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occamstfs · 5 months

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No Need to Apply

Here is my 1K special! Though admittedly it is nothing much out of the ordinary- Thanks to everyone who submitted prompts but especially the anonymous suggestion that spurred this transformation of a desperate twink into a cocky slob! -Occam

Brock really needed a lucky break. He had been staying with his ex since they ended it, but now that he’s sleeping with someone it’s clear that Brock needs to get his own place. Unfortunately the market is not being quite so accommodating to his urgent needs. Given that he is now to be living alone it’s evident he also needs the place on the cheap. He had been denied all reasonable accommodations that he could afford and was beginning to contemplate moving back in with his parents when he suddenly received an email from an apparent realtor he’d never met.

It was an invitation to an open house at some ritzy downtown apartment that he was sure was out of his price range. Rather than just tossing it to his spam folder though, he finds himself looking at the handful of images with a voracity, whether it’s simple curiosity or a fantasy to have such clearly luxurious housing Brock reads through the whole listing. Reaching the end of the invitation and looking at the specs he finds the rent impossibly labeled as just under half his monthly paycheck.

Nearly spitting up coffee all over himself in shock, Brock’s eyes flutter to find exactly when and where this open house was. Surely the demand for this place would box him out but god wouldn’t it be nice to just check it out and dream. He sends an RSVP and far too quickly the realtor, Lucas, thanks him for his prompt response, wishes him well, and signs off saying see you soon. Brock went about the rest of his day as normal, if not a little cheerier than he’s been for some time as he keeps finding his mind drift to that almost-too-perfect apartment’s view over the city.

Fortunately off from work the next day, Brock took the bus to the open house, stopping by his favorite cafe that just so happens to be nearby. He grabs a drink and finds himself preoccupied with thoughts of what a convenience, what a windfall, this break would be. He heads inside and takes the elevator up to the suite and hesitates before entering at the door. Odd that there is no one else here, he double checks the room and floor and puts his ear to the door to see if perhaps other visitors are inside already.

In his untrained attempt to eavesdrop he puts his weight squarely against the door, pushing it open and stumbling in, nearly spilling his coffee over the pristine floors as he crosses the threshold into the apartment. Light streams in through the blinds, only magnifying the manicured state of the spotless room around him. The floor is clean enough to see his reflection, mouth agape, staring at how impossibly clean the apartment is. The only record at all that the place had ever been lived in is the furniture that had clearly been procured by someone of great means, though one lacking any critical eye or desire for design. He sees framed posters of some real red flag movies near a large TV and some sports trophies lined on a shelf. Brock can’t help but wonder what could cause someone to leave such personal artifacts behind and feels a chill in the air.

He wanders away from the entrance to stand at the large windows, his phone ringing as he takes in the view of his town. Answering without checking the ID he hears a man’s voice he doesn’t recognize. Though he knows this must be the mystery realtor on the line, “How do you like the place Brock?” he begins to reply before being cut off by Lucas, “Have you seen the view yet, it’s quite something else.”

Brock feels something flicker through his mind as he gazes at the city blocks around him, below him. His eyes briefly catch on his reflection in the glass, though not long enough to see his eyelids droop slightly as he is able to reply, a tad slower than he usually likes to project, “uhh, yeah I know right, how could I not apply to live here? It’s almost too good to be true right?” There is another chill in the air and his body shivers before tensing up, shocking him back to reality and awareness to something strange afoot, “Excuse me actually, I’m so sorry, how did you get my phone number?”

Lucas clicks his tongue and speaks with an almost sickly sweet tone, “Now Brock come now, what can I do to get you to move in today?” Shaking his head in shock Brock is immediately, regardless of the clear sinister air to this man, he really cannot afford to pass up this chance. He clams up as he clambors to express interest, “No I uh! Of course I want the place, just send the lease over so I can read through it.” There is a real weight to Lucas’ words as Brock hears them, the cloying tone impressing itself on his mind, “Wonderful! That is all I needed to hear!”

It is suddenly dark in the apartment, but wasn’t he looking out the window? He can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed but he cannot see. Brock tries to move his head around to see, to feel anything, he strains his mind reaching for any muscle to flex, any tendon to pull, limbs to controt. He loses track of time and reality as he sits in the darkness, trying to grasp anything beyond his own consciousness, unable to affect anything. He feels his right hand move in a familiar way then he feels a warmth, almost a burning, completely engulfs it. He can almost see the shine of a smile, stark perfectly lined teeth that seem eerily inhuman and suddenly there is once more light. He gasps, coughs, and spits up over himself. Immediately grateful that he can feel anything at all. After feeling his body, and seeing the world almost entirely like it was before he lost consciousness, besides a copy of some contract with his name signed at the bottom.

He takes deep breaths feeling his lungs stretch and he starts to read whatever he has gotten himself into in that stupor. He reads the first few lines before he loses where he was on the page. Going again he finds his eyes suddenly dry, doing an uncharacteristically heavy blink that he can’t quite recall ever doing before and as he wonders this he again forgets his work on the contract. He slams his hand on the thigh in a rare show of aggression and gives it one last go. Brock makes even less progress this time as he is almost immediately overcome by a headache. As soon as he looks away from the sheet though, it disappears.

Brock groans as he feels himself starting to lose control of his senses before he hears his stomach grumble, and he finds a purpose he can immediately resolve. He starts to the fridge, clearly something has happened, an episode or something, he can figure it out later, he just needs food in his stomach now. He doesn’t stop to realize that there should be no food in the fridge since no one’s been living there. Though he finds there is no need as in the fridge, under a note labeled: “To Help Moving In -Lucas,” Brock sees at least a week of prepped meals. The thought that this is bizarre beyond imagination, as well as the concern at his missing time, is immediately pushed from his mind as his stomach rumbles once more, his mouth watering as he sees his soon-to-be dinner.

Brock swiftly heats it up and begins to scarf it down, throwing something on the paying no mind or care to the thought that he’s using the account of whomever the previous tenant was. He quickly scans through seeing a handful of shows and movies that he wasn’t quite interested in before stumbling on a reality show he was watching with his Ex. He grimaces and almost loses his appetite as he thinks about his boyfriend for the first time in what feels like forever. He sets his meal down on the coffee table and crashes down onto the couch. He continues to stew in ire at his ex, palming his crotch as his feelings become more passionate. He rolls his eyes in irritation at himself and that jerk, he’s not going to masturbate to that asshole.

He reclines in the couch and hears the sound of paper shifting in the cushions, pulling it out he finds a crusted magazine lodged in the couch. What can he do besides shout “what the fuck” and toss it across the room. How could they have possibly missed that in their cleaning? Brock’s eyes shift across the room suspiciously, though he notices nothing amiss as the room is illuminated by only the television. He looks at his hand that grabbed the porn and blushes, wanting to joke about the absurdity to calm himself down. Though his body makes its priorities known once more as his cock pulses and he looks past to see the magazine once more. He did want to masturbate to anyone besides his ex right?

He shuffles to pick it up, the discomfort and anxiety from handling something covered in a total strangers cum only heightens his pleasure as he sits back down. He grimaces as he sees this is a real hetero-bullshit magazine, he quickly flips through to find something he can work with. His cock keeps demanding his attention as he flips through, almost impatiently pulsing as if to suggest he doesn’t need the magazine at all, just give it your attention. Though soon enough he finds an ad for some protein powder made to emasculate the reader into buying, that almost immediately helps him lose control.

Soon after he once more fades from consciousness, his cum joining the plethora of other stains in the magazine as he tosses it behind the couch. He finds himself in a darkness that this time feels almost familiar and pleasurable. He once more feels his hand, this time though it is wet and warm. He feels it scratching in briefs that are too tight, through pubes that are too thick. He hears snoring breaking through the silence of his sleep, but that can’t be right? He would know if he snores, surely that fucker of a boyfriend would have complained. He feels his head grow warm as if he’s got a fever, though he knows it is a rage. He feels his hand feel even tighter in his briefs as his cock begins to grow in them. He continues to think of every slight his ex made, every shortcoming he was made needlessly aware of, and of how much better things are going to be now.

The heat shifts from his mind through his whole body and as light begins to break through the windows. That is not what wakes him up though, rather it is the heavy scent coming from his now sweat stained clothes. He rolls off the couch onto his face, quickly removing his hand from his briefs to catch himself, landing the stinking hand too close to his face to not smell just how loud his underwear smells. He feels his clothes sit weird on his body as he starts to rise, while his shirt just feels like it’s hanging weird, surely from the sweat, it is impossible to not see how strained his underwear is. He groans as he feels them pull strangely before he just discards them and makes his way to the bathroom.

His eyes immediately latch onto his now exposed crotch, he does a double take as he notices that it seems distinctly larger. He also would have sworn that he shaved his pubes far more recently than it seems. He scratches through them, blushing as he sees dried cum flake off curls that are longer and thicker than he ever remembers them begin. Rather than hoping in the shower like any reasonable person would do he instead tosses on some boxers, not questioning why clothing that isn’t his would just be lying out, or why he would ever put them on. Instead choosing to focus on how right wearing them feels. He pulls them tight and turns wanting to see just how his ass and bulge fill them out, though is waylaid as his shirt blocks the view.

He sneers as he takes off the sweat-stained shirt and tosses it to the floor, stretching high as his reeking body feels the air on his skin. He smiles in shock as he sees the body he has now exposed, he sees hair spreading across his stomach and torso and sweat dripping off of pits that were sure to stain every shirt he is to wear from now on. Beyond that he feels a body that is indisputably powerful, where there wasn’t even fat on his body before there was now muscle accompanied with weight in all the right places. His eyes then trail down to see the weightiest part of him by far as it bulges even lower in his boxers.

He feels an urge to move, to flex, to stretch, fill him as he hungrily takes in every new change in his body. His eyes trace their way past muscles contorting to land on his face, seeing a jaw that could certainly do with a shave. He sees his eager grin begin to turn into a cocky sneer as he begins to stretch once more, trying to will his torso even longer, trying to force his body even taller. His voice grows even deeper to his barely-aware ears as he closes his eyes to stretch, not seeing his throat force itself thicker and longer. There is once again a flicker in his mind as Brock is in darkness once more. Where there was once discomfort and fear there is now only hunger and an eagerness to grow even more.

He feels an itch burn across his body. He feels his hands dig deep into his pits scratching as hair grows thick enough to hold an odor that would never dissipate. He smells as even in this dreamstate he raises his hands to his nose to give them a post-scratch whiff. He feels the same itch cry out from his chest and pubes, from his lower back and his ass. He feels himself move his jaw as it squares up, a rumble in his throat as he feels his groans grow even deeper. He feels his mind thicken and slow as his muscles flex in his sleep. His arms do rep after unconscious rep as he feels biceps that should not be rub against a chest that has never been there before.

Finally he wakes one last time, his hand as it apparently always is, shoved in his pants, once more barely fitting despite wearing the spacier boxers. Brock blearily looks to see lines of takeout containers covering his coffee table. He scratches his beard using the hand from his crotch and he deeply inhales, two birds one stone after all. He sets out to get started with his day, tossing over in his head if he should masterbate again or not, a stain from a wet dream clearly showing through his boxers. Instead he throws Drake on his speakers and starts getting an early workout in, seeing to every part of his body getting a pump as he feels the hunger in his crotch grow only more urgent.

Going about this workout Brock feels totally at home in this apartment. After all he’s lived here for? Uh? His mind empties as he looks around and sees weeks of piled up detritus and filth. He sees dirty clothes and cum stains on his couch. Looking past them there are his American Psycho and Fight Club posters, discarded underwear hanging off the latter, as well as the trophies he distinctly remembers winning back in college wrestling. He smirks and flexes tilting his head to sniff his pit. Beyond feeling at home in his apartment he also feels unequivocally at home in this, in his body, duh. He jumps to his feet with ease, his stomach rumbling as he once more goes to meet a basal need.

Throwing some of his favorite protein powder in a blender with some milk and eggs he hears his phone go off. There are a string of messages from some bitch asking him to come back and for the life in him Brock can’t remember who that little fucker is? Hearing his shake finish blending he stares at the profile picture of whoever this twink is as he starts to down it, wiping his lips on his sweaty arm as needed. The twink he doesn’t know calls him Brock and his eye twitches, ugh. Why is this dude calling him by his, uh? Is that his middle name? Or no he was Brock right?

He finishes the shake, tossing the blender onto the pile of dishes in the sink and his mind finds itself deeply conflicted. As ever though, his body is more than happy to assuage him, the phone vibrates once more and his cock begins to bring him clarity, demanding his attention once more. Brock’s a little bitch name. He smirks as he looks around at his sty of an apartment, not remembering how neat it once was. Peeking from under a particularly dirty dish there’s a contract that he remembers that he meant to have a look at.

