#do you... want me to delete the last ask you sent... or should i answer it... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

roxabellas · 1 month ago

Text

People Like You Fuck People Like Me

｡･:*:･ﾟ༓･*˚⁺‧͙ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚₊✩｡˚☽

part one two three four

word count : 15,576

warnings : he's back. very long one to make up for the wait. sex work, cheating, age gap (19 & 38, then 39), phone sex, masturbation (him), fingering (reader), argument, i guess implications of a little drinking problem, missionary, TINY footjob, feet kink, daddy kink, hes a bit strange again, hes still sad

You'd only given him your phone number a few days ago, writing it on the back of his hand with a broken pen you'd found in one of the hotel bedside table drawers that barely had any ink left. He'd been circling the topic for a couple of weeks, always in that tone where you couldn't quite tell what he was trying to convey, whether he was joking or if he was completely serious.

“At my age, you know, it gets hard walking halfway across the city as often as I do, looking for you,” he'd muttered last time as he tied up the laces on his shoes. “And it's not like anyone else has got a hold on you, anyway.”

You'd known what he was really asking for from the very first subtle hint he'd dropped, but you'd just been waiting for him to ask you properly, to tell you what he actually wanted.

It was just past midnight when your phone lit up on your bedside table with a dull buzz against the smooth oak wood, and you reached over with a quiet grunt to pick it up, tugging the charging cable out of the port with a click.

You squinted your eyes as the screen bloomed to life, a gentle glow that was a little too harsh for your eyes after they'd adjusted to the dark casting across your face as you smeared a spiral pattern across the dots on the grid to unlock it, your homescreen wallpaper greeting you with familiarity as it blinked on.

You swiped your notifications down, and nestled between a notice from the bank and someone adding to their Instagram story, there was a text with his name perched above the message, reading, You awake, baby?

You shifted on your side, one hand coming up to rub at your eyes while you considered whether or not you should even reply. You could leave it. Turn your phone off, plug it back in, roll over and fall asleep. Deal with him the next morning. But there was that nagging feeling inside you, whether it was in your heart, your stomach or your brain, you weren't sure, but it was persistent, gnawing. The thought of him sat hunched over alone in bed, or on the edge of the bath, or on the couch, undoubtedly with his trousers around his ankles, his cheek slightly squished as he rested his face in his hand, and staring at his phone screen as he waited for your reply. It made your heart ache, in a strange way.

You sunk your teeth into your inner cheek, your lips pursing as you contemplated for a moment more, before you pressed on the notification, the screen opening up to your messages with him. You hadn't sent many to each other, and most of them had been sent by him, usually just a ‘hello’, or small updates on how his day was going.

You pulled up your keyboard on your screen and typed, Yeah. You okay?

The two ticks tucked just beneath your words flickered to blue immediately after you pressed the send icon, and he replied quickly, Need to hear your voice.

There was a short pause after he sent that text, and your chest tightened, heart stuttering with something between dread and anticipation. You imagined him typing, deleting, then typing again, the hesitation palpable even through the screen, before he sent another message. Can I call you?

You let his message sit for a moment, your tongue poking out to wet your lower lip where the dryness had been spreading from your breathing, and you sighed before sending, Yeah.

Your phone screen lit up with the incoming call just a few moments later, softly buzzing against your palm like a heartbeat as it chimed. It felt heavier, as if just his name brought the weight of all of his burdens with it, no matter where it was. You answered it, rolling onto your back and looking up at the ceiling as you brought your phone up to your ear.

You could hear his heavy breathing on the other end of the line, coming in sharp, quick exhales and slow, quiet inhales. He didn't speak for a moment, waiting to see if you'd say something first, but when he realised you weren't going to, he said, “Hi, petal.”

His voice was rough, slightly gravelly, like he'd just been crying, or like he was trying his very best not to. You breathed in slowly. “Hi.”

You heard him swallow thickly before he asked, making an attempt at softening his voice, “I didn't wake you up, did I?”

One of your hands came up to your hair, your fingers fiddling with the messy strands, twirling and tugging, before you replied simply, “No.”

He exhaled and you heard the soft scrape of his hand rubbing over his face, over and across his stubble, and he murmured, “She's asleep on the settee downstairs. Told her I had heartburn. I'm upstairs. In the bathroom.”

“Are you?”

“Mhm.”

“You okay?”

“No.”

He sounded more tired on the phone, his voice weighted, and he sounded older, in a way, carrying a subtle rasp. “I've been thinking about you a lot,” he continued.

You smiled a little, and he heard it creep into your voice. “You say that all the time.”

“Because I'm thinking about you all the time.”

You didn't reply, letting the silence settle between you for a while, heavy, but not entirely uncomfortable, until his voice split through the quiet once more.

“What are you wearing, baby?”

His tone was gentle, sweet, coaxing, almost paternal, in an odd way. It made you feel warm, the tone of his words wrapping around you like a blanket despite the physical distance between you.

“Just my t-shirt. The one I sleep in,” you answered, idly running your fingers along the neckline of your top and fidgeting with a loose thin string.

There was another short moment of quiet, before he licked his lips, gripping his phone tighter. “Nothing else?”

You smiled. “No. Why?”

He didn't answer for a moment, his slow, slightly uneven breathing filling the silence on the other end. “I just wanted to imagine you. Safe and soft… all tucked up in bed…”

He trailed off, chewing on the inside of his cheek as a slow, coiling heat curled up through his belly like smoke from the end of a cigarette.

“I bet you look so cute…” he whispered, his voice slightly strained as he adjusted his grip on his phone, the stirring in his groin growing more pronounced and insistent as he imagined you. He closed his eyes with a small sigh, imagining you in a way he'd had you many times before, down on your knees in front of him, nestled between his legs, looking up at him with those devastating eyes that made his heart beat as loud as thunder.

You pictured him, whether he was sat on the floor, on the rim of the tub, or on top of the toilet seat, the harsh light of his bathroom throwing uneven shadows across his tired face. It sent a dull wave of warmth through your stomach like a tide at dawn, rippling up to your chest.

“What are you wearing?” you asked, shifting under your duvet and raising your back up off of the mattress, propping yourself up against the headboard before adjusting the neckline of your shirt around your shoulders.

He let out a small breath of something that resembled a laugh, just barely audible, and he said, “My top. Boxers. That's it.”

“No trousers?”

“Not at the moment.”

You heard a soft creak from his end of him shifting his weight, and he bit his rough lower lip. One hand rubbed along his thigh, over the soft cotton of his underwear, the fabric growing taut as his cock stiffened beneath it. He let out a small groan as he brushed his finger against his clothed tip, his eyes fixed on his crotch, and he murmured, “Wish you were here, love…”

The stems of the heat that had been rooted in your crotch made their way up your body, constricting and winding around your stomach, lungs, ribs and heart until they bloomed and blossomed in your chest, spreading a warmth through your, seeping deep into your bones.

“What would you do?” you asked softly, reaching behind your head to scratch an itch on the back of your neck “If I was there?”

There was a pause for a moment, and you pressed your thighs together beneath your duvet before crossing your legs at your ankles, and he finally replied with a slow breath, dragged out by tension and need, “I'd kiss you, baby… I've not been able to stop thinking about it. I haven't kissed my wife for days because I'm scared I'll forget what your lips felt like.”

He swallowed, his throat tightening as he heard your soft breathing on the other end of the line, uninterrupted, waiting, so he continued, thinking each word out to the best of his ability.

“Then I'd kiss your neck, all the way down… you'd be on top of me, baby. And I'd hold your hips, help you grind on me, feel how hard you get me…”

He cut himself off as he bit his bottom lip, his palm now working in slow, meditated strokes along his shaft through the thin fabric of his boxers, the friction of the barrier between his skin making his breath catch in his throat. A few of his particularly thick pubes poked through the soft cotton, scratching lightly against his skin.

You ran your hand through your hair as he continued to talk, his soft words laced with equal parts promise and lust. “I'd make you keep your eyes on mine… wouldn't let you look away, not once. And you'd call me daddy, wouldn't you, petal?”

“Mhm,” you replied quietly, letting him immerse himself in what he needed so desperately.

“Say it for me, baby…”

You could hear his breathing, thick and ragged, and you said softly, “Daddy.”

“Yeah…” he sighed, the sound melting into a whimper towards the end, and you heard the quiet sound of elastic snapping back against skin as he freed himself from the tight, constricting confines of his underwear, the cool air of the bathroom hitting his throbbing cock like a whip.

He wrapped his fingers around the base where his thick thatch of pubes had climbed up just a little like ivy, not too loose but not too tight, and he squeezed a little before you interrupted his thoughts, your voice gentle but enticing as you said, “Keep talking to me, daddy…”

He let out a small moan, dragging his fist up his shaft as he murmured, “I'd help you put it in, petal… make you feel every inch until it's all the way in.”

He rubbed his thumb over the tip, collecting and smearing the dewy precum that had gathered there along the swollen, angry red head before dipping it a little bit lower, using the pad of his thumb to rub small circles around that small ridge tucked just beneath the head.

He hissed out a moan through his teeth, pulling his hand up from the base all the way up to the tip, twisting his wrist to the left when he reached the top before bringing it back down again.

“Baby…” he whined, chewing on his lower lip as he felt himself growing so near to peak so soon. “Tell me you're touching yourself too, baby.”

You shuffled back down on your bed, resting your head against the pillow again before you said, your voice laced with a subtle, velvety rasp that he loved so much, “Mhm…”

You weren't, but that didn't matter. All that mattered to you was enabling him, letting him surrender to what he craved the most.

His chapped lips formed a soft ‘o’ shape as he let out a breathy, high-pitched moan, the noise raw and packed full of desire. The soft, wet squelch of his hand stroking up and down his cock bled through the small speaker on your phone, punctuated by his quick, shallow breaths, making your chest ache.

He choked out another few words, to keep the fantasy in his head going, his eyes fluttering shut. “I'd rub your clit for you, love… little circles… and I'd thrust up into you, just so you wouldn't have to do anything.”

He swallowed hard and tilted his head to the side, securing his phone between his shoulder and his cheek as he brought his other hand down to his shaft, planting his palm on the tip and rubbing in slow, tantalising circles, his hand growing slicker with each movement.

“You'd- fuck… you'd let me touch your feet, wouldn't you, sweetheart?” he panted, licking his lips at just the thought of them as a few of his sweaty strands fell in his eyes, and you hummed affirmatively in response.

The spark ignited in his lower belly as he tightened his finger around his shaft, his palm circling his slit as precum poured out of him like a fountain. The flame travelled up the fuse coiled inside of him, gradually burning and withering away the string as his grip on his cock tightened and his grip on his control loosened.

He managed to sputter out a few words in the midst of his haze, babbling, “Are- are you gonna cum too, baby?”

You smiled a little and let out a soft, fabricated moan before you hummed, “Mhm…”

He panted out a long, drawn out whine at your small noise, and he said, voice strained from both the angle of his neck and how close he was to the brink of his orgasm, just teetering on the edge, “Yeah- yeah, baby… gonna cum with me?”

His voice sounded broken, ragged, similar to how his tone usually sounded before he cried, and you murmured, trying to mask the fact that you weren't even touching yourself at all, “I'm gonna cum, daddy…”

He bit down on his bottom lip, hard enough to leave marks, and his flushed face scrunched up and he shut his eyes as the flame finally reached the bomb, his hips twitching and stuttering as he desperately clawed after his release.

His orgasm exploded inside of him, shrapnel hitting every inch and corner of his body as he cupped his hand that was on his tip around the head while his other stayed tightly wrapped around his shaft, his fingers squeezing and his wrist faltering as his cum shot out and pooled in his palm.

His phone fell to the floor beside him from his shoulder with a clatter as he moaned your name between breathless pants and gasps as he wrung himself out, the last dregs of his release dripping down his shaft with each slow upstroke of his fist.

Phosphenes contaminated his vision behind his closed eyelids, black and white shapes morphing and stretching like an optical illusion, like a kaleidoscope of checkered squares on a chess board.

When he finally peeled his eyes open, a little dazed, his pupils sunk down to his phone that had fallen on the floor beside his hip, face up, your name still displayed on the screen. He dragged his eyes to his cock, pulsating and twitching tiredly, lay spent across his palm as it slowly deflated.

You were still able to hear his deep, raspy breathing, though it was distant due to his phone being on the floor next to him, and you heard him shuffle a little, the crack of his knees giving him away as he stood up.

He hobbled the few steps towards the sink, twisting the tap on and rinsing his hands beneath the warm, constant stream of water, watching the remnants of his milky release swirl around the porcelain before meeting its demise and washing away down the drain.

He didn't bother with soap, just got the worst of it off with water before flicking the tap off and drying them off with an old towel with tears and holes around the edges that was draped over the rack.

He came back to his phone, dragging his feet with each small step, and he bent over to pick it up before bringing it back up to his ear, and he exhaled before murmuring softly, “You still there, petal?”

You let out a small, tired groan in response, and he laughed quietly. “Are you sleepy, baby?”

“Mhm,” you responded, slightly muffled, and you could hear the warm, gentle smile in his voice as he continued.

“You all tucked in, nice and warm?” he murmured, each word feeling like a kiss. “Daddy doesn't want you to be cold.”

That made your stomach tighten, even with how tired you were. He never referred to himself as daddy, he just liked to be called it by you.

“I'm warm,” you replied, letting your drowsy eyes fall shut as he continued to speak, his gentle but gruff voice gradually lulling you to sleep.

A small huff of air came from his nose, accompanied by a little quirk of his lips. “I wish I could take care of you, baby… all the time. I'd look after you how you need. Promise.”

You hummed gently, barely a vibration of your throat, before he continued, his voice more fragile, making way for his stream of emotions that usually followed his orgasms.

“I'd cook for you. Or I'd learn to cook for you, then I'd cook for you. I'd clean the sheets. Clean everything. I'd rub your back when your tummy hurts. You'd never have to do anything, petal.”

You let your mind feed into and believe what he was saying, his words tugging and pulling at the strings of your heart. It's times like this that made you wish it wasn't so unconventional. Wish he was twenty years younger, wish he was never married, wish you'd never gotten yourself into the harrowing cycle of sex work.

“Are you free tomorrow, sweetheart?” he asked carefully after a moment of quiet.

You inhaled deeply, still sleepy, before you replied, your voice barely a murmur, “Yeah.”

His smile crept into his voice. “Great, love. Can I see you tomorrow night? At The Swan?”

You couldn't recall which pub he was referring to, your mind starting to slip into unconsciousness, and you whispered, bordering on sleep talk, “Mhm.”

“Good girl,” he said, softening his tone as he started to realise you were hardly awake anymore. “I'll give you kisses, okay, baby?”

He didn't expect a proper response, and you gave another half-hearted hum, before he murmured, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Before ending the call, he brought his phone from his ear to his face, his heart clenching as his eyes scanned over your precious name, and he pressed a kiss to his screen, closing his eyes, letting himself feel closer to you for a moment. He pulled his lips back with a quiet mwah sound, a subtle pop of his lips, and he reluctantly pressed the red icon at the bottom of his screen to end the call.

He stared at his phone for a few minutes after. You were on call for just over thirty-four minutes. He read the numbers lined up in your phone number over and over again, studying them. He never wanted to forget them.

When he tore his eyes away from the poison of his phone screen, he looked down, his now-soft cock hanging heavy between his thighs, the underside brushing against the fabric of his boxers which were left clung around his hips.

He swiped his thumbs beneath the taut elastic waistband and pulled them back up to his hips with a dull snap as it hit his skin, and he trudged towards the bathroom door, wrapping his fingers around the handle before pulling it open with a squeak and a whine from the hinges.

He dropped one arm to his side, the cool screen of his phone brushing against the side of his thigh with each step as he padded down the hallway towards his bedroom, while the other idly played with the hem of his shirt, his fingertips accidentally brushing against his belly every so often.

He bunted the door to his bedroom open with his shoulder, and he craned his head around the doorframe quietly, just to make sure his wife hadn't come upstairs while he was on the phone to you in the bathroom. The bed was empty, as it almost always was these days, so he pushed the door shut behind him with a click, bent down to plug the charger into the port on the bottom of his phone, and he set it on the bedside table before climbing into bed, settling on the left side where he usually slept.

There was an indent in the middle of the pillows on his side, further indicating which side was his, and he nestled his head into it, letting the softness of it surround him, block out what he didn't want to acknowledge. His hair was a little greasy, falling in thick strands around his face, but he told himself he'd have a shower the next morning before he saw you, despite knowing you probably wouldn't care. You'd very happily fucked him in worse states before.

He let his eyes fall shut, sliding a hand beneath his pillow as he steadied and evened out his breathing, letting sleep take over his aching body and bruised mind.

When he woke up the next morning, it was to a soft hand snaking around his waist from behind, thin, delicate fingers dancing along his side.

He pursed his lips a little, his face scrunching up. She'd been touchier recently, not necessarily with love, but something that made itself comfortable in the space where their love used to lie.

“Morning,” she murmured, her voice hoarse in a way that felt too forced, too fake, like she was trying to trick him into thinking she slept well, something so small, and it irked him.

He hummed, his back still facing her, and he spoke with a groggy voice, “Didn't hear you come in.”

She hummed vaguely, moving her hand up to his chest and fiddling with the short hairs there before adding, “Didn't want to wake you.”

Her fingers traced patterns over his sternum, occasionally brushing against his nipples in a way that made him feel disconnected from his own body. He didn't like it. It had been a long time since he had liked it.

She kissed his shoulder blade, pressing her lips to his skin once, twice, then a third time, and it felt like she was doing it more for herself than for him.

He sighed internally before forcing himself to turn, the small movement looking and sounding like it took a lot more effort than it should, all the weight on his shoulders and in his mind making it hard for him to move as effortlessly.

He glanced down at her, nestling against his arm like she wanted to be tucked beneath it, but he didn't budge. He brought a hand up to his face, rubbing at his eyes as he asked half-heartedly, “You alright?”

She nodded quickly, the tangled strands of her hair tickling his arm, and it made him sigh. “Just tired.”

She shifted closer to him, throwing a leg over his, wrapping a hand around his wrist, resting her head on his shoulder, all with zero reciprocation from him.

He'd thought that maybe she was just trying. An attempt to fix what they both knew had long since crumbled.

Her tongue poked out to swipe along her bottom lip, her fingers still tracing patterns on his skin that had begun to irritate him, and she said, “I was thinking we could go out later. For a drink. Just us.”

He blinked up at the ceiling, biting at the inside of his cheek, and he looked down at her again. “Tonight?”

“Yeah, tonight. It's been a while, hasn't it?” she said, but to him, it sounded rehearsed.

He paused, his lips slightly parted before he said, making something believable up, “I can't, I'm going out with my mates tonight. I thought I told you.”

“Oh,” she said quietly, though he could tell there was some semblance of relief laced deep into her tone. “You didn't tell me.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, propping himself up on his palms behind him, the mattress denting and sheets creasing beneath his hands.

She let her hand slip from his chest as he sat up, the silence stretching between them thin and sharp as a blade.

He carefully swung his legs over the edge of the bed, easing himself out from beneath the duvet, and he crossed the room to the door that she must've pulled to after coming in. He ran his hand through his hair as he walked down the hallway towards the bathroom, and it clung to his fingers slightly, the strands weighed down and a little limp.

He stepped into the bathroom, the harsh yellow overhead light illuminating the room as he flicked it on and stepped in. He could see the dark shadowed corpses of a few bugs above in the fixture of the light, but he brushed it off. I'll clean it another time, he said to himself for the thousandth time.

He closed the door behind him with a click before pulling his shirt over his head and peeling his boxer shorts down his legs, kicking them off and tossing them aside along with his top.

He reached over the edge of the bathtub, twisting the dial to turn the hot water on, and the shower head sputtered to life before turning into a steady stream. He scratched the corner of his eye before stepping in, the heat of the water hitting his skin and flushing it a soft red, like ruby roses blooming all across his body.

He tilted his head back, letting it run through his hair, over his shoulders, down his back and across his legs. It felt good, letting the steam envelop him like the embrace his body craved for, and he worked the shampoo through his hair, fingers scrubbing against his scalp a little harsher than necessary as the soapy water dribbled down his nape.

His hands travelled and explored his own body as he lathered the soap over his limbs. The scent was hard to put a finger on. It was undeniably very masculine. Almost minty, in a way. Musky. Woody.

He rubbed it into his skin with languid circular motions, the thin white bubbles spread across his body like sea foam. The water travelled through his hair and trickled down his spine, and he closed his eyes, damp lips parted as steam curled past his mouth, and he let out a long breath.

He let his mind wander to you, to later that night, picturing your sweet smile, your delicious moans, your soft hands. His cock stirred slightly, undoubtedly, twitching purely from the mental imagery of you. It was pathetic how easy it was for you to wind him up, even when you're not even there. Your warm mouth that just felt like home, your quiet whimpers whenever he coaxed you through it, your gentle voice calling him daddy in that tone that made his heart ache and his cock throb.

He swallowed thickly, his jaw tight and neck tense, and he rubbed his forehead, trying to distract himself from how much he missed you.

He rinsed off the rest of the soap in silence, slowly, dragging it out as much as possible to elongate his alone time. To try and gather his bearings, at least a little bit, before he had to pretend again. Pretend to enjoy her company, pretend to like the way she speaks, the jokes she makes, the opinions she has. Pretend to not hate the wallpaper plastered across the walls, the knick knacks tucked and perched on top of and in between bookcases and dressers, or all of the furniture that just looked wrong. All of which had been chosen by his wife.

But tonight, he'd see you again. Maybe he'd still hate the dated furniture in the dingy hotel room, despise the oddly patterned wallpaper stuck onto the walls of the rented space, but at least he'd be with you. And that was enough motivation to make it through another day.

Though it dragged on, like it was attached to two ball and chains, he pushed through. You were his prize for completing a tough day.

After his shower, he dressed himself quietly, quickly, a soft shirt followed by a black pair of boxers, then a pair of deep blue jeans that seemed to hang a little looser around his hips than they used to, and his black leather belt to hopefully hold them in place.

He made his way downstairs, the faint hiss of the kettle coming down after reaching its climax filtering into his ears as he stepped into the kitchen, and he saw her leaning against the counter, giving her a half-hearted smile before she asked, “Want a coffee?”

He shook his head, his damp strands shaking with the movement, and he said, “No thanks, love.”

