#If y’all have any tips they would be SO appreciated because I’m relatively new to the world of Ultrakill and I don’t want to fumble the bal

[of-arches-and-angels]

How do y’all make such great OCs 😭

I’m trying to figure out the lore and stuff to see how I could write them in, but I am struggling so bad lol

Also the support on my latest (and only) post? I am so blown away and excited to continue doing art and concepting as I go! Even if it’s slow going because my brain is lagging trying to wrap around the story elements of Ultrakill lmao

[writing-in-april]

Any Iteration

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Reader is nervous that this new iteration of her won’t be something Spencer will like.

A/N: This is my first fic for my 1250 follower celebration!! If you want another fic with nipple piercings check out my first smut ever- Surprise Pretty Boy. It’s also based on this request that my amazing girlfriend @spencers-dria gave me- also please go send her some love she just tested positive for covid 🥺 Also again thank you all for 1250 followers- I can’t believe this is my 4th follower celebration!! I’m planning to continue to do them every time I hit another milestone (every 250) however- if I hit one while I’m doing my 30 fics in 30 days for April I’m going to find an alternative way to celebrate besides my usual 7 fics in 7 days- let me know what y’all would be open too (maybe a bunch of fic rec lists or maybe a writing contest 🤷‍♀️ idk send me an anon if you have an opinion on what would be the best option!) Thanks for reading and requests are open!

Warnings: 18+, Non specific dom, Nose piercing (F), Nipple Piercings (F), Lots of nipple play, Unprotected sex, Slight bit of cockwarming at the end

Main Masterlist Word Count: 2.1k

Spencer wasn’t one to get angry about anything, disappointment or frustrations were the most extreme negative feelings that he normally felt towards someone that had wronged him. I was dreadfully afraid to see the look of disappointment on Spencer’s face.

We hadn’t been dating for long, only about three months of official dating. We also hadn’t gotten much further than a heated makeout session so he wouldn’t have seen any of the other piercings I had hidden under my shirt.

I had other piercings that weren’t visible to the naked eye that didn’t help quelling the fear that I felt. He had never taken off my shirt before as we had decided to go at a relatively slow pace in our relationship. I wondered in fear if he would also be disappointed with the barbells that were pierced through both of my nipples or- would he like them because they were not as prominent as the ring that was proud on my face.

I had said I’d meet him at his apartment to watch some Dr. Who and eat whatever take out we were feeling like that night. My nerves were lit with worry as I stood in the elevator after he had buzzed me up.

When he opened the door to his apartment to let me in I held my head slightly down as I walked in not wanting to have the conversation about the nose ring while I was in the hallway.

“Do you like it?” The words slipped out immediately when I turned to face him, not even letting him get a good look at me before speaking, my voice meek.

“Like what?” He was still confused, until I pointed to the ring that was pierced through my nose. “Oh- of course I love it!”

“Thanks, Spencer.” I fidgeted with my fingers a little still feeling nervous even though he had said he loved it.

“Why do you look so nervous?”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t like it.” My admission made Spencer frown and silence fell between us for a second while he pondered my words.

“I’d love any iteration of you.” There was no hesitation when he spoke. He always had such a way with words, including when he was ranting and of course his stuttering when he was embarrassed or nervous. His eyes were wide with adoration as if he’d never consider thinking you were anything less than gorgeous.

A rush of boldness came through me, wanting to show him what else I had hidden. My fingers danced along the hem of my shirt, maybe this was moving a bit faster than what we had spoken about earlier. But, I wanted to show him, to either let it lead to something more or to let him know what he was looking forward to when we made that step at a later date.

“Well- if you like this one I have another piercing that you might enjoy…” My voice was still holding a bit of tension, he may have liked the nose ring- but would he like the others?

When I pulled off my top his eyes went wide, his pupils expanding into black pools, he did not stop me. Then when my bra went off finally exposing the barbells that sat under my clothes everyday he was stunned speechless. I withered a bit under his gaze, fearing that my boldness had scared him. “I’m sorry if that was too much.”

He cut me off by speaking quickly, “N-not too much- just ummm- shocked??”

“Do you like them Spencer?” My confidence had returned a bit since he had confirmed that he did in fact, like them, but I still was holding back a bit.

When he gasped out a little ‘yes’ I decided to stop holding back, stepping closer towards him.

“You can touch them Spencer, that’s part of the reason why I got them.” I leaned in to press a soft ghost of a kiss to the shell of his ear making him shudder, I then whispered, “it makes them more- sensitive.”

A groan from deep in Spencer’s chest rose up quickly taking me by slight surprise. His large hands then rose up to finally palm my breasts, his hesitation had been whisked away by my words.

When he was no longer satisfied with palming my boobs he reached up with one hand to pinch my left nipple slightly. The slight sting sent a shock of pleasure down my spine in an instant, my panties dampening further in quick response.

A moment of silence passed, the tension suspended thick and heavy in the air before Spencer spoke, “Did you like that?”

I knew it was a rhetorical question, but I still answered with a slight whimper in my voice, “Yes!”

The confident smirk on his face was something I hadn’t seen much of from Spencer, but I was thoroughly enjoying it. He pinched them both this time- and much harder too. The moan I let out was almost pornographic which spurred Spencer on to continue to pinch them, rolling the buds between his fingers before pulling again.

When he moved forward to wrap his lips around one of my nipples I felt like I had gone to heaven. As he laid kisses all along my chest I couldn’t help but try to grind my hips up into him, however I couldn’t from the position I was in.

I was tired of not being able to touch Spencer in the way I wanted, I wanted to give him some pleasure too. I pulled his mouth off of me momentarily so I could push him down to sit on the couch to be able to straddle him properly. He had whined a bit in protest at first, but when my legs that were now stripped of their clothing slung over his lap his complaint died in his throat.

My core rested right over the prominent bulge in his slacks now. I smirked cheekily a little bit before grinding down onto him.

His lips captured my nipple again, this time the one that had been slightly neglected. This time he also decided to bite his teeth down slightly and nibble a little.

“Harder, please!” I gasped as I continued to rock my hips over his clothed cock. He thankfully obliged me by taking my perked nipple and slightly sawed it back and forth between his teeth. The pleasure that came through me from his actions far outweighed the pain, the moan that came falling from my lips was a sign of that.

A squeak then fell from my lips as I was suddenly lifted up and then set on my back. I guess he had gotten impatient from my teasing.

“You’re needy.” I commented with a smirk. He had been unbuttoning his pants when I spoke, but paused when the words came out of my mouth. He then pinned my hands above my head with one of his own and dipped the other between my folds.

“Who’s really the needy one here?” I definitely liked the little taste I was getting of this side of Spencer, that was firmly evident by the amount of slickness was evident on his fingers when he brought them up to my mouth. I wrapped my lips around his fingers eagerly before he could pull them away bobbing my head as much as I could in my constricted position pinned underneath him.

“Fuck-“ He swore which was another normally uncharacteristic thing for Spencer, it spoke to his own neediness. Though I could not make a remark about it as his fingers were still far down my throat.

When he removed his fingers he also lessened his grip on my hands that had been pinned. I wiggled out of his grip to help him get his slacks out of the way. I didn’t care if I was needy as he had said, I was tired of the teasing and my arousal was so prominent I could feel it dripping down my thighs.

He didn’t need any preparation either, his erection looking almost a little painful. ThoughI was more caught up with observing how beautiful he looked- which wouldn’t normally be the adjective someone would use, but it perfectly described Spencer’s cock.

He filled me slowly, letting me feel every vein and letting himself feel every ridge. After he filled me all the way to the hilt he stopped for a moment, just to relish in the feeling of being impatient. I however was too impatient.

“Please move, Spencerrrr…”

“And you say you’re not the needy one…” He commented with another smirk that was now becoming a staple on his face, I never wanted it to leave. I moved my own hips, squirming underneath him to try to coax him into moving.

When he finally obliged me by snapping his hips quickly up into me I couldn’t help but involuntarily make a desperate moan.

It wasn’t long until he had created a steady rhythm along with me. The pace we had set wasn’t rushed, but was still desperate in a way. His thrusts were deep and quick, but he always paused a minute moment at the end of each thrust to appreciate me fully.

Our hands couldn’t stop exploring each other while he kept up our pace. From the amount of time Spencer was lingering to play with my boobs you’d think he was obsessed, maybe he was just a little. He also made sure to pepper kisses all along my neck, jaw, and face. He even made an effort to kiss the tip of my nose, making everything much more sweet.

I however had decided to rest my hands on his hips and ass, sometimes pushing him forward slightly when I felt our pace faltering slightly. When he started to pick up the pace I could feel my pleasure starting to come to its peak. I was going to fall over the edge soon and fast.

“I’m gonna cum!” I gasped, almost so whispley that it was barely sensical. Spencer was able to still understand my words, pitching his hips to hit at my sweet spot more intensely. Then he moved his dexterous fingers down across my boobs pinching my nipple on last time before he spoke,

“Go ahead, I want you to cum for me.”

My hands wound their way into his hair trying to grasp onto something as my orgasm washed over me in waves of pleasure. Spencer too wasn't too far behind, his own triggered as my walls clamped down tightly around him. We rode out our highs together, our heavy breaths mingling in harmony as we started to come down.

Spencer’s gaze was still heavily fixated on my body as we both caught our breath again. His eyes were glanced down at my naked chest, pupils still wide with wonder as he got to fully take in the sight without being clouded by lust. I couldn’t help but want to tease him a little.

“Hey, my eyes are up here, mister.” I said cheekily, though I could tell that he had definitely missed my joke by the look on his face.

“Sorry!” His little squeak was adorable and he started to move his way off of me with averted eyes until I stopped him.

“Spencer- I was joking.” The smile that was prominent on my face then morphed into a coy look. I moved my hands down to cup my own boobs before continuing while I pinched my nipples like he had done, “You’ve got permission to look anytime you want.”

His shoulders slumped a little as they always did when he was relieved, I was happy to see his own smile back matching mine.

We had no desire to move from our position, at least for a little while until I had to get up to clean myself. But, I was content to bask in bliss with Spencer for a while.

He brought me out of my thoughts by booping the tip of my nose with his pointer finger, my nose scrunching up a little in response. I giggled a little bit, moving my own pointer finger up to boop his own cute little button nose.

“Maybe you’d also look good with a nose ring.” He snorted loudly into my ear, making another fit of giggles erupt from me. At least this time my joke was caught by Spencer.

“Maybe so, but no. I’d like it better on you anyway.” His goofy little smile brought me such joy. In hindsight I should have never worried about Spencer loving my piercings, he’d think I was beautiful no matter what iteration I was. The little kiss he left on my nose was a testament to that.

—-

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg

Spencer Reid/CM

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes

[andromedarune]

Bede x Hop Request: “Just Desserts” (p1)

REQUEST ~ “I have one, it’s a hop x bede where bede feels bad for being mean to hop, but is too scared of apologizing to him in fear of rejection. Due to his past at the orphanage and his overall fear of being left alone again. So he decides to send homemade desserts to hop with secret messages ,anonymously . Hop Figures it out when the desserts stop coming after bede gets sick badly ( maybe a bad fever from exhaustion, anything that stops him from baking will do). You can include opal or the other gym leaders teasing hop on who could be sending the treats. I hope this is okay.”

A/N: Lolol this is a 2 parter bc my dumbass couldn’t stop writing even though I was in agony writing this (only bc I'm just not sure if it’s any good lolol). So, uh, please give me validation, haha - Hope y’all enjoy and the second part should be coming up sometime soon (when my brain decides to return into a solid shape).

The third time Hatterene hissed at him from across the room, Bede figured that he needed a better distraction. Obviously pacing wasn’t doing much to ease the frustration in his gut. The boy sighed, pausing to fix his neatly ironed white button-up shirt before turning on his heels and walking out the room. There were better things he could be doing with his time, anyways.

Things certainly have changed for the boy ever since he joined the gym challenge that fateful day. He didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. But he allowed himself a moment of gratitude, despite his usual vocalizations of annoyance in his current position in life, at how it was only a year ago that he was sitting in a poverty-stricken orphanage with a bunch of abhorrent adults pitying him every day. But he’d never let anybody know that, of course. The last thing he needed was people pitying him again; that was even more annoying than people trying to be his friend all the time. People could be so bothersome, it was sickening.

Bede made his way down the hall, unconsciously tip-toeing past Ms. Opal’s bedroom, where she no doubt was resting. Her age seems to finally be catching up with her, these days, since she seemed to be taking more naps than normal. The boy made sure not to comment about it. He didn’t need a lecture from that crazy old bag. Once clear, he made a sharp turn, stepping down the spiral staircase to find himself in the empty dining room. Once upon a time, large parties were held here, no doubt filled with beautifully rich people mingling to some classical music. Thankfully, no such nonsense happened here anymore, which meant Bede had relative free-reign of the house so long as he didn’t cause trouble. He meandered around the long mahogany table, keeping his steps as quiet as possible against the old wooden floorboards, and he made his way into the kitchen.

For years, the only thing Bede could reliably use for stress-relief had been battling. All his frustrations could come loose, he could speak his mind, and relish in the cool, refreshing glow of a victory after everything was said and done. Of course he would end up being pretty damn good at it, after so much dedication and practice. But then he joined the gym challenge, and that all went to pot. Suddenly, he started losing battles. Him? Losing a pokemon battle?! He had never even considered that to be a possibility before, but it was happening. Each and every battle suddenly became so personal, finding every possible weakness in his opponent to expose it and attain yet another beautiful victory. And for most opponents, it worked, and he hardly wasted another thought on the matter. But not all of them left his mind.

Bede frowned, crossing his arms with a huff as he leaned against the counter. These pesky feelings were really getting annoying. Maybe all these sweet-natured and emotional fairy-types were starting to affect him in more ways than one. He ran a hand through his curly locks as if the motion would magically clear his mind. It didn’t.

