now attempted to prevent any excessive violence he attempted.  Life went on with only a few changes.

It was when you were 16 that Akutagawa finally told you he loved you.  He had just had an intense training session with his mentor and he returned to his and Gin’s shared abode battered and bruised, coughing and spluttering.  You had already been there, waiting for one or both of the siblings to show up to hang out, when he walked through the door.  You stood up to help him, only for him to fall on top of you, sending you both to the floor with a thud.  You gently rolled him off of you and rushed to get the med kit before tending to his injuries.  

It was then that he realised he did not want to lose you, you who treated him with respect and love, who showed him his worth was not just based on Dazai’s opinion of him, who reassured him of his strength when he believed himself weak.  He had been aware of his feelings for you before, but now he had no choice but to act on them and let you know of his feelings.  So he told you.  He communicated exactly how he felt, as he placed a soft kiss on top of your forehead, thanking you for loving him andf taking care of him. That was the beginnign of your wonderful and short-lived relationship as lovers.

The two of you remained professional as ever within the realm of the mafia, but outside you were much less hard and cold.  Akutagawa was warm and loving, though he showed it in his own way, and you in turn took care of him.  He had never been taken care of before, not like the way you did - intimately and without any sign of disgust or regret.  You loved him and he loved you, and, though you had been exposed to the light, you were content to live in this realm of darkness if it meant the two of you could keep on loving one another.

And then everything fell apart.

Akutagawa had stormed into the room furious one day, frustrated at the new enemy, Mimic, and his lack of usefullness to his mentor, the Demon Prodigy.  He had ranted about Dazai and how he had reprimanded him for botching the trap he had set up.  He went on and on about how Dazai’s friend was so much better than him.  Placing your hands around his, you attempted to calm him down, to no avail, as he shook your hands off and got even more worked up.  This time, however, his anger turned towards you.  He had never been angry at you before, not seriously anyway, not like he was then, with fiery rage burning in his eyes, brows scrunched together and lips tightly pursed together.  He had yelled at you, blamed you for making him weak, for allowing him to be soft, to let down his guard.  He screamed and shouted about how without you he would finally be strong, Dazai would finally recognise him as strong. 

Eyes full of tears and withou response, you sidestepped the mafioso and stormed past him.  You would not hear him say those things, although you knew that his anger was not truly directed at you, but it still hurt to listen to the boy you loved berating you.  You were aware of his lack of control over his emotions from the start, you just needed some time to cool down, and to let him cool down.

It was a couple days since your fight with Akutagawa when it happened.  You had thought he was going to visit you, but he simply still needed time.  Ryunosuke regretted lashing out and losing control, but he didn’t know how to make it right, so he opted to leave you alone, deciding until he could figure out how to fix it, he would let you have your space.

That was his mistake.

The news of the mafia’s success defeating mimic, whilst also attaining a permit allowing the mafia to legally operate with Gifted individuals.  However, few knew how it had been done.  You had been celebrating on with Gin in your apartment after hearing the news.  It was only when they left, late that night, that you started asking youself the questions of “who”, “what”, “where”, “when” and “why”.  That’s when you heard a knock at the door.  There stood the Demon Prodigy himself, Dazai Osamu, eyes slightly puffy, though his attempts to conceal it was commendable.  

You had met him a few times throughout your time in the mafia, through missions and jobs.  However, your interactions grew slightly more after meeting Oda.  You were aware of their odd friendship and that Oda trusted him, considering him a true, genuine friend.  That said, your respect for him was only for him as a superior, given your relationship to his pupil.  You were wary of the man at the door, unsure of why he would seek you of all people out, why he would come at such a late hour. 

“Odasaku is gone.”

It was the only thing he said before he dragged himself into your apartment, plonking himself down on your couch.  

Your ears rang with the words, your face displaying obvious disbelief.  He couldn’t be gone, that couldn’t be true, right? But you knew that Dazai would not be in your presence if it was fake. Your mind raced, what would you do without your mentor of light? What would the kids do? You hadn’t even thought about them yet, how would you break the news...

“They’re gone too.” 