He lingered in the middle of the room, watching as she tore open an instant coffee sachet and poured it into a black and white stripey mug that she often used before filling it with the boiled water, and he said, a bit awkwardly, “I'm gonna head out for a bit now.”

She turned her head over her shoulder. “I thought it wasn't until tonight?”

He dragged a hand through his hair, a few droplets clinging to his fingers. “No, no, it's not, I just want to get some fresh air.”

She peeled her eyes off of him after a moment too long, looking back down at her mug as she stirred, watching the foam swirl and spiral under the twirling movements of her spoon. “Okay.”

She didn't say anything else. Maybe she was happy he was going.

It was around mid-morning when he left the house, climbed into his car, and just drove aimlessly. He was on the road for a while, driving past familiar places as well as some places he'd only passed once or twice in his life before.

After about an hour, he finally pulled into a car park and slotted himself between two of the white lines on the ground, albeit a bit wonky.

He pulled out his phone and opened his messages with you, scrolling all the way back up to the start. You hadn't sent very many, usually just a few short words in response to something he'd said, but he cherished each and every one of them.

He pulled up the keyboard and typed, Can't wait for tonight x, before turning his phone off again and tossing it onto the passenger seat. His lips pursed as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, his eyes squinted against the gentle sun as he looked over the sparsely filled car park through his windshield.

He sat there for a while, in the quiet, in the still, indulging himself in his thoughts as he found a soft comfort in the silence. He thought about what he'd ask you for, if anything. Sometimes he just liked a cuddle and a chat, a shoulder to lean on and an ear to listen.

The sun travelled higher in the sky, heating up the black leather of his car seats until they burned to the touch despite it being so late in the year. It was boring, sat alone in his car, doing nothing, but it was better than being home. Anything was better than being home.

The hours passed like boulders as he sat alone in his car, grueling, slow and heavy as they rolled by. He didn't know what to do with himself until the evening, until 7PM when he'd told you he'd meet you. The birds chirped and sang as they flew through the air and perched in trees, and his eyes scanned over the skyline once more before starting his car up again, the small screen in the middle of the dashboard flickering to life. The clock on the screen was an hour ahead, something that had been an issue ever since he bought the car that he'd never been able to fix.

By the time 6:30PM rolled around, he had already driven back to town and was sat in the small car park of the bar, tucked behind a few other buildings and a small, dingy playground that looked like it had definitely seen better days.

He reached over and picked up his phone from the passenger seat and opened his messages before typing a quick text to you, reading, Here x.

He hit send before tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans and opening his car door with a creak. He stepped out, the gravel crunching beneath his feet as he made his way to the front of the bar. The exterior was nice, deep blue-purple lined with dark oak wood. You'd been here with him a handful of times, and he was sure the workers knew what you two got up to upstairs by now.

He pushed open the door of the bar, the hinges whining, punctuated by a small ring of a bell above the door. He made his way across the intricately patterned carpet, rogue pieces of chewing gum dotted across it, accompanied by a rather large beer stain contaminating the design of the floor in one corner.

He perched his elbows on the sticky oak wood of the bar, his eyes tracing along the edges of the rubber beer mat before asking the bartender for a whiskey.

His eyes scanned over the room as his drink was poured, over the group of elderly men in the corner who looked like they bet too much on the horses, over the woman with bleached hair and chipped nail polish chatting loudly on the phone, over the small group of lads who looked to be about your age dressed in football t-shirts with pints in their hands.

He took his drink to a small table in the corner, the chair squeaking as he sat down, and he set his glass atop a flimsy coaster. He took a slow sip, the liquor burning as it trickled down his throat, and he watched the clock, watched the seconds tick by with an embarrassing amount of concealed excitement.

He fished his phone out of his back pocket once more, more out of instinct than need, and he swiped it open with the pad of his thumb. No new messages, but he didn't mind. He opened the app anyway, your name perched at the top of his screen with a red heart beside it. It made him smile a little.

He wrapped his fingers around the short glass again, bringing it up to his lips for another swig. He drank a bit more this time, letting it fill his mouth half-way before he swallowed, the flame of the spirit tingling down his throat like the curling, blackened edges of a burning piece of paper.

He glanced at the clock mounted high up on the opposite wall. 6:44PM. Only sixteen minutes. Nine hundred and sixty seconds.

They crept by like years, 6:47, 6:51, 6:56. He shifted in his seat, the torn leather cushion beneath him on the seat creaking quietly, and he drained the last of his whiskey before setting the glass down with a quiet clink and wiping his palms on the front of his jeans.

He checked his phone again, lay flat on the shiny, tacky table. The read receipt nestled beneath his text had turned blue, indicating you'd read it, that you were on your way. His knee bounced and he fidgeted with his fingers beneath the table, but quickly retracted his hands when they accidentally brushed against a chewed up piece of gum that someone had stuck to the underside of it.

He licked his lips before lightly biting down on his bottom one. 6:58, 6:59, 7:00. His eyes darted to the door, but nothing. A couple more minutes passed, 7:01, 7:02, 7:03, and a miniscule flicker of doubt sparked in his chest, but he quickly buried it. He knew you weren't like that, but he knew what you were like. Usually late. But it didn't stop the small twinge of worry from festering in his heart, stemming from the strange paternal instincts he nurtured for you.

When the rickety door finally squeaked open, he smiled widely, his eyes squinting, and he tucked his phone back into the back pocket of his jeans. You looked beautiful in the dim light, making his throat tighten as he swallowed and his arm going still, thankfully preventing him from waving like an idiot.

When you spotted him in the corner, a smile spread across your face. He stood up as you crossed the room towards him, and he reached out to help you out of your jacket, just to touch you.

He pulled it loose off of your shoulders and bit down on the flesh on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling too wide. “Missed you,” he said softly as he draped your jacket over the back of the chair opposite his. “Do you want a drink, love?”

You smiled, sitting yourself down in the chair he'd pulled out for you. “Please, yeah.”

He gave you another small smile before turning back towards the bar, the same bartender giving him a small nod.

He cleared his throat slightly. Vodka cranberry, please,” he paused for a moment before deciding to get another drink for himself. “And a vodka coke, please.”

He reached behind him into his back pocket and pulled out a few notes from his scuffed leather wallet as the bartender turned to pour the drinks.

He glanced around the bar quickly before asking, his voice more hushed, “Are there any rooms available upstairs? For tonight?”

The bartender looked back at him briefly over her shoulder. “Just for one night?”

He nodded.

She didn't ask any additional questions, just reached below the bar and pulled out a brass key with a wooden fob marked with a 3 in permanent marker. “Thirty for the night, then. Checkout by ten.”

He pulled a few more notes from his wallet and slid them over before tucking it back into his pocket along with the key.

He gave her a half-hearted smile and a muttered thank you before picking up the drinks and turning back towards the table.

He made his way towards you and set your drink in front of you. “Here you are, sweetheart,” he said before sitting down himself with his own drink. “I sorted the room as well.”

The corners of your lips pulled up slightly before you brought the glass to your mouth, the cold bite of the vodka and cranberry filling your mouth and travelling down your throat.

He watched, mesmerised in a way, looking adoringly at your lips pressed to the rim of the glass, the way your throat bobbed when you swallowed, the way your fingers wrapped around the cup.

When you set it back down, he murmured, his eyes dragging down your frame fondly, “What have you been up to today, baby?”

You sighed, swirling the ice around in your drink, the clink ringing in your ears. “I had work earlier.”

His heart stopped for a moment. Work? Did you see someone else? Was he not the only one anymore?

You looked back up at him and saw how his face had dropped. You brushed a few strands of your hair back before saying, “Petrol station. I have another job, I don't just do this.”

You saw a wave of relief pass over his face and he nodded, his dry lips slightly parted as he inhaled deeply. “Yeah, of course, cool. How was that today, then?”

As you started to tell him about your day at work, annoying customers, irritating managers, grueling tasks, his eyes drifted down your body, your curves carrying his gaze like a tide, and they landed on your fingertips, your nails still coloured with the deep, gloomy purple he'd painted for you. They were a little chipped now, a small gap between your cuticle and where the polish began from where your nails had grown, but it still made him smile, his heart fluttering in his chest.

When he looked back up at you, his cheeks lightly reddened, he gazed into your eyes as you continued to chat about your tiring day at work.

He glanced down to his glass, the carbonated bubbles swirling around the top of the dark brown liquid, weaving in and out of between the ice cubes floating in his coke like little islands.

When your ramble came to an end, you took another mouthful of your vodka cranberry, savouring the tart flavour as it embedded itself in your tongue, and you asked, “So, how was yours?”

He took a small deep breath, shaking his hand beside his upper arm with a motion similar to that of a tambourine being played, and he said, his voice coming out more awkward than he'd've liked, “Just, um… was in the car for a while. Drove around for a while. And that's about it.”

“You didn't have work today?”

“Not today, no. Just… a bit of breathing space.”

“Right.”

He brought his glass up to his lips, tilting it and taking a long sip as the sweet, fizzy liquid filled his mouth, chasing it with a gentle burn as he swallowed it down.

He shifted idly in his seat, feeling the key digging into his skin slightly through the denim of his jeans, and he murmured while watching you take a sip of your own drink, “I really missed you, petal.”

His lips quirked up in a small smile, and before you could reply, he added, “I loved our call last night.”

You let out a small huff of laughter through your nostrils, a soft sound that always tugged at the strings of his heart, and you said, your voice sweet, like honey drizzling into his ears, “I'm sorry that I wasn't very awake for it.”

He reached over the table, putting his hand over yours, feeling the soft, smooth, glossy polish on your fingernails against his palm, and he said, his tone full of reassurance, “Don't be sorry, baby. I know you were, and it's fine. As long as you were fine.”

You smiled and nodded once, the warmth of his strong hand enveloping yours. “I was.”

A quiet settled between you, comfortable and laced with ease, while the pub's murmur faded into the background. You both gradually finished your drinks, leaving just the melting ice cubes piled in the bottoms of the glasses, the water they exuded diluting the last dregs of the liquids inside.

He pushed himself up out of the chair with a slight scrunch of his face, his hand coming behind him to his lower back for a moment as he turned, before he picked up all three of the glasses and crossed to room towards the bar again, offering the bartender a little smile as he set them on the beer mat.

He came back over to you as you stood, and he reached behind you to grab your jacket off of the back of your chair before you could, and he draped it over his forearm.

With one hand ghosting lightly over your lower back, he guided you through the narrow hallway to the stairs that led to the second floor, and he let you go up first, gesturing towards the worn-down stairs, each wooden step a lighter shade of brown in the centre from years of being walked on and climbed up.

The click of your boots accompanied the creak that came with ascending the stairs, and he pulled the key from his back pocket, the metal cool against his fingers.

Once you reached the top, he slid past you, anticipation blossoming in his chest as he looked over the handful of doors, each one dark oak with a small sign with a number on mounted in the centre.

He slid the key into room three, twisted and unlocked it, before holding it open for you. You stepped in with a small smile, and he walked in after you, closing the door behind him, before he draped your jacket over the foot of the bed and toed his shoes off, kicking them aside.

His jeans followed, unbuckling his belt with a clink of the metal before he pulled the long strap of leather to one side, tossing it in the same general direction of where his shoes went, before he started on undoing his jeans, pushing the cool metal button through the hole and pulling the zip down with a metallic whir.

He slid his thumbs beneath the waistband and tugged them down his hips, off his ankles, and left them in a pile on the floor, leaving him in just his black boxers which clung to his thighs and ass like a second skin.

You watched as he undressed, your pulse quickening beneath your skin with each garment he shed, and you slipped your own boots off, tucking them neatly beneath the bed. Next came your jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping before pulling the fabric down your legs. They were tight at your thighs and hips but loose and flared at your ankles. You folded your trousers and draped them beside your jacket over the foot of the bed, now only in your underwear and loose t-shirt.

He let his eyes float over you, slow and reverent, drinking you in, and your skin tingled under his gaze. He crossed the small space between you, his hand coming to your waist like gravity, and the soft fabric of your top bunched and creased slightly beneath his touch. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his pupils wide with adoration as his eyes met yours, and he whispered, “You're so beautiful… my girl.”

He tilted your chin upwards with his hand, his fingertips brushing against your jawline, and he traced your soft lips with his eyes before he leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut as he pressed his mouth to yours.

He pulled you close against him with his hand on your waist, his rough lips a stark contrast to the overwhelming gentle love he always gave you. His mouth moved against yours with patience and control, and his other hand moved from your jaw to the back of your neck, keeping you pressed to him.

You kissed him back, the chapped skin of his lips scraping against yours. There was no frantic urgency, no burning fire. At least, not yet.

He let out a soft whimper, a noise that seemed to escape him without him even realising it was brewing, and the kiss deepened, his nose pressing into your cheek.

When he finally pulled back, it was with a long sigh, and he rested his forehead against yours while his hot breath brushed over your lips.

He smiled, a little out of breath. “Told you I'd give you more kisses, baby.”

The corners of your lips tugged upwards at his words, and he glanced over your shoulder briefly, towards the bed, and he said, his voice low, “Come on. Let's get in.”

He gently helped you under the duvet, making sure you were comfortable, before he climbed in beside you, lying on his side to face you, and he slipped his hand beneath your shirt to feel your soft skin against his hand.

He propped himself up on one elbow, his head in his palm, and he looked down at you like you were the sun, like you were the stars and the moon, like there was nothing else worth even thinking about looking at.

His short fingernails grazed over your belly in soft patterns as his hand trailed over your body, and he said, his voice as soft and as sweet as a marshmallow, “Had a difficult day, didn't you, petal?”

You looked up at him, and you swore his pupils had turned to hearts. You nodded once. “Mhm.”

He trailed his hand lower blindly beneath the thick duvet, but using your body as a guide for his fingers, like following a map for treasure. “Want daddy to make you feel better?”

There it was again, referring to himself as daddy. You didn't question it though, didn't ask, instead, you smiled as you felt his hand gently rub over your thighs, slipping his fingers in between them to part them slightly. “Yeah…”

He rubbed his middle and ring fingers over the soft cotton of your panties, over that tender spot right in the centre, and he rubbed gentle circles over your clit through the fabric.

You let out a small noise, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and he kissed your cheek. “That feel nice, petal?”

You nodded, and he pressed his face to the side of yours, his lips dragging along your skin as his fingertips rubbed along your clit through your underwear, the gentle friction making your breath stutter in your throat.

Your head tilted back against the pillow, and he took the opportunity to move his mouth to your neck, planting kisses along the side, accompanied by small licks or a light bite every so often.

He felt the dampness against the pads of his fingers through your underwear, and he moaned softly against your neck before he shifted his hand from between your legs, the sudden lack of contact making you frown, until he hooked his thumb beneath the lace trimmed waistband of your panties.

You lifted your hips slightly off the mattress as he gently tugged the fabric down, running his hands over the soft swell of your hips and giving a light squeeze to your ass before he pulled the cotton all the way down your legs until they were loose around your ankles, and you shuffled out of them entirely, losing them somewhere in the sea of the duvet.

He spread your legs a little wider before he slotted his hand right back between them again, the heat radiating from your cunt making his lips curl upwards against your skin.

He gently circled your clit, dipping his fingers lower and gathering some of the dripping wetness that flooded your hole, before tracing them back up and rubbing your clit with the slickness.

You moaned softly, your hand coming up to hold his that wasn't on your pussy, and he squeezed it tightly, reassuringly, interlocking your fingers with his.

He pressed a kiss to your jaw, his eyelashes lightly brushing against your skin, and he murmured, “How many, baby?”

His fingers continued their small, slow circles, and you panted softly, “...Two.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

He lifted his head slightly from the crook of your neck and pressed a kiss to your high cheekbone. “Tell me if it's too much, sweetheart. Or not enough.”

You hummed softly in response, and he dipped his fingers lower again, slowly easing his two fingers inside, and your muscles tightened around them straight away, holding them in.

He hovered his face above yours, looking down into your eyes as he gently slid inside. You let out a soft, airy sigh, the noise trickling into a whimper towards the end of your breath, and he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose.

Your eyes flickered shut for a moment as he fed his fingers deeper, centimetre by centimetre, but you opened them again when he murmured, his hot breath fanning over your cheeks, “Look at me, baby…”

When he finally pushed them to the hilt, his palm pressing against your clit, he squeezed your hand with his free one, keeping you in the moment with him, and you moaned under your breath, “Daddy…”

“That's it… you gonna take them deep for me?” he whispered. “You're being such a good girl…”

His thumb brushed against that aching spot just above where his fingers were buried deep, tantalisingly teasing, and he began to gently pump his fingers in and out, curling and bending his knuckles against the ridges of your walls.

You whined, pressing your lips together tightly before they parted, letting out a long sigh. You did your best to keep your eyes on his as he coaxed you through it above you, but with the gentle rubbing from the pad of his thumb on your clit and the slow twisting and thrusting of his fingers inside of you, it proved very difficult.

He pressed his lips to yours, swallowing your moans and whimpers before you could voice them, and he kept up the pace of his fingers inside you, his own centre pulsing, twitching, straining against the tight jail of his cotton boxer shorts.

He felt your walls throb around him and he smiled against your mouth, taking your lower lip between his teeth and tugging gently before releasing it, just slightly reddened ghosts of a teeth indent remaining.

He kept your eyes locked on his, whispering your name whenever they fluttered shut if he curled his fingers a little too tightly or pressed a little too hard on your tingling clit.

His fingers moved with a purpose, now drenched with the slick that proved how strong your desire was, how badly you wanted this, how much you needed him. Your legs twitched as he plunged deeper, the pads of his fingers insistently pressing on that spongy spot nestled deep inside you.

“So pretty…” he whispered, his voice thick with lust no matter how quiet he made it, how low he dimmed it. “My pretty girl, aren't ya?”

You nodded, your lips parting and eyes widening slightly as he circled your g-spot in time with his movements on your clit, and you bit back a cry, your throat tightening around the noise before it was able to escape.

“Say it,” he murmured, voice husky and gruff.

“I'm- I'm daddy's pretty girl…” you stammered, voice hoarse and trembling from the intense sensations and pleasure.

“Yeah…” he muttered, lowering his head and pressing his lips to your cheek once more.

Your hips rolled up into his hand unconsciously, chasing the build up, chasing the climax, starving and greedy for any ounce of friction.

His lips lowered to your shoulder, planting open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, sucking gently with every other press of his mouth against your skin.

You felt his length brush against your thigh, the heat scorching to the touch even through his boxers, and a choked moan came from your throat, a kind of sound you didn't even know you could make, and you promptly bit down harshly on your bottom lip to quiet yourself.

He felt the walls of your cunt fluttering and tightening around his fingers, and he smirked against your shoulder, licking a small stripe from the base of your neck up to the back of your ear, leaving a trail of faint sheen in his wake, and he whispered, nibbling on your lobe, “You gonna cum for me, petal?”

You whimpered, desperate and broken, and he smiled, licking his lips before it morphed into a grin, and he murmured, “Let go for daddy, baby. Come on.”

His coaxing words pushed you over the edge, and with a final press of his fingertips on your g-spot, a final flick of his thumb on your clit, you came. Your legs quivered, core tensed up and moans spilled from your mouth uncontrollable, babbling daddy for him, and he watched your face as the waves washed over you, slowing down but not stopping his hand movements.

He guided you through it as it tore through you, fast and hot, squeezing your hand and kissing your forehead while his fingers continued to move in slow, curling strokes inside of you, easing you down from the high.

“You did so good for me…” he whispered, his voice laced with pride, with love, and he gradually stopped the torturous movements of his fingers, leaving you breathless beneath him, spent, boneless, and twitching.

He pulled his fingers from you with utmost care, and he rested that hand on your stomach on top of your soft shirt, leaving a small patch of wetness on the fabric.

He didn't say anything at first, just dotted a few more kisses across your skin, on your forehead, your shoulder, your jaw. He gently stroked his thumb against your hand that was interlocked with his, helping you come down from your climax.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asked quietly, his voice rough but doused in adoration.

You nodded, and he lay back, his head beside yours on the pillow, and he took his hand that had been inside you back, wiping the wetness off on his shirt. His eyes were fixed on a crack in the ceiling above, tracing it like it was fine art, and that's when it came. Like it always did, the words he'd been bottling up for a few days, waiting to be spilled in the safety of the silence he shared with you after the intimacy.

“This morning,” he began. “She got into bed with me. I told you, she fell asleep on the couch last night, but when I woke up, I felt her hand on my waist.”

You turned your head slightly, your chin nudging against his shoulder as he continued.

“She never does that. Well, I mean… I was sleeping in that bed alone for months, but every so often, for the past couple of weeks, she's been coming in and curling up like nothing's wrong, like we're all okay.”

He shook his head at the thought, his hair bouncing lightly under his movements. “It made my skin crawl. I felt… itchy. I don't know. It felt awful.”

You stayed quiet, just listened, like always. He never needed advice, just needed somewhere to store the ache, someone to listen, and that someone had become you.

“It's been like that recently, though. She's just been being… nice. Overly nice. It's never really been shouty, but… she's been trying to act like she used to. Like when we got married, when we were still good. But I can tell it's fake, that she's forcing it, and it makes me feel ill.”

There was a touch of venom running through his tone now as he drummed his agitated fingers against the mattress.

“She asked if I wanted to go out for a drink with her. Tonight. But she didn't seem too disappointed when I said no.”

Something inside you ached for him, either your brain or your heart, and you pursed your lips, contemplating for a moment, before you decided to say something, your voice soft as you spoke carefully.

“Maybe she's cheating on you too.”

He stilled, you felt his body tense up and stiffen against yours, and you regretted even opening your mouth, but that didn't stop the words coming.

“I've seen people do it. People get nicer when they're hiding things, it makes them feel less guilty. Like if they do enough nice things, it cancels out the bad.”

You turned to look at him. You'd made a mistake. But still, you added quietly, “Maybe she's got someone too. Someone she fancies.” you let out a small, awkward, self-deprecating laugh as you said, “Maybe she's got a sex worker too.”

The air froze cold.

He sat up slowly, his face unreadable in the dim light, but his jaw was clenched, his face hard. You'd never seen him look at anyone like that, letting alone look at you like that.

“Don't,” he spat sharply.

You blinked. “I didn't mean-”

“I said, don't.”

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, grabbing his jeans from where he'd left them in a pile on the floor. The silence that fermented between you was loud enough to deafen.

“You don't get to say that,” he muttered mostly to himself as he tugged his trousers up to his hips, doing them up with more force than needed. “You don't know her. You don't know what she's like.”

