#and i'm struggling with it for some reason

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (11/?)

Part Summary: You listen, and her reasons make sense, but they don't ease the tightness gripping your heart. Knowing how well Leigh understands the control she holds over you leaves you feeling exposed, almost humiliated. It feels manipulative, whether she intended it or not.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.300+ | Warnings: Angst | Author's note: Buckle up you guys.

Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X

-

You've never looked at Leigh this way before. 

Not even when she confronted you months ago, a formidable presence with a devastating revelation that shattered what you thought was a straightforward affair with a single man. Not even when she accused you of lying, or when she consistently made things difficult for you. 

Now, you look at her as if she's an entirely different person. And from the way you fall back, it's obvious you don't particularly like what you see. Leigh hadn't realized just how painful it could be to be looked at in such a way. With each of your steps, panic swells inside her. Though you're only a few feet away, it feels as if you've drifted oceans apart. She can't reach you, and the growing distance makes her fear she never will.

“What did you say?” you repeat slowly, each syllable dropping like a stone—deliberate and heavy.

Your eyes, hard and cold, fix on her. It’s an unsettling sight; she'd almost prefer your anger. Anger, at least, is a familiar adversary, a clear-cut emotion she has long helmed and appeased within herself. She understands anger, knows how to quell it, how to unravel it into something resembling forgiveness or at least a truce. But this wounded belief—she doesn’t know what to do with it. It doesn’t want loud arguments or quick fixes. Instead, it seems to demand something she finds far harder to give: an explanation of motives she's not sure she fully understands herself.

“Your eyes are... enthralling?” Leigh stammers out, her voice quivering slightly as she attempts some self-preservation. She regrets the words as soon as they slip out, sounding hollow and clumsy to her own ears.

You don't laugh, or even react much at all, except to say, “You know that's not what I'm talking about.”

Leigh’s heart sinks a bit more. She winces, shaking her head, realizing the frivolous comment has fallen flat, doing nothing to undo the damage. In the end, she can’t bring herself to say what she knows you want to hear.

“After all this time, how…? How do you know about that nickname?” you ask, maintaining a façade of indifference though you can feel the cracks forming. 

“I work for the website,” Leigh says, her eyes dropping to the floor when she hears you take in a sharp breath. “I used to run the advice column there. But when Matt died, I couldn't handle it anymore and I left.” She stops for a moment, her gaze flickering back to you, searching for a reaction, but you remain silent, your expression unreadable. 

“They brought me back recently, just as a contributor. I wasn't sure how to tell you. It's part of how I'm trying to move on, getting back into writing, even though it feels different now,” she adds somberly.

“So, did you just read my entries and figure out it was me from what I wrote?” you ask, your voice low and uncertain.

Leigh swallows dryly, steeling herself for what she has to say next. “Not only did I read your entries,” she admits slowly, her voice a whisper of trepidation, “but I was the one replying to them.”

After her confession, Leigh struggles to meet your eyes. Her ears are filled with the loud rush of her heartbeat, thumping wildly as the seconds tick by without a word from you. Time seems suspended, and when you don't speak, move, or give any indication of your thoughts, dread begins to creep into the edges of her mind.

“I was going to tell you,” Leigh murmurs, the words barely escaping her lips. Your arms cross over your chest, sealing yourself off even more. She feels you slipping further away, when just moments earlier, you had been kissing the life out of her, as if trying to breathe her in. 

This can’t be happening, Leigh thinks. It just can’t.

“When?” you scoff. “When you’re… what? Done with your revenge?”

Leigh’s brow furrows at the accusation. “Revenge?”

“Isn’t that what this is about?” you ask, retreating until your back meets the wall, leaning heavily against it. Leigh notices the fatigue etched into your features, as if the realization that she knew about your submissions and was the one responding to them is more than you can bear.

“I don’t—”

“Payback for what went on between me and Matt?” 

“Y/N,” Leigh utters your name hard, like a deity in her prayers. “You’re misunderstanding this—”

“Am I?” you challenge, your voice rising.  You don't care if the neighbors hear; you’ve never met any of them anyway. “I remember a ‘Gigi Herrel’ advising me to move on, to meet other people, to pursue someone else—”

Your words become stuck in your throat as you realize that ‘Gigi Herrel’ is an anagram for ‘Leigh Greer.’ How could you have missed it? How could you have been so blind?

Leigh aches to reach out to you, to touch you and reassure you that she never meant any harm, that her intentions were never what you're accusing her of. But her hands remain at her sides, afraid you might recoil or push her away. She worries that one wrong move could drive you away for good.

“I never meant to hurt you. Please, Y/N,” she begs, her voice trembling with an urgency neither of you thought she was capable of. “I was trying to protect you—from myself. I’m a mess, Y/N. I’ve been a mess since Matt…” Leigh trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

“You thought toying with my feelings was protection?”

“I wasn’t!” Leigh objects forcefully.

You slump to the ground, your strength giving out as a sharp, nail-like pain spreads through your head. You bury your face in your hands, fingers pressing into your temples, while Leigh sits across from you, her hands nervously twisting together.

Quietly, you voice your frustrations. “If it wasn't a game, then why do I feel like I've been losing all this time? Things would be fine between us, and then suddenly, you'd ignore me. My texts went unanswered, my messages unseen for days. It felt like you weren't even treating me right as a friend. I'd drive myself crazy wondering if I said something wrong or did something wrong… It feels like I'm always walking on eggshells. So, if it wasn't a game, tell me you didn't do those things on purpose. Because if not, then you were awful to me without even trying. You know that, right?”

Leigh's eyes brim with remorse. She quickly wipes at her eyes before a tear can fall, trying to maintain her composure in front of you.. “I would never play games with you,” she implores. “I've been in pieces for so long that I've forgotten what it means to be whole. When I found out about your feelings, I didn’t understand them. I couldn't see how it could happen when I wasn't my best self.

“I pushed you away because I was scared of letting you see the real me—the broken, messy parts. I thought that if you got too close, saw too much, you'd realize there wasn't much to hold onto. That eventually, you'd see me the way I see myself and end up disappointed.” Her voice trembles, betraying the strength she tries to project.

You listen, and her reasons make sense, but they don't ease the tightness gripping your heart. Knowing how well Leigh understands the control she holds over you leaves you feeling exposed, almost humiliated. It feels manipulative, whether she intended it or not.

“You knew how I felt about you, Leigh,” you say, your lips curving into a wistful smile. “I understand that you're hurting and that being scared is part of it, but it doesn't justify leaving me hanging, wondering where I stand with you, feeling like I'm just... waiting for you to decide I'm worth your time.”

Leigh nods slowly. “I realize that now, and I'm so sorry. It wasn't fair to you. I was trying to manage my own issues, but I ended up projecting them onto you.”

You look into her eyes, searching for a sign that the change you need from her is possible. “Being broken isn't a reason to break others,” you say.

Leigh flinches slightly, your words hitting home. “You’re absolutely right,” she agrees, her eyes unblinking. You can tell that if you were to list her faults, she would agree and confess to them all just to resolve things right here and now. But that's not what you want, nor what you need from her.

“Y/N,” Leigh's voice almost breaks as she says your name. “Will you forgive me?”

Yes, you think instinctively. Forgiving Leigh feels almost second nature. But actually saying it out loud right now would set a course you're not sure you're ready to follow. Trust has been strained and rebuilding it isn't as simple as uttering a single word of forgiveness.

Leigh looks at you expectantly, anxiety lining her features. “Y/N?” she repeats softly.

You understand what she's silently asking: if there's a chance to reset everything. But you're not ready to commit to an answer. Offering her any assurance now might only lead to false hopes, especially if you later decide a real relationship isn't possible. Part of you wants to give in, to return to her embrace and pick up where you left off. But another part, perhaps the more rational side, holds you back.

“Leigh, I... can we just... I need some time to think,” you finally say. Disappointment flashes across her face, almost imperceptible but unmistakably there. As Leigh stands, you expect her to quietly leave, respecting your need for space. Instead, she spins around to face you with renewed determination.

“I'm not a perfect person, okay?” she whispers, but you can still sense the rough edges around her voice. This is a side of Leigh you're all too familiar with, having felt the sting of her impatience and temper more times than you'd like. But instead of rising to the challenge, you simply feel drained—too exhausted to argue tonight.

“You don't have to be perfect, Leigh,” you say, more tired than angry. Then, almost impulsively, you ask, “Does Danny know you’re here?”

Leigh's composure slips for just a moment at the mention of his name. Guilt or surprise crosses her face like a shadow, only to vanish as quickly as it appeared. Her jaw tightens, and you sense her displeasure at the topic. “No, he doesn't know I'm here,” she says curtly.

Well, at least she’s being honest. But what were you expecting—that her presence here meant she had chosen you?

“You need some time to think too,” you say, pushing yourself up and moving toward the door. Leigh's expression stiffens as her eyes follow your movements. You open the door, gesturing for her to leave. She approaches, hesitating just short of it, her gaze searching for the right words or maybe just some reassurance, but finding neither.

“I'm sorry,” she murmurs, her defiance fading. “This isn't how I imagined tonight would go. I don't regret what happened, really, but I hate that it ended up hurting you. That's not why I came here.”

“I know,” you reply, unsure of what else to say. 

Leigh starts to leave, then hesitates again just before crossing the threshold. “Can I contact you?”

You let out a sigh. "Good night, Leigh."

She swallows hard and nods slowly. “Bye,” she whispers.

You gently close the door after her and lean against it for a moment. Leigh has turned your world upside down more times than you can count, and you two haven't even truly begun.

-

“Do you ever just think about disappearing?”

Jules lifts her head to look at her sister. They lie side by side at the foot of Leigh's bed, with empty glasses of milk on the floor next to them and an open pack of Oreos, an invitation for the ants.

The night before, after the whole debacle with you finding out she’s been answering your advice submissions, Leigh had come home with her lips still tingling and her stomach in knots. She had almost run to her room in a huff, drawing puzzled looks from Jules and Amy, before slamming her bedroom door shut. They knew better than to ask what was wrong and wisely kept their distance. That was, until Leigh didn't come out of her room the entire morning until afternoon, except for a quick trip to the kitchen for some food, and even then, she was wearing the same clothes as the day before. A single whiff from a few feet away also made it clear she hadn't showered either. 

Worried, Jules decided to intervene with a little gesture that she hoped might coax her sister out of her shell. She grabbed a packet of Oreos from the pantry and poured a glass of milk—Leigh’s comfort snack since childhood—and tapped softly on her sister's door. Leigh didn’t answer. She tried the knob, found it unlocked, and pushed the door open. The sight of Leigh, all disheveled and pale with those heavy bags under her eyes, took Jules right back to those first several days after they learned Matt had been found dead at the bottom of a cliff.