Well, there still is one thing that might ease his tensions. The youth dug through the kitchen, picking out some of the things he would need, and began his work.

Baking was a guilty pleasure of his, something only his pokemon and Ms. Opal knew about (and she only knew because she caught him in the middle of the night). The only reason he ever considered giving it a shot was because he had a serious sweet tooth, but growing up poor meant that it was hard to buy all those fancy cakes and cookies he longed for in the big bakeries of Wyndon. So he started making them himself. At first, everything was incredibly inedible, but he was stubborn about it. He collected books and articles about baking - all in secret - and eventually became good enough to where he figured that his confectionaries rivaled that of big businesses in the region. He’d probably make a killing off selling them, but he’d never even consider that possibility. The boy would probably die of embarrassment if anybody else found out about his skill in baking. It was bad enough being the fairy king of Ballonlea (as people seemed to be calling him, nowadays); he didn’t need people thinking he was some sweet-hearted weakling, either.

By the time he was whisking away the batter, his Sylveon pranced in, eager to try to steal a taste. The pink pokemon purred at his thigh, wrapping its ribbon-like appendages around his waist while he tried to ignore them.

“Don’t,” Bede snapped at the pokemon. “I’m not giving you any more batter.”

Sylveon barked, attempting to stand on its hind legs to blast a classic Baby Doll Eyes on it’s trainer. It’s not very effective.

“Sylveon.”

The pokemon pouted, slinking off to a corner to watch with a pitiful expression. Bede clicked his tongue, returning to his work in order to avoid falling for Sylveon’s little trap. The last thing he needed was Sylveon getting sick again. The boy worked in near complete silence, the only sounds coming from the occasional bang of a pan or a utensil against the countertop. He didn’t need to bother putting on an apron beforehand; he’s practically perfected his routine to where he hardly ever makes a mess, and if he does, he cleans it up right away. It was lazy to continue working in a dirty station. He eventually pours the dark chocolate batter into a circular pan, carefully tucking it into the preheated oven to cook.

Ah, yes, the time he hated the most - waiting. Thankfully, it wasn’t some giant, triple-decker cake that would need an eternity to cook; just forty minutes would suffice. He tidied up the kitchen a bit, washing some of the utensils and bowls he had borrowed before his mind started to wander yet again. He reached for the whisk when that terrible sensation in his gut suddenly slapped into him again, nearly forcing him down to his knees. The whisk tumbled down into the soapy water, sinking the bottom with a soft clank. Bede bit his lip, trying to keep his mind focused on the present. He didn’t have time to be wallowing in the mistakes of the past - he was better than that.

But still it remained. A bothersome guilt pulled him from the depths of his stomach, reminding him all the bitter words and heartless accusations he had thrown at so many people over the years. He thought that all of his training and efforts under Ms. Opal would be enough to push all those thoughts away, but they only increased with every day that went by. Though the world seemed to be forgiving him, he couldn’t help but hear the whispers of disdain amid the crowd with every match he participated in. It wasn’t like him to care about anybody else’s opinion. But here he was, running through every possible way he could make amends to the world. How pitiful. Bede shook his head. There’s no way to make everybody happy with me, he reminded himself, so just focus on being better. He was right; he couldn’t make amends with everyone, he couldn’t make everyone he hurt suddenly happy. But as Bede reached down for the whisk one more time, he couldn’t resist the want in his chest to try and reach out for the person he had hurt the most.

Yeah, that really wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

Bede near slapped himself in the face. What was he even thinking? Reaching out to someone like that?! Pathetic. He should be ashamed that his brain even came up with such a worthless idea. With another huff, the boy finished the dishes, moving some more things out from the cabinets to begin making the icing. It would be a travesty to put simple whipped cream icing on a chocolate cake, so Bede started working himself through a familiar buttercream recipe. Which was fine; everybody likes buttercream. Well, everyone with a soul likes buttercream. At least in Bede’s opinion.

The oven dinged not too long after. The boy paused his work to pull out the aromous dessert, setting it delicately on the middle shelf of the brand-new blast chiller that he received as a gift from Ms. Opal. He returned to the icing, popping in some pastel pink dye for reasons. The task would likely be complete by the time the cake was an acceptable temperature. He had done this a thousand times. Everything was second-nature, at this point.

Soon enough, it was his favorite part of the process. He scooped all of the icing and stuffed it into a frosting bag, pulled out the cake, and began his work. Out of the entire process, the icing was his favorite. Delicate, precise, no room for error. His mind would go completely blank as his hands did all the work, sculpting elegant rose designs along the sides of the cake. Never anything too elaborate (not that he couldn’t make it fancy, of course), never anything too plain. A perfect work of art - a declaration of love, if you will. But perhaps that was an interpretation that only Bede could recognize, much less appreciate. Finally, it was complete, sitting before him in all its beautiful, delicious glory. Sylveon trotted back up to its trainer, trying to stand up a little taller to get a better look at the result. Bede stared down at the cake, unsure how to feel. It was just what he envisioned. No doubt it would taste as good as it looked, probably even better. He poured his emotions into making this work of art, as he always had. But why did he always hesitate? Hadn’t he made this for himself to eat?

Bede shook his head, trying to hold back the trembling sigh from his lips. He wandered back to the kitchen to wash his hands, Sylveon watching with a perplexed expression. When the pokemon called for his attention, he finally slumped forward, leaning against the counter with his eyes slammed shut.

“I can’t do it,” he scoffed, unsure of who he was even talking to. “I do this every time, and I still can’t do it.”

Sylveon returned to his side, pressing a wet nose against Bede’s elbow. The boy absentmindedly reached down for the lovely creature, running his hands through the soft fur in hopes that it would ease his frustrations.

There was one other reason that Bede baked. He had always thought that food was the way to someone’s heart, especially sweets. Surely it would be enough to earn someone’s forgiveness, as well.

But the idea of actually doing that was terrifying. There was simply no way he could head all the way down to the laboratory in Wedgehurst, knock on the door with his heart in his hands, and beg for forgiveness from the person he had been so sure that he hated with every fiber of his being. And why? Because he was jealous? Confused? Like anybody would believe that nonsense. Even the thought of looking into those brilliant golden eyes again filled him with so much anxiety that it was difficult to breathe. Even thinking that person’s name would be a death sentence for Bede’s decrepit heart. Did he even still have one? Surely he must - all these pesky emotions had to be coming from somewhere. You would think that years of self-inflicted bitterness and anger would wring that stuff out of you, but apparently not.

Sylveon nudged his trainer yet again. Deep magenta eyes peered down, still trying to seem irritated with the pokemon’s constant interruptions.

“What?” he frowned.

The pokemon just stared up at him, that hopeful twinkle in its eyes gleaming with just a hint of… knowingness? The boy flicked up an eyebrow.

“You’re not serious,”

Sylveon barked happily.

“Most definitely not.”

A whine. Bede ran another hand through his hair, shaking his head. There was no way his pokemon was going to convince him to do something so childish. Right?

And yet, there he was, standing in front of the Wedgehurst Pokemon Laboratory, simple white box in his trembling hands. A small pink envelope rested on the top of the box, devoid of any signature or address. Just a quick drop-off gift to ease his conscience a little, nothing more. Sure, he had spent nearly three hours writing a letter - constantly writing then rewriting then rewriting some more in an attempt to make his words sound less annoying - but it wasn’t that big of a deal. Not like he would even know who sent this stuff. Bede made sure of that. So, with a deep inhale, the pink-clad boy gingerly placed the gift on the welcome mat, giving it a much too sentimental pat before racing off. Sylveon, following its cue, slapped the doorbell and scampered off after its owner, hiding beside the side of the building. Bede scooped up the pokemon, holding it to his chest while his heart raced inside of him. Was he making a big mistake? Would he even feel any sort of comfort from this? He wasn’t expecting any sort of forgiveness - he didn’t even sign the note! Maybe this wasn’t exactly his best idea.

The door opened with a creak, halting the gym leader’s breathing for a moment. A hefty bleat burst into life from the porch. No doubt that was Dubwool. Bede held his breath a little longer, clutching onto his decently sized pokemon for dear life.

“Hey, what’s this?” Hop’s voice wafted into the air. Bede could have died right then and there. Already he sounded so different - hadn’t it only been a year since they last spoke to each other? He sounded so much like his brother, but more youthful and bright…. But Bede tried not to think about that too much. “I don’t think Sonia’s expecting a package today.”

It’s for YOU, you dolt, Bede wanted to scream, feeling his face heat up to a rather unsightly shade of pink. Well, if pink could really be unsightly. But the sounds of shuffling and the following shut of the front door soon ease all the tension from the gym leader’s shoulders. Sylveon squirmed a bit in his hold, but Bede was too busy peeking around the corner. The box was now gone, no doubt in the hands of the professor’s assistant. Everything was out of Bede’s hands. He had technically made his amends, and could live his life in peace. With a smug nod of his head, he left the laboratory and made his way back to Ballonlea.

But then next week came along, and the feelings returned again. Bede could hardly focus on his training because of it; those terrible anxious feelings curled around in his stomach, but this time were tinged in a strange sensation of - dare he say - longing. Had Hop read the letter? Had he eaten the cake? Was it good? Did he even like chocolate cake with buttercream icing? Bede paused at that. Everyone likes chocolate cake with buttercream icing, he affirmed to himself, those who don’t are soulless and tasteless wretches! But still, these emotions didn’t seem to be leaving him any time soon. Sylveon pranced up to him as he stomped out of the stadium, frustrated with his own distraction, and offered a knowing yip. Bede didn’t even try to argue. He just grumbled a frustrated affirmation to the pokemon and hurried back to Ms. Opal’s house.

Within the next couple of hours, another elegant cake was crafted, just as perfect as the last. This time, though, he decided upon a chaste vanilla batter, along with a basic cooked frosting that was dyed a pale blue. Unlike the last, this cake was considerably more simple, but still managed to hold an elegant touch thanks to the delicate rose sculptures dancing along the top of the cake. While Bede was positive that his last cake was absolute perfection, he figured that a change of flavors could be appreciated. There was no way that Hop would have disliked something so perfect, no? Bede didn’t let himself entertain that thought.

As he wrapped up his cake, however, he noticed Sylveon trot away from his place at his feet. Before Bede could ask what was the matter, his eyes caught sight of that familiar old woman gazing curiously at the boy from the threshold. Bede grimaced, trying not to seem so guilty.

“A-ah, Ms. Opal, I….”

“Feeling frustrated, I see?” she spoke as plain as day, giving the pokemon a few pats.

Bede looked back down to his creation, wishing that she would just leave him alone. It wouldn’t be the first time anybody would do that.

“I was just feeling unsatisfied with my performance today during training. Nothing more.”

“Hm… And might I add that you’re looking considerably more pink than you usually are.”

Bede grumbled, raising a hand up to his cheeks. Sure enough, they were warm.

“D-don’t you have anything better to do?”

Opal shrugged, seeming content to watch the boy squirm underneath her sharp glare. He was an adorable little thing, if a bit ornery. Well, incredibly ornery. Eventually, though, she began to shuffle off, waving a withered hand in her farewell.

“Go on - make your delivery before the cake gets stale. Wouldn’t want that sweet little Hop eating a stale cake, now, do we?”

“Ah, yes, of course - WAIT WHAT?!?”

But she was already down the hall, hooting to herself in her crazy old laughter. The pink on his cheeks flared into a strawberry red, burning through his body like he was hit with a powerful Will-o-Wisp. How could she have seen right through him? Was he really that obvious? Before he could scream at her that she was misinterpreting things, Sylveon nudged the boy’s side. Well, maybe that could wait until after the cake was delivered. Bede pursed his lips as he finished boxing up the cake, and hurried off to scratch out an acceptable letter to go with it.

Just one more should do it, he reminded himself as he reached the laboratory yet again, depositing his anonymous gift onto the welcome mat just like before. And then my conscience will be clear and I can focus on more important things. He nodded to himself before scrambling away, letting his Sylveon ding-dong-ditch just like last time.

“Oh, another?” Hop’s voice eventually rang out, snagging something deep in Bede’s chest. “I wonder if it’s from the same person?”

Of course it is, you moron! Bede silently fumed from the side of the laboratory, waiting for the door to shut. A few moments went by, filled with a strange silence. Bede crossed his arms, trying to ignore the rising sense of dread in his gut. Just take it inside already, he wanted to shout. But that’d be unwise, exposing himself in such a childish manner. So the gym leader remained silent, counting the seconds as he fought the urge to peek around. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, the door eventually closed, releasing the breath that Bede had been unconsciously holding the entire time. He glared down at Sylveon, who seemed incredibly happy at the moment as it danced around Bede’s feet.

“Alright,” he whispered, pointing a finger at the jovial creature, “that’s the last one. No more after this - got it?”

Sylveon wagged its tail, staring back with those big dumb eyes to its trainer. Bede let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He figured that reprimanding the pokemon would be fruitless, so he just decided to leave now while he had the chance. The last thing he needed was to get caught while engaging in an unsightly shouting match with a rather clueless Sylveon.

[xumos-hoe]

Hi love! I was wondering if I could request something from you? How would the guys act if MC was getting really broody and wanting a baby? Like they keep watching mothers with kids pass by when they're out and always point out cute baby stuff when they shop?

Hi! This is such a cute request🥺🥺🥺 hope you enjoy!