You swallowed, the guilt mixed with confusion clawing at the backs of your eyes and constricting around your throat. “I was just trying to help-”

“Yeah?” he snapped, raising his voice. “Well, you fuckin’ didn't. Jesus Christ.”

You sat up, propping yourself up with your hands behind you on the mattress, your heart pounding and stomach clenching.

“She's not you,” he said, bitterness flooding his tone. “So don't pretend you understand her.”

He shoved on his shoes and picked up his belt before reaching into his back pocket, ripping out the brass key and wooden fob before throwing it on the bed. “There's the fuckin’ key. Now you can fuck off.”

Then, without another word, he slammed the door shut behind him hard enough to make the wooden frame rattle.

You sat there in the bed, heart aching, stomach hollow, like your organs had just been brutally ripped out, but your skin was still warm, still tingly from where he'd touched you just moments before you'd made the mistake of speaking.

The room was quiet. Far too quiet. Save for the occasional round of laughter or clink of glasses from the bar downstairs, it was uncomfortably silent. Your shirt clung to your skin, and your eyes drifted down to the key he'd chucked on the bed, and it made you wonder what exactly you said that made him so angry.

Because he was cheating, wasn't he? He was a married man constantly and consistently sleeping with another woman. So why did he get so offended when you proposed the idea that maybe, maybe, his wife was cheating too?

You lay yourself back down flat on the bed, head in the pillow with your hair sprawled out, and your eyes blurred as you thought to yourself about why. Why did you have to speak? Why did you have to break the unspoken rule between you, where he talks and you listen?

You weren't meant to analyse. Not out loud, at least. It wasn't what he wanted to hear. You were his escape.

You pulled the duvet up higher, every breath of air you inhaled choking you on the way in. The hollow had settled inside your chest, spreading and infecting like rot, like burning poison.

You didn't cry yet, though your eyes stung in the corners with the need to. You just lay there in the stale air, breathing in the scent of him on the sheets, the once comforting smell now making your stomach twist, wishing you could go back a few minutes, wishing you'd've just stayed quiet.

The loud noise of a woman laughing downstairs echoed up through the floorboards, the cackle cutting through the quiet, and you looked down at your hands. Trembling. You let the silence swallow you whole, the guilt pressing heavy on your ribs with each breath you dared to take.

He'd never gotten angry at you before, and you didn't know if he was going to come back.

He drove fast, almost too fast. Just barely under the speed limit. He gritted his teeth, his fingers clutching the steering wheel with a force that bleached his knuckles white. Your words circled in his brain like a toy train.

“Maybe she's cheating too.”

His brow furrowed, wrinkles creasing lines across his forehead as he scowled. You didn't know anything about her. Sure, he'd endlessly complained to you about her, but that didn't give you the right to say something like that. To intrude on his life in that way.

And yet you'd dared to say it, dared to say it so casually as if it was just a fleeting thought. As if it was just a simple observation.

The city blurred past his window, the street lights smearing across the glass. The car felt too hot and too cold at the same time, but he didn't care. He wanted to sweat, and he wanted to shiver. He wanted to give his brain something to focus on other than the churning in his gut.

When he pulled into his driveway, the house was dark. No bedroom, living room or bathroom lights illuminating the windows. Her car wasn't even in the drive.

She wasn't home, and it made his chest tighten.

He got out of his car and slammed the door shut with more force than necessary, the loud thud echoing through the otherwise silent, still street, and he fumbled with his keys in his pocket as he trudged over to the front door, cursing under his breath before he unlocked the door and let himself in.

It was silent. Silent in all of his senses, except for one. No lingering smell of dinner, no sound of the television, no lights on in the house, no warmth enveloping his body from the radiator. But there was one thing he could sense.

As he parted his lips to inhale for a deeper breath in, he tasted it. The chemically burn of her perfume hit the back of his throat as he yawned, making him cough and sputter in retaliation.

His tongue poked out and swiped along his lower lip, wetting it as he dropped his keys onto the entryway table with a clatter. Maybe she'd gone out with her friends. He'd said no to her asking him to go out that night, so maybe she'd gone for a drink with her girls instead. For an end of week wind down, a gossip.

He dragged a hand down over his face, his hair ruffled, his stubble scruffy and his eyes still stormy.

He moved into the kitchen with heavy steps, the burden of the night weighing him down. The kitchen floor was cold under his feet, and he didn't flick the light on. The moonlight that seeped in through the window was enough for him to guide him to the liquor cupboard.

He swung open the door to the cabinet, reaching straight for the back where he knew the vodka was. It wasn't open. It was one of the expensive ones that she insisted they save for a special occasion that never seemed to come.

He cracked the seal after a few tries, his sweaty hands making it difficult for him to grip the cap properly, before he grabbed a shot glass and set it on the countertop with a dull clink. He poured it in, right up to the top, and he downed it. He hissed quietly as it burned down his throat before wiping his lips with the back of his hand, a thin streak of the clear liquid glistening slightly in the pale light of the moon, before he poured himself a second one.

He felt warm, both from the alcohol and the leftover rage. The words still echoed in his mind, over and over again.

“Maybe she's cheating too.”

He swallowed the second shot without much more than a quiver of his shoulders, much easier than the first one.

How dare you suggest that, as if you knew. As if you knew anything about the problems that came with being an adult. You were still a teenager, just barely out of your childhood years, and there you were, trying to act like you could and knew how to psychoanalyse his own wife.

The third shot hit harder, burned hotter, and he braced his hands against the counter as it settled in his chest, simmering down into his belly.

He didn't feel sorry for you. You'd overstepped, and you'd hurt him by doing so. He had a right to be angry, or so he told himself.

He left the small glass on the counter, not bothering to put the bottle away either. He barely managed to will himself into putting the cap back on.

He dragged himself upstairs, his body much heavier than it had been half an hour ago, and he stumbled into his bedroom. The room was cold, almost sterile, in a way.

He lay down, fully clothed, even his shoes still on his feet, and he stared up at the ceiling, his breath reeking of vodka with each exhale.

Something aching gnawed at the edges and backs of his eyes, something he recognised but didn't want to admit to himself that it was what he was feeling. Guilt. It stung him uncomfortably, but it was the truth that he wasn't ready to look at yet.

You hadn't moved, not really. You'd tucked your legs up to your chest, lay like a fetus, but that was about it. The tears that were gathered in the corners of your eyes threatened to spill at any given moment, the blur obstructing your vision, so you opted for closing your eyes completely.

God, you should've just kept your mouth shut.

It wasn't your place, and you knew that.

The guilt chewed on your insides with its rotten, razor-sharp teeth. It felt like your organs were bruising.

At some point, the weight of it all became too much, settling in your stomach in a way that felt like you'd eaten your body weight in wet concrete, and now it was drying inside you. The endless pit in your stomach somehow deepened, the ache in your chest persisted, and the silent throb of being wrong in your body continued.

Sleep didn't come gently, though. It didn't approach, it dragged, ruthless and raw in its determination to make you miserable in your last moments conscious before finally letting you succumb to the all-consuming exhaustion.

Weeks passed like slow healing bruises.

Christmas came and went, but it didn't feel like anything. Nothing special, anyway. You didn't have anyone to spend it with. No family, no friends, just you behind the dingy till of the dodgy petrol station, fluorescent overhead lights buzzing as they blinded you with their harshness.

He didn't come back that night. Not to you or to the hotel. He didn't text you, not once. Instead, he spent more of his time with her.

You saw them once, twice, maybe three times, walking through town together, all bundled up for the cold. He wore a stupid bobble hat, a colourful scarf and mittens, holding a takeaway coffee cup in his hand while he carried shopping bags in the other. She wore a long, black puffy coat, mittens, and the same stupid looking wooly bobble hat.

He didn't see you, or he pretended not to. Either way, it felt like a punch to the gut.

New Year's Day passed by without even so much as a flicker of change. It just felt like another day to you, or what just another day had come to feel like for you. Even when the fireworks cracked through the air as midnight struck, it didn't feel any different.

But what did feel different was a certain day, a little less than a week after New Year's. The sixth of January. His birthday. His thirty-ninth birthday.

You remembered it from the moment you opened your eyes on the morning of, and it wilted like a fading bruise in your heart. Soft, sore, tender and inescapable.

You thought about texting him, just a simple happy birthday, maybe accompanied by an emoji, a heart or a smiley face, but you ultimately decided against it. You didn't want to shatter anything else anymore than it already was.

He woke up in a mood that he couldn't shake all day. Tight-chested and short-tempered. It had been building up for the past couple of weeks or so, and he'd tried to blame it on everything except what he knew it was. Chalking it up to the weather, the cold days and sludgy snow, or the pressure of ageing, the aching joints and heightened exhaustion, or the ache in his jaw from how he'd been clenching it all night, every night, due to the pent-up tension and irritation he'd been refusing to let blow off.

But deep down, a part of him knew what it really was. It was you. Or rather, the absence of you.

He hadn't seen you in weeks, not since he'd shouted at you and abandoned you in that hotel room alone. He thought putting distance between you two would fix it, would fix him, mend the breaks and cracks that he knew only you could, even if you didn't do anything physical. Being close to you was his medicine.

That night, his wife booked a meal at a fancy restaurant for dinner, saying she wanted him to feel special. She wore a slim red dress, the hem ending at her mid-thigh, the kind of thing she only wore once in a blue moon, and she curled her hair and coloured her lips in a shimmery crimson lipstick.

He wore a soft white dress shirt that was just a little bit too big for him, and his black tailored suit trousers. He only loosely wrapped a black tie around his neck when she told him he looked too casual.

He barely tasted the food, all of the flavours merging into one as he blocked out her rambling from across the table. The expensive wine tasted so bland to him, it may as well have been water.

Because all he could think about was you.

The meal ended with a bitter tiramisu he barely touched, followed by a quiet drive home, save for her soft humming to some cheesy romantic ballad playing on the radio. She had one hand resting on his thigh, fingers brushing against the linen of his trousers, but the moment she parked the car, he climbed out and stepped inside, letting himself in without waiting for her, without even holding the door open.

When she came in after him, she slipped off her heels quietly and tucked them beneath the entryway table with a soft click as they tapped against the floor once more, and she mumbled some complaint about her feet hurting. It made him scowl.

She made her way into the living room and curled up beneath a soft blanket in the corner of the couch, and when he stepped into the doorframe, she extended her arm towards him. “Come here, birthday boy.”

He pressed his tongue against the side of his inner cheek before sucking his teeth. He opened his mouth again with a pop as he said, “I think I'm gonna go see the lads for a bit now.”

She frowned. “Tonight?”

“Yeah. Haven't seen them for a while.”

“But it's late, Al. And it's your birthday.”

“Exactly,” he replied, pushing himself off of the doorway and moving back to the entry hallway. “I'll be back later.”

He yanked his tie loose from around his neck and hung it on the front door handle before pulling it open, stepping out and closing it behind him, undoing the top few buttons of his shirt as he quickly made his way to his car.

He hardly realised what exactly he was doing until he was halfway across the city, but he knew exactly where he was going, exactly which corners to turn and which roads to follow.

He'd dropped you off more times than he could count, always waiting for you to turn around a final time and give him that small smile and wave before he allowed himself to leave. He'd never been up, never even asked, but he could recognise the street name and the winding of the roads that led up to it from a mile away.

When he parked, he sat there for a moment, the flickering street light reflecting off of his windshield, and it hit him. How much he missed you, how much he needed to see you again.

He stumbled out of his car, shut the door softly and made his way towards the opening of the block of flats. The lights inside were somehow even harsher than the street lights outside, but he climbed the first set of steep stairs, then the second, then the third before he stood in front of your door.

He took a deep breath, his heart weighing heavy in his chest, and he brought his hand up to knock. Just a couple short hits of his knuckles against the white door, the paint peeling off in more places than one.

When the first knock echoed through your flat, you barely blinked. It was far too late for anyone decent to be turning up at your door.

You were lay on your tattered old settee, knees hugged to your chest with an equally tattered blanket, held together by a few strings and hopes and dreams.

You hadn't even bothered to properly get dressed, just in a soft, worn t-shirt with holes and tears scattered around the collar, a pair of shorts you'd owned since you were fifteen, and mismatched socks with rips at the toes.

Your hair was a mess, every single strand going in a different direction. You looked tired.

When the knock came again, firmer, more insistent this time, you sighed and dragged yourself up, half-expecting it to be your landlord coming to evict you over a bill that was three months overdue.

But when you unlocked the door and swung it open with a cool draft, there he was. Alex. In the clothes he must've worn out to dinner, you assumed, and the moment his eyes met yours, he opened his mouth, and what came out was low and hoarse.

“I'm sorry.”

That was it. No excessive speech, no frantic excuses, no dramatic explanation. Just a word that sounded light, but felt like it carried the weight of the world.

You didn't say anything at first, just stepped aside to let him in, your shirt swaying slightly around your torso.

He stepped inside slowly, almost sheepish, tentative, and he glanced around quickly before settling his gaze back on you. His hands fidgeted in front of him as you closed the door with a click, and he bit the inside of his cheek.

“I'm- I shouldn't have-” he started, the words spilling out faster than he could structure them properly. “I was… I was really wrong that night. I know I was. I just… I was just angry. Not at you, not… not really. I just-” he stopped himself. “I'm sorry.”

You nodded, your lips slightly pursed, and you swallowed the lump in your throat, making room for the words to come out. “I'm sorry too,” you whispered. “It wasn't my place to say what I said.”

He looked at you properly, his eyes drifting over every crevice of your face, studying the details in a different light, and he slowly, cautiously took a step forward, and his hand rose to cup your cheek in his palm. His eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation, any hint of doubt, but when you didn't pull back, when your lips parted just a little and the breath caught in your throat, he leaned in.

He pressed his lips to yours, your mouths fitting together like two puzzle pieces destined to be slotted together.

He gently sucked on your lower lip before tugging on your top one with his teeth, and he cupped the back of your head as you moved together, in perfect harmony.

When he pulled back, it was only by a breath, and he stroked your cheek with his thumb, gazing into your eyes like they were the only thing keeping him sane, and in a way, they were.

Your fingers gripped the front of his open shirt, clinging to him, your fingertips brushing against the soft hairs beneath it. “I missed you,” he murmured. “So fucking much.”

You swallowed, and before you could reply, reciprocate, his lips were on yours again, his tongue licking along your lower lip, tracing it like he was marking out a secret pass code to gain access, and you parted your lips slightly, letting his tongue invade your mouth. He licked along your tongue, along the sides of your teeth and tracing patterns on the insides of your cheeks.

When he pulled back again, his lips were wrapped around the tip of your tongue, and he released it before pressing his forehead to yours, his hands bracing on either side of your face.

“I don't know why I thought it would work. Trying to move on, I mean. You mean so much to me, petal.”

You felt your heart thud, and you were sure it was audible to him. “I missed you too.”

One hand gently travelled down your body, over your ribcage, your waist and your hips, down to your thigh, and he rested it there, thumb gently stroking the soft skin.

You pulled back just enough to look at him properly, but not enough to break contact, the tips of your noses still lightly touching, and you said, “Do you… wanna go to my bedroom?”

The corners of his mouth twitched, not exactly a smile, but far from a frown. He nodded a little, just once. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I do.”

You nodded as well, a gentle smile playing on your lips, and you held his hand as you led him down the short hallway to your bedroom. Your flat was cluttered, a little messy, quite small, but it was yours. It was lived in, it was homey, it was cosy.

You pushed the door open with a squeak of the hinges and he stepped in after you, his hand slipping from your grip as you let go to pull your torn socks off.

The bed wasn't made, there were some clothes strewn across the floor, and there was a candle on the bedside table with a deep tunnel running down the middle from where you'd been too preoccupied with something else to scrape the wax off of the sides.

But none of that mattered to him. He was hyper focused, and only focused, on you. You climbed onto your bed, the mattress dipping beneath you, and you pulled the duvet up over your body, making his heart stutter.

He quickly worked on undoing his linen suit trousers, tugging them down his legs and nearly tripping over them as they pooled around his ankles in the midst of his desperation to get them off.

He burrowed into your bed beside you, faint, light hairs dusting over his thighs and brushing against your skin as he nestled into you, his lips finding your forehead as if you were a magnet.

He propped himself up above you with one hand, the sheets creasing beneath the weight, and he used his other to hook beneath the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down to his knees before lifting them one at a time to yank them down his calves and tossing them off of the bed.

He settled himself between your legs as you lay on your back before him, his cock hot and throbbing, twitching slightly as he rubbed his hands over your thighs, down your legs, and over the soles of your feet, and his length wagged slightly as he shuffled closer.

You let him maneuver and shift your legs however he pleased, and he brought one of your feet to his face and pressed his nose to the ball of your foot, breathing in slowly as his eyes fluttered shut, taking it in completely.

He rubbed his thumb over the arch before he set it back down, his reverent hands returning to your thighs.

He glanced up at you, meeting your gentle eyes, and for a moment, he felt a little embarrassed by what he wanted to ask.

“Will you, um… can you touch me with your feet?”

You smiled. You knew it wouldn't be long before he asked you for something as full on as that. You nodded, and murmured, “Of course.”

He took a deep breath, his face flushing as he tried to hide how much it turned him on behind a bitten lip and half-lidded eyes.

He guided your feet towards his aching cock, and he moaned, half-cry, half-whine, as soon as your toes just barely grazed over the sensitive skin of his shaft. He muttered a half-hearted apology, barely able to keep himself together as you stroked him with your soles, and he closed his eyes, knowing he wouldn't be able to last for more than a few seconds if he caught sight of your feet perched so beautifully around his dick.

He blindly held your ankle for something to ground him, to keep him from completely losing it, while you moved with ease, with grace, your arches cradling him like his shaft was something to be worshipped.

You smeared the precum that had beaded at the tip down over and along his cock, all the way down to the base where his wiry pubes lightly scratched and tickled your toes.

He exhaled sharply, a slight quiver underlying beneath the breath, and he forced his gaze downward, down to where your feet were wrapped around him, and his whole body jolted.

His thighs stiffened and his hips jerked forwards. You could have almost felt the surge of desperation shot through him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his hands sliding up your legs, up to your knees and gripping tightly. “Stop, baby, stop…”

You stilled instantly, your eyes flickering up to look at him with a slight hint of confusion. “You okay?”

He breathed heavily, his chest that peeked through the open front of his shirt flushed, and his cock twitched and pulsed helplessly against your ankles. “Yeah…” he panted, peeling his eyes away from your feet. “Just… I don't want it to be over so soon.”

You nodded once, moving your feet away from his throbbing, dribbling shaft, and his fingers trailed along the soft backs of your thighs, before he hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of both your pyjama shorts and your panties, sliding them both down your legs at the same time with knew fluid motion. The air of your bedroom was cool against your newly exposed parts, but they were quickly heated up again by his fiery gaze.

You lifted your head up slightly, turning it towards your bedside table, and you reached over, tugging the drawer open before reaching in and grabbing a loose condom, still in the wrapper, that had fallen out of the small but battered little cardboard box they'd come in.

He took it with a gentle smile, before tearing the packet open and rolling it down his sensitive length with a small sigh.

He then leaned forward and pushed your shirt up until your chest was bare, your nipple tightened into small points, and the fabric bunched beneath your arms. He gently traced down your sides with his hands, loving and soft, before he gently pushed your legs up, one, then the other, placing them over his shoulders, the intimate shift bringing your bodies impossibly close.

His nose nudged yours, his face hovering just above yours while his cock brushed against your inner thighs, ghosting just over the spot where you craved him the most.

His hands came up to cradle your face, thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones, his palms warm against your skin.

“You're so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, thought his voice was gravelly and thick with the sheet weight of his desire.

You swallowed, barely breathing, your chest rising and falling against his, and he slowly rocked his hips as he adjusted his position, getting ready to slide in.

His grip on your face slightly faltered for a moment as he lined himself up, trying not to groan at just the thought of being inside of you.

He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth and whispered, “Breathe in for me, petal…”

You did as he said, slow and steady, filling your lungs with the air that had likely already made its way around his body, just from how close your mouths were.

Then, with another subtle twitch of his hips, he slid inside slowly, carefully feeding every inch into your warm, welcoming cunt as it took him in, dousing him in slickness.

He moaned, the sound like a drug to your ears, and he continued his gradual, measured thrust inwards, stretching you with every inch that your pussy gratefully took in until your thighs trembled on his shoulders.

“There we go…” he cooed reassuringly as he finally reached the hilt, his thick cock nestled inside you like it belonged there. “There's my good girl…”

His hands didn't leave your face once, making sure you kept his gaze the entire time while he filled you, his thumbs brushing your temples.

“Being so good for me… fuck…” he crooned, his low hum faltering slightly as your walls squeezed him, pulling him deeper and holding him in. “Just like that.”

You whimpered something unintelligible, your voice quivering as he rocked his hips gently, filling you even more, helping you take even more of him.

“You feel so good… so warm and wet… I could stay in here forever,” he murmured, brushing a few of your stray hairs back with his knuckles.

His hips began to move, a slow, gentle roll as he eased you into it despite how many times you'd taken him by now. Each thrust was deliberate, careful, purposeful, and deep, and he held back the slight tremble in his thighs as he plunged further in.

His face scrunched up a little bit above yours, and he whispered, his tone bordering on a whine, “So fucking good…”

You whimpered in response, your walls fluttering around his girth, and you reached up, clutching at his shoulders, his neck, the collar of his shirt, just anything you could hold onto to anchor yourself.

“I know, sweetheart…” he murmured, his words sifting into your ears like sugar. “I know it's a lot. But you feel so good… taking me so deep…”

He was already close, you could feel it from the tenseness in his shoulders and the twitch of his shaft inside of you as his latex-covered tip kissed your cervix with each thrust.

“Squeezin’ me so tight…” he drawled, his tone dripping with sweetness like syrup. He nuzzled his nose against yours, fighting the urge to squeeze his eyes tightly shut and completely lose control over his body. “You're gonna make me cum…”

You kept your eyes on his, your gaze devastatingly heart-aching as you nodded, and he whispered encouragingly, “Yeah? You gonna cum too, baby?”

You nodded, your nose brushing against his as you moved your head, and he kissed your cheek, your forehead, your chin and your mouth, his hips still rolling into yours.

“You can let go, sweetheart. I'll be right there with you…” he cooed, coaxing. “Right there…”

And just like that, with your legs shaking over his shoulders and a daddy catching in your throat and spilling out somewhere between a gasp and a sob, you did.

