#i don’t have a general crafting tag do I

[veliseraptor]

Post cross stitch pics pls

here’s what I’m working on right now:

[rheya28]

Sol School of Fashion ♥ The Sims 4: Speed Build // CC

♥ Hi guys, today I present to you SOL School of Fashion "SOF". This build/project is extremely special as I collaborated with the lovely and talented @farfallasims who kindly curated all the looks for the 2023 SOF Fashion Show Event

2023 SOF Fashion Show Theme: LUXURIOUS TROPICS " High end fashion meets the tropics" Looks Curated by: @farfallasims [ Look Book Link ] 25:23 Build by : @rheya28 [ Speed Build & Fashion Show ]

♥ Sol School of Fashion "SOF" is a well known fashion studio/school located in Del Sol Valley. SOF is a space that encourages boldness, creativity, and innovation. Sims can have access to a café, photo studios, a classroom, a meeting room, a lounge, as well as a customizable runway with a backstage dressing room that consist of all the fashion necessities needed to produce a professional fashion show event.

READ ME

♥ I placed this as a Generic Lot as we don’t exactly have a fashion school Lot type, so it’s all just pretend. This lot could also be set as a Café as it meets all the requirements to function as one.

♥ This build was inspired by bbygyal23's Curve Agency , another talented builder so please check out her content!

♥ Warning: This is another CC heavy lot

♥ Please make sure to turn on bb.moveobjects on!

♥ Please DO NOT reupload or claim as your own.

♥ Feel free to tag me if you are using it, I love seeing my build in other peoples save file but please make sure to credit me.

[VIDEO] TIME:

0:02 Intro

1:34 Speed Build

25:23 Fashion Show

27:25 Photos

♥ LOT DETAILS

Lot Name: Sol School of Fashion

Lot type: Generic lot type or Cafe

Lot size: 40x30

Location: Starlight Boulevard, Del Sol Valley

♥ MODS:

TOOL MOD by TwistedMexi

♥ CC LIST:

*Note: I have all parts of all sets in this list unless noted otherwise, so I highly recommend you guys dl them since I frequently use them in all my builds!*

Awingedllama : Boho Living, nostalgia living

Greenllama: The woodwind collection

Novvas: Holz Kitchen

Qicc: Sleep Hallway, Urban Bedroom

S-imagination: Nota

Sooky: Abstract framed posters -wooden frame

Sooky: Bon ton n1 ceiling lamp - Tall

Syboubou: Daguerre Reica Camera, Ballet mirror , fency

The Clutter Cat: Dandy Diary, Mellow moods

Aira : Artist in me

Anye: Zara Bathroom

ATS4: pot 4, pot 13, plant 16 Crafting room: dressform blouse, dressform male, dressform suit, folded fabrics, jar, paperstack, patterns, sewing machine

Harrie: Bafroom, brownstone, kichen

House of Harlix: Baysic, harluxe, brutalist, coastal, kwatei, octave, shop the look 2, spoons, Jardane, Livin Rum, Orjanic, tiny twavellers

Felix Andre: Berlin, Chateau, fayun, colonial, grove, kyoto, paris, shop the look

Brainstrip: my corner cc pack desk only

Charlypancakes: Munch, the lighthouse collection, miscellanea, modish, smol

Leori: Hipster loft

Illogical Sims: Home office

Kaiso: rustico living

Kate Emerald: Blissful baby Ottoman

Kiwisims4: Blockhouse hallway, Blockhouse Dining

Leaf Motif: Devon kitchen

Little Dica: Country side Cabin, Rise & Grind, sleek slumber

Madame Ria: Back to basics paint wall, Limber lumber

Madlen: Hiru misc set

Rusticsims: Mayaken, Modular life

Myls: Simple Clothes rack nordic

Mxims: LG

Myshunosun: Sol kitchen, Arrie Office, Gale dining, Lottie, Macaron kitchen, herbalist kitchen, tranquil bedroom

Peacemaker: Alesund, Hudson, Kitayama, Terra tiles horizontal/vertical, Vera Office

Pierisim: Coldbrew, David Apartment, Domain Du clos, MCM, Oak house, Tilable, unfold, Winter Garden

max20/maxsus: Poolside lounge pack

Sforzinda: Func EP02 Espressogrindomatic, espressoimpresso, cabin slats

sims4luxury: Mcgee&co Callhan rug

Sixam: Artz Living room, small spaces work from home, hotel bedroom, kessler kitchen, stylist wood livingroom, teen room

TaurusDesign: Eliza Bedroom, Elsa kids room

mycupofcc: Modernist

Tuds: 2ndWave, beam, cave, cross, wave

♥ Thank you to all CC Creators

♥ Tray file

♥ Gallery ID: Applez

♥ Twitter: Rheya28__

♥ Tiktok: Rheya28__

[marypsue]

There’ve been a few responses to/reblogs with tags on my post about DIY clothing embellishments that basically boil down to ‘I’d love to do this but I’m scared it’ll turn out bad/I’m not a good enough artist’. And I get it, I really do! I also want my art things to turn out nicely. But also...making it badly is sort of the point of punk DIY. 