As if reading your mind, Dazai lifted his head.  He recounted the events of Oda’s death to you and the death of the orphans.  As he spoke, he stared at the wall, it was apparent how desperate he was not to cry.  He looked almost innocent as the sorrow crossed his face. He turned to you.

“I’m leaving the mafia.  His last wish was for me to do something good, to live in the light and help people.  He asked if I could bring you with me.”

The former Demon Prodigy extended his hand to you, an invitation.  

And, without looking back, to honour the person you most looked up to, you took it.

Akutagawa knocked on your door.  One. Two. Three times.  No response.  You hadn’t been seen in days, he came to check on you.  The rest of the mafia was busying themselves with finding the former executive, now suspected traitor, but all he could think of was you.  He was finally ready to patch things up, ready to tell you how sorry he was.  Another knock.  No response again, so he busted down your door.  He’d apologise later but he had to talk to you first.  

Your apartment was empty, blank and cold - nothing like the warm environment it had been while you lived there.  Akutagawa tore through the apartment, room by room, still no sign.  You were gone.  

You had left and taken with you the last part of his soul that was not rage and despair.

[honeyhotteoks]

First off: you're my absolute favorite fanfic author! The way you write the characters and their emotions and dialog is just beautiful! Into the Aurora and This Night Together inspired me to actually give my writing a fighting chance!!!

With that said...how did you start posting your work? I really want to, but I'm sooooooo nervous!! What if no likes it? What if everyone hates it? And is there a certain way to format the post? I'm fairly new to ✨️actually✨️ posting on tumblr and have no clue what I'm doing 😬

oh my gosh, thank you so much!! i’m so honored to know that i helped inspire you to write fic 😭

this is a great question!! i have lots of advice for you, check under the cut~

okay so as far as how i started posting, this is probably not the post helpful answer. i’ve actually been writing fanfic since i was probably like 14 for various fandoms, i used to post on ff.net then on ao3 and now here, and it’s just been years of publicly posting fandom works online. that being said…… at some point you will just want to rip the bandaid off and when you do, i have some advice

there are going to be people who don’t like what you write, it doesn’t matter what you write or how you write. you like my work and i have a lot of followers, but i’ve had people give pretty negative feedback about aurora, tnt, and some of my one-shots. or reviews that aren’t “mean” necessarily but are “constructive”…. however, i’m a big believer that in the world of fan fiction, unsolicited constructive criticism doesn’t belong in comments when the author is posting their hobby for free. all i’m saying is that it’s gonna happen at some point, but you have to remember that the people doing that aren’t writing fic, and i genuinely do not care about the critical opinions of someone who’s never put themselves out there creatively before.

something that hurt when i started posting was the lack of engagement, and i know this is something a lot of writers still struggle with, especially on tumblr. there are fics i have written that are like deeply dear to me and i’m really proud of but have so few notes compared to other fics and that used to really bum me out. what i’ve learned is this:

people actually aren’t perpetually online they just seem it, so if you post something once and never mention it again, people with busy lives are going to miss it

the time you post doesn’t have to matter… but if you’re trying to drum up engagement, then consider the time of day you’re posting. tumblr has good analytics to tell you blog engagement stats and stuff like that, i find that can help with knowing most of your followers are from XYZ time zone and they probably will not see something you post at 2 PM during the work/school day vs. 7 PM or something like that

try not to be sad if you get a majority of likes and not reblogs. i personally like tons of work that i intend to read later, i treat my likes like bookmarks, that doesn’t mean someone didn’t like your work enough to reblog it, it means they use their likes differently OR potentially they have a blog where they don’t feel comfortable reblogging fanfic, especially nsfw fic.

if you’re posting anywhere, know your tags. don’t post something with two hashtags and assume it’ll find its way. unfortunately it won’t, so make sure you tag everything appropriately so it lands in people’s suggested feeds

if you do all of that and then your fic gets some notes but not that many….. and you’re wondering….. why didn’t more people like it? well part of that might just be that it’s not showing up at the top of people’s feeds anymore. if you want to establish yourself in the writing space, engaging with readers is important. if you get a really nice review in a reblog, don’t be afraid to reblog it back. if you get a certain number of notes, don’t be afraid to reblog your own fic and say thank you for 100 notes etc., just to push it up on people’s feeds.

