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ofstarsandvibranium · 2 days

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Precious Truths: Part I

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you've been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month's time.

Ever since you were little, you found solace in poetry. Your mother highly encouraged your governess to have you read any and every poetry book that was ever made. The imagery and feelings it produced was something you never experienced before.

After your mother died, your father forbade you from reading poetry. He forbade you for ever mentioning your mother again. Their love was strong and true. As a result, it caused your father deep heartache. He became cold, heartless, and cruel. A drunkard and a gambler. Fortunately, his sister, your aunt, had moved in and became lady of the house. She became your mother figure, but she could only do so much.

She snuck you poetry books when she could. The words now being the only part of your mother you had to connect to.

Because of this love, you began to write poetry yourself. You only ever shared it to your aunt and friend, Kate Bridgerton nee Sharma, another lover of stories and poetry. Both having expressed their hopes of you publishing your writing some day.

"Maybe some day," you'd always say.

What they didn't know was that you did publish your poems. You went under a man's pseudonym, Arthur Talbot. His poetry books were becoming popular among the ton and it brought you joy and a sense of thrill whenever someone mentioned his name to you.

You'd recite your his poetry readings held at Lady Danbury's often. Everyone was always in awe of how the words poured out of you with intense and deep emotion.

But the one who was most taken with them and you, was none other than Benedict Bridgerton.

_______________________

The small group break out into applause and you curtsy. Lady Danbury walks up to you with a proud grin on her face, "Another splendid performance, Miss L/N. I can tell you deeply resonate with Talbot. "

You bow, "Thank you, Lady Danbury. His words mean a lot to me. It's as if he and I are one." You hold back a laugh as you express your gratitude to the hostess.

"Well, I think this calls for a break," the older woman turns to face her guests, "Everyone please enjoy some refreshments."

People begin to disperse, leaving the sitting room for other parts of the Danbury estate.

You're standing off to the side, watching those around you, when your dear friend, Benedict, approaches you. You smile wide at him, "Ben!"

"Another splendid performance, Miss L/N," he lifts his glass to you.

You chuckle, "Thank you. But I think Arthur Talbot deserves just as much praise. They're his words after all."

Benedict nods, "Yes, but you perform his words so beautifully."

You look away, feeling a heat crawl up your cheeks. Benedict clears his throat, "I take it you still have no marriage prospects since you haven't mentioned anyone courting you."

You look back up at him and snort, "Ben, this is my fourth year in society. I highly doubt I'll ever find a man willing to marry me at this point." You cast your eyes down to play with a thread on your skirt, "No one wants to be married to someone who has gambling drunkard father. Doesn't matter if he's a Lord or not."

"If my brother, Anthony, managed to find love and a wife, you will to, Y/N."

You scoff, "How dare you put me in the same category as Anthony."

"I agree," you turn to see said brother and Kate, approaching you, arm in arm, "You're much better than my husband," Kate says with a smirk.

"Still disgustingly in love, I see," you arch a playful look at your friend.

"Very much so, I'm afraid."

Anthony unhook his arm from Kate's and moves towards Benedict, "Come, brother. Let us let the ladies socialize." He takes Benedict's glass and downs it in a gulp.

The younger brother frowns, "I was drinking that."

"Then we shall grab another and drinks for the ladies," he pats his brother's shoulder and Benedict groans, following his brother out of the room.

You and Kate take a seat on the couch and catch up while the men grab drinks.

_____________________

"So, have you finally decided to court Miss L/N?" the eldest Bridgerton asks.

"We are friends, Anthony. Nothing more."

"So you don't love her anymore?" Anthony asks with a curious gaze, taking a sip of brandy.

"...I didn't say that. Besides, you originally didn't want me involved with her because of her father. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, well, we are the not the sins of our parents. Miss L/N is a lovely woman. She's smart, well-read, not to mention she laughs with you even when your jokes aren't funny."

Benedict's brows furrow, "I am funny!"

Anthony takes another sip of his drink and sighs, "What I mean to say is that I think you two would be a fine match. Besides, it's not like any other man is interested in her."

Benedict immediately clenches his jaw and takes a leering step towards his older brother, "Don't talk about her like that."

Stunned by the sudden change of his brother, Anthony takes a cautious step back, "I meant no harm, brother, but is it not true? It's been years since she's stepped into society and very few men have made an effort to court her."

Benedict lets out a deep breath and apologizes, "I'm sorry."

Anthony clears his throat, "All I'm saying is that you've had several chances to be with her. If you don't take the opportunity, you may lose her."

_________________________

"I apologize for missing another one of your recitals," Kate says, grabbing your hand and intertwining her fingers with yours. Ever since she married Anthony, you two have become acquainted due to your paths crossing whenever you came to see Benedict.

You shrug, "You've heard it all before, Kate. Just another one of Talbot's poems."

"You're quite smitten with this poet, it seems."

You laugh, "I can't help it! His words are as if he speaks to my soul!"

"Maybe I should write to this Talbot and see if he'd like to ever attend a Bridgerton ball."

You shake your head, "Oh no. Please, don't. People say never to meet your heroes, so I don't think I would want to meet him."

Kate shrugs, "As you wish."

Anthony and Benedict come back with drinks in hand. Anthony hands Kate a glass and Benedict hands you one.

"Thank you, Ben," you give him a grateful smile and he smiles back, "Of course."

He sits in the chair beside you and you two fall into discussion about the poem you recited, all the while Kate and Anthony give each other knowing looks.

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton imagine #f!reader #female!reader #fem!reader

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dreamerbytubatu · 3 days

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pairing : sunghoon x fem!reader

genre : porn without plot

heads—up : dom!hoon, reader is in sub space, overstimulation, fingering, cunnilingus, praise, dacryphilia, unprotected sex & implications of reader being edged before

wordcount : 1,300 words

★★★

sunghoon felt a little apologetic, well, not really, if he had to be honest. the second he watched your face contort into that one dazed expression, eyes looking into absolutely nothing with your lips just twitching into something between the lines of euphoria and satisfaction, he knew you'd reached your peak.

there it was, the times he thought when you were the prettiest (mostly because you were too dizzy to speak). he realised he did push you a little too far today and so to make up for it, he thought he'd be nice enough to let you (read:finally) come undone on his tongue — not that you noticed the genuine smile he flashed at you right before he dunked his head down.

he blew cool air onto the pink flesh, relishing in the way your thighs flutter before licking a stripe against your pussy. the action has you mewling, though nothing really registers in your mind in the frenzy you were in. you felt his fingers dip into the suppleness of your inner thighs, eyes closing and rolling back at the minimal contact. “feels good?” he licked another stripe before mouthing at your nub, his eyes looking straight up at you through his lashes, feasting on how vulnerable and pretty you look while he's helping you get off. “’m sensitive—” you barely breathed out before he started toying with your clit, repetitively popping it in and out of the warm cavern before flicking his tongue against it. “yeah, doll’s all sensitive? isn’t that good, though?” he chose his words carefully, knowing well how his sentence may either make it or break it, it being your high.

you nodded desperately, head firm against your pillow, placing your hands on his shoulders, “may i touch you, please?” sunghoon smiled at that, playing out a little nod and a hum through which you finally thread your fingers into his hair, pulling on the strands gently whenever it felt like it was too much. “gonna come!” you whispered, his fingers rubbing at your nerves while his tongue prod at your hole. “good girl, go on, baby, come on my tongue.” he simply said before plunging his tongue into your gummy walls, moaning at the way you eagerly suck him in.

it was too much for you, at this point, sunghoon was too good at what he did, by simply eating you out and talking you through your high, you felt the tide crash against the rock, finally sending you over the edge and your sweet release coating your boyfriend’s face.

however, he doesn't seem to stop there, for some reason, you think, he has vowed to torture you that night, although sweetly. he continued licking at your opening, thumb finally easing into it. you could feel the familiar ache ignite in your tummy again, it never really went away, it seemed that with sunghoon, you could never catch a break and your body never really asked for one anyway. “oh, please, too much!” you pleaded, although you didn't really want him to stop.

“too much?” he questioned in feigned disbelief, “you’re gonna take what i give you, doll. what's the safe word?” he asks before kissing softly the junction that connects your thigh to your pelvis. you shook your head at that, iterating that you could go on, bucking your hips upward to feel even the slightest of another inch of his thumb. “oh? thought you said it was too much?” he played with the strings of his sweats before yanking it down. “think you can take my cock?”

the moment you opened your mouth to whine an affirmative response, sunghoon had already lined himself up against your entrance, a brow raised at you. you can feel your breath quicken, after hours of him denying you his cock, you were finally going to be fucked, that's all you needed to get a good night's sleep. lost in your thoughts, you didn't even notice when he pushed half of himself into you, grunting and cussing under his breath, something about how you feel so good wrapped so well around his cock.

he pushed one of your legs up his shoulder before letting you wrap the other against his waist. the new angle by itself had your mouth gaping open so the moment he started rutting into your pussy, you could swear you felt your vision whiten completely. “fuck, feels so good, please, harder!” sunghoon scoffed at your words, fingers quick to grip your chin, “open your eyes.” he ordered as he halted, an ungrateful comment passing through your lips at that, “harder?” he questioned when you met his eyes and when you nodded, he pushed into you once again with a particular force in his movement this time, all the while maintaining eye contact. his thumb that once played with your cunt now slithered up to the corner of your lips before meeting your tongue.

his action was easy to understand, he wanted you to focus on sucking on his thumb and you did just that while he plunged himself into you hard and slow. you mumbled unintelligibly about having to come and sunghoon allowed you to do so with a nod, his free hand gripping your waist after it let your leg that rested upon his shoulder down onto the bed. he placed a pillow from nearby below your arched lower back so you stayed afloat and still had a nice angle for him to fuck into. “come for me, doll.” it was all you needed along with one last thrust of his to come undone around his cock, “look at you creaming around my cock, so fucking pretty.” he growled before resuming his actions, this time letting both your legs tightly grasp his hips as he pounded into your cunt.

“sung—hoon! i can't!” you shrieked, a tear leaking past your right eye and dropping down your jawline, “just one more, you can do this, doll.” he spoke in a strained voice, visibly exhausted as well. you shook your head repeatedly despite tightening your grip around his hip and digging your nails into his back, head nuzzled deep into his neck while your body shook violently.

sunghoon wasn't unknown to the wet feeling on his neck, somehow, the fact that he was fucking you good enough to make you cry had his dick twitching, engulfed by your walls. “i am coming, doll, just hold on a little more.” he continued to snap his hips into yours, lips coming down to touch your forehead and then pull your face against his to dart his tongue at your tear stained cheeks.

the taste of the salt and the way you clenched onto him at the unexpected skinship had him spilling his seeds deep in you, he stilled at that point. “you did so well, doll, so good for me.” you nodded into his neck before placing a kiss against his lips, “i’m sleepy.” it didn't take you long to pass out in his arms, sunghoon’s eyes widening before returning to its normal size as he let out a little laugh in disbelief. “i can count on you to leave me hanging like this.” with a sigh, he pulled away the pillow from below before going out to fetch a towel to clean you up.

★★★

#sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon hard hours #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen x reader #sunghoon imagines #enhypen imagines

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bogleech · 2 days

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Guess I have to make a main thread about this. Someone decided to fight with me in the notes on this post just yesterday about Gaza and made select responses of mine into a callout thread here, where they say my anger towards the IDF is all a cover for antisemitism. This didn't make any sense, because they said they were also against the IDF killing civilians, and I repeatedly said that Jewish people aren't to blame for the IDF or represented by the IDF in any way, putting us supposedly both on the exact same page. What gerry leaves out of their own screenshots, and I'd actually forgotten, is that at first they came at me from an angle that I was disrespecting the victims in Gaza.