MLQC crew react to MC with baby-fever

~~~~~~~~

Victor

It was the holidays and he took to some hellaaa luxury mall to shop for some relatives and friends.

“Aww, Victor! Look!”

You pointed towards a flashy window display, strewn with ribbons and wreaths and glittering ornaments in the shape of baby bottles and rattles. It was showcasing a new line of holiday baby onesies.

But ya boi had absolutely no clue what you meant by showing him this.

You on the other hand, were grinning from ear to ear, quietly admiring the assortment of baby clothes and trinkets.

it honestly suprised Victor to see you gushing over such a trivial display, but he didn’t press the topic any further.

Rolling his eyes to the sky, he motioned for you to walk on but couldn’t help noticing the small glances you shot back at the store long afterwards.

He may have had a slighttttt idea what might have been going on but his lips were SHUT.

There was a second incident; one that sent his suspicions to the mf sun

He was walking out of a meeting with Goldman to where you had been waiting, chatting with his secretary who’d recently returned from her maternity leave.

He overheard parts of the conversation: “it must’ve been so exciting to find out!” “What did your husband say?” “How did you prepare?”

You were so into the conversation, you hardly noticed Victor until he snaked an arm around your waist and cleared his throat.

“Excuse us— MC, are you ready to leave?”

You looked a little sad to tear away from the conversation, wishing the secretary one last, heartfelt ‘good-luck’ before following him to the car,

On the way home, you would NOT shut up about pregnancy and babies until Victor finally intervened with what he’d been meaning to say all along!

Heart in his throat and sweaty hands gripping the steering wheel as tightly as possible, he finally popped the question:

“MC...are you...by any chance...pregnant?”

that was most definitely not how he had planned to address his suspicions but oh well

But god...you were frozen silent.

The tension in the air only fueled his anxiousness even more, so BEFORE JUMPING TO ANY CONCLUSIONS, he elaborated

“All this talk about babies and all—if you really are pregnant then you haven’t done a very good job at hiding it...”

The silence continued for a little longer until broken by a small string of laughter.

Your laughter.

“Pbfft...Victor! Is that why you’ve been nervous this entire time??”

okay so now it was his turn to be speechless

You laughed a little more at his speechlessness before reaching over and patting his shoulder. “And no, I’m not pregnant—if that makes you feel any better. Baby fever in the air, I guess...”

The car ride fell silent but you hummed before continuing. “But now that you’ve brought it up... what do you think?”

He was still at a loss of words, so you frowned and turned towards the window to avoid his gaze. You decided to stop testing him until he muttered something nearly inaudible, but still had you starry-eyed.

“Idiot. If you’ve been making it this obvious, why not bring it up sooner?”

(lil bonus: for Christmas, your gift to Victor was a positive pregnancy test)

Lucien

For his day off, he took you on a small excursion to a nearby meadow for a picnic.

But you two weren’t the only couple with that idea, because not far from where you had set you and his’ blanket, a family of three was enjoying their own picnic.

Between the mother and father was the cutest little baby you’d ever seen.

The distance and placid winds all but silenced the joy nearly radiating from the trio, drawing out a familiar longing weighing heavy in your heart the past few weeks.

And you could already see it: you and Lucien, in this exact same meadow, soaking up the sunshine with a little one of your own by your side...

Someone tapped your shoulder, immediately pulling you away from your daydreams, to hand you muffin.

Lucien flashed an easy smile when you blinked yourself back to reality, nudging the pastry close to your lips. “What were you thinking so hard about?”

Your eyes darted between the muffin and Lucien before shying away in embarrassment.

“Nothing...”

You busied yourself with the muffin, but peered over at Lucien who’d seemed to have already seen through your weak lie, shooting the family several curious looks.

Throughout the picnic, although you might’ve not noticed, Lucien watched attentively as you shot longing glances towards the family—smiling and giggling whenever the baby gurgled or came into view.

It wasn’t long until twilight began to creep over the horizon, replacing the bright hues of a once sunny-sky.

The family was long gone, but you and Lucien remained; head resting on his lap as you exchanged small sips from each other’s wine.

A warm breeze drifted overhead as you shifted in his embrace, preparing to speak what’d been on your mind for the past month.

“Lucien...I think you...”

He hummed. “You think I what?”

There was a brief pause, but you finally let it out.

“...I think you’d be a great... father.”

He chuckled and began fondling your bangs. “Do you now?”

“Mhm! You know... I’ve been thinking about it lately and—”

“...You want a baby.”

He hadn’t phrased it as a question, rather, stated it as though he’s known along. His grin widened when you turned back to gaze up at him, eyes nearly bulging.

Oh?

He tipped his head back and laughed before ruffling your hair. “I believe ‘baby-fever’ is the common moniker for that. Didn’t think I’d notice?”

You sunk deeper in his embrace, in attempt to conceal the flush in your cheeks before sensing a kiss on the top your head. His arms tightened ever so slightly around you, before speaking again.

“You don’t think I noticed how many looks you were giving that family earlier? Or how that every time we go out together, a silly girl wounds up in the infants section...”

That only fueled the raging embarrassment painted across your face. Perhaps you weren’t as...discreet as you hoped, but now that Lucien had noticed....

“So...what do you think...?”

You bit back a smile, heart in your throat now that the discussion of your little secret was out in the open.

Lucien responded by pressing a warm hand against your womb—firm yet gentle as another breeze drifted by. The touch was enough confirmation; as though all this time, he’d also given it deep consideration.

Lucien’s voice sounded right by your ear, dipping to a low murmur that caused the blush in your cheeks to increase tenfold.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Kiro

You CA N N OT tell me he didn’t get baby fever FIRST.

But the minute you began giving strangers w/ kids weird looks and mindlessly going through the baby section, HE FIGURED YALL WERE ON THE SAME WAVELENGTH

He’s nearly screeching when you finally express what’d been weighting on ur mind for weeks.

It was after a concert of his, during a VIP meet-and-greet, where one of his fans had brought her baby along to greet the star.

The crowd of fans backstage erupted into a commotion of awwws which did absolutely NOTHING to help with your baby-fever.

Kiro’s eyes widened as the fan lifted out her baby towards him, drawing the bundle of joy close to his chest. “And who’s this cutie pie?”

The fan exchanged pleasantries with Kiro for a little while, snapping a few pictures with the baby, herself, and the three of them together.

You could hardly tear your eyes away from the scene, feeling your heart well up with some sort of longing for a baby of your own; and god Kiro looked amazing with a baby...

so...

“Kiro! Let’s have a baby!”

The two of you had just been lounging together on his couch, tuckered out after the concert and looking forward to spending the rest of the night in each other’s company.

You barely registered the look of shock in his face when you uttered those five words before he had you pinned beneath him on the couch, hand clasped over your mouth and eyes sparkling with wonder.

“Say that again!”

this dork you gestured to the hand covering your mouth before he pulled away with a sheepish smile.

His sudden actions stole the breath from your lungs, so you focused on catching your breath before peering up at him; eyes glassy and cheeks colored a pretty pink as a slow smile spread over your lips before reiterating.

“I said let’s. Have. A. Baby!”

—and that’s all he needed to hear.

He scooped you into his arms as quickly as he had pinned you down, hugging tighter than he ever had. His breaths were close to your ear and between each one, you could make out quiet praises and ‘thank gods’.

this man was going to choke you to death if he didn’t let go but you wholeheartedly appreciated his reaction and laughed aloud before trying your hardest to hug him back.

Kiro made a mess of your face, kissing every inch before you had to physically crane him off of you.

“I just told you I want to be pregnant—not that I am pregnant, weirdo!”

He gasped out a laugh and tweaked your nose before diving back to hug you again. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting, Miss Chips!”

The embrace was slower, gentler than the last, and the two of you stayed on the couch, arms around each other for what seemed like forever before he spoke up again.

“So...when do you want to start trying?”

Gavin (thought it’d be fun if I switched it up a bit ;))

He figured it was another one of your weird PMS symptoms.

You’d coo at the little kids by the poolside whenever y’all headed over to the beach for some quality time together, waving whenever one of them made eye contact with you and then proceed to go on and on about how adorable they were.

Sometimes he’d accompany you while you ran some errands, only to follow you into the infants section of stores and watch you point out all the adorable knick-knacks you’d discover on the shelves.

“Gavin! Look at this one? Ooh WAIT—this one is even cuter!”

“Now, if I ever had a kid, I’d definitely get this...”

And it just went on like that, as though you were trying to send the message all along and his oblivious ass had JUST understood.

and heck... it was rubbing off of him too...

One night of ‘messing around in each other’s pants’ quickly beckoned the question that Gavin asked to your surprise.

He peeked up from between your breasts, fingers between your legs slowing down, to your displeasure, as his lips inched close to your ear.

“Are you on the pill?”

Through your moans, you managed to gasp out a weak ‘no’, thinking he’d reach for his wallet and pull out a condom—instead, he pressed a quick kiss to your lips and returned to his previous ministrations before flashing that smile of his.

“Good. Let’s see what happens.”

Your face flushed instantly as you tried to push him away for context on whatever THAT meant, but he just pulled you back into his arms.

“W-what are you talking about!?”

He only shrugged as though the two of you were discussing your next meal plans.

“You’ve been going on and on about little kids right? I figured it was time to start trying.”

ah shit. he wasn’t wrong. but you hadn’t expected to discuss it with him like this.

“Wait! Gavin! You wouldn’t mind??”

He offered one last shrug before planting himself tongue-first onto your breasts.

“Not at all—some experimenting wouldn’t hurt, right?”

[jynzandtonic]

hi jyn! do you have any advice for someone who wants to get into fic writing? i've been a reader of squalor for a long time and i want to write my own stuff but i'm not sure where to start. any advice would be much appreciated! love your blog!!

Anonymous said: hi hi! I have been living the reader insert side of tumblr lately and really want to start up a blog that does the same type of thing, do you have any tips or tricks on getting your writing seen or venturing into this new territory? I’m just afraid I won’t be welcomed into the community y’all have built >< :(

                                          ..................

Hello, sweet friends! 

I apologize for the delayed response on these two asks. I’ve kept you both in mind and jotted down some notes over the past couple of weeks. <3

While I’ve worked in copywriting, content writing, and technical writing, my foray into fiction is extremely recent—until this February, I’d not written a scrap of it since I was in elementary school. I may not be the best person to ask for advice on developing expansive narratives or elaborate plots, but when it comes to getting started on shorter-form fanfiction, I would suggest focusing on the following:

Define your characters

Before you open up your ask box to the world, decide which characters you’ll write for and why. Write it down. What compels you to write for each of them? It’s a great opportunity to briefly explore your relationship with the character, and can serve as a sort of ‘guiding light’ to return to when you’re feeling stumped or uninspired. If you feel ‘meh’ about your reason for writing a certain character, consider if you really, really want to include them... or if you feel obligated to. First and foremost, you’re writing for yourself—because you enjoy it! 

Flesh out headcanons for each of your characters. For example: What are their specific turn-ons? What do they call you? You could snag a smutty ask meme or the NSFW and fill it out for each character in your writing notes—you’ll start to see a more fully-developed, well-rounded image of them by the time you’re through. Consider how your narrative voice might change with each character, too. 

Writing tips ‘n’ shit

Show; don’t tell. How can you communicate what’s happening in a scene without giving a court secretary’s transcript of the events?

Let your reader imagine things. Creating a rich, immersive environment is great, but don’t worry about describing the color of the upholstery of every single chair in a room unless it’s critical to the scene. Our brains are pros at filling in the gaps with our own detail. They have fun with that shit. 

Make sure your smut is, like, literally… physically... possible. Yeah. 

Evocative and interesting language is fun to read; flowery, flourishy language… not so much. Trim down your dialogue tags and adverbs where you can. They get cumbersome. Write the way you talk. It’ll sound more natural; I promise.

It’s good to keep your syntax at least somewhat corralled, but do feel free to play around with your semantics a little… as a treat. Fiction is supposed to be fun. Well, I think it is, at least.

Really think about what you’re saying implicitly

Reader-insert is a great exercise; you have the opportunity to flex your creative writing muscle without overtly describing reader-chan’s physical attributes… but sometimes *gasp* it sneaks in!

One way I see this pop up SO frequently in smut pertains to assumed whiteness/thinness. Consider the following (intentionally exaggerated) statements:

“Oh no you got the worst sunburn!”

“Your butt turned bright red after the spanking!!”

“Your cheeks were pink with embarrassment!!”

“He ran his fingers through your long, silky-smooth hair!!!”

“He threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing at all!!!”

Without ~literally~ saying any of it, you already know reader-chan is 1) white or light-skinned, 2) someone who does not have a coarse/kinky/natural hair texture, and 3) relatively thin and/or small. 

If you’re a white and/or thin author, there is nothing wrong with writing a character who can sunburn or be swept off their feet—but acknowledge that using these signifiers for reader-chan is effectively communicating who you believe your ‘default audience’ ought to be… and alienating everyone else. 

I also fully realize that almost all M/F fics assume reader-chan is abled, generally heterosexual, cisgender, and at least somewhat femme-presenting—which I don’t mean to neglect in conversation, and am always open to chatting about if you’d like to. 

Bloggie tings

Be extremely diligent in tagging your work with CWs and/or TWs. The only way people can avoid triggering content is by filtering out Tumblr tags and checking those lists before starting a fic. It’s a courtesy, but an imperative one!

Use Tumblr tags so folx can find your stuff! I believe the most common are: character x reader, character x you, character/reader, character/you, and character + fanfic/fluff/smut/etc.

Remember that the value lies in your creative efforts, not in the external validation you get.

Writing something because you’re passionate and excited and you have an idea bouncing around in your head that just neeeeeds to get out? That shit matters. It matters regardless of whether or not you publish it, whether five or fifteen or five-thousand interact with it. Your work still has value.