Bringing it to his face however he simply can’t find the motivation to even start. Why worry about this when he can masturbate, or fuck maybe he can get that whiny bitch to come over? His eyes trail to the end of the paper and see his signature, written clear as day “Adam.” He guffaws at this, god how stupid can you be, he basically forgot his own name after that twink called him uh, whatever that bitch name was. He feels his crotch grow tight again, that is kinda hot though? He moans to himself, pawing at his crotch and texts whoever this man is his address and to come ready to fuck. Adam feels no real attachment to whoever it is, nor should he, a hole is a hole after all. Saying that thought he can’t help but feel this hole is due to be taught a lesson.

If you enjoyed this I also recommend @fredwkong's The Voice in Your Head which explores a similar idea in quite a unique and captivating way!

#male tf #mental change #masculinization #muscle tf #jockification #reality change #musk tf

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azzypzazzy · 10 days

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hear me out… schlatt helping you relax after finals (its finals for summer semester i am dying rn)

ok so i misread this and didn’t see the after finals but i refuse to go rewrite everything because i am sleepy. hope finals went well and you enjoy regardless <3

smut warning btw!! it’s not too explicit, but it’s under the cut. dont wanna read it? don’t. it’s also my first one, so it might be bad

𝜗𝜚

Droopy eyes stared at your laptop, blue light reflecting onto your face. All you had to do was finish the chapter, you just had to finish it and hope to retain enough to lazily reread the rest later. That’s all you had to do.

You grabbed your water bottle, sipping down the reminds of a cheap energy drink you got this morning, when you were a far more ambitious woman. Maybe if you drank enough of these you could have a heart attack and sue. Drop out and live your limited years on some beach making stupid decisions, instead of this.

That’s it. You can’t do this anymore. You would just have to continue tomorrow, because if you spent another second trying to read the mess in front of you you’d explode.

Was there anything else vaguely productive you could do? You weren’t gonna sit and do any more work, but you still had to do something. You switched over to your email, leaving your study tabs open “for later”. You seriously have to check this thing more often, 223 unread? You skimmed through them, deleting as you went. Fortunately, most were only from Google Classroom or websites you landed on the spam list for, meaning you didn’t miss anything. Anything except an email from some guy in your Spanish II? Spanish II. You never should’ve taken that awful class. It wasn’t even required, but you took it regardless, and you were too deep in to drop. You opened it, confused on what it could even be.

Eric Thompson <[email protected]> to: me Found a great quizlet for the exam https://quizlet.com/940117849/spanish-2-flash-cards/. Please let me know if anyone's having a study session (I’m desperate.)

This just felt cruel. Like a cruel sign reminding you you were gonna fail, and probably him too. And for some odd reason, this email seemed to be the thing which made you realize that.

You shut your laptop, grabbing your phone. Before you could even think, you went to Schlatt.

to: Schlutt busy?

You set your phone down, leaning back in your chair. You just needed to relax a bit, that’s all. One night off and you’d be back.

You grabbed your phone, realizing Schlatt already responded. Maybe you weren’t the only one having a rough night.

from: Schlutt Nope. You

to: Schlutt just exhausted

from: Schlutt Want me to come over?

to: Schlutt please

from: Schlutt Be there in five

You opened the door, immediately going in for a tight hug, “Hi!”

“Hey, missed you,” Schlatt said, resting his head on the crook of your neck.

“Yeah, me too,” you whispered, taking a deep breath. God, he smelled good. Did he usually smell like this? Must be a new cologne.

After a moment you pulled away, letting him in your cramped dorm. You turned around, realizing how much of a mess your room actually was. “Sorry for the mess, I’ve just been so busy with finals and completely forgot to clean.”

Schlatt shook his head, taking a seat on your bed, “No worries, not like I gave you much time. This is nothin’, you should see mine.”

“Oh god, I don’t think I want to,” You grinned, sitting next to him. “Finals beating your ass too?”

“Yeah,” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Trying not to think about it for a bit.”

Now that you’re looking, his head was pretty messy today. Most of him was, and it definitely fit. “Well, we’ve got time. Chloe’s not here,” you whispered, leaning a head on his shoulder.

He smiled, his arm wrapping around your shoulder, “Then maybe we could watch a movie or somethin’?”

“Sounds good to me,” you stood up, moving to your desk. You paused, looking at the mess of papers and trash which piled up in the past few days. You unplugged your laptop, opening it to close out your previous window, “Netflix?”

“Sure,” he replied, eyes fixated on you as you sat back down next to him. He shifted over, allowing the two of you to lay down on the small space.

You grabbed one of your pillows, using it as a table on your lap for the laptop. “Anything you wanted to watch?” You asked, entering the search bar.

“Up to you, toots.” Toots. You felt your stomach flip, face looking straight forward to avoid the embarrassment of Schlatt seeing how flustered you were over a simple nickname.

You nodded, scrolling until you landed on some old detective show, hoping it would be plain enough to bore him, “How’s this?” You clicked on it, “Says it’s a crime drama series following two detectives who have to solve a case 21 years after it was closed.”

His eyes never went to the screen, still watching you as you chose, “Perfect.”

You weren’t sure how long you two had been watching this crap, but it had been long enough. There was no way you could even try to focus on the show, but you were far too nervous to make a move.

Luckily, a warm hand reached your thigh under the covers, circling slowly.

It didn’t take long for you to realize what Schlatt was doing. Leaned on him, glancing up at him from the corner of your eye to see him staring back.

Within seconds you found your arms around his shoulders, ass on his lap, tongue in his mouth.

Schlatt moaned into you, the kiss becoming sloppy and desperate. You pulled away, heart beating out of your chest, a rushed confession escaping your mouth, “I really like you, Schlatt.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, throbbing under you, “Love you too.” He planted a hand on your ass, his breath hot on your face, “So fuckin’ much.”

You bit the bottom of your cheek to stifle a moan, before wrapping him into another frantic kiss. Schlatt fingers gripped your hair, pulling you in closer. He was seriously gonna be the death of you.

You slid a hand under his shirt, able to feel his heart erratically beating under your touch. His lips left yours, panting. You rested your forehead on his temple, admiring his eyes. Fuck. Without thinking, your free hand slipped to his shorts, toying with the waistband.

Schlatt tilted his head back, mumbling a plea. You stopped, looking up at him with a cocky grin, “You’re gonna need to speak up.”

“Please,” he looked back down at you.

Now this was a sight. The way his chest rose and fell, the way his eyes shined in the low light, it all was perfect, and you could feel it. Days of pent up tension and stress weighing on the both of you, begging to be released.

𝜗𝜚

okay i got tired and gave up. hope it was okay though!! maybe ill continue it eventually not sure be nice please

#jschlatt x reader #jschlatt x you #schlatt x reader #schlatt x you #fanfic #jschlatt smut #brjng back the art of making out for 5 hours straight #no beta. wrote on my phone sorry

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luminouslywriting · 2 months

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the pacific boys, their reaction when they come back from war and you jump into their arms

Hi!! This is such a darling request!! ^^ The gif above is not mine^^ My requests remain open and I'm happy to get any and all spam from you guys!

Cut for length, more under the cut:

Robert Leckie:

-Gets the biggest and sweetest grin on his face

-He's out here thinking that this entire thing has all been worth it now that he's back home and you're in his arms

-Absolutely presses kisses to the side of your head and tells you how much he's missed you

-Keeps his arm around you or hand in yours for the rest of the day

Snafu Shelton:

-Pleasantly surprised to see you there and waiting for him

-It takes him a minute to register the fact that you're real and that this isn't just a dream of his

-And then he pulls you in for a super passionate kiss and begins the flirting

-He pretty much wants to elope with you that same night haha

Eugene Sledge:

-It takes him a minute to warm up to you (it's nothing personal dear, he's just been through it, to be fair)

-I honestly feel like he doesn't really appreciate or reciprocate the physicality of everything until he has his first nightmare and then when you're there to hold him, everything changes

-He apologizes for being numb and absent-minded when you showed up to pick him up

-Definitely requires some cuddles from here on out

John Basilone:

-Grinning, running into your arms, hugging and spinning you around–it's the whole 9 yards

-He's super affectionate and super glad to be back in your arms and to be back with you

-Is murmuring sweet nothings and promises of what he's going to do with you the minute you're alone

-Not overly clingy but he's definitely physically affectionate

Runner Conley:

-Gasps when you run and jump into his arms and then doesn't want to let go of you after that

-He's out here trying to re-memorize the way that you look and the way that you feel

-Pinch him a few times or kiss him on the cheek to reassure him that this is real

-And absolutely has a quick proposal to you that same day that was in no way planned or romantic (but it works haha)

Hoosier Smith:

-Honestly, he just falls into your arms in total relief to be home with you again

-Revels in the physical affection he's receiving from you

-Also begins flirting fairly quickly and calls you the prettiest thing he's seen in a long time

-He is also desperately in need of some cuddles, so please provide that for him

Lew Chuckler:

-Gets this great big goofy smile on his face that does not go away until he's in bed that night

-He hasn't stopped thinking of you the entire time you've been apart and now that you're back together, he's all too thrilled to be holding your hand

-Definitely the type to get up to some handsy shenanigans in the car tbh

-Very content to just drive around and spend his time with you for the rest of the day

Sid Phillips:

-Literally the most wholesome hug and kiss once you find each other on the platform, I just can't explain it

-Definitely cries a bit and gets emotional

-Proceeds to pretend he didn't cry and tries to flirt with you pretty quickly

-Agree to go on a date with him that same day and you'll be set

#the pacific x reader #the pacific imagines #the pacific fanfic #the pacific #hbo war

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orphiclovers · 2 months

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Not orv related but kinda new to Tumblr so like what is the behaviour 101 on Tumblr , can I get a few tips , i desperately wanna interact but idk

Okay, I knew I would get something like this. You're already doing pretty well, in that you have a profile pic and have figured out the ask function, so good job.

Orphiclovers’ guide to Tumblr 101:

1.The number one crucial step that EVERYONE should do, even if you don’t care about the rest. CHANGE YOUR PROFILE PIC to ANYTHING that's not the default one (Though not your face. We don’t generally do that here.) The reason to do this is because it’s almost impossible to tell apart a just created blog from a porn bot. If you haven’t encountered one yet, you will. They're a big thing on tumblr, a completely blank blog created by a bot (sometimes with an attractive woman as the profile pic) that follows you and and sends you ‘hot singles in your area’ type scam messages. If you get one, don’t click any links! Under the message there will be a prompt saying ‘mark this as spam?’ click that and tumblr will automatically report and block the blog. Some people with huge bot infestations automatically block any blank blog to be safe, and you don’t want that accidentally happening to you, so CHANGE YOUR PROFILE PIC!

2. The other essential blog customization thing is go to Blog Settings>turn off ‘share posts you like’ and ‘share the tumblrs you’re following’. This will hide your likes and the people you follow from every other user. Basically everyone turns this off to have privacy. Otherwise noisy fucks like me can come to your blog and look at all that.

3. You ALSO need to go to Settings>Dashboard>scroll to Prefrences> disable ‘Best Stuff First.’ Having your dashboard (that’s what we call the “Following” tab on Home where you see all the posts) be in chronological order is objectively the best way to be on Tumblr. This is the one social media that doesn’t shove the algorithm down your throat, enjoy it to the fullest. I have never in my life clicked on the ‘Explore’ tab except by accident, and the ‘For You’ tab is also controversial. I don’t recommend it. You can learn to use tumblr with no algorithms and you will feel better.

4. Okay, but there’s like two posts on my dashboard, what do I do? You need to follow people, friend. Go to the search bar and enter a tag for a fandom or character you like. That’s ‘#kim dokja’ or ‘#honkai star rail’ - unlike instagram, you can put spaces between words. It’s not case sensitive, so #Kim Dokja #kim dokja and #KIM DOKJA is all the same to tumblr. I recommend going in tags and not just ‘kim dokja’ because tumblr’s search system is often wonky.

5. Now, scroll through the posts and follow the blogs. That’s it. Now their new posts will show up at the top of your dashboard. Currently, I follow 119 blogs and that’s a pretty decent number. I get new posts every couple of minutes, and if there are no new posts I exit the app. No endless doomscrolling. Also, all the people I follow actually post stuff I want to see.

6. You mentioned wanting to make friends and that brings me to my next tip: Reblog. Reblog, reblog, reblog. Every post you want to click ‘like’ on you should reblog instead. Everytime you want to comment you should reblog instead (and put the comment in the tags).

7. This will put their post on your blog. Most of the posts you see on your dashboard are posts the people you follow have reblogged. It’s hard to wrap your head around, but it’s essential tumblr stuff so I will try to explain it in detail.

Reblogging etiquette

8. Blank reblogs are fine.

9. If you want to say something like ‘good art!!’ or ‘wow I love this theory so much’ put that in the tags of your reblog. The original poster will see the tags you have added, and also anyone who follows you will see the post + your tags. But if they reblog a post from you, your tags don’t come with unless they decide to manually copy them (which people don’t usually do unless they want to respond to something you said in the tags. Then they will copy the tags and put <- prev as in ‘previous’ and respond to them. This is like a whispered conversation you have on op’s post but they will still be able to see all of it so be mindful.) Some people also use the tag system to organize their blogs.