So this implies they feel gaza is being subjected to a genocide, and a pretty big one, since they're upset my language made it sound "smaller and tamer." When it becomes obvious that I do in fact consider it a serious genocide, that's when they switch over to saying that my criticism of Netanyahu or the IDF is inherently an attack on Jewish people.

Notice I never actually said "zionists" in this screenshot, even, but that I defined "regular humans" as humans who don't want to kill innocent families. That would automatically include Jewish people since they overall do not wish to kill anyone, but have in fact spent quite a lot more time trying not to get killed. I believe there may be entire books about this fact! I think there's even whole museums about it, if I'm not mistaken?!

So then they pivot to saying I'm an antisemite because I said the IDF and its supporters can "burn in hell," and they say "invoking hell" is an antisemitic dogwhistle, which is definitely news to me?!

So I tried to clarify, again, that I'm only angry at the people who are themselves killing civilians and the "pro-genocide maniacs" who defend the killing of civilians, which they responded to as if I had "lumped them in" with those. You can just see right there that I didn't make any assumption that they were a part of that at all. Thanks to their earlier comments I still thought I was speaking to someone 100% against the IDF's actions, but every time I said that the killers and their advocates alone are bad, they've framed it in some new way as me just not liking anyone Jewish. So now that you have that context:

...In a response to an ask, they finally just say they hated me to begin with and set out with the intention to "bait and sealion" me (their own words!!) into saying something they hoped would be antisemitic, which they believe was successful despite me never saying anything about Jews other than "this isn't their fault." They saw what they admittedly wanted to, so strongly, that they show me saying "this isn't the fault of Jews" as evidence that I blame Jews. But speaking of people "going mask off"

In multiple more recent posts and asks, this person appears to say that they simply do not believe the IDF is really targeting children or ambulances or relief aid, that "none of those are true," and the deliberate targeting of any children is supposedly just a conspiracy theory??? So I guess they did successfully troll me and I feel like a real gullible dumbass, because the only reason I continued responding to this person in the first place was that they said they were in fact against the ongoing massacre. Instead, these comments sound like they think the IDF is being unfairly vilified by dishonest propagandists, and that's why they hated me enough to try and fish for callout fuel. That's the nastiest fucking thing anyone's yet pulled on me about this and it's not one that I'm just going to ignore. I should have smelled a troll early on and just blocked them, but it's SO hard for me to suspect ulterior motives. I always go in thinking people mean well, and that there's just a miscommunication we can work out. I almost feel like this individual noticed that and tried to exploit it?!? Unfortunately I'm sure this kind of thing will happen again simply because I don't intend to obediently shut up about what's being done to Gaza. It's not logistically possible for the death and destruction to all just be accidental collateral damage. Don't let anybody ever fool you into thinking the IDF is the face of the Jewish community or vice-versa, just as you can't let anyone fool you into thinking Hamas represents all Palestinians. Especially don't engage this person, stop doing so if you have been, and block them.

#free palestine #gaza #idf #genocide #psa

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burning-academia-if · 1 day

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Beware! Nsft!

How would the ROs (in a crushing stage) react to having a spicy dream about MC?

This is just...pure smut lmfaO

Rook:

This isn’t the first time, and he doesn’t think it’ll be the last. You beneath him, gasping, his own body pressing close to you. Your mouth on his, your moans being swallowed by the desperate kisses he gives you. His hands skim down bare skin, wanting more, so much more. More then you could ever give.

The way you say his name is everything he’s ever wanted. His mouth leaves yours, wandering down your neck, your shoulders, you neck, stomach, hips, to the spot right between your legs. You writhe against him, back arching and he takes far too much pleasure in the sound that gasps out your mouth.

An alarm sounds, somewhere, and he blinks awake. It takes too long to register where he is, considering how many times he’s had this dream. The flash of guilt isn’t as strong as the first time he’s had it, but it’s still there. Especially when he realizes how hard he still is, and the way your image is lodged into your brain.

He groans. A cold shower and enough mental screaming at himself will make it all go away. It’s not like the longing is as part of him as his own bloodstream.

Beck:

Everything is soft and hazy. He finds himself pressed against a couch or bed or somewhere soft. You lean over him, and he lifts his head, eyes tracing your every move. Your fingers dance down his face, ghosting his neck and he lets his eyes close.

“What do you want?” He breathes.

“You.” You say it so plainly, and he rises up to press his lips against yours. His hands wrap around your waist, and you settle on his lap. When your fingers thread through his hair, his fingers go under your shirt. He tugs on it and you pull away just long enough for him to take it off you.

His own shirt comes off and the feel of your skin against his is enough for him to moan your name, pleading. You press into him, and he says you name again and then—

The alarm on his phone goes off and his eyes open in a daze. His skin feels too warm and the blankets too heavy. He turns off his alarm sighs. He’s in deep now, isn’t he?

Rhea:

It starts so soft and innocent. The two of you are in a room that’s probably the Student Government meeting room. You slip into the seat next to her, resting your head on her shoulder. She means to shoo you away, before you distract her from whatever she’s doing.

Instead you nuzzle against her shoulder and she sighs. You take her hand, and she entwines her fingers against yours, “You’re distracting me.”

“I can distract you a little more.” Your voice is teasing before you kiss her cheek. She can’t help but laugh, trying to push you away as you rain kisses on her. But then she’s somehow against the wall, and your kisses aren’t on her face but her neck.

You pull at her, and her braid comes undone and falls around her. Your other hand trails down and slips between her legs. The moment you press down, she’s gone. Her hands grip onto your shoulders for purchase, grinding against your hand, the mounting pressure building.

You’re still laughing, murmuring how cute she looks coming undone. She’s so close to some kind of release.

Then her door flies open and Eloise is shouting she can’t find something and she’s painfully awake.

She grabs the nearest thing and throws it at the door. Hopefully her roommate thinks it’s because she’s upset at being woken up, and not notice how painfully red her face is, and how she wishes to vanish you from her mind.

Zoe:

Zoe’s never had strong feelings about sex. It’s something a lot of people do, and some people…don’t. It makes the way their throat catches foreign to them. You lean over them, face blurry against the backdrop of a blue sky and burning sun. Your fingers splay across their face and they nuzzle against it.

“Zoe.” You murmur, and they don’t question why the two of you are here, atop a hill with grass as soft as satin wrapping around your bodies. When you call their name, they only turn towards you, eyes fluttering closed as you brush a kiss against their lips.

It’s soft, warm. Their usual inhibition bleeds away. They reach a hand up, and pull you close. You nip at their lips, and they gasp away. With a soft laugh, you nuzzle against their neck, and they try to move away.

“Hey that tickles—” At least it does, until your teeth sink in. Heat ignites in their chest as they gasp. You press a kiss against it to sooth before curling up against their side.

The sky becomes dark all at once. Your hand traces circles against their side, “I want to touch you. Can I?”

Can you? No one has ever seen their body before, and they’ve never wanted someone to perceive it. But you? It feels so easy now, to do this with you. They rise, pulling at their shirt. Your hand stops them with a shake of your head. They relent, and let you pull it off them. Any embarrassment they expect doesn’t come, letting your eyes trace their body.

You lean forward again, and they catch you in their arms. Your hands on their skin feels nice. They want to sink into it. They want to sink into you. They won’t run from you. No matter what you want to do.

“Zoe! Mom said to get your ass up, it’s your turn for morning shift!” Zoe gasps awake, brain scattering as they bolt up in bed. Their brother raises an eyebrow at them, which they only meet with a throw of a pillow in their direction.

“I had my alarm set you heathen.” They grumble, heart beat racing. Why did they have that dream about you? It wasn’t like them to dream like that? They thought they might bury themselves into the earth today instead.

Lars:

Everything is loud and noisy, and he’s not sure who’s dragging the other to somewhere more secluded. There’s a shut of a door, he doesn’t think anyone will hear amongst the music and their own chatter. The two of you are pressed together, mouth against mouth, hands wandering across each other’s bodies.

He slots a leg between yours, swallowing your gasps at the sudden friction. His fingers are swift with the buttons of your jeans. Everything is a neon haze. You’re arching against him, desperate to be ever closer. He’s about to show you just how close you can be.

“Lars,” you manage to gasp, wrenching yourself away, “Someone could see us—”

“Scared?” He slips his hand beneath your waistband and you squirm, moving against his touch on instinct. “With how you feel, you seem more excited to get caught then anything.”

“No—I—” Your words fail you as he keeps going, eyes squeezing shut. You blindly reach for him, fumbling with his own pants, too lost in your own pleasure to do it right. Your hand finally manages to undo it, then—

He startles awake. The grey, early morning haze greets him. Lars isn’t sure what woke him up. It could have been even the slightest of sound. That doesn’t matter. He rubs a hand over his face.

“You can’t be fucking serious.” He groans. You in his dreams was bad enough, but like that? He couldn’t believe he’s already so far gone.

???:

How many times had they imagined your body? They’ve always wanted you to yield everything to them. Heart, soul, and body. The image of you laying so pretty and bare beneath them feels like a lifelong longing finally fulfilled. Their teeth has sunk into so many places, leaving marks and bruises all along your body. You’re begging for them, a type of release. They kiss your inner thigh, refusing to give you what you want.

They’ve wanted this for so long, they’re going to take their time with you. Their own pleasure hardly matters. They’re mapping out every inch of skin, cataloguing every expression your face can make. All of it. They want all of it and more.

“Please—” You gasp, “Please.”

Even your begging sounds like music to them. But not yet. Not quite. They rise up, bracing themself over you. Their hand traces the outline of your mouth. Your lips part, and they slip a finger inside, feeling you bite down, tongue brushing against it.

Their voice is a command, “You can’t just beg without stating what you want, my little moon. You have to tell me exactly what you want me to do.”

Your eyes open, and there’s the faintest flash of defiance in your eyes, even in this state. A thrill rushes through them. Oh, they love when you don’t make things easy. They love seeing you fight them, pressing you until you finally break down.

The soft nibbles turn into a hard bite. On instinct they yank their hand away, but really they feel the way their body shuddered at the sensation. You frown at them, and the next thing they know, you’re pulling them down. In a blink, you’ve switched position. You’re on top, legs on either side of them.

“What about you? What do you want?” Your hips grind into theirs and they suck in a breath.

“Everything. Every piece of you.” They reach out their hands to hold your waist, but you snatch them by the wrists and pin them down. The sensation makes them feel like their falling. And the feeling of falling wakes them up.

In the dark, they breathe hard. A hand is thrown over their eyes, thoughts scattered. You. You. You. God, they would do anything to have you.

#em answers #ch: rook #ch: beck #ch: rhea #ch: zoe #ch: lars #ch: ???#nsft #unedited #idk felt like practicing again #will tumblr kill me for this LMAO #think I thought this with the ??? smut as well

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gentlebeardsbarngrill · 2 days

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05/11-12/2024 Weekend Recap Pt 1

TLDR; Basingstoke Comic Con; Rhys, Con; Vico; Kristian; AdoptOurCrew Coverage; Days 1-3; We're Wolves News; Daily Darby/Tonight's Taika

Hey Lovelies, this weekend became huge in terms of content because of Basingstoke, so I'm gonna do these in parts to try and fit everything in. Extremely long post is long.

== Basingstoke Comic Con - Rhys/Vico/Con/Kristian ==

Sources: Vico's Instagram / Stories / Con's Instagram / Basingstoke Comic Con Instagram

= More Rhysie at his Panel on Day 3 =

Our crewmate Nikki (@bookknobsandbroomsticks) was kind enough to allow me to share their photos of Rhys here! Thank you hon!