You felt the muscles of your pussy spasm and contract around his length as you climaxed, your lower lip quivering from the intensity while you let out a long string of unintelligible curses.

He followed seconds later, his chest pressed tightly against yours as he spilled into the condom with a low, shuddering groan in your ear followed by a seemingly endless murmur of praises as he ground his hips into yours, riding out his high while prolonging yours.

He pressed his forehead against yours, squeezing his eyes shut tightly, and for a few moments, you both reveled in the comforting silence, punctuated by panting and the occasional whimper as he softened inside of you.

He pulled out slowly, his wide tip dragging along the sensitive ridges of your inner walls. He pulled the condom off, making an attempt to tie it once, then twice, before finally succeeding on the third attempt, and he lazily reached over and set it on your night stand.

He gathered you into his arms without another thought, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your gentle orgasm, and he peppered a few soft, loving kisses across your face, his stubble lightly scraping your soft skin.

For a long, tender while, neither of you spoke, letting the warmth of the silence envelop the two of you like an all-consuming cuddle, the only audible sound being the slow rise and fall of your chests as your breathing grew softer and slower as you came down.

You tilted your head up towards him, studying his face where time and age had left their marks, and your voice came, soft, barely breathless, and just above a whisper, “Happy birthday.”

He exhaled, his lips quirking up at your words before he looked down at you, his eyes reflecting a flicker of gratitude. “Thank you.”

He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear before kissing the top of your head, his lips firm as he pressed them down, before the quiet took over again, holding you both in its calming embrace.

｡･:*:･ﾟ༓･*˚⁺‧͙ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚₊✩｡˚☽

can i post my art on here some time? im only asking because they wont be alex or am related, i havent even drawn him in a while but ive been making a few attempts again recently. it's just because drawing has been feeling like a chore recently because i have to do it all the time for work and i miss just doing it for fun. on a different note, thank you @crowpill3d ive used about five different ideas in this that you inspired. love ya x

#im thinking i might finish it in part five #ill see how i go #and they will have a happy ending #i can already see you in the comments crow #i have visions #alex turner x reader #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x you #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #alex turner smut #fake it so real #alex turner #roxabellas

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months ago

Text

Don't Speak 52 - Finale

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber, Steve Kemp

Note: 🕊️

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

“Alright, one o’clock,” Amber says as she walks into the room. She sets down her phone and you pull the pillow over the tablet to hide it. “Is that enough time?”

“Sure,” you answer. You don’t have much choice. It has to be done and the sooner, the better. You want it to be done with. All of it.

As much as you want everything to go back to how it was, you know that even this can’t make it so. Things will always be different. You will always be different.

“I’m just going to give Curtis a call and check in.” She explains.

“Right,” you shrug and smile at her.

You wait for her to leave before you move the cushion. You’re nervous about the appointment. It’s going to hurt probably. You don’t think anything can hurt as much as everything that’s happened in the last few months.

You tap the screen to wake it up. The library of videos opens and you scroll through. You spent have the night wavering between the delete button and just smashing the tablet. For whatever reason, you can’t do either.

You close the cover again, still caught in indecision. Once you’ve dealt with the baby, you’ll be able to think. You get up and take the tablet with you to your room. You dress in your old clothes; a pair of faded jeans and an oversized sweatshirt.

It’s strange being in that place again. You look around at all those things you almost forgot. Amber didn’t change a single piece of it. Your chest sinks as your eyes cling to the window. What did she think when she found you gone? You feel horrid for hurting her like that.

You sit and pull on socks then rub together your frigid hands. The world around you is both hazy and vivid. You feel every second roll by and yet the colours and the sounds are all so distant. Today is the day.

You hide the tablet under your pillow and go back out. Amber is on the couch. Her shoulders are almost to her ears. She’s as anxious as you are.

“Curtis can’t drive us. He’s caught up helping out his buddy.” She explains.

“Oh, that’s okay,” you shrug.

“We’ll take my car. He fixed the heating issue so it should hold out,” she says, flicking her thumb against her phone nervously.

You go to her and sit, “it’ll be okay.”

She sniffs and sits forward. You feel her look at you, “are you?”

“I think?” You clutch your knees. “I don’t know. I just feel... sure. Certain.”

“That’s good. But you know, it’s entirely your choice.”

“I know and that’s why I’m sure,” you force a tense smile.

Her phone buzzes. She squints at the screen as she reads. “He said he’ll bring us some dinner. He should be done with Jake by then.”

You nod and your eyes explore the room. She’s silent, still watching.

“So much is different,” you murmur. “You know Jake too?”

“Sure. He helped us. When you sent that message. He found you.” She says.

You look at her, “found me?”

“I know. Sneaky.”

“No, it’s... good.” You lower your head.

You linger in the lull. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s calm. Patient. There’s a rattle at the window. A strange tapping. You look over and Amber follows the noise too.

There’s a dove outside looking in. The frost in the window has warmed to condensation in the last days. You stare at its grey feathers as it coos and quorks its head.

“Spring is close,” Amber says. “The birds are coming back.”

You stare, hypnotised by the creature. A second dove lands beside it. You read that they often stay in pairs.

“Well, about an hour and we’ll head out,” Amber gets up. “You need anything, bub?”

“No, I’m fine,” you assure her and lean back, “I’m just going to close my eyes.”

She hums and goes into the kitchen. You listen to her as you relax into the couch. You drag your hands up to your stomach. Almost there.

🕊️

As Amber drives, your eyes catch in the side mirror. You give a start and sit up against the seat belt. You shake off the fright as the grey car behind you slows with the flow of traffic. No, you’re imagining things.

You lean your arm on the door and hold your head. Amber idles in the clog of the street and taps her fingers on the steering wheel. She looks ahead and clucks. You’re ahead of schedule. You couldn’t stay still and it’s a good thing you left early.

She continues on in the slog and flips her blinker. She takes a side street away from the dense main way. Before she can circle around the block, a pair of headlights flash in the mirror. You don’t get more than a glimpse of their glare. She pulls through the back entry beside the dumpsters and curls around the front of the clinic.

“Oof, finally here,” she shifts into park. “You think with the weather getting nicer, more people would walk.”

“Yeah,” you agree dully.

Your ears are buzzing. You look over your shoulder at the clinic then back to the fence ahead of you. You exhale.

“Bub,” Amber says as she shuts off the engine.

“It’s okay. I’m ready,” you say. “Just... something...”

Your voice trails off as another car pulls up from the back of the lot. You turn and your chest knots at the familiar grill and emblem. It can’t be. It’s just a coincidence.

The SUV pulls in next to you and you look up at their tinted window. His silhouette alone is enough to assure you. You reach over and grab Amber’s wrist as she unlocks the door.

“No, lock them!” You cry out as Andy open’s his car door.

“Bubba--” She swallows her protest and the locks thunk. “Shit!”

Andy’s treads his the ground and he slams the door. He looks around, staring at the clinic, then scowls. He bends to look through the passenger window at you.

“Open up.” He demands.

“Fuck off!” Amber shoves her hand across you and flips him the finger. “Don’t make me call the police again.”

“You fucking liar!” He snarls as he hits the window, his voice muffled by the barrier, “I knew you were hiding her.”

“I said go the fuck away,” she leans over.

You watch Andy in horror. You shrink down as you tremble. You’re not ready for this. Not for him.

“Dove, Dove,” his gaze falls and meets yours, “hey, sweetie, let’s talk. I calmed down. Please--”

You close your eyes and shake your head.

“She doesn’t want to talk,” Amber snips.

“Dove, you can’t--” he pauses. “Whatever you’re doing here, don’t do it. Please. We can figure this out. I know what this place is--”

You shake your head and drone, “no, no, no, no, no, no...”

“Go away!” Amber barks again and slaps the window. She pulls back and grabs her phone. “I’m calling Officer Jones. How many reports is that, Andrew?”

“Wait...” you gulp as you open your eyes and grab her arm. “Wait...”t

“Bub, please--”

You squeeze and let her go, “he’s my problem. Let me deal with him.”

“You can’t. He's dangerous. He’ll hurt you--”

“I don’t care. He can’t hurt me. Not anymore.” You undo your seat belt and take a breath.

She says your name as you reach for the lock and slide it up. The door opens from the other side. Amber latches on as you try to get out. You tug and pull away.

You get out and close the door. Andy crowds you between the cars, his hands on your shoulders at once, sliding up to cradle your face.

“Sweetie, sweetie, I was so afraid--”

You grasp his wrists and lean away as he tries to kiss you.

“Don’t touch me,” you yanks his arms down and shove him. He’s big and strong. You almost forgot that. Still, he does as you tell him. His eyes are bloodshot and his face pale.

“Honey,” he begs.

“No.”

“What-- what are you doing here?” He rasps and looks over again. “You’re-- you’re-- you have to be. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You shake your head.

“It’s mine. It has to be! I’m the only one. The only one!” He grabs your arms again, “Please, honey, I can take care of you. Both of you. You and the baby.”

“No!” You exclaim and hit his chest.

Another car door snaps shut and Amber’s shadow comes around the trunk. You look at her and give her a look. She stops, worry woven above her brow. You face Andy again and push until he stops touching you.

“It’s not yours and even if it was, I wouldn’t want it. Just like I never wanted you,” you sneer.

“Dove, you don’t mean--”

“I mean it,” you hiss. “I hate you. I always hated you but I was afraid.” You hit his stomach and he staggers back. “You’re a bully. That’s all you are.”

“No, I love you--”

“No, you don’t!” You holler and stomp your foot. You point at him, “you don’t love anyone. You can’t. I’m not the broken one. You are!”

“Dove--” he stands straight and reaches for you. You slap his hand away.

“Don’t touch me. I’m done with you. I don’t want anything to do with you!”

“You don’t have a choice,” he snarls, his eyes darkening as his expression hardens. “That’s my baby, I have rights--”

He lunges for you and you cry out. He doesn’t get to you as Amber launches herself between you and tackles him against his car. She’s smaller than him but that doesn’t stop her. She bites his hand as he tries to grab her neck and she jabs two fingers into his ribs. He wheezes and recoils.

She pushes away and stands between you and him. She keeps you behind her as she stands tall.

“Try it again.”

“You can’t do this. You can’t keep me away from her. You can’t kill my child--”

“It’s not yours!” You shout and peek around Amber. You squeeze her arm and step up next to her. “It’s Dr. Kemp’s. Your friend. The one who helped you hurt me.”

“No, I didn’t--” he begins.

“You did. I have proof. I have the videos.”

“What videos?” He spits.

“I changed the password,” you say. “You can’t get rid of them now.”

“No, you’re lying. There’s no--”

“I have them all. Every single one.” Your eyes overflow. “It’s your name on the account, not mine. The police can figure it out, can’t they?”

He looks as if he’s been hit again. The lines in his forehead deepens and his mouths slits to a thin line. He glares at you. The way that used to make you do whatever he wanted. Not this time.

“It’s over. I’m done with you. I never even wanted you, Andy,” you breathe. “No one could ever want you, not even me.”

He winces and his lips part but nothing comes out.

“And if you ever come near me or my sister again,” you twine your fingers through Amber’s and cling to her. “I will send those videos to the police.”

He stares, eyes searching, pleading. You won’t fall for it. He can make himself look pathetic but you don’t believe him. Not anymore.

He waits. You say nothing. He sniffs and pulls his shoulders back. His jaw grits and his eyes flash.

“You’re just the same as you always were. Fucked in the head,” he grits and goes to turn. Before he can, you swing your foot up. It’s a low blow, cheap, but you don’t care.

Your toes meet the front of his pants and he grunts. He staggers and falls to his knees, clutching his crotch as he shudders. You get closer as Amber keeps a hold on your hand. You bend and lower your voice as you get close to Andy’s ear.

“I never came for you,” you whisper.

He gurgles and you back up. There’s nothing else to say. You turn and tug on Amber. You walk away without looking back.

As you get to the door of the clinic, the sun comes out from behind the clouds and beams against the white brick. A cheep tweaks in your ear and you turn to see the sparrows bustling in the barren branches of the bushes. They send up a chatter that fills the air. You can hear it all. You can see it all. Feel it all.

You keep your grip tight on Amber and reach for the door with your other hand, ready to open it and all the other doors that come after it. You don’t want to hide anymore. You want to fly.

🕊️🕊️🕊️

I just want to thank everyone who has followed along on Dove's journey. It was bumpy and took a while, and it definitely took a lot out of me (in a good way). I hope you enjoyed this.

Until next time 💗

#andy barber #steve kemp #dark andy barber #dark steve kemp #dark!andy barber #dark!steve kemp #andy barber x reader #steve kemp x reader #series #don't speak #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #librarian au #defending jacob #fresh

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vodika-vibes · 1 year ago

Note

Hi Vodika 🥰

I'm back with a second ask for your follower celebration!

Could I get a Wolffe x Fem!Reader with a narcissus and pansy bouquet? Where the reader ends up in the hospital and Wolffe confesses his love for her when he visits and realizes how much she means to him?

Please and thank you 💚😘💚

@the-bad-batch-baroness

Accidents Happen

Summary: You've been crushing on Wolffe for, what seems like, forever. But you're convinced that he'll never feel the same. However, when you're injured at work, things change.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x F!Reader

Word Count: 2020

Prompts: Narcissus - unrequited love, Pansy - you occupy my thoughts

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: You did say that Wolffe was on your brain! So I hope this story makes you happy! And here's your personal divider that I made for you. As a note This is Wolffe's message, and This is the reader's messaging.

Early mornings are the worst, you think as your alarm goes off at 5 am.

You lay in bed for a moment, listening to your alarm scream at you from across the room, before you sigh and swing your legs out of the bed and push to your feet.

Early mornings where you actually have to do work the whole day are even worse. You blearily cross the room and hit the button on top of your clock, before you flip the lightswitch, making it impossible for you to go back to sleep.

And then you cross back to your bed, and grab your comm from its charger.

Several messages from your friends from the night before. Several more from your boss from last night and early this morning. A handful of emails that need to be deleted or responded to in kind.

You sigh heavily, and open the app for your work. You quickly log in for the day, before you go back to your emails. You absently answer several work emails as you pad through the apartment into your kitchen.

You set your comm down on the counter, still scanning your emails, and you grab your electric kettle to fill it with water. You set it back on it’s stand and flick the power switch, before you grab your comm again and turn to leave the room.

You start to reply to an email when the dark blue bubble of your instant messenger pops up on the screen.

You up?

Your heart speeds up and your face heats when you see the simple words sent to you by Wolffe. Your crush on him is, frankly, embarrassing.

Tragically. Morning Wolffe. What’s up?

Comet has been harassing me to remind you about the book. The one with the birds.

You stare at the screen blankly for a moment, You mean The Raven Emperor series?

How should I know? Probably.

You giggle, Wolffe, there aren’t any actual birds in that book.

I really don’t care, sarad.

Well, someone’s grumpy this morning.

You’d be grumpy too if your twin brother stole all of your caf.

What, the GAR doesn’t give you a caf supply.

The GAR wouldn’t give us armor if we didn’t need it to win the war.

You can hear him rolling his eyes across the text message, and it’s kind of impressive.

Anyway

Me and the boys are going to 79s this evening

Coming?

I wish.

I have a building that I need to appraise, and it’s something like 200 apartment buildings.

I’m going to be busy until midnight

🥺

Ah.

Well, next time then.

You wait a moment for Wolffe to say something else, but he went offline soon after.

I want to go on a date with you. Your finger hovers over the send button, before you sigh and shake your head, deleting the message.

Wolffe would never be interested in you. Not like that.

You just have to be happy with his friendship.

And here you thought ‘love unrequited’ was just something in the trashy romance novels you read in secret.

You allow yourself to wallow for a whole 30 seconds, and then you remember that you still have to shower and eat breakfast, and you toss your comm on your bed as you hurry into the fresher.

The chat with Wolffe means that you don’t have time for a proper breakfast, especially if you give yourself time enough to shower properly, but you think it was worth it. He’s Wolffe, after all.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re scrambling out of your fresher, pulling your wet hair into a messy knot at the back of your head, and you hurry back into the kitchen.

In your rush you accidentally pour some hot water over your thumb as you fill your travel mug with the water, and you release a pained hiss. “I don’t have time for this,” You say to the empty apartment. You eye the blister critically, and decide that it’s not worth the hassle of treating it

Quickly, but carefully, you finish putting your breakfast together, and you hurry out the front door.

Your boss wants you at the complex by 6 am.

And luckily, you make it. By the skin of your teeth, maybe, but you’re still on time.

“You’re almost late,” the stern looking older man scolds.

“The keyword there being almost,” You counter, as you look up at the building, “This is the Meridian Complex?”

“Yep.”

“You spent how much on this?”

“2.5 Million Credits,” He sounds proud about it.

“This is a death trap.” You point out, cringing as a fake shutter falls off a window three stories up.

“It just needs a little work.” Your boss says, and then he pauses, “You are up to date on your vaccines, right?”

“Ha. You’re hilarious.” You pull your datapad out of your car, and glance at the information on the screen, “You have the keys?”

“Yup, all of the door codes are set to 00000.”

“Noted.” You make a note on the datapad, “After you.”

Half an hour later, you realize that your conservative estimation of this taking until midnight was far, far too generous. This is going to take days.

You look around at the rotting floorboards, and at the graffiti and holes on the walls, and you sigh. At least the paycheck is going to be really nice.

“Hey! I think I found a half decent apartment!” Your boss calls from down the stairs, “Second floor, 209. We can use this as a staging room.”

“Coming!” You shake your head at the sheer mess, and half wonder if you could message Wolffe and ask for the Wolfpack to help. You laugh softly at the idea, the boys would be more than happy to help, you’re sure, but it’s not realistic.

You start up the stairs.

But, if he was willing to help, you could spend more time with Wolffe, which would be a win.

A weird noise makes you slow to a stop, and you pause, tilting your head to listen better.

“What are you doing?” Your boss asks from the top of the stairs.

“...I heard something-” You trail off as there’s a cracking noise under your feet.

Your boss’ face goes gray. “Hurry!”

You go to take one more step, when the cracking noise returns. And when you put your foot down on the stair…it keeps going.

You don’t even have time to scream as the staircase collapses under you.

The last thing you see as you topple backwards is your boss’ horrified face, and you hear a shout of your name.

Wolffe is not having a super day.

On top of the fact that Fox stole all of the Caf and the fact that he’s been confined in his office doing paperwork all morning, the fact that the Wolfpack’s pretty sarad won’t be joining them at 79s tonight just shoved him into an awful mood.

Nights out are always better when she’s with them.

He glowers at the various documents that need his signatures. He should be grateful. He’s not Marshal Commander. He’s seen the amount of work that Cody, Fox, and Bly have on a daily basis.

He’s lucky that he is only a commander and he only has this much work to do.

…yeah, nope. That didn’t help.

He rests his head on his hand as he taps his stylus against the table. “When Alpha said that a command position was worth it, he was a filthy liar.” Wolffe announces to the room at large.

He should make Comet do this paperwork in exchange for the free time he’ll need to read that book series he’s going to borrow-

Wolffe’s thought process is cut off when his office door slides open and Comet bursts in, “Commander!”

“What is it?”

“Sarad is in the hospital.”

Wolffe’s heart drops into his stomach. He drops all of his work and grabs his helmet, “Which hospital?”

“Coruscant General. Sir, where-?”

“I’m going to go check on her, of course.” He pushes past Comet, “You’re in charge until I get back.”

“Yes, sir.” Comet pauses, “Let us know how she is?”

“I will,”

The trip to Coruscant General doesn’t take long, Wolffe is able to walk the distance. And, as luck has it, no one stops him when he enters the hospital properly.

“Can I help you sir?” The nurse at reception asks.

“I hope so,” Wolffe replies, before he offers her name, “I was told that she’s here.”

The woman nods, “Are you the husband?”

Wolffe pauses for half a second, “Yes, that's right.” He lies.

She nods again, “On the fifth floor, room 517.”

“Thank you.” He marches over to the lift, and presses the button for the fifth floor. Wolffe’s mind is whirling. How was she hurt? How badly? Does he need to set up a guard rotation for her?

Did someone attack her? Does he need to get the guard involved?

The lift comes to a stop and he steps out, and heads to the nurses station. He offers her name once more, and again, lies about being her husband, and he’s pointed in the right direction.

The door is shut, and Wolffe lightly knocks on the door. He doesn’t get a response, but he pushes the door open anyway.

“Sarad?” The lights are dimmed, but not so much that he’s not able to see her.

She looks…bad.

Covered in bruises and bandages. Various machines attached to her, monitoring her heart rate and blood pressure and giving her IV medication.

“Oh, cyare.” Wolffe walks over to her, and looks her over. Every inch of her is covered in angry looking bruises or cuts. “What happened?” Gently, very gently, he brushes a strand of hair out of her face.

A lot of the tension he hadn’t realized that he was carrying drains from his body now that he’s sure that she’s not dying or dead.

It’s kind of funny, in a way.

Sure, he’s always known that his sarad was important to him. He’s not been blind to the fact that she’s always on his mind and that he never isn’t thinking about her. But he didn’t know just how important until this very moment.

Wolffe’s fingers linger on her cheek, and he’s startled when he hears a soft moan from her. “Sarad?”

Hazy eyes peer up at him, confused, “‘lffe?”

“Yeah,” He smiles at her, “It’s me. How are you feeling?”

“...wh’re?”

“You’re at Coruscant General, you were hurt, do you remember?”

Her fingers flex, and Wolffe takes her hand in his free hand, “Stairs,” She mumbles, some of the haze leaving her voice, “The stairs collapsed-”

“Unlucky,” Wolffe says quietly, as he sets his helmet on the side table and then sits in a seat, “How are you feeling?”

She’s quiet as she considers his question, “...fuzzy.” She finally says.

He chuckles, “I’m not surprised, by the look of it, you’re on some good pain medicine.”

“Wolffe?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you in the hospital? Are you hurt?” She asks, her brow furrowed as she tries to puzzle it out.

“Come on, Sarad. You know the hospital doesn’t treat clones.” Wolffe brushes his fingers across her lips, “I’m here for you, of course.” He pauses, “I also let everyone believe that I’m your husband. Sorry.”

She hums, “I don’t mind.”

“That I lied?”

“Being your wife.” She clarifies, “Sounds like fun. Let’s do that.”

Wolffe laughs, “I think we’re skipping a couple of steps, Sarad.”