For example, if you reblog art of kim dokja, in the tags you can put ‘#wowowow I’m drooling thank you op, #kim dokja, #orv, #orv fanart’. Theoretically now when you or anyone else goes to your blog’s search function can search #orv fanart and see all the original posts you have made and the stuff you have reblogged with the tag #orv fanart.

Now I will address some common concerns people have before reblogging. “Am I reblogging too many posts in a row??? Won’t the people who follow me get annoyed???” No, they will not 99% of the time. And if they do, they can unfollow you. But okay, if you’re worried about this you can put your reblogs in a queue. Here’s how tumblr themselves describe it: ‘The queue lets you stagger posts over a period of hours or days. It's an easy way to keep your blog active and consistent.’ Basically if you tell it to it will automatically post the stuff you can put in the queue every hour or 15 minutes or whatever you want the interval to be. Check it out.

“Won’t reblogging posts bury my own posts and prevent them from being seen???” No. All the posts you reblog are probably long buried in the OP’s blog too. But as long as they get passed around in reblogs they will get new eyes on them, forever. Also, you can reblog your own posts if you want them put on your followers dash again (usually tagging this as #srb or #self reblog). They will also still be in the tags you put on them originally. Myself, I tag all my posts as #my posts or #my art so anyone visiting my blog can easily check for those specifically (though I don’t know if anyone does…lol. Lmk.)

“Okay, but I have so many different interests, won’t people hate seeing random reblogged posts about stuff they’re not interested in?” They can deal or unfollow you. But okay, some people create ‘sideblogs’ for every fandom they’re in. This functions as almost a fully fledged seperate blog. For example, you can’t easily tell if a blog you follow is a main one or a sideblog, or what their main blog is (unless they tell you). You only can’t like or follow or send an ask from a sideblog.

In general you don’t add stuff to the text part of a reblog unless you have something significant to add and/or are mutuals with the OP. Mutuals is when you both follow each other. I’m guessing you’re asking me how to get people to follow you back and to that I say idk man. Make posts and talk to them in reblogs and it will naturally happen.

Also, asks are fun, send people asks (and enable them in setting on your own blog.)

10. Also, give your blog a description and a title. It’s just nice customization. The title can be a quote you like and the description anything you want to tell someone about yourself. Look at how other blogs do it. I think nickname/pronouns/list of fandoms is pretty standard.

Let me know if you want to ask anything else :)

#my posts #asks

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aspoonofsugar · 3 months

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What are the foils between Shalnark and Illumi?

Both of them have similar Nen where they stick needles/antenna into their targets and make them puppets.

Shalnark’s has a range of two people and has much more finer control then Illumi. Illmini can spam needles but lacks fine control.

He can control dead bodies unlike Shalnark, but his control is much more harmful. Shalnark could remove his antenna when every he wants and the victims will be fine.

While Illumi needle men are dead, grievously wounded, or limited to one command like Killua’s run away from stronger opponents.

I think the Shalnark/Illumi connection was deliberately intended by the creator.

Hi!

It is true Shalnark and Illumi's powers are very similar, but I am not sure how much important it is for this reason:

Illumi is an important character, as he is Killua's dark foil

Shalnark is a supporting character and he is already dead

Essentially, their impact on the story is completely different and they have never interacted once. That said, it is possible the whole set up is for Illumi to replace Shalnark as the manipulator of the Ryodan (even if I doubt he is gonna stick with them longer than this arc). After all, he joins the group after Shalnark's death to kill Hisoka aka the person who killed Shalnark.

I would also add that I partially disagree with your assessment of their abilities. In general, I think that the major difference between them is simply that Illumi is stronger and a better manipulator.

Shalnark can manipulate less people and his method is rather complex (he needs to use a cellphone and to give them instructions through it). Illumi instead can manipulate a whole group and I disagree his control isn't as precise as Shalnark's. After all, he used his needle-men to find information about Killua's whereabouts and trick the other hunters. People manipulated by him can talk and move to the point they are able to pass for the original. It is the case with both the mafia dons in the York Shin city arc and with the wanna-bees hunter in the Election arc. The dons trick the rest of the mafia about the defeat of the ryodan and a killed hunter speaks on the phone with a superior saying everything is okay during the election. In short, I think Illumi can use his needles to move people around in a similar way Shalnark can. He is simply better and more powerful, which actually ties with their different weights in the story proper.

That said, I think some interesting parallels can be seen between them.

First of all, it is true Shalnark manipulation method is less invasive and the victim can potentially leave unscatched... However, we never see this happen. Shalnark has more or less killed all his "puppets". I think this might show how Shalnark isn't really a killer at heart, but has forced himself to become one out of loyalty to Chrollo, his friends and his city. And it is eventually this loyalty who kills him. After all, it is his choice to lend Chrollo his power, which leaves him defenseless against Hisoka's rampage. This seems to also be confirmed by his most powerful and interesting ability aka his super-mode, which activates when he plants an antenna on himself. He reduces his own self into a puppet, so that he can gain more strength. Just like he and the other spiders gave up their innocence and selves to avenge their childhood friend.

Well, I think Illumi is similar to Shalnark in this. He has been brought up in an abusive family and he has forced himself to conform and to bloom into the dutiful son. Like, it is not by accident that the first power of his we discover is the ability to literally turn himself into someone else with his needles. Illumi sees others like puppets because he also perceives himself as one. So, in a sense, his approach to this is even more extreme than Shalnark's. Shalnark usually manipulates others and turns himself into a puppet when he is desperate. He puts his antenna into himself and gives up control by doing so. Illumi instead is always always always a puppet... he is a pincushion doll to be precise. This is why he usually has his needles stuck into his very skin. As a result of living in costant pain he is able to turn the people around into zombies by putting the needles dirty of his own fresh blood into them...

In short, Shalnark turns others into puppets and by doins so, he slowly lost himself. Illumi instead never found himself and lives as a puppet... as a result he turns others into dolls, as well. This opposite approach may also be at the root of their different ranges and levels as manipulators.

Thank you for the ask. It was rather fun!

#hxh #illumi zoldyck #shalnark #asksfullofsugar #konradleijon #nen and characters #hxh meta

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dontyouworrydaddy · 1 year

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Hi hi !! Love your cod hcs!! And I apologise if I spammed them.

They pretty much made me smile today since ive been binging on them. If it's okay can I ask for some of the cod boys comforting a medic reader and their new employer is just a dick. Where reader works so much over time(even during sick days), maybe the boys get worried because reader's body is just basically telling them, they need rest?

My job has been kinda crappy lately and I've considered finding another clinic to work at because some staff get treated like shit while others are put on a pedestal.

ᙖᥱttᥱɾ Ꙇᥙᥴƙ ᥒᥱxt tɩຕᥱ

Task Force 141 + gn! Reader

Hey Love! First of all, thank you so much for helping people that need you. I wish you the best and I hope you find a clinic that gives you what you deserve. Please don’t forget to also take care of yourself <3 I love you!

And thank you so much 🥺 This literally means so much to me <3 Spam as much as you want, I literally don’t care. In fact, it always makes me happy 😋

I hope you like this<3 LOVE YOU💖💖💖💖

╚═════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘ ══════╝

You were working in the infirmary for the Task Force 141 and other units. You had proven yourself to be an indispensable asset to the team, healing their physical wounds and bringing warmth to their hearts. You were their favorite. They knew they could come to you running and you would catch them with open arms. Always having a smile on your face and shining brighter than all the stars combined. They were lucky to have someone motivated and happy medic like you.

However, it wasn't long before the demands of your new employer began to take a toll on your well-being. The team noticed the exhaustion etched in the lines of your face, the dark circles under your eyes and the way you pushed yourself beyond your limits, even working during sick days. They noticed how you slowly lost your smile as each day passed and you started to look like you hadn’t slept for weeks. This started to worry the boys since they weren’t used to this side of you.

Kyle was the first to speak up, concern lacing his voice. "I think that you've been pushing yourself too hard. It's okay to take a break sometimes, you know?" he said softly.

You attempted to brush off his worry with a smile, but it couldn't hide the weariness in your eyes. "I'm fine, really" you replied, trying to convince yourself as much as you tried to convince him. He looked sad and you could read it off of his face. You healed his wound and told him to not overwork himself. Oh how bad he wanted to say that you shouldn’t either. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to provoke you.

It didn’t take too long until Simon entered the room. You turn to look at him and give him a smile but he couldn’t feel your smile to his heart like he usually would. Whenever you smiled at him, it felt like the whole world was smiling at him. But today he didn’t feel like the whole world was smiling at him.

Simon leaned forward, making it hard for you to not look at him, yet his voice gentle was stern. "You're not fine" he said, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. "We can see it, I can see it, and it's not worth risking your health for us" you couldn’t look at him any longer so you looked down, not answering him. From outside, you and Simon could hear the new employee yell at you to come and do something instead of just sitting. Without looking back, you turned around and got out of your room, leaving Simon alone. And he was holding him back from snapping at the newbie to fuck off.

John Price, the wise captain of the Task Force came around a day later and greeted you with a warm smile he had saved. Just for you.

"How is my favorite medic?" he asked and you gave him a warm smile. Or let’s say you tried. "You lost weight, Y/N. I‘m worried you’re not doing fine. Anything you wanna talk about?" he stated, causing you to look at yourself and then back at him. "No sir. I‘m working out at home. That’s probably why." you reply, desperately trying to close the conversation but he doesn’t let you.

"What’s with your eyes then? Why do they look so tired if you’re okay?" he hits a spot in your heart and the tears are threatening you to fall any second. "I watched a sad movie last night. Still hurts. That’s all. Anything else captain?" your voice id trembling. You hope he says no and leaves because if he doesn’t, he will get to see you cry in front of him. And you don’t want him to see that.

"Come here" he opens his arms and hugs you tightly. You can’t help but let the tears fall down your eyes and ruin the makeup you put on to cover the dark circles around your eyes. "It’s okay. You just need a rest. Please take a few days off, for yourself. You need to rest Sweetheart."

You hesitated, torn between your dedication to the team and the need to care for yourself. But you know that if you leave, you’re gonna have to work harder because of the new doctor around here.

As the days passed, the team grew increasingly worried as they saw the toll that constant work was taking on you. Your body was showing clear signs of exhaustion and the concern in their eyes intensified.

Again, kyle entered the med bay, a determined look in his eyes. "Y/N" he said, his voice unwavering, "I know you've been neglecting your own well-being, but we won't let you do it anymore."

He revealed a small cut on his arm, deliberately made. "If you won't take care of yourself," he continued, "I'll have to take care of you."

In that moment, the weight of his worry and love for you became too much to bear. Tears welled up in your eyes as you nodded, finally allowing yourself to accept their care and concern.

With the help of the team, Price had a conversation with your boss behind your back and reported what’s going on and ensured that you were given a few days off to rest. The boys rallied around you, bringing you snacks, food and making sure you stayed hydrated.

Simon spoke up with a grin, "Hey there doc." he said playfully "have a whole team to take care of you now."

A genuine smile graced your lips as you felt the warmth of their care surrounding you. "Thank you" you said softly.

Johnny clapped you on the shoulder. "We're a team" he said, his voice filled with camaraderie "and can we take care of our own. And of you. That’s the least we can do"

In the days that followed, you finally allowed yourself to rest, your body and soul. The boys were there every step of the way, ensuring you got the rest and care you needed.

You were thankful to whoever was listening to you. They were family to you and whenever you needed someone, they were there for you. It’s the least they can do and pay off the times you overworked so they were doing fine. And now they are taking care of you until you stand up again and send them to bed to rest.

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choicesficwriterscreations · 2 years

Text

CFWC Writer of the Month: Jamespotterthefirst

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

Quick Links:

Tumblr Blog: Jamespotterthefirst Blog Masterlist

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

I started playing back in 2018. I kept seeing this thing called “playchoices” trending as number 1 on Tumblr (lol remember those days?). This would happen, without fail, almost every week! When I clicked on it, the posts were all about the finale of a royal story (The Royal Romance!). People made the most hilarious posts, complete with memes. I had no idea what it was, but I gathered it was an app. I downloaded it, and the rest is history.

The first book I played was Desire and Decorum. It was absolute torture because it wasn’t completed yet. So I binged the available chapters. Yes, I spent real money on keys and diamonds, telling myself at least I wasn't spending that money on drugs. It was so much fun waiting for a new chapter every week, even if I’m an impatient mess.

2- When and why did you join Choices fandom?

I joined the fandom almost immediately after downloading the app.

As I sat in my living room, tapping my foot and waiting for the new D&D chapter to drop, I went back into the playchoices tag for content. It felt good to find other people who loved the story as much as I did. There were other users out there who were also waiting impatiently for the new chapter, writing fics and discussing theories in the meantime. There were also some of the funniest memes I have ever seen in my life. At first, I would quietly read and reblog. Then, I slowly started posting my own thoughts and theories (which were not very good lol but hey, this is tumblr after all).

3- How did you pick your url name?