Source: @bookknobsandbroomsticks Instagram

= More Pics from all 3 panels =

Another of our absolutely amazing crewmates @cosmosart-s was kind enough to share their pics as well!

Source: _cosmosaarts_ on twitter

== Merstede Getting out of the Pool ==

One of the questions at the con as you can see was about how Rhys got out of the pool.

Source: @MattRooksTaylor on Twitter

== AdoptOurCrew Coverage of Bazingstoke ==

Our friends over at AdoptOurCrew Team was kind enough to transcribe several questions and answers from the cast on all three days of the con! If you have access to Twitter, they have lots and lots of videos and content, please visit it here. I tried to screenshot the written transcriptions best I could below-- but if you have access to twitter, please go interact with their twitter!

Source: Adopt Our Crew's Twitter Some more pictures from the first panel from ourvery kind and generous @cosmosart-s! Thank you so much dearie for sharing these with us!

Source: Cosmosa Arts Instagram

== Second OFMD Panel ==

This panel featured Vico, Con, Cooper, Kristian, and Rhys! Thank you again to AdoptOurCrew for the highlights! AdoptOurCrew's Twitter Thread

Img Src: Basingstoke Comic Con Instagram

== Third OFMD Panel ==

The last panel was with our dear captain. Once again, thank you to Adopt Our Crew for providing coverage! Technically pictures and videos were allowed, but as you can imagine, we're pirates. What else were they expecting? Running out of image space, some great shots were taken by @ofmd-ann. You can see them here. If you'd like to see the video in the screenshots below you can visit Cree's Twitter (Sorry, only one vid per post and so I need to grab permission first before posting here so I'll see if I can reach out to Cree about sharing it on Tumblr).

Screenshots below: Source: Adopt Our Crew's Twitter

Source: Adopt Our Crew's Twitter

== We're Wolves News ==

So after the panel and Rhys mentioning he wanted to see We're Wolves made, @ Starqueenie4eva on twitter decided to tweet Jemaine, and well, he responded. He didn't say "no" he said it "has been delayed" 👀

Source: Jemaine Clement's Twitter

== Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika ==

I was gonna put these at the end like normal in Part 2 but I couldnt find them again because tumblr search sucks! So here we are.

Gifs courtesy of the fabulous @neverswungonswingingstars and @wastingyourgum!

CONTINUED IN PART 2

#ofmd daily recap #our flag means death #rhys darby #kristian nairn #vico ortiz #con o'neill #ofmd #jemaine clement #basingstoke comic con 2024 #adopt our crew #save ofmd

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dixons-sunshine · 14 hours

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All The Love | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

*GIF isn't mine.*

Summary: Daryl loved tucking his daughter into bed. It was the perfect time for him to bond with her on a deeper level. While reading to her, she tells him something he hadn't heard from her yet, making him very emotional.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Alexandria, post Saviour arc.

Warnings: None.

Word count: 1.1k.

A/n: Based on this post by @louifaith. This was pretty rushed because I'm tired and have a small headache, but I hope you like this nonetheless!

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“And as the weddin' bells chimed, the prince and his bride walked down the aisle, hand in hand, wavin' to the people who had come from far and wide to witness the unification of their love. As the happy couple descended down the grand staircase, the former king watched his son, notin' the happy smile on his face, and knew that the future king had made the right decision; he had chosen love above everythin' else, and tha' was wha's important.”

“What's a wedding, Daddy?” Hazel questioned, sleepily gazing up at Daryl through half lidded eyes.

Daryl looked up from the book and gave his four-year old daughter a small smile, reaching forward to gently push the hair away from her face. “A weddin' is somethin' tha' two people who love each other very much plan. S'so tha' they can make a promise to always stay with each other, so tha' their friends and family can see 'em pledge their love to one another.”

“Like you and Mama?”

Daryl chuckled and shook his head. “Yer mama and I didn't have a proper weddin'. We only had a weddin' between us in our bedroom. Our family found out 'bout it the next day.”

Hazel nodded slowly, trying to fully grasp what her father was telling her. “So you don't have to have a wedding if you don't want to?”

Daryl nodded. “Exactly.”

“What about me, Daddy?” Hazel asked again, staring up at Daryl in curiosity. “Do I have to plan a wedding for me one day?.”

“Hopefully not,” Daryl muttered to himself, before shaking his head and plastering another smile onto his face. “Only if ya want, Hazelnut. S'not mandatory.” He reached for the covers and drew it over her body, tucking her in tightly. “Now c'mon, ya lil' gremlin. S'time fer bed.”

Daryl leaned forward to place a kiss on Hazel's forehead. However, Hazel took Daryl's face in her small, chubby hands and rubbed the tip of her nose against his for an Eskimo kiss. Daryl smiled and returned the small, tender gesture, waiting for Hazel to pull back first.

“I love you, Daddy,” Hazel told Daryl, finally letting go of his face to rest her head back against her pillow.

Daryl froze for a moment, not believing his ears, before snapping out of it and sending her a small smile. “I love ya more, Hazelnut. Try and get some rest, alrigh'? We'll play again in the mornin'.”

“Goodnight, Daddy,” Hazel greeted Daryl sleepily, turning over on her side and closing her eyes.

“Nigh', Hazelnut.”

Daryl stood up from the bed and walked out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. In a daze, Daryl walked through the short hallway and into the room he shared with you. Once inside, he closed the door and stood unmoving for a few moments, simply staring ahead at where you sat.

Looking up from your book, you sent Daryl a small, inviting smile. However, your smile vanished when you saw the tears that prickled at the corners of your husband's eyes, your heart dropping at the sight.

“Baby, what's wrong?” you asked hurriedly, setting your book aside.

Daryl's eyes met yours. He shook his head, desperately trying to gather his racing thoughts. “I dun'—Hazel, she—she—”

“Come here,” you cut him off softly, motioning for him to come closer.

Without needing any further persuading, Daryl moved forward and practically collapsed on top of you, but he made sure not to crush you under his body weight. He settled himself against you, comfortably resting his head on your chest. You wrapped your arms around him, bringing one hand to gently thread through his hair. That's all it took for Daryl to fully break down.

You pressed a tender kiss to the top of his head, whispering sweet, reassuring nothings into his hair. Daryl cried into your shirt, gripping it tightly to try and anchor himself back down to reality. His mind was racing at a million miles a second, with no sign of stopping in the near future.

“Shh, it's okay, Baby. I got you. I got you,” you whispered sweetly, holding your husband tightly.

A few minutes passed with you holding the man that you loved, allowing him to cry into your shirt for reasons you didn't know of yet. When Daryl finally managed to calm his cries down to sniffles, you gently scratched his scalp, gazing down at him in concern.

“Daryl—”

“M'alrigh',” Daryl hiccupped, burying his head deeper into your chest. “I jus' overreacted, s'all.”

“No, none of that,” you chastised, clicking your tongue in dissatisfaction. “What's got you so upset, love?”

“M'not upset,” Daryl corrected you, lifting his head to gaze up into your eyes. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Then what is it?” you gently urged, cupping your husband's cheek in your hand. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I jus'... Hazel told me she loves me. She ain't ever explicitly told me tha' before,” Daryl explained, his grip on your shirt tightening. “S'so surreal to me. It was unexpected. I can't believe tha' someone so perfect, someone tha' I helped make, can love me, yet she does. She told me tha' herself.”

“Baby,” you laughed softly, a smile on your face. “Of course she loves you. Our daughter adores you, Daryl. She might love you more than she loves me, but I'm okay with that. You deserve all the love in the world, and we're gonna give it to you. We'll always love you.”

Daryl could feel a lump form in his throat again, but he swallowed it down. He smiled at you softly, his heart swelling with love. He let one of his hands drift down to your stomach, rubbing at the small bump that had started to form there.

“Even this lil' bean?” Daryl asked rhetorically, sending you a playful smile. He knew exactly what your answer was going to be, but it was always nice to have that little bit of reassurance.

You rolled your eyes affectionately and nodded. “Especially this little bean. It's impossible not to love you, Daryl. You're amazing.”

“Nah, yer the amazin' one. Ya and our lil' girl.” Daryl stopped for a beat before continuing. “I love ya, peach.”

You smiled fondly. “I love you too, Daryl. More than you can ever know.”

Daryl lowered his head down to your stomach, placing a soft kiss over the clothed skin. “And I love ya too, lil' one. I can't wait to meet ya.”

109 notes · View notes

the-kr8tor · 20 hours

Text

Autumn of '88

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 3.8k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie is mentioned taller than R, Reader and Hobie are 13/14 in this, Puppy love, TTN! Reader and Hobie, set in the TTN universe, best friends to lovers (prequel to TTN), CW food mentions, Fluff.

A/N: This is the last of the 1k celebration fics! Thank you all so much ❤️❤️❤️

Thread the Needle Masterlist

Navigation

Head on your palm, heavy eyes slowly closing with every dreary words that your biology teacher says, you fight a yawn from escaping since the last time someone yawned in front of Mrs. Weathers they got kicked out of class. But with the boring subject about symbiotic relationships in the wild, that you most definitely already know since you did the advanced reading, you're tempted to yawn loudly and widely just so you could escape from this biology hell.

The air is crisp, October air breezing through you from the open window to your left. Clad in your cardigan and yellow corduroy pants, the cold still seeps into the thick fabrics. It's a comfortable cold but with you sitting still for more than an hour without stretching your limbs has you freezing in your seat.

You risk getting called out by Mrs. Weathers if she notices you looking out of the window for even a second. But you are so bored out of your mind that you'd rather stare at the oak tree outside than continue to listen to her yapping about symbiosis. Having the brilliant idea to hide your wandering eyes from the teacher with your hand slightly covering your profile, now safe from her piercing gaze, you watch as the orange leaves dance with the breeze.

There's a pile of dead leaves at the bottom of its trunk, and you wish you could jump inside and never have to study biology ever again. It must be so warm and cozy inside, with the orange and yellow leaves as your sky and walls, you'll live like a tiny mouse queen ruling over your land. You think of all the stuff you'll bring inside your little leaf kingdom, your sketchbook is definitely a yes, and also your big pack of colorful markers and pencils is an absolute need. You'll need some snacks of course, some eggos and cheese balls would suffice. As for sleeping, you guess you'll never need to sleep when you have so much time to do anything you want in your leaf kingdom.

Yet, you think you'll be lonely inside. Sure you can bring your gameboy or your care bears, but they can't exactly talk and have the most riveting banter with you. With a smile, you plan to bring your best friend with you to your autumn kingdom. Hobie can be your bard or your right hand man. It's perfect, you think, a perfect place where it's just you and Hobie where there's no more school to attend, no more grades to keep up, just you and him having fun in the pile of leaves.

With a sigh, you blink slowly as your eyes get heavier and heavier with every daydream. Fighting the sandman from having his sandy grip on you, you pinch your cheek subtly. Opening your eyes, a familiar silhouette appears right next to the oak tree. Long arms waving in your direction, legs jumping to get your attention. Blinking rapidly, it's none other than Hobie who has the widest grin on his face when he notices that he finally has your attention.

He motions for you to go outside, beckoning you over dramatically. Miming that he'll cry if you don't go outside. You think otherwise, quietly giggling at his antics.

After the realization, you straighten in your seat, wondering why and how he got outside when he's supposed to be in maths.

A loud thwack slams against your desk, jumping awake, Mrs. Weathers shakes her head, tongue clicking in agitation.

“If you're not prepared to listen in class it's best that you should leave, miss L/N.” She says, gritting her fake teeth.