Listen. We live in a world that would dearly love to charge you a subscription fee for breathing. The bastards are doing everything they possibly can to figure out how to turn art - stories, visual art, music, textile/fibre art, sculpture, crafts and creations of every kind - into a neat, discrete, packageable commodity, a product they can chop up into little pieces and stick behind a paywall so they can charge you for every drop of it you want to have in your life. 

The whole sneering idea that ‘everybody wants to be some kind of creator now’ and anything less than absolute mastery right out the gate is somehow shameful and embarrassing is a tool those bastards are using. It’s a way to reinforce the idea that only a set group of people can create and control art, and everybody else has to buy it. 

But art isn’t a product. Art is a fundamental human impulse. Nobody is entitled to a specific piece of art (which is where this message gets skewed into pitting people who love art against the artists who make it, while the bastards screw us all and run away with the money). But making art belongs to everybody. We make up songs and dances and stories, and paint things, and make clothes, and embellish them, and carve flowers into our furniture and our lintels and our doorframes, and make windows out of tiny pieces of coloured glass, and decorate our homes and our bodies and our lives with things we make and make up, simply for the love of beauty and of the act of creation. Grave goods from tens of thousands of years ago show that ancient hominids gave their dead wreaths of ceramic flowers, tattooed their bodies, beaded their shoes. Making things for the sake of beauty and enjoyment is one of the most ancient and human things we can do. 

The idea that we can’t, that we have to buy shit instead, because art is a product and you have to have the bestest prettiest most perfect product, is the enemy of joy. It’s the death of culture. And it means that, instead of whatever it is that you cherish and enjoy and value, you get whatever inoffensive (and to whom is it inoffensive?) bland meaningless samey-samey crap that the bastards want you to be allowed to have. What are you missing and what are you missing out on, if you don’t make or modify or decorate anything for yourself, if you don’t think you can because the product at the end won’t be polished or perfect or marketable enough? What do you lose? What do we lose? 

It is a desperately vital and necessary thing for you to make shit. For you to know that you can make shit, that you don’t have to just lie back and take whatever pablum the bastards want to force-feed you (and charge you through the nose for). That the bastards need you more than you need them. 

Become ungovernable. Be your own weirdly-endearing punk little freak. Paint on a t-shirt. Sing off-key in the shower or at karaoke night or at open mic night. Make up a story where you get to meet your favourite fictional character and you guys hug or fuck or punch each other in the face. Make art. Do it badly. Do it frequently. Do it enthusiastically. Do it for love and joy and creativity and fun and the spiteful joy of thumbing your nose at some smug motherfucker with a Swiss bank account who wants to track your heartbeat and location for the rest of your life in order to automatically pump AI-generated beats matched to your mood into your earbuds for a small monthly subscription fee of $24.99/month. It is literally the only way we are ever going to have even a chance to save art and our own lives from the bastards. 

So. Paint that t-shirt. 

(Also support artists where you can, and buy your music from Bandcamp.)

[hanleiacelebration]

Han/Leia Appreciation Week 2024

WE'RE BACK, BABY! "Wait, what's happening, wasn't this in August??" you might wonder. Based on your feedback, we decided to host this and (probably) future editions of Han/Leia Appreciation Week earlier in the year. July seemed like the better choice, given that it's a vacation period in both hemispheres!

This year we're also giving you the prompts over a month in advance, so you have plenty of time to plan and create!

Han/Leia Appreciation Week was an event originally hosted at @han-leia-solo between 2016-2019, but for the past three years, we've taken up the mantle here at @hanleiacelebration 😊

💖 How does Han/Leia Appreciation Week work?

The event will run from July 14th to July 20th, and there will be two different prompts each day that creators can fulfill with: fanfic, fanart, gifsets, graphics, fanvids, headcanons, crafts, playlists, rec lists. You’re encouraged to tag your posts with #hanleiaweek2024 so we can reblog them! After the week is over, we’ll share a masterlist with links to the works.

You can show your appreciation in many ways; however, please keep in mind that it has to be a creation of yours of some sort, e.g. don’t repost other people’s fanart, gifs, or unedited pictures. Rec lists should include a link to the original source both for fanfic and fanart (more on this after the cut).

🎆 The prompts

Sunday 7/14: Tradition / Ceremony

Monday 7/15: Braids & Bloodstripes (hair or clothing) / Home planet

Tuesday 7/16: AU / Canon divergence

Wednesday 7/17: Force / Belief

Thursday 7/18: Favorite scene / Favorite quote

Friday 7/19: Meeting / Escape

Saturday 7/20: Free day!

You can use only one of the daily prompts, combine both, reinterpret them, or skip the day if you can’t think of anything. If you’re not able to post on the same day for a prompt, you’re still encouraged to share it through the week—just don’t post works for a certain prompt before the day corresponding to that prompt.

💠 💠 💠

FAQs and Rules under the cut - please read!

💕 Can I post my work to another site and share the link on Tumblr?

Yes! This is a good option for people who might want to create explicit art that could be taken down on Tumblr, write a long fic or multichapter, or make videos or playlists.