She hums again, her eyes fluttering closed, “Don’ care. Love Wolffe.” She mumbles.

His breath catches in his throat for a moment. And then a wide grin crosses his face. “Are you still awake, cyare?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I love you.” He whispers into her ear, and then he presses a light kiss to her temple, “You’re not going to remember this when you sober up, and that’s okay. I’ll just tell you again and again, as many times as you need.”

She smiles at him, the drugs hitting her hard again, “Stay?”

“For as long as you want me, sarad. Promise.”

#star wars #tcw #vodika-vibes follower celebration #commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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burningcheese-merchant · 15 days ago

Text

Alrighty. I hate saying this, but. I'm probably going to delete the ship discourse asks in my inbox. Too many in there now and my mind is too clear to want to answer them

I think we've all been harsh with each other recently. Shouldn't have had to sleep on that, shouldn't have taken me longer than a few minutes to realize that, but idk. I went to bed last night and woke up this morning and... remembered how old I am and that I have better things to care about lol. But seriously, this recent update has really gotten to people's heads, mine included unfortunately, so I think we all need to take a step back and reevaluate ourselves

To try to explain (not excuse) myself personally. I, my friends and acquaintances, and our little fan community have gotten so much harassment for so long that now that the story is sort of tipping in our favor, I felt... vindicated. TOO vindicated this time around lol. For years and years now we have all been viciously mocked, shunned, called misogynists, called abuse apologists, we've been told to kill ourselves, we've been told bad things should happen to our loved ones. I couldn't help but feel smug when episodes 7 and 8 dropped, and then episodes 9 and 10 pushed me into being legitimately petty and mean. Like, all of this harassment was already pointless, now it's even more pointless because BxA is canon. Sore winner, "they hated Jesus because he told the truth" type shit lol

But... That's dumb. All of this is dumb. They're just video game characters. I'm an adult with adult responsibilities lol. None of this is worth getting bent out of shape about, on any side. Nothing wrong with respectful conversation and debate, but it hasn't really been that this time around. It's been gloating. Teabagging. And that's not cool. So I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry if I've upset anyone with anything I've said. I'm happy about Eternalberry but I've gotten TOO happy haha. I've regained mental clarity and thus the realization that I've started becoming part of the problem. I'm genuinely sorry for that. I want to go back to regular dork levels. Being spiteful and petty sucks, even if it's "justified"

Since I feel bad for leaving those asks awaiting deletion, A) mea culpa mea maxima culpa to those who sent them, nothing against any of you I just want to put the discourse to rest, and B) they all more or less say the same things so I'll just go ahead and bullet point my responses:

TikTok is perhaps the worst social media app ever created, it is an actual blight on society to almost biblical proportions, you are a fool if you listen to anything anyone has to say on there, your first mistake was going there in the first place, Tiktok Delenda Est

Twitter is definitely the worst social media app ever created, it is a blight on society that John meant to record in the Book of Revelation but didn't know how to describe it properly because the internet didn't exist 2000-ish years ago, you are a fool if you listen to anything anyone has to say on there, your first mistake was going there in the first place, Twitter Delenda Est, let's all point and laugh at the Trump-Musk divorce instead

Hero/villain ships are as old as human civilization and fandom nerds today have gotten really uptight about them, it's dumb and honestly really bizarre considering how prevalent it is in almost every piece of media, if someone doesn't like the trope that's perfectly fine it's not for everyone it does get pretty dark but a lot of people seem to put on gestapo uniforms when they're brought up now and it's a waste of time and energy. No one is holding a gun to your heads you guys, you don't need to do it to anyone yourselves

It's nice that I've apparently managed to convince some people to be more open-minded about BxA and hero/villain shipping as a whole, welcome to the club glad to have you, I'm sorry you've had to see some of us do our "obnoxious clown" routine recently, don't worry I'm washing my makeup off rn

I'm disappointed but unsurprised that BxA fans have been getting death threats in places, unfortunately that's how it's always been and it will continue to be that way even if all 5 pairs marry and have sex onscreen. No amount of canonizing in the narrative will change some people's minds. No amount of reasoning or olive branches will make them realize how ridiculous they are. Just have to accept it and ignore them

Cookie Run Kingdom is Baby's First Fandom for a lot of people, and a lot of them are actual, literal children, so all the black and white thinking and lack of understanding and respect makes sense, sadly. This is why I put my age in my blog description haha

Rule of thumb for me personally is to just block people who post hate in ship tags tbh. Spare us both the trouble. I've only responded to one post ever, and it was because the person was asking an honest question in a reasonable way so I thought it was fine to engage. I'd rather not engage people who want to attack and not actually talk. Blocking does us both a favor, I don't have to see meaningless hate on my dash and in tags I follow and they don't have to see content about ships they don't like from me. Win-win

Now, with all that said, I want to say some things I've said before, but would like to reiterate loudly and clearly one more time:

You do not have to like Beast x Ancient. It's perfectly fine and reasonable if you don't. It's not for everyone. Whatever your reasons are, I believe and accept them. I post about them a lot because I love them a lot, and I like talking about things I like. I do my best to tag properly so my weirdo babble is easier to filter out. My posts are more or less just preaching to the choir, I think lol. It's fine if you don't like that, it's fine if you don't like BurningCheese or Eternalberry, it's fine if you don't like Beast x Ancient. I am not your mortal enemy if you don't like them. I'm happy to talk to and be friends with people who don't. I already do so often haha

Furthermore, I want you all to know that no matter what I say about ships I don't like, I don't care if you do like them. I am not out to get you for liking things I don't. Which dolls you decide you like to make kiss is not my problem. I am not your mother, I am not your dictator, I am not God. My opinions are just that, no one is obligated to listen to me or take anything I say to heart. Yes, there are ships I legitimately hate with a passion, but I do not hate the people who like them. Not at all. That's a stupid thing to dislike someone for. I talk to and am friends with lots of people who like things I don't, both on here and irl. The world gets really lonely really fast if you refuse to engage with people who don't march lockstep with you. Especially with regards to fucking Cookie Run lol

Let's all give this nonsense a rest now. This is dumb. I'm dumb. We're all dumb. Let's stop being dumb. I'm happy to coexist peacefully with others. We'll all live happier lives focusing more on things we love than things we hate

#something else I'll say. no matter how much I might dislike a ship. I'm willing to acknowledge good art and writing for it #i cannot stand hollyt4ya but I've read a couple of good fics about it and have liked fanart on here just because they really were that good #I'm able and willing to appreciate things on their own merits. even if the subject matter isn't one I personally care for #i think it would help a lot of people to adopt that mindset haha #but yeah regardless. I've been a jerk the past few days and I really am sorry #i FEEL like a jerk lol. and i feel stupid. I'm better than this and so are all of you #sincere apologies to everyone for being so obnoxious. I'm washing my clown makeup off #keeping in line with this I'd really appreciate if people didn't send me asks about ship discourse anymore #you're welcome to ask my opinions on ships but I don't want to engage in full blown discourse. I'm tired #i'll keep my responses clean and crisp if prompted but that's it. no more rambling. rambling is for good and happy things #I'm happy to hear from people. I'm touched people care what i have to say. i didn't really have that for most of my life #I'm not really used to people actually... talking to me and listening to me #but I'd rather talk and listen about nicer things from now on if it's all the same to you guys #anyway I'm gonna go hang out with my SO and my dog lol. and work on the time travel AU draft #gave myself a deadline of Sunday evening to force myself to be more productive about it #been sitting on that story for too long. I'm dying to tell it #y'all have a nice day. god bless you. no matter who you are or what you like #cookie run kingdom #beast x ancient

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madridfangirl · 1 year ago

Text

Star crossed lovers (Jude Bellingham fanfic)

Chapter 2

(Series Link)

Jude * female reader. No warnings.

Synopsis: A chance encounter in a tiny Madrid cafe with the newest superstar of her fav club. The two couldn't be more different, yet both feel the pull toward the other. Would this girl be the one he finally falls for? Would she make him change his ways? Even though she resists him every step of the way, would he fight all odds (& her) to have her in his life? Or would life come in the way of these star-crossed lovers?

……………………………………………

A few hours later that evening, when Jobe checked his phone, he found two notifications from his brother.

Two messages sent, 15 mins apart, but both deleted shortly after. He decided to ping him to check in.

Jobe: Hey wassup?

Jude: Hey. Just about to crash.

Jobe: Anything playing on your mind? Nervous about tomorrow?

Jude smiled at his screen before answering. The answer was yes, in more ways than one.

Jude: A bit, yes. Yet, I can’t wait for tomorrow to come. It’s strange but, y’know what I mean?

Jobe: It’s warranted I guess. First Classico of your life, that too at home. Would be intense. But exciting too.

Jude: Hmm.

Jobe: Should I ask Mom to call you? She would anyway call tomorrow morning, though.

Jude: Nah let it be. Let her take care of Aunt Tracie. I know she wanted to be with me here for this but that’s important too. I am anyway gonna crash soon.

Jobe: Good luck for tomorrow. Kill it.

Jude: Thanks mate, need the luck. Talk to you soon.

He put the phone down, dimmed the lights and pulled the blanket all the way over his head. After tossing and turning for 10 mins, he checked his Whatsapp again.

No message from her. But she was online. Her DP was super cute, he thought. A sun-kissed photo on a beach in a yellowish floral dress.

Jude: Reached safely?

He went with the only segue he could think of. 45 seconds later, blue tick.

Ananya had reached just a few mins ago. One hour’s work took over two coz she just couldn’t focus. And she actually ended up getting stuck in the rain, just as he had predicted.

Just then, his name flashed on the phone. Reminding her that she hadn’t hallucinated all this. Her roommate was blasting music loudly in her room, in the weekend spirit. If only she knew what happened, she would die. Roma was an Indian American, who had never really lived in India. She was her colleague at work and as big a Madridista as her. They had hit it off instantly during the internship last year.

Ananya: Hey, yes I am home. Thanks for checking in :)

Jude: Super :)

She tapped her thumb on the phone screen, thinking whether her next question would make her look silly. But she decided to ask anyway.

Ananya: Is there some of..dress code for players box? I see a lot of people dressed in suits and formals.

Jude: No no, those are the corporate / business guys mostly. You can wear whatever you want.

Ananya: So, I can wear my jersey?

That brought a big smile to his face.

Jude: Ofcourse, dove! In fact, I would insist you do that :)

Instead of asking which jersey, rather whose jersey she was gonna wear, he tried a different tactic.

Jude: I could get the latest season’s one sent to you before the match.

Ananya: Nice try. But I have a favourite one I am planning to wear. You can guess whose it’s gonna be.

Jude: Can I change your mind?

Ananya: From now to tomorrow evening, I highly doubt it.

Jude: Is that a challenge, dove?

Ananya: Don’t you have an important match to focus on tomorrow?

He sighed.

Jude: I do. Really should have crashed by now.

Ananya: Think about how dreamy tomorrow would be. Even the ride through the training ground to the stadium would be nuts - thousands of fans on the streets. We need you well rested and charged up, and I am speaking on behalf of all fans when I say this. Close your eyes and get your beauty sleep now.

He chuckled over how quickly she switched from her own self to a fan representative.

Jude: Are you working for Carlo on the side and not telling me?

Ananya: Maybe, who knows. Good night, Jude. Sleep well. You would be amazing tomorrow.

Jude: Thank you. And Ananya?

Ananya: Yes?

Jude: I can’t wait to see you in my box tomorrow, cheering for me. Good night, dove!

With that, he finally put his phone down, snoring softly in a few mins.

But she ended up staring at her phone for a good 15 mins. The last line. Him calling her dove. Dear lord, what even was happening? This made no sense. They had nothing in common. This was not logical at all. The surrealism of it made her pinch herself a few times. She looked back at his DP - hugging his mom during his signing, both with a big smile. It was so sweet. Everything about him was so sweet. So normal. How could it be?

She shook her head and went to her roommate to break the news. Roma didn’t believe her at once but when she saw the passes, and a few messages from him as she practically snatched the phone away from Ananya, she jumped around like a 5 year old girl on a sugar high.

Ananya just laughed at her friend’s antics. She kept her anxiety on the Jude situation aside for a moment, at Roma’s insistence, and the two just celebrated getting to watch a Classico tomorrow. And, to see Zidane up close. The joy of the moment took over the nerves and they both jumped on the bed, hugging each other. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

Next evening, they reached well in advance, not wanting to take any chances with traffic or queues. The players box and the attached lounge were luxurious - the girls checked out the place thoroughly, sampling the appetisers and drinks. 30 mins later, when the girls went back to their seats, Ananya found a few unread messages popping on her phone. They were from him. She held the phone close to her chest, so others don’t see the name, and clicked on the messages.

Jude: Reached?

And then, a from few mins later.

Jude: Came out for warmup. Didn’t see you in the box. Stuck somewhere?

She quickly typed the response.

Ananya: We are here. Sorry, lost track of the time while checking out the place and trying to get Zizou in a selfie frame. Not so much a selfie but us trying to get an angle with him included, while he was having his croissant far away.

Blue tick. Immediately.

Jude: Haha, he’s a nice chap. You could just ask him for a selfie.

Ananya: Considering I ran away when he looked in my direction, don’t think that’s gonna happen anytime soon.

Jude: (laughing emoji)

She was still feeling guilty for missing the warm-up, so she decided to send him two photos. The first was the half selfie with Zidane, and the second was her in the box with her three friends, with the field as the background.

There was silence for a bit. She thought he must be getting ready to come back on the field, so she started checking her insta and added the two photos. The fan groups she were a part of would go nuts at this, she already knew.

Two minutes later, his name flashed again.

Jude: Who’s that guy in the picture with you?

Ananya looked back at the picture in question. It was her, Roma and her two work colleagues. The girls had invited them too. They were all standing next to each other, hands casually around each others’ backs as they posed with big smiles. Jude must be referring to Arjun, she figured, as he was the one right next to her.

Ananya: He’s my colleague. Well, they both are. You had sent 5 passes so Roma and I asked them. Is that a problem?

She wondered if she had overstepped the invite somehow and bit her bottom lip as she nervously saw him type.

Jude: Is he with you?

Her brows furrowed in confusion.

Ananya: I mean, I just said all three of them came with me.

Jude huffed in frustration, staring at the photo again. He could tell it was meant to be a casual photo but the guy’s hand was too comfortable on her back and too close to her waist. Something about him immediately irked Jude. He just hated his guts.

Jude: But he’s not WITH you right?

It was her turn to get annoyed now.

Ananya: Jude, seriously? Right now?

She jumped when the phone rang. It was him ofcourse. Roma looked at her curiously and Ananya rushed back into the lounge to escape from prying eyes. She found a quieter corner and answered the phone.

‘Before you say anything, I have 30 seconds after which I have to rush into the tunnel. You have every right to be mad but can you pls answer my question now and I will make up for this behaviour later? I don’t wanna go to the field like this.’

The mix of earnestness and child-like hope in his tone somehow assuaged her annoyance.

‘Please?’

She sighed audibly on the line and he looked at his teammates who had already started exiting the dressing room.

‘No, he’s not WITH me like that.’

She could practically hear him smile at the other end.

‘Thank you. I knew it but just needed to hear from you. And like I said, I will make up for this. Gonna score for you, dove. And later tonight, gonna apologise when I see you.’

His teammates were calling him in the background now, everyone was in the tunnel. He got the last sentence in before he absolutely had to hang up.

‘After the match, meet me in Pavillion 2 Parking lot, Pillar 4. It’s only for the players, no media or fans would be there. It’s a private exit from the back so no one would see us together. Then we can have a quiet dinner. Come down when I ping you. Yes?’

Another long, audible sigh at the other end.

‘Ok.’

She could again hear the darned smile.

‘Won’t wish me luck?’

‘Good luck, Jude. Now go, please. The anthem has started playing.’

‘Keep your eyes on me. See you soon. Bye.’

With that, he hung up and rushed to join his team, and got some looks which he totally deserved. But that was a small price to pay.

Ananya ran back to the box, not wanting to miss the anthem. She was a fan, first and foremost, and this was a big match. Hala Madrid Y Nada Mas blared at full volume. The girls stood up and sang along, waving to the beautiful melody.

Just then, the team stepped out. Serious game faces on. Her eyes scanned the whole team, marvelling at seeing them all only for the second time. Finally, her eyes landed on Jude, who was standing at the end of the line. And Roma elbowed her in the ribs just then because guess what? He was looking up at the box.

When he spotted her, he gave a slight nod in her direction which only the two girls could decipher. But very quickly, the game face was back on. She could tell how focused he was for tonight.

It was a tough match, heavily competitive, like any Classico. Barca were marking Jude really well, given he had been the most destructive force of Madrid in the first few months. He was getting frustrated but kept at it.

The group soaked in the riveting atmosphere. And the girls fangirled over many notable people in the VIP box. Nadal was quite an animated viewer in person which they were amused to see.

But mostly, they sang along for every chant, every song that was reverberating in the stadium. And the view was just perfect, not like when she had watched from the stands last year.

She did find her eyes going to Jude many times. Gosh, he looked fit. And played marvellously. He really was a vision tonight.

And just like that, first half was over. The atmosphere was tense as Madrid was down 1-0. The coaching staff rallied the players back to the dressing room, to regroup and strategise for second half. They were definitely going to get an earful for the set piece defending. She couldn’t look away from Jude as he walked off - he looked disappointed, angry yet still determined. He walked with intent, already talking to the coaching staff on the way.

The crowd started discussing different nuances of the first half as the highlights played on the 360* screens.

She pulled out her phone and sent him a quick message.

Ananya: There is full second half to go. As they say, 90 mins at the Bernabeu is a long time.

There was a blue tick but no response. She figured he would be busy, as he should be at this time.

The second half began soon after. Both teams went at each other but Madrid was playing with more aggression now. More pressing, more tackles, more forward movement.

And 20 mins later, out of nowhere, from way outside the penalty box, Jude scored a long range screamer.

The crowd went berserk, as did the boxes. Nadal nearly stood on his chair and waved his coat. The girls hugged each other and screamed their lungs out. The whole squad and the coaching staff ran on the field and ambushed Jude.

Once they dispersed, he raised his arms to the fans, pulling out his trademark celebration. And the fans sang ‘Hey Jude’ with love.

As he was walking away, he did sneak in one look towards his box. Nothing too obvious for the cameras to catch, but she saw the slight nod again. He knew she could see him on the 360* cameras and would know it was meant for her.

Roma saw it too. And dug her nails into Ananya’s arm.

‘Girl, is this real or am I in a trance? Did he really just do that?’

‘Honestly, I am asking myself the same question.’

As it turns out, he wasn’t done scoring for the night. In the penultimate minutes, the man scored a winner from close range.

The noise in the stadium was deafening. Some fans pulled their shirts off while others cried with joy. The two girls jumped from their seats and kept jumping for a good minute.

The celebration from the team was worthy of a Classico winner. Jude and Vazquez did some mental dance and then Rudiger tackled them all to the ground. Later, Valverde jumped on Jude who caught & held him with just one arm.

‘Pretty boy is strong too, huh?’

Roma whispered in Ananya’s ear, making her flustered. She nearly wanted to retort saying if Roma was just realising that and not during the match when he outmuscled all midfielders in duels.

Before she could say anything though, he did that sign with both hands, looking towards his thighs. The crowd roared back at him.

Ananya found herself paralysed in her seat as Roma elbowed her violently.

‘Maybe he’s giving you a message’

Ananya buried her head in her hands as Roma continued to tease her endlessly. Even with her fluster, she couldn’t help notice how the arrogant confidence suited him perfectly on the pitch.

Soon after, the final whistle came and the fans roared again along with the anthem. The team took a lap around the stadium, thanking the fans for their support. As they were walking off, Jude looked up at the box and his gaze lingered for a few seconds.

He looked away just at the right time, before the cameras caught his gaze. Ananya sighed inwardly - she had been worried about this all evening but thankfully it didn’t look like anyone had caught a whiff.

The rest of the group went to the lounge to grab a bite before leaving. She stayed back in the box and took in the atmosphere some more.

When Jude managed to check his phone 10 mins later, it was buzzing with messages. He checked the ones in his family group first and pinged them that he would call soon. Their happiness and support was the biggest reason why he did what he did.

Then, he looked for another name, and giggled with joy to see an unread message.

Ananya: Congrats. That was a special performance. You guys made the fans very happy, especially you. Savour the accolades, you deserve them.

He smiled from ear to ear, re-reading the message a few times.

Ananya was in the washroom when her phone buzzed again.

Jude: Did I make YOU happy?

Ananya: Very much so :)

Jude: Am I forgiven for earlier, then?

Ananya: Mostly, but not fully.

Jude: Ooh tough crowd :)

He sneaked into the shower to quickly call her from there, as the dressing room had erupted with champagne and food fights and all kind of hip hop jazz performances.

She picked up instantly.

‘Hey.’

‘Hey, sorry for the background. The lads are losing it. I am gonna need 20 mins more to take a quick shower and meet you downstairs but given the mood outside, might become 30. But I definitely will make it down in 30. Would that be ok?’

‘Yes ofcourse. And hey, don’t cut down the celebrations. These are the moments to cherish. In fact, if you just wanna hang with the team..’

He didn’t let her finish.

‘Are you mad? I have earned, EARNED this dinner with my blood, sweat and tears. No way I am giving that up. Nu-uh.’

She giggled at his theatrics and he giggled back at her.

‘Ok. Gotta go now. The sooner I wrap up here the sooner I see you. Sending you the car number. Will ping you 5 mins in advance. The parking lot is a bit secluded but it’s meant to be that way. It’s perfectly safe so don’t worry when you walk down there. I will anyway pick you up in 30 seconds of you being there. Ok? See you soon.’

‘Cool, see you.’

‘Bye, dove.’

‘Bye, Jude.’

He hung up and rejoined the mad dances that Vini and Cama were leading, still keeping track of time.

While Ananya grabbed on to the washroom counter, looked into the mirror and stared at her own reflection.

It was really happening. In 30 mins, she was going to get into his car, go to his house, and have dinner with him alone for a few hours.

…………………………….