Jules lifts her head to look at her sister. “Leigh, you're scaring me. You know that, right?”

Leigh quickly shakes her head, realizing how her words sounded. “No, no, I don’t mean like that. Not disappearing in the way Matt did.” She sighs, throwing an arm over her eyes. “I just mean... rebooting, you know? Wishing we could rewind to before everything got so complicated.”

Relieved by the clarification, Jules settles back down beside her. They both gaze up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

“I wish I never tasted alcohol when I was fifteen,” Jules says suddenly. 

Leigh frowns. “That bad, huh?”

Jules smiles wryly and nods. “Yeah. Some choices just stick with you, you know? Can’t undo them. Just have to live with what comes after.”

Leigh's thoughts drift as she listens to Jules, a rueful smile crossing her lips. “You know, I've got my own list of should've, would've, could've. I always thought I'd finish college, maybe become an editor or write something of my own one day.”

Jules tries to offer a silver lining. “But you don’t need a degree to be a writer, Leigh.”

“Yeah, I know,” Leigh mumbles, tracing a pattern on the bedspread absentmindedly. “It's just... having that formal education might have made things easier. Like being pushed by mentors... or the doors it would've opened, the people I would've met. But more than that, I regret not sticking it out. I quit too easily.”

Then, turning on her side with her back to Jules, she continues, “But in the end, it all circles back to Matt somehow. This… this inability to follow through really got to me after he was gone. We had so many plans, so many dreams together. And now none of them will ever happen.”

“You still really love him, don't you?”

Leigh’s answer is slow to come. “Yes,” Leigh whispers, her reply muffled slightly by the pillow. After a moment, she adds, “And no.”

Before Jules can comment on it, she continues, “It’s like… I love who we were, who he was to me. And I love all the memories, every plan we made, every silly promise. But,” she stops, picking her words carefully, “but there’s also this part of me that’s learning to live without that, to not need it so much. It feels like moving on, and that part doesn’t love the pain, doesn’t want to keep holding on if it just hurts.”

Jules reaches out, resting her hand on Leigh’s shoulder, offering a silent show of support. “And, um, does that tie into why you were so upset last night?”

Leigh's laugh is faint and strained. “Yes,” she says softly, “and no.” Then she rolls over to face Jules, burying the lower half of her face in the blankets.

“How so?”

“It’s complicated, Jules. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Alright,” Jules huffs. “I’ll guide you then. Does it have something to do with what I said about Y/N seeing Sara?”

Leigh doesn't answer. Instead, she sits up, letting the blanket fall around her lap as the steady breeze from the air conditioning causes her skin to prickle with goosebumps. 

Jules sits up as well. “It's fine to be upset over her. You can grieve for others too, not just Matt. You can’t keep using him as the reason for all your pain. If you want to handle this, you’ve got to figure out what you're really up against.”

“Since when did you start playing therapist?”

Jules smirks. “Rehab over the past five years teaches you some things.”

Leigh forces a smile. She knows Jules jokes to cope, using humor to deal with everything she’s been through. Taking a breath, Leigh says, “I saw her last night.”

“I figured,” Jules says with a knowing look. “You dashed out of the house without even putting on a bra.”

Leigh covers her face, cringing. “You noticed that?”

Jules chuckles. “Well, it's not like any of us, including Mom, bothers wearing one around the house,” she jokes, and they both laugh. “So, did you actually forget to put one on, or…?”

Leigh rolls her eyes and gives Jules a light elbow to the side. “I forgot, okay?”

Jules grins, teasing, “Well, not like it got you any action considering how annoyed you looked when you got back last night.”

Leigh goes quiet, her eyes flitting around the room. “Well, actually…”

Jules leans in, eyes wide. “Oh my god, something happened?”

Leigh bites her lower lip. “We…kissed.”

Jules's brow creases together. “And it was that bad? You looked miserable and locked yourself up all day. Was it really just because of a bad kiss?”

“It wasn’t,” Leigh corrects her quickly. “It was good. Like, really good.” She must look a bit dreamy thinking back on it because Jules grabs a pillow and playfully smacks her in the face.

“Alright, be serious,” Jules says, fighting to keep a straight face. “What really happened?”

Leigh sniffs, clearly reluctant to revisit the details but she begins recounting it for Jules. She explains how she received a submission for the advice column she writes for, from someone using the pseudonym ‘EspressoEyes.’ It arrived on her birthday and was intriguing enough that she responded immediately. She had no idea it was you, but as the details matched too perfectly with your birthday surprise, she started to connect the dots. Then came another question, so on point that she couldn't chalk it up to coincidence anymore. After the kiss you shared last night, she let slip that you truly have espresso eyes. 

“...and that's when everything fell apart,” Leigh finishes, flopping back onto the mattress with a bounce, face down, her hair fanning out around her.

Leigh waits for Jules to react, to say anything. But her sister doesn’t speak or even make a sound for a long time, and just as she’s about to sneak a peek at her sister, curious and a bit anxious, Jules says, “Honestly, if I were Y/N, I’d be very much horrified too.”

Leigh gives her a look that’s both curious and wary. “Yeah?”

“Telling someone you have feelings for them is scary,” Jules explains. “Imagine finding out that the feelings you’ve been hiding came out in such a vulnerable, almost embarrassing way.”

“I guess you’re right,” Leigh concedes.

“But,” Jules continues, “the real problem is that you didn't address it right after you figured it out. You let her pine for you before pulling her in.”

Leigh nods and grabs an Oreo from the floor, popping the whole thing into her mouth. “And I still don't know why I confronted Y/N about Sara right away. By the way, you're an asshole for that, Jules. Y/N isn't dating Sara.”

Jules just grins, completely unabashed. “I know. But it was fun seeing you all riled up.”

Leigh sighs, the cookie in her mouth losing its sweetness. “I feel so stupid for needing that push. I didn't even realize what was happening. It felt like being hit by a truck when I realized I wanted her. And I didn't trust it, you know? Especially since I haven't even been into women since my ex in college.”

Jules studies her sister thoughtfully. “So, what now that you've messed up?”

Leigh looks away, her face shrouded with uncertainty. She wishes she had a definite answer, but she knows only time will tell. “She said she needs some time to think, and I'll give her as much as she needs.”

“And in the meantime,” Jules asks, her eyes brightening with a bit too much enthusiasm, “are you going to break up with Danny?”

“Right,” Leigh mutters weakly, “I almost forgot about Danny.”

-

You carefully place your rental bike against the railing on the front porch, careful not to scratch the paint. After spending a year in sunny Los Angeles, the crisp autumn air of Camden, Maine, nips at your cheeks, reminding you just how unaccustomed you've become to the cold. You pull your bomber jacket tighter around your body, a futile shield against the chill, and find yourself yearning for the relentless sun that’s now hiding above the clouds of your hometown.

The aroma of blueberry pie wafts from the slightly ajar front door of the Ranch style home where you spent most of your childhood, drawing you irresistibly towards the warmth inside. From where you stand, you can see the boats bobbing in the harbor, their masts swaying gently in the breeze. You can nearly taste the ocean’s saltiness, brought back vividly through memories of sailing with your father.

“Mom?” you call out as you step inside after removing your shoes. “I’m home!”

Your mom appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a flour-dusted apron. She looks up, her eyes lighting up when she sees you, and she quickly closes the distance to wrap you in a tight hug. Over the years, she’s grown shorter, now standing three inches below you. As she hugs you, you rest your cheek on her salt-and-pepper hair, which smells sweetly of sugar and blueberries.

“Welcome home, honey,” she says, her voice muffled against your jacket. “I wasn't expecting you until dinner.”

“I managed to catch an earlier flight,” you say, squeezing her a little tighter. “Where's Morris?” you ask, referring to her partner and the man who's been sort of a stepdad to you, although your mom and he never got married. They've been sharing this home for the last ten years.

“He's out back,” she replies, pointing towards the yard through the kitchen window. “He's been trying to get the garden ready for winter before the frost sets in.”

You hum in response, dropping your duffel onto the couch nearby.

“Are you hungry?” your mom asks, turning towards the fridge.

“Am I too early for the pie?” you ask, your stomach rumbling at the thought.

Your mom turns around with a wide, toothy grin. “You made it just in time.”

-

Your bedroom is just as you left it last year, preserved in time. Your mom has kept the dust at bay, and the sheets feel freshly laundered, as if you'd only left them hours ago. Instinctively, you gravitate towards the shelves lined with various framed photos of your family. Smiling faces of your brother and your father gaze back at you from the pictures, and a warm, nostalgic smile spreads across your face. You feel a pang of yearning for them—it's been too long.

With a sigh, you collapse onto the bed and pull out your phone. As promised, Leigh hasn’t made any attempts to reach out to you. Without thinking, you browse through her social media accounts, though there's nothing new since you discovered she knew about your feelings all along. Nonetheless, you scroll through her old photos, the ones from before she was widowed, where her smiles seem effortless and full of confidence, as if happiness was her default.

You miss her; that much you can't deny. But you're still hurt, not just because she didn't come clean about her discovery, but also because of the way she often treated you—the hot and cold attitude, the confusion, the lack of kindness and consideration. Time and again, you've given her the benefit of the doubt, especially considering she's grieving a loved one with a secret that further complicated his passing. You understand loss, having faced it yourself, but you've never allowed your grief to justify lashing out at others or toying with someone's emotions. It makes you wonder how you even fell for her in the first place. 

Before you know it, your eyelids grow heavy and you nod off, your phone slipping onto the comforter. You're not sure how long you've been out when a soft knock on your door jolts you awake.

“Come in,” you mumble, still half in a daze as you rub your eyes.

The door creaks open and your mom pops her head in. “Dinner's almost ready,” she says with a warm smile. “Want to come down and help me set the table?”

You nod. “Can you give me five minutes? I promise I'll help.”

Without waiting for a response, she walks over to sit beside you on the bed, gently stroking your hair as if you were still a child. “What’s wrong?” she asks softly. Your mother has always been your confidante, able to read you like an open book. You can't hide anything from her; she'll know.

“I keep falling for the wrong person,” you say, offering a bittersweet smile.

“Oh, honey,” she murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Love is more complicated than the right or wrong person. We're all a combination of good and bad; it's just a matter of deciding whether it's worth it in the end.”

You reflect on your past relationships, few though they are, and realize you're better off without them. They were either taking what they could get or using you as a fallback for their own misery.

“Do you feel like this person could be worth it?” she asks.