Join Discord servers and make some writer/reader pals! I met many of my bloggie friends through Discord, and I’m SO grateful for it. I just made a server if you’d like to say hi!

I hope some of this is helpful and relevant to what you’d like to do. All my love and best wishes! xoxoxo 

[homiegeesus]

The Year of Magical Thinking, Ch.1

Summary:  Francis Sinclair believed Arthur Morgan had not finished living. In a second chance at life, Arthur discovers what it means to love himself.

At the edge of a precipice and nowhere to run, Arthur concedes defeat. In an extraordinary turn of events, he is sent through the ether to another time where his path crosses with a group not too unlike his own family. After discovering the fate of those he loved before, he races to find a way back. But what if he realizes that there is something worth staying for in this new world? Can two people separated by nearly a hundred and twenty years of living find their happily ever after?

________________________________________________________

So…Super nervous posting this. It’s the first time in a few years that I’ve written anything (the first fandom-centered work I’ve written since like 2005 lmao; Gilmore Girls anybody?) and it shows. But, alas, I’ve been incredibly inspired by RDR2’s story and the way other authors on Tumblr & AO3 have expanded on it. Shit guys, dunno if anybody is even going to read this, but I’ll push it out of the nest and into the world regardless. This may be the stupidest idea ever, but whatever, I’ll let y’all decide. A warning: This is not beta'd, but I reread it like 50 times. Still, I apologize for my terrible grammar. And, yes, I have shamelessly lifted the title from Joan Didion’s fantastic book. It just fit. So. Well. I’m terribly uncreative, so please forgive me Joan. Also, my only knowledge of 1920s-speak comes from F. Scott Fitzgerald, Clara Bow movies and Googling. I don’t know if anybody ever really said ‘old sport’, but what the hell. On another note, there will be a few things taken from the GTA universe, but it's minimal (San Andreas/Liberty City do not exist). I'll be explaining through a secondary character how states in RDR became the modern states that we know. And finally, constructive criticism welcomed and appreciated!! Anyway, here's Wonderwall...

AO3 Link

Warning: This is me working through my “stuff” vicariously through Arthur Morgan and co.

The Year of Magical Thinking

Chapter 1 - Prologue (or A Dream of Arthur Morgan)

Roanoke Valley - 1899 Peace settled over Arthur Morgan like a warm embrace; the rattle in his lungs that had invaded his every waking moment these past few months now a distant feeling. With each labored rise and fall of his chest, drowning in his own blood, he spared but one final thought.

It’s over. It’s finally over and death would soon come for him.

This wasn’t how Arthur had envisioned his death. No, he had always thought he would die with a bullet in his chest and cordite in his lungs. Not at the behest of disease and treachery. Such a shame that wisdom should only come to him on his deathbed. If only…

That’s what it came down to, that’s what it always comes down to. If only, if only, if only, his mind repeated nonstop. Regrets, Arthur had plenty of them. For months, he had been sinking so far in regrets, he could scarcely breathe. What could he have done differently that would have given a better outcome? How had he not seen Dutch’s descent into mania? Arthur supposed that maybe he had seen but chose to ignore, because when had Dutch ever led them astray.

Micah. Arthur had so many regrets about that goddamn snake. Micah had attached to Dutch like a leech and sucked every drop of the very lifeblood of the gang. He had played on all of Dutch’s insecurities and weaknesses. Arthur’s eyes were finally open, for all the good it did him now. But that rat was only one of the last in a long line of regrets he would have in his life. Arthur’s craving for penance started long before Micah came along.

Maybe Arthur himself was the leech, a disease – an infection. Death and pestilence followed him around like an acrid smell. It was something that seeped into his skin, clawed its way inside like a cancer until it reached his soul, the very center of him. Not happy with just him, it carried through the air and infected everything he had ever cared for or loved. His mother, Hosea, Mary, Eliza and –

Isaac. Arthur still had trouble even saying his name, so wrapped up in guilt as he was. During the rare times he found himself alone, thoughts of the little towheaded boy would invade his mind. Being rightly familiar with cowardice, he would press the tips of his fingers to his skull until they felt like ten dull knives, as if to physically rid himself of the painful memories. Of course, this rarely worked and he was resigned to suffer through the punishment he subconsciously forced upon himself. And now, as he laid on the jagged gravel of this cliff, he finally welcomed the comforting mental images of his son.

Feeling the weight of a life lived recklessly lift slowly from his mind, Arthur turned his head towards the setting sun, his final thought being: I gave it all I had.

___________________________________________________________

Francis Sinclair had one rule:

Don’t mess with the timeline.

It had seemed so easy in its simplicity. In the beginning, that is, until it wasn’t. He hadn’t counted on Arthur Morgan. For a bad man, he sure did a lot of good. Probably more than he realized. When Francis had asked the outlaw to find the futuristic rock carvings, he hadn’t expected Mr. Morgan to deliver. Especially not in a matter of months. Chronos himself probably would have found the task trying.

So, in 1932, when Francis had read about the fate of the Van der Linde Gang in a new hit novel by J. R. Miller, he learned that the coppers had closed in on his ole friend, and well, that just wouldn’t do. He understood that he wouldn’t be able to find Mr. Morgan in the time needed to prevent the most unfortunate aspects of his fate, but he could prevent the ultimate one. What he didn’t expect was to find the man with one arm in a Chicago Overcoat.

Francis pulled the horse-drawn buckboard to a stop in a clearing next to the crag and hopped down. The air was calm and filled with the late evening chatter of the local fauna. He jogged the incline of the rock until a recumbent figure came into his field of view. It wasn’t until he was a few feet away that he noticed the extent of the man’s injuries. His blue shirt stained brown, gone was the desperado’s worn black leather hat, in its place a matte of blood and dirt in his previously honeyed blonde hair. His once handsome face gaunt, his ashen skin a mess of bruises and cuts. One eye was swollen shut, blood trickling down the corner of his mouth. Was he even breathing? Francis was running out of time.

“You’ve a lot more living yet, old sport,” the red-head crouched down and placed two fingers against the outlaw’s throat finding a slow, but steady pulse. “Yes, a lot more.”

Mr. Morgan groaned.

“Come on, we gotta find a way to get ya on your gams, ya follow?” Francis grabbed the man’s arm and tried to pull him into a sitting position. Morgan was having none of that.

“Let me– let me die, damn you,” he wheezed on an exhale.

“No, no you poor little bunny. Can’t do that. Now up you go,” Francis pulled once more, this time succeeding.

In a broken voice, Arthur pleaded, “Goddamnit, jus’ let me alone. ‘M so damn tired.” When he finally raised his head and opened his good eye, a look of recognition passed over his face. “You– “

“Yes, me. Now, let’s scoot. You don’t have much time, Mr. Morgan.” Francis placed the man’s arm over his own shoulders, Arthur allowing himself to be hauled into standing.

Arthur weakly protested, “’M dyin’, Mr. Sinclair. I’m a dead man. Ain’t no use in helpin’ a dead man.”

Francis just laughed and replied with the strain of half-carrying a grown man in his voice, “No, Mr. Morgan. As I said before, you’ve a lot more living left to do. Now, conserve your strength.”

Likely out of exhaustion, the outlaw did not say another word. They barely made it to the buckboard before Arthur collapsed. Just before Morgan would have fallen to his knees, Francis used the momentum to haul the man into the back of the wagon. As Francis grabbed each of the larger man’s legs to swing into the bed, Arthur’s breath rasped in his throat, “Why you doin’ this?”

Francis regarded him for a moment before saying, “Because you helped me get outta a pretty big pickle.” He paused, then smiled, “And because you’re terribly important to a lot of people, baby.” And with that, Francis climbed back up to the seat and flicked the reigns.

___________________________________________________________

Well, shit.

Arthur’s plan to die in peace had been upended by a curious red-haired fellow in a blue sweater. With no energy to ruminate further, he resolved to die in the bed of this damn wagon. As the cart trudged backed to the main road, Arthur’s worn body felt every mound and stone the wheels rolled over. Finally, on a relatively smooth surface, he allowed himself to observe his surroundings. Tall pines and hemlock blurred into each other passing in his periphery as he stared at the spattering of stars visible through dark clouds. The sun had officially set in the last thirty minutes and all that remained a reddish orange hue near the horizon. Above him though, what a sight indeed. Bright stars twinkled along the Milky Way, like God himself spread them with a paintbrush across the sky.

Why had he taken all this for granted? So many nights spent under these same stars, but Arthur never really paid them any mind except for navigation. How many years before the artificial lights of the cities overpowered their natural beauty? Unable to ponder any longer and continue the fight to stay conscious, Arthur resigned to close his eyes and place complete trust in the relative stranger.

What felt like moments later, or hours Arthur was unsure, cold droplets of water forced his good eye open once again. A murmur of thunder rolled in the distance. Mr. Sinclair finally turned around, his voice deafened by the creaking of the wagon and heavy breathing of the horses.

“We are just a minute away. I think we’ll make it before the worst of the storm hits.”

But like an omen fitting of this night, Sinclair was wrong. What began as random drops here and there crescendoed into a torrential downpour. The red-haired fellow should have known that hitching his wagon to the outlaw would herald an abundance of bad luck. Unable to shield himself and too tired to care, Arthur welcomed the deluge as if it would wash him away.

Mr. Sinclair halted the horses and hopped down from the buckboard once more. He appeared in Arthur’s line of sight as he unlatched the tailgate, setting down a lantern and grabbing the larger man’s arms in another tug-of-war to get him sitting. Water poured down his face and converged at his chin.

“We just have to ankle about ten feet to the opening,” Sinclair hollered over the rain. “You ready?”

At this point, Arthur would have conjured up his most intimidating mien but there was no energy for that. “No,” he answered defeated.

Unperturbed, the younger man smiled, “That’s the spirit.”

Grabbing Arthur’s arms, Mr. Sinclair placed one across his shoulders. When he hauled the outlaw into standing position, Arthur’s world tilted. Feeling unable to breathe and so lightheaded, he launched into a series of hacking coughs. Blood splattered against his hand and mixed with the rain, diluting until it turned into a river of pink down his arm. He looked to Sinclair. Wet hair plastered to his forehead; the cold of the rain made the strange man’s curious birthmark stand out all the more against pale skin.

“When you gonna see that I’m already dead?” His weakened voice barely heard above the storm.

The redhead looked at him, “Please, just trust me.”

They began their short journey to wherever it was they were going, walking only yards but feeling like miles. By the time they reached what appeared to be a cave entrance, Arthur’s knees buckled and his vision went black. He would have felt hitting the ground, if he’d been conscious. Coming to seconds later, he became aware of his arms being tugged above his head. Mr. Sinclair was apparently dragging him. Deep down, Arthur briefly admired the man’s grit. However, the sentiment was soon replaced by annoyance and near-agony as the sensation of what felt like an elephant settled atop his chest. In and out of consciousness, Arthur realized they had stopped when Sinclair crossed the threshold to grab the lantern at the mouth of the cave. The red-haired man set the lantern between the outlaw and the cave wall and then perched above his head, grabbing both of his arms by the wrists. Arthur could see the younger man’s mouth moving but could not discern the words, only comprehending ‘listen’ and ‘your hands’.

Sinclair then placed Arthur’s large hands against the cool stone wall. Even in his delirious state, he recognized the carvings he had previously found for the peculiar fellow. He could feel the vibrations of the man’s voice behind him in what felt like a chant, but he still could not determine the words. To Arthur’s astonishment, the outlines in the rock began glowing a mute bluish color. What began as a slight tingling in his fingertips turn into full body experience. Reality dissolved into nothingness and became a pure void. And then –

Everything.

Every single moment in his hard life experienced again but in hundred times the speed. This must be it, Arthur thought. God must be forcing him to relive every chapter of his rotten existence before He banished him to the fiery pits of Hell. Familiar faces began to permeate his view. Arthur tried in vain to reach out at the image of his mother. Beatrice Morgan may have been alive for only a small portion of his life, but he would carry her memory with him forever in the form of a flower at his bedside. Unpleasant memories began to flash as Lyle Morgan pervaded his vision. The son of a bitch had been a vile presence in his young days, a man who Arthur would live in fear of until the moment they finally hanged him. Arrested for larceny, his death hadn’t come soon enough.

And then Hosea appeared, someone Arthur had thought of as more of a father than even Dutch. The man had been convinced by the raven-haired outlaw to take a chance on a scared gangly boy who had just tried to rob their room. Starved and desperate for family, Arthur had latched onto the men soaking up anything they would teach him. And teach him they had.

More memories raced by, and Arthur caught sight of a beautiful brown-haired girl. Mary Gillis, the visage of her still enough to stir his pulse, laughed and blushed like a young woman in love. Even in the inevitability of their parting, Arthur had still carried the hope that they’d one day reunite and ride off into the sunset together. If not for Guarma and the mess that had come from the robbery in St. Denis, that may have been his future. Not the hellfire that awaited his damned soul.

And then, Eliza. A young girl of nineteen, Arthur had found comfort in her embrace in the wake of heartbreak. Intent on forgetting Mary, he foolishly took advantage of a girl’s infatuation and followed her to a room above the saloon where she worked. What had come from the union was a beautiful gift but more a curse. Isaac had his mother’s hair and his father’s eyes. A happy baby from what Eliza had told him. Until a group of transients killed them both over ten dollars. Arthur had just whipped up a tidy sum from some cattle rustling and had set his compass to visit his secret family, fully intent on giving Eliza all of the hard-earned money. What greeted him would harden his heart and set him on a path of wickedness. All he had to see were the two graves to understand what had happened.

Like a moving picture, the entirety of his life played before him. If this was what the devil had in mind for his punishment, it would be a hellish eternity. Forced to relive every mistake and misstep he’d ever made; it was what he deserved. But as the memories neared their end, he began to feel a weightlessness. Every atrocity and sin that had weighed heavy on his shoulders suddenly lifted. Again, everything went black.

But then –

Stars. Billions of them. Clearer than any night sky he’d ever seen. Galaxies and distant worlds powdered his vision like puffs of freshly picked cotton. No longer held under the burden of sickness, he took a deep and easy breath. He hadn’t felt this well in months – no, years. Was this heaven? Could God forgive a lifetime of misdeeds? Arthur may have never been a good man, but he did try to be better – in the end. But, no. He was irredeemable. This was a final punishment. A peek at the peace and serenity that redemption would have gifted, before God cast him from the light.