“Okay,” you stand up to collect your things, shoving your notebook and books inside your already full backpack. Your reply has Mrs. Weathers confused, since you are her best student.

“Wait—” you've never seen her flabbergasted, your classmates snicker silently in their seats, some even clap and cheer you on.

Giving them all a shrug, you exit the classroom before she grabs you back inside. With the door shutting close, you sprint towards the exit. Trainers squeaking on the linoleum, backpack heavy, you push the double doors open with your shoulder. Hobie greets you outside just as the fresh air whips at your cheeks.

He claps slowly but surely, face proud with a smug smile. “I've got to hand it to you, Pingu, I did not expect that. I have successfully made a rebel out of you.”

Hobie stands on the grass like he owns the entire school, hands tucked inside his jeans, thumbs tapping on his metal belts that clinks against each other when he moves. For once, he's dressed for the weather, the old worn leather jacket now fits him better than last year, it was bigger on his shoulders back then. Puberty works in mysterious ways, you think. A denim vest lays on top of the leather, handmade pins of his favourite things are all tacked securely on the denim. Its edges are frayed, but you know it was intentional since you're the one who helped him do it. The thrifted ‘Queen’ shirt you gave him on his birthday is the perfect size, but you know that he'll only be able to wear it for a couple of years at the rate he's growing.

No one would think you two are best friends judging by how different your styles are, or how different you are to him. Personality wise, likes, dislikes, it's all different, sometimes you wonder how you two get along. But you wouldn't have it any other way.

“How'd you get out of maths?”

“Climbed out of the window before Mr. Keery came in.”

You doubt his story. “Yeah, right, your classroom is on the third floor, Hobie.”

He feigns hurt, “my own best mate doubts my abilities?” You roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks says otherwise. “‘m great at climbing, I could climb down from that height.” You stay silent, looking at him with a raised brow and unblinking eyes. “...fine, I faked sleepin' by snorin’ loudly, happy?”

You touch his shoulder with a mischievous smile. “Hobie, you don't have to fake snore because you snore like an elephant giving birth.”

“You're very funny,” he takes your wrist to push your hands away. You now notice the new nail polish on his nails. “That doesn't even make bloody sense.”

You ignore him, mouth agape and shocked at his painted nails. “You finally coloured your nails?” You take his hand that has nail polish sloppily painted on. The paint even reaches to the edge of his nails, painting his skin with shadowy black. “You could've asked me for help, y’know.”

“It's part of the style” He shrugs, taking his hand away before you can feel his pulse pick up.

“Sure, even the bubbles are in style.” You tease with a playful smile. “So why'd you call me over here?”

“Got bored, then thought you're also bored so I went to your window so we could skip the rest of the day.” He purposely skips the part that he knows exactly where you always sit.

You gasp. “Wait, I thought we were just skipping class, not skipping the rest of the day!” Hands on your hips, you shake your head. “And here I thought there's like a really cool… stick or something.”

“A stick?” He chortles.

“Yeah, like the one you found a few days ago that actually looked like a sword.”

“Nah, I wanted to—” A high pitched whistle echoes out, startling you both. Finding the source of the sound, the school guard is currently running towards you. The hundreds of keys on his belt jingles, cheeks red from all the whistle blowing.

“Oi!” The yells, pointing accusingly at you two.

With wide eyes, Hobie takes your hand before sprinting away. He practically drags you along with him, bigger strides than you, he looks over his shoulder to check on you. Unsurprisingly enough, he has a huge grin on his lips, as if he planned all of it.

You follow his lead, dead leaves crunching under your shoes, backpack weighing you down. Yet, he doesn't leave you even though you're slowing him down. You appreciate him for not letting your hand go, but you don't like how your heart hammers against your chest when you look at your intertwined hands.

Finally reaching the metal fence, Hobie chucks his backpack over it. It's not that tall for him, he could easily jump over it with no problem, but with you still waiting on your growth spurt, it'll be a challenge for you. He knows it too, without asking he grabs your bag off your shoulders, he then quickly throws it over the other side before crouching down with his hands on top of the other.

“C’mon, Pingu, up you go!” Hobie flicks his eyes over to the guard, he's glad that the guard isn't exactly a track star. The whistling gets louder as the uniformed man gets closer. “Hurry—!”

Before he could finish saying the word, you shakily put your foot on his palm. With one strong push, and a jump from you, Hobie hoists you over the fence. You miraculously make it over, landing on your side with a groan. Hobie follows a second later, climbing like his life depended on it. Immediately grabbing each of your backpacks, then putting both on one arm, he lifts you up from the pavement with one hand just before the guard could even reach the fence; you two race off across the street, huffing and aching from the daring escape.

Going around a corner, Hobie leads you towards an alley. He skids off to a stop, heavy bags falling off his arms.

Hands on your knees, lungs burning, and face sweaty from the run, you check behind the corner if the guard is still after you.

“He won't follow us anymore. We're out!” Hobie exclaims, exhilarated, and grinning widely. He leans on the wall opposite of you, chest heaving, laughter echoing around the empty alleyway.

Copying his stance, cracking a smile, you laugh together with him. “You're a bad influence, Hobie Brown.”

“And you're a great influence, Y/N L/N.” His smile and his shining eyes says it all: we balance each other out. “Too bloody nice, that's what you are.”

You shake your head, chin resting on your clavicle to hide your lopsided smile. Heat on your cheeks, you seem to find yourself having the same expression lately whenever you're around him.

“Where to?” He asks once he caught his breath.

“My choice?” You ask, smile permanently etched on your lips.

“‘course,” Hobie says it like it's the most obvious thing. He was supposed to add to his sentence but he shuts his mouth before he could let the word escape.

You excitedly perk up. “The mall?”

He makes a face. “I'd rather stay in maths.”

“Arcade then?”

“They'd kick us out,” you knit your eyebrows in question. “Because we're skippin’ class, they put up that fuckin' sign a few weeks ago.”

“Oh right, I forgot. How about the record shop? Mike's cool, he might let us stay until classes are over.”

Hobie pushes himself off the wall, strutting over to you, your heart quickens for some reason. He pats shoulder with a smirk. “Your best idea yet,” taking both bags off the grimey floor, he puts them both on each shoulder. It's your turn to smirk at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say in a sing-song tone.

He clicks his tongue, avoiding your eyes. “C’mon then, before someone sees us here and thinks we're skippin' class.”

“Hobie, we are skipping class.”

“Not if we act like we're not.”

“...what?” You chuckle, blinking in confusion. “What would you do?”

“Nothin’, let's go.” He walks away from you.

“Oh come on, what will you do? Will you put on your best acting skills like how you faked being sick in front of the nurse? Because she was definitely convinced that you had chicken pox!” You giggle, following him, matching his longer strides.

“It worked, didn't it?” Hobie turns his head away from your playful glance.

“Yeah, because you had an actual fever. But sure, your drawn on chicken pox was very convincing.”

“I'm an artiste, Y/N.” He says, trying to do a french accent.

You snort, “sure, and I'm the queen of England.”

“Alright, your majesty.” He stops, “carry your own luggage,” your bag thuds on the pavement. “I don't want to help some parasite.” Smugly walking away, you feign hurt with your loud gasp.

“You…you doodoo head!” You yank your bag, wearing it properly on your back. Running after Hobie, he has a mischievous smile, one you're all too familiar with.

“Doodoo head? That the best you can come up with?” He says before bolting off, leaving you in the dust.

“Hey!” Running, you follow him with a laugh. “Asshole!”

—

Finally reaching the vinyl shop, the bells jingle as you two enter. The smell of plastic and cheap air freshener lingers in the air, the ancient shaggy carpet is soft under your trainers. Shelves upon shelves of records greet you as you roam your eyes around the different album covers. It's a slow day so the store is empty except for Mike the cashier who has headphones on.

Hobie sniffs dramatically, “home sweet home!”

Mike cracks an eye open, with a groan after seeing you and Hobie standing by the door, he chucks his headphones on the counter, looking disgruntled. The denim jacket with hundreds of patches and bottle cap pins is large on his lanky frame.

“Oh great, Hobie's here.” He says sarcastically, long straight hair flipped over his shoulder with one move from his head. “And he brought his little girlfriend. Hi, Y/N, you still hang out with this arse?” He points at Hobie who doesn't bother correcting him anymore. “Seriously, I thought you were smarter than that.”

“D’you finally have it, mate?” Hobie acts like he's the same age as Mike, even though the teenage cashier could be his older brother. Ignoring Mike's jab, he waits for his reply.

Wanting to quit his job is clearly seen on his face. Then he considers the fact that he needs to save for college. With a sigh, he points towards the end of the store, where you think ‘it’ is there.

Hobie punches the table with a thump, then he excitedly bounds over to where the cashier pointed. “Thanks, bruv.”

“Cyndi Lauper?” You ask, all wide eyed and shy. “It's not at the front anymore.”

“Over to the right, just across where your boyfriend is.”

“He's not my—nevermind, thanks.” Walking past all the display, Hobie guffaws when he finds what he was looking for. You smile at how happy he is.

He's so happy that he grabs you by your elbow, pointing at the new ‘Ramones’ album. The words “Ramones Mania” are printed in bright red.

“Finally! Look!”

“I see it, Hobs.” You chuckle, “didn't this release months ago though?”

“It did,” he sighs like he's recalling a bad memory. “But this place isn't making a lot of money from records like this, so Mike here!” He yells the last part to annoy the man. “Delayed ordering it. I had to come ‘ere every day just to remind him.”

You see Mike pressing the volume up on his walkman. Making sure that Hobie sees that he's not listening to him.

“You didn't tell me that.” You say, sounding a bit too hurt.

“Thought you wouldn't care.” Hobie shrugs, “‘sides, you don't listen to stuff like this.” He points at the album.

“I could listen to it, Hobs. I make you listen to my records and you seem to like it.”

Hobie's eyes soften. “You wanna listen to it together then? You might not like it.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “If I don't end up liking it then at least I gave it a try, right? If I do like it we have something new to talk about.”

He could only manage a smile and a curt nod. Taking the record to the listening booth that sits at the corner of the store, he leaves his bag outside whilst he opens the door for you. Placing your bag down more gently than he did, you enter the cramped booth.

Mike yells after you two, “you lot better not snog in there!” You and Hobie scrunch your faces at the man.

“We're fourteen, mate!” Hobie yells back, not agitated, just weirded out by Mike's comment.

“You're fourteen? How would I know? You look fuckin' sixteen, bruv! Tall motherfucker.” He whispers the last part, Hobie didn't hear it but you surely did.

“I thought he was cool.” You admit, shutting the booth door behind you.

“He's a wanker, just actin’ like he is. Thought you fancy him?”

“Ew.” He beams at your reaction.

You giggle, the sound bouncing off the padded walls of the booth. It's just a regular rectangular box with a shelf for the record player and a bench to sit on. It's quieter inside, the cars outside are muffled, the only clear thing you can hear is how your heartbeat gets faster and faster the longer you stay squished inside the booth with him. Sitting down, you leave enough space for him. Hands on top of the other, you roam your eyes around the cracking paint on the walls, mind making shapes from how the navy blue paint crumbles.

Hobie carefully takes the record out then places it on the record player. Sitting next to you, you can practically feel his excitement reverberating. He takes the headphones from its rack, turning each around so you and him could listen at the same time.

“Ready to shit your trousers?” He asks, eyes glinting from the single light bulb. He's so close to you that you can see yourself in the reflection in his eyes. And you can see every single strand of eyelashes that's perfectly blending in with his eyeliner.