“I honestly don’t know,” you say. “It’s all so uncertain.”

“And that's fine,” she says. “Love isn't a sprint. Give yourself the space to figure it out.”

You're finding it hard to agree with her. If only the answers could be handed to you, saving you from future heartbreak. Why do some lessons have to be learned the hard way? Why don't people come with warnings and expectations?

Noticing how unconvinced you seem, your mom offers an idea.

“Tell you what, let's ask Morris to set the table for us. How about you and I go see your brother and father before dinner?”

-

You and your mom walk side by side through the cemetery, hands clasped together. You haven’t visited your father and brother’s graves in over a year, and you've been fighting back tears since leaving the house.

Your mom unfurls a thick blanket over the damp grass, spreading it out with care before you both settle onto it. She surprises you by pulling out a bottle of white wine from her bag. You lift an eyebrow, and she laughs, saying, “In my defense, I used to drink stronger liquor back in the day.”

You chuckle, picking up an empty glass and holding it out. “Pour me one.”

She fills your glass before pouring her own, and the two of you sit there, sipping wine quietly. 

A few minutes later, she turns to you and says, “So, tell me about her.”

You nearly choke on your drink, surprised she knows it’s a woman. “How did you know?”

She smiles impishly. “You’ve always had poorer judgment when it comes to girls, so I figured this is what’s been on your mind.”

You can’t help but be impressed by how well she reads you. “Her name is Leigh. She's the wife of someone I used to see,” you say.

Your mom’s smile vanishes, replaced by shock. “Wait, you're saying you had an affair and now you're seeing his wife on the side?”

You burst into laughter at her horrified expression. “No, it's not like that.” Taking a deep breath, you tell her the whole story: how Matt died and how his wife, Leigh, found you after discovering Matt had cheated on her.

As your mom listens, her shock softens into contemplation. She tops up your wine and says thoughtfully, “Well, that’s complicated.”

“Yeah, it is.”

You open up to your mom about Leigh, sharing both the beautiful and terrible moments without holding back. As you recount the story, it's like rereading a passage in a book and analyzing it with new eyes. When you finish, your mother sets down her drink and says, “She's mean to you.”

You nod, draining the last of your wine.

“Loss does things to people,” she says softly. “You and I both know that better than anyone.”

“We do,” you say quietly.

Your mom regards you for a moment, then asks, “What do you see in Leigh? Why do you like her?”

You think about it, grappling with how to express the spectrum of emotions Leigh evokes in you. 

“She’s pretty, definitely, and there’s a sharpness to her that’s... captivating. She’s unapologetically herself, and it’s often really funny. But… does that sound shallow? I can’t help but feel a bit foolish listing these superficial things—”

Your mom gently places her hand on yours, stopping your words. “You don’t need a poetic reason to love someone,” she says with a small smile. “Sometimes you just do. But mostly, we feel connected to people because we recognize some part of our soul in them. Recognition is why people are together, Y/N. Can you really love a stranger?”

Perhaps it’s true. Leigh isn’t really a stranger to you. Aside from concealing her knowledge of your feelings, she never pretended to be someone she wasn't. She was honest, showing you both her strengths and flaws. And you didn’t have to like all of it. But you kept coming back, eager to uncover more of her layers.

She continues, “By the way, you must be wondering why I brought you here.”

You glance around at the headstones of your father and brother, then back at her. “Yeah, I was.”

She looks toward the gravestones, her eyes misty. “To remind you that we don’t have all the time in the world. We have to make our time count, even if it means taking risks or facing things we're afraid of. Love isn't easy, but it’s worth finding the right person and making it work.”

“What if it doesn't work out, though?” you ask.

She smiles knowingly. “If it doesn’t, at least you’ll know you gave it a chance. You won't be left wondering what could have been. And that matters.” 

She gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, and you return it, feeling a bit more grounded. She waits for her words to settle in you, before asking, “You’ve already made your choice, haven’t you?”

You nod slowly, a growing sense of certainty welling up inside. “I think I have.”

“Well, then. Let’s finish our bottle and head back.”

-

“You waited until after Thanksgiving dinner to break up with me?” Danny's voice cracks as he speaks, his figure looming in the doorway of his apartment, blocking Leigh's exit. His eyes dart between anger and desperation, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth set in a stern line. Yet, his hands are open, reaching toward her—pleading.

They had just returned from Thanksgiving dinner at the Shaws'. Leigh wanted to create one last pleasant memory with Danny, something kind to look back on. Aware of his strained relationship with his mom, she didn't want to leave him alone during the holidays by breaking up earlier. Now she accompanied him back to his apartment, planning to end things there and collect her belongings afterward.

Leigh turns to face him, her expression somber. “I just... I thought it was the right time to talk, after everything settled down.”

“After everything settled down?” Danny repeats incredulously. “You mean after we spent the whole day with your family, pretending everything was fine?”

Leigh sighs, knowing how it looks but needing him to understand. “I know how it seems, but I couldn't do it before dinner. It didn’t feel right to ruin the holiday for everyone.”

Danny steps back from the doorway, giving her space to enter. “So, you decided to ruin my night instead?”

Leigh walks inside, closing the door behind her. “I'm really sorry, Danny. I’ve felt for a while that this isn’t working, and I can't keep stringing you along.”

Danny runs a hand through his hair and starts pacing. “Is this about Matt?”

Leigh stills for a moment, considering her answer. It would be easy to say yes, to blame everything on that one pervasive loss. Matt has often been her scapegoat, but Leigh is tired of deceiving herself and others. For quite some time now, it hasn't been Matt’s absence that's been upending her world. Which is why she resolves to tell him the truth, aware that he would find out sooner or later.

Leigh sucks in a deep breath and looks Danny in the eye. “No, it's not about Matt. It's because of Y/N.”

Danny stops in his aimless tracks, his eyes narrowing. “Y/N?”

Leigh feels her heart race, knowing she can’t back down now. “Two weeks ago… we kissed.”

He blinks, stunned. “You kissed Y/N?” His voice is flat, almost disbelieving.

“It wasn’t planned, but... it happened. And it felt right, in a way I can’t ignore,” Leigh says.

Danny crosses his arms, scoffing. “I didn't know you were into women,” he says with a sneer, as if trying to insult her.

Leigh grits her teeth. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Clearly,” he replies bitterly. “So how many times? How long have you been cheating on me?”

Leigh shakes her head, holding her ground. “I didn’t purposely cheat on you, Danny. I didn’t even realize I had strong feelings for her until that night. It just happened.”

Danny's face contorts with rage, and he yells, “Stop lying to me, Leigh! You fucking checked out of this relationship a while ago, and now it makes sense. You were screwing someone else on the side.”

Leigh protests, “We’ve never slept—” but her words are cut off as Danny suddenly swings his fist into the wall beside him. The sound of splintering wood and cracking bones reverberates through the apartment, and Leigh stands frozen, shocked beyond belief at what she's witnessing.

Danny looks down at his bloodied knuckles, bewilderment creeping over his features as he pulls back from the wall. He catches his breath and stares at Leigh, their eyes meeting in horrified silence.

“Sorry… I’m so sorry,” Danny mumbles, cradling his injured hand.

Leigh quickly grabs his keys from the dusty fishbowl on the shelf. He watches her, his gaze confused and desperate. “What are you doing?”

She meets his eyes, surprised herself at how calm and collected she feels. “I’m taking you to the hospital. You need to get that hand looked at,” she replies.

He doesn’t protest, only nods numbly and follows her outside.

At the hospital, Danny sits in a stiff plastic chair, his freshly bandaged hand resting on his lap. Leigh is next to him, her eyes fixed on the speckled tile floor, avoiding his gaze.

After several minutes, Danny breaks the silence. “I didn’t know what happened back there,” he starts, his voice low and unsteady. “I didn’t want to be angry, but it just… it had to go somewhere. I’ve never hurt anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he tries to explain. 

Leigh turns to look at him, her expression blank. “You punched a wall, Danny. It doesn’t matter if you’ve never hit anyone; you’ve got some serious anger management issues.”

Danny stays quiet for a moment, staring at his bandaged hand as if he’s still trying to comprehend what he did. He finally looks up, his expression twisted in frustration. “I’ve been angry for a long time, Leigh. Long before Matt was gone. I can’t even remember a time when I wasn’t.”

“I understand that,” Leigh says, shifting in her seat. “Even with therapy, the anger and resentment don’t really disappear completely. They linger like shadows.” She exhales, glancing down at her lap. Before she can stop it, a small smile plays on her lips as she thinks of you. “But lately, when Y/N is around, I forget about it. So know that I didn’t make this decision lightly.”

Danny studies her for a moment before asking, “Did you ever love me? Did I ever stand a chance?”

There's no easy way to say this without hurting him, but she doesn’t want to leave him with false hope. “I tried, Danny. I wanted to,” she whispers.

Danny turns away, his body twisting from her. Leigh wants to feel worse than she does, but instead, she just wants this to be over. She hopes the billing clerk will soon call their name so they can pay and head home. It's been an unbearably long day.

As she waits, her thoughts drift to you. She wants to call you after this, to tell you that she wants to try with you, that it could be real. She wants to explain that she ended things with Danny, that she did it to be free to explore the possibility of being with you, without any reservations.

After a while, Danny lets out a slow sigh, then looks at Leigh with a despondent look. “If your mind’s made up, I should probably put everything out in the open too.”

Leigh looks at him expectantly, a little curious.

“I’ve been keeping something from you. I didn’t think it would matter, but now… well, I can’t hide it anymore.”

“Just say it, Danny,” Leigh says, crossing her arms.

Then Danny proceeds to tell her the one last secret he thought he'd carry to his grave.

[genshin-side-piece]

Sea otters hold hands when they sleep so they don’t drift apart so imagine Neuvillette unconciously doing that with his darling when they sleep together 🥺

This is so sweet, I'm going to melt. 💕💕💕

Personally, Neuvillette lives rent free in my head as a man who spoons. He recharges his social battery by wrapping you up in his embrace and whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he drifts off to sleep. He's heavier than he looks, so the added weight isn't exactly comfortable, but you bear it for your own preservation. It's not like you have anywhere else to go. If you try to leave, he'll tighten his hold on you. Squirm too much or kick at him and he'll use those long legs of his to hold you still. If by some miracle you manage to slip away, then you may find yourself the victim of a midnight chase through the dark corridors of Neuvillette's home.