My life is one hyperfixation after another… The one before Choices was Harry Potter. More specifically, the Marauders era. I used to write for the pairing called “Jily”, composed of Harry Potter’s (dead) parents. Kelsey (@takeharryandgo) is a witness of just how much I love James Potter, Harry’s (dead) dad. In fact, our shared love for the pairing and character is one of the things that brought us together.

In short, this URL is a reference to James Potter the first, Harry’s (dead) dad. Not James Sirius Potter the second, Harry Potter’s (living?) son.

I saved it as a sideblog, meant only for writing resources for me to use at a later time. One day, I decided I didn’t want the followers on my main page to see all the Choices spam I was posting, so I resurrected the JP blog.

4- Go back to your archive and tell us about the first post on your Choices blog.

My first Choices post was a shitty theory about Desire & Decorum:

5- How long have you been writing fanfiction?

I’ve been writing fanfiction since I was a literal child. I used to write in a notebook and my friends would read during recess. It was awful but they were into it. One day, I used up the whole notebook and my friend was desperate for the next part of the story. I told her I needed to wait until my mom took me to the store (literal child) to get a new one. My friend got me a new one by the end of the day lol.

TL;DR that puts me at about 20+ years of writing.

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

Without a doubt, Open Heart!

7- Share the first fanfic you wrote with us. Do you still like it or would you change anything about it?

Oh god, the first fanfic I wrote was Lily Evans and James Potter from the Harry Potter universe. I forgot the exact title, but it was named after an Avril Lavigne lyric. Again, I was a child, don’t judge me lol. It’s handwritten in a notebook I still have somewhere, but I will never open it again lest I die of cringe.

My first Choices fic, on the other hand, was a Desire and Decorum fic called “A Wedding Gift” that only like 5 people read at the time.

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

Oof. This answer changes depending on the day you ask me. I always overthink it and end up saying picking a favorite fic is like picking a favorite child. To avoid being here all day, however, I’m going to say: Fake Husband, She Walks in Beauty, and Lovely.

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

Definitely, the fic I didn’t expect to do well at all if my first Open Heart fic: Lovely.

I was so naive back then, knowing nothing about the Open Heart writing fandom. I had no idea what format or tags to use when posting. I was afraid there would be no readers out there who wanted to read a silly little story about my MC posting a thirst trap. All I knew was that the latest chapter of Open Heart Year 2 inspired an idea that wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote it.

I posted it and I was so incredibly lucky to receive so much support. Words cannot explain how special that was. To this day, I cannot verbalize how grateful I am for that.

There isn’t really a fic I can think of that could use more love. It always amazes me that anyone gives my fics their time. So any feedback my fics get will always be valued and treasured by me.

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

Oh no.

If forced to choose, I’d say fluff.

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

Absolutely! While I try to make every MC different, I often pull from experience when I write. My Open Heart MC and I have a lot of things in common (heritage, hometown, astrological sign, etc.) But I also wanted her to be her own character with life choices that are different from mine. Since I'm very boring, it definitely makes for better fiction that way.

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

It depends on the day. Some days I struggle the most with dialogue. Others, my biggest struggle is descriptions. It's rare when I feel confident in both when I write.

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

*laughs nervously in unfinished series*

There are a few series I have yet to finish. Once again, I apologize for leaving them untouched for so long! I plan to get my shit together soon!

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

No!

I don't think I could look anyone in the eye if they read some of the stuff I've written, especially for Choices.

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

I strongly believe that one of the best ways to learn as a writer is reading. As such, I believe I've learned from most pieces I've read, particularly published rom com novels. In the fanfiction world, I admire my lovely friend @takeharryandgo. I've had the absolute joy of following her writing for over a decade. And with every work, I am still amazed by her masterful way with words! And her characterization is always spot-on. I simply love to read her spellbinding work and learn from the master!

Other writers/creators I admire are:

@heauxplesslydevoted- one of the first OH writers I've ever read! Her smut is top-tier!

@jerzwriter - her stories, dialogue, and characterization are a delight to read. Her angst is painful. Her smut is sizzling hot!

@liaromancewriter - a true master at romance! Her writing style is magical and synonymous with the best of rom-coms!

@genevievemd - I bow down because the amount of love and care she puts into every piece truly makes her work special!

@lucy-268 - I have always respected the amount of research she puts into every piece. She pours so much care into it so that the narrative flows seamlessly!

@a-crepusculo - her writing is so vivid and immersive. Reading her work is like listening to the most beautiful of symphonies!

@writer-ish - she is such a master at the craft! Her characterization is so vivid that the reader will fall in love no matter the format. Her text edits are legendary!

@bex-la-get - such a talented and dedicated writer! She also pours hours of research into her work, ensuring every detail makes sense!

@potionsprefect - she's such a creative and talented writer. She develops writing ideas like no one else I've ever seen!

@headoverheelsforramsey- I love her storytelling and characterization! She's created a beautiful, inspiring, and intelligent MC for all of us to adore!

@gryffindordaughterofathena - her writing style is one of the most original I've ever seen. Reading her work feels like reading the loveliest of poetry!

@coffeeheartaddict2- the dedication she puts into her work blows me away! She's daring when exploring themes in her writing, and she's not afraid to pull from personal experience.

@lsvdw-blog - the person I'm sending my therapy bill to. Just kidding! Her writing is beautiful, even when it's the most painful angst.

@trappedinfanfiction - she is such a lovely writer. The amount of detail she's given both of her MC's back stories has my absolute respect!

@quixoticdreamer16 - I adore her MC and the wholesome, beautiful background she's given her!

@mysticalgalaxysstuff - Another MC that has stolen my heart. I am so happy she started writing this past year because she's a real talent!

@peonierose - love her beautiful MC and the beautiful love story she built for her with Bryce!

@cariantha - a brilliant writer with talent for days!

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

I would love to see She Walks in Beauty along with its series (1800s AU) in live action. Imagine Ana de Armas and David Gandy in period costumes? That alone would be worth it!

17- Do you write original stories?

I've crafted and outlined original stories before but I've never actually written them. One of my biggest goals for the new year is to finally start. Wish me luck!

18 - What other hobbies do you have?

I love reading, hiking, and dancing!

Yes, I picked the most “impressive” of my hobbies to seem cool. On most days, you'll catch me cuddling with my dog or bf watching YouTube/TikTok/Hell's Kitchen reruns lol.

19 - What’s your favorite emoji?

I used the orange 🧡 and purple 💜 hearts a lot because they're my favorite colors!

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

For the record, I am also contractually obligated to read anything Kelsey writes 😘

Thank you so much to every single reader who has given my work a chance these past three years!

Thank you to the wonderful mods of CFWC for all you do to support writers in the Fandom!

#choices fic writers creations #writer of the month #cfwc writer of the month #jamespotterthefirst #open heart choices #open heart

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longlivefanfic-net · 2 years

Note

106 & 146 w nancy wheeler PLEASE dawg i need it so bad fr 🙁 also i know how ppl hc nancy as a dom but in my head that girl is my prissy princess and i need so bad to give her the sex that no man could 🤷🏽also it would be cool if you could fit in something to do w nancy x barb bc that’s a hc that I’ve had for a while :) & bi nancy finally accepting herself 🤭 okay yes im probably gg be spamming reqs like this every so often- much love !! -maxaroni & cheese (wow im so funny hahaha 😐)

Maxaroni! I feel like it's taken me FOREVER to get this finished for you (sorry!!!) but it is DONE. I hope you like it!

Prompts: “I’m going to fuck you until you forget that asshole’s name.” and “Were you just masturbating?” “U-uh…no, I was just…” “Want some help?”

Content: sapphic reader; afab!reader; afab!reader x Nancy Wheeler; college roommates; smut, just like a lot of queer smut; some pining on the readers side because why not; Nancy Wheeler has a praise kink; mommy kink; Jonathan x Nancy

Word count: 7.1k (this was supposed to be short WHOOPS)

Summary: You meet Nancy the day you move into your shared college living space and spend the next few months desperately wishing to be between her legs. But she's got a boyfriend! And a plan for her life! Right?!

Nancy Fuckin' Wheeler

It wasn’t your fault you had fallen for your roommate. She had shown up on move-in day, had simply appeared, like the pixie she resembled, in the too-small room you were expected to share for the next nine months. Her brown hair had been curly, shorter back then, with bangs that brushed the tops of the lashes that framed her large, round eyes. She had smiled at you, striding across the tiny room with her hand already extended, and you had noticed the way her nose wrinkled, right at the tip, when she grinned and you were gone. “I’m Nancy,” she had said, picking up your hand to shake, firmly, like she shook a lot of men’s hands and was tired of being told she had a weak grip. “Nancy Wheeler.”

You had played it cool for the first few weeks. This was your college roommate–if you didn’t fuck this up, she might end up being your best friend for life. It’s not like you could say, “Hi, Nancy, nice to meet you, I like girls and think you’re hot!” No. No way. And, if you were honest, you couldn’t risk isolating the only person you knew at Emerson. It was lonely in those big buildings, the bustling sounds of city life right outside every window yet feeling so far away. You wanted Nancy to be your friend, and you had thought that meant you had to pretend to be…like her.

After a few weeks, though, you couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore. Nancy had taken to having full conversations with you while she changed in the mornings, tossing her towel on her bed when she got back from the shared bathroom. She’d hold intense eye contact with you, chattering away the entire time about her classes, and her plans for the day, and whether you wanted to go grocery shopping with her that day, and her boyfriend, always her damn boyfriend. She’d stand on the other side of your narrow bedroom, completely naked, practically daring your eyes to slip from her face, and talk at a hundred miles a minute about Jonathan, this perfect Jonathan, who was always coming to visit that weekend but never actually showed up.

When you cracked, she didn’t even react. It was during a rare moment of silence, her back still wrapped in her towel and turned to you as she pulled a top out of her neatly-organized closet. Your eyes were fixed on the back of Nancy’s neck; her brown hair was pinned up, and the pale skin of her neck still had beads of water from the shower darkening the fine curls that lay flat against her skin. You watched a drop of water slide down her skin, tangle in that one, C-shaped piece of hair that had fallen out of the clip, and felt your eyes glaze over; you wished, desperately, to be water, to be able to slide over her porcelain body, touching without touching, and find rest in her hair. “You know I like girls, right?” You had blurted out, the words throwing themselves desperately off your tongue to land with a disgusting smack in the middle of the room, as bare and naked as Nancy tended to be.

She turned her head over her shoulder, barely glancing away from the shirt in her hands. “Oh! No, I didn’t know that.” You stood, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for Nancy to call you names or tell you she was uncomfortable or tell you to request a room change but instead–instead, all you got was a slight blush over her cheeks when she turned back to you. “Did you–did you want me to change in the bathroom?” You shook your head, suddenly numb to the sounds of the cars in the street, the people yelling at each other on the sidewalks, the sounds of your other roommates making breakfast in the kitchen. It all disappeared when Nancy smiled at you–almost shyly, her lips only slightly tilting up at the corners before her eyes ducked down–and removed her towel.

Afterwards, Nancy had taken it upon herself to make sure you knew you were welcome to bring over whoever you wanted. She eyed girls at the grocery store, the coffee shop, the diner the two of you frequented for late night pancakes, and nudged you, using those wide eyes to motion towards the girls she had picked out for you. She had good taste, you had to give her that–but the girls Nancy picked were always too tall, their hair too light, their bodies too full for who you really wanted.

One night, late–or early, really–the two of you were nestled into the couch, swathed by blankets, Nancy’s pajama clad legs in your bare lap as you passed a carton of ice cream back and forth. The other roommates had gone out earlier, disappearing in a haze of hairspray and blue eyeshadow with promises to be back for lunch tomorrow. Nancy had declined their invitations, staying home and waiting for Jonathan to call. When he didn’t, you slipped downstairs, running across the street to the bodega for a can of Coke and Nancy’s favorite icecream.

The night slipped away with the two of you there, sitting by the phone–”just in case,” Nancy said, biting her too-full bottom lip as she avoided your eyes. The conversation started innocently enough: You wanted to comfort her, and had started sharing stories of your own pathetic dating life. She laughed so hard she snorted, actually snorted, her nose wrinkling and her eyes creasing at the corners as she closed them, when you told her about the boyfriend you barely let touch you in high school, the “best friend” you had “practiced” with instead.

“I did that too!” She exclaimed, her voice high and breathless between the sweet peals of her laughter. Her feet pressed into the bare skin of your legs, toes digging against soft skin as you tried to ignore the goosebumps that raced down your arms. She was so warm, so full of light as she gazed at you, and the weight of her body, sprawled so casually over yours, felt so right, felt like home. “I did that too,” she said. “My friend, Barb–she was my first kiss. We said we were ‘practicing’ for when boys decided to date us.”

You reeled in your shock, loosening the fingers that had immediately tightened around her ankles at the words. Nancy Wheeler–Nancy “Perfect” Wheeler, Nancy “4.0” Wheeler, Nancy fuckin Wheeler–kissed girls? Nancy eyed you from the other end of the couch, the television light flickering over her brows, still high with the glimmer of her laugh. Her cheeks were dark, a blush building there as she held your eyes with her own. “What?” She asked, her voice suddenly low. “You didn’t know I kissed girls?” She cocked her head, slightly, the movement exposing the side of her throat. You felt your heart pounding in your chest, aggressive thumps, as her eyelids lowered slightly. Her lips parted, just barely, and you watched the pink tip of her tongue wet the very edges of the lush bow.