💕 Does it have to be a new creation? Can I finish and post a WIP?

It has to be something that has never been posted anywhere else before, so finishing and sharing a WIP is okay! If it doesn’t fit any of the prompts, you can share it on Free Day.

💕 Is this event open to all ratings?

Yes! Just remember to use a “Read more” cut if you’re posting the whole work on Tumblr, and to add a note at the top if your work is rated Mature or Explicit, as well as if it has any major trigger warnings, so all folks can safely browse through the entries.

💕 Are there any length or quality requirements?

There’s no min. or max. length for fanfic or quality level for art, but please note that AI-generated works won’t be accepted. For gifsets, there’s a minimum of two gifs (that must be made by you!). For playlists, there’s a minimum of five songs. For rec lists of fic or fanart, there’s also a minimum of five recs. Some more questions you might have about rec lists:

- How do I share someone else’s art without posting a picture? You might post a thumbnail that crops a preview of the piece; if the piece has a title, you might use that; you might describe it; or you might say something like “this piece by [artist]”, and link to the source.

- What if I found a fanart on Google? Try to find the original source using reverse search image.

- What if I can’t still find it, can I just say “credit to the artist”? In that case, please just don’t share the piece.

- What if I know the artist but don’t have a link to the original source? Naming the artist and linking back to where you found it is okay, in that case.

💕 Can I write for canon/Legends and include other pairings?

All canons, time periods, headcanons and AUs are welcome, and you’re allowed to include side pairings, except for R*eylo. However, keep in mind that this is a Han/Leia appreciation week - at the risk of sounding repetitive, works should focus on appreciating Han and Leia’s relationship!

💕 What’s the time zone for the event?

Please don’t worry too much about time zones: when we say “day”, we always mean “whenever that day is for you in your part of the world”. IE: if it’s Monday for you, you can post your work for the Monday prompt.

💠 💠 💠

Do you have any other questions? Don’t hesitate to send us an ask or to message one of the mods: @lajulie24 @hanorganaas and @otterandterrier

We can’t wait to see what you all create!

[magneticecstasy]

clandestine ✤ joel miller part ii — crushcrushcrush

series masterlist & foreword | ao3

moodboard is not an illustration of how reader should look, just for the ~vibes~

fic summary: it’s september 2016, you're in your final year of sixth form college and joel miller joins the teaching staff as your new history teacher. over the course of the academic year, boundaries are blurred, crossed and ruined when joel begins to reciprocate your insatiable crush on him; what should be so wrong just feels so right.

rating: E | pairing/AU: teacher!joel x student!fem!reader

chapter warnings/tags: (7.1k) this is an 18+ fic so mdni! dubcon (due to student/teacher relationship, both parties are consenting otherwise), age gap (reader is 18, Joel is in his early 30s), power imbalance, inappropriate relationships (teacher!Joel is really not a good teacher), fetishization of new-adulthood, some pervy!Joel, dacryphilia, solo m!masturbation (Joel jacks off in a school bathroom, dirty bastard), solo f!masturbation, wet dreams (mentioned), pet names (Joel calls reader darlin’, sweetheart etc.), minimal description of fem!reader where possible, reader has hair and is generally able-bodied, otherwise undescribed where possible, Tommy is mentioned and is 2 years younger than Joel

a/n: thank you to those who read and enjoyed part one!! i'm absolutely over the moon with all the comments, reblogs and likes!!! it warms my lil heart right up! chapter title comes from crushcrushcrush by paramore but also overlaps with crush by ethel cain which i've been listening to relentlessly when writing this fic. we get more joel this chapter, i hope i'm doing him justice lol - also i mention the epq a million times in this chapter - it's a qualification where you do an extended project that you have to do in sixth form and it's a fucking ballache so everyone hates doing it, trust me

account tags (tagging people who asked and people who seemed interested in chapter one, let me know if you'd like to be added): @sugadolly @yorkshirewench @jodiswiftle @pedgito @mel2fine @canteenee4 @dugiioh @undercoverpena @javiermillerrrr @littlemisspascal

banners and graphics from @saradika-graphics

Thursday 17th October

6:30am

As the weeks of the new term pass, the season changes. The balmy days of September merge into the typical chill of October. Long daylight hours surrender to darker nighttides, elongating the late autumn evenings. Its mornings are darker, sunrise commencing later and later as each day passes. The drop in temperature, though gradual, is noticeable, making the warm cocoon of your bed all the more inviting when your blaring alarm disrupts your blissful sleep. With great reluctance, you pull yourself from the inviting nest and pull the covers back in a haphazard attempt of making your bed. It feels a little pointless as you’ll only be getting back in it later tonight but you don’t want your mum to nag. Making your way to the bathroom, the laminate floor of the hallway beneath your bare feet makes you cringe with its cool touch. The tiles in the bathroom are colder but you decide to suck it up and jump in the shower as a warm place of refuge.

Your carefully crafted shower playlist echoes, a cacophony of sound that's a ritual to your morning routine: shower, get ready, breakfast, drive to college. Using the shower like your own personal recording studio, you sing  along like nobody’s listening as you wash your body with sweet smelling soaps, the music helping to calm you before the busy day ahead. A knock at the bathroom door startles you cold. It nearly sends you slipping on the shower’s floor.