His hearing is uncannily sharp for someone of his age. You can barely brush the floor with your foot before he's awake and aware of what you're trying to do. Neuvillette's vision is good in the dark, better than in the day you think. It's almost unhuman. He moves a little faster as well. His normal attire is cumbersome, the weight from the robes slows him down. In the night, when he has little more than his nightshirt on, he can move with greater ease. His personal best is catching you before you had ever left the bed. He had drug you back one armed, tucking your body under his as he wrapped both of you back up in the blankets. There was always a gentle reprimand that followed the next morning; either in the form of a verbal warning to not wander in the night or being subjected to spending the entire day with him to make up for the insult of trying to leave him before he was ready for you to.

Some nights he would let you get a little farther. The hallway, the top of the stairs, once he had let you get as far as the drawing room. There was no rhyme or reason as to why he varied on the level of distance he allowed. You had originally chalked it up to how tired he was or his mood; but both of those were about as consistent as the weather. In the end you truly didn't know. At this stage you didn't need too. Once Neuvillette decided he was ready to chase, your adventure outside the comfort of his arms was over.

You would run and he would chase and in the end, he always found you. There would be a small struggle. Your brain felt there was something in squirming and screaming as he silently wrapped his long arms around you; but nothing ever came of it. He would chuckle at you or growl at you as he pulled you in closer, his thin lips running down the side of your neck as he held you tight. On the nights where he was more excited or he had reached the end of his patience, he would nip at you. It was never enough to do any real damage, but he enjoyed baring his fangs at you all the same. You always seemed to concede defeat much faster when his teeth brushed against your skin. The sensation was enough to make you go limp in his arms, a silent resignation that he had once again won.

Once you had, he would always laugh. Neuvillette was always delighted in victory. He would scoop you up in his arms, snuggling you even closer as he carried you back to bed; his bed. There he would claim you as his prize, wrapping you up in a tangle of sheets and limbs, denied the right to leave, until he'd had his fill.

[marnikula]

Can u do early seasons spencer x reader who has a lot of problems and they let people walk all over them and they dont set boundaries and they struggle with their emotions. Reader likes spencer a lot but doesn't seek him out bc they feel like he deserves better! And u can decide what happens but make it happy ending :)

Oh my word, I literally spent like 2 hours writing this because I wrote something and then my internet cut out when I posted and now it's lost, so I had to rewrite it. Hope you enjoy!

Cw: gn reader, people dumping work on reader, Spencer being cute

Enjoy!

You were a doormat. You knew it, your friends knew it, everyone knew it. You tried to set boundaries, to say no, but it never seemed to stick. Saying no made you feel guilty, it made you feel like a bad person even though you knew you weren't.

Being a doormat, people tended to walk all over you, requesting ridiculous things of you. That is how it came to be that you were sitting alone in the bullpen, the clock ticking away, showing you that it was around midnight and you still had a whole stack of papers to go through. You felt yourself about to fall asleep, and truly, you were too tired to fight it off when a ding signaled the arrival of someone.

Without even turning to look who it was you knew it was Spencer Reid. You recognized his footsteps, and even if you didn't, the smell he brought with him would have alerted you. It was the smell of coffee mixed sweet undertones, almost as if he had spent his whole day in a café. It was intoxicating. "What are you still doing here?" "Working, I have a lot of stuff to finish before tomorrow" "you mean today" looking back at the clock you could see he was right, it was now officially the next day.

"Do you need some help?" without even waiting for you to decline Spencer took half of the pile you were working on. He moved fast, knowing you well enough to know that you hated asking for help, especially from him, he just could never figure out why.

"Spencer, you really don't need to, I've got this" reaching your hands to take the files back only to be swatted away by the doctor was something you did not expect. "I'm not saying you don't have it, I'm just going to help you so you can go home earlier"

Sighing you admitted defeat and went to go make coffee for the two of you. With Spencer's help you managed to make it through the massive stack of papers on your desk in less that an hour, something you would never have been able to do on your own.

"You, doctor Spencer Reid, are amazing, what can I do to thank you?" it was a slight tease on your part. You didn't expect him to ask you anything return, it wasn't like him, he was too nice . That was one of the things you loved about him, and one of the reasons you willed the crush growing in your heart to shrivel up and die. He deserved so much better than you. Someone with a mind as amazing as his own, someone with kindness rivaling his and someone who knew how to say no. You were none of those. At least not in your own eyes.

"You could go on a date with me" Spencer surprised himself with those words, he really hadn't meant to say them out loud, but he really liked you, and in a moment of confidence inspired by sleep deprevation, he decided to take a chance.

"Really? You mean it?" the both of you were blushing hard at this point, him thinking about how he could have possibly screwed this up and you thinking about how this could possibly get any better.

"I-I mean, only if you want to, you really don't have to feel pressured, I know I said I would take it as paiment, but honestly spending time with you was enough of a payme-" grabbing his face in your hands you turned him to look at you, shutting off his ramblings with the movement and shutting off his brain with your words

"I would love to"

[dorkofclanlavellan]

Giggly Sleepyhead (Fallout Preference)

Fandom: Fallout 4 Request: x Pairings: Cooper x Reader, Danse x Reader, Hancock x Reader, Valentine x Reader Trigger Warning: Tooth rotting sweetness.

Cooper Howard

His reaction depends on a couple of different details, honestly.

Pre-War!Coop would just find you adorable and smile as he totes or leads you to bed.

He'd make you giggle some more, both accidentally and on purpose. And of course he'd tease you a little about it.

If you're together after he becomes a Ghoul, he's not as amused by it. He'd seem annoyed and huffy though the longer you're in your relationship the more his annoyed demeanor becomes an obvious act.

He'd roll his eyes and pull you closer to him with a groan but the corners of his mouth would subtly quirk up.

Danse

This man would definitely raise an eyebrow. Sure Danse is familiar with some people being giggly when sleepy but he doesn't really get it.

He's not really grumpy when sleepy but he is more no-nonsense.

Although he can't deny that you are kind of adorable giggling and grinning for little reason. And your giggly nature has taught him how to tell when you definitely need some sleep.

The second you start giggling more than normal, he'd make sure to get you to bed and no funny business.

And he's learned to choose his words very carefully when you're sleepy. Otherwise you'll be cackling for several minutes at any incidental double entendres.

Hancock

Oh he would definitely enjoy you being giggly when you're sleepy.

In fact he enjoys it almost too much. Absolutely revels in the knowledge and you're going to regret him finding out. In the best way of course.

He'd egg you on until you're clutching your sides and red in the face from laughing so much. You'd definitely end up out of breath.

Only then would he show you any sort of mercy and pull you onto his lap or closer to him if you're already in bed.

Then he'd start rubbing your back or playing with your hair and occasionally, usually right as your eyes close, he'd say something else that gets you giggling again.

Valentine

He's aware that some people get giggly when sleepy but nothing prepped him for you giggling at everything while struggling to keep your eyes open.

He'll set aside his work and usher you off to bed once he realizes what's going on.

He'll be shaking his head and suppressing a grin but he makes sure you're tucked in with a bottle of water nearby.

"If you don't stop giggling, I'll just have to read you all these reports and paperwork that I'm working on." It's a threat he ends up having to carry out every time.

And it works...almost every time. The more boring the reports, the quicker you nod off.

[quokkawritesarchive]

omgg help me out pls

so there is a guy in my math class and he is an absolute cutie patootie but at the same so fucking hot. I can't think about anything else cuz I am too distracted by thinking about choking on his pretty dick. I think he likes me too cuz I have caught him looking over at me so many times but I just don't have any courage to approach him :( he reminds me of innie by the way he smiles and he looks soooo innocent that I just can't help but want to corrupt him yk take charge. so can I please get an innie fic where I suck his dick in an empty classroom under the risk of being caught at any moment. consensual obviously.

no pressure. it's totally up to you but I am begging you<3

WHAT HAPPENED IN MATH CLASS — JEONGIN.

pairing: jeongin x reader(afab) genre: smut, NSFW warnings: oral (m. receiving), in public (?), underage characters, dirty talk, cum swallowing a/n: i'm SO sorry it took MONTHS to finish your request. i hope you are doing well!!

it’s pretty basic to have a crush on a guy in your math class, right? but who could even blame you, when he looked so innocent and so fucking hot at the same time? long ginger hair, a wide smile that lights up the room, sharp cheekbones, and a full pack of abs that you accidentally saw when he was taking off his hoodie. that was yang jeongin – a guy in your math class, a guy who had been on your mind 24/7.

you hated math. it has always been the subject you’ve struggled the most with. but this semester you were just dying in class. not only because it was the last one in the schedule, but also because you couldn't stop thinking about getting between jeongin's legs. the image of his cock could stick with you throughout the day and keep popping up at inopportune moments. he was sitting a few rows in front of you and a little to the right, so you’ve always had a great vision of his crotch area. it was specifically hard to pay attention to the board when he was wearing those tight black jeans. you could swear he wore them on purpose on the days you had class together. 

today was the end of your procrastination. instead of the usual yawning around and looking at jeongin's dick through his pants, you were writing a test. all your slacking finally came after you, because you were one of the few people left in the classroom. the teacher allowed everyone who had already finished to leave, and gradually only you and jeongin remained sitting.

“guys, could you excuse me for a moment? i can't sit any longer without coffee and stare at the wall." the teacher chuckled. “and no cheating! i can see everything, even if I'm not here!”

you and jeongin smiled and nodded enthusiastically, already realizing that this test would be passed at least for a b.

as soon as the door closed behind your teacher, jeongin ran headlong to the desk and grabbed his phone.

“ay, ay, ay!” you grinned. “i’ll rat on you.”

“yeah, try it.”  jeongin retorted, continuing to search for answers on the web. his eyes widened in fright for a second, but then he smiled sweetly as soon as he realized you were joking. “no one forbids you to take the phone too.”

“unlike you, I want to get grades in an honest way.” you didn't take your sight off him, continuing to observe how cute his eyebrows were frowning in an attempt to find the right information.

jeongin ignored you - he was too involved in the task. normally you would have left him alone and then pretended that nothing had happened. but for some reason, it was today that you wanted to develop this first contact that you finally had. you have never spoken in all the time that you studied together. you often saw him in the hallways, and you knew he was on the basketball team. sometimes you came to the games just to admire his muscles. but you never dared to to start a genuine conversation with him.

getting up from your seat, you crept up to the distracted jeongin from behind and deftly snatched the phone out of his hands, immediately jumping aside.

“hey! what are you doing?!” jeongin was inadvertently taken aback. he tried to retrieve the phone, but you hid your hands behind your back, showing him a pink tongue.

“take it!”

“are you fucking serious?” his face was a mixture of incomprehension and anger. “what if the teacher comes in right now?”

“then he'll see what a bad boy you are." you kept backing away until your back hit the wall.