“Nancy,” you replied, your shaking voice betraying you, your body betraying you as it warmed under her gaze. “That’s…kinda gay.” Nancy rolled her doe eyes, smirking slightly. “Are you–Nancy, do you like girls?” She shrugged her pajama-clad shoulders, angling her head towards the TV. “Yeah,” she said, flicking a heavy-lidded glance back at you. “And guys. It’s not a big deal.” She said it so nonchalant, said it like she hadn’t just rocked your world and flipped it on its axis, like she hadn’t made your heart jump into your throat. Nancy liked girls. Nancy could like you. Hell, it almost seemed like she was flirting with you. Except–

Except for Jonathan. Fucking Jonathan, who happened to call at that exact moment, like your thought of his name summoned him from California, the earsplitting ring of the telephone making both you and Nancy jump. She grabbed, desperately, at the receiver, picking up the heavy plastic and cradling it between her strong chin and shoulder. “Hello?” She whispered, breathy with her excitement. “Yeah. No, it’s fine, it’s– I can talk.” She looked over her shoulder at you and, if you didn’t know better, you’d have thought she looked guilty.

You smiled, bitterly aware that it didn’t meet your eyes, and slid her feet off your lap. Standing up, you stretched–the two of you had been on that couch, skin touching skin, for hours now, and your joints felt stiff. Nancy watched, either unaware or uncaring that you could see her eyes fixate on the way your oversized t-shirt lifted with your arms, the hem dancing over the edges of your underwear. Heat pulsed through your core, a sudden, desperate throbbing, as her eyes met yours from where she sat on the couch. Your breath caught, slightly, in your chest, and you turned, heading to the bathroom for a cold shower–and, if that didn’t work, a few minutes alone with your hand and the image of Nancy, eyes wide and hungry, jaw loose like it was waiting for you to guide it.

After your shower–and, yes, a few minutes of picturing Nancy’s face, Nancy’s body, Nancy’s neck and skin and hair and lips–you headed back to your shared bedroom. Nancy was no longer in the living room, not lazed over the arm of the couch while she giggled with Jonathan on the phone. You opened the door to your bedroom quietly, hoping she’d already be asleep. She was in her bed, a small bundle of limbs and dark hair tucked in amidst the lightly colored bedding of her twin-sized mattress.

She wasn’t asleep. Maybe you had turned the door handle too quietly. Maybe she heard you and just didn’t care. Either way, when you closed the door with a soft snick, Nancy kept her eyes closed, continued to thrust her hips lightly against, you assumed, the hand hidden under her bedspread. You felt your heart stutter in your chest, your knees suddenly weak; she was beautiful, gorgeous, somewhere between frustrated and focused as she worked against her own skin. “Nance,” you whispered, and her eyes shot open, wide and all-too-innocent as she fluttered her lashes at you across the room. “Were you just masturbating?”

“Um,” she replied, cheeks dusting lightly with a pink blush that matched her bedspread, “U-uh…no, I was just…” Nancy’s eyes flitted nervously around the room, her lips pressing together into a hard, embarrassed line, and you watched her throat bob as she swallowed. It was the swallow that did it, of all things. Your newfound best friend, your roommate, laying in bed with her dark curls spread under her angelic face had already driven you to the edge, but watching her throat move as she swallowed, wishing you could taste that swallow, finally hurled you over the precipice you had been dancing on since the first time you had lain eyes on her.

“Want some help?” The words burst from between your lips, your body going cold and then hot as the blush raced under your skin. But the words were out, were hanging in the air between the two of you, and all you could do now was wait, your veins full of ice. Nancy’s eyes widened, her jaw relaxing and going slack so that her lips parted. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the full, rosebud pink curves, wishing to be in between them; that’s why you couldn’t miss it when they shifted, just slightly, letting Nancy’s whispered “yes” glide under your skin.

The ice in your veins melted, the sudden liquid rushing in your ears, as the heat you had just dulled sparked back to life in your stomach. You pushed down the excitement, the fear that swirled through your body; it was important, so, so important that you handle this right. You walked towards her tiny bed slowly, giving her plenty of time to say “I was kidding!” or “Nevermind,” as you shifted her blankets aside, sliding your half-clothed body into the bed next to her. Nancy shifted her face, just slightly, so that her oversized eyes were trained on your face when she blinked, a rush of blood rising to the surface of her cheeks.

You looked down at Nancy’s slender body as you propped yourself up on one arm, pressing yourself closer to her under the warmth of the blankets. Jonathan–the mysterious Jonathan, who never came to visit when he said he would, who only existed to you as the framed photograph on Nancy’s desk–flashed in your mind, and you wondered if he was the reason Nancy was rutting her hips against her own hand; if he had spent those minutes you were in the shower whispering in her ear across the phone lines, making her desperate for him, for the feeling of his body pressed against hers. It doesn’t matter, you thought to yourself. I’m the one in bed with her. The thought made you blush, and your eyes skittered away from Nancy’s, floating down the outline of her body under the blankets she was covered by.

“You don’t have to–” Nancy suddenly whispered, watching the heat building along your neck and cheeks, and you cut her off, jumping on the words and stubbing the burning embers of her rejection out before it could flame. “I want to,” you whispered back, the words shocking you as they pressed into the room, making their presence felt in your core with a brush of heat. Nancy just stared, doe eyes blinking rapidly as she pressed her lips together, swallowing again and–fuck, what you would have given to taste the inside of her mouth. She looked, pointedly, at her body, hidden under the bedspread, before flashing her eyes back to you.

You pulled the corner of your bottom lip between your teeth, worrying it slightly, before slipping your free hand over her body, her flat stomach and soft thighs, until it was over the hand she still had wedged between her legs. “Move your hand, Nancy,” you commanded, watching the blankets so you didn’t have to look at her. When she pulled her hand away from her sex, you could have sworn that, for just a moment, she let her fingers brush against your palm.

Slowly, your fingers cupped around Nancy’s folds, luxuriating in the heat emanating from her skin. When you slipped your middle finger in between her lips, stroking once, you kept your face carefully turned away from hers, refusing to watch the shuddering gasp fall from her lips. Your finger was poised at her entrance, ready to push inside of her–or pull back–with the slightest hint of what she wanted. “Nance,” you said, your voice low and quiet. “This is going to feel better if I get you wet first.” You let the silence build between the two of you, stretching on for what felt like an agonizing length of time. “Can I kiss you?”

“O–okay.” The voice under you was timid, shy, unlike the Nancy you had come to know in the last few months. You angled your head towards hers, desperately seeking out her face in the dim light of your shared bedroom. Nancy was watching you, eyes eager as she licked her lower lip. The warm lap of fire in your core suddenly tightened, blazing as you leaned down, ducking your head to her strong jaw. Your lips pressed against the coolness of her skin, the hard line of her angular jaw, and you felt her chest hitch under you, her body shake with the desire that buried itself in her lungs at the touch of your mouth on her body.

You pulled back, peering at Nancy’s face. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted as she lay under you, glowing in the soft beams of moonlight that slanted in through the window, radiant; she was a Renaissance painting against her pillow, a woman blissful in the throes of passion, seduced by an immortal god. Your body, your soul cried out for you to touch her, touch her, and you leaned down, pressing your lips against the long line of her throat, the column of smooth skin, before running your tongue over it. The tiniest, softest moan escaped Nancy’s lips as your tongue warmed her skin and–

You felt her body under your hand, still cupping her sex, flutter. Her walls tightened, almost imperceptibly, as your finger waited for her body to grant you entrance. When you felt the rush of slick dripping in between her folds, sliding over your hand, you slipped yourself inside of her. Nancy whimpered, eyes still closed under you as you curled your finger slightly, pressing against the warm, tight wall of her body. “Shh,” you murmured, and your free arm pressed itself into her pillow, your hand pushing her curls out of her face so you could watch her eyes tighten, her brow crease. She moaned again, barely more than a sigh, and you felt her hips tilt up, pushing your finger deeper inside of her. You couldn’t stop the grin that slipped over your lips–and she couldn’t see it, anyways, her eyes shut as her head rolled back on her pillow.

“More,” Nancy moaned, and you ignored the spreading heat in between your legs as you bullied a second finger into her. She was tight, much tighter than you ever would have dreamed, and you could feel her clenching around the forced spread of your hand inside of her. You rotated your wrist, pulling your fingers back before slipping them in again and again, never fully pulling them out as she gasped with each thrust. “More, more,” Nancy’s voice came to you like a prayer falling from her lips, begging, pleading for you to touch her; you dipped your head, lips latching on to her exposed collarbone as she mewled.

Nancy ground her hips against your hand, her desire coating your palm and other fingers now, desperate for more friction as you filled and stretched her. “What is it, babygirl?” You heard yourself whispering against Nancy’s throat, the words slipping out without your permission. “What do you need from mommy?” Nancy’s hips stuttered against your hand, a physical reflection of her shock at the growl in your words, the low, coaxing tone that wallowed in between your bodies.

“Need–I want–” Nancy stuttered, and you dared to glance up at her from where you suckled on her throat.

“Use your words.”

“I want you to touch my clit.”

“Good girl,” you whispered, and Nancy whimpered, a high-pitched sound that scratched itself out a home in your heart as it fell from her lips. You let your thumb push in between her folds, seeking out the swollen bud above her opening. Pushing into it, you reveled in the sound of Nancy’s breathing, harsh pants now as her hips lifted again and again. “You’re doing so good, sweet girl,” you breathed into her skin, fingers curling inside of her as your thumb rubbed harsh, fierce circles. “Keep going. Keep going until you cum for me, baby.”

Nancy whined at your words, and you felt her suddenly clench around you, drawing your fingers even deeper into her body. You moved your thumb faster, whispering “that’s my girl, that’s my girl, go ahead, baby,” as her panting turned into soft cries, little moans that elevated in pitch as her body pulled, tightening and releasing in short spasms. When she stopped, her hips slowing, her muscles loosening around you suddenly, you kept your fingers resting in her warmth. Pulling your face back from her neck, you carefully avoided Nancy’s eyes, avoided seeking out the sweat and blush on her face that was meant to be your reward, and carefully pulled your hand from her body, gentle as her walls twitched.

Your hand came up from under the blankets, dripping and coated in the clear expression of Nancy’s satisfaction, of what you had to assume was her enjoyment of your touch. You chanced a glance back at her, still lying on the pillows. Nancy’s eyes were on your hands, the corners of her eyes tight as her mouth pressed into a hard line; you felt the burn of rejection simmer in your gut, a byproduct of the guilt and shame you read in her face. “I’m just–I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you said, flipping Nancy’s blanket back and standing up suddenly, desperately hoping she couldn’t see the discoloration where your underwear was soaked through, couldn’t see the glimmer of slick dripping down your own thighs.

******************************************************************************

The two of you never spoke about it. Never, not once, over the next few months did you bring it up–and there were chances to. When you brought a girl home from a Halloween party, Nancy didn’t ask if you got her off the same way you did her; when she left to go back to Hawkins for Thanksgiving, you didn’t ask if her own hand would satisfy her the way yours had; and when either of you entered your room late at night, you both always knocked first, giving the other time to whip their hand out from their underwear and feign sleep.

It almost felt like you had made it up, like it was some too-vivid dream. Like you had dreamt what Nancy’s throat tasted like, like you had dreamt how her hair smelled like jasmine, like you had dreamt that her fingers had tightened in the fabric of your shirt as she came, like you had dreamt of her face cradled so gently in your palm while you pushed her hair out of her face.

Or worse–like you had dreamt up the little glances she shot you in the kitchen as you poured coffee, her eyes darting away nervously as soon as they met yours; had dreamt the way her eyes pulled together with hurt when you had walked the girl from the Halloween party out of your apartment, ducking slightly to avoid the kiss the girl had tried to press to your mouth at the front door, aware of Nancy’s gaze on the back of your head; had dreamt the blush that darkened her cheeks as she took calls from Jonathan in your living room, the phone ringing for her less and less often.

The one thing that you knew you weren’t creating in your own head was the silence. Because Nancy still changed in your shared room, exposing her full body–the soft, pale thighs your hand had parted, the pert, firm breasts you had felt against your torso when you leaned into her–to you as she pulled her clothes, but now she did it without speaking.

You would have let the silence go on forever, would have lived in quiet for the rest of the year and moved out in the spring and spent the rest of your life pushing thoughts of Nancy Wheeler, Nancy Fuckin’ Wheeler, out of your head for the rest of your life. Would have never spoken to her again, if that’s what she wanted, until December.