There you go, this was the second chapter. Tons more to come in this story, feedback / comments are very welcome. Would love to hear your thoughts 😊

#jude bellingham #jude fanfic #bellingham x reader #bellingham #bellingham latest #real madrid

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okwonyo · 2 months ago

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hi, lovelies. here is a quick (new) announcement to clear out my account for good and stop talking about the situation.

before speaking my mind, here is a quick reminder that i am not wonyoung. not matter how many themes i make and how hard people see her as “my brand”, i am not the one who takes her decisions or who is responsible for them. let’s not forget that i am jiah before anything else you see me as. her brand deals do not reflect on my values in the slightest. this post is not made to defend her but to defend me, because i come first in this stressing situation.

last week (or so) an anonymous came to my inbox and made the list of the brands wonyoung was endorsed with and told me that i should “address” the situation or they would make a call out post about me. as always, i took my time to answer to the asks they sent me and a few of other anonymous came to my inbox to argue with me— in a sense— about my arguments and point of view.

in my inbox yesterday, an account asked me why i deleted the majority of the asks i responded to, asks that regarded the situation. i did it because i thought it was an annoyance to my followers given the fact i already stated my point of view in the two asks i got first. there was no point in emphasizing and explaining myself to people who didn’t try to understand then ended up telling me that i should “never talk about the genocide again”.

in that ask, they also made an analogy between lana del rey and wonyoung— which is not right. they mentioned a call out post i made of one of my old moot. in the situation with that moot, they were promoting a song made by lana del rey— directly supporting a zionist. when i make wonyoung themes, i do not ask you to go shop from miumiu or bvlgari, i make a theme of an idol i like. i also give resources in my links to go support palestine and from now on, i will make them more obvious.

over the past week, i have made sure to educate myself on the topic and try to improve my point of view. i talked with a lot of people who are educated on the subject and who, i believe, were completely honest with me. they all came to the same conclusion— if we apply this logic to wonyoung then we should apply it to every idol in the industry.

if we need an example then we can take sunghoon who is signed with hince which is in the boycott list. it is a big opportunity for him and of course, he is simply doing what his company told him to do. never we were asked to stop supporting him because of his contract with hince — it is not his personal view and we don’t know his personal opinions on the matter. surely, we are not in the right to assume what he stands for and the same goes for wonyoung and many others.

i also wanted to add that what my moots do is totally dependent on themselves and is their own choice. as well as what i do and say is my own choice. there is no need to pit us against each other or comparing us. stop sending them asks to speak about me and the current situation— i may not be responsible for wonyoung’s actions but i am for mine.

with all that being said, this is the last time i am bringing the issue up. as for now, my anonymous asks will be closed. thank you for listening to me and have a great day / night ^^

love from jiah ♡

#important (edited)

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wanderingaldecaldo · 10 months ago

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An open letter to the Cyberpunk fandom in general, and a few people in particular

It’s time to clear the air, and I want to take responsibility where appropriate.

Before we get into the recent drama, a history lesson is in order, both for the newer people in fandom and for those who have been around and just haven’t heard things from my side. This might be long with all the linked posts, so buckle up.

I don’t talk much to people about my experiences in fandom for several reasons — first, I don’t like to talk about others with people I don’t know; gossiping with friends is one thing, but otherwise it’s an undesirable trait. Because I’m human and fallible and absolutely capable of failing to meet my own standards, I have violated that rule, and it rarely does anything good. Second, even when I do share, people don’t tend to believe me because the responsible party, PinkyDude (PKD), has been “so nice” to them. “Surely there was a misunderstanding” is the most common response.

No, there’s been no misunderstanding. He has harassed me repeatedly, both directly and indirectly, and has deleted most of the posts he’s made or reblogged from his friends/mutuals/followers that would serve as proof of this harassment. I could dig up old screenshots that people sent or I saved myself after being told of a post’s existence, but honestly I don’t want to go through that dreck again; my mental health is worth more to me than that. Instead I’ll present in my own words what happened to me over the last three years. I have spoken publicly about him three times before now — four if you count my response to the anon, which never referenced him or his ship. All of those posts are still visible and will be linked. I told you this would be a long read, but you need the context.

I joined Tumblr in spring/early 2021, back when I only wrote fic and played on console. PKD blocked me the first time I posted my fic, as is his right. As I was new to Tumblr, I didn’t understand the Tumblr app was actually telling me I was blocked whenever I clicked on the links on Discord, so I thought it was just bad software. Spoiler: it’s still bad software (affectionate). When I found out I was blocked, I was upset; I didn’t know about RSD at the time. I sent one anon asking why he blocked people; I was just a lowly AO3 author and he was the big, popular modder, and I was baffled and very upset and should have closed the browser, to be honest. He answered and explained why he blocked people (totally valid!! I will continue to emphasize that!) and shared how blocked people could still view his blog in a number of ways. Honestly, it was too much work for me to go through all of those steps, so I moved on with my life.

Not long after, he did unblock me for a few weeks and posted how someone had shown him how to filter posts. He messaged me to tell me I was unblocked, and we exchanged a few courteous messages. I believe I asked if it would be okay if I followed him. I know he expressed concern about me feeling discomfort at his ship. I don’t remember my exact response but I said I thought they were cute. That was the whole point of me joining fandom — I want to share love for blorbos! Things were civil, as far as I knew, though based on his comments later, it seems he and I had two completely different experiences. Where I believed I was polite and tried to be respectful to someone who had established boundaries, he accused me of being spiteful and vengeful. Soon after I started taking my own VP (with Mitch) he blocked me again. He sent a message to apologize that he needed to do it, and made a vague post that was directed to me, I assume, as it was something like “Sorry I tried” or whatever, and I moved on with my life, or tried. I still saw his Mitch pics in Discord servers when people shared them, though I saw fewer that were just Mitch alone.

The first time I spoke about PKD was Fall 2021, during the “not PKD approved” debacle, where someone (a follower of his! Not my follower! I cannot stress that enough!) reblogged a gif of Val and Mitch with the tag “not PKD approved.” I shared a screenshot with friends because, uh, that’s what you do, right? That’s what anyone would do — share a screenshot of an offensive tag with friends. One of those friends, a writer who had published Mitch/V on AO3 and also received anon hate on their Mitch fics, thought it was funny and used it for their Discord status. Someone shared that status with PKD, and he made vague accusations about who started the hashtag.

I publicly defended a person who thought they were being accused, a friend at the time, and made the only statement about him that I regret and would take back — I commented on his propensity for reblogging posts that emphasize having the right to block people. I shouldn’t have said that, it wasn’t appropriate, and I apologize. Of course everyone has the right to block people for whatever reason they want. I disagree with what I said then and retract it now.

Back to how I was targeted... Remember that it was my post that someone tagged with another person’s name; another person who had me blocked because of their jealousy about seeing anyone else with Mitch. I never named the person who tagged my post, yet I was deemed the perpetrator. Many months later, Zwei DMed me when we shared a small server to offer the most non-apology apology ever for telling people that I started the hashtag. Thanks, Zwei! Almost makes up for the other lies you told about me!

The second time was my response to the anon I got trying to “educate” me after the Pawel stream. I never referenced PKD or his ship. We’ll come back to this more in-depth later because it’s what PKD keeps using to harass me.

The third time I spoke publicly about PKD was when Silvay (sp?) posted first on Twitter, then later Tumblr. I posted a follow up the next day. I debated not saying anything. I’m an avoidant person. I don’t like conflict. I have a loud bark and no bite. My former team members can attest to this. But when I do... I don’t make public statements I’m not willing to defend, which is why everything I have linked is still published.

I do recommend stopping to read the posts linked here, and even the other posts I reblogged at the time from other people who shared their own experiences with PKD and the fandom. As I said, I don’t make public statements I won’t defend; or at least apologize and issue a public retraction. But, if you want to stay with the present and would rather have the TL;DR: I was regularly vagued about by PKD or his friends/followers, calling me transphobic and homophobic; one accused me of corrective rape; and I got tired of it.

I thought that posting publicly might bring some closure. It was cathartic to finally get it out and stop carrying that shame, and it was reassuring to hear from people who had similar experiences. At the same time, quite a few people made their own posts along the lines of “HE WAS ALWAYS NICE TO ME”.

Oh, but he’s always been nice to me!

Look me in the eyes. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you truly believe he would be nice to you if you shipped with Mitch. Do you really believe he would? Do you think he would “block and move on” with you, unlike how he did with me?

None of those people shipped with Mitch, or other characters that people in his clique were protective over. A few months later he made a post saying not to tag me with him, and listed off every screenname I had used since I joined fandom, including the very first tumblr name I was assigned in 2021 and kept for several months because I thought it was funny. How’s that for a dog whistle? Want PKD’s attention? Better not tag wash!! [I’m sure there’s a screenshot somewhere but again, I didn’t have the energy to find it.]

By the way, why do I know all this? If I’m blocked, I shouldn’t see anything he posts without circumventing “the system”. We are mutually blocked and I don’t spy on him, or have my friends spy on him. I always knew what was going on because people were always quick to let me know anytime he was vaguing about me. “Friends” who were really concerned about the latest thing he said about me, or thought it was just terrible how people were always attacking my ship and wanted to share that feeling with me, but they only shared those thoughts in private. Slowly I separated myself from people who felt the need to keep me updated on drama, or some of them separated themselves from me and became friends with PKD, to the point that either nothing happened for some time or I just stopped seeing it, at least until last fall.

The last time I talked about him publicly was when I wrote about Fem V Friday in Fall 2023. Through the usual chain of vague posting about vague posts, a third person wrote a vague post and cast aspersions on the origin of Fem V Friday, suggesting it was created out of jealousy. PKD helpfully weighed in about a person named “W” starting FVF from jealousy and spite, and implied he’s seen things I’ve said about him. I’d love to know what I’ve said, the context in which it was said, and the context in which he was told about what I said. 🤷

My post in response didn’t reference the vague post that spurred its creation, nor what PKD said about me, even though PKD must know my intentions and history better than me. I wrote about my love for Fem V and what drove my continued involvement week to week.

Despite my attempts to keep to my own corner or defend my name, PKD continues to defame and harass me. He has repeatedly dragged other people into his drama, sometimes my friends, just as he did in May when he brought up my anon response again.

It was over two years ago now that I received the anon to “educate” me on Mitch being gay. I have never believed PKD sent the anon, despite his implications, and I have certainly never told anyone that he did.

Two years ago, a coward came into my inbox on anon and tried to bully me, and instead of spending a day writing five thousand words on “death of the author” and what constitutes canon and refuting the argument that I didn’t want to have, I used that energy to write about my ship in my favorite genre (smut) and published a fic on AO3. Neither my fic nor my response on tumblr referenced Mitch being gay or PKD’s ship. Before we go further, I encourage you to watch the relevant clip from the Pawel stream. It’s only 30 seconds of your time, but those 30 seconds are what PKD and others have used to justify their harassment of me.

The transcript for anyone not inclined to watch:

PKD: Am I right to overanalyze every detail in every place like the gay romance novel in Mitch's tent? Is that intentional? Pawel: My friend, on this stream, you could have learned already that everything is intentional...

The “gay romance novel in Mitch’s tent” is 1000 Beats Per Minute, a shard found all across Night City, nay, the continent as the shard/prop can be found in such locations as All Foods just after you meet Dum Dum, the foot of V’s bed in A10, and So Mi’s Brooklyn apartment.

The contents of the shard are worth reading, if only for recognizing that the narrator is an ungendered person named “Alex” who is experiencing love for a man for the first time. Is Alex a man or a woman or neither? Whoever they are, Alex is having a queer experience, and to insist that the shard can only be about gay men is to erase a lot of other queer experiences.

Back to my anon response, PKD once again called my response transphobic and homophobic, though I will give him credit for saying he wasn’t calling me trans/homophobic, which is an upgrade from previous posts. He claims that I used the smut that I wrote as my response because I referenced writing “the smuttiest pussy eating smut I could”. I said “pussy eating” not in relation to anything about the claim that Mitch is gay, but as response to the intentions of the anon, which were never good.

The full context of my words:

Not entirely sure what you were trying to accomplish with this message, anon. Should I pack up my words and keyboard and go home? See if it's too late to return my gaming PC because I can't take screenshots of Mitch anymore? Whatever your goal was, you pushed me to write the smuttiest pussy eating smut I could imagine. You know who wins today? - I do, because I wrote a shitload of words in one day and finished a piece that didn't even exist 8hrs ago - people who want more Fem V/Mitch content do - my meat husband does bc damn, I wrote 1800 words of smut today - not you

PKD is claiming that my description of smut I wrote about my ship is trans/homophobic.

The description of the smut I wrote about a cis bisexual female (Val) whose pussy was eaten by her cis bisexual male partner (Mitch).

The smut I wrote about my ship, in which no one is trans or gay.

You cannot apply the lens of PKD’s ship and characters to my writing and call it transphobic or homophobic. That’s not how literary analysis works. That’s not how social justice works.

The truth is that PKD and his mutuals/friends used his ship and beliefs to harass me.

If that were me and it were my beliefs being used to harass someone on anon, I would demand whoever it was to stop immediately, not only because harassing people over fictional characters is awful and wrong, but good lord, to use me as the excuse? I would be mortified! Instead, PKD and his mutuals/followers used it as evidence of my being a bad person, and after several months of that, I borrowed Silvay’s courage when he posted on Twitter, and shared my own experience.

Now that we have the full background, let’s move on to recent drama and address the Flat Chest body and the wearable pecs mod, and what part I played in the process and when. This next part is for motherherbivore. I wish you had talked to me first. I thought I’d rate high enough for a DM.

A Brief History of The Flat Chest Body Under Curation of Wash

I reached out to Na in March about helping update the Flat Chest body. I specifically wanted to update it to dynamic to take advantage of AXL’s dynamic clothing and, more importantly to me, reduce the number of clothing overrides I had to install for Hilary; plus I wanted to add toggle feet so I could have better options for shoes. Also I had another OC I’d been kicking around in my head, Grem, that I wanted to make using the flat chest. Grem did debut recently, but he changed drastically from my original vision for him.

Sharing the news with Kitty (shared with permission)

I started working on updating the mod in April but got stuck because I didn’t understand resource patching, even though I was sure it would be easy. :hidethepain: I tried adding the feet too, but everything I did resulted in a seam at the calves. As is all too common with my ADHD, I moved onto something else after getting stuck.

As I mentioned I was interested in dynamic AXL, and wanted to update my custom tee framework for Pride. With dynamic AXL, someone could generate all colors with all logos at once! (220, do not try this at home!) I included the dynamic version of the Flat Chest mesh in the upload to Nexus, even though the Flat Chest body wasn’t ready yet, but as a goal for me to also have it done in June.

I had the UV version working in early June, before the Angel body came out. I don’t remember if we already knew about the body’s existence at that point, but the community outcry against yet another unrealistic and fetishistic body mod sustained me in updating a mod that appealed to a small subset of fandom.

The message I sent to Na the morning I got it working

I got the UV version working first, since that’s what Hilary uses, then took a look at toggle feet again. After further investigation using both UV and VTK bodies, I realized there would always be a seam because the bodies were drastically different from the current body; they were completely different meshes underneath, and the seams would never line up properly.

At that point I decided to release the functioning dynamic version without toggle feet, as I wanted to get it out for Pride. I reached out to mhb to test, as had always been my intention. For me Sanctuary is the most iconic OC to use the Flat Chest. After some technical difficulties I figured out that she used the vanilla version, and came back a few days later with a functioning vanilla version. I released my update once I had assembled the necessary files and pics from the testers, mhb included.

Later when PKD released the refits for his pecs, someone commented that the vanilla refits worked for the Flat Chest body. That’s been my only interest in his pecs mod — because people who use the Flat Chest were interested in having more clothing options. The release of the so-called “Flat Chest Detector” meant that Flat Chest body users wouldn’t be able to use the clothing refit for his wearable pecs, because it required using his pecs, which clipped with tattoos and cyberware — as is expected because it’s not a body mod, as he himself said on the mod page.

As the representative for the Flat Chest body, I agreed when streetkid-named-desire (Rat) asked me to be involved in the conversation with Berdagon about adapting their “Flat Chest” detector to recognize the Flat Chest body. Rat drove this conversation. I don’t say this to dump responsibility on them. In fact, I visited them last weekend and we talked through the situation. I suggested to Rat that I could have urged them to slow down, but they refused to let me take that responsibility, and at the end of the day they’re right — I can only control my own actions.

I do have one regret and one opportunity where I could have acted differently: when Rat asked Berdagon about the original script, Rat very explicitly asked whether the script was commissioned by PKD, and if so, Rat stated they were willing to pay to make changes; Berdagon never answered the question, and I wish I had pushed for an answer. Perhaps that could have prevented the entire situation; we could have stopped right then. While Berdagon never mentioned payment, Rat was so excited by how quickly they implemented the requested changes that they tipped them for the work.

Berdagon, the original script writer, owed PKD the responsibility to check in before modifying something that PKD paid for. Yes, Berdagon does have responsibility here as a professional who took money for a commission. When they didn’t answer the question, I could have stopped the process and pushed for an answer. I would have stopped things immediately upon hearing the answer that the script had been commissioned by PKD. PKD could still have been outraged at Rat asking for changes, but there wouldn’t have been fandom-wide drama about a body that only a dozen people use.

That’s the responsibility I will take — I, as a professional who works with consultants and freelancers, could have taken steps to ensure that everyone was acting professionally, including the person who received money twice to work on the same script.

Because I feel the need to be thorough in my explanation, here’s a simplified timeline of the release of the Flat Chest mod compared to the wearable pecs:

Late March - I receive files from Na for Flat Chest

April - I get stuck, stop working on it

April-May - I figure out dynamic AXL and convert tee framework

June 3 - I have a working dynamic UV Flat Chest

In response to outcry over the Angel body, PKD makes a poll asking what body types people want refits for and excludes Flat Chest body as an option

In response to people commenting over why Flat Chest wasn’t included, PKD explains he won’t support the body and that he would support a different Flat Chest body if someone made it

June 10 - I share the UV version for testing with several people. Two of those people, including mhb, use vanilla. I didn’t realize that, and because I didn’t name the file `UV` it took a long time to troubleshoot why things weren’t working

PKD releases the pecs

I share vanilla for testing

I post Flat Chest 2.0 before the end of June

I didn’t use you, mhb. I asked you to test because, like I said above and on Nexus, Sanctuary is the Flat Chest character for me. I asked you to test because I make mods for my friends first and foremost, and I thought you were my friend. I thought you were my friend because we’d known each other for several years now, and because of shared experiences and conversations we’ve had. I’ve been wrong before about who is a friend, and this one stings a lot.

I’m tired. I am 30 or 40 (or 50) years old and I do not need this. I have a career and a job I love, and an amazing partner who I’ve been with for a third of my life now. I have friends and hobbies in meatspace and friends who share those hobbies, and the real truth is, if I was actually trans/homophobic, well, that number would be tiny, but it’s not. I have a life that I love and that is full of joy. Most people in fandom only know the smallest fraction of the real wash, and I do not take pleasure in being targeted in a public fandom “feud”.

PKD, I say this with all the kindness I can muster for another human being who is clearly hurting: please get help. Go to therapy or see a psychiatrist or use whatever tools you can access. This obsession you have with me and my ship is not healthy for you, and your repeated pattern of bullying has hurt me and people close to me, just as your need to rehash old fandom drama hurts the community.

#about cbp77 fandom #previously pinned post

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smoooothoperator · 1 year ago

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untouchable

20: Lonely

Lando Norris x OC (Violet Sinclair)

same group friend, unrequited love, acquittances to lovers, ski trip, love triangle, life as lovers

Words: 5.3k

Warnings: Harry.

a/n: Happy Easter!!! I hope everyone had an amazing week! A little warning, the next chapter will be the last one! But of course there will be an epilogue and bonus chapters

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Day 1

Nurses came to check on her all the time to see her vitals, how her brain was going as well as taking a look at how her body was healing after the surgery.

My phone was blowing all the time with messages and calls, asking if I was alright. Just how I predicted, everyone saw the news and recognized my car. Workers from McLaren called me, my family and friends called too, drivers from the grid.

Everyone was worried about me. But none of them expected what actually happened.

When the nurses changed her to the VIP room I reserved for her, Max and Pietra came with me, both of them bringing clothes for her and for me, as well as something to eat.

“You have to eat, mate” Max sighed, watching how I left the bowl of salad on the table, not even touching it.

“I'm not hungry, I swear” I sighed.

“You didn't eat anything yesterday, Lando. Eat something, or at least drink” Pietra sighed.

I looked at them and sigh, grabbing the bowl and eating it under their gaze.

“I don't know what to do… my phone is going to explode soon with all the notifications and calls” I sighed, looking at my phone. “What should I do?”

“Maybe write something you can send to everyone, as well as posting it on your social media” Max sighed. “Everyone is talking about the crash, mate. And they think it's you”

“I know” I sigh, brushing my hair with my fingers. “I just… What should I say? Hey, I'm okay but not my girlfriend who was actually the one driving the car?”

“I mean… Yeah? Just tell everyone that gladly you are okay, but unfortunately the one involved in the crash was Violet. And if you are going to write something for your media just ask for privacy. You know how the world is…” Max said, shrugging his shoulders.

I took a deep breath and looked at Violet. Her hair is messy and some locks are tinted in red.

“There has to be a way of washing her hair” I mumbled.

“I'll go ask a nurse, okay?” Pietra smiled weakly, walking out of the room.

I sighed and just scanned Violet's face with my eyes. The cuts were still there, her left eye was swollen. Her arms are full of cuts as well, maybe because she tried to shield her face with her arms.

“I'm going to write a text” I sighe, grabbing my phone and watching all the notifications. “God… It's like I was dead for a night. I didn't answer none of them”

“It's okay, I'm sure everyone will understand” Max sighed, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Plus, I'm sure your fans know it's not you. You were streaming when it happened”

I smile weakly and nod, looking at the screen and typing something, then delete it.

Hello everyone. I'm sorry I didn't answer any of you. I'm okay, physically, but mentally I'm not. It was true there was a crash and my car was involved, but I hate to admit that it didn't happen to me, the one driving it was Violet. We are in the hospital, she's unconscious. I hope everyone understands why I didn't reply to your text.

I showed Max the message and sighed when he nodded, copying the text and sending it to everyone that texted me.

“I don't know if I should call her family” I mumble. “I mean… she doesn't have a good relationship with them. But still, they are her family”

“Did they try to contact you?” Max frowned.

“No” I sighed, looking at Violet. “They have my number, Violet sent it to them in case of an emergency… And I think this one is a big one”

“Then, if they didn't call you, don't call them. It was on the news, it's hard to believe that they didn't read about it” he said. “She said it herself, they only reach for her when they want something from her”

“I know” I sighed.