“I don't want to poop on my trousers, I like this pair.” You joke, and you pat yourself on the back for making him laugh. “This is corduroy, Hobie.”

“Alright quiet time now.” He presses play as you hide your amused smile.

—

You bask in the sunset, eyes closed, you let the autumn air kiss your cheeks, your hands are behind you, propping you up. Despite the dusty pavement, and the looming problem of getting found out that you skipped school, you're perfectly content where you are right now. It would be perfect but you're missing something, or someone for that matter.

Cold air suddenly blows right behind you, the convenience doors close with a hiss and that's your cue to look up. Hobie appears upside down in your vision just like you thought, he tilts his head, you can see the cogs in his head turn. Placing the cup on your forehead, he laughs at your crossed eyes. Condensation rolls off from the plastic cup and into your skin.

Hobie takes it away before you could catch a cold. Sitting next to you, he hands you your bright slurpee. There's a mix of colours, red and blue melting into the orange and purple.

“They didn't have the brown one.” He says as he rips open a pack of Doritos. “There's no puddin’ pops either.”

“Aw,” you say slightly disappointed, but the sight of the box of nerds inside the plastic bag helps remedy your disappointment. “Ooh nerds!”

“Where?” As he says it, you see a grin slowly spreading on his face. “I only see one right here!” Chortling, grin wide, the orange hues of the sky paints him with its watercolour glow. You'd take this sight more than a day alone at the arcade.

“Ha ha.” You say flatly, sipping your drink too quickly, you wince loudly. Hobie guffaws into the barren space, save for the 711 behind you and the woods sitting quietly in front of you. His laugh echoes, even with his amusement, he still has the time to pat your back affectionately.

“Ow.” You rub your temple.

“What’d I tell you before? Drink it slowly, love.” The title slips out of his tongue. The second he realizes it, he hides behind his own cup, sipping wordlessly as he stares off into the woods.

Love, the simple freudian slip has you blinking at him slowly. He has never called you that before, he has, however, called you a bunch of nicknames that are either sweet or to purposely annoy you. But love? You've only heard older teenagers call each other that, and they usually have their hand inside their girlfriend’s or boyfriend’s back pockets when they do. You have no idea if Hobie has mistaken, because you're clearly not love, you're pingu, you're cheese, you're pebbles, hell, you're even lad, or his best mate. Never love, because that's reserved for someone you actually like, someone you truly care for.

Is he mistaken? Mimicking something he has heard around school?

“I should've told you about the album.” His voice wakes you to the present.

Do you care for him? Of course you do.

“What?” You breathlessly ask.

He's your best mate after Danny left, he was the only one who filled that lonely lonely gap he left. You think he's stuck with you forever, and he thinks you're stuck with him forever. Strangely enough, you both think it's perfect.

“Me pestering the shit out of Mike.” You knit your eyebrows at his words. He looks down at his boots, a small puddle at his feet reflects his own confused face. Is he apologizing? Why is he apologizing for? Weirdly enough, you both ask the same question.

You'd annoy Mike for him. You'd call the shop endlessly just so they would order his record. Even if you get in trouble for the telephone bill.

“You would've helped.” Hobie continues, eyes now looking into your own.

Care, it's a simple word, but you think it's not enough to describe how you feel about him, how you really feel about your best friend. It's much more than that.

“Yeah, I would've annoyed him too.” You softly smile at him.

“I know, love.” Because he knows you, and you know him too. Hobie utters the title more confidently, the word rolling off his tongue like butter. He makes it sound like he has been calling you that in his head for a long time. Maybe he has. “I know you would.”

He had the answer the whole time, it's not just you caring for him. It's love, it's love in its earliest state, it's love at its most innocent.

You love him, that revelation scares you, but it's better not knowing how you truly feel whenever he smiles at you and your heart skips a beat. Now you know, you'll tell him one day, one day when that feeling gnaws at your chest. But for now, you'll settle with drinking slurpees with him, you'll settle for skipping class so you could listen to records with him. For now you'll settle with loving him as his best mate, and for now, you're content just by being at his side.

63 notes · View notes

raina-at · 23 hours

Text

Eavesdropping

Bakers, again. This takes place right after Sherlock won Bake Off.

------

John Watson’s Blog Entry, December 9th 2010, 2:55 am

Congratulations on winning Bake Off, Sherlock! I’m thrilled to have been in the final three with you and Molly. Recipes for all my bakes will follow, but for now let me just say: I couldn’t be happier!

Comments:

@ janinelawyered agreed! What a night?

@ thenakedbaker where did you two go off to so suddenly? One minute we were all drinking champagne, the next minute you two were gone.

@ marym come on, you know where they went.

@ thenakedbaker shagging each others’ brains out probably

@ mollyhoopersblog Irene! That’s private!

@ thenakedbaker oh come on, with the amount of eye sex these two were having in front of the entire British public…

@ mollyhoopersblog Still.

@ janinelawyered let’s just say I had a room next to them once and they didn’t leave much to the imagination.

@ thenakedbaker Do tell!

@ janinelawyered I really shouldn’t. But since you asked, let’s just say I got the distinct impression that a very good time was had by all.

@ thenakedbaker Details, Janine. I want details.

@ johnwatsonsblog YOU REALISE I CAN READ EVERYTHING YOU’RE WRITING HERE, RIGHT?

@ janinelawyered Stop eavesdropping!

@ johnwatsonsblog I’m not eavesdropping, it’s MY FUCKING BLOG! I GET A FUCKING NOTIFICATION FOR EVERY ONE OF YOUR COMMENTS!

@ mollyhoopersblog how did it go? You know. The thing.

@ johnwatsonsblog Molly. He reads my blog. I’m not going to tell you anything.

@ mollyhoopersblog Just one word. Good? Bad? Middling?

@ johnwatsonsblog … good. Very, very good.

@ mollyhoopersblog I’m so happy for you!!!!!!!!!!

@ johnwatsonsblog Don’t jinx it, though, all right? Leave him alone, I don’t want to scare him off again.

@ thescienceofbaking I’m not so easily deterred, thank you very much.

@ johnwatsonsblog I beg you, ignore all of them!

@ janinelawyered Oi, Baker of the Year, heard you had an interesting night!

@ johnwatsonsblog I want to stress that nobody heard anything from me!

@ thescienceofbaking John.

@ johnwatsonsblog Yes.

@ thescienceofbaking I don’t care.

@ johnwatsonsblog Really?

@ thescienceofbaking John. Come back to bed.

@ johnwatsonsblog All right. I’m deleting this entire thread, just so you all know. And mind your own business.

@ thescienceofbaking John. Now.

@ johnwatsonsblog Coming.

@ thenakedbaker I bet you are.

@ mollyhoopersblog IRENE!

Comment thread deleted December 9th, 3:34 am

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Tags under the cut aa always, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @salmonsown @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #my fic #may prompts 2024 #bakers with benefits #mayprompts2024 #eavesdropping

68 notes · View notes

justauthoring · 1 day

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not a cuddler, then?

requested! -> uhh can i ask for comfort cuddles with sanemi? i feel like I'd would be sooo adorable because he's not really this tpye, but he would try for is love requested by! -> anonymous

a/n -> him and genya do be my babies

(also, not spell checked!)

pairing -> sanemi shinazugawa x f!reader

he was stiff against your back, arms locked around you tense and frozen in place.

the laugh that bubbled from your throat was, truthfully and to your defence, out of your control.

"what?" sanemi growls from behind you; you feel his chest rumble against your back and the laughter bubbles up all over again. sweet, melodic giggles leave your lips as sanemi stares behind you, thoroughly offended and embarrassed, mouth left agape. "fucking what?"

when you simply continue to just laugh, sanemi takes matters into his own hands; literally. his much larger hands grip you by your hips, lifting you and forcing you to face him. you're sit in his lap, legs straddling his own, and somewhere along the way your hands had moved to cover your lips, leaving you peaking through them hesitantly at sanemi's rather sour face.

"oi," he calls, growing further frustrated at your lack of reply to him. taking your hands by the wrists, he pulls them away from your face, revealing the shit-eating grin that had been hidden behind them. he narrows his eyes. "what the fuck is so funny?"

biting your lip, you let your arms fall; "you."

and pauses a moment, as if believe he'd heard you wrong before the silence echoes and realizes no, he definitely heard you right. "me?" he echoes, jerking back.

you nod. "you," you confirm. then, feeling pity for him adn your teasing, you just take his hand in yours, threading your fingers and squeeze. "we don't have to cuddle if you don't want to, sanemi."

"who said i didn't like cuddling?"

"no one," you shrug; "but it's pretty clear."

and you're not sure how he does it, but sanemi actually has the audacity to look surprised at that.

"sanemi," you sigh, "you were as stiff as a board. it's okay."

pulling you closer by your hips, sanemi shakes his head. "it's not that i don't like cuddling," he admits, "it's just... i'm not used to it. and... well—..."

he cuts himself off, his words drifting as he shifts his gaze, refusing to meet your own. you raise a brow at the action, confused, quick to bend to move back into his line of vision with a gentle smile. "i'm sorry for laughing," you offer, "but you can tell me. i won't laugh, promise."

he eyes you like he doesn't believe you, but a minute more of your unwavering stare and sanemi is caving like he always seems to be when it concerns you.

"...i'm scared i'm going to hurt you."

your eyes widen as your face falls, having never expected such a honest admission. your relationship with sanemi was still quite new and the both of you were exploring what boundaries you were comfortable breaking and what ones you weren't yet.

you knew sanemi was a rather hot-headed man, but he'd never been anything but kind to you. sure, he could be crude and his words had more bite then others, but you knew it never held any malious; not towards you at least.

besides, his actions had never been anything but gentle.

and now, if you thought about it, you guess you could say too gentle at times. it was clear to you now, why.

stretching his palms in front of him, sanemi frowns; "all i've ever done is hurt people... i don't know how to love. and i don't want to hurt you by accident."

shaking your head, you're quick to set your hands over his own, pulling them and the scars that rest there away from his gaze; instead, you redirect his gaze back on you. smiling gently, you guide his hands to your waist.

"you could never hurt me, sanemi," you assure. "i trust you wholeheartedly."

and his lips part, as if wanting to argue.

you don't give him the chance.

"you've never been anything but gentle with me," you express earnestly. "soft and warm and gentle. we don't have to cuddle until you're comfortable, but just being in your arms is enough to make me feel safe."

that seems to catch his attention.

"safe?" he questions, "you feel safe in my arms?"

"always."

"oh."

you grin, wide and genuine and sanemi feels his resolve fading as he takes you in, sat on his lap, and the desire to have you, to touch you grows stronger by the second. it was always a drifting want, one he'd be able to ignore, but now?

now he just wants to hold you close.

leaning forward, sanemi takes you by the waist, spinning you back around until your back is pressed against his chest once more. his arm holds you around the front of your stomach, keeping you close as his face presses into the crook of your neck.

and this time the laugh that leaves your lips sounds like music to sanemi's ears as you cuddle back into him in return, nudging him with your nose along the cheek before pressing a kiss just after.

sanemi realizes, as the moments pass by, that you sink into him without a single care in the world and not a trace of fear. you lean into his grasp and hold him back with just as much love and sanemi thinks then, he loves cuddling.

if it's with you.

#kny #kny x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #sanemi x reader

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hogwartsfirebolt · 1 day

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telepathy

“You never suspected?” Harry whispers into the curve of my shoulder. His skin is warm against my side, our legs tangled together in the cocoon of his sheets.

I know he’s thinking of the appointment I had earlier, of the diagrams I showed him that the healer drew for me, explaining that her scans showed my magic reaching out, touching her mind gently. How she said that that’s the basal state of my magical awareness, touching the minds of those around me whenever I choose, even unknowingly.