She had packed her bags, chattering at top speed to all of the roommates: Jonathan had called, had made plans for the two of them, had booked her a flight–she was going to California for Christmas. She’d spend the holidays wrapped around the boy you resented, snuggled warm under his blankets, his hand between her thighs instead of yours, exchanging presents and kisses, while you sat alone in the drafty apartment you all shared. The other roommates were going out of town, too, with promises to bring back their family’s cookies and cakes for you since you were the only one not planning on leaving for the month of break.

When Nancy left, she had flung an arm around the neck of each girl; had hugged them quickly, but fiercely, like she wanted them to know that she loved them but not enough to stay. When she walked up to you, her arms were slower–she wrapped both of the thin, long limbs around your waist instead of your neck, pulling you in tightly. Her lips ghosted over your racing pulse in your throat, a gentle brush that could have been mistaken for an accident, before she pulled back. “Bye!” She chirped, her voice as bright as her welling eyes. “See you in a month!”

The next few weeks were a haze. A disorienting blur of the other roommates leaving, of rides to the airport and lonely trips to the grocery store. Of waking up in an empty bedroom, no sounds of soft sighs and sleepy, content breaths from the other side of the room. You settled into a routine: Wake up, make breakfast, bundle up in your warmest coat and a thick scarf to go for a walk, come home, flick through TV while you snacked, make dinner, go to bed. It was boring, yes, but the routine settled you, and when thoughts of Nancy, images of her wide eyes and wider grin, her sharp brows and strong jaw, her long fingers and dark curls, danced across your retinas, you could shake your head and refocus on the task at hand. There was no space for the lingering hurt in your heart with your routine, no space to bemoan the state of your life and loneliness as you sat on the couch on Christmas Eve.

The routine was familiar at this point, comforting in the way it surrounded you with people and distractions while you were entirely alone. The routine is why it was so alarming when the front door swung open, accompanied by the loud thumps of a heavy suitcase hitting the floor. The routine was the reason you looked up so slowly, why it took your brain so long to process the small woman in your doorway wearing a skirt and t-shirt, shivering aggressively as tears slid down her face. “N–Nancy?” You asked, feeling your eyebrows draw together in confusion. She opened her mouth, the only thing coming out of it a wail.

“Nancy,” you said, standing up suddenly. You rushed to the door, wrapping your arms around her slender, icy frame. “Nancy, what’s wrong? What–Why are you here? Where is your fucking jacket?” You asked, your head turning quickly to look at the frozen flurries frolicking past your window, snowflakes glinting in the light of the streetlamps. A watery laugh burst from the chest wrapped under your arms.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Nancy asked, tilting her head slightly to peer up at you from watery lashes. “I come home,” she sniffed, wiping her nose as you relinquished your grip on her, “crying,” she said, emphasizing the word, “and you’re worried about me not having a coat?” She laughed again, the sound broken and making your heart ache.

“It’s freezing outside, Nance. You–come on, you need to get wrapped up. Come sit on the couch.” You pushed her farther into the apartment, following behind to swaddle her in the blankets, still warm from your own body heat, that were piled on the couch. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to be in California with Jonathan until January.”

She sniffed, running a finger under her eyes. “We broke up,” she said, her voice catching on the words. The story burbled out of her in stops and starts, tears and shuddering gasps interrupting her words as she recounted the morning’s conversation, how Jonathan had sat her down at the breakfast table, how he had explained that he wasn’t sure he could give her the life she wanted, she deserved, he said, and how, eventually, it had come down to the simplest words possible: We just don’t love each other anymore.”

Her hands reached out, sliding over the blankets to wind her fingers in between the spaces of yours. “He was right,” Nancy said, her voice more even now as the tears stopped. “He was right, we just–we don’t love each other anymore. I don’t think we have for a while. But I just–I wasn’t expecting it, you know? I thought–” she shook her head, a trickle of laughter flowing from her lips. “I thought I would just get through the next four years, and then I would marry Jonathan, and we’d have a couple of kids, and we would be normal. I wanted to be normal.” Her eyes met yours, sending a shiver down your spine before she shifted her gaze to your interlocked fingers. “I don’t think I can be normal, though. I think–I think I want something else for myself now.” Nancy’s fingers tightened, a shot of adrenaline coursing through your veins at the touch.

When she leaned forward, pressing her wide lips to yours, it caught you off guard. You jolted backwards, breaking the first real kiss the two of you had ever had. “Nance,” you whispered. “I’m– I don’t think we should–”

“Please.”

“You just broke up–”

“I don’t care. I don’t care about him like that anymore. I haven’t since–since before we–please, I just want you to touch me.”

You bit back the words that had been pushing for space on your tongue, the denials and the rebuffs that were rational and responsible. “Say that again.”

“I want you to touch me. Please.” The last word was a whimper, soft and quiet like she was ashamed of it, but it melted whatever lingering resolve was buried in your chest. You moved quickly, bringing your mouth to Nancy’s again, pressing lips together as you tilted your head, pressing hers back so that your tongue was able to slip easily into the space between her lips. She gasped, quietly, against your mouth, and you felt your heart rattle in your chest, chaotic and longing to be closer to her.

“I’m going to fuck you,” you whispered, moving your mouth to press harsh, hot kisses into her chin, her jawline, her neck, her throat, “until you forget that asshole’s name. Understood?” The whimper that fell from Nancy’s lips was your only verbal response, but she nodded her head vigorously, her brown curls shifting out of place with the motion; the way her fingers tightened around your arms, her nails digging into your skin as her head tilted back, a moan falling from her mouth, confirmed it for you as well.

Your fingers flew to her waistline and were met by her hands; you pulled her skirt down as she pushed her shirt up (a trickle of annoyance in the back of your mind that Jonathan, fucking Jonathan who’s been an invisible presence between the two of you for so long, let her come back here in the dead of winter wearing a t-shirt and a skirt). Your fingers find bare skin, exposed paleness dappled with large freckles here and there. It’s the first time you’ve seen her like this–the last time you touched her, she was covered the entire time, keeping herself hidden away from your prying eyes like a sacred relic, like she knew that you were greedy and would take as much of her as you could and would never, never give up what you held in your hand at that moment.

You wrapped your fingers around her waist, pressing your hands into the lines of muscle and sinew that separated you from her bones. Overcome, you dipped your head, pressing your nose flat into the soft padding above her belly button. The weight of your face pushed Nancy back onto the arm of the couch, her legs sprawling open as you fit your body between them so you could continue to touch the parts of her that reclined backwards. You dragged your nose up, letting your skin burn a path across her stomach as your nose and chin pushed up, up, until your chin was resting on the very bottom line of her bra. You settled your face there, Nancy’s fingers winding through your hair as she gripped your scalp, and blinked at her, a slow smile turning your lips as you took in her disheveled hair, pink cheeks, panting breaths. “Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi yourself,” she whispered back, a gentle smile settling over her face. She loosened her grip on your hair, and the long fingers brushed against your forehead. Nancy tilted her head, slightly, watching her own hands trace patterns over your skin. When her eyes drifted back to yours, you couldn’t help but see the warmness in them, the distant echo of a centuries old fireside that represented home. “Are you done? Or do I get more?” She asked, and you had to stop yourself from practically purring at the simplicity of her request, of the implication that she was just waiting this whole time for you to decide to give her more.

“Depends,” you said, smirking. “What’s your ex’s name?”

“Jonathan,” Nancy replied immediately, eyebrows pulling together.

“Must need more then,” you said, and turned your head abruptly to nip at the swell of the breast that threatened to spill out of the cup of her bra. Nancy’s sharp gasp was finished with a laugh, and your hands slipped under her torso to unclasp her bra, pulling the straps down her arms as you moved the material away from her skin. Her breasts fell free of the enclosure, the pink rosebuds already hard and drawn in the coolness of the air. You bite, playfully, at the curving line of her chest, soothing the small mark from your teeth with your tongue as Nancy whimpers. “Shh,” you whisper, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Your mouth moves, slowly and sloppily, to the hardened perk of her nipple, and you’re quick to take it in between your lips, sliding your tongue over it, around it, all but rolling it in your mouth. Nancy is gasping, little “yes”s bursting from her lips as your hands wander down from her sides, skimming over her narrow hips to clench the tops of her thighs that your body presses between. All she’s wearing underneath you is a pair of the satin panties you’ve spent the last semester watching her shimmy over her hips, wishing desperately to touch.

You lean back, letting your eyes wander over the expanse of her body as Nancy catches her breath. Her chest heaves under your eyes, her pulse throbbing in the column of her throat. “God,” you hear yourself whisper, voice rasping. “You are so fucking pretty for me, baby girl.” Nancy’s eyes widen, her lower lip wobbling as she takes in your words. Her arm extends, grabbing your wrist tightly as she pulls your fingers to her skin.

Nancy places the palm of your hand against her throat, your fingers instinctually wrapping around the slender column. You feel your eyes widen slightly, shocked by the unspoken request; her brows arc, right at the narrow ends, and you feel your face press into a grin. “Words,” you whisper, and Nancy’s eyes slip closed, a tiny smile playing at the curve of her full, swollen mouth.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please choke me. Please. I need you to–”

Her words end abruptly, a gentle sigh replacing her voice as your fingers tighten, pressing into the harsh pulse on the sides of her throat. Your other hand slips between her legs, finding the skin of her inner thighs slick with longing. “Oh, you’re such a good girl,” you whisper, and Nancy’s moan makes your stomach tighten, your core throb. Your fingers slide the soft fabric of her underwear to the side, pushing in between the folds to seek out her center.

“Wait,” Nancy huffs, and you loosen your fingers around her throat, eyes flashing to her face with concern. You look over her, eyes darting for signs of distress, for too-red cheeks or teary eyes. “I just–you already–please, just let me go down on you.” You lean back, feeling your eyebrows climb over your face as your lips part slightly. “Please. Mommy.” The words are stilted, falling from her mouth like bricks, but the light blush snaking over her cheeks tells you that Nancy knows, she knows what she wants, and she wants you.

You nod, the movement subtle. “Okay, baby girl. Whatever you want.” She preens under your words, her eyelashes fluttering as a soft smile highlights the apples in her cheeks. Nancy’s fingers are gentle, slow where yours were quick, as they grab the hem of your night shirt; she pulls it over your head carefully, eyes on yours until your skin is exposed. The cool air of the apartment hits you, causing goosebumps to rise on your soft form.

“You’re so…” Nancy’s voice trails off, quiet as her doe eyes roam over your skin. “Beautiful,” she says, the word hanging in the air between the two of you, glimmering with traces of months worth of pent-up longing. “You’re so beautiful.” Her eyes meet yours, a spark of electricity bouncing from her to tighten your heart in your chest. Nancy leaned forward, pressing her mouth to yours as you fell back against the worn couch. Her delicate hands guide you to lie down on your back, the top of your head pressing into the bottom of the arm of the couch. “Beautiful,” she whispers, pressing her mouth into your throat; “Beautiful,” she says again, her lips cloying at your collarbone; “Beautiful,” hushed, like a prayer, at the curve of your breast; “Beautiful,” louder now, spoken into the softness of your stomach; “Beautiful,” a moan, this time, as you slip your underwear down your legs, exposing your heat to her mouth.

Nancy is quick now, her lips pressing once to the skin above your already-damp folds. You feel her fingers spread you, her body tightening with anticipation in between your clenched thighs. A finger pushes against your opening, the muscles fluttering at the slight pressure. “Is this okay?” Nancy asks, and she pulls her eyes away from your body to gaze up at you. You nod, aware that any words from your lips would come out cracked, broken, as pathetic as you’ve felt dreaming of this moment for the last few months.

Nancy’s finger slides into your core, and a soft sigh falls from your lips. She’s gentle, caring with her hand already up to the palm inside of you. The finger curls, just slightly, as she pulls it back, and your eyelids flicker at the pressure against your walls. She pushes a second finger in, stretching you just slightly as she works her hand against you, forcing a small whine from your lips. “You’re okay?” She says, the end of the sentence rising like a question as her eyes meet yours again. You nod, your eyes already feeling hazy as you watch her watch you. “Can I…use my mouth?” The question is hesitant, tentative, shy.

“Don’t ask so many questions, Wheeler,” you mutter, cheeks burning as your voice shakes. A slow smile spreads over her face, and Nancy pulls her fingers from your warmth and dips her face to the space between your thighs. You can feel her tongue, flat and wide, licking a stripe between your lips; when it passes your gaping hole, you whimper and lift your hips, trying to grind into her face. Her tongue whisks over your clit, barely more than a fleeting brush, but it makes you gasp, the sound echoing through the empty apartment.

“Oh,” Nancy sighs, and her eyes are narrowed, quizzical as she looks at you again. “You want both? Want to be filled and licked?” You nod again, the desire to mock her endless questions dying on your tongue as her fingers slide back in, quickly now that she’s in familiar territory. Your head rolls back on the couch under you, and your eyelids slide closed. When her tongue returns to the swollen burst of nerves, you whimper–the sound is long, loud, ludacris when coupled with the sound of her fingers thrusting into your wetness. “Oh,” Nancy moans–really, truly, moans, into your dripping cunt, and the vibrations send shockwaves through your skin.