When Pietra came back with the nurse, she asked the three of us to get out of the room so she could clean and wash her hair.

“Come on, let's go walk a little” Max said, grabbing my arm.

I just let them guide me, feeling how my phone buzzed constantly inside of the pocket of my hoodie. I grabbed it, reading every message, smiling sadly.

“Some drivers want to come” I sighed. “Carlos, Oscar, Charles, Daniel, Max and Alex”

“That's good” Max smiled.

“I don't know if it is…” I sighed. “I mean, I know they want to do it to cheer me up. But right now all I want to do is sit next to her bed and wait for her to wake up. I don't even want to force a smile”

“Then don't force it. They will understand. You don't need to be smiling all the time, Lando” Pietra said. “And you need to be distracted too, think about something else”

“I'm just tired” I sighed. “But I guess you are right”

Some hours passed. Max and Pietra left so I could have time with the other drivers, as well as letting me have time for myself.

“What if they come with their pity faces?” I sighed, holding Violet's hand. “I don't know if I can with that”

I sighed, shaking my head and looking at the door once I heard a few knocks on it, standing up next to her bed.

“Come in”

I took a deep breath, trying to put on the fakest smile I can put now, watching how the door opened slowly and hearing the quiet steps of Carlos and Oscar walking inside of the room. Somehow, I felt grateful they came first. They are the ones I trust the most lately. Carlos being my first teammate and my true friend in the paddock, and Oscar being my current teammate and someone I trust and I know I can rely on.

“Hey…” I sighed.

“Oh, Lando…” Carlos sighed, walking towards me and wrapping his arms around me. “I'm so sorry… The other guys are outside, we wanted to come in first to see how are you”

“No, please” I mumbled. “Just… She's alive, okay? She's just sleeping”

“Of course” Oscar nodded. “But how are you dealing with this?”

I took a deep breath and immediately erased the fake smile. I looked back at Violet for a few seconds and sighed.

“I swear I thought I had lost her” I said with a sad smile. “When I received the call, I was in shock. I was repeating the words they said in my mind, over and over and over again. And on my way to the hospital I couldn't stop thinking about what would happen to me if she didn't survive…”

“But she's okay” Carlos sighed, placing his hand on my arm.

“She's in a coma, Carlos… I don't know if she's really okay. I don't know if she's in pain, or scared” I said, feeling my eyes getting wet again. “I feel useless now, sitting and watching her, hoping that she wakes up”

“Hey, you are not useless” Oscar sighed, hitting my arm softly. “You are here, supporting her. And you are being so strong, mate. Staying here and not leaving her side, I'm sure she will appreciate it”

“I wish I could do more” I said looking back at her.

Day 2

Her room smells like flowers.

Yesterday, when the drivers came with their girlfriends, all of them brought flowers for her, as well as some other things to cheer her up once she wakes up.

“We know she loves reading, she got us into it” Carman said, smiling weakly. “So all of us got her a book”

“You didn't have to, girls” I smiled weakly, looking at the box they placed on the table with a few books inside of it. “I'm sure she will love it”

I sighed, looking at the table and standing up, walking towards it and looking at the inside of the box. When I opened it, I smiled weakly, watching her favorite candies inside of it as well as a few books I hadn't seen on her shelves yet.

“You won't believe what the girls brought you” I smiled weakly, sitting next to her and holding her hand. “The books you had in your wishlist. I think something like Fourth Wing and Iron Flame… Oh, and that one from the actress with seven husbands”

I looked at her, hoping that those words made her react. But of course, my delusional mind was being too naive.

“Mom and dad are coming soon” I sighed. “Should I let them stay in the apartment? I don't want them to go around looking for a hotel knowing that I won't stay at home. You don't mind, right? I just… I can't leave you here alone”

I sigh looking at her hand, trying to feel her squeezing my hand as a sign. The doctor told me that anytime she could do that, she could respond and move her fingers.

“Please, just move a finger… I'll go insane if I keep talking alone” I whisper. “Are you alright? In pain? You know I hate it when you are in pain…”

I waited some seconds to receive an answer, but I could only hear the beeping of the monitors with her heartbeat.

The door opened and I sighed, recognizing the steps of my parents coming closer. I heard them leave something on the table and then walk towards me.

“Oh, God…” my mom sighed, hugging me.

“How is she? How are you?” my dad asked, making me smile sad.

Everyone has been asking me that. My messages are full of people asking me how Violet is, how I'm dealing with it.

“Why is everyone asking that? It makes me feel like she's dead” I sighed.

“I know, son” my dad sighed, sque my shoulder with his hand.

“I'm just… dealing with it, I guess” I sighed looking back at them. “I feel relieved somehow. The nurses that come say that she's recv well. The surgery went well and her brain activity is good. But they don't know when she's going to wake up”

“I'm sure it will be soon” my mom nodded.

I sighed nodding, hugging her and taking a deep breath.

“You can stay in the apartment” I said, looking up at them. “It's like half an hour away by car… But at least you have somewhere to stay”

“No, Lando” my dad sighed, shaking his head.

“It's okay” I smile weakly. “I won't go… I will stay here with her. The nurses will arrange for me the extra bed so I can stay at night too. And you'll have food and somewhere nice to sleep. I'm sure won't mind”

They smiled weakly and nodded, both of them wrapping his arms around me. I don't want to break down, I want to be strong for Violet. I tried so hard the last two days to not cry while I'm in her room, but now feeling my parents’ arms around me, it is so hard to hold on to everything.

“I am so scared” I cried softly. “What if she doesn't wake up? What if things don't go well? What if I really lose her?”

“You won't, Lando” my mom sighed, rubbing my back. “Violet is a strong girl, she has a strong soul”

“Everyone is telling me that” I mumble. “But why can't I believe it? Why everytime I look at her I feel my heart shattering?”

“Because you love her, Lando. You love her and watching her this way makes you vulnerable”

I felt my shoulders shaking with every sob, feeling their hands rubbing my back and their arms tightening around me.

Once I calmed down I got up from the chair and walked with them towards the table, watching the bag with lunch they left there. I sighed, opening the box and playing with the food in front of me.

“Somehow I feel that this accident made me see that I have to love the present with her” I said.

“Why do you think that?” my dad asked, frowning.

“We were talking about buying a house together” I sighed. “And I was looking for engagement rings. I just… I love her so much, but I was so focused on it and living my own fantasy with her that I didn't face reality. We have only been dating for six months, I can't take a big step like asking her to marry me…”

“It's soon, son” he sighed. “You two are young, just wait a little. Enjoy life with her”

“I know” I nodded. “Now I know…”

My mom looked at me with a weak smile, placing her hand on top of mine and sque it softly.

“Do you want to show us what you two were looking at?” she smiled weakly. “Maybe we can help”

“It's not necessary, mom” I smiled weakly, grabbing my phone and showing them the pictures of the houses we liked.

“We want to” she smiled looking at my dad and both of them nodding. “We did the same with Oliver's first house with Savannah. We will do the same for you and Violet”

I took a deep breath and smiled, nodding.

I just have to face the reality. And unfortunately, my reality is that the love of my life is unconscious and I have to accept every help and hug I receive.

And in moments like this, I know who will be by my side.

Day 4

Days were too long. So incredibly long.

My routine was so monotonous: waking up before the nurses came to check on Violet, get changed into comfortable clothes and then sit on the chair next to her bed.

I wonder if Jon would be mad if I tell him that I'm skipping my diet and barely working out. Will he be mad? No, right? He knows me, he knows how I'm feeling right now. He knows that, right now, Violet is my priority.

“I think I'm going to read one of those books you are obsessed with” I said looking at her. “Just to feel close to you… Which one should I read? The one of that Feyre girl? Or the one that is a mix of The Hunger Games with Greek mythology?”

I looked at her, trying to find an answer and I sighed. The doctor said that her brain activity is going well, she's recovering. Slowly, but she's recovering.

“Well, A Court of Roses and Spines will be the one” I sighed, smiling weakly, grabbing my tablet and downloading the book, starting reading it immediately.

When Violet told me that a day can go faster when you read a book I always thought that she was exaggerating a little. Whenever she stayed in her office all day, I never imagined she could be starting a book in the morning and finish it at night.

But now, reading the last line of the book, I understood how she felt. When I read the last word, the sky was already dark.

“Oh my God” I whisper, looking at Violet. “Why did you never make me read this before? And the Rhysand that is in this book is the same Rhysand you say is your book crush? What the hell? How? Why? ”

I held my breath, trying to see a reaction. But again, I only heard her heartbeat as an answer.

“I wish you were awake…” I whisper. “God, now I see you so much in this book. I see you in Feyra, my love…”

I sighed, taking her hand in mine and bringing it to my lips, pressing a kiss on her knuckles. Her hand is cold, but somehow that doesn't scare me because she always had cold hands.

Maybe reading her favorite books made me feel closer to her, getting into one of the things she loves. Somehow, since we started dating, I learned new things about her every day, things I never knew I would discover before about her.

And somehow, it made me miss her even more.

“Please, wake up” I whisper. “I miss you so bad, Violet. I miss your smile and your laugh, even how you complain because I stay in the computer too long and I don't come to you to cuddle. I promise I won't stay up late gaming, just… Please, please, open your eyes”

Day 6

“Okay, you were right. Rhysand is good, Tamlin is not good”

When my parents came yesterday, they brought me the books I was reading. Both of them were surprised I started reading, something I barely did before meeting Violet.

“You know? Now I think I understand why you said that we are like Rhys and Feyre. And I agree” I sighed, holding her hand. “I see us… Maybe I should dye my hair black? Rhys has black hair and is tanned. I don't have purple eyes, but…”

I smile weakly, kissing her hand and leaving the book on my lap.

Her face is less swollen than a few days ago, she only has bruises now and scars of the cuts. Her doctor gave me a cream I can put on the scars so they won't leave a big mark on her skin.

I sighed and continued my reading, but I was interrupted by my phone receiving a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?” I sighed, frowning.

“I'm talking with Lando Norris?”

“Yeah, who is this?” I frowned, swallowing thickly.

“I'm calling from the police department. We made an investigation about the car crash where your car was involved a week ago. And we would like to talk with you”

“L-look… I think right now is not the right time” I sighed, rubbing my face. “My girlfriend is in the hospital. I can't leave right now”

“It's related to what caused her crash” he said. “It wasn't an accident. It was intentional”

“What?” I frown, getting up from the chair and walking away from her bed. “What do you mean it was intentional”

“The brakes were manipulated. Someone manipulated them” he sighed. “We can investigate who it was”

Someone manipulated the brakes. Someone wanted to… No. Not her, the Audi is not her car.

“Someone wanted me to crash” I said, swallowing thickly. “The car was mine”

“We will search for the person who did this” he nodded.

“Can you please look at the street cameras around where we currently live” I said, swallowing thickly, somehow scared of what the conclusion would be. “I have been receiving pictures of someone invading our privacy, receiving threats. I think that person would be the same one that tried to…”

“We will work on it” he said. “Thank you for telling us that”

“Y-yeah, just please, get that person away from us”

I ended the call and sat on the table, looking at the wall in front of me, not believing what was happening.

Someone tried to kill me. Someone manipulated the brakes of my car to make me have an accident like the one Violet had. Someone wanted me dead, and instead, Violet is there in the bed unconscious.

I didn't want to trust what my mind was saying, refusing to recognize the name that echoed in the back of my mind.

Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry.

He wouldn't, right?

Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry.

“Fuck” I gasped.

Eloise had the same crash she had. And what did she have in common with me? Violet.

No, no, it can't be. He wouldn't do something like that to Eloise… Right?

My body worked alone and soon I heard the beeps of my phone next to my ear, and after that the same voice of the officer that talked with me minutes ago.

“I think I have a name” I mumbled.

“Oh? Are you sure?” he said surprised.

“I wouldn't like to be” I sighed. “Harry Greyson. He… He was a friend of ours. But I think he did really bad things to us, to all of my friends. His girlfriend… My girlfriend's best friend died last year in December. They said it was because of the snow, but I wouldn't be so sure. Please, just find answers”

“We will investigate him. Thank you for the name” he said.

“Y-yeah” I nodded, swallowing thickly and ending the call.

Would Harry do this? He would do anything to have Violet, right? But… If he wanted her since the start, why never go for her? Why dating Eloise?

“Fucking hell…” I groan, messing my hair and looking at Violet. “I swear to God. If he did this to you, he's a dead man. I swear, Violet”

Day 8

I hated this. I hated the uncertainty of not knowing what was happening was killing me.

The police started an investigation, they looked at the street cameras that are near Violet's apartment as well as where Eloise used to live. But they never called me back to give me updates of it.

And to make it worse, a week has already passed since the crash.

“I hate this, love” I whisper while holding her hand. “I hate so much that I can't do anything to make you wake up. Are you even hearing? Can you hear me? Just move a finger please, because I think I'm going crazy. Will you wake up? What should I do?”

I was so uneasy. The calm part of me wanted to stay here and wait for her to open her eyes, holding her hand and whisper sweet nothings. But the mad part wanted to walk out and find Harry, get answers.

“What should I do?” I sighed, swallowing thickly when I felt the tears coming back. “I want to punch and kick the shit out of him. I want answers, Violet. What if he's not who we think he is? And I'm afraid of being right, but… What if he is the man that was stalking us? What if he was the reason Eloise died? What if he did everything because of you? Because he's sick and only wants to have you as his puppet?”

I swallowed thickly and looked at her. If I'm right… What should I do?

“He has to go to jail, Vivi..” I whisper. “Right? The police will call me soon, I can feel it. I gave them his name, just in case”

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

This is a nightmare, and it only will end once this finally ends.

The day passed slower than I wanted. Max and Pietra came to spend the afternoon with me, but that didn't stop my anxiety whenever I received a notification.

“What is going on?” Max frowned.

“I just…” I sighed. “The police called me. They said that the crash wasn't an accident. Someone wanted me to crash, hoping that I was the one getting in the car. And somehow that made me think”

“About?” he whispered.

“Harry” I sighed, shaking my head. “I don't know. I just… I don't know. His name somehow came to my mind and things started to click immediately”

“But, how?” Pietra frowned. “Why?”

“I never told you, neither Violet. Someone was sending me pictures of us. Someone is stalking us” I said. “And it has to be someone that knows where Violet lives. You two know it, and I highly doubt it would be one of you. Eloise knew too, and… she's dead. Who else knew where she lives?”

“Harry” Max nodded.

“Exactly” I sighed, swallowing thickly. “I'm not going crazy, right?”

They looked at each other and then at me, smiling weakly.

“I have to find him” I said firmly. “For Violet”

“What? No. Lando!” Max frowned. “Going to him won't make Violet wake up. You are not an Avenger or something in the style”

“I know! But I need answers, Max” I said. “I need to know why he did everything he did”

“You are assuming he was the one that caused the crash” Pietra sighed. “You are angry, we get it. But please… Don't do something stupid”

I took a deep breath and looked away from them, fixing my eyes on Violet. I need to do something, I can't stay here with my arms crossed and waiting for a miracle.

And then my phone started buzzing, with the same number of the call I received two days ago.

“Hello?” I answered the call, swallowing thickly when I pressed the speaker button.

“We have him” the officer said. “Harry Greyson has been under arrest since this morning. You were right, he was the one that invaded your privacy and the one that manipulated your car”

“Oh, thank God” I swallowed thickly, sighing with relief.

“But he wants to talk with you. He didn't even call a lawyer. He only wants to talk with you” he sighed.

“What?” I frown and took a deep breath. “Okay, I'll go”

I ended the call before Max could complain.

“Lando!” Max sighed, shaking his head.

“It will be safe. He's under arrest, you heard it” I said. “With chains and all, I'm sure”

I took a deep breath and stood up, looking at Violet. I don't know when she's going to wake up, the doctors said she should be already awake… Why is she not awake?

“Please stay with her” I asked them, grabbing my phone and wallet.

“You are joking, right? Come on, Lando!” Max exclaimed. “Don't do something you will regret”

“I have to, Max” I sighed. “I have to know the truth. I have to know why he did that. He wanted me dead! If I was the one in the bed, you would do the same, right?”

I took a deep breath and looked at him, watching how he lowered his head and sighed. I'm letting my anger take control of my emotions, and I absolutely hate the feeling of that.

“I'll come back, okay? Just… Stay with her”

Before they said anything I was already walking out of the room, feeling my heart beating strongly against my chest. This was the first time I'll leave Violet since she's hospitalized, and somehow that made me feel anxious.

What if something goes wrong while I'm not here? What if she thinks I left her? What if… What if, what if, what if…

But I was already on my way to the police station, getting out of the taxi and going to the reception and saying that an officer called me. And before knowing it, I was sitting in front of Harry.

“Well, well” he smirked.

“You did it” I frowned. “You manipulated the brakes of my car”

“What makes you think that?” he laughed.

“You are the only one left of our group that knows where Violet lives” I frowned.

He looked at me with a grin that made me feel goosebumps. It wasn't the smile he used to have when we were kids, that mischievous smile he had whenever we planned something funny or when we made a prank. No, that was a scary grin with a gaze that only meant something bad.

“It's all her fault” he said seriously, but not erasing that smile. “She was the one that started it all. With that smile and that stupid behavior. If she kept smiling in that way to everyone, she would be in trouble. She smiled at me first, she chose me!”

I frowned looking at him. Is he being serious?

“But of course, those guys came” he scoffed. “What were their names? Oh, yeah! Jared the cheater, Michael the snob and Owen the…”

“Don't you dare to say it” I frowned, swallowing thickly, clenching my jaw

“Whatever” he scoffed. “It was pretty easy to get rid of them at the start”

“What?”

“Oh yeah! It's really impressive how easy it is to make her believe things, hm? A picture sent by an anonymous saying that Jared is cheating on her but actually he's hugging his cousin. And threatening Michael was really funny, you should have seen how scared he was when I broke his car with a gold club. But Owen? Oh, Owen was harder than I thought, but the end was pretty satisfying. It was so disappointing noticing that he loved drinking, but he didn't even notice the powder on his shot as he drank it. And hearing her scream for help, panicking while the man she said she loved only wanted to have fun... I was so disappointed with you, actually. You, the man that was so crazy in love with her since you met her… You, who always tried to find a second to be close to her but couldn't hear her screwing for help”

I swallow thickly, feeling nauseous. He did this, all for her. I was right, and I hated being right in this. Hearing him talk this way was like talking with a stranger.

“Why?” I groaned, clenching my jaw. “Why did you do all of this?”

“Oh, because it's so funny! It's so funny watching how she runs back to me! How, after everything, that stupid smile was only to me!” he laughed. “But then Eloise started to get too involved. She wanted to spend more time with her, to have her all for herself. She invited her to that stupid trip you planned and wanted to spend time with her. And let's not forget all the times she tried to set you up with her. Why?! Violet is mine! Why would she want to spend more time with her?! And then you… You started to put stupid things on her brain. Telling her things about me! How dare you?!”

“Because you are crazy! You manipulated her!” I exclaimed, but he stood up and it made me flinch. Something about him scares me, maybe the fact that he was chained to the table or his gaze of psychopath.

“You should be the one that got in the car and died!” he exclaimed. “Not her! It was easy with Eloise! But you… You did it! You killed her!”

“She's not dead” I mumbled. “She's not dead and she will hate you until she can't remember you”

“Nah, I don't think so” he smirked. “She will always come back to me. You will hurt her, maybe cheat on her with one of those models that walk around the paddock and then she'll come back to me. Right where she belongs”

I took a deep breath and grabbed my phone from the pocket of my hoodie, placing it on the table, in front of me.

“She won't, Harry. Give up” I said, stopping the recording. “She's with me, she's happy”

It was so quick. The moment he got up again and tried to wrap his hands around my neck, two guards walked in and grabbed Harry by the arms, making him sit while he screamed. I just got up and walked out, with an intense need of throwing up as soon as I walked out of that room.

Never in my life I imagined he was able to do something like this. Never in my life I imagined he would kill someone and try to kill me.

The officers that walked next to me gave me a weak smile as they walked me out of the police station, talking to me. But I wasn't listening, not understanding what they were saying.

“Harry will be sent to jail” one of them said. “After talking to you he made a confession, he will go through a court, but that won't save him”

“Y-yeah, okay” I nodded, just wanting to get away from here and go back to Violet.

I took a deep breath and called a taxi, going to the hospital while looking at the screen of my phone. He really said everything, he really told me everything.

How on Earth could he turn into someone like this? Why on Earth did he get so obsessed with Violet?

“I'm back” I sighed, closing the door of her room behind me. “Guys… I was right. He…”

“Lando” I heard her.

“Violet?”

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thewertsearch · 1 year ago

Text

Let's kick things off with a mega-giga ask compilation!

I've spent the last couple of days working through the backlog, and I've been able to answer some quite old asks that were spoilers at the time they were sent.

@kintatsu asked: So, I was rereading your blog, and got to the post where you determine that John's 13th birthday was a Monday, and complain on his behalf that he couldn't really relax due to having the whole schoolweek ahead of him. Well, I checked, and the previous day was the first Sunday after the first full moon after the equinox, i.e. Easter Sunday. So it might have been a holiday week.

John entered the Medium shortly after Easter Sunday, and he did so by biting into an apple. Forget about the god tiers – his most powerful transformation is clearly Catholic Beast Mode.

Anonymous asked: The thing about knowing your Aspect, I think, is that it's the Aspect you most GET. I GET Space and Light, I understand them completely, they are suffused in my bones and my blood, they are writ large upon my brain and every base in my DNA. What aspect do you just GET?

To be honest, I don’t think I know enough about any Aspect to ‘get’ it.

If I had to choose, then I'd probably feel the most natural affinity for Life and/or Doom – and if was forced to pick one, I’d say I'm very slightly more drawn to Life, just based on vibes.

@mhafanlol2000 asked: I think the horrorterror’s plan (or the closest thing we can comprehend) is CHAOS-by which I mean LIFE. Skaia is order. If it can want, then it wants its players to follow the script it has written-the Alpha. It wants propagation, the snake to eat it’s own tail, blah blah blah. That is order. That is perfect servitude. That is NOT life. The gods, meanwhile, want chaos. It wants its servants to live. It does not tell people to do anything. It simply gives them the facts, and says “here is what you should do. You can not, you can do whatever the hell.” It wants romance, conflict, CHAOS. that is life.

And if this theory is accurate to the canon Life aspect, then I feel justified in my affinity for it. It falls fairly closely in line with my own philosophy.