“Don’t be in there all day, Mum and I need to get ready too, you know,” your dad grumbles from behind the door. You mumble out a response, rolling your eyes, letting him know that you’ll be out soon. You wash the remnant bubbles of body wash left on your body before switching off the shower and drying off with a rough towel. Wrapping it around yourself, you exit the bathroom and return to your bedroom.

Like any other teenager’s room, it’s untidy. A pile of laundry in a basket threatens to overflow—you make a mental note to deal with it when you get home tonight. The main source of mess is concentrated on and around your desk, textbooks and folders stacked one upon another like a tower on one side with notebooks in a scattered pile on the other with your closed laptop in the middle. The past few weeks of term brought with it a tsunami of work and you’d manage to tread water in the sea of revision, coursework and homework but it was tiring trying to keep on top of college plus everything else and your room was evidence of that.

Conscious of the time, you get ready with haste, applying a light amount of makeup (to avoid sanctions for ‘wearing too much’) and pull on your uniform: a crisp button-up shirt tucked into a pleated plaid skirt, dark tights and shoes, tie, and a fitted blazer that bore the college’s emblem on the breast. You look at yourself in the full length mirror, inspecting yourself, readjusting your tie so it doesn't look completely ridiculous and rolling up your skirt a few times so it hits just above of your knee. The uniform isn’t much to your taste but it could be much worse. Satisfied, you pack your bag with the notebooks you need for the day and head downstairs for breakfast.

The clock in the kitchen shows that it’s past half 7 and it hurries your pace. You make some toast lathered in butter and eat it hurriedly before calling out goodbye to your parents and rush out the door. A silent prayer passes to your lips as you get in your car, hoping that it’ll start with no issues. Turning the ignition, the car sputters to life, thank god. Moving into gear, it creeks as you roll out of the driveway and drive to college.

9:17am

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you seethe under your breath.

Holding an essay that you’d completed a fortnight ago for Mr Hall, the other History teacher, you almost crumple it with how tight you grip the papers. It’s littered with red squiggles of Mr Hall’s sloppy handwriting, taunting you as if it were hyperfocusing on every little mistake you’ve ever made. Shuffling through the essay’s pages, scanning its contents, a laugh of disbelief erupts from the back of your throat. The final comment scrawled on the last page nearly sends you over the edge with indignation:

I don’t think you’ve grasped the concept of this topic very well. Try harder next time. Grade: 11/25. 

Bullshit. In an attempt to prove yourself to the despised teacher, you made sure that your spelling and grammar was immaculate and even asked Mr Miller to proofread for you as a favour. In the short few weeks since his arrival, you’d built up a good rapport with the new teacher. It was inevitable with the way he was, his charming allure drawing you to him. It also helped that you found him earth-shatteringly attractive.

You watched him in anticipation as he read your work, feeling the tips of your ears grow hot. It’s probably shit, you think. Pure rubbish. After a while, he put you out of your misery.

“This looks good to me, darlin’,” he drawls, his praise sending an involuntary shiver through your body, “really good, actually. It’s well-written, concise, and has what appears to be thorough source analysis,” he compliments, his thick fingers gliding over the paragraphs, as he focuses on the text. “This is miles better than some of the stuff I use’ta grade when I was teaching at the university and those were meant t’be college level,” he scoffs, returning the papers back to you.

His fingers lingered a little too long as they graze against yours, sending sparks of electricity through your body.

“You mean it? You’re not just saying that to not hurt my feelings, right?” you ask nervously, unsure of yourself.

“‘Course. I don’t mess around, darlin’. Let me know what you get. ‘Be interested to know.”

Noticing your displeasure, Chelsea nudges you. “You alrigh’?” she inquires, her voice low to avoid anyone overhearing.

“That man is taking the absolute piss. Look at this shit.” You shove the paper across the desk for her to read. She reads through the essay without a sound, concentrating.

“What the hell, 11 out of 25? Lemme check mine, I haven’t seen it yet,” she says and reads through her own work, confusion dawning on her face. “I got 16 out of 25? But yours was way more detailed. Doesn’t make sense. Yours is at least a B, surely?” 

“Well, according to dickhead over there, it’s an E.” Exasperated, you take the essay from her and shove it in your bag. You just can’t fucking win with this man; it feels like he’s determined to undermine and belittle you at every turn. Even on results’ day back in August, he barely acknowledged you, only offering a curt ‘well done’. Before you can rant further, Mr Hall beckons the class for their attention and begins his lesson. Throughout the rest of the period, you seethe like a pot over a flame, slowly simmering, threatening to overflow.

10:50am

As soon as the bell goes, you dart out of the classroom with little regard for Mr Hall and his hollers, berating you for leaving his class without waiting to be dismissed. If you stayed a second longer in that classroom, you were sure to explode. Unbothered by his threat of a detention, you storm down the corridor with reckless abandon. Wanting to be anywhere else right now, the thought of jumping in your car and skiving the rest of the day was tempting. Tears of frustration threaten to fall and the mist of anger clouds your mind so much that you’re startled when you slam hard into someone’s chest as you round the corner.