if you’re posting on AO3, just make sure that you’re filling out all the tags, warnings, pairings, etc. AO3 has been around a while and is a well oiled machine, and i know a ton of readers on there use the filters to find the exact niche of fic they want to read. i cannot tell you how many fics i pass by that don’t have tags, are missing a good description, etc.

okay now as far as formatting goes…… here are my thoughts after a lot of trial and error:

before you decide on anything formatting wise, just remember that readers engage with fic on tumblr in a variety of ways. some people are on desktop, some people are on your actual blog web address, and some people are just on mobile. before you teach yourself html coding for fancy lettering in ombré colors…… are your readers going to be able to see it in dark mode? if not, maybe don’t invest the time, because the first thing i do when i see a post like that is scroll because it’s taking me too long to know what’s going on

so yeah, are there rules to format? yes and no. content “yes”, visual “no” but people do follow a particular trend. what i like to do is keep it simple to avoid the formatting issues i mentioned above, but i also invested a little time in figuring out a “look” for my posts so when people are scrolling they might see my layout and know it’s me. details below->

1. a header image or header images, it’s the quickest way for people to get a vibe and it might capture an aesthetic. some authors have a header made for them as an author, some do a custom one per fic, but i typically just make an aesthetic black and white collage and go with that because it looks cool but i don’t have to learn photoshop to do it. go with what you know on this one

2. a title and a SHORT description, i think ‘untitled’ is tough…. people won’t read or remember your fic. no description means people are guessing and might not click, and too long means people might scroll. my rule of thumb is a couple sentences.

3. content tags, and this is VERY important — people need warnings or clarity on what the fic is about. most people skim the tags to find out if they want to read it over a description, especially when we’re talking very short form fic or smut. that’s why tags might be funny or informal, but it’s also really important to tag anything that might be triggering in a variety of ways. something i always make sure i include is every sex act or kink (i never know what triggers one person and not another), and anything related to: violence, abuse, self harm, mental health, physical injury, death, food/diet content, and body descriptors of reader. if you’re writing self insert and you’re describing the reader a particular way, that’s fine but you should disclose it. some of my fics are specifically written for ‘curvy’ reader in mind and its tagged that way vs. like …. ‘short/small/size-kink’ reader. Gender is also important here, i always tag fem!reader because i feel like that works, but i often see more trans inclusive terms like afab!reader etc., so it’s up to you! but we definitely want to be mindful of readers who could feel dysphoric if surprised by pronouns/body-parts/etc.

4. a clear identifier of the ships in the fic. i.e. put the ‘yunho x reader’ or ‘idol!yunho x fem!reader’ tag high up so people know who they’re reading

5. otherwise, i personally recommend keeping the top of the post short, putting in a cut, and then posting everything under the cut because a long post is just a lot to scroll through etc. i favor the small text for my fics headers and regular size text for the actual body of the fic just to keep it looking nice.

hopefully this helps! i’d be happy to talk through anything else too, i love getting into this stuff. my biggest recommendation would be to ask yourself what kind of work you want to post and invest some time in developing a style for your format etc. - even if it’s close to what other people are posting that’s okay! just keeping it consistent and looking good helps get readers to click, so search around and see what you like and then play with your posts in drafts before you do anything.

good luck!!!

[velvethopewrites]

Happy Anniversary

Author’s Note: Not sure what this is, but it sort of flowed out of me. AU Destiel moment, One Shot. All mistakes are *not* mine, they belong to the typo-faery who is a real bitch to deal with if I don’t ply him with tacos and tequila, just fyi.

Cas comes home late, a long day turned into an even longer night, but there is still the soft glow of the overhead stove-light on in the kitchen to welcome him. He smiles to himself as he sees the plate of food Dean left wrapped for him, just some raw veggies and a turkey sandwich, but the thought is appreciated just the same. There’s even a rose in a small glass jar next to it and he takes a moment to breathe it in. Dean hardly ever does such romantic touches and it makes Cas smile.