“That I’m a telepath? No. Legilimency always came easy to me, but I never suspected actual telepathy.” I close my eyes, lean closer so that his hair tickles my nose and I can smell the coconut scent of his shampoo, fresh and lovely. “Although … sometimes I did feel like I knew what you wanted, what you were thinking. In bed, specially”

He huffs a laugh against my skin, brushes his lips over a freckle on my neck that I only know is there because he mentions it all the time. “That actually explains a lot.”

A proud thrill shoots through my belly and I feel a smile threatening to spill into my face. It’s not that I didn’t know he wants me — he makes it so clear each time — but knowing for sure that he does and that I give him what he wants in turn makes me feel powerful in a way I’ve never experienced before. I reach out then, the path to his thoughts feeling easy now I know I’ve been treading it for years.

He’s running his fingers along my hip, the inside of my thigh, and his thoughts are simple, surrounded by lust and warmth.

All this beautiful milky skin.

I feel a blush rise to my cheeks hotly, and clear my throat. I’m helpless to the admission I want to make, feel it drawn out of me by the sheer glow of being in his presence. I say, “But sometimes I felt it after, too, whenever we finished. I just never thought … to tell you the truth, I just thought that’s how it is when you’re in —”

The embarrassment of saying it out loud feels unmanageable, but I would’ve pushed through if it weren’t for his green eyes widening, for the alarms blaring through my awareness of his thoughts. His lips cover mine swiftly in a pressing, achingly lovely kiss and he rests his forehead against mine.

He breathes out, “Shh. Don’t say it. Now we know why you always knew what I wanted.”

It stings for all of a minute, that he won’t let me, but then I realize that I can’t feel disgust or rejection in his thoughts, only fear. Simple, tangible fear. I huff, raise a hand up the back of his neck, tangling through his soft, beautiful curls. He relaxes once again, and I feel the soundless sigh against my lips before he kisses me again, close-mouthed and sweet.

He’s everything, nudges the edges of my consciousness. Then again, a golden thread of a helpless thought, Everything.

“Alright,” I whisper against his lips, and I can tell he loves that, loves the feel of my lips moving against his as I speak. I can tell he feels it all. So I venture, “That doesn’t mean it’s not true, alright?”

His guard has come back down as he occupies himself tracing my bottom lip with his tongue, following his own body down the path that will lead to desire very soon. Distractedly, he asks, “It doesn’t mean what isn’t true?”

“That I’m in love with you.”

Everything freezes, his arm where it was moving to embrace me, his breath, his mind. And in the center, red-hot fear once again. He pulls back a little, enough to run a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He’s wondering, Why is he doing this?

He’s picturing me running, turning away from us in fear of what it can become. I pull him closer again, cup a hand around his jaw and I know he can see it in my eyes: the truth. His eyes fall shut, his body in a vulnerable curl around mine.

“Jesus, Draco. You don’t even like me.”

“Of course I don’t like you,” I can barely recognize my voice, it’s gentler than I even knew I had in me. “But I am in love with you.”

God, me too. Me too, me too.

Our bodies are so close I can feel his heart pounding.

“Uh. I’m not sure I —,” he’s starting to say, but his mind keeps beating a stream of Me too, me too.

“You’re forgetting that I can quite literally read your mind, Harry.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” There’s a laugh building up in my chest and I let it escape, catching what he feels when he hears it, the way his thoughts soften, the way he sees me aglow like this, in his arms, because of him.

A warm hand comes up to my chest, resting over my sternum. Where, even though he can’t read my mind, he can find beating proof that I feel this.

“Then you already know what I’m going to say.”

I love you.

I nod, basking in the way my heart races, in the way I know that his heart is racing too. It all felt so impossible only this morning. Years of sneaking around, years of sleeping together and not talking, not daring to hope. And it had always been as easy as me reaching out, trying to connect, without ever knowing I could. But there’s something else, and the lingering dregs of doubt rise up in me when I realize this only speaks for now, for this moment in time.

“I can read your mind, but … I can’t see the future. I don’t know what this means for us, or where it takes us.”

He pauses, and I can tell he’s giving it serious thought. I can see futures he’s picturing, trying on as though trying on new clothes, playing out the idea of making me central to the path he sees for his own life. I can tell the thought feels new and exciting. His green eyes meet mine, and it seems it only took him these few minutes, because the fear is gone, replaced by burgeoning joy. He’s always been the braver one. I pull my awareness back, overwhelmed by the strength of his sudden conviction, and I’m once again just me inside my own mind, looking into his eyes, not knowing what’s behind them.

“To tell you the truth, I never expected we’d come this far,” he says. The back of his fingers is tracing my cheek, and there’s an edge to his voice, a soft kind of adoration that only really comes out when we’re like this, bare to each other. “I mean, maybe that was daft of me, seeing as it’s been four years of … this, but it seemed to me you never wanted to talk about it, and so I didn’t think to consider we could be anything more than what we’ve been already.”

And it’s true. I didn’t think we could ever have more that we already had, so I never gave myself the space to want it. Now, knowing what I know, I discover that the want was always there, that I unknowingly let it build up behind closed doors in my head, and that now that I’ve inched it open, it’s all come barrelling out, a flood tearing the dam to bits.

I nod. “I understand. But now my cards are on the table, and … I already know your answer too, so why don’t we stop fooling ourselves?”

“It’s not that, it’s just … we’ve spent our entire lives driving each other insane.” Not reading his mind anymore, I can still read him with the knowledge of a lifetime. I know him, can tell that he means it, that this is something that’s been bothering him. “Last week you almost throttled me when I suggested we saw that Divination expert before you went actually insane.”

It’s true that I had felt something off in my own head for months, that I wasn’t able to hide it from him because at times it felt like the whole world was pushing its way into my brain and I couldn’t channel it back out. The notion that I might be going insane was not infrequent, and he worriedly suggested alternatives before I finally decided to visit the healer today. But him suggesting divination could nearly have been the last nail in the coffin. I’ve never been a pseudo-science kind of man.

“Oh, you know damn well I’ve never believed in those things.”

Frustration tinges his gaze, turns the corners of his lips downwards. “Well, now it turns out you’re a damn telepath, Draco, so you better fucking start believing.”

I’m so scandalized I lose the ability to speak for a few seconds, and he can tell. Which makes him double down, “I — Merlin, do you see? I drive you insane without even trying. You’re driving me insane too.”

“Okay, okay,” I force out, fighting down the annoyance that he can bring up in me quicker than anybody else. My eyes fall shut and I take a breath, letting myself feel his touch on my skin, the length of his body against mine, the night breeze sharing our bed, around our bodies where the sheets have slipped off. I open my eyes, feel the proud bubble of elation that courses through my veins when he looks at me. “I know we always drive each other insane, but we always end up here, don’t we? Curled up in your bedroom.”

His eyes soften. “That’s true. And in the end I — I mean I do really —“

He still can’t say it. But I know it. I’ve seen it, his doubts, his love.

So it’s easy to be the one to voice it. “I love you too. And I’m also terrified at the notion of being apart, and I’m also sometimes horrified and disgusted to realize I feel this way, and I wonder how I even ended up here when I genuinely despised you back in school.”

“Went both ways,” he huffs. I can’t help but smile.

“I know.”

“But then I’m just — God, Draco, if you’re reading my mind, then you know what I have in my drawer right now.”

Alarmed, I can’t help but let my magic reach out so hard I’m left reeling, and I get an image, front and center. His dresser, third drawer on the left, between a bottle of cologne and an inherited jacket: a black velvet box, no bigger than a snitch. I see him in his mind’s eye, stroking the box, thinking of me. Of us. I see him putting it back in. Taking it back out another time, another day, thinking of me. Months passing, him taking it out on sleepless nights after I slipped away following a tryst, see him stroking it, thinking of me. And I’m afraid. I am. But there’s a stronger, unnamable feeling overpowering the fear by the second, dusting it in a golden glow with the certainty and inevitability of a sunrise. I swallow.

“I do know. But I’m not sure I understand. Didn’t you just say you never expected we’d make it this far?”

“I think it’s more that I didn’t think you’d be willing to try. The thing is that … right here, together, when it’s just us? It just works, I feel like we get each other perfectly. I like that a lot. But none of our friends know we talk, much less that we see each other twice a week. When you see me in public you roll your eyes and look away, and Nev told me the other day that you told Pansy you still hate me.”

I’m still in his mind, and I feel how this hurts him. Has been hurting him. But it’s hypocritical as all hell, he’s never been the sole victim of this. Like everything else between us, it went both ways. My temper flares.

“Oh, don’t start. Nev always tells Pansy that you go on and on about how unbearable I am, and … and I saw you flirting with Hannah last week at The Brewery!”

“What?” His volume rises, and he startles himself. He shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “I — Okay. Didn’t you read my mind then? All I wanted was for you to look at me, even though I knew you wouldn’t, because our friends were around. I’m tired of this, Draco, I’m tired of your walls coming up with me outside them whenever we’re not in bed.”

He’s thinking of that night, of me looking away when he tried to catch my eye, of me leaving early so he wouldn’t have the chance to ask if I wanted to go home with him. It’s too real, too revealing, I don’t know if I want to face having been part — or most — of the reason we didn’t have this earlier.

“I didn’t know I could read your mind back then, it was only last week. How was I supposed to know you felt any kind of serious way about me when —“

“What’s in my drawer, Draco?”

My heart pounds. “I know what’s in your fucking drawer.”

“And what are you going to answer? I can’t read your mind.”

I had been so calm, placing the ball in his side of the court at the beginning of the conversation, but he’s hit it right back at me, hard, and my heart is climbing up my throat. He’s asking, knowing I know everything inside his head, he’s asking because he doesn’t know anything inside mine, and he needs it out loud, needs it spelled out. I have to give it to him. It’s only fair. I swallow, try to force my heart back down.

“What do you think I’m going to answer, Harry? Look at me. You’ve ruined me completely, I’m — ”

“Is that a — ?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes”

#drarry #drarry fic #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #mywriting #it’s no surprise to anyone that I’m obsessed with confessions #how nerve wracking they are even when you KNOW what the other person feels #so here’s another version of a confession for them #otherwise known as: the only way I think Draco would realistically be brave enough to say I love you first lmaooo

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funyiipp · 17 hours

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Threaded Sight - pages 1 and 2.

Some weeks later, and I (partially) did it! I managed to finish two pages. More than I can say about the original version of the comic. I didn't fix the one panel I didn't like mostly because I realized I didn't want to spend another 40+ minutes on page 1. So, the only thing I did was slightly improve the chair.

I guess the only addendum I have about this is Wallace's appearance in Lionel's nightmares really shows how little he remembers his dad's features (despite how many pictures of him there are in Keto's house).

For example, Lionel can never remember the freckle underneath Wallace's eye or whether he wore an ascot casually. (I like to imagine this is because Wallace stopped wearing his ascot around baby Lionel 'cause little man was KEEN on eating it)

Also silly fact about Lionel! He cannot feel positive emotions nor can he really emote. That's not to say he's irritable 24/7; he can feel neutral or content, he just can't experience fun/happiness. He has a best friend, Pauline, who (I haven't finished drawing) is always trying to get him to show emotions, and almost always he just stares at her like this:

Anyway, I've done enough YAPPING for the week. Goodbye again, I'll see you all when I see you.

Wallace and his respective AU is @lizaisdrawing's! (Much love.)