The answer was seemingly given when an unnatural force dragged him back through the ether. Again, hundreds of images flashed in his sight, but this time the memories didn’t belong to him. Too fast to discern individual frames, he could only pick out one reoccurring subject. A woman with dark blonde hair and a bright smile that formed two apple cheeks. Strangely familiar, his memory told him he didn’t know her, but his subconscious shouted in recognition. Then she was gone and with her the remainder of his vision.

Everything turned to black once more.

[stusbunker]

Known: Crowley and the Queen

A Supernatural Dark Fan-fiction

Featuring: Dean Winchester x Female OC, Dean x Demon!Reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: Flashbacks ahead, note the dates!  I try not to repeat information you already know, but please ask if something doesn’t make sense! xoxo Stu

Warnings: Demons, pain, blood, show level violence, angst, arson, possession, Trails!Sam, Slow Burn. Each Chapter will have its own warnings, because I am generous like that.

Earth Date: May 1, 2013

Location:  US Hwy 56 just South of Dodge City

The scene at the diner was something Chloe couldn’t drive away from fast enough. The bodies littered among the debris as if there was an explosion, all slumped on the floor, thrown from their booths or stools. There had been no bomb, no gas leak, no grease fire. It was arson and it was covering something much darker than her seasoned hunter’s eyes could see. Unable to find all the pieces to put the puzzle together, instead it crumbled apart with each connection. There had been sulfur and before the security tapes were fried, a man grabbed a waitress’s face and her eyes melted with his touch.

The Fire Marshal was certain it had been tampered with, that it was a trick of reflection and camera flares. CC allowed the bewildered investigators to have their elaborate hoax of technological malfunction, because if they knew that Angels had massacred a restaurant full of people, they would be no better off. And those people wouldn’t be any less dead. There were only two hunters that she knew ran with an Angel, though she hadn’t heard much about him since Dean had gotten out of Purgatory. Calling a friend with news like this usually required liquid courage, plus the bullshit detector of face-to-face conversation would do to ease her growing concerns. That was why she was driving East; she was going to see what the Winchesters knew about what could bring both Angels and Demons to another godforsaken Biggersons’.

At least that was the motivation she had accepted from your silent nudging.

No one was home, the obviousness hitting you like a ton of bricks, made from disappointment and uncertainty. You were so close to seeing Dean again and then it was like you were trapped in a dream. What were you going to do with her now? Since she first expelled you, you strained to stay quiet, while watching and waiting. Only every so often you would send her a message or prompt her to act. The pull to drive East, the quick jump to the Winchesters when Angels were involved in the destruction; all just teensy suggestions on your part. You didn’t want to scare her, and you certainly did not want to draw attention to her from her fellow hunters. Possession was like torture: you just had to keep at it until you found all the chinks in the armor. Along that vein, you let Chloe work herself out of the predicament as you quietly continued to establish yourself in the back of her mind.

Chloe tapped at the sealed door with the steel toe of her work boot in mild annoyance. She knew hunters and those with a home base generally were gone only as long as they had to be. She could lurk in town, wait out the infamous black Chevy or she could try to get a straight answer from them over the phone. They were all liars at the end of the day, and though she had been through enough with Sam and Dean to trust them both with her back on a case, she doubted they would sell out their Angel buddy, if he was even involved.

In a stubborn fit, she stomped back to the cab of her pick up and made herself as comfortable as possible. Her dreams were broken memories and loops of unsuccessful hunts. She secretly kept score of her kills, assists and rescues. Some people had titles and some people saved diligently for the future. Chloe Collins viewed success on the backs of dead monsters, souls put to rest and exorcised demons. She may not be as famous as those boys of John’s or as resourceful as Bobby Singer had been, but she was a damn professional. You got a sour taste in your mouth when you realized how she would handle it once she found you out. You stopped yourself from spiraling in empathy, the taciturn emotion had you dulled as day broke.

Just after sunrise a jolting bang on the old rusted hood woke Chloe with a start. Knife raised like a slasher movie villain, she waved Dean off as he perched against his forearms on the cold metal window frame.

“What brings you around these parts?” He lifted his scarred chin to speak through the crack in the window.

“Don’t you ever sleep? Give a girl some beauty rest before you start grilling her, Winchester.” Chloe yawned into her wrist, if looks could kill Dean would have needed another resurrection.

Dean. It was really him, just beyond the slab of metal and plate of glass. He watched her amused with a glint in his green eyes. They were so bright, something about natural light and the surrounding foliage hit you unexpectedly. For all the beauty of the Earth, an old melody chimed in your thoughts as you saw him, your final torture, for the first time in true flesh and blood.

“Come on, Cease, you’re camped outside my front door, you’ll give a guy a complex if you don’t fess up.”

“God forbid, but this isn’t about you and your precious ego, Dean.” She huffed, scooting down the bench seat and out of the driver’s side door. Dean chivalrously held it open as she stretched, he tried not to notice as her shirts rode up to show a sliver of her thick waist. “So, that kid you’re looking for? Who else is on his trail because a whole Biggersons got roasted and I’d bet my granddaddy’s blade that it was Angels.”

Dean squinted at her now, “You were in Sante Fe? Yesterday?”

“Not a bad drive this time of year.” She noticed how he hadn’t invited her in and how he seemed to be blocking her from the door, intentionally or not it was a tell. You hated to admit it, but she was right to question his actions.

Dean nodded, still wary. “Well, sorry to disappoint, but that wasn’t us. Sammy and I just got back from the Two Rivers Casino, North end of Colorado.” He was giving her his best schmooze face, and CC was not enough of a morning person to play nice. “And thanks for keeping an eye out, but don’t worry about Kevin, we got him back.”

CC watched him carefully, “Oh, sure, I’m going to buy you were off on a boys’ gambling weekend with your lost prophet when we got Angels killing some two-dozen people?” She kept her tone level or tried to. Dean didn’t flinch, but he lowered his voice.

“Look, CC, I’m up to my eyeballs in otherworldly crap. Once Sammy figures out his next hurtle, thanks to Kevin he’s got somewhere to start, I’ll worry about Angels. Right now: I’m at my limit worrying about slamming the doors of Hell.”

Your heart raced, or Chloe’s raced for you. It felt like a silent jab at your presence. You didn’t know where to nudge her next. Luckily for you, her instincts were good, allowing you to sit back, and try to keep up with their dynamic.

“How’s Tweedle Dumb handling it?” She asked, the shift in conversation loosened his mask and you saw him, the real him. Vulnerable and battled-hardened, it had only been a few Earth years, had he really lived so much?

“You ever gonna stop with the nicknames? He was just a kid,” Dean’s face cracked into a reminiscent smile.

“Shit, what did that make us then?! Nah, it’s good to remind you boys where you stand,” Chloe teased back, resting her shoulder against the bed of her truck. They both felt the impasse, a few lingering glances shared between them before she decided to be the one to move it along. “Who’d’ve figured things would have gotten to such a scale back then?”

Dean huffed, an almost chuckle as he nodded. “You miss the old days?”

“Yeah, maybe, sometimes. I mean, there’s people we lost, and they should be remembered. But I guess, there wasn’t much else to miss?” She scrunched her face in a playful grimace. “If I get hung up on what ifs, then I’d just be working myself into a corner.” Chloe yawned again, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders. “Look, I’ma head out, y’all are busy and I need something to kill after yesterday.”

You saw it then, the nervous energy that had been holding Dean together, lighten ever so slightly along his shoulders and jaw. He didn’t want her hanging around, despite the momentary waxing nostalgic. You hoped you could search through her memories later and find just how those nicknames started. They had a past, nothing as absurd or tragic as yours and Dean’s, but something that needed to be understood all the same. If you were to stick around, if she was as receptive as you needed her to be.

CC tipped her head, her messy bun lolling off the top of her head, giving Dean a squint, which led to a wink. “Well, if you need some Wings bent or some back up, you know my number.”

“That I do. Thanks for checking in,” Dean held out one of his arms for a quick one-armed hug. She was on the taller side, chin resting on his shoulder with minimal tip toes, the closeness of their bodies was dizzying. You hadn’t experienced physical affection in decades. Dean smelled like old leather with a perplexing layer of musty books over a rich, if faded spiced cologne. And before you could truly appreciate it, the hug ended. Chloe opened the ornery door of her battered truck to climb into her next endeavor.

“Nice ride, how long have you had her?” Dean asked, admiring the old bruiser of a truck.

Chloe rolled her eyes, “A few months. Beats the alternative.”

“That it does. Take care.” Dean patted the door and CC replied with a genuine smile. She turned in a wide arch, headed back on to the service road that led away from the Bunker and into Lebanon. Every part of you wanted her to turn around, to hug him again, to throw herself at his feet. Anything but this parting akin to a limb being severed, something that you had experienced enough to pinpoint with absolute certainty the relative emotional to physical trauma. He could have said no, could have sent her packing, but he also could have said yes.

But there was no justification for any of those daydreams. The Winchesters and the prophet, Kevin Tran, were working to lockdown Hell. Crowley had lost his shiny bargaining chip turned fount of information. Any demon with an ounce of loyalty would return immediately to their post and seek an audience with the King. Unfortunately, the only being you held dearer than demonkind was slowly disappearing behind Chloe’s battered fender. What the fuck did that make you?

Dean was going to kill Cas. Then Naomi and Cas again for good measure. If Chloe had pieced together what happened in Sante Fe, then other hunters would too. He didn’t know if they could link the carnage back to Castiel specifically, but his involvement was damning enough. Why was he so hard to steer true? Dean didn’t know if he was more angry or disappointed. It smarted when Cas left him and took the Angel Tablet along. After that betrayal and now another thirty dead people; Dean didn’t know what to do with the Angel anymore.

He loved the guy, but could he trust him again?

Earth Date: December 4, 1929

Location: Hell, Accounting and Acquisitions Department

He felt her eyes on him as she sauntered through the row of desks, pencil pushers along one edge and fast-talking used car salesman along the opposite. She was unimpressed with his promotion, second in command of the department. Abaddon was an ancient demon part of a regime that had seen its time come and go and was impossibly able to cling to power. While Crowley was a new upstart, barely a demon two centuries. He thought she was an entitled, outdated snob, she found him a trashy bamboozler. It was hatred at first sight.

He had brought in half a year’s worth of deals in a month, the human world falling into financial crisis had the more pragmatic people turning to the Crossroads instead of taking a walk out of their office building windows. With unrest across Europe after the Great War, her side of the coin remained just as dazzling. Hell was fully invested in the 20th Century, it was just a matter of what kind of power men craved, political or financial. Abaddon liked to watch humanity squirm, while Crowley stole their souls and their wives’ knickers and they thanked him for it.

She left the office floor without a word to the young salesman or his superior. He wouldn’t see her again until sometime later after he had cleaned up quite nicely.

Earth Date: May 6, 2013

Location: One of Crowley’s Mansions, Somewhere along the East Coast, USA

Crowley sat at his desk with the seventh book in the Supernatural series, finding that he hadn’t moved since picking up the fifth novelization of the thorns-in-his-side’s conquests. He detested that he was so easily lost in the stories, the voices ringing out in immature familiarity as Dean and Sam searched for their wayward father. If Crowley wasn’t at risk of being put out of business by the dynamic duo, he might have been routing for them. Past them, at least. Now he was just casually making a kill order with the names of the Winchesters’ tiny victories neatly in line for the slaughter.

Because if anything could get those flannel clad codependents in line it was an existential crisis over a cleared or potentially negatively balanced moral scale. Damsels in distress, were just a means to an end in this carefully crafted scenario. Always two steps ahead with innumerable pokers in the fire, Crowley relished his new game. But it wasn’t a game it was hostage negotiation, a potential all-out war on the Winchesters if they followed through. That was a rather unlikely if.

Earth Date: May 14, 2013

Location: Hell, Welcome and Reception Platform

Abaddon was expecting a search and seizure, she got a genial smirk and a wave through by the guard. It had been only fifty-five years and somehow everything had changed. The meatsuit drew more attention than her presence and she quickly grew more disgusted the further she stepped into the executive level of Hell. Crowley, unsurprisingly, was not in his office or on his thrown. He seemed to keep a varying schedule between Earth-side operations and below ground bureaucracy.

“Color me not surprised,” she retorted to his secretary. “Playing with Hunters like they were his toy soldiers.”

It was time to redecorate and redistribute their focus. It was time for Hell to be Evil again.

Earth Date: May 15, 2013

Location: Ashland, OH

Chloe yawned into the back of her wrist, the streetlights glaring against the quiet street as she hurried back to her truck. The vamps’ nest had been cleared out in a hurry, one or more of them had gotten her scent and either skipped town or were stalking her this very second. She made a beeline for the rear of the vehicle, making a cursory perimeter before yanking the creaky door open. Nothing lurking behind her tires or in the bed, as she pulled herself into the driver’s seat a shooting star burst through the sky.

Chloe closed her eyes and made a wish, something both whimsical and pathetic: ‘Please don’t let this be my last wish, may I have the time to make it to better things.’ The truck bed shifted with a sudden, if graceful, distribution of weight. An unnerving chill ran up the length of Chloe’s spine as she started the engine. She adjusted the mirror, purposely giving the vampire a flash of her steely eyes. She gunned it, letting the tires scream against the county road, the creature’s strength protecting it from the kickback as she slammed on her brakes.