Kicking off his shoes and flinging his coat over a chair, he slumps down into their sofa, a weary sigh escaping before he can take it. He’s been working too much lately; he can barely remember the last time he actually ate with Dean, let alone seen him for more than a few moments.

There’s the tell-tale creak of the third step on the stairs just as he’s finishing up his carrot sticks. A few moments later, strong arms slip around his neck and Castiel closes his eyes enjoying the warmth.

“Hey, stranger,” says a gruff voice in his ear, and he feels the soft touch of Dean’s lips to the top of his head.

“Hello, Dean.”

“I see you found your dinner,” Dean says, walking around the sofa to join him. “I would have done more but I wasn’t sure how late you’d be and I know you don’t like to go to bed on anything heavy.”

“I appreciated this, trust me.” Cas gives him a smile as he holds up his now empty plate. He places it on their coffee table and Dean immediately takes his hand.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not especially.”

Dean nods and the silence grows between them as they huddle together on the sofa. Cas closes his eyes and rests his head on Dean’s shoulder. He feels overwrought - like a wash cloth that has been wrung out to dry too many times. There is the ticking clock and the warmth of the man next to him to ground him and he starts to feel the tension of his day pull away finally. Dean rubs tiny circles into his arm where he holds him, his scent a mixture of toothpaste, their bed and something that is unmistakably just Dean. Cas likes to amuse himself by thinking it’s the smell of flannel made human. Or human made flannel. He’s not sure which. But it’s an earthy, masculine scent and he loves it.

“Wanna fool around?” Dean whispers, lowering his face down to Castiel's, a wicked amusement in his eyes.

Cas snorts at his husband’s optimism. “Only if you do all the work. And we stay on this sofa afterwards. Forever.”

Dean grins and kisses him, but it’s just a light touch of his lips, despite his question. He pulls Cas closer to him and hums quietly. A few moments go by and Cas wishes he had enough energy to give Dean his full attention instead of his pillow. He can’t remember the last time they were intimate, sad to say.

“Okay, and this is my last and final offer, Cas, do you wanna go to bed and sleep for a thousand years, give or take a day?”

Cas relaxes further and grins into Dean’s shoulder and nods. “Oh, you sweet talker, you always know what I like to hear.”

Dean chuckles and shifts on the sofa until he has his arms around Cas. He lifts him and if Cas weren’t so exhausted he definitely would be more than a little impressed and turned on. As it is he mentally tries to make himself as light as possible (no easy feat these days) for Dean.

“You know sucking in your gut while I’m carrying you doesn’t really do a whole lot,” Dean grumbles, glancing down at him. Cas laughs and releases the breath he’d been holding.

“I think I can walk the last bit,” Cas says, smiling at him.

“Nah, I got ya, babe. This right here is why I work out. Bathroom or bed?”

“Hmm, I should brush my teeth.”

“All right, moonshine.”

“Moonshine?”

“Yeah, it’s nighttime, so instead of sunshine, you’re my moonshine, er, wait, that sounded better in my head. Shut up.”

Dean grunts as he carries him, bridal style, over to their bathroom and lowers him down slowly. His cheeks are flushed and his breath is only a little bit winded. Cas kisses his cheek. He has been working out. Yet another thing he’s missed.

“My hero. Thank you. If I’m not out in five minutes, it means I’ve fallen face first into the sink.”

“Sexy. Make sure you have the toothpaste squeezed out on your face, too. Really sells the image of exhausted breadwinner.”

“Dean.”

His husband laughs and raises his hand as he heads back to their bedroom. Cas is quick in his ablutions and when he returns to their bedroom Dean is already back in bed, the covers pulled back on Cas’s side in open invitation. He quickly climbs in and sighs as Dean wraps his arms around him.

“I need to stop working so much,” Cas mumbles. “I miss you…I miss this, too much.”

“I’m not going to argue with you about that. Especially since I’d win because you’re too exhausted to put up a counter-argument, sweet cheeks.”