#welcome home #clownillustrations #digital art #puppeteer wally #original character #wally darling #comics #Also for the record; Lionel's hair is black like Wallace's. I just forgot to change the tint color.#All my colors are tinted - even ones that don't look like it! I haven't used pure grayscale in 3 years.

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asnowfern · 3 days

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Holding You Close

A/N: Happy Mother’s Day!!! To all the mothers out there, especially those struggling with toddlers as much as I do some days, you are doing an amazing job!💕💕💕

“No!” Alea struggles in Nesta’s tight grip, proclaiming loudly as she punctuates every word with a stomp of mini feet. “Mama is a monster. I. Want. Papa!”

She falters, the grip capable of running a blade into any enemy loosens. Her daughter, ever the Illyrian, seizes the opportunity and wrenches herself loose. Her face scrunches up, fat tears leaking.

“Alea-” Nesta starts, only for her sharp tongue to fail her against the shine of hazel eyes. She clears her throat to try again gently, “Alea, mama can shower you too. Papa is busy doing something really important for uncle Rhys.”

Alea crashes her knees to the ground and begins wailing, “NO!”

She breathes in and out deeply, gearing herself up to wait out the tantrum. She attempts to gather her daughter into her arms, triceps flexing as the little Valkyrie continues to flail wildly.

“What about a bubble bath?” She offers tentatively.

“Noooooooo, I want papa!”

It is at that moment, through the helplessness that spirals within her, that the thread pulls taut in her chest. Cassian steps into the room, arms already relaxed open to receive the princess charging towards him.

Their eyes meet as Cassian coos softly at the crying toddler, hazel eyes narrowing slightly in apology. Nesta sighs. Just go, stormy blue eyes say.

She watches half heartedly as her mate scoops up their daughter and heads for the bathroom. She releases a heavy breath after, turning towards the large glass doors and swinging them open. The icy sting of wind against her face brings sharp relief.

Nesta numbly traces the thin scar running down her thumb, her mind echoing the words of her daughter. Mama is a monster.

She knows at a certain level, not to take the words of a tired toddler to heart. The logic still wrestles against the feeling of inadequacy, of the nagging in her mind that as a mother, the simple task of bathing her child should not be such a struggle. Right?

She lingers on the open balcony, barely registering the goosebumps raised by the cold until a warm blanket drops heavily over her shoulders. There is a flash of beautiful rust and ebony and she is shielded against the chill by large wings. She responds by leaning into the warmth, her head tilts to rest against broad arms.

“She’s asleep.” Cassian informs her quietly, his lips brush the side of her head. Comforting, reassuring. “She was just tired.”

Nesta mutters into the arm, her voice soft and almost timid, “I know.”

She doesn’t say another word and instead lets Cassian guide her back in with the gentlest touch on her back.

She smiles again when Alea wakes up an hour later, bouncing to her side with refreshed energy.

“Mama!” A wide toothy grin splits tan skin and wraps little fleshy arms tightly around the shoulders that were just hunched over in defeat earlier. “I LOVE YOU!”

An ice crack, melting as if it was never there, as Nesta immediately returns it fiercely, “I love you too.”

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #happy mother's day

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beesmygod · 2 days

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today is webcomics day. i am bea and i make "A Ghost Story" - part 1: pre-gaming

webcomic day is a yearly celebration of the art form concocted by the screentones podcast team as a way for people to see how the sausage gets made. my webcomic "a ghost story" has been running for over 10 years, and yet i still don't think i can say i am good at making a webcomic. regardless, the comic is getting made because otherwise i become very, very sick in the head. today i would like to share with you the process of making a page of "A Ghost Story" from start to finish. either this demystifies the process or will make you think im so cool and strong for doing this 2x a week. instead of reblogging this one post until it gets very long, i will be posting individual updates that i will then compile and post on my personal website. block the tags now if you HATE comics and want them to EXPLODE.

if you have any questions, even things like "what the fuck are you even talking about" feel free to ask. i want to feel confident in what i make again and i think sometimes interrogation from an outside source is really

---

that said, let's get started. wait just kidding i want a cup of coffee first, hold on.

ok now im ready. i have a big glass of water. i have coffee. i have a headset for the parts of work that don't involve typing words. i can't type words and listen to some streamer babble in my ear at the same time, so it has to be instrumental music or nothing. i just took my meds so they should kick in after about 30 mins. i woke up late today, which is weird and annoying. but maybe i can work late instead.

first off, i need to know where i'm going beyond this one page. if i dont know where im going with something, then i usually create something that sucks that i have to deal with later. hold on my internet died, i have to reset the router. ok, anyway.

what's rattling around in my brain is that not only do i have to deal with maxine's current predicament, i am also dealing with multiple plot elements i need to wrap back around to from the previous chapter. luckily, im about to put maxine down for a nap, which means i can get back to those other elements:

i need to finish the exposition from the three ankou characters for this story arc establishing their motivations as the oppositional force in the story. the "villain" is not these three specifically, but their boss. they need to have a loose understanding of what's going on in order to communicate this to the audience. god this started turning into a huge ass paragraph so i'll just keep it short there.

we've jumped back to before jack's horrible day from the first chapter of this storyline so we have to make our way back toward that and then lapping it, which means wrapping up his various open threads like:

feeding victoria and learning something new about her

finding out alice is a very exceptional employee who is getting many awards

watching valdo call lily while interrupting her during something personal to ask her for help with maxine's situation.

jack meeting with valdo and lily the day after they first met so jack can just tell them straight up that lily has 4 sisters she doesnt know about.

help that girl with her poltergeist problem. remember that. i've had jokes for this rattling in my head for like 4 years. im going insane.

and also the fucking tilberi!!! that has a point its going somewhere!!! there's a larger menace here!!!

other things to set up the climax of this storyline. sexual tensions, hints at larger emotional problems not immediately evident to the reader

lots of moving parts. and i feel like im moving in slow motion to get to them. i can see them all weaving together in my head, its the process of putting that onto paper that's proving difficult.

ok that took an hour starting and stopping. -_- let me write the next part as i keep brainstorming on how to approach this page. taking a "rubber duck" approach to this might help. heres an image from the last page i worked on (i have a 5 page buffer rn so the site does not match the finished pages) to get us semi-situated.

also because images will help people understand what skill level we're working with here. i need to be able to communicate an idea to the audience; if the art also looks good on top of that, then that's just an added bonus. but the ability to communicate my ideas is sometimes hampered by my lack of artistic skill or comics language ineptitude. like those speech bubbles kind of fucking suck but at a certain point you have to just hit print on what you're working on in order to keep your already glacial pace.

webcomics is a tightrope act where you're also spinning 4 plates at once. the trick is to keep the audience from realizing how many actually fall or how wobbly they all are. the act sucks but technically its not a failure.

#a ghost story #webcomics #webcomic #webcomic day

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medic-simp · 2 days

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Just Go To Sleep - The next morning... and the next...

Rating: Mature || Chapter Word Count: 1.7k Chapter Content Warnings: emotional constipation, argument, angst, slow burn, tension

Masterlist || Previous || Next || AO3 Work Link

Taglist: @averagecrastinator, @ilikemymendarkandfictional, @deny-the-issue, @silcoisatan, @spoczkot, @mommmysstuff DM me to be added to the taglist! <3

beta reader: @spoczkot <3 <3 <3

Summary

Hard times fall upon you and your apartment is unlivable. You have no one to ask for help other than your boss, Silco. Luckily, he's got some space for you.

Silco is up before you, rustling about the bedroom and presumably getting dressed, only at considerable volume. Closet doors swung open, dresser drawers pushed shut, lights flipped on, doors unlocked.

You don’t know how you didn’t notice it after three nights: Silco is very noisy in the morning.

You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes, watching Silco move about the room with breathtaking swiftness until he stops to glare at you.

“Get up.”

It’s a far cry from the soft, delicate way he spoke last night, now rough, callous, blunt.

He’s already completely dressed. No eyepatch, no bed head, no loose pajama clothes. Instead, the usual red shirt, vest, slacks, and boots. Not to mention the hard and tense line of his shoulders.

He does not want to talk about last night.

You give him a look and he shoots you one back, a vicious sneer, before waving his hand.

A firmly repeated “Get up,” is all he grumbles before he’s turning on his heel and marching into his office.

Grumpy, you observe, definitely will not be bothering him today.

You swing your feet over the edge of the bed, looking around for the bag you had brought with you. Silco had been nice enough yesterday to offer another shirt and pants for you to wear, though his pants are a strange fit on you and you rather your own. They’re dirty, but Silco doesn’t have to know.

The urge to find another shirt doesn’t strike you, so you don your dirty pants and keep the Silco shirt you slept in. He must have worn it recently because it smells like him. Cologne, smoke, and brandy. That smell covers all of his clothes, even though you’re sure he has his threads washed mercilessly.

Fully dressed, you walk into Silco's office to find him hunched over his desk, already smoking a cigar. Not so many papers today but he's still tense as ever.

You approach with careful footfalls, voice low and patient, just the same as last night.

“Are you doing okay?” you ask, but Silco ignores you. You tap on the desk and he looks up.

He looks exhausted. You don’t know how you didn’t notice when you first saw him. In the brighter light of his office you can see the deep circles under his eyes, the sunken droop of his eyelid that looks like it takes an awful amount of energy to keep open. The scars on his face seem darker, his skin sicker. He does not look okay.

“I don’t sign your paychecks for your council,” he grumbles, “go do your job.”

The breath in your lungs stops and you take a step back, retracting with a physical feeling of discomfort at his comment. The open vulnerability you saw hours before is a distant memory, his soft, weakened voice an echo in your mind.

You don’t say anything in response, you can’t, so you go do your job.

The next night, you awake to an empty space beside you, and the bathroom light on. Through the open door you can see Silco leaning over the sink, splashing water on his face.

“Silco?” you call, watching him stand up straight. He runs hands through his hair, shoulders rising and falling with every heavy breath. You can see the way he's shaking even from the bed, a shudder working through him in the dim bathroom.

You call his name again, “Silco…” and finally he turns to you, face wet and broken. Just for a second, you can see the fear in his eyes, the terror that wrecks him from the visions that play in his mind when he sleeps. But just as quickly as you saw it, it was gone.

Silco’s walls come stacking up and he becomes all hard lines and unfriendly angles.

“Go back to sleep,” he grumbles, closing the bathroom door.

Night after night, it kept happening. Between pacing the room, splashing water in his face, or even just sitting up in bed, staring off into space.

He became cold and distant during the day, hardly talking to you. As if he doesn't even know who you are.

“Hey, boss needs you upstairs.”

You look up to find Sevika towering over you, a bottle of something foul-smelling in her hand. You groan, standing up, and Sevika takes a step back, one eyebrow quirked up at you.

“You and the boss are acting strange,” she grunts, “something going around?”

Your eyes narrow, darting to the alcohol in her hand and back up.

“You pay for that?” you hum, and Sevika glares at you before storming back off to the bar.

You find yourself at Silco's door, knocking and entering at the permission of a rough, “Come in.” Silco is standing in front of his desk, leaning onto the dark mahogany furniture with a paper in his hand.

“Sevika said you wanted me?” you chime, closing the door behind you and standing a fair distance from Silco. Perhaps a few feet from the door and three times that length from him.

“Yes,” he says flatly, “I have an assembly with the barons in two days that I will need you to attend with me. Unless you think Ran would be better in your stead.” He looks up at you when he adds that last part, allowing you to opt out if you’d rather not go.

“That will be fine. Just call me up when you’re planning on leaving,” you reply. You can’t help but notice the way Silco’s face drops, the way it does when someone’s done something he doesn’t like. Something that irks him. You’ve seen plenty die after receiving a look like that from someone like him.