“Ow! Watch where you’re going, you fuckin—” you launch into berating the person but stop abruptly when you realise who you’d collided with, your face scorching with embarrasment.

Mr Miller stands before you, his broad frame towering over you. He let out a husky laugh, his eyes glinting with a teasing warmth.

“Easy, sweetheart, you rushing to the canteen or somethin’?”  You stay silent, afraid the tears in your eyes would spill if you said anything. It takes a moment for him to grasp the distress etched on your face.

“Talk to me, darlin’, what’s wrong?” His voice is low, as concern blooms across his face. The corridor begins to fill with students, its temperature rising and absolutely not helping with your impending meltdown. A heaviness settles in your eyes, and thick tears soon spill down your cheeks without warning. How embarrassing.

Without a moment's hesitation, Joel has a strong arm around you as he whisks you away into his classroom that’s just up the corridor, doing his best to shield you from prying eyes. Ushering you in and closing the door behind him, he pulls a chair from under a desk close to his and beckons you to sit down. Slumping into the rigid chair, you let the frustrated tears flow.

“Ugh, he’s such a fucking asshole!” you groan in resentment, your voice breaking as you bury your face in your hands and sob uncontrollably, finally giving in to your emotions. Joel stays silent save for a soft I know, darlin’, it’s gonna be okay, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder, thumb softly tracing circles to soothe you. As your tears gradually slow and you start to regain your composure, he positions his leather office chair in front of you and sits down comfortably in the plush seat.

“Tell me what’s happened that’s got you so upset. Was it those boys again?” he asks softly, though sounds disgruntled at the thought of those idiots bothering you again.

“No, no,” you utter whilst using the sleeve of your blazer to wipe away any stray tears. “You know that essay I showed you? Well, I got the grade back off Mr Hall. 11 out of 25. An E.” Your voice wavers, a stray tear falling down your warmed cheek.

His eyes widen with utter disbelief, but he doesn’t interrupt. The gaze of his delicious brown eyes is unwavering as he listens to you, providing you with a safe space to vent your resentment.

“I just don’t understand what his fucking problem is. He’s always talking down to me, shitting on whatever I hand in, giving me crappy feedback. Like if my work is so bad, at least help me with providing constructive criticism, it’s literally his job,” you express, waving your arms in exasperation, hands chopping through the air as if to slice through the grievance.

“Yeah, I don’t like him but I try to be as respectful as I can, y’know. I’m just so tired of the bullshit.” You let out a loud sigh, feeling the weight of the issue begin to dissolve from your tense shoulders.

Joel shuffles in his chair before he moistens his lips with a short flit of his tongue, thinking thoroughly before he approaches his next question: “How long has this been going on?”

“I dunno, since last year.”

“You got the essay with ya?”

“Yeah, lemme grab it.” You rifle through your heavy bag, searching. It takes a second but you find it.

“Thank you, darlin’,” he coos with a slight but comforting smile, taking the papers from you. He twists back to grab his glasses from the desk behind him elongating his body to reach them.

The front of his button-up shirt comes untucked in the process, revealing a glimpse of his soft, somewhat imperceptible trail of hair descending from his soft abdomen that beckons your curiosity and desire. It draws your eyes, each subtle curve and line a tender reminder of his natural magnetism. Paired with the groan that escapes his lips as he stretches behind, this sight feels obscene to observe.

Warm arousal pools low in your tummy, and you feel wet slick begin to permeate the soft folds of your cunt. Biting your plump lip, your thighs clench, seeking any solution to relieve the slow building pressure in your core. It does nothing but wind you up tighter like an iron spring, threatening to burst. You tear your ogling eyes away before he notices and you cross your legs in a last ditch attempt to find reprieve, your skirt hitching a little higher revealing more of your pantyhose-covered thighs; it’s not purposeful, but it isn’t accidental either. He slips the glasses on, sneaking a glance at you in that damn skirt before reading through the papers.

Joel's immediate reaction to reading the essay was parallel to yours: what the fuck? He had heard about Anthony Hall's reputation around the college; Hall was disliked by the majority of staff whilst the students absolutely despised him. Sure, Hall had always been polite enough to him in department meetings and casual encounters, but Joel had sensed something was off about him. Joel was never one to judge someone immediately based on rumour or appearance, he had just thought that Hall was just a bit of a weird guy, awkward and antisocial. However, holding your essay covered in some of the harshest feedback he'd ever seen as a lecturer and teacher, Joel reached his conclusion: Anthony Hall is a douchebag.

“Jesus Christ…” he breathes, flicking through the essay. Some of these comments didn’t even make sense to what you had been writing about, they were just nasty. Joel wondered if Hall had been drunk or high when marking your essay. Possibly both. The more he read, the more his heart ached for you. He’d come to know how hardworking you were in his few weeks at the college, always asking questions to deepen your understanding of certain topics in lessons, often staying behind to pick his brains about what he thought about a topic. 