You snarled against the predator’s confidence, it bared its teeth in the moonlight, seen through the angled reflection via Chloe’s eyes. She slammed the shifting arm on the steering column, flying into reverse Chloe whipped the truck into a Y turn, throwing the vampire’s center of gravity off before flying back toward its nest. One more reckless shift and grinding of brakes and the vampire flew out of the bed. Chloe’s smugness was well earned, she reversed for the coup de gras, smearing the vampire against the crumbling pavement. As she took up her machete once more, severing what was left of the monster from its remaining skull, its dark blood streaked across her boots and hubcap. A shimmering in the gruesome liquid caught her eye and she looked up to a harrowing sky. Thousands of shooting stars were crashing to Earth as an ominous pit opened in your collective stomach.

She had gotten her wish, it wouldn’t be her last, and you knew that taking it as a positive was not necessarily a rational way to spin this outcome.

Location: South Western New York

Dean barreled down the backroads with Sam in the backseat, the falling Angels an afterthought as he pushed Baby to her limit. Sam. Please, God no, not now, not like this. ‘Damnit why did you leave him alone with Crowley for so long Dean?!’ His father’s voice still echoed through his thoughts, when he messed up. When he put Sammy in danger, John always resurfaced. Dean inhaled a forced breath and blinked, letting his foot up lightly as they flew over an abandoned railroad crossing.

The tighter he held on to the steering wheel, the quieter Sam became.

Sam?

“Sammy?!”

tags: @dontshootmespence  @mrswhozeewhatsis @smi727 @sassykayla255 @dxr-supernatural-fanfic @supernaturalboi @dumbthotticus @eve05glee @veroinnumera @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @forgettingthoughts @shokushuhime-stuff @fanfictionrecommendations-com @soullesscollection-world @igotdressedthroughthemess 

Next Chapter: Friends in a Fix

[forestwater87]

Gwenvid Week Day 5

Day 5: Community Appreciation / Favorite AU

To celebrate the amazing Gwenvid community, I took the really fascinating Ghoul AU that @color-theorist (or @color-theorist-art ) created, which has no explicit Gwenvid as of yet, and then somehow accidentally created several pages of momgwen with very little Gwenvid in it. Oops. And probably fucked up the lore. Double oops. Oh well, I hope y’all have fun anyway! :)

It wasn’t anything like Buffy, was the first thing Gwen realized about fighting monsters.

For one thing, it was a lot less fighting -- she wasn’t exactly built for dealing out pain -- and a lot more researching. And not in weathered tomes blanketed with a thick layer of dust with crinkled pages full of secrets. Sure, there was some of that, but ghouls in particular seemed to be a relatively new phenomenon, or were just so uninteresting to the ancients that they didn’t bother writing about them. Mostly it involved trawling internet forums and trying to arrange interviews with the leads who seemed the most promising. Which in itself required a great deal of convincing paranoid heroin addicts that she was neither a ghoul intent on devouring their flesh or a member of the government who would haul them off to Super Guantanamo. All that work, only to have her work dismissed by every publisher she’d recommended it to, and a pointed recommendation by the History Department chair that it would be best for her career at Sleepy Peak Community College if she found another subject to focus her studies on.

“‘It’s really all about the branding,’” she mimicked quietly, shifting her weight in a futile attempt to get comfortable. ”’Just call it “folklore.”’ That’s academically dis-fucking-honest, Mr. Bishop.” Gwen grabbed her bag from where it was dangling off the arm of a marble angel and hauled out a binder and a flashlight. “I’m the only professor under thirty who hasn’t gotten the fuck out of here after three months, Mr. Bishop. This shitty school wouldn’t even have a goddamn newspaper if it wasn’t for me, Mr. Bishop. Fuck, this is cold,” she muttered, glaring down at the polished granite with distaste before sliding down onto the grass, leaning back against the tombstone she’d just climbed off of. “I’m doing important work, here.”

Gwen opened the binder, eyeing the hand-drawn map of the Long Sleep Cemetery and tracing the scraggly line of bright red X’s that marked out fourteen ravaged graves, then flipping to a map of the entire city, which was covered in yellow dates around the church, hospital, and veterinary clinic. She glanced from these to the mausoleum she was staking out, like the ghoul would just appear there if she looked hard enough.

“Come on, asshole,” she said, flopping back against the tombstone and turning off the flashlight. “I know I did this right, so just show up where you’re supposed to.”

It was crazy, she knew all that. Knew her meticulous tracking of local robberies and vandalism looked from the outside like the scribblings of a madwoman fraying her last nerve. It was why she took so much care in repackaging every piece of evidence into a series of respectable, ponderous, academic -- boring, if she was being perfectly honest with herself -- books.

A series of respectable, academic, unpublished books.

Because this was all crazy. Believing in undead monsters that needed to consume the living (or recently-dead) was crazy. Objectively, she was probably rather crazy.

The thing was, she was right.

She just had to find a way to prove it.

“You’re not good at this, are you?”

Gwen jumped at the voice and whipped around, brandishing her flashlight in one hand and her binder in the other -- before she overbalanced and had to drop both, catching herself before she fell flat on her back in the dew-drenched grass. “Whaatherfucke --”

So. Not much like Buffy at all.

Her attacker was thin, stretched out and lanky like a very short Slenderman. As he stepped around the gravestone and moved towards her, his eyes reflected the light from a nearby streetlamp like a cat’s, gleaming out from underneath the dark hoodie that obscured most of his features.

Human eyes don’t glow like that.

She snatched up her flashlight and flicked it back on; she tried not to shine it in his face, but he flinched away from it anyway, hunching his shoulders and shoving his hands into his sweatshirt pocket. The light revealed a narrow brown face that was sickly yellow underneath the eyes and nearly gray in the hollows of his cheekbones. “Kids aren’t supposed to be out after ten pm,” she said, narrowing her eyes. She took in the teenager’s slouchy grace, the way he walked as though every movement was both naturally easy and indescribably exhausting.

“No one’s supposed to be in the graveyard after it closes, but that didn’t stop you,” he replied, slumping against the marble angel and watching her with those unnerving catlike eyes.

She’d found her ghoul.

Gwen drew herself up, standing so she could look down at him. “I have permission,” she lied. “I’m conducting research on the series of grave-robbings in the last few wee --”

“My dad’s a cop with really shitty password protection. You don’t have permission for shit.” He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. “You’re one of those nuts who wants to hunt vampires.”

“Ghouls aren’t vampires,” she corrected before she could stop herself, the pedantic need to be right temporarily overpowering her common sense. “Blood is evidently not an essential component of their diet, and -- you know what, this is a stupid conversation and I’m not having it.” She settled back against her tombstone and turned her gaze to the mausoleum her ghoul was supposed to be raiding instead of making snide comments about her profession. “Go get your dead person snack.”

The kid jolted, and she watched his look of horror out of the corner of her eye. “How the fuck --” He shook his head, a shock of floppy black hair escaping the hoodie and falling over one of his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

She pulled her binder back into her lap with a small grunt of effort. Christ, this thing was getting heavy. “Whoever’s been raiding the cemetery’s been really smart about it,” she said, refusing to look up at him. “Always hits it just as the attention is beginning to die down -- pardon the pun -- and always far enough from the others that the area is totally isolated. But they do it without making it look like a pattern.” She glanced up at him, a little gratified to see him leaning over her map curiously. So this was what validation felt like! “I’d been wondering how they knew when to sneak back in here, but . . . having a dad in the police force might do it, if the cop was dumb enough.” She turned to another section of her notes, an alphabetical list of everyone in the SPPD. “I knew I should’ve paid more attention to their families,” she mumbled, flipping through the officers. “Which of you is the idiot with an undead son?”

“Hey, fuck you!” he snapped, stepping away from the binder and back to the marble angel. “You can’t just go around calling people monsters because they’re wandering around a graveyard. Hell, that makes you sound just as much like one of those things as me.”

Gwen ticked off on her fingers without looking up from the police directory: “Alarmingly thin, glowing eyes, a bit of a nasty undead pallor -- bet people are constantly asking if you’re sick --”

“Again, fuck you.”

“-- and a tricky-but-predictable pattern of raiding cemeteries, morgues, and . . . have you been eating dead animals?” She glanced up at him then with a frown. “I didn’t know ghouls could do that.”

“They can’t,” he muttered, kicking at the grass, “but it was worth a shot.”

She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride. This was her first legitimate monster sighting! She wasn’t crazy! “It’s all circumstantial, of course. You never really know if you’ve got a ghoul or just someone with, like, lupus. But the cat-eye thing was a big tip off. Also, you know, hanging out in the cemetery when no one in their right minds would go anywhere near the place.” He looked at her for a long moment, and she cringed. “Yes, fine, I heard it.”

“So you’re like an expert in useless information no one gives a shit about, huh?”

She thought about getting offended, but he was kind of right. At least, a boatload of publishers would agree with him. “Yeah . . .”

He looked back over at the mausoleum thoughtfully, and she couldn’t help but be curious. “Does it taste good when it’s been dead for a while?” she asked. She was sorely tempted to grab her pencil and notebook, but that might scare the kid off. “I’ve read it’s not supposed to be as . . .” Nutritious just felt gross, in this context, so she let the sentence trail off.

He shrugged. “A little bland, but I kinda like it better. Got this weird kind of . . . cheesy aftertaste? Not like I’ve had cheese since I was a kid, but like that really smelly stuff rich people put on everything.”

“That’s pretty disgusting.” She couldn’t quite keep the note of appreciation out of her voice. (She’d always been a sucker for gory movies.) “So what’s with the change?”

“What’re you talking about?”

That was in her other binder. Gwen rustled through her backpack until she found the right one and opened it up to a spread of newspaper clippings. “All the killings. Two this week, three in the last two months. I haven’t put a map together yet --” and god, she already felt tired thinking about it, “-- but they don’t seem to have any sort of pattern. I figure it can’t be you because, well, all my research suggests that if you were eating fresh kills you’d be a lot more . . .” She gestured vaguely at him. “Alive-looking.”

He bared his teeth, and if they were sharper-looking than normal she was almost positive that was just her imagination. “You don’t have a lot of friends, do you?”

She didn’t, but that was beside the point. “So do you know who’s doing this?” she asked, scrambling to her knees and finally giving in to the urge to grab her pen. “Can you tell me? I interned as a police sketch artist, so even if you just describe them I bet I could --”

“You expect me to narc?”

“They’re killing people!”

“Eh, I --”

“Max?”

They were both blinded; squinting past the flashlight, Gwen could barely make out a male figure. The newcomer lowered the light, stepping forward. His eyebrows drew together as he took in the scene: a kid lounging on a tombstone, having a conversation with a woman kneeling in the damp grass surrounded by open books and binders. “What are you doing out here? You know it’s past curfew!”

The ghoul -- Max, it seemed -- rolled his eyes and sighed. “It’s not like you’re gonna arrest me. I just saw this weird lady sneaking into the graveyard and wanted to see what she was doing.”

As surreptitiously as she could, Gwen glanced down at the list of police officers in her lap, comparing the smiling photos to the grim-faced man shaking his head at Max. Officer David E. Greenwood. On the force for about ten years. According to some gossip she’d scribbled in the margin, he’d turned down the opportunity to become a detective a few years ago, holding onto his lower-paying desk job for the sake of his --

His son.

“Miss?” Greenwood waved the flashlight, dragging her attention back to the conversation. “I’m going to need to ask you to leave the --”

“Yeah, fine,” she grumbled, shoving her work back into her bag. “You know, I should get a special pass or something for doing research,” she said, more to herself than to the officer.

He cocked his head to the side, looking for all the world like a big puppy wearing a police badge. “Well, I’m afraid we can’t do anything like that, but I’d be very interested in learning what you’re researching!” He frowned. “Actually, you look familiar . . .”

“I used to be the department intern,” she said with a shrug. She was a little older than Greenwood, so it wasn’t like he’d have been working there to remember --

“Oh, Gwen! Yes, of course I’ve heard all about you!” He took a step forward, like he was about to wrap her up in a hug, before his smile dimmed a bit and he coughed lightly into his fist. “Mr. Campbell speaks very highly of you! He’s been saying he wishes more people would be willing to work for no money, but I’m sure he just meant that you did such a fantastic job! You work at the college now, right? You know, I’ve been meaning to take some classes but I just haven’t had the time --”

“Dad,” Max interrupted, “it’s cold as fuck. Can we just go?”

“Right! Sorry, Max.” He shot his son -- though they really looked nothing alike -- an apologetic grin before turning the smile toward her. “If you’ll just follow me, ma’am. Goodness, isn’t it lovely out here at night? Sometimes I wish . . .”

When they were outside, Max broke through Greenwood’s stream of pleasantries. “Hey, can I talk to her for a second before we go?” When they both shot him a confused, surprised look, he shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket, hunching his shoulders defensively. “What? We were in the middle of a conversation.”

Greenwood hummed thoughtfully, glancing between the two of them. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Gwen.” He shook her hand enthusiastically.

“You too, officer.”

“Please, call me David!” He winked, then strolled along the outer cemetery wall until he was well out of earshot, his hands clasped behind his back like a military at-ease. Max scuffed his shoe along the asphalt; Gwen had dealt with enough students to know not to push him, so she watched the clouds slide like molasses along the sky and waited.

“You know a lot about this stuff, huh? Like, it’s useless, but you still have a lot of research.” She nodded, watching curiosity wage war with misanthropy across his face. Finally he blurted out, “So can I read some of it sometime? I mean, it’s probably mostly bullshit, but . . .”

She’d given up on carrying copies of her books around with her, on the off chance that someone might be interested if it came up in conversation. “I’m usually on campus at noon,” she said. “Stop by my office. I’ve got a couple things you could borrow.” She fought to keep the eagerness out of her voice, but the thought of her self-bound books actually being read by someone was way too exciting.

Even if that someone was a moody undead kid with the most improbable home life she’d ever heard of.

He nodded, a little awkwardly, and started to walk away before she put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, are you gonna be all right without eating?”

He shrugged. “Isn’t the first time.”

Gwen hesitated. It could get so so fired, but . . . “Listen, I work some nights at the hospital morgue. Just like, processing bodies and stuff.”

“I thought you were a professor.”

She sighed. “Adjunct,” she admitted. “Only part time. Anyway, I can’t always . . . like obviously we’d have to be really careful, and there’s no real good way to . . . but if there’s actual murderous ghouls around you probably shouldn’t be so hungry they’ll kick your ass or something --”