You speak up again, quieter this time.

“You don't want me to go.”

Silco glowers. “I didn’t say that.”

“I know. You didn’t say anything, but that’s what you meant.”

Silco gives you a hard stare from across the room, eyes narrowed and cutting. The tension in the room is almost thick enough for you to reach out and hold it, a solid mass of unspoken words and hidden truths.

“If you want to waste my time I wouldn’t depend on keeping your head,” Silco grumbles, looking back at the paper in his hands and definitely not reading it.

Your blood is boiling now. He’s just lying to your face, being a snake. You take a step forward and Silco's head ticks up, eyes searing through you past the low line of his brow.

“Why are you being like this?” you ask, and you sound more pleading than you would like.

Silco scoffs at you. “In case you hadn’t noticed, that was a warning.” His voice drops at that last word, and the amused smirk he held for maybe a second or two is gone, lips pressed into a thin, agitated line. You’re really poking the bear right now.

“Silco you’re–”

“Sir,” Silco interjects, a cold cutting command that puts as much space between the two of you as possible.

You take a breath and start again, “Sir, I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re being fucking ridiculous.”

At this, Silco tosses his paper onto his desk, the hard line of his jaw evident even as he clearly tries to dampen his temper.

“For almost this entire week you’ve been fucking ridiculous, acting like we hardly know each other, like it’s not my place to know what the fuck is going on.”

“Who do I think I am?” Silco scoffs, cutting through your every argument with a hard look. “I think I’m a man who has killed for less than this obnoxious nonsense,” he spits, starting towards you. You think he’ll stop when he reaches you, but he passes you and moves towards the door. “And I think you’re my employee who doesn’t know whose business not to shove their nose in.”

“Hey!” You wheel around and a hand shoots out to stop Silco, landing on his shoulder for a fraction of a second before he whips around, shoving you off him.

“Hey, what?” he hisses. His eyes are alight with a rage you haven’t seen before, something protected, something hurt. His hand shoots out for the collar of your shirt as he waits for an answer.

To be honest, you’re stunned. He’d been on the defensive since you’d helped him that night but you never would have expected it to turn into this. This wall. This distance. This cruelty. This insecurity.

“We’re just not going to mention your nightmares?” you start, swallowing down the lump of hesitance that threatens to lodge in your throat. Silco glares down at you, jaw clenched. His other hand a twitching threat at his side. “You opened up to me, I helped you, and you shut me out immediately.”

Silco’s hard gaze does not relent, eyes drilling holes into you.

“You shut me out and you suffered more.” The lump in your throat has grown into something more than just hesitance, now a large mass of nerves and emotions. Your nose and eyes sting with a warning of on-coming tears.

“You need to find some kind of help, and if it’s not me then so be it, but I need to know what is going on. You made it my business.”

As much as you’d hoped that you would get through to Silco, you don’t. He grips your shirt tighter, knuckles a harsh, raging white as he leans in close.

“You don’t know anything about me or what I need,” he snarls, pushing you a good couple feet away from him. You stumble back, almost falling as you attempt to regain your balance. Your eyes water at Silco’s words and you can’t stop the tears that begin falling down your cheeks.

“I’d suggest you find somewhere else to stay.”

Upon seeing Silco’s furious gaze, the unapologetic rage swirling in the red and black of his eye, you swallow all arguments you have. Your efforts are wasted, your pleas fall on his anger-deaf ears.

You stand up straight, tears running hot down your face. The way they wet your lashes makes everything blurry, but you blink past it, drawing slow breaths.

“Yes sir.”

#silco #arcane #arcane silco #silco arcane #silco x reader #silco x you #jgts #medic-simp #lilith writes #MDNI

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writing-for-life · 2 days

Text

Dream’s Therapist

Emotions

I have prepared for today’s session with going over previous notes. I decided to carefully delve deeper into the topic of the client’s own perceived emotional detachment that is so visibly not the case (he feels very clearly, even if he occasionally pretends he doesn’t. We have made some progress in last week’s session that I would like to build on).

The client is on time again (well, slightly early). When he comes into my office, the coat stays on this time. I don’t engage in small talk, as it seems his perceived preference.

DT: How has the thinking and journaling gone since last week? How have you been feeling over all?

Dream (He sits straight as an arrow and doesn’t look at me): I don't feel. I exist. Emotions are for mortals.

DT (I admit to myself that I am a tad disappointed. For him. I thought we were making progress, but it seems we are back to square one): I see. Have you been journaling, as suggested?

Dream (I notice a sigh I can only interpret as dejected): Yes. I did peruse the infernal book. “Dear Diary, a star died. It was mildly annoying.”

DT (I cannot help but think there is more to this than meets the eye and proceed with caution): I guess annoyance is a feeling?

Dream (I notice his stare is even more vacant than usual): I don't feel. The star had unresolved issues.

DT (I notice he projects and is trying to deflect at the same time): We are not talking about the star’s issues though, are we? We are talking about whatever has been going on with you, either over the past week or in general.

Dream: Not today. (The way he purses his lips is reminiscent of someone who has sucked on a lemon, and I get the feeling today’s session will be… difficult. I decide to change tack and revisit the topic dreams and nightmares since he opened, and lightened, up about them the last time.)

DT: Is there anything else you would rather talk about? Your nightmares? Your dreams?

Dream: I don't dream. I weave tapestries of existential dread.

DT (It’s really going backwards now): And what do these tapestries tell you?

Dream (I notice he crosses one leg over the other and leans back in his chair. Not without also crossing his arms in front of his chest): That my thread count is impeccable.

DT (I notice extreme defensiveness and decide on a different course of action): Are you open to trying an exercise?

Dream (I notice the eye-roll): If I must.

DT: There are no “musts” in here. You either decide to give it a shot or you don’t.

Dream (And there is the exhale through his nose): Fine.

DT: Okay. I’d like you to get comfortable in your chair…

Dream (I notice he moves around on his sitbones a bit): Your chairs are not very conducive to comfort.

DT (The chairs are actually very comfortable. He just decided they’re not comfortable for him because he doesn’t want them to be): Get as comfortable as possible then. (I notice some further shuffling, and when he finally settles, his legs are not crossed anymore. His arms, however, stay firmly crossed in front of his chest). If it’s comfortable for you, close your eyes.

Dream: What if it is not?

DT: In that case, keep them open. (I notice he keeps on staring at me, so I decide to just proceed): I’d like you to bring up a kitten playing with a ball of yarn in your mind.

Dream (He actually snorts. I am briefly confused at the unexpected display of amusement. He blinks slowly.): Really?

DT (I mirror his blink): Really.

Dream (He unexpectedly closes his eyes. A brief silence ensues): I can see it. The kitten's existential crisis is palpable.

DT: What else do you sense or feel?

Dream (I notice he opens his eyes and just stares at me. Again…) I feel nothing. Perhaps the kitten should consider therapy, not I.

DT (I decide to call things by their name): What do you think makes you avoid being vulnerable? Around anyone, but specifically around me? (He looks at the paperweight on my desk. I ignore it. The silence lasts for three minutes.) You don’t have to be here if you prefer not to, but you are taking these sessions for a reason. Can you verbalise that reason for me again? (I notice he mumbles something indistinguishable while looking at his boots.) Pardon?

Dream (He looks out the window, clearly avoiding eye-contact, and raises his voice ever so slightly.) I feel uninspired.

DT (I withstand the temptation to point out that he just admitted he feels): And would you like any type of support with feeling more inspired again, or do you think you will be able to solve the issue yourself?

Dream (He looks at me again. Barely. With a dipped chin and through his lashes.): I might appreciate your… expertise.

DT: The delusional one?

Dream (I notice he smiles. A small smile, but it is the first one that is clearly identifiable as such): That, too.

DT: Okay, then let’s keep going and dig a bit deeper. Without deflection and changing the topic—do you think you can do that?

Dream (I notice the smile disappears): I might try.

DT (I nod towards the paperweight): Can you try to pick it up? (He picks it up hesitantly.) No, I said, “Can you try to pick it up.” (He puts it down again and looks confused.) Try again. (He lifts it once more and holds on to it this time.) So did you try, or did you pick it up?

Dream (I notice his eyebrows are knotted so tightly I start to feel sorry for him.): I picked it up?

DT: Right. There is doing or not doing. There is no “trying”. You do something, or you don’t. You trust me or you don’t. Both is fine. You do it, or you don’t. You stop to deflect to get out of discomfort, or you don’t. You pick up the paperweight, or you don’t. It’s always your choice, but it’s a choice you make.

Dream (I notice he stares at me, then the paperweight): I… chose to pick up the weight, and I shall hold on to it for a while.

DT: Good. Let's keep going then. Tell me about your relationships.

Dream (I notice his eyes darting at me quicker than the speed of light. I also notice the paperweight moves in his hands. The silence lasts for seven minutes. He holds on to the paperweight very tightly for a moment and then begins to speak): I had relationships of a romantic nature. To hold on to them has proven to be impossible.

DT: Any idea as to why?

Dream (I notice his voice is very quiet): Because my… feelings (he looks at me briefly before he turns his attention to the paperweight again) are complicated, and they tend to scatter like cosmic dust.

DT: I’ve noticed you like to speak in metaphor…

Dream: As do you.

DT: Do I?

Dream: Sometimes.

DT: And does speaking like that, or being spoken to that way, make things easier for you?

Dream: Yes and no.

DT: Explain the no.

Dream: Perhaps I… would appreciate a more direct approach. But it makes me uncomfortable nonetheless.

DT: Discomfort isn’t always a bad thing. If you stay comfortable all the time, nothing changes.

Dream (I notice a sound not unlike a wince): I do not change.

DT: I am aware I asked this before, but why are you here then?

Dream (I notice he turns the paperweight in his hands): Because I feel like the kitten.

DT (I need a hot second to remember): You feel you have an existential crisis?

Dream (He stays quiet for seven minutes again. I wonder if he is actually counting seconds in his head): I might have diversified into a certain sense of ennui. (I notice he smiles briefly, but it actually looks weary.)

DT: Any idea as to why that is? Or what might provide relief? (I notice he stares intently at the paperweight again) Why the paperweight?

Dream (He reflexively puts it back on my desk): It reminds me of things.

DT: Good memories or bad?

Dream: Perhaps both (I notice his eyes disengage, and he vacantly stares out the window again.)

DT: Is it something you wish to talk about?

Dream (He looks at me again): I trust our time is up?

DT: No. But if you feel the need to leave, that’s okay. I’d just like to encourage you to think about whether your ennui is as practised as your avoidance.

Dream (He gets up and looks down at me in a fairly disgruntled way): Perhaps you might reflect whether your persistence is annoying.

DT: Well, you’re not paying me to humour you, are you?

Dream (I notice he seems to think for a second, and inexplicably, his face lightens up. If that’s possible at all, because his expressions hover on the micro-spectrum): Perhaps you do humour me. (I wonder if he is actually smiling again or just looks mildly pissed off.)

DT: I suggest I might be the wrong person if you are looking for entertainment. But if you are committed enough to this, I will use ink in my diary again and see you next week. Same time.

Dream (I notice he definitely smiles this time): If the universe doesn't implode by then. (The smile vanishes as quickly as it has appeared, and I am left mildly concerned he might actually believe that’s a possibility.)

After he has left, I begin to write down further notes. Something catches my eye. It looks like sparkly dust suspended in mid-air. I have a lot of questions…

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#the sandman #sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #Dream’s therapist #dream of the endless rp #Morpheus rp #satire #tragicomedy #although this one felt more like the former than the latter #the fingers type what they want to type what else can I say?#queue crew

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