Whether it was to genuinely seek his opinion or  simply to have an excuse to talk to him alone, he didn’t mind. He cherished your company in any capacity. He found your expression endearing as you focused on the tasks he set, your brow furrowing slightly with concentration, and the way you bit your lip when faced with a challenging question was something he found particularly alluring. Your soft laughter at his corny jokes, even when the rest of the class would roll their eyes, felt like an intimate connection between the two of you.

The way your hips moved when you approached his desk to ask a question set his heart racing and watching you leave, your skirt swaying, teased him to no end, stirring an inquisitiveness about what lay beneath. He couldn’t help but notice that you sometimes rolled up your skirt making it shorter, and silently hoped you did that just for him—and it drove him absolutely crazy. These subtle gestures, whether intentional or not, kept his thoughts occupied, leaving him to navigate a delicate balance between professional restraint and his own personal curiosity.

“So what do you think? Is he right or…?” you trail off, breaking the silence. Joel hadn’t realised that he hadn’t said anything for a while, the incredulity of the essay situation overcoming him.

“I’m just speechless, honestly. I ain’t ever seen anything like it. Barely know where to begin…” He falters, a kink in his self-assured armour he so often wore with pride. Your stomach drops and worry sets in for a moment. Sensing your insecurity, he endeavours to repair the armour.

He flashes a sweet smile, an eyebrow slightly raised for a moment, revealing soft crows feet that grace the outer corner of his espresso brown eyes. “But I can tell you that this is a fantastic essay. It ain’t fair the way he’s graded it. I can tell you that for free, darlin’,” he pauses a moment. “I’m gonna talk to him about this,” waving the essay nonchalantly, “if you’re happy for me to do so, ‘course,” his steady gaze meeting with yours.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna cause…” The rest of your words die in your mouth as Joel’s gazes intensifies as if to command you to lay your trust with him. Understanding, you nod, fidgeting with the bits of skin around your nails. As his look softens, his eyes glisten as the sunlight hits the flicks of toffee and golden honey tones of his orbs in the most delicious way.  

“Alright, you talk to Mr Hall, just please leave out the bit where I had a menty b.” You let out a nervous laugh, shuffling around in your seat. 

“The hell is a menty b?” He scoffs, ever confused by the way young people communicate these days. It was bad enough at home in Austin with teen colloquialisms, but British slang was a different beast altogether for Joel. It was like a new language that often forced him to wade through an unknown branch of the English lexicon when he conversed with his students and staff alike.

“Mental breakdown, duh,” You smirked, a teasing grin creeping across your lips, “you coulda guessed that one easy if used your head.” Rolling your eyes in a dramatic fashion, you wanted to tease him, wanted him to get wound up so much he had to pin you down and put you in your place. One day, maybe, for now that desire remains in your dreams.

“Hey—don’t let your mouth write a check your butt can’t cash.” He quips, playing along in this rally of dalliance.

You shoot him a playful but confused look. “What does that even mean?”

A quiet but teasing gruff chuckle escapes him. “Means don’t run your mouth ‘less you got the gall to back it up.” He quips, leaning back to chuck the essay on his desk.

The sliver of silky hair makes an appearance again and you have to take a deep breath to compose yourself as your clit swells with the want—no—the need for her to be touched. Sure you’ve had some less-than-stellar experiences that left you disappointed, aching for more, but this was a whole different kettle of fish. He’d barely laid a finger and had you a dripping, horny mess. If he only knew about the party in your panties when he taught you the concepts of American politics or the grounds for Regan’s war on drugs, you were sure he’d say you’re a bad girl and needed to be taught a lesson. And god, you wish he would.

“I’ve got the gall.” You challenge, arms crossed in juvenile defiance, playing it up.

“Ya think so?” Matching your energy, he readjusts himself in the plush leather office chair, leaning towards you. The tension in the air is palpable, thick like thunder, waiting for the lightning to strike. 

Joel’s tone shifts, husky, pouring thick like honey. “Wanna put your money where your mouth is, darlin’?” He tests, kissing his teeth, that gaze pouring into you as he tilts his head slightly in curiosity, dark golden eyes flitting between yours and your lips. 

Before you could respond, the bell cuts through the air like a jagged knife cutting you out of the moment like a butcher carving through a baron of meat. You let out a heavy sigh. EPQ is your next lesson and the thought of it makes you cringe.

“Fuck,” Joel mutters under his breath in a hope you won’t hear, his large palms falling to his lap with a soft slap, “best get to next lesson sweetheart. Don’t want you to be late, now, do we?”

Begrudgingly, you gather your things without much haste, not caring about being late. The day feels like a write-off to you at this point. Mr Miller walks you to the door, opening it for you—always the gentleman. Leaning casually against the door frame, his broad shoulders exude effortless rugged charm.

“Relax, alright? I'll handle it with Mr Hall. No need to worry your pretty little head, okay?”

“I won’t, I promise. Thank you, sir.”

And with that, you shuffle along to third period. You forget about the essay for a while, smiling to yourself, revelling at the fact that Mr Miller called you pretty. It makes the day that little bit easier to deal with.