“How did you make offering help come out so insulting?” Max sounded impressed. He glanced over his shoulder at David, then raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “We’ll work something out, yeah. Beats digging up coffins all night.”

David meandered back in their direction. “Would you like to be walked home, Miss Gwen? It’s not safe to be out alone at this time of night.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, sure.”

She knew how dangerous it was. Had written hundreds of pages on the subject, in fact.

But it was nice, for the first time in her life, to feel like she’d actually accomplished something useful.

“Dad wants you to come over for dinner again.”

Gwen jumped; Max had an infuriating tendency to just appear in doorways without a sound, usually when she was deep in concentration doing something else. She thought maybe he enjoyed scaring her. “I have class tonight,” she said, taking the book he held out, “but tell him thanks.”

Max slouched into the chair on the other side of her desk, watching her dig through her books for the next one in the series. Over the past few weeks he’d been going through her research, and while his habit of writing corrections or commentary in the margins -- with pen, no less! -- was unbelievably annoying, she was making more progress in two months than she had in years. “Second time this week,” he observed.

It took her a second to realize what he was saying. “Huh? Oh, yeah, I appreciate it. Seriously, make sure you thank him for me.” Dinners with Max and David were a little awkward, mostly because only David seemed to really want to be there, but it certainly beat microwave dinners in front of her computer.

“I think he likes you.”

She made a dismissive noise. “He likes everyone,” she said. In fact, she’d made it a personal goal to hear him say something unkind about somebody. It was unsuccessful so far, but she had faith. She handed him the next book, watching him turn it over in his hands appraisingly with something almost like nervousness. It was one thing to have someone read your life’s work -- it was quite another when the person reading your work was also literally the subject of it.

“So you’re gonna stop by after class, right?”

“I -- no?” Sure, sometimes Gwen did, if she’d forgotten to give Max something or if David’s texts had seemed especially plaintive; she got the sense that his life wasn’t as sunshine-and-rainbows as he tried to make it seem, and watching TV or sitting out on the porch after Max had disappeared into his room wasn’t much of a sacrifice. But it wasn’t a habit or anything. “Maybe I have shit to do.”

He snorted. “No you don’t.”

She didn’t, but she didn’t need to be reminded of the life she didn’t have by an obnoxious kid who literally had no life.

When she didn’t respond he stood up, tucking her book under his arm. “So I’ll tell Dad you’ll be by after class. And I’m gonna be at Neil’s tonight.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“Ugh, don’t make me say it. It’s fucking gross.”

Gwen watched Max lope out of her office, wondering if he was aware that he’d just told her his father was lonely. And that it worried him.

“For fuck’s sake, just go out already!”

Her pen jerked a scraggly line across the paper, jagged and uneven like the sudden spike in her heart rate. “Why can’t you knock, you shitty excuse for a Halloween monster?” she growled, shoving her notebook aside and glaring up at him.

He set her book on her desk with surprising gentleness for someone who reportedly didn’t care about anything. “First, Dad is so goddamn annoying, and if I have to hear him talk about how ‘sweet that Miss Gwen is, don’t you think so, Max?’ one more time I’m gonna eat him. Second, it’d probably be easier to sneak me food if you were dating, since it’d be less weird for me to hang out with my stepmom.”

“I’m not going to ask David out so it’s easier for you to feed,” she said, bristling at “stepmom.”

“No, you’re gonna do it because you keep staring at him like a creep whenever you think he’s not looking. That’s third, by the way,” he continued, holding up three fingers. “The only thing more annoying than him being all moony and stupid is you being all moony and stupid.”

“That . . .” is not true was on the tip of her tongue, but somehow she just couldn’t bring herself to say it. The problem was, she’d gotten accustomed to spending more evenings a week at the Greenwoods’ house than her own, and had started to find it more comforting. Which didn’t mean that she was interested in David, of course, but she’d been . . . surprised, by him.

By his genuine interest in her, and his support of her research even though it clearly made him uneasy. (Which was fair; “hey I think those murders you’re investigating are undead monsters” was a pretty uncomfortable thing to talk about, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to listen.)

By how he remembered stupid little things, like her favorite foods, and how even when he was thoughtless and absent-minded it never seemed to piss her off the way it should.

By his horrible sense of humor and his worse taste in TV shows. By how his eyelashes were longer than hers, and framed his eyes so prettily. By the freckles she could only see when they were sitting thigh-to-thigh on the couch, or when he pulled her in for a goodnight hug. By --

Well, fuck.

“Everyone I know is a fucking idiot,” Max groaned, tugging her out of her heart-attack-inciting epiphany. He ran his hands through his hair -- glossy and sleek because he’d eaten last night; everything about him was glowing and lively compared to usual, making him look almost human -- and stood. “Don’t even bother getting me the next book. You can drop it off with Dad tonight.”

“But he didn’t invite me to dinn --” She cut herself off at the look of pure exasperation he gave her, one that implied he couldn’t even deign that with a response.

“Fucking idiots,” he muttered, slipping out of her office.

“Okay, I know I basically made this happen because you’re both too dumb to function, but I’m hating every second of this. I take it all back.”

David practically leapt out of Gwen’s chair, almost knocking her out of his lap and face-first into a concussion courtesy of the corner of her desk. “M-Max! What are you doing here?!”

She just sighed, adjusting her position so she wasn’t in danger of falling and brushing her hair out of her eyes. “He does this.”

“I’m a student, Dad. I belong here.” He held up the binder -- Gwen’s most recent book in the making -- with a sharp, sarcastic grin. He was looking a little gray and drawn, and she made a mental note to grab him some intestines or something that wouldn’t be missed at work that night. When he was looking sick like this, his inhumanness stood out in stark relief, like the crisp lines of his teeth that were too big and too pointy for his supposedly-human mouth.

“In high school! Why aren’t you in class?”

He shrugged. “Lunch break,” he said. Gwen and David exchanged a look, because neither of them knew if that was true. It’d been a while since either of them had been students, after all. Dropping the binder on Gwen’s desk, he retreated to the door like he was afraid to coming too close to them. “What’re you doing here, anyway?”

“Um . . . lunch break,” David replied weakly, his face flushing.

Gwen picked up a stress ball and lightly tossed it at Max’s head. “Get out of here, you little shit.”

“I hate you both. See you at dinner,” he said casually, ducking out of the office and letting the door bang shut behind him.

David sighed, shaking his head. “Do you think he looks sick, Gwen? I’m worried he’s coming down with something.”

She winced. “Probably a 24-hour bug. Bet he’ll be fine tomorrow,” she said, ducking her face into the crook of his neck and kissing behind his ear. Sometimes she couldn’t fathom how someone who knew about ghouls could miss the fact that his own son was one.

But then again, David wasn’t an academic, and he certainly wasn’t trained in this kind of thing. And he had a tendency to ignore red flags when it came to people he cared about.

It was one of the things she loved most about him.

[vampireadam]

New Years Babbling From Adam

Well, I think that we can agree that 2018 was a year held together with the devil’s magic and duct-tape. Good riddance to it. While I am still eagerly awaiting Farmer Boys Dot Com – the gay side site to Farmers Only - and wondering why that dating site doesn’t exist yet (can you imagine how bad the commercials would be?) I want to take a few minutes to to talk to all of you.

Once more I was disappointed by the Science Fiction channel’s lack of courage in refusing to air He’s Alive during their annual Twilight Zone marathon. Seriously. Rod Serling foresaw everything that is going on now with that episode and it is now more important than ever. I encourage all of you to seek out the episode on your streaming service of choice, or which ever is currently hosting it, or to deploy your special antennas to find it.

“Where will he go next, this phantom from another time, this resurrected ghost of a previous nightmare – Chicago? Los Angeles? Miami, Florida? Vincennes, Indiana? Syracuse, New York? Anyplace, everyplace, where there's hate, where there's prejudice, where there's bigotry. He's alive. He's alive so long as these evils exist. Remember that when he comes to your town. Remember it when you hear his voice speaking out through others. Remember it when you hear a name called, a minority attacked, any blind, unreasoning assault on a people or any human being. He's alive because through these things we keep him alive.”

There is a message of hope I think we should all appreciate. It is not a new thing, the police being called of Black People for doing everyday things. Barbecuing, cashing a paycheck, talking to their Mom’s in a hotel lobby. It was never a new phenomenon and you need to understand that to fully appreciate the glimmer of hope in this. This shit was always going on, every day, for decades, for generations. Don’t think for a moment that it is new. What IS new and the side of this that gives me hope…. is that it’s news, is that those idiots who call the cops are being singled out and face repercussions. Racists no longer have license to abuse the emergency response system. They are mocked on social media, fired from their jobs and they are the ones who have their face on the nightly news as the wrong-doer.

This is a step in the right direction, but we cannot let them have a moments peace. Keep mocking them on facebook, keep giving them nicknames on twitter. Keep the pressure on companies to not put up with that crap. I am proud of your efforts and your continuing the fight. A good tip for handling your asshole relatives on facebook is to use their own generation against them. Post lyrics to protest songs from when they were teenagers and in their twenties. Remind them that this shit has been going on their entire life and they dropped the ball; they LOST the fight or worse… they gave up or even fought on the wrong side.

Take time to take care of yourself. Go to the movies, or stream one. Go to a park… well, not a national park – for the time being. Some might still be open but every building within them containing a flush toilet is locked up tight, thus making it a FELONY to need to go to the bathroom in a national park at the moment. I’m just going to leave that thought be because yeah… shits ridiculous. Pun intended. Go to an art gallery or a museum. Or just stay in bed all day for a day. 20 hours of sleep can do wonders for the mind. You can’t fight the fight if you are mentally exhausted.

Drink some coco or coffee. Talk to your fiends. Look at the night sky once in a while and not down at your feet. Breath. Hey... just because Tumblr wont let you upload sketches of dicks and nuts and boobs anymore doesn’t mean that you can no longer draw them. Y’all are some twisted fucks and I love it. Might I make a suggestion? When you take pictures of your art use pennies to cover up the “naughty” bits. That way Tumblr can’t ban the post or they’re banning Abraham Lincoln, and it’s not actually showing anything. And I’m sure he’d find his position hilarious. If it’s digital, photoshop a penny in.

On a personal note… please stop PMing or emailing asking me to “do that evil thing I do so well” and be the bad guy. You need to give me time to set that shit up. I can’t just jump to being a villain …. in the way I’ve been asked to be. I need time to deploy minions and move resources into place. It takes, at minimum, a century of planning and preparation. I will not be overthrowing any government for quite a while. By repeatedly asking me this you are only ending up on some watch lists that you really don’t want to be on. My tech guy is good, but he can’t mask all of those requests.

So the psychics are out in force this week. Making their predictions for the coming year. You ever notice how not one one of them ever predicts the protest marches and the rallies? Those who claim to see the future never seem to see the teenagers and the twenty year olds, or the kids. None of them. It’s almost as if they are blind to you guys. Who thinks of the future but not those who make the future? Idiots. Remember that when it gets tiring. You are up against idiots who forget that you ARE the future.

Now go kick death in the nuts.

[kdenbibi]

Forgive, don’t forget

Bucky Barnes x Black!Reader

Request: “Could you do a bucky x black reader where she tries to get him up to date on the modern world and has to explain that the way poc’s are treated, especially blacks hasn’t changed?”

Summary: Bucky is a grumpy old man, but for good reason!!

Warnings: Racism, like one curse word, a hint of fluff ;D

Tag List: @chrisemi @mirajanestrauss1999

Authors note : I’m so sorry this took so long work has been trying to drain my soul , the devil trynna test me y’all lmao anyway I hope you like this!!! I’m sorry if its not what you wanted I tried my best :> Any who, Requests are open! -Admin A

Another cold day had come and gone, by the time I walked in my door the sun had long fallen, I had stepped inside my apartment expecting the traditional bear hug from my boyfriend I always got when I came home, but instead I was greeted with silence, after receiving no answer I began to tip toe in the rest of the way, alert, preparing myself for a robber or something awful, only to see the back of Buck’s head, his attention was entirely on on the television, that in and of itself was concerning, after all Bucky was from the 1940’s, him and modern technology just didn’t always end up well.If the silent greeting wasn’t clue enough the moment I saw him I could tell something was off, so I slowly walked over, tossing my bag on the nearby counter not really caring where it landed. “Hey baby?”

I spoke slowly coming up to his stone like form. I placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, pulling him from the screen. He finally turned away from what I now saw was the news, looking up at me from his seat on our couch, and if I wasn’t sure before I was now, something was definitely wrong. I shuffled around his body until I was sat next to him, out of instinct I reached for his hand, to my relief he returned the gesture, though he remained silent. I stared at the man before me, my brows creased in concern.

If you’re with someone long enough you get to know them better than yourself, and for me? Reading Bucky was as easy as breathing for me.

What gave him away most of the time was his eyes.

See, Bucky had these eyes, and yeah, they were beautiful, but what was really incredible about them was the stories they told, if he let you close enough, you could almost seethe stories, the pain, for a master assassin he was pretty bad about hiding the way he felt, but then again I always figured it was his own way of rebelling against what had been drilled into his head, he was always told to be a stone, an unmovable rock, but now that he had the freedom to be who he wanted, he was an open book.

To my dismay, at the moment he had that cold, unflinching anger resting in those baby blues. My worry increased ten fold, I’d only seen that look when he fell back down a few pegs, having lived the life he’s lived, there were always going to be slip ups, always moments where Bucky would slip away and the soldier would come back, moments where the life would fade from his eyes and things he thought too dark to show me would replace it, memories soaked deep with blood and pain, and even though these moments happened less and less as time went on, it didn’t make them any less horrifying to witness.