Cas snorts into his pillow and kicks his leg into Dean’s. They settle into something resembling bliss, Cas is sure, and he feels his mind already slipping into unconsciousness. He is thankful for so many things in his life, these days, but mostly he is thankful for this - Dean taking care of him. It’s a privilege afforded only to the special few, he knows, and he is so glad he has it. As his mind tumbles further something occurs to him…something just at the edge of his thoughts. Something about Dean and him that he’s sure he’s forgotten.

Suddenly, Cas feels wide awake and sits up in bed. Dean grouses at him and squints blearily up at him.

“What’s up, Cas?”

“It’s our anniversary. It was our anniversary today. That’s why you called work and why you put the rose…oh, Dean. I am so sorry! It completely slipped my mind. I am the worst husband in the world, I can’t believe you put up with—”

Dean sits up and quiets him with a kiss. When they break apart, they are both breathing loudly. Cas feels shame burning in his gut.

“You should divorce me.”

“For forgetting what day it was? Come on, Cas. I don’t have to be Sam to know that won’t hold up in court.”

“No, for neglect, for lack of affection, for drinking all the coffee and for the dirty laundry I leave on the floor—”

“Castiel, shut the hell up. It’s fine. We’re fine. I am not divorcing you for any of those things. Well, maybe eventually the laundry thing, but not tonight and not tomorrow. Capiche?”

Cas closes his mouth and gulps. “I capiche. But, Dean—”

“I’ll let you make it up to me after you’ve rested, I promise. Now lay back down and get some sleep, you damn idiot.”

Cas knows he has a sad look on his face and gives his husband what he hopes is the biggest puppy-dog eyes to ever puppy. Dean glares at him but eventually rolls his eyes and lays down, opening his arms again so that Cas can lie down close once more.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“No, you probably don’t. I’m a catch. And I’m damn adorable.”

Cas smiles to himself. “And you make a mean apple pie.”

“Damn straight. Well, not entirely straight.”

Cas snorts but feels his exhaustion hit him once more and closes his eyes, still feeling a bit sad. He resolves to take some time off and soon.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you, and I would still marry you. For what it’s worth.”

“Me too, man. Me too.”

“I’m going to take some vacation time and not work for a month, and make this up to you every morning.”

“Yeah? How?”

“On my knees? And then on my back, then on your back, then with you tied up to the—”

“Okay, Johnny Sins, I get you. You’re gonna rock my world. Now shut up and go to sleep. You know, for a tired guy you sure are fighting this sleep thing.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just…sorry.”

Dean kisses his neck again as he curls around him, and Cas sighs. Before he drifts of for good, Dean’s voice is low and soft in his ear.

“I love you, you big workaholic dork. Nothing could make me give you up.”

Cas smiles and finally allows himself to fall asleep. He’ll have time to make it up to Dean tomorrow. And for the rest of their lives.

I’m tagging @fellshish and @canonblastedships because I can? Heh *hides* 🙈 sorry guys this is soooooo fluffy

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Omnivore: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: A case personal for Hotch pops up when The Reaper comes back into his life. He stopped killing for ten years only to resurface when the Detective on the original case dies.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

Only you, Spencer, Hotch, and Rossi were at the crime scene last night so the next morning, you tell everyone what you found at the bus station.

"He never used code before. Why now?" Derek asks.

"They're not part of a pattern or equation. Mathematically, they're insignificant," Spencer says.

"Maybe so, but I know I've seen them before. Foyet said he likes to attack people in their cars. Tonight he hit a bus, which is why Foyet only takes a bus. It was bus number seven that stopped in front of Foyet's apartments. He knows where Foyet lives and wants us to know it."

There are more similarities between George and The Reaper. Both want to stay hidden. Both are very hard to find. The Reaper hits a bus after George says he only takes the bus because of that. The bus stops in front of Foyet's apartment. Why change everything for one man? Why go from cars to buses when The Reaper knows he can get away with killing people in cars? Something doesn't make sense.

You place your thumb's fingernail in your mouth and begin pacing the room.

"1439. The apartment you interviewed him in today was 1439 Yarbrough. The other numbers are the other apartments he gave us. 201 South Brookline and 1488 Edenhurst."

"What are you thinking, Y/N?" Hotch asks.