11:32am

Closing the door behind you, Joel resigns himself to his desk, letting out a gruff sigh, thumb and finger massaging the bridge of his aquiline nose. He hated to see you so down and upset, but you looked so goddamn pretty with tears streaming down your face. Sordid illicit imaginings of you cloud his mind, his growing erection straining against his trousers, a pertinent reminder that he is probably—definitely—absolutely fucked. 

Working in a college is hard work. Piles of marking. Countless meetings to attend. Difficult conversations to be had with students, parents and co-workers. The burden of it all could and would ruin some professionals without a way to relieve the stress. Some nights when Joel found himself needing release after a stressful day, you crept into his mind.

Deep down it was wrong to think of you like that, but it didn’t stop his mind from picturing how you’d feel around him, whether it’d be your soft mouth or sweet cunt. Before he had the chance to battle the moral ethics of it all, he’d be a panting mess, hand wrapped around his thick cock, fervently chasing a state of oblivion until he came hard with thick ropes of cum shooting across his soft belly, leaving him gasping for air.

The first time it happened, he was wracked with guilt for days afterwards, and couldn’t bear to meet your gaze the rest of that week, despite your best efforts to make conversation. He was getting it out of his system, that was all. He wouldn’t do it again. Or so he thought.

The next time he found himself chasing a sordid release was a day you wore your hair in two pigtails adorned with little pretty pink pom-poms.

Jesus Christ, she’s got to be doing this on purpose, right? She’s gotta know she’s being a goddamn tease.

He carried on the lesson as planned, trying to not let it affect him by thinking of dead puppies and suchlike but as soon the opportunity arose during lunch break, he escaped to the male staff toilet, locking himself in the lone cubicle.

It felt wrong, dirty, perverted and it probably was, to be truthful. But the thought of having you, something so forbidden, so illicit, clouded his judgement and made his dick harder. He pushed those criticisms to the back of his mind as he undid his belt and removed his thick, veiny cock from his pants in a swift motion. There was only a short window for him to get this over and done with.

Lazily pumping himself at first with the saliva he’d crudely spat in his hand, he relished in the pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut with sick thoughts of your smaller hand in place of his.

Fucking slut with them lil’ pigtails… she knows what she’s doing… gagging for this fucking cock.

Slow pumps quicken to fervent strokes, fabricated images of you on your knees for him taking him in your sweet mouth flashed in his mind.

Such a pretty girl taking my cock… good girl, that’s it… just like that.

A groan threatened to emerge from his throat and he bit his lip so hard he could taste copper which only spurred him on. Pearls of precum leaked from his slit, languid drops dripping down the head, mixing with his spit, a delicious slick coating his length. That familiar tug in his stomach and twitching dick signalled the beginning of the end, and he had to prop himself up with his other hand against the wall of the cubicle to steady himself as he tugged his cock with reckless abandon.

You want my cum in that pretty little mouth huh?… Fucking take it… F-fuuuuuck.

The peak of his release hit him like a tonne of bricks, blurring his vision. Ropes of cum spilled over the toilet seat and landed inside it with a few crude plops. He stroked his length through the aftershocks, panting and gasping for air, body writhing with oversensitivity. After coming down from the high, he took a moment to realise what he’d just done. Jerked off at the thought of you, a student, in the bathroom like some dirty pervert—fuck’s sake Joel. Shame surged through his veins like heroin, the guilt blooming through his body.

Before Joel could contemplate his actions further, he heard the door of the bathroom slam open. Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck. With great haste, he wiped away the evidence of his sordid release from the seat and flushed it away, wishing he could do the same with the guilt decimating his conscience right now. His hands were trembling as adrenaline merged with shame whilst he tucked himself away, zipping his trousers up and re-buckling his belt. Sweat had made his soft curls adhere to his forehead, his heart beating so hard that he believed it would burst out of his chest at any moment.

In an attempt to keep up appearances, he went to wash his hands and saw the last person he wished to see in a bathroom: Anthony ‘the smallest man that ever lived’ Hall. Joel offered a polite nod, not wishing to converse with the man and washed his hands under the scolding hot tap. It was the least he deserved after the stunt he just pulled.

“Are you okay, Joel? You look a bit out of sorts.” Hall asked with his nasally tone, whilst relieving himself in a urinal. 

“‘M fine, thank you.” Joel’s tone was pointed, hinting that the conversion needed to be over, like yesterday.

Hall didn’t catch the hint, the stupid bastard. “It’s just you look a bit clammy… are you coming down with something?”

Oh, fuck off Anthony, not now.

“No, sir. If anything it’s just a cold.” He lies, anything to get the twat to stop talking to him whilst scrubbing his hands of sin.

“Well stay away from me then, I don’t want your yankee germs.” He guffaws at his own dumb joke. Joel forced a weak laugh out with every fibre of his being as he wrung his hands dry on some paper towel before discarding it in a bin.

Eager to escape the situation, Joel said a curt ‘see you later’ and slipped past before Hall could say anything further to him. He rushes back to his classroom, cheeks flushed, self-contempt coursing throughout his body. He coaches himself through the peril swirling through his mind: Pull yourself together, Joel, this has to stop, she’s just a girl. That’s the last time.