“and you're miss justice, then?" jeongin came awfully close, cutting off your escape route with one hand. “give it back.”

“no. find it yourself.” you grinned, meanwhile hiding the phone behind the belt of your skirt. 

“you're fucking kidding me." the guy swore, making you laugh. even when he was angry, he didn't stop looking cute. “where is it?”

“no idea!” you put your hands up as if to show your innocence. “must have disappeared into thin air!”

in the next second, jeongin’s patience apparently snapped and you found yourself pressed face-first into the wall with your hands held together from behind by his one hand. all you could do was gasp in surprise. 

jeongin just sighed and pulled his phone out of your secret place. 

you thought he would let you go as soon as he got the phone, but he continued to hold your hands behind your back, pressing you into the wall. you twitched in his grip, still hoping that he would let you go. but jeongin only moved closer to you with his whole body, so that you could feel his muscular chest, and whispered right in your ear. 

“should i tie you to my chair so that you don't do anything else?”

and you whined. whined from his proximity and the words he was saying. your dirty mind immediately began to create pictures of you sitting with your hands tied under his table, with your mouth full of his cock, saliva dripping on your chin, trying to please him with your tongue without making a sound.

jeongin froze. you could feel his hot breath on your neck, the grip of your wrists only got tighter. but no one was saying anything for a hot minute.

“i’m- i’m sorry- i should get back to the test-” jeongin spoke first, haltingly. 

finally, he let go of your hands and you immediately faced him. his expression made you want to suck him off even more. the blush spread across his cheeks, the tips of his ears turned red, and he looked anywhere but at you, nervously shifting from heel to toe. he was about to move away, but you stopped him by taking his hand. 

“wait!” 

slowly and carefully, you stepped closer, praying that he wouldn't reject you. that would be so embarrassing. you couldn't believe that this was happening to you. where did you get so much courage from?

the tension was unbearable. his widened eyes kept watching you, but he didn’t move an inch. you could only guess what was going on inside his read right now.

the surroundings were long forgotten. the test, the teacher, the fact that you were standing in the middle of the classroom — it all didn’t matter anymore. you couldn't help but smile at how jeongin's breath hitched when your lips met his. you kissed him the way you dreamed about kissing him — deep, steamy, and full of solid and unambiguous intent. jeongin’s hands remained in the air, and you had to put them on your waist, which he immediately squeezed tightly. 

“don't worry, i'm not running away.” you pulled back just to admire his red face again. 

jeongin nodded shyly and reached your hand, directing it to his crotch, letting you realize how hard he already was. his confident actions made you gasp. how could he be such a perfect mix of cuteness and depravity?

jeongin kept guiding you up and down and you played along, adding more pressure with your hand. he hissed and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"why haven’t we talked before?" he whispered at the edge of the moan, hot breath making your skin fill with goosebumps. 

he immediately went down for your neck — light bites accompanying his wet tongue. your body flinched, the gasp came out of you. the pool that your pussy made inside your panties was becoming unbearable. 

to your surprise, jeongin didn’t stop. leaving the question hanging in the air, he started to grind against your hand, whimpering as your fingers tugged at his waistband.

“want you…” was all he could whisper. breathless and desperate, he pushed you down on your knees and you let him. 

everything was happening just like in your wildest fantasies, except…

“can i…” you paused, embarrassed at what you were about to lay out loud. “can i do it under your desk? i’ve been wanting this for so long-“

jeongin chuckled and grinned at you from above. he studied your face for a bit, making sure you weren't messing with him again, but still went to his assigned place. plumping on the chair, he spread his legs in the most manly way. you gulped.

he didn’t leave you any space to climb under the desk comfortably, so you had to squeeze yourself to get there. and the burn in your knees was only making your hornier. it was a little tight and uncomfortable at first, but that’s exactly what you wanted this whole time — to get on your knees for jeongin. 

“naughty girl.” jeongin smiled at you, caressing your bottom lip with his thumb. the view of him from below was magical. “have you been thinking about me often?”

he pushed his finger into your mouth, making you suck on it. you obeyed.

“every time we are in this class…” you admitted, while trying to talk while covering his thumb with your saliva. a pink blush spreading across your cheeks. 

he chucked again and cursed under his breath. “you know you look incredibly hot like this?” 

“yeah?” you grinned, finally going for his zipper. your actions were quick — that’s how much you wanted him right now. 

jeongin could only hold his breath in anticipation, letting you do whatever to him.

as soon as you managed to get his jeans lowered just enough for his hard, leaky length to be exposed, your mouth watered. jeongin was panting heavily, unable to take his sight off you. your pretty face was looking at his cock with round eyes, lips already open and ready to take him full. this view was about to make him cum on the spot.

you trailed kisses on his thigh, getting closer to his cock. “bet you taste sweet.” 

jeongin let out a soft, breathy moan. "fucking hell-"

you touched him, hesitantly at first, spreading precum on his tip. but seeing how sensitive he was, you decided to put on an even bigger show and spit on his cock suddenly. saliva dropped on the tip and connected your lips and his flesh. jeongin whined and you smiled cheekily, enjoying his every reaction. he was gorgeous, eyes dark and skin flushed down to his chest. 

your grip on his dick tightened a little in a silent warning. “umm… try not to be loud?”

“yeah, sure.” jeongin said with a chuckle. “no probl—ahm, ooh fuck- oh fuck!”

you swiped your thumb in a circular motion around the slit; jeongin, humiliatingly, whimpered. you grinned and did it again.

“faster, please-” he sucked a breath when you sped up, twisting a little at the end of every stroke. “yeah. gosh- you’re perfect…”

emboldened, you lowered your head and gave it a lick, pressing hard on his length with your tongue and focusing more on the head this time. jeongin made a strangled noise and thrusted his hips closer to your mouth, almost pushing himself in. 

in response to that, you deepthroated him, trying to examine every expression on his face. and you got rewarded.

his eyebrows furrowed and he moaned loudly. “wow...” 

you let go of his cock for a second just to scold him. “you are so loud! cover your mouth!”

“oh! yeah, sorr- HOLY mmff-” jeongin muffled, involuntarily fisting his hand in your hair and pushing you deeper on his cock. 

the pressure was a little too sudden. that made you choke, but you continued regardless. 

“oh god! sorry, sorry!” jeongin kept apologizing in the most sympathetic tone and purposely brought his hands behind his back. 

and for some reason that made you realize you got so turned on by his bold actions and sweet personality that you were throbbing. 

“i don’t mind.” you said, rubbing your palm up his belly, wishing there was more of him to touch. “i actually kind of like it. so you can keep-”

“you’re so fucking hot-“ jeongin interrupted, slipping his hand back into your hair, giving you more pressure from the top. 

you could feel he was so close. your mouth kept working him up as your hand squeezed his length, sliding up and down. he kept his eyes shut and threw his head back in pleasure, ginger hair smeared over his forehead. you wanted to swallow up every sound and every bead of sweat that glistened on his skin, so you bobbed your head and sucked harder. 

jeongin choked out, groaning. “i’m gonna-”

you gripped the bottom of his length tighter and that was enough to send him over the edge. he came fast and loud, spilling hot spurts in your mouth. a few of it dropped around, landing on your skirt and legs. 

“oh my god- i got your clothes dirty. i’m sorry!” 

and the usual sweet jeongin was back, like nothing ever happened. he moved the desk, so you can get out easily. 

you smiled softly at him. “it’s whatever. i can clean it easily.”

there wasn’t much time for talking, because the classroom door opened as you got on your knees. jeongin just had enough time to tuck his dick in his pants.

“i’m gonna pretend i didn’t hear any of that.” teacher said immediately, making both of you red again. “but you’ll have to take the test another day. separately.”

you apologized and excused yourself from the classroom. your skirt was still covered in jeongin’s sperm.

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[thewritetofreespeech]

hehe. liked the married ex fic you wrote for Lucifer, and I'm inlove with your writing! it has a cloudy vibe to it. can I request Barbatos x mc who's dealing with a stalker?👀👀

Barbatos x reader - dealing with a stalker

When he first heard about the human that was living with the Demon Brothers as part of the exchange program, he had laughed.

It was a ludicrous idea. First, this whole ‘good will event’ in general, then putting a human in the thick of it with demons. They were going to eat them alive, he thought.

But as he spent more & more time seeing them around the school, he became more & more infatuated with them. Never able to get close with the brothers always hanging off them, along with the angels, but he desperately wanted to get close to them as well. He had to have them.

Sneaking past the gates and making his way over the fence, the besmitten demon cursed as his pant leg got stuck on some flower thrones. Struggling to pull away.

“May I help you?”

The young man turned in alarm to see a man looking up at him. A soft, but somehow super creepy smile, on his face as he stared at him. He had a vague memory of this man. His mind’s eye reminded him that he had seen him at school events and Devildom festivals along with Lord Diavolo. What was his majesty’s butler doing here?

“I was uh…just—“Climbing a fence. Yes, I can see that.” Barbatos interjected quickly, with that same eerie smile. “But it seems you’re stuck. Allow me.”

The young man wasn’t sure what whizzed past him, but suddenly his pant leg and the rest of the shrubbery fence had broke free and he was on the ground. “Apologies sir. That first step can be a doozy. May I help you up?”

“No, no. I’m fine.” He quickly replied as he stood on his feet and brushed his clothes off.

“Good. We wouldn’t want you hurt now. I take it you got lost on your way to the front door?”

“I uh…yeah…I guess….”

“So you decided to look for a short cut for the garden party over the fence. How industrious of you.”

‘Garden party?’ He thought, but then realized he had a reason to get in and quickly agreed, “yes, yes! I’m here for the garden party!”

“Wonderful. Could I have your name please?”

The young idiot quickly gave his name to the older demon. Who had a clipboard appear out of nowhere and seemed to scan it. “Hmm…I’m not seeing your name. Who gave you the invitation?”

“[Y/N],” he answered quickly, “they invited me.” He wouldn’t dare drop the brothers’ names, and they were the only other person he knew that lived in the house. “They totally did.”

“Ah. I see. Well, I’m not seeing your name, as I said. And I don’t think [Y/N] would be so repugnant to not tell me of an additional guest they were inviting.” The young man gulped. “I know! Why don’t we go ask them? I’m sure they can clear this all up.”

He felt his blood run cold at the suggestion. If they asked them about it in front of everyone, not only would be embarrassed, shunned out of school, and possibly murdered by the Demon Brothers, his chances of getting close to [Y/N] were out the window.

“Well it…it’s meant to be a surprise?”