"George has names and addresses all over town because he's afraid The Reaper will come after him again, right? Why would he give those addresses out when he knows The Reaper can be anyone? The only person who should know those addresses is himself. How does The Reaper know about them?"

"Let's split up and cover each address and find out."

You're paired with Derek, Emily and Spencer are paired, and Rossi and Hotch are together. When you get to Foyet's house, you pause before the entrance of the house.

"You take the back. I got the front."

You head to the back of the property where the curtains are drawn. The house is dark so you can't really see inside the house. You try the backdoor to see it's already open, which is weird. If this is one of George's houses, why would he keep the door unlocked, especially at night? Still, you head inside with your gun drawn.

The same energy you've been seeing all over town is all over this house. It's too strong to be left behind by someone. No, whoever this belongs to is still inside the house. The hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention, warning you that you and Derek aren't alone.

"Derek, The Reaper is here!" you scream out. "Get out!"

Suddenly, The Reaper tackles Derek through the front window and onto the lawn. You rush through the house and jump through the open window to aid Derek. The Reaper punches Derek in the jaw but you won't let him get another punch in. You don't think to use your gun because you need to get him off your friend.

You tackle The Reaper to the ground causing his mask to slip off his face a bit. You definitely caught him off guard because he freezes for a split second. Since he's stronger than you, he flips you so that you're on the ground. He wraps his hands around your neck and squeezes as hard as he can, and you kick as much as you can to try and escape.

You knee him in the groin and he punches you in the face just as hard as he did with Derek. Both you and Derek are knocked out immediately. When you come to, you see Spencer above you and two ambulances in front of the house.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asks and helps you sit up.

"Damn it. I'll be fine."

Derek has glass stuck inside his arm that the paramedics are trying to take out, and two more come over to you to help you. Your throat is sore and a bruise is forming on your face, but you're alright otherwise. The question is, why didn't The Reaper kill you or Derek? You were right there but he let you live.

"He took my credentials," Derek says.

"The important thing is you two are okay," Hotch says.

You reach up and feel the back of your head and realize a section of hair is shorter than the others.

"He cut my hair," you sigh.

"He left me this," Derek says and shows the bullet The Reaper left behind.

"It's power and manipulation. Don't let him get to you."

"Yeah, right. He's telling us, 'I had you two'."

"Morgan, you and Y/N are alive."

"Yeah, but why?" you ask. "We're sitting here alive because we were knocked out cold. He couldn't torture us. He likes to interact with his victims to tell them he's going to kill them before he does, or by letting them know he could have. I thought I had him. I caught him off guard but he won in the end."

"Hotch is right. He's just trying to get into your head."

"Right or wrong, he had us."

The paramedics finish with their checkups before giving you and Derek the green light. You're going to be sore for a few days and have a bruise for longer, but you don't need to go to the hospital. When you're cleared by the medical professionals, you head inside the house with your teammates.

It's like a fucking bloodbath inside the kitchen. There is blood everywhere like someone opened a person and just let them bleed out. The weird thing is that you've seen The Reaper's energy three times at three different crime scenes. The energy inside the house is exactly like The Reapers. If he was here, it makes sense that you'd see it, but this is George's house. He might not have spent a lot of time here, but his energy would have stuck around even after he left.

If you and Derek weren't killed, then whose blood is this? The only logical explanation would be if it's George's, but there is a slight problem with that. If George and The Reaper are two different people, you'd see two different energies. The amount of blood that's in the kitchen is too much for someone to survive.

George Foyet is The Reaper.

"This was someone else. There are signs of a struggle and a lot of blood. The human body holds five quarts of blood. I'd say there's a little more than half that here. Whoever the bleeder was, they lost too much to survive," Spencer says.

"You think it's Foyet? It was his worst fear that The Reaper would come back and finish the job."

"We offered him protection. He refused. It was his choice," Hotch shrugs.

"Guys, I think George is The Reaper," you reveal.

The local police can handle the crime scene while your team heads back to the field office to talk about this. Penelope chimed into the call so she can work her magic at the same time as the discussion.

"Okay, why do you think George is The Reaper?"