“Fuck,” you mutter, and your hands are suddenly wound in her hair, giving you something to hold on to as you rut your hips against her face. Her nose, her tiny, perfect nose, is pressing against your skin, her tongue lapping fast, wide strokes at your clit, and her fingers are starting to relax, to spread from each other and stretch where you’re tightest. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whimper, and Nancy’s fingers are faster, harder, while she lets you use her face for friction. “Oh, Nance–Nancy–Don’t–Please don’t–stop–” The words are coming out of your mouth in between hitched breaths, breaking in little gasps and cracks as you force them out, desperate to tell her that if she stops–if her tongue slows, if her fingers disappear, if any of it goes–you’re pretty sure you’ll die on the spot.

“Nance,” you mewl, the word falling from your full lips like a prayer, “Nance, I’m gonna–don’t stop, I’m gonna c–” It’s the last word you get out before your back arches, body tightening around her fingers, a sharpness in your spine curving in on itself until it’s unleashed, the arrow of your desire loosed from the bow of Nancy’s lips. The sound that drips from your mouth is high pitched, cradled on each end by gasps, and you swear you can feel Nancy grinning into your body as she continues, relentlessly fucking you through your freefall.

When you finish, she sits up and pulls her hand from you. You watch as Nancy sits back on her knees, slips her fingers into her mouth. Any thought you would have had at that moment–what does this mean, are we together now, are we going to talk about this, holy shit that was the best orgasm of my fucking life–dissapear from your head as you watch Nancy’s eyes close, an expression of bliss on her features as her mouth cleans you from her hand. She removes her fingers with a subtle pop, and you try to bring your gaze from her lips back to her eyes unsuccessfully. Your eyes are still on her lips, which is why you can’t miss when she says it.

“Jonathan.”

“What?” You ask, eyebrows jumping together in confusion and shock.

“Jonathan,” Nancy repeats, shrugging her shoulders slightly. “I still remember his name.”

You take a moment, letting your earlier conversation roll through your mind. A devilish smile turns up the corners of Nancy’s mouth as she watches you put the pieces together. “Right,” you say, sitting up with a grin on your own face, “Guess I’ll have to do something about that.”

#nancy wheeler smut #nancy wheeler stranger things #nancy wheeler fic #nancy wheeler/you #nancy wheeler/reader #nancy stranger things #nancy wheeler fanfiction #nancy wheeler x afab!reader #nancy wheeler/afab!reader #nancy wheeler x you #nancy wheeler x reader #sapphic nancy wheeler #queer nancy wheeler #wlw nancy wheeler #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fan fiction #my fic #maxanon

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warmpilsner · 10 months

Text

i dont feel Great about sadposting on tumblr particularly when im not really on here much for much else but i dunno man theres that growing up a sad lonely teen on the internet itch that only angsting away on social media can fill. so im giving myself one (1) post because i feel that the state of my me is just plummeting so hard its a little scary. im safe and all im good at keeping myself safe but otherwise ive just fallen back to a point of anxiety agitation dread constant urgency constant restless energy intrusive thoughts to hell and back deeply deeply fragile which is not good at all when i work as a THERAPIST!!!! if i didnt have this holiday coming up i would really be having to consider taking extended sick leave bc i am finding it so hard rn to do therapy im getting triggered by stuff my clients bring to sessions, like not in session in session im totally fine but then later that night or whatever im finding myself experiencing things i havent experienced for years and im like huh wheres that coming from before remembering a client was speaking about it earlier. they warn you about this in therapy school but until now ive been solid enough to cope, like its obviously difficult working w people who experience [fill in the blank of whatever self destructive behaviour thought pattern whatever which i have in some cases very tenuously recovered from] but until now i have been able to stay grounded enough to empathise, draw from my own experiences to do so, but ultimately leave that in the therapy room when i go home. but now im like ouuufhhhhhh oughhhhh and i just feel so awful all the time like my resting heart rate has gone crazy which tbf might be the new adhd meds but man theres just so much shit going on. every time i get a text from literally anyone i want toccry because i feel like they are upset with me or going to ask something from me that i cannot give right now and actually it feels that responding to messages is something i cannot give right now but also im so desperate for connection because i feel so deathly so i am frantically spamming the discord with annoying shit like Hi!!!! Hi!!!!Hi!!!!! everything is so intense and urgent and shaky i feel explosive and out of control i need to MOVE HOUSES i need christmas break i need to lay down and for all of my friends to lay on top of me like a weighted blanket of friendship . we did that on my bday last year like 6 friends i think maybe ill ask for that again on my bday this year it was very calming. breathe breathe breathe baby youre brave you're strong you're doing it youre a bomb ass therapist and your colleagues are gonna love you for bringing them lebkuchen

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froguemorgue · 2 months

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you know, i need someone to tell this to, and unfortunately for you, you have been randomly selected as that person.

Alexander Hamilton's biracial cousin once removed aka Peter Lytton's son was called Don Alvarez de Velasco (you prolly know that) now as non-spanish speaker what i didn't realize was that his ma had essentially named him Lord de Velasco. and by GOD do i need the story behind it. is it like when black men would be named Mister so that their white peers couldn't sidestep the honorific? was there something else at play? Did they live a good life after Peter Lytton's death? mulattos could at the very least reach the upper rungs of society in the Carribean and being a Lytton has to count for /something/ so did Alvarez ever "rise" in Crucian society in so much as he could? Did his mother call him Don or Alvarez?

ofc, im not asking you this directly. but its just. he's been reduced to alexander hamilton's cousin's bastard biracial son and drops off mention in any text i could find. granted I'm also driving my chariot through that road because i don't know another road. the only other mention i came across was a historical society in st croix hosting a lecture titled with his name and was about the lives of mulattos i think, i believe. i was desperate for some info on this figure that i even wrote a mail to the society that was prolly promptly deleted as spam because of how stupidly it was written

who was he, yknw? i wonder if we'll ever know

did you ever have a figure like this? atp I'm just yappin lmao sorry for the long ask!

HOW DID I MISS THIS? i still love you, sorry, was not ignoring you!!

When you ask about whether I have historical figures like this I wonder about, YES! and they're almost always women or non-white people. We know their names (if that) and their general relation to the White Dudes history focuses on. It isn't often we know much else, even with some deep dives into any primary documents and context that would clue us into the rest. Wish they'd all just keep diaries, hahhaha. Of course that wasn't always possible and so many people, if they were even literate or had the means to keep diaries, wouldn't even write about themselves in complete honesty. History loves writers because their poetry, fiction, diaries, pamphlets, and letters give us more to learn about. Again, it was such a privilege to be a writer at all, and people marginalized by history and modernity are disproportionately affected by systemic erasure of their existence. History is told by the victors, or whatever they say.

I'd say I wonder about most historical figures, but somebody like Hamilton's cousin is up there for sure. His mother has always piqued my curiosity because obviously her ex husband Lavien was a major POS but history remembers HER exactly how he wanted her to be remembered: a whore. It pisses me off when biographers (r-r-r-ron) reduce her to that, and as a result, LMM's impression of her in the musical was much of the same and it's TRAGIC UGHHHH. It's actually so disgustinf that I start to foam at the mouth because what a fucking injustice.

After your message to my inbox and during my subsequent response, I actually started to go on a rabbit hole reading AGAIN about Alexander's childhood because the number of times he moved, the adults involved in his life, and how he was treated because of his illegitimacy makes it hard to remember exactly what went down. Now added to the list: Hamilton's cousin once removed who happened to be mixed. And though I will not reduce Alvarez to a prop on his own, how interesting to better understand Lytton, right? Of course every person's existence contextualizes other people, but with that said, understanding Don Alvarez as his own person is much more interesting. I'm happy knowing as the years go on, more and more colleges and historical societies are funding and publishing research for biracial, Black and Indigenous people in history, as it seems the Liberal Arts College of the Virgin Islands has done. And yet... the lack of readable information about Don Alvarez online is so, so disheartening.

If you can't contact the historian and speaker for that talk on Crucian Lifestyles, your only recourse is to go out there and dig through mountains of archives until you can find it out yourself. curiosity is so draining

#answered asks #history

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quillkiller · 7 months

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you asked for rarepairs and i'm here to deliver (but tbh most of my rarepairs are from you and a few from other people on tumblr that you might follow) (also i'm not sure how many of those are actually rarepairs)

one time you made a post about sybill x bellatrix (i usually call them sybella in my head or crystalkiller) and i LOVE them

sirius and barty (starkiller for me but i've seen some people call them supernova)

i've read a sirius, barty and evan pwp and it was so good and the dynamic was amazing, so i love them now

does dorlily count? because i'm OBSESSED with them i love them they are PERFECT

lilylene (there is something so perfect about them)

xenophilius x peter (silvertail), i've seen a tiktok about them once and was never able to move on

roseseeker because evan and regulus are cute together. i don't think that they ever dated for a long time, BUT they were each other's gay awekenings and i will die on that hill

regupete. they can do no wrong.

peter was in love with james btw it's canon in my head not nessecerily required but peter was in love

BARTYLILY AND LILYROSEKILLER (i hate how marauderstok treats them) they are so amazing together and i love them aaaaagh

i also really like sunkiller (aithusarosekiller's work) them as childhood friends to enemies to lovers is amazing

THANK YOU IM KISSING YOUR FEET AND BUILDING A SHRINE FOR YOU 💞

1. i call them sybella too!! and i think about them SO often and miss them dearly. i desperately need to finish the museum/siren fic im writing for them….. also me and @sugarsnappeases are currently losing our minds over ritasybill…. like oh my god

2. sirius & barty: so like im a wolfstar truther through and through and its the one pairing i will never budge one…….. however.. i am so on board with sirius and barty fucking and honestly! i think they should❤️

3. sirius & barty & evan…… listen king. i need you to send me that fic

4. DORLILY ARE EVERYTHING TO ME. ACADEMIC RIVALS TO LOVERS…….. hear me out. dorlilylus college au academic rivals to lovers, jealousy, messy, staying up studying all night together, falling asleep together, triangle drama trope that ends in a throuple .

5. lilylene: i dont have strong feelings about them but like also. ask me again in a week and im sure ive created an entire dynamic in my mind. lia has talked about them and lia is always correct. kara mentioned them the other day and what kara says is law to me ❤️

6. xeno/pete: honestly……….. yes. i need to find some fics on them.. like i can just see it u know..

7. roseseeker: listen. i was thinking about this today and why no one (that i’ve seen) ships them …..? and why ? like the seed has been planted in my mind im sure it’ll take root❤️

8. regupete. dont even get me started. they’re literally my friends. they talk to me through visions. through the tv screens and radios. fat stoner hipster peter with autism swag and his mean goth boyfriend sitting on his lap with a resting glare face. holding petes spliff for him. peter looking so pleased and in love. what if i started screaming

9. no because agreed. i love this hc so much and i honestly love it even more if they’ve never dated. like i love unrequited prongstail so much oh my GOD

10. BARTYLILY!!!!!! LILYROSEKILLER!!!!!! YEAH!!!!!! YEAH!!!!!!!!!! i saw one single post about them on marauders tok and wanted to kms. i dont know what it is but the marauders fandom on tiktok are just collectively stupid. like not one single good or even interesting take ever

11 sunkiller is jarty right????? because ive been very pointedly against them. and vocal about it. but today i changed my mind out of nowhere and ive been spamming sude with their entire backstory……! like ive been losing my entire mind oh my god. im gonna check out aithusarosekillers work!!!! thank you<3

i hope u have a lovely night thank you for this ask 💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

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yeehawbvby · 2 years

Text

Falling Away With You | Ch. 21

Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Mission: Abominable begins!!

Author’s Note: I keep getting frustrated at myself for writing Y/N to be so thirsty, but I’m also just writing her how I assume my character is in the game, given how harem-like Stardew kinda accidentally can be. So like.. yeah. ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭✧ She’ll eventually figure out that she’s probably poly lol.

Hope you enjoy! x

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

Magnus was super understanding when I told him that I wanted to go home and rest for a bit. I promised I’d be back later in the day, but told me with a sympathetic smile to take all the time I need to recuperate from my incident with his potion, noting that the mental effects may be drastic even with the physical symptoms gone.

It’s not just the potion I need recuperation from, I’d thought to myself with high hopes that he wouldn’t hear.

Deciding to take him up on the offer to just go back some other time, I spent the rest of the day sulking. Played a few online games with Seb, but just moped around otherwise. Wondering if that was all just an allergic reaction, or if it was my body’s way of rejecting magic… like, what if I’ve got ~the sense~ for these things, but can’t actually partake in any of it? That would suck, dude.

And then there’s the issue of that… lovey feeling that formed in me during the whole debacle.

That isn’t fun either.

We’re gonna ignore that part, though!

The new day has been lazy, but much needed, after all that farm work and stuff yesterday. I made some crepes for the first time as breakfast, researched good kotatsus for the upcoming colder seasons, and did a ton of much needed cleaning around the house. Got some playtime in with Cannoli too, once it got darker and cooler outside.