“Oh! A surprise! Surprises can be fun.” The butler took another step towards him. That smile never leaving his face for a moment through the whole exchange, but suddenly seemed so dark & twisted that the young man felt he was going to be swallowed whole without him ever opening his jaws. “I especially like surprises that maybe never come. Maybe it will be today. Maybe next week. Maybe never. But the chances of surprises happening are always out there. Just….waiting…to spring out on you.”

The young man jump and was suddenly running before he knew it. He didn’t know why. He just had to get out of there. Away from the House of Lamentation and that creepy smile. Away to somewhere safe. Wherever that was.

***********

Barbatos’s eyes narrowed as he watched the intruder sprint away. The outline of his back fading quickly off in the distance.

He and Lord Diavolo would really need to look into what special power [Y/N] had to continuously snare demons into their web. They never seemed to try, but every week their seemed to be some new admirer. He and his lord would have to uncover what that power was, and find a way to harness it.

“Barbatos,” the butler turned when he heard his name and saw [Y/N] there calling to him. “Is everything alright? You seem annoyed.”

“Oh. Don’t worry [Y/N].” He told them with a bright, genuine smile this time. “Just taking care of some rats in the garden.”

“Oh no,” they said with a little giggle, “I hope there weren’t too many. I know how much you hate them.”

“Just one.” Barbatos told them. “But they won’t be back. Come, let’s rejoin with everyone and have some tea. I made a special blend I’m sure you will enjoy.”

[moodymisty]

So... I've been like reverse infected by the bully Cato Sicarius brainrot, so I'm going to make a longer, more fleshed out fic for it. Here's a snippet, forgive any rough edges.

------------

You’re used to this type of work, and so you nod with sufficient understanding. Guilliman shifts in his armor and and continues speaking, briefly looking down at a blinking dot on his holotable for a moment.

“I will send some of Second Company with you to-“ Guilliman notices you expression sour, and you catch it too late to stop. “Is there something wrong with that?” Your hands unknit from your front to try and wave away the disrespect you thought you showed him, pursing your lips.

“I’m so sorry lord Guilliman, that was immature of-“

“It’s Sicarius, isn’t it.”

You stop speaking and look away. Guilliman sighs and rakes a gauntlet over his dusty blonde hair, before returning them to rest on the edge of the holotable.

“I have confronted him on his attitude already, has he not stopped this nonsense?” You swallow a knot in your throat.

Sicarius looked to you with a sneer on his lips, as he faced you. His olive skin shines with a red glow from the hazard lights around the ship's cargohold.

‘I struggle to think of a reason why we need you here.’ You, perhaps naively, spoke up in response.

‘Agriworlds are important logistically and diplomatically, and they’re prime targets for e-‘ Sicarius looked at you like you were nothing more than mud on his boots.

‘Did I ask for you to speak?’

You pursed your lips, and soaked in the frigid silence of the air. All the other marines stayed out of this; They have no stake it in and want not to get involved, or know they can’t without punishment.

Sicarius sighs and shifts in his armor, looking away from you with a petulant expression.

‘It really is true that women do nothing but talk.’

Mouth pursed tightly shut, you looked to Titus and an astartes beside him; They looked back with stoic, but sympathetic expressions. They can't say anything, but at least you know you aren't alone.

"No, it hasn't stopped. If anything, it seems to have only gotten worse."

[pomefioredove]

new fav twst fic author just dropped lmao I love you sm 😂 💕

btw can I ask for an angsty fic abt reader being scared of falling in love w someone? yk like instead of butterflies in their stomach, it feels bad, demeaning and gross? like, in the end they don't realize they're in love bc of how afraid it makes the reader, but ends up sucking it up bc of a valuable friendship? yk, like love it-hate it?

but pick whichever character u want, feel like this would work out w a few of them 👀

thank you!! and OHHH I love this genre of angst... I'm very like this as a person. my immediate reaction was vil but I've done a similar prompt with him in the past so I'm branching out

summary: all is fair in love and war type of post: short fic characters: lilia additional info: ambiguously romantic, angsty, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu but kinda is?

Love and hate are emotions too close for comfort.

It's times likes these that remind you of why Aphrodite and Ares were always tangled in affair, why the hands of love and war fit so nicely together.

Red is the color of both romance and blood.

The heart doesn't distinguish between the heat of passion and the heat of battle, and there's really nothing quite pleasant about that feeling: it's sticky, uncomfortable, warm and wet, making a home in every divot of your skin. It dries on you like blood.

Sometimes, you wonder if being stabbed would be easier.

After all, physical pain, perhaps, is preferable to the dizzying sensation of a beating heart, so noticeable that you can almost taste it from the back of your throat.

...This unwelcome, intrusive feeling, a thief in the night, a sudden loud noise, something that no amount of deep breathing and waiting can seem to quell.

It's not so much longing as it is torture.

You resent yourself for feeling this way. For the way your stomach turns, as if sick, every time you see him.

For the way you can't seem to stop thinking about it, about him, about every little thing he does, about every little question he leaves you with. It's a form of obsession, though one you struggle to resist.

Some days you fantasize about interrogating him until he explains all that he is, so that you might understand why it's him, of all people, him.

But that would never work.

Lilia Vanrouge enjoys keeping the fine print to himself, always leaving you guessing, always leaving you hungry for more. He does it on purpose, he knows, but he enjoys playing this game of cat and mouse far too much to ever finish the kill.

...At first, you did see it as a sort of game. Now, it feels more like a trap, and one that you so eagerly and stupidly walked into.

And yet, still, you can't find it within yourself to resent him. You can't find a way to accuse him of sorcery, of bewitching you, because you know, deep down, that this is your own doing.

You were the one who set the trap. Who started the war.

It was you, you, who blindly ran into battle, armed with nothing but your wits and the pit in your stomach. You were destined to lose from the beginning.

This... feeling. The one that makes your stomach turn, that makes you dizzy, that poisons your mind and senses and turns you stupid and hungry and obsessive, it's your own doing.

And you could just as likely kill it off, swing your blade of reason down on its sickly, thin neck and just be over with it.

But you won't.

And that's the other half of the battle.

For as much as it haunts you, as it tortures you, as it makes you toss and turn at night fantasizing about answers and wars and traps, you want to lose. You want to play this game with him.

Now, it's simply a question of who will strike the final blow.

[goodluckclove]

On Not Writing

Hi! I'm back. i had a fun two days of doing absolutely nothing writing related, including scrolling this blog. Wife and I played a lot of Valheim. Took a lot of bike rides. Watched Interstellar for the first time - pretty good, kind of silly at the end. It was my first two-day weekend in probably three months, so it was much-needed, hard as it was.

And it got me thinking of some things I wanted to say to the community here. It's especially targeted towards younger writers, of which I used to be one, but I think it can apply to anyone who finds themselves despairing over how much they aren't writing.

Let's imagine you're sitting with me in this coffee shop. It's an overcast Portland morning and I just inadvertently vivisected a croissant. And as we sip our drinks (I ordered a lavender latte), you lament to me. I don't know what to do, Clove. I just haven't been writing!

You know what I say to that?

Good.

This is a new hot take of mine that I, once again, worry about upsetting people with. Because I see a lot of guides here about how to write, or how to write consistently, or how to write through writers block. But I haven't seen a single person talking about the inverse - how to not write. Or - perhaps more accurately - how to exist as a human being separate from your identity as a writer.

This is a problem for me.

Listen - I started young. I was 12 when I wrote my first novella, and 13 when I completed my first novel the next year. Adults in my life were impressed by the big-eyed child writing so many words. They encouraged me. I wrote two more novels, and they continued to encourage me. Because of the potential, right? I could be successful. I could be famous.

People stopped pushing me to try other things. I saw I was getting validation as a writer, so that only pushed me to continue fixating over something I was already enjoying and getting pretty good at. Dad had me writing two thousand words every day, because that's what Stephen King did. At 16 I finished four full-length novels, which everyone thought was really cool and interesting. I was also sporting dual hand braces every day throughout the winter to cope with the carpal tunnel I still struggle with to this day.

There is encouraging a person in their passion. There is also poisoning them with the belief that their self-worth comes from pursuing that passion. This is entirely, absolutely, even more true for younger writers and artists.

I am enraged for the young writer in my heart and in my head. Because they worried about a lot of the same things I see people worry about on here. Oh, if I don't write I'm not a writer! And to an extent they're right, as to be a writer you need to at some point write some stuff.

But here's the fucking thing, Young Clover - a child should not strive for the work ethic of a professional adult. You did not need to write 2k words a day to be a writer. You were a writer as soon as you updated that terrible Invader Zim fanfiction you wrote when you were 10.

And more than that, though, the most important thing to a person should not be their job and aspirations. If you don't write every day, you're still a writer. If you've never written anything, you aren't - and that's fine. You might write something later down the line, or you might not. Either way you are still entitled to exist on the planet and capable of living a full and passionate and wonderful life.

Hear my words: being a writer is not more important than being a human being.

If you aren't writing right now, maybe you're not supposed to be. Maybe you're meant to be nurturing your relationships, or nurturing yourself. Maybe you're supposed to be volunteering. Or meeting new people. Or gaining a new field of knowledge. Or getting really good at making focaccia bread. Or watching every Mark Wahlberg movie.

I don't like to hear this any more than you do. If I was told that I, for some reason, was not allowed to write for the rest of my life, I would be miserable for maybe a long time. After that passed it's my hope that I would move on and do other things, because my worth is not dependent on being a writer. I like doing it. I like being it, and I hope to be one for the rest of my life. But I never want it to be the first thing people see when they look at me. I don't even like bringing it up in conversation with people I don't already know.

So yeah, if you have "writer's block", maybe consider putting down the pickaxe and getting some rest. Step away entirely from the large boulder that stands between you being the next Stephen King or Brandon Sanderson or Teen Dystopia Writer no. 2321. Take a break, and I mean an ACTUAL break, not the kind where you spend the whole time sulking about work.

I am legitimately begging the writers on here to have developed lives and interests outside of writing. I am begging because I do not have that and it has consistently been one of the hardest things of my life.

You prioritize living outside your writing and it will improve the quality of your writing when you get back to it, as it'll allow you a frame of reference that extends beyond our niche industry. Or it might make you realize that, while you enjoy writing, what you really love is ceramics. Or game developing. Or mutual-aid activism. Or the movies of Mark Wahlberg.

It is not your job to treat yourself like you already have a dozen deadlines and an audience teetering on the edge of disappointment. That's ultimately not going to help you. Your job on this earth is to exist fully, for the sake of the universe that wants so desperately to live vicariously through you.

So breathe. Breathe and calm down. You aren't a failure and there's nothing you have to prove. All you have to do today is drink some water and have a nice snack while you look at a cloud.