"I told Spencer that The Reaper killed twenty-one people and evaded police. George is the only person who was left alive by him. Doesn't it strike you as odd that The Reaper stopped killing when there is one victim alive? The Reaper doesn't leave victims alive. He's gotten away with killing for this long, so why now?

"George wants to stay hidden, The Reaper stays hidden. George says he doesn't take buses so The Reaper targets a bus. Think about the addresses left on the bus. If someone is truly scared about being a target again, they're not going to give out their addresses to anyone. Why would he when The Reaper could be anyone? How did The Reaper know his addresses?

"The final clue is the blood in the house. I've seen The Reaper's energy three different times. Now, I've never met George, but if George lived in that house at all, then his energy would have been left behind. If George was killed by The Reaper, then I would have seen his energy there. The energy in that house versus the ones at the crime scenes is the exact same.

"The Reaper has been under our noses the entire time. George stabbed himself eleven years ago to make it look like he's a victim so you wouldn't suspect him," you finish.

"I think you're right," Hotch backs you up. "Garcia. What are Foyet's aliases? I want you to look up the Boston City records for Kevin Baskin, Miles Holden, and William Parker. Try the Department of Education."

"So, they all work for the Department of Education. They're all substitute teachers and they all teach computer science."

"High school?"

"Yeah. Oops. Scratch that. They're not all working for the Department of Education. William Parker was fired for alleged inappropriate behavior with his female students."

"Shit," Hotch curses. "Roy Colson went to see Foyet. Garcia, I need you to locate Roy's cell phone."

"Okay, triangulating now. I got it. 2633 South Budlong."

"That must be an address that Foyet didn't give us. Y/N, good work. Let's go." You have to take two cars to fit everyone, but you're on the phone with the other car to keep the communications going. "He stabbed Amanda Bertrand to death, drove a mile, called 911, went back, and he inflicted those wounds on himself. You're right, Y/N."

"He knew EMTs would get there in time to save him."

"Between the phone call and the severity of his wounds, we never considered him as a suspect."

"Why would he do it?" Derek asks.

"It put him at the core of the investigation. Everything we had came from him. He left his own glasses at the crime scene, he pointed us right back in his direction and still, we didn't see it."

When you reach George's place, you can feel Roy's panic come from inside. George has him trapped inside doing god knows what, but you're not going to let him get away with this. Hotch goes in first with you behind him, and Roy is typing on a laptop with George pointing a gun to his head.

"Stop. I'll kill him," George wants when he notices the team.

"You need him to write your story."

"I'm taking him with me. I'll let him go as soon as I'm safe."

"No, you're not."

Hotch takes two more steps and George pushes the gun into Roy's head. You want to cry for Roy but you keep your emotions at bay because what you're feeling isn't your emotions.

"I said I'll kill him."

"If you kill him, I will kill you."

"Do you think I'm afraid to die?"

"You're not afraid. You're greedy and narcissistic. You want the recognition that's going to come from the book that he's gonna write. You want the fame that's gonna come from the media. It's gonna be like Bundy."

"I'm gonna be bigger than Bundy."

"You can't enjoy it if you're dead."

"If you know me so well, how come somebody had to die to bring you here?"

"That's your choice, not mine. You're the serial killer."

"That's right."

George looks at you and Derek and smirks knowingly. He drops the gun and puts his hands behind his back. Hotch doesn't question it and immediately puts him in handcuffs, but you're caught on something. Why would George surrender this easily? What is he planning?

"Where's my badge? Where is it, you son of a bitch?" Derek glares.

"I'm gonna be more famous than you even realize."

"You're dreaming."

George is taken away, and you rub the back of your head in thought. After all this time of evading the police, he's caught. Something isn't right. He's narcissistic and loves the power he holds over others. How can he have that power if he's in prison? Unless he wanted to go to prison because there's something he's planning for when he's in there.

You just want to go home and relax. The entire team is drained from this case and it shows with the way you return back to the BAU. Hotch, Rossi, and JJ go to their offices but the rest stay in the bullpen.

"Man, I need a drink," you groan and sit in your chair.

You take out your compact mirror in your desk drawer and look at the bruise on your face.

"You're always getting hurt," Spencer sighs.