A breath I didn’t know I was holding released once he gave my hand two gentle squeezes, a signal this wasn’t an episode and he was still in control, my body instantly relaxed, I folded myself into his side, basking in the warmth that was Bucky, as I waited for him to open up.

Although he seemed relatively okay, he still hadn’t spoken, but I knew better than to rush him into it, so I took the chance to turn towards what had seemed to have gotten so far under his skin, Four figures, A black woman, a hispanic man and two white men sat at a long table discussing the very heavy, very unfortunate, topic of racism in America and how it mirrored the country’s dark past far too much for comfort.

I’d joined in mid debate but I could grasp the gist of that was happening, I’d grown accustomed to the uncomfortable, hot anger that came to me when i watched this kind of stuff, but to my surprise every person on the panel passionately disagreed with the nations handling of its ever growing racism and its inability to deal with it, all but one man.

”Now I’ll be clear here, as a God fearing American it is my right to say how i’m feeling and how i’m feeling is, you people are all too sensitive.” He went on, to the rest of the panels horror, to say how equality was the end of the world and to add the cherry on top of this shit show he ended up referring to the rest of his panel as, and i quote, “Colored loving pansy’s.”

yeah, he was the human embodiment of the feeling you get right before you throw up.

and the actual throw up.

I could only stomach a few minutes of hate speech spewing from his mouth, with a roll of my eyes I snatched the remote from my boyfriend’s hands and turned the channel, much to his dismay.

Yeah that’s enough bullshit for today.

“I was watching that.”

 He finally spoke, his tone matched irritated expression.

“Yeah well I can tell you how it was gonna end." 

I yawned leaning into the soft cushion, the weight of a hard days work finally seeped into my bones.

“Either he’d continue on with his little hate speech, or he’d get dragged to hell by the remaining three hair follicles hanging on his scalp for dear life.”

He shook his head sitting back into the faux leather cushions, a smirk just barly graced his handsome features.

The hand holding mine began to rub small circles into the back of my skin.

"You’d think I never left the 40’s with this shit happening as much as it is.” He scoffed still staring at the now black screen. I nodded into his shoulder, I knew how angry he could get with all the injustices in the world, after all he did fight in a war against people like this, so I could understand the irritation once seeing that the mindset hadn’t disappeared.

“So that’s what has you so upset?”

He shot me a half smile, his shoulders un-tensing as he brought our laced fingers to his lips. “Is it that obvious?” “Well I didn’t get my hug at the door so one could only assume.” He offered me an apologetic smile, before speaking up again. “I’ve been catching up, like you told me to and,” he sighed, the irritation flaring in his expression again.“-I’m angry.” I tossed my legs over his lap, his free hand subconsciously began to work it’s way over my outstretched limbs, a habit he had when his mind was running a mile a minute. “It’s pretty crap huh?” I leaned on my hand, watching his facial expressions closely. He gestured to the blank screen with a nudge of his head, a humorless laugh leaving his tight set lips. “This shit hasn’t stopped happening, I don’t know how it’s continued to go on but I-” the hand rubbing at my legs stopped as he spoke, his prosthetic fingers twitching as his anger rose. “I know what it’s like to live in a world that doesn’t want you, doesn’t appreciate you, but I’ll never know it like you do.” He looked hopeless, and I knew that feeling all too well, watch enough of that kinda crap and the world always look darker. I listened to him rant, a sympathetic smile on my face. “I’m angry because the world hasn’t changed at all, I’m angry because people like that can walk around freely but innocent, good hearted people get denied the chance of a decent life just because of what they look like-” he huffed cutting himself off. “I’m angry because it feels like all that fighting and death was for nothing, and like there isn’t a thing I can do to help.” I sighed removing my legs from his lap and folding them underneath me, grabbing both his hands I made him meet my eye. “I know how you feel baby- trust and believe I know, and I won’t lie to you it’s not easy, it is frustrating that the world hasn’t changed all that much but it is better than before, and it will keep getting better, because of people like you, people who acknowledge the problem, and want to do something about it.” My thumb traced patterns into the flesh of his cheek as i spoke.

“And because we’ve always made it though we may not all look alike or share the same blood but people who struggle and fall together get back up together just as easy." 

He was silent a moment, and I could see the walls of anger he no doubt had been brooding in begin to crack.

"Aren’t you angry?”

“Of course I’m angry, I’m absolutely livid, but I’ve turned that anger into a source of power. People who look like me have always been at the short end of the stick, and let me tell you, acting through strength rather than anger is a hell'uva lot more helpful than letting that rage get the best of us.” He sat there, drinking in my words, so I continued.

“They don’t get our rage, they don’t get our pain, what they get is a calm grace, because in the end, people with hate in their hearts end up alone and angry, and they deserve nothing more than that.”  

With a slow nod of his head I could visibly see the stress chipping off his shoulders the more time ticked on. I swooped up to steal a kiss from his unsuspecting lips.

 "I meant what i said too, it really helps to have people like you in the world, not everyone is an evil bastard I promise, The world can be good, don’t lose faith too soon. “ 

He sighed staring down at me, arms wrapping their way around my waist, the butterfly’s he gave me went bonkers as his hands settled gently on my hips, his grip tight but not uncomfortable.

 "I know it can be good, it gave me you after all.”

 I made a face pushing myself away from the taller man.

 "Ew, Buck that was corny!“ I whined, he pulled me back into his embrace,a soft laugh accompanying his action, and as gently as one could, he smashed my face back into his warm chest. I squirmed against his hold until he let me up, the smile was back in his eyes, just where it belonged. I smacked his arm for the dirty move before I leaned forward on my own, finally getting my end of the day hug. He tucked a stray curl away from my face, leaning down to press a warm, slow kiss into my lips.

"Sorry for that- I didn’t mean to get so worked up." 

I laughed at his words, pecking his cheek before responding.

"Never apologize for being woke my man." 

His goofy smile morphed into absolute confusion.

"What does me being awake have to do with any of this?”

I rolled my eyes at the both literal and figurative old man, rising from his lap with a laugh. “I’m serious!” He yelled at my retreating figure. 

(Bonus)

Later that night, the universe blessed me with a moment I’ll treasure as long as I lived, and Buck would cringe at whenever I brought it up, as I woke from bed at a way too early time, I shuffled like a zombie to the fridge for some much needed water, I was surprised to see the soldier standing silently in our kitchen, the only reason I knew it was him was the bright blow light from his phone screen painting his face, I prepared my dry throat to call out to the man, who by the way had no type of business just chilling in our kitchen at 4 AM like that, and question him only to be interrupted by his harsh whisper.

“Siri, what does being woke mean?”

[datesfordummies]

Just because 1-65 you don't need to do them all if you don't want to

challenge accepted.

but just remember, you asked for it.

1: Do you have a crush at the moment?

yeahhhh #mountainman

2: Have you ever been deeply in love?

not romantically but i do have a crazy deep amount of love for my friends and dog. does that count?

3: Longest relationship you’ve ever been in?

3 months

4: Have you ever changed for someone?

I think I’ve gone along with things that I wasn’t totally a fan of for someone. Also, I’ve tried new things to impress someone else but lucky me I ended up liking those new things a lot

5: How is your relationship with your ex?

My last actually ex, we don’t talk. My most recent thing tho was a summer fling and we’re still friends!

6: Have you ever been cheated on?

not that I know of…

7: Have you ever cheated?

nope!

8: Would you date someone who’s well known for cheating?

probably not. like i’d have to really really really like them and know that they really really really liked me

9: What’s the most important part of a relationship?

being happy with each other

10: Do you like to be in serious relationships or just flings?

serious relationships. flings are just consolation prizes when college and summer camps and other such things limit the time together.

11: When you are dating someone do you believe in going on “breaks”?

not really. unless maybe i would get it for like temporary long distance, ya know? like when we are in college we date, when we go home for holidays we go on a break. but idk, i’d have to trust them.

12: How many people have you ever hooked up with?

just 1 :)

13: What’s one thing you regret saying/doing in a previous relationship?

my first boyfriend i know nothing about. all we did was makeout and he was very pro-pda and i was not but i was not yet pro-speaking up for myself sooo i kinda got a reputation from that relationship that followed me all the way thru high school

14: What age do you think is appropriate for kids to start having sex?

i don’t know that there’s an age. like teens at least. but, when you are mature enough to talk about it with the actual sex words like penis and vagina without getting squeemish then you’re ready

15: Do you believe in the phrase “age is just a number”?

yeahhh #mountainman #14years…oops

16: Do you believe in “love at first sight”?

nahhh, but lust yes

17: Do you believe it’s possible to fall in love on the internet?

yeah! love is 1. a choice 2. an emotions thing and emotions can be conveyed thru the internet (also god bless skype y’all)18: What do you consider a deal breaker?

mean to strangers and like employees/ wait staff. like just don’t be an asshole.

19: How do you know it’s time to end a relationship?

i don’t have a set rule…i can just kinda sense a shift in the energy between us. is that too hippy-dippy bullshit of an answer??

20: Are you currently in a relationship?

nahhh #lookinatyamountainman

21: Do you think people who have dated can stay friends?

of course! i don’t see why not, given it was a mutual split. after sometime, come back and be buddies!

22: Do you think people should date their friends?

if they like their friends then yeahhh

23: How many relationships have you had?

really real relationships? 1

24: Do you think love can last forever?

since i strongly believe we choose to love people then yes, if you care enough to stick it out

25: Do you believe love can conquer all things?

i don’t see why not?

26: Would you break up with someone your parents didn’t approve of?

nahhhh

27: If you could go back in time and give yourself one piece of advice about dating what would it be?

communicate ya feelins!!!!28: Do you think long distance relationships can work?

yeahhh, it takes work but if they’re worth it then yeahhhhhhhh

29: What do you notice first about another person?

hair usually

30: Are you straight, bi, gay or pansexual?

straight

31: Would it bother you if your partner suffered from any mental illness?

nahhh

32: Have you ever been in an abusive relationship?

not romantically?

33: Do you want to get married one day?

it’s not a goal of mine. like i’m happy if i never do. i’m happy if i love someone enough and it feels right and i do.

34: What do you think about getting your partner’s name tattooed?

noooo don’t do itttt like love can last forever, but it could end in an unforseen break up sooo yeahhh nahhhh

tips from mountain man: only get name tattoos of your own kids or dead relatives.

35: Could you be in a relationship without sex?

yeahhh my sex drive is low af actually

36: Are you still a virgin?

depends on your definiton of sex. like i say i’m not bc i’ve recived oral but i’ve never even touched another person’s genitalia actually ((is this oversharing??))

37: What’s more important: Looks or personality?

personality!! i feel people start to look like how they act the more you get to know them

38: Do you enjoy love films?

yessss. my favorite is An American in Paris

39: Have you ever given anyone/received roses?

i got a rose today from my friend! and sometimes i get them after plays that i’m in from my wonderful fam and buddies. and i have also given them to my buddies. never romantically tho.

40: Have you ever had a valentine?

nahhhh

41: What’s your imagination of a “perfect date”?

we take our dogs to the dog park (bc they’d have a dog let’s be real) then get tacos and smoothies and sit somewhere to watch the sunset

42: Have you ever read “Romeo & Juliet”?

yeahhhh #hamletisbetter43: What’s more important: Your partner or your friends?

friends are ride or die so…yeahhhh

44: Would you consider yourself “romantic”?

i can be. i mean, you’ve all seen my blog sooo

45: Could you imagine to date one of your current friends?

my close friends no but like one of my side friends maybeee, i had a fling with one of them so yeahhh i would date him.

46: Have you ever been “friendzoned”?

yeahhh but he’s like my dad now

just to clarify: not my actual dad. he’s just the dad of our friend group so we call him that.

47: Which “famous couple” is your favorite?

if the obamas don’t count then i’m not participating.

48: What’s your favorite love song?

That’s All by Nat King Cole i think

49: Have you ever broken someone’s heart?

yeahhhh i still feel guilty to this day

50: If you’re single, why do you think you are?

i keep comparing everyone i meet to a wonderful man who probably sees me as like a child #mountainadult

51: Would you rather date someone who’s rich but a douchebag or someone who’s poor but a nice guy?

poor and a nice guy

52: Are you good at giving other people advices regarding dating/ relationships?

nahhh the absolute worst, right guys???

53: Are you jealous of couples when you’re single?

only when they’re like super duper cute like my friend’s bf just posted this really great pic of her on insta and said ‘just an appreciation post bc i’ve never been so happy’ and like when will i ever??

54: How important is it to make a relationship official (p.e. on facebook)?

not that important. like make it official in ur hearts don’t worry about fb.

55: Would you consider yourself “clingy”, “overly attached” or “jealous”?

i don’t think so?

56: Have you ever “destroyed” a relationship?

no?

57: Do you think it’s silly to consider suicide because of a broken heart?

i won’t say silly but also don’t do it because i love you and that’s just one of sooooo many eligible people who would love ya wayyy better

58: Are you the “dominant” or the “submissive” part in a relationship?

i like balance but i’m probably more sub by nature like i’m super passive and like follow other’s flow

59: Have you ever forgotten important dates like your partner’s birthday or your anniversary?

i ALMOST forgot a birthday and ended up making brownies at like 3am the night before

60: What’s your opinion on open relationships?

not for me but if it’s your thang and your partner is down then go for it!

61: Who’s more important: Your partner or your family?

welll family is the og ride or die

62: How do you define “cheating”?

physically being/ go on a date with or attempting to be with another person when you are committed to someone else

63: Is watching porn while being in a relationship inappropriate?

nahhh

64: Do you think Valentine’s Day is overrated?

nahhh, i’ve made it my self love day (although that’s kinda everyday for me)

65: Would you consider yourself a “cuddler”?

i used to hate it but it’s actually my job now like i go to people’s homes and cuddle with them as a form of therapy so yeahhh

thanks for asking and ya the real mvp if you read all of those!

anyone who wants to answer all or some do it! and tag me so i can know all of your secrets!