Please be kind. All of us need to be kinder to each other and to ourselves.

That's all I want to say. I love you dearly. Please let me know if you need anything.

[thewarmblanket]

I saw you made a post asking for requests!

So may I humbly request your take on what a desert Na'vi tribe would be like? Whether you want to draw it or just write ideas down, whatever you feel up for!!

ACTUALLY I WAS JUST GOING TO POST THIS

First of all, yes, they are not desert but savannah na'vi. But because most likely Pandora doesn't have any deserts at all, this is the closest that we can have.

I found this beautiful referense and I just had to draw this

So, about the savannah na'vi! I'm planning on creating like a system of savannah clans that would feel similar to lion prides. As you can see I already have a design for them: purple skin since na'vi get purple when tan, spots that grow into stripes (we discussed it with one guy that studies biology as a hobby and decided this pattern but I don't remember what was exactly the reason), curly hair, yellow-to-orange-to-brown eyes, little bioluminescence. And of course facial features of African people.

Each clan will have their own culture, I already have some ideas like: they hunt by riding these cheetah like predators and chase their prey at incredible speed, but only women can ride them! Women are the main hunters of the clan, men are busy protecting the village, cooking and teaching the eldest children. Some clans will use tar like substance to protect their teeth so their teeth become black. They love colorful clothes and colors in general so often they would paint themselves in bright paterns just to feel beautiful. Each clan has their own different way to style their hair. Curly hair is not a struggle but an opportunity!

This is most of the ideas I had but there's still a lot lo think about. Let me know if you have any more ideas!

And I think it is needed to say, na'vi clans are only inspired by existing human cultures, but are not meant to accurately represent them. Well at least my clans. I just would not want to hear something like "we are not like this you're not getting our culture right!!" coming from an African person. I am still learning about other cultures and I can't know everything. I just find those bits of culture that I see inspiring. Thank you for reading all this haha))

[jibunbosh]

Mesmerizer is a satire of TikTok, YouTube Shorts, and the rest of the modern short-form vertical video format

A brief thematic analysis.

I'm sure there are countless people already interpreting the imagery and details in this wonderful song & MV, like here and here, so I won't spend too much time retreading that ground. Miku and Teto are dancing. Miku gets hypnotized. Teto signals for help, but gets hypnotized at the end as well.

That part is obvious enough, but that's still pretty surface-level. What is this seemingly hyperspatial horror scenario supposed to mean to us?

While checking to see if anyone before me's already come to the same conclusions as I did and if I should bother not writing this text post at all (lol), I came across udin's great analysis video. She comes to the conclusion that the song tackles themes of disillusionment with reality and the ways we indulge in escapism to relieve ourselves of the pains of the world.

I agree with that reading! From practically the very beginning, we have Miku call to us - the viewer - to push away our true feelings. Teto comes in to peddle a solution, inviting us to surrender and empty our minds - in her words, "pretending to know nothing."

You, the viewer, are a critical character in this masquerade. For nearly the entire video, Miku and Teto's eyes are unfailingly trained on you. Or, well... perhaps they can't actually see you, but they can see a camera, or whatever other aperture the point of view is supposed to be from. And they know they're being watched. (Who else would Teto be sending distress signals to?)

Let's put a pin on that for later.

udin notes very early on that Miku and Teto are, conspicuously, kept in vertical frames - very similar to the video formats of TikTok (and Instagram Reels, and YouTube Shorts, and whatever other clones of the format exist.) You know, just like the animator Caststation's Rabbit Hole fan MV that went viral some months ago.

Hey wouldn't it be crazy if the song's producer, 32ki, released Mesmerizer shorts too haha. Wouldn't that be crazy.

Wow, wild.

These short-term vertical videos are captivating & alluring. If you're reading this, it's more likely than not that you've also found yourself caught up in them at least once, scrolling through the infinite algorithmic slurry and forgetting about the real-life issues you have at hand. Would you say, then, that you felt hypnotized? Mesmerized, even?

And so these two invite us to join their world and focus on the... uh... rectangle.

Their dances are repetitive, following the same loop. Their outfits are distinct, but their choreography isn't. They're copying the same formula, repeating it ad nauseam to the best of their ability.

They're doing a fucking TikTok dance.

Back to the pin I told you about earlier, with Miku and Teto looking at a camera.

Miku sways with the camera, eyes looking directly at it like a swinging pocket watch. She's been looking at it the entire time, after all. We've been seeing her via our screen this entire time, but, again, she doesn't necessarily see us. She's beholden to the camera, which she dances for day after day, caught up in its spell. She's hypnotized by it. Eventually, she breaks.

Teto, on the other hand, resists. For a while, anyway.

Despite her being the one jumping to us with the "solution" at the beginning of the MV, there's very quickly good reason to question how much agency she has in this. She dances for the camera as well, but she doesn't want to. She's signalling for help. She wants out.

Many content creators (as much as I personally loathe the non-specificity and soullessness of the term) have struggled with the adaptation to the short-form video format, and the preference the algorithm has had for these captivating, bite-sized videos. They're catchy, and easily drive up metrics. Practically anyone who's publishing their work via video format online needs to learn to adapt or fall behind, even if that means whittling their content down to fit the frame, the time, and people's shortening attention spans. Sometimes, that means compromising on specificity and completeness... or, in other words, the true representation of a full work.

The song's writer, 32ki, has been releasing songs on YouTube for several years. Their first YouTube Short, however, was posted only a year ago: a short, whittled-down segment of their previous song, CIRCUS PANIC!!!, hoping for it to win the ProsekaNEXT song contest. It was their first song to achieve widespread popularity and hit a million views.

The shorts, however, aren't the "true" versions of the song. The full song just won't fit.

We're being mesmerized as consumers of this endless stream of content, rather than appreciators of music and art. However, that relationship isn't completely symmetrical across the plane that is the 4th wall. Miku and Teto are trapped not by their attention spans, but by a compulsion to project their "truthful acting" and peddle that window into a colorful, problem-free world.

We, as the collective audience, need not dwell on any one thing for too long - we need only swipe, and move on to the next video. However, Miku and Teto are trapped behind the screen for eternity, day after day.

They're the only characters we get to see, of course. There's no evil 3rd voice synth character that's plotting to keep them trapped in there. We can't put a face to whatever force is hypnotizing them and trapping them behind the screen. It's faceless - like the inscrutable algorithms of YouTube recommendations or the TikTok For You page, or the impersonal corporations that develop & maintain those aforementioned apps. Miku and Teto's likenesses, on the other hand, are being exploited and extracted from for their entertainment value, being strung along by that metaphorical hypnotizing force like puppets on a string.

Many people, represented by Miku, enjoy their success on such platforms. It's freeing and liberating to throw oneself wholeheartedly into such an endeavor, of course! Others, represented by Teto, harbor their doubts of the emotional veracity of such a medium, but know they have little choice lest they face destruction... perhaps not literally as a person, but as an idea.

Wouldn't it be easier just to let oneself be swept away by it and give in?

[morelikeravenbore]

✨ Ominis Gaunt headcanons

This lovely anon (as well as a few others) asked if I'd consider writing my Sebastian Alphabets for our favourite Slytherin Heir, but as a girlie whose brain space is 99% dedicated to Sebastian Sallow and like, 1% dedicated to, I dunno, survival and stuff, I struggled lol. Instead, I'm here to offer you some of my personal Omnom headcanons based on how I write him as a seventh year in How to Make a Villain, post fifth-year events.

(trigger warning: he's sassy and traumatised because that's just how I imagine him.)

Enjoy under the cut! (SFW!)

✨ He's a Cancer sun, Libra rising, Capricorn moon.

Cancer sun: Hard outer shell, soft squishy middle; deeply emotional but retreats into his hidey hole when triggered, emotions shift as often as the moon phases; cares deeply.

Libra rising: refined, pretty, physically attractive, charismatic; focused on justice and fairness, right and wrong; drawn to refined pleasures: art, music, fine food and clothing.

Capricorn moon: practical, rigid, dutiful, committed; craves stability; can appear cold and unfeeling on the surface, prone to pessimism; does not take shortcuts, does not look for the easy way out.

✨ He plays piano. (Duh, that's practically considered canon by now). Without sight, music is how this li'l Libra rising bebe appreciates and creates beauty.

✨ Being a member of high pureblood society, he is fluent in French. As a child, he spent his summers in southern France with his family, who own a manor in by the ocean. (Later, after he befriended the Sallow twins, he spent his summers in Feldcroft instead.)

✨ It was fearless little Anne Sallow who reached out to Ominis in their first year, and thus Anne, not Sebastian, was the first friend Ominis ever made. This friendship signified a profound change in his life: he never expected to make a real friend, let alone have anyone show him the kindness, tolerance and companionship that Anne did. His friendship with Sebastian, though a by-product of his closeness with Anne, grew more slowly, but by the time their first year was over, the three were inseparable. His friendship with the Sallow's gave Ominis the first sense of belonging in his life.

✨ Due to his deep-seated abandonment and trust issues, the damage to his friendship with Sebastian after the events of fifth year are near irreversible; worse than Solomon's murder was the loss of Anne, which Ominis blamed solely on her brother. But beneath this resentment toward Sebastian, buried so deeply he never fully acknowledged it to himself, was a festering anger towards Anne for leaving him. She was the first person he ever loved (platonically or otherwise, it's up to you), and though he understood her reasons for leaving, her absence felt like another abandonment. It was easier to project this anger Sebastian than ever admit that he was angry at Anne, too.

✨ To keep Sebastian out of Azkaban after Solomon's murder, Ominis had to call upon his family for help. In exchange for their covering up the incident, he was forced to pledge his allegiance to furthering the Gaunt legacy. Thus, he gave up his dreams of freedom and living as his own person. He'd always harboured a secret desire to pursue music, perhaps study abroad in France, but instead had to promise to fulfil his "familial obligations" to the Gaunt's by marrying a woman of their choosing and working in whatever influencial Ministry role they assigned him.

✨ Romance. Given how cruel his family is, Ominis vows to never fall in love. The idea of condemning someone he actually cares about to the Gaunt name and legacy is unbearable — he'd sooner enter into a loveless, arranged marriage than inflict that sort of pain onto another innocent person. That's not to say he won't ever fall in love, but it would take a very, very special person to capture his attention and break through the many (many) defensive walls he's put in place around his heart.