@necrowyrm asked: When searching your blog I always type "thew" before Tumblr autocompletes your URL. That has become who you are to me.. Thew, Glorious Liveblogger, navigating the treacherous seas of Homestuck

Sally ‘Thew’ Ertsearch, reporting in. 🫡

Anonymous asked: there's actually another arthurian joke to do with dave's land/quest. have another look at the disc platform that bro stabbed. how would you describe the shape of that turntable?

Ayy, Dave's a Knight of the Round Turntable! Honestly, that'd be a pretty great name for his theme song.

@caliquill asked: kanaya vs rose would be absolutely hilarious but. kanaya IS the original "I Can Fix Her" girl for a reason.

Anonymous asked: the only real requirement for a name suggestion to be picked was that the firstname was 4 letters. but by really cool coincidence strider and lalonde are 7 letters, and egbert and harley are 6, and if you add those together its 4/13! similarly, both the trolls names were required to be 6 letters (i think hussie mixed and matched them actually, some of the firstnames were suggested as surnames and vice versa) so theres a similar case to be made for 6/12. but just doubling the same number i think holds less water than adding together two different numbers

Number symbolism is just very flexible in general. All Hussie really had to do was introduce a few 'important' numbers, and the fandom could start finding them everywhere!

Anonymous asked: This may be the wrong place to ask, but have you deleted your post of analyzing the Let the Squiddles Sleep song? I can't seem to find it anywhere.

Here it is. Hopefully you're able to see it now!

Anonymous asked: Will the Mega-Ask-Compilation and Liveblog Recap also happen? ~LOSS (19/2/23)

The former is currently taking place. The latter was planned, but after skimming my blog for a bit, I realized I didn't have as much to say about it as I thought I did. Plus, it's been ages, so I'm really excited to look at some new pages. We can leave the old ones for later - I'll probably do some sort of blog retrospective eventually.

Anonymous asked: i figure the trolls' battlefield went through a full set of dnd dice/platonic solids, plus maybe some other notable johnson solids like a truncated icosahedron (aka a soccer ball or buckminsterfullerene), before becoming a sphere. maybe the outer ring went through stages like simple torus, mobius strip, borromean rings or other fun knots, before becoming a mobius net. (not really sure what a mobius net is, mathematically, but that's apparently what the thing around the final form of the kid's battlefield is called.) or maybe something weird happens with that many prototypings, and the battlefield turns into a tesseract or a klein bottle or a menger sponge or a mandelbulb.

If you so much as look at the Battlefield created by the Gigasession, your brain will leak out of your ears.

@manorinthewoods asked: <3Dave, >3>John, >3oJade, <>Rose (by process of elimination) ~LOSS (5/6/23)

I don’t think either of the girls have worn a playing card symbol. The leaf on Jade’s Wardrobifier does kind of look like a spade, but John’s already got that quadrant on lockdown.

Anonymous asked: Reading stuff about skaia on this blog reminded me of madoka, and made me consider that skaia might be like kyube and the other incubators and sburb is skaias way of keeping the unerverse from decaying

Reading this ask makes me realize that Rose is a near-perfect mark for Kyubey.

There’s only one way to save your session, Seer. Form a contract with me, and become a magical girl.

Anonymous asked: man. i dont know what i expected to happen when you found it. but for The Baby Is You to be liveblogged in less than 20 words during a post was not the way i expected it to go

I know it’s not technically part of Homestuck canon, but it really feels like Homestuck canon to me - at least to the same degree as Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff, and I liveblogged that.

Anonymous asked: begging (lightheartedly) for you to add posts like LOLCAT and "this guy's an orb" to one of the liveblog tags. they're pretty funny, and it's nice to see off-the-cuff reactions like that, haha. imo it'd be a shame for new readers to miss those kind of posts

Done! I sometimes forget to tag posts like that, because I usually just fire them off and forget about ‘em.

@captorations asked: “Give me a set of rules, and I'll analyze the hell out them, every time.” hello fellow doom player. hope you like the color green

Based on ~ATH’s association with curses, as well as Sollux’s programming hobby, I think there’s a decent chance that Doom relates to coding in some way.

Coding is all about rules, so perhaps Doom, is, in fact, the aspect of rules and logic. I'm not sure why such an aspect would be named 'doom', but it's been obvious for a while that these aspect names aren't always literal.

Anonymous asked: I’d just like to clarify some terminology because it seems relevant, but Aradia isn’t a red blood, she’s a rust blood

[The blood colors all have canon names: Aradia = rust blood Tavros = bronze blood Sollux = gold blood Nepeta = olive blood Kanaya = jade blood Terezi = teal blood Vriska = blue blood (I like cerulean better tho) Equius = indigo blood Gamzee = purple blood Eridan = violet blood Feferi = fuchsia blood and Karkat has no official blood name, but people usually call him mutant blood or candy-red blood - C ]

Oh, there are official names for each color? That’s going to be helpful to disambiguate each blood caste, especially when we really start digging into troll culture and biology.

Anonymous asked: I do believe the top-left ship on the wall - no, Karkat doesn't have red eyes. […] It's probably Vrisrezi, yes, but it could also be Vriskat.

Yeah, I’m still not sure who this ship is supposed to represent.

They have Terezi’s eyes, but the hair and symbol look like Karkat’s. Plus, Nepeta hates this ship, which would make sense if it’s between her crush and someone other than her.

Honestly, my best guess is that it was meant to be Karkat, and the red eyes were just a mistake on Hussie’s part.

Anonymous asked: something I never thought about… is the blue blood sourced from equius or did he get a stock.

Aradia has real blue indigo blood in her veins, and it almost certainly belongs to Equius himself. He could have got it from a donor, but I personally doubt there was anyone else he could ask. Equius feels like he'd be an outsider, even to other indigo-bloods.

Anonymous asked: vriska would be a good strider

Vriska Serket raised by Bro Strider would be the most terrifying character imaginable. I don't even want to contemplate what that upbringing would do to her.

Anonymous asked: Any piece of lore hussie writes needs to contend with the fact that hussie is resolutely committed to the bit. Hence all the words on how different trolls are being entirely blasted aside by 'and then they're just grey humans anyway lmao'

That's the price of admission into Homestuck, for better or for worse. Hussie quite clearly enjoys screwing with us, and we have to take everything we see in the comic with a huge pinch of salt.

Anonymous asked: I'll disagree a bit on the phrasing that Eridan forces Feferi to <> him because firstly she doesn't even seem convinced that he would commit genocide and secondly she dropped him super easily once the lusus-feeding is no longer necessary. While understandable, that doesn't suggest to me someone who is obliged by Eridan's aggression to pacify him. I think she has much more agency in this relationship (or lack thereof I suppose) than that.

Feferi definitely had her doubts – but she must have believed that Eridan was dangerous to a certain degree, because that’s the basis of a moirallegiance.

Forced might not be the right word, but she certainly felt some amount of obligation to pacify him. She sure wasn’t in that relationship for the good of her health.

Anonymous asked: So, Vriska has a conversation with Karkat, where he says she seems to have blackrom feelings for Tavros, but that he doesn't think Tavros can even feel blackrom properly. Then she has another conversation with Tavros in which she antagonizes him, and he notices, but just kind of ignores it and doesn't respond emotionally. Then we see her make a huge dramatic redrom gesture and kiss him. She vacillated because he wasn't into her… incel behavior.

Yup. I’ve always held that Tavros never wanted anything to do with Vriska. He doesn't want to love or hate her - what he really wants is to live in a world where she doesn't exist.

Vriska’s refusal to accept this basic fact is one of the main reasons she’s decided to make his life a living hell.

Anonymous asked: I headcanon that troll blood is analog, but the empire culls non-digital colors because they make the troll race seem like a joke or something. Lol

If there were minor variations in blood color, the Empire probably wouldn’t want to acknowledge it, since the stratification of blood classes forms the basis of their society.

We haven’t seen any trolls besides our twelve (apart from Troll Will Smith) so we can’t compare the blood of two members of the same caste - but we can speculate. Human blood color is known to vary depending on its oxygenation level, and I imagine troll blood would reflect its current chemical composition in the same way.

Anonymous asked: Vriska must be seething while Karkat introduces the concept of quadrants to the reader. Imagine this basic and important facet of troll life, and you're just getting schoolfed it. (This message was sent on 20/10/22.)

This was a fun bit of weirdness from early Hivebent, wasn’t it? In retrospect, it's kind of hilarious that Karkat decided to infodump to Vriska about the obscure, niche topic of… dating.

@sanctferum asked: According to his formspring, Hussie's self-insert's classpect is Waste of Space. He also briefly considers Huss of Lips. This is obviously not meant to be taken seriously but. since you asked @absinthe-and-alabaster asked: i believe hussie said somewhere that FedoraFreak's classpect was "Gent of Piss" Anonymous asked: (not sure if this is technically a spoiler but) hussie has jokingly said that fedorafreak's class is a gent.

If Dad Egbert was a Player, then the Gent class would be forced into canonical existence, as the only class that could possibly define him.

Anonymous asked: If Vriska's control does require the victim to on some level want to do the thing, then Sollux's insistence that you do not under any circumstance eat the mind honey could be something he developed in response to that incident. So that if she ever controls him again, she won't be able to make him eat it.

Wow, I never considered that. That’s a very good (and tragic) take, and I think I'm at least locking it in as a headcanon.

Anonymous asked: the official extended zodiac actually has… 288 signs, if im doing my math right? and also probably hadn't yet been conceptualized when that page was posted (the earliest known evidence comes from 2015). i don't know if any thought was put into the number or if it was just pulled from their ass, but there was a running gag in hussie's q&as where he repeatedly threatened us with a 10,000 page intermission focused on 48 squiddles, each representing a sign from the alternian zodiac Anonymous asked: I believe the troll zodiac is one of the few things in HS lore that was truly retconned, there’s actually 288 signs.

Move over, 48 Squiddles. I want to hear about the 288-player clusterfuck that actually gave rise to Alternia!

@manorinthewoods asked: wheee, you got to the first god tiering! this probably opens up a load of new things to say, so, first off: do you think you need to have a full echeladder to god tier? vriska implied so.

She never outright stated that it was required, but I still think it probably is. You generally need to max out your class levels before you can prestige.

@morganwick asked: Believe it or not, you're still in the "Homestuck could have updated RIGHT NOW" phase of the comic's release schedule. The break after the Equius-Aradia kiss aside, the hiati you've heard horror stories about didn't start becoming a thing until the end of Act 5.

[this was around page 3000. still true at this page though - C]

Hussie’s sheer productivity at this stage continues to astound. Could you imagine having that much creative energy?

Maybe Hussie just drinks twenty coffees a day.

Anonymous asked: as someone who is Normal about aradia it's an absolute delight to see someone dig into her character. she's so fascinating to me. (also, fun fact, a while ago tumblr voted her the coolest character in all of homestuck. so there's that)

Aradia’s awesome, and I still don’t think her death is going to stick.

Her ghost was perfectly capable of existing without a body, so there's no reason she can’t survive her new body's destruction.

Anonymous asked: feferi hasn't just woken up, she won't be stuck asleep until 3 hours and 14 minutes into the future! timestamps, yo

Consider this the first mark on my otherwise impeccable record.

Anonymous asked: does cat have a troll/kidsona? itd be interesting to see a full 4 player session in art

[No kidsona, yes trollsona, but even a picture of her would spoil stuff from Act 6 😆 - C]

What she said. It’ll be a while until we can meet KATYAA SCRENR.

@mhafanlol2000 asked: Hey! You can just call me Fan. In all honesty I’m just some guy who likes your liveblog. He/him. I’m gonna list some fan aspects, and I want to see what you think they’d represent, and what abilities they’d give Law Dreams Might Shape Flow

Ooh, more fan aspects! These were a lot of fun to puzzle out the last time.

Law would be the aspect of command, instruction and agreement. An example power would be giving someone a simple rule they're compelled to follow, such as 'don't turn around'.

Dreams would be the aspect of ideas, motivation and symbolism. An example power would be the ability to detect people's idle thoughts - the things they're not even aware they're thinking about.

Might would be the aspect of growth, conflict and evolution. An example power would be the ability to temporarily enhance someone's Aspect abilities, at the cost of making those abilities harder to control.

Shape would be the aspect of form, encapsulation and topology. Shapeshifting is the most obvious application of this aspect, but it's appropriate.

Flow would be the aspect of persistence, momentum and continuity. An example power would be the ability to 'continue' something that has recently stopped. For example, if your PC ran out of power, they'd be able to keep it running for a while. The longer it had been previously running, the longer they could keep it running.

@martinkhall asked: I think Bro might have been raised entirely by shonen anime and My Little Pony Friendship is Magical (the version that existed only in the heads of the worst examples of Bronys). And puppets. Puppets were definitely involved in raising Bro. Anonymous asked: "He has no known relationship with any of the other parents, but was definitely getting foreknowledge of Sburb from somewhere. I’m not even sure I want to know what sort of childhood produces Bro Strider." well. i mean. he grew up with Lil Cal didn't he? the clearly haunted puppet from the sburban dreamscape of derse? it was what he dropped to earth with. i feel like that might explain at least a small part of, like, whatever he had going on.

That’s true. I don’t trust that puppet one bit, and we don’t know what it was up to before the start of the session.

I still suspect that the thing’s still just as alive as it was on Derse, and is just choosing to play dead.

Anonymous asked: I imagine you might've already been told this, but when checking out your FAQ I noticed you described PS/PQ/FS as "not exactly canon" and that you're less interested in liveblogging them because one of your favorite parts is watching all the story come together -- without spoiling anything, I find it pertinent to mention that Pesterquest & Friendsim definitely contribute to the wider "canon" even though dubiously canon themselves. Definitely "part of the story" so to speak.

Yeah, we’ll have to see what comes of this. The problem is that I’m still fuzzy on what ‘dubiously canon’ actually means.

Hopefully that will become more clear as I’m actually liveblogging these tie-in materials – which I am planning on doing. Only time will tell how in-depth the liveblog will actually be, though.

@manorinthewoods asked: In my Sundered opinion, Bec Noir is the best character design in Homestuck. I can't think of any other interesting designs at the moment, other than some which don't beat him and are spoilers anyway (like LE's). Which design do you find most interesting, out of the ones you have? ~LOSS (22/9/23)

I definitely agree that BecJack has one of the best designs in the comic. Plus, Scratch is so weirdly intimidating for a cueball-head.

Anonymous asked: My favorite part of PKWU is just how pointy Gamzee's chin is. It's so… Defined.

iT’s ToO lAtE, ErIdAn! I’vE AlReAdY DePicTeD MySeLf As ThE ChAd, AnD yOu As ThE SoYjAk >:o)

Anonymous asked: i need you to know ag canonically ripped off the sleeves on all of her shirts just to show off the robot arm

I believe it. I don't even need a source; this is just so true to Vriska's character that it's obviously correct.

@bladekindeyewear asked: If you and your ask screener decide that literary/external-media hero title examples without any details or explanation are alright to pass on unless they're too obviously revealing -- and those in and of themselves are usually in heavy dispute by classpect theorists -- I've long been of the opinion that Monkey D. Luffy and Peter Pan are the best possible literary examples of a Page of Breath.

All Pages of Breath must be associated with pirates. No exceptions.

Anonymous asked: unfun fact: the reason rose and jade dont have a lot of pesterlogs with eachother is just because their text colours were kinda eyestrainy together. thats it thats literally the whole reason!! god damn

Hussie: "I don't write Rose/Jade conversations because they’re hard to read."

Also Hussie:

Anonymous asked: you have officially passed my second favourite flash in literally all of homestuck. it's all so well hinted at beforehand but it still comes to punch you in the gut nonetheless Anonymous asked: My favourite thing in this flash is how the name of the flash isn't John: Rise Up, it's JOHN. RISE UP. it's WV sending a plead to John to not die. My second favourite thing is the way the music remixes Doctor (The theme for LoWaS). Anonymous asked: [S] JOHN. RISE UP. is one of my favorite flashes in all of Homestuck. Savior of the Waking World is some of Toby's best work What are your thoughts on our first taste of god tier? @violetsquare111 asked: So glad you liked Savior of the Waking World! One of my favorites in the comic for sure. It takes a lot of ideas from another of Toby's songs, Penumbra Phantasm, a song that… never actually got finished or officially released. There's still various renditions of it though, and the HS collection links a couple of em. (Some people have speculated that Penumbra Phantasm itself was never supposed to be a Homestuck song, and might end up being used in Deltarune, which would be cool as hell) Anonymous asked: It's crazy to think that just about 12 hours ago John was wearing silly disguises to fool his dad and now he's dying to become a god.

God time!

I do think it was the most emotional flash we’ve had, on the strength of the music alone. Savior of the Waking World goes hard as all hell.

Honestly, when WV started calling John a hero, and telling him to rise, it did start to give me some mild chills. Like, yeah – we know John’s a hero, but it feels extra special when it’s coming from someone who’s normally so irreverent.

@elkian asked: Welcome back, hope you're feeling better! I am losing it a bit over you IMMEDIATELY understanding how this coin flip sitch works, something about the narrative and reasoning doesn't match my brain so I've reread it multiple times with total understanding out of grasp and watching you dissect it halfway into the page is truly wild (delighted). Also feel like I understand it a lil better with your analysis.

Thank you! This message was actually sent the last time I returned from a pause, so apologies that I’m one hiatus late in answering it.

@royalvorpal asked: I just reread your entire blog in anticipation. Anonymous asked: This is such a good liveblog, I'm rereading it again and you are really letting me relive the pleasant parts of my middle school years. Reading this blog makes me feel like I'm back on the school bus talking to my friend about the newest update. Thank you for doing this 💛 Anonymous asked: That return page didn't have any sound, so misleading! (I jest, nice to see you're back.) ~DJ @manorinthewoods asked: Hahahah, we are BACK! Lovely, I've missed this liveblog. Most in-depth Homestuck liveblog I'm aware of, looking forward to the restart! ~LOSS (29/3/24) @popcornsalty asked: So excited to see you back!!! :D @chaosorchestrator asked: welcome back! It's good to hear that you're planning on getting back into it! I hope things have been going ok for you in the meantime! @necrowyrm asked: HAPPY 4/13 (OR AS THE ENLIGHTENED KNOW IT: 13/4) AND WELCOME BACK!!!!!!!!!!!

Thank you for your votes of confidence, and happy 13/4 to you all!

@rippledphysique asked: Just found this blog and devoured it in a few days. I am selfishly wishing you the best in health and life so that it may return one day… @elkian asked: Hey Sally! Just wanted to wish you well on the recovery, the plague is no joke and I hope you've been able to enjoy some kind improvement. And that 2024 will be kinder, as well. Anonymous asked: wishing you the best in your interim, hopefully you can get a better position where you're not prone to burning out! Anonymous asked: Hope you're doing ok!! I miss seeing your cool liveblog on my dash @kittycatttmattt asked: Poor girl… Got killed by the schedule

Thanks for all the well-wishes, as well. Really, it wasn’t the schedule that was the issue – I just had a lot going on in the background last year. That’s all over now, though!

Anonymous asked: yeah, Homestuck's back babeyyyyy - the site was crashing because of traffic and everything @calamitascalliope asked: You coming back from your break resurrected Homestuck's corpse hggfffdd Anonymous asked: i think this actually is the first time homestuck has updated since you started liveblogging lol - homestuck 2 has been inactive assumed abandoned since december 25th 2020. also happy slightly belated blogiversary btw - you've been delighting us with your journey for two years now! @heliotropopause asked: New Homestuck upd8 just dropped. Apparently. Anonymous asked: what are the odds that you start liveblogging again the same exact day that postcanon comes back from the dead? Anonymous asked: crazy news. so literally just today, october 8th 2023, hussie has officially given complete free license to the newly formed "homestuck independent creative union" (HICU) to create content and monetize it with the homestuck brand however they see fit, with zero creative or financial control from any corporations or even hussie themself, though hussie has said they're available for consultation whenever the HICU wants their input. the HICU seems to be made up of people the community largely has respect for, and the person heading all of this up is James Roach, who is one of the most widely respected individual who has been inolved in homestuck "post canon" (ie. after homestuck itself ended). nobody was expecting any of this, it's completely bonkers. hopes are looking pretty high for homestuck compared to where they were merely a day ago.

Throwback to the day I personally resurrected Homestuck.

Has anything come of this since, actually? I haven’t heard anything about this new comic – although I do scroll in the opposite direction any time I see a reference to Homestuck, so I guess it makes sense that I wouldn’t.

@corporalotherbear asked: What’s your favorite Pokémon?

Contrarian, that I am, I’ll instinctively gravitate to Missingno., if only for the nostalgia factor. Gen 1 glitches were my first real experience with pulling back the curtain of a game’s code, and taking a look at what lies beneath.

My favourite official Pokémon are Porygon-Z, Shedinja, Reuniclus and Metagross!

@heliotropopause asked: Breath/Light is an interesting one, because the ‘Mixolydian’ implies a musical theme, and I thought Time was the musical Aspect. Maybe it’s not that simple. They've all got a musical reference in the name- they are called fraymotifs, after all. Anonymous asked: The Fraymotifs are all musical references actually. E.g. Breath/Time is "Ivories in the Fire", the ivories in question being John's piano keys. A fraymotif is a battle theme. Anonymous asked: ivories in the fire is a musical theme, especifically a Rap term used by Snoop Dogg. So yeah it's connected to Dave Anonymous asked: re: fraymotifs: you pointed out "mixolydian", but that's not the only musical term there. feather "cadence", pneumatic "progression", even fray "motif" itself! hell, the building where you buy these things has an emblem with a crossed sword and music note! so i think this might be less a situation of "need to rethink time aspects association with music" and more "fraymotifs have a musical association also" Anonymous asked: if you look a bit closer at those names, (including the one "fraymotif",) you may realize that "mixolydian" isn't the only musical term referenced…. @galaxa-13 asked: You say the breath/Light Fraymotif implies a musical theme, but they all do! Fraymotif is a portmanteau of "fray" (to fight) and "leitmotif" (repeated musical phrase). Each Fraymotif name implies a musical theme.

Dang it. Yup, they’re all pretty obvious references to music.

I wrote that post the day I was trying to wrangle our family PC into running the Homestuck Collection without lag, so I was a little distracted at the time. Please direct all complaints to Windows XP.

#asks #full liveblog #act 5.2 #this is just the first part of the comp. I have enough asks for another one. maybe another two. we'll see

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