Now, the little man’s laying on my belly and purring as I stroke his soft fur. Soothing me from spiraling into any self-deprecating thoughts now that I’m not distracted by chores. Hopefully I can be a good farmer, if nothing else… but only time will tell.

I take note of how much bigger this lil’ man has gotten. He was basically skin and bone when Marnie delivered him to me like the goddamn stork, and now, he’s perfectly chubby, with fur thicker than ever before. It’s becoming apparent that he might be a Siberian, rather than a short-haired something-or-other.

I pick him up so that I can sit with my back against the headboard, holding him out in front of me once I’m settled. He softly meows, probably wanting me to put him back down, but instead I hold him to my chest like a baby and nuzzle my face onto the top of his head. His immediate purring soothes my soul. I guess I’m a pretty good cat mom, too.

I still have plenty of time — several hours, actually — to kill before I want to go to bed, but nothing feels appealing. I’ve played through all my games and don’t want to spend money on anything new quite yet. I don’t want to go back to Magnus just yet, because… obviously. I’m too lazy to make dinner, but don’t feel like ordering in either. And, it’s a Friday, so Seb and Sam have had band practice and whatnot with Abby all day. Don’t know if I wanna impede on their ritual hangouts.

It’s times like this where I really wish I had more confidence and more friends.

My phone vibrates, and in my desperation to not disturb Cannoli again, I try to grab at it without moving much. Unfortunately, I just wind up kicking it further away and onto the ground. Fuck.

Great to know that even if Magnus’ potion works, my clumsiness decided to stick around.

I apologetically kiss the fuzzy little head beneath mine before putting him aside, standing up and retrieving the device. I have a text notification from a number I don’t recognize.

Preparing for it to be spam, I unlock the screen, and am quite frankly baffled with my findings.

xxx-xxx-xxxx > heyyy. stole ur number from sebby’s phone

xxx-xxx-xxxx > it’s abby

Why is she texting me? Why was she going through his phone?

I shrug it off and quickly add her to my contacts and sit at the edge of the bed before answering.

< hey! what’s up

Abby > him and sam told me ur planning to check out that weird ass tower

Abby > i want in

Ohhh, Abigail. Just as fuckin’ peachy as ever. The stresses of the past two days aren’t allowing me to cope well with her intrusion... makin’ it real hard to want to be friends with her.

I sigh, silently urging myself to smile through the pain. It’ll pay off! If we can be friends, everyone will benefit, right?

Right?

< fine by me

< i’ll keep ya posted :)

Abby > no you won’t

Abby > we’re going tonight :)

…What?

Abby > i’ll meet you outside ur place at 12

WHAT?

< do i get any say in this?

Abby > c ya laterrr ;)

“Oh , come the fuck ON, bro!”

I hear Cannoli subtly activate beside me and put a comforting hand on his back, eyes still trained on Abby’s texts.

I peer up a few inches for the time. Just turned 8. That gives me 4 hours to contact Magnus somehow (I really need this dude’s fucking number, if he even has a phone), figure out some sort of plan that’ll benefit us both, and get back home… Ugh. I’m gonna have to go all the way there, aren’t I?

I’ve gotta leave, like, now.

I’m in the same outfit I wore out yesterday, but with one less bra and some cozy gray shorts instead of a skirt. Now isn’t the time for a bra. I toss my white sneakers over the black crew socks I’d been wearing, grab my keys, and make a dash for Magnus’ tower. I use my left forearm and hand to flatten my chest, keeping the ladies from flopping around, while my right arm pumps, phone and keys clutched in its hand.

The longer I run, the more I realize that I’m not tired. Like, at all. My lungs are fine, my heart rate seems as low as it usually rests, and I’m not breaking a sweat despite the humid summer air clinging to my skin. I wonder if this is what Magnus meant when he said the potion would lower my fatigue, like, permanently.

I also have the jarring realization that these shorts are short and they’re riding up my ass and coochie and Yoba I’m gonna look like a fucking mess showing up to his house like this. I shake my head and right wrist briefly to stop myself from getting too distracted. Gotta focus on keeping my pace.

Once the tower is within viewing distance, I check my phone for the time. About 15 minutes have passed – Magnus and I will have a few hours to get something done. I pick up the pace, only now starting to feel any shortness in my breath or dampness on my forehead. As I near the bottom of the cliff his tower’s perched on, I call out the wizard’s name, hoping he’ll hear me or feel my presence or something.

Thankfully, it works like a charm – just a few seconds after his title escapes my mouth, his response echoes within me.

“(Y/n)? What’s wrong?” He sounds worried – must’ve sensed my urgency. I sigh out in relief that he was able to answer so quickly. “Is everything alright?”

“Not really,” I explain, making my way up the steps. “Abby wants to come here tonight.”

“Fuck,” he groans, with his low and rumbly voice.

My breath hitches because o-oh my god that was the first time I’ve heard him say The Fuck Word and it sounded so—?!

I feel the hairs raise on my arms and my heart rate and temperature only now pick up.

No, (y/n)! Stop it! Bad dog!

I stop proceeding forward once I make it to the top of the stairs, breathe deeply, and blink a few times, in a desperate attempt to keep my mind empty and unable to be perceived.

Noticing how my hair threatens to stick to my neck and face, I tip my upper half down to pull my tresses up into a ponytail. God, my shorts were already riding up before, but the bent over motion I just did is shoving them further into my crack. Luckily, I’m able to get them into a more appropriate position by the time Magnus opens the door.

He asks aloud, “When will she be arriving?” as I give myself a once-over to make sure I’m not terribly disheveled.

“She wants to meet me at my house at midnight, and work from there.”

As I roll my sleeves to my elbows, I look up to meet his eyes, blue with concern. He sighs and runs his hands through his hair, his other on his hip, as he scans my face, and then my body oh god oh fuck and then my face again.

“Well,” he looks down at his feet in thought for a moment, trailing off. He seems to be in thought, but I could swear I just saw a flash of pink or red in his irises before they turned maroon again… Huh. “I must disguise anywhere that will be accessible, as well as bar off the basement.”

Magnus meets my orbs again, looking more confident this time around. “I can perform an enchantment to rearrange the appearance of my home, but it will require plenty of energy. It would be too risky to try the same spell downstairs, due to its inventory. Would you be willing to complete a small task while I work?”

I nod, “Yeah, of course.” I walk forward, so that I’m not, like, shouting at him from the top of the stairs anymore.

He lets me inside as he explains the first priority for the night. Magnus leads me downstairs, and describes that he has a statue down here – he calls it the Shrine of Illusions – which he can use to change his appearance at the cost of a drop of blood and some money. He has to do this, being how much different he looks than your average villager around here; and we do want him to seem like some guy that just so happens to like living in seclusion, after all.

While he’s talking, I gaze around yearningly at the bookshelves surrounding either side of the hallway. It’s been so long since I’ve read anything other than, like, fanfiction. Noticing my wandering eyes, he promises to allow me back here in the future, claiming a lot of these will help with my potential apprenticeship.

The room he escorts me to has some more books and a lounging area to the left, and the Shrine to the right, with a smaller version of the spell circle he has upstairs in front of it. I assume he needs to stand there or some shit for the shrine to do its thing.

After a warning that it’ll take him a bit to finish his transformation, I get cozy with a book on the opposite end of the room. The one I picked out at random – The Wizard’s Compendium: Oaths of the Corrupted – is an allegedly true story about the people who used to live in a desert in Galdora, now called the Crimson Badlands. It became dangerous and barren over time, due to a rising presence of black magic amongst its inhabitants.

I want to focus on the book so badly. I’m genuinely interested in learning, especially based on what the summary has to say about it… but once I glimpse up to check on Magnus, I find it hard to revert my attention.

As he works, his skin glows brightly, like those fancy berries he’s cultivating outside. He sits cross legged, floating above the also glowing ring painted on the floor, with his hands splayed out in front of him as some funky lil’ stars twirl around them. A slight breeze blows his hair out of his face, and his expression resembles that of someone who’s sleeping: eyes closed, mouth relaxed, only deep breaths escaping him.

He’s so beautiful.

Fuck.

No.

Stop ogling.

Wincing at myself, I sink lower onto the scarlet cushion of the sofa, and attempt to delve back into the book. Just when I’m finally getting lost in its contents, Magnus approaches.

“Alright, how do I look?”

Taking note of what page I’m on for future reference, I shut the book and all but melt at the figure before me.

Magnus’ usual gray skin is now a rich, dark amber. His hair is black with some gray speckled throughout, and his eyes are a deep and piercing shade of liquid gold, with some light wrinkles adorning the corners and bags. His ears are no longer pointed, but all else remains the same – he’s still crazy tall, still has the same features, and still has that stupid little beauty mark under his one eye. His clothes aren’t different either, but his earrings are gone.

Unfortunately, he looks stunning.

I barely even notice how easily I fucking blurt that opinion out to him oh my fucking god, but when his eyes widen and a deep crimson paints his cheeks, I realize my mistake. My features mirror his in an instant.

“O-oh my god, I mean, um…” I stammer for a sec as I look down at the closed book in my lap, trying to figure out the best way to escape this situation. “I just…” There is no escape. “I didn’t mean to just…” I am trapped. “Fuck.” I am a dumbass. “Sorry…” I mumble in defeat, hiding my face in my hands.

I only look back up when I feel his hand comfortingly flatten against my scalp, prompting a squeak out of me. He’s smirking, and has a mischievous glint in his eye as he starts his response. That look isn’t something I see often... only from, like, Seb.

My boyfriend…

Fuck me.

“I appreciate the praise, (y/n).” His voice sounds more… silky than usual? Hello?! “Truly.”

He removes the hand from my head and gestures for me to give him my own, so he can help me from my seat. I quietly and meekly thank him as I return the book back to its spot on the shelf. Then, Magnus explains our next steps:

I’m gonna be performing a low-level spell – one that he thinks I should be able to manage, despite my fucking atrocious experience with magic yesterday – in order to reinforce that nobody’ll be able to enter the basement until Abby’s gone. He doesn’t want me near him as he enchants the main areas, because one wrong move by me can throw everything off. He reminds me that we don’t want Abby to know magic is, like, an actuality yet. Any indication of what he does can turn this night into a whole thing. So, when I’m done enchanting the door, I’m to wait at the bottom of the stairs that lead down here until further notice.

I patiently linger by the top of the steps, admiring Magnus’ plants until he returns with a tome. He opens to the page I’ll need, and points to a specific section; he then mutters something barely legible, and a purple highlighter effect spreads across the lines I’m supposed to read.

“Remember, (y/n),” he sternly orders with a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t read anything else in this book out loud, even as a whisper.” I nod, and he reinforces the point, his unfamiliarly dazzling eyes boring into mine. “The effects of any other spell in this book summoned by an untrained mage could legitimately become catastrophic.”

“Got it,” I confirm with another nod. I let out a shaky breath as I look away from his face. “No pressure.”

His hand still on my shoulder, he gives it a squeeze. “Hey,” he calls for my attention. “I am assigning this to you so that you can practice. It’s quite elementary, but being that you’ve never incanted a spell before, it is truly not an issue if you find yourself unable.” Magnus offers a reassuring smile, seemingly melting my worries away. “I believe you can do this. And if your efforts fail, it’s nothing that I can’t fix once I’m done with my own duties upstairs. Alright?”

I nod again. Go off, bobblehead. I grin up at his kind features and thank him for the support, adding, “I’ll do my best.”

As Magnus climbs the stairs, he assures me he’ll need no more than 25 minutes, but reminds me that I absolutely cannot interrupt.

When he’s gone, I sigh, and look down at the open book in my arms. I sit on the steps in front of the locked door, reading it over in my head a few times.

I fumble my words often when I’m nervy, but when it comes to reading things out loud, I’m a fucking disaster. I need to rehearse this a few times if I want to do it correctly… then again, I don’t know if I can do the spell, nor do I know how much mana I have if that’s even something I do have, so I’m unsure of how many chances I’ll get to get this right.

A few minutes pass before I hear things moving around upstairs. I’m assuming that means Magnus is already deep in his work.

Now’s probably a good time to try this.

I stand up, taking a few deep breaths and hopping in place a little to shake out my worries. I then reach out in front of me until my palm is flat on the wooden door, look down at the grimoire, and begin.

My incantation is slow, and I’m careful to enunciate the words on the page. A few syllables in, something begins to tickle the inside of my stomach – it’s hard to ignore, but I do my best to push it aside. Before I know it, that feeling spreads, and suddenly it’s like I can distinctly feel each and every vein pulsing in my body. With only a few words left, the hand on the door begins to shimmer similarly to how Magnus did downstairs during his makeover.

And then…

There’s no fancy sparks, or any visible force coating the door, or anything. All that fancy shit… just kinda stopped once my words faded.

…Maaybe I just have to test it for myself?

I take a deep breath, wrap my fingers around the handle, and swing the door open with ease god fucking damnit.

I wish I knew what had gone wrong, but I’ve obviously got no idea, and it’s not like I have Magnus here supervising or providing guidance.

I guess I’ll just have to keep going.

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