"I'll be fine. It's not like we planned for this. Do you know what we need? Date night. Where do you want to go? I'm starving."

"You liked the Indian place I took you to. Want to get take out and go home?"

"Sounds like a plan," you grin and kiss him.

The air shifts from relaxation to complete panic. JJ comes out of the office with her phone to her ear and turns the TV on. Hotch and Rossi come out of their offices when they hear the reporter talking about The Reaper.

"Foyet escaped," JJ says to everyone. "Guards found him in his cell vomiting blood and convulsing. They rushed him to the prison hospital."

"Get me the US Marshals Office," Hotch orders.

"I already called Don Reilly. I offered our assistance. He said they'd call us if they needed it."

Emily's phone signals a new email, and her eyes widen in shock.

"The Boston field office just identified documents from Foyet's house. They're schematics for the electrical, heating, and water ducts for the East Woburn Correctional Facility."

"He had the schematics?"

"Not just for Woburn. He had them for every jail and courthouse in Massachusetts with ten years to plan."

"They're going to find him, right?" Penelope asks.

"No, they're not. He said he'd be more famous than we knew, and he was right."

"Men heap together the mistakes of their lives, and create a monster they call destiny." - John Hobbes

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[joannerowling]

On the issue with James, I do think this is one area where the books aren’t ageless and have to be read in the context of an English school in the 70s written by an author in the 90s. Because by today’s standards, James is less of your garden variety ‘boys will be boys’ type bully and more of an actual sociopath well past the age of criminal responsibility who by 16 had committed one public sexual assault and was an accessory to attempted murder who backed out last second. But I don’t think that’s at all what Jo meant to convey.

Let me guess. Snape fan? :P

Look, my issue with this discourse has always been that only James seems to get so much flack for his most morally ambiguous actions. I mean, Hermione disfigured a girl her age with zits spelling "sneak" because she'd given the DA members out to Umbridge. Harry nearly gored Malfoy to death by using an unknown spell he knew was meant "for enemies". Yet, i've never seen anyone hating on James that would go as hard against these other characters.

On your first point: James wasn't an accessory to attempted murder who backed out last second. Sirius was the one who tricked Snape and nearly got him killed (which would have made Lupin an accessory to murder). James acted to stop it as soon as he realised what Sirius had done. His reasons for doing so remain obscure - Snape thinks he wanted to save his own skin because he would have been blamed alongside Sirius, but that's Snape's interpretation, not exactly the most unbiased source.

Next: i ressent people misusing the term "sexual assault" to describe what James does in Snape's worst memory (a take that, btw, i've only seen upheld as if it were common knowledge by Americans, or very "Americanised" fans). The definition of sexual assault is "unwanted sexual contact", and in the UK especially it pretty much means "rape without penetration". I do think Jo meant for it to be taken seriously (its parallel with the Muggles's treatment by Death Eaters in GoF is clear), only people didn't really at the time. Still. James humiliated Snape, i'd say what he did qualifies as sexual harrassment, and he's rightfully painted as the bad guy in that episode, but he didn't sexually assault Snape.

Also, because we only have that one scene to work with, everyone seems to forget the larger context, namely: Snape created that spell. Judging by the way Death Eaters were still using it 15+ years later, i imagine James wasn't the first nor the last in his generation to use it against another student. I always saw it as a bit analogous to those dangerous/humiliating games that suddenly become trendy with high schoolers until someone gets hurt enough for adults to intervene. I'm comforted in that interpretation by the fact that Snape implies James didn't even know HE was the one to invent the spell, suggesting it started as a thing Snape showed to other Slytherins to gain some social cred, which then spread to the whole school.

Anyways, if that makes James a sociopath, then Hogwarts must have been chock-full of them in the 70s, starting with Snape himself. Maybe the point isn't that Snape or James (or Sirius) are sociopaths, but that imminent war tends to turn people more prone to violence and less likely to abide by moral principles, or consider their designated enemies's humanity. I have no doubt that James morally justified himself and his actions by the fact that Snape belonged to the "bad crowd" of Voldemort's future recruits. Even though we readers know enough about Snape to be able to tell that he was never seriously convinced by Pure Blood superiority.