And here's a little snippet of Sebastian and Ominis' dynamic in How to Make a Villain, which you can read on wattpad or ao3 if you like :)

[hellaarknight]

Nothing can change the way I see you

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙

Pairing: Chuuya x femreader Warnings: pet names, mental and physical struggles, being pregnant, a bit oc (a bit more actually) Genre: Fluf/Comfort

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙

Chuuya never thought about seriously having children. Yeah, sure, he did find the idea entertaining, but he could not see himself as a father. Firstly because of his job and the dangers it entails, and secondly because he was afraid of being a shitty father. Probably many other reasons, but these two were enough to engrave in his mind that he would never be a father. And honestly, all was working out when he met you, his now wife, and a person who also did not want kids. So when you presented him with a pregnancy test he was conflicted. Scared. And so were you.

Despite these feelings, he hugged you and reassured you that you would figure it out together. He wiped away your tears when one day you confessed you were afraid his feelings would change with this pregnancy. „Doll... There is no way in hell that my feelings for you will ever change” „But...but... You say that now, but when I will have a belly and stretchmarks and I will be in pain, you will be repulsed by me” His hands cupped your face and he put his forehead onto yours. „Never. There is nothing in this world that could happen to make me lose my feelings. Nothi'g, pretty. You are my everything and despite you not wanting children, you chose to go forward with the pregnancy and gift me a kid. Baby doll, I'm staying by your side every step of this life.”

Unfortunately, no matter how much Chuuya was trying to convince you about his intentions, the story of your work colleagues and some friends did nothing but aggravate a feeling of dread for the pregnancy, birth experience, and whatever would happen afterward. Partners lose interest in their wives, not being attracted by them anymore, being repulsed because they saw the birth of their kids, and not wanting to engage in intimacy anymore, abandoning their spouse to all the chores of the house, minimizing the struggle of a new mom. And these were just some examples of what was told to you and what you read online. But Chuuya... Chuuya wouldn't do something like this, right? Chuuya was unaware of your internal struggles as he worked his but off in the Mafia so he could take more months off to be by your side in this process. It wasn't about the money, he had plenty, but about gaining more time from his life as an executive. Chuuya read a lot about pregnancy, side effects, and everything that had to do with the struggles of becoming a mom. He swore he would try to be as supportive as ever for you and the best dad he could ever be. When the hormones hit you like a brick, having you going from one emotional state to another, he wouldn't get angry once. Instead, he navigated through your mood changes the best he could. Was he going crazy? Yes, absolutely. But never once has he got mad at you. Not once has he raised his voice or made you feel bad about your own outburst, for your tears for your pitiful sight. „Baby, I'm not mad at you.” His voice soft, his hand holding yours while you tried to avoid his gaze. „Yes...hic... you are... I'm a terrible wife... I forgot, I'm sorry, I forgot to pack your lunch and now you're mad”. „No, baby, no, I am not mad, I ate plenty and you are not a terrible wife. You shouldn't even bother to think about doing things for me in this period, ok? You should rest as much as possible. Since the pregnancy is one with risks, you need to focus only on yourself, ok love?”

When you started having morning sickness and emptying your stomach almost every morning, he was there by your side if he was home, holding your hair up and rubbing your back. It pained him to see you vomiting so often, barely eating anything because everything made you nauseous. When in those moments you found yourself disgusting, he found you the most beautiful and amazing woman in the world. You kept pushing through. You kept drinking your prenatal vitamins to have a healthy baby and tried to have a variate diet, even tho you could barely tolerate food. In his eyes, you were shining, glowing, and wiping your mouth after one nauseous episode was the least he could do for you. „Chuu... I'm disgusting, how can you stay here?” Laying with your face near the toilet, tired, as you emptied your stomach for the fourth time today. „Stop talking like this about yourself, honey. It is something natural that happens and there is nothing to be disgusted of. C'me here, let me clean you up and I'll carry you to bed, you should sleep, you're barely getting around. And I'll have something else cooked when you wake up and you'll try again to eat, 'key baby?”

Chuuya was sure, there was nothing in this world, nothing that this pregnancy could bring that would make him look at you with less adoration. His feelings only grew bigger, if possible, he found you more and more charming every day, every day that belly grew and you faced another struggle in the process.

[deception-united]

Hello hello! I love your blog and its really helping me get back into writing after an uncomfortably long burnout break. My question is how would you write a character slowly going insane because of their circumstances and the things they are forced to endure to go through them? Thank you so much in advance?

Hi, I'm so glad you've been finding it helpful! I went over some of this in a bit more detail in my previous post answering a similar question (how to write a character slowly going insane from their world going out of their control), but it won't hurt to address it again.

Have a Baseline:

When writing a character who is slowly going insane due to external factors and challenges, it's important to start by introducing your character at a point where they're relatively stable mentally, showing their personality, goals, and relationships to give a general idea of how their life normally was before the deterioration of their mental stability. This will allow the readers to see for themselves what changes and shifts occurred, as well as their consequences.

Stressors:

Identify the key events or circumstances that will gradually wear down your character's sanity—whether it be external factors (intense stress, a traumatic experience, isolation, facing a series of challenges they aren't equipped or prepared to handle), internal, or both. In any case, it's important to have a clear reason in place.

Internal Struggle:

As the character starts to feel more and more pressure and stress, the initial signs of distress will start to show, both in their thoughts and behaviour. Using internal monologue or stream-of-consciousness narration to show their mental state. It may start with the character questioning themselves and behaving irrationally, then change to risky or self-destructive behaviour as their perceptions become increasingly distorted.

Thanks for asking! Happy writing ❤

[bogkeep]

grousing about ai art stuff

every time i open twitter (my mistake) there's a new thread on how to spot ai art or ai photos by finding all the mistakes in it, and like obviously this is useful and it's good to watch out because they kEEP SHOWING UP EVERYWHERE AHHH HELL WORLD HELL WORLD, but it's also a little depressing that we're training ourselves to nitpick all kinds of details within a piece of art.

like even before the artifically generated image boom randos on twitter would reply to fully finished illustrations with the most asinine unsolicited advice possible. art's gonna be flawed sometimes! i'll draw someone in a weird pose because of vibes! i'll wing a hand! i don't fucking know what a house actually looks like!!! like yes of course the way a human artist creates flawed art is different from the way an algorithm doesn't actually know what anything looks like because it has no mind. it doesn't know shit. so it's not that it's UNRELIABLE but it's like. it's like... i've been telling myself and others every time i'm struggling to make something look Just Right that actually nobody i going to be staring as hard at my art as i am while making it. if i don't point it out people aren't likely to notice unless they are going through it with a fine toothed comb BUT NOW WE ARE DOING THAT APPARENTLY. WHICH IS ANYONE'S PEROGATIVE AND FAIR ENOUGH! PEOPLE CAN LOOK AT MY ART HOWEVER THEY WANT IT'S FINE

but it's ALSO so depressing to consider having to analyse every single piece of art you come across like that my goddddddd i just wanna enjoy it!! i wanna enjoy art!!!! i mean the main reason i finally stopped going on twitter regularly was during the NFT boom and i got so tired of having to vet every single artist i came across to make sure i wasnt retweeting nft stuff. like that really ruined my previously enjoyable experience of LOOKING AT NICE ART ON MY FEED WITHOUT PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE.

god another thing that happened during the dark nft times was how certain art styles tended to be nfts. and i don't mean the ugly apes and stuff, like of course there's those, but there were a lot of artists who sold their souls to crypto and there was just a certain Vibe to a lot of those styles. like i got a sixth sense for it, i would see a piece of art by an unknown artists and when i checked - yep, that was a crypto guy now. and you know what!!!! i hated that!!!! i hate that it ruined entire art styles for me!! AND NOW ARTIFICIALLY GENERATED IMAGES ARE DOING THE SAME!!!!! like what tends to tip me off is less because i spotted some wonky hand or a weird flap but because the style is a popular one for the ai bros to imitate. you know what i mean right!!!!!! it's kind of how the ai photos look a bit too clean and crisp and smooth in an unsettling way. it just pings the brain a bit.

ULTIMATELY the absolute main method i have for filtering away ai images isn't so much looking for mistakes, but by checking sources. it's the same way i check that i'm not reblogging from reposting accounts Because That's A Thing I Care About Too - if there's no description or the description seems off and i don't recognise the OP, i check the original post/blog to see what's up. if the image gives me a weird vibe, i check where it comes from and who posted it. oftentimes the comments on posts with ai images will point it out - they're not always accurate and there's definitely been times where people are a little too trigger happy to accuse art of being AI... but it can be a good lead or confirm suspicions. on one hand, i don't want to do detective work while im having chill scrolling time, but on the other hand - i already had this habit for other reasons, so it's less disruptive to me than the alternative. it also helps that it's very rare for ai shit to turn up in my tumblr feed. i don't want to keep looking over my shoulder!!

(also for anyone who wants a little bit of optimism in the middle of all this, here's an episode of Better Offline podcast that outlines how it's very unlikely for generative ai to actually get much better. here's the part two also.)

[toaarcan]

>Introduced as a wise old mentor who knows all the answers. >Also he can turn invisible.

>Role is like 50% dispensing exposition and 50% bonking Tahu on the head to tell him to stop being a jerk.

>Randomly has a mask that can control time. For some reason. He lends it to Tahu so he can stop six very aggressive roombas.

>Also one time he casually defeated a giant kaiju monster that the Toa Nuva were struggling with and told it that he knew it could remember his voice, I'm sure that's nothing.

>Oh actually it turns out that he's been lying all this time.

>He's not even old, he's like the equivalent of being 35, he just peaked at 26 and had a very stressful week.

>He used to be the leader of the previous generation of Toa from the cyberpunk dystopia city in the past.

>Also he was just. Made of anxiety. Like so much self-esteem issues up in this boy.

>Not to mention the traumatic nightmare visions of the future.

>Spent most of his career as a Toa on the run from the horrifying police robots #acab

>Turns out he made the Mask of Time. For the record, the other two Legendary Masks were made by literal gods, and this schmuck Toa with Gifted Kid Burnout made the last one.

>Him making the Mask of Time has nothing to do with the visions of the future BTW

>All but single-handedly defeated Makuta.

>This was around when he fought the kaiju.

>Also he got turned into an angsty robot werewolf for a bit.

>He turned evil because a lizard dominatrix said so, don't worry, it was the werewolf hormones talking.

>He turned back to normal later and went to fight Makuta again over the Mask of Time.

>He accidentally a war between Makuta and the mafia.

>He played reality-destroying chicken with Makuta in order to abscond with the Mask of Time.

>Then he turned into a pensioner at the ripe old age of 30 (relatively).

>Seriously most of the 'child' characters are older than him by millennia.

>Continues dispensing cryptic advice and having traumatic nightmare visions forever.

Truly the character ever. Of all time.