It’s about three days before he is choking his cock again at the thought of you, chasing that debauched oblivion again.

Monday 4th November

11:43am

It’d been a few weeks since Mr Miller promised to talk to Mr Hall about Essay-gate. That was the name you and Chelsea had given the affair; it seemed fitting as you’d learned about the Watergate scandal in the weeks since the incident. You didn’t want to pester him about the outcome of the conversation between the two teachers, fearing that you would be annoying him, but you thought you’d know by now at least.

It surprised you when you would come to find out the conclusion when Mr Miller knocks on the computer room door of your EPQ lesson, asking for you and instructing you to bring your things as you wouldn’t be coming back. You were more than happy to follow him. Quiet elation melts over you, grateful to be missing EPQ, not that you’d be doing a lot anyway apart from dicking around or browsing online. Arriving at his room, he placed your usual chair in front of his plush leather office chair. It feels a little silly but it warms your heart seeing the arrangement of chairs facing one another, a setup becoming all too familiar when you had your chats with the history teacher.

“We gotta stop meeting like this, darlin’,” he jokes teasingly, large hands running through his curls as he relaxes into his plush leather chair. A black button-up shirt hugs his body in all the right ways, emphasising his broad shoulders. The top button is undone, revealing a small birthmark that you long to kiss and nibble on. You laugh, giving him a look of incredulity—amused by his joke and distracted by how striking he looks in black. It almost makes you forget there’s a reason as to why you’re here in the first place.

“So, there’s some good news, and some bad news.” He begins, his large hands laced in one another. “Good news is Mr. Hall decided to re-evaluate your essay thanks to my… suggestion.”

Joel’s use of the word suggestion was a little white lie. He had actually torn Anthony a new one, launching into a scathing critique of the man’s grading, thoroughly deconstructing the other teacher’s justification for the low mark. In the end, it boiled down to Anthony’s preference in writing style, rather than the substance of the essay. His feebled reasoning angered Joel further, almost flying off the handle during the confrontation.

Joel had come well-prepared: leveraging on his past experience as a college and university lecturer and the mark scheme Hall should’ve been using to grade, Joel had compellingly demonstrated that your essay not only met but surpassed the required standards. 

“And the bad news…?” you pry, bracing yourself for the worst.

“The old grade was submitted in the latest data-drop. Admin’s flagged you up for needing extra support in History until the next drop in about 6 weeks.” Joel looks at you carefully, gauging your reaction.

“The fuck?” Fucking Mr Hall causing shit again, goddamn. “Can’t he change it, it’ll literally take a second?”

“I tried, darlin’, but Admin’s locked the drops until the next window and I can’t get access to edit ‘em.”

“Fuck’s sake.” You sigh, swearing under your breath. “So lay it on me, what does this all mean?”

“‘Means that you gotta attend some sessions—like tutoring.”

“Ugh, so I’m stuck with Hall?” The thought of spending any more time than necessary with the man makes your skin crawl.

A quiet grin of delight creeps across Joel’s lips. “We decided that it’d be best for you to work with me, actually.”

Another white lie. When he found out you were getting extra tutoring, he wasted no time going to Admin to make sure you worked with him instead of Hall. Officially, this was justified by the ongoing animosity between the two of you. Unofficially, though, Joel’s real motivation was far more intimate, borderline voracious—he wanted you all to himself and was willing to pull every little string to make it happen. He knew full well you didn’t need the extra help; in fact, he knew you were more than capable. What he really wanted was the chance to be alone with you. He knew he was probably sick for wishing to spend so much time with his barely legal student, but his curiosity of the situation got the better of him. He wanted to see where this, whatever it was, was going and he was strapped in for the ride.

“So ya stuck with me for an extra few hours a week—ain’t you a lucky thing.”

He winks, and your breath catches in your throat. You try to clear it, hoping to disguise your reaction, but Joel is not fooled. He quietly savours the way your reactions betray you each time. He finds it endearing that you think you're discreet, clutching your crush on him like a poker hand, when Joel can see through your cards with ease.

“So how’s this going to work?” You ask after composing yourself, keen to find out the details of the arrangement.

“Hang on, lemme check the email Admin sent me.” He swivels around to his desk and logs into the computer. You notice the way he types, only using his pointer fingers to tap on each key. Such a boomer, you think, quietly laughing to yourself. Joel doesn’t notice, concentrating on hitting the correct key instead. Once logged in, he pulls up the email and reads the screen intently, scanning each line carefully.

“Alrigh’...” he draws out slowly, before turning to you, “according to this, you’ll be able to miss one EPQ lesson and the last 2 hours need to be taken out of your own study periods.” He draws his attention back to the computer, changing the window and revealing a document with a copy of his teaching timetable.

“I’ve got a free period this hour when you’re in EPQ so that could work. And I’m happy to have you in these periods here, here, here or here,” he explains, pointing at the empty cells in the timetable. You get your own timetable up on your phone to compare schedules.

After a lengthy discussion, you both decide that you’ll see him for an hour on a Monday, Wednesday and Friday where your study periods matched with his free ones. Mr Miller emphasises that you could bring any work with you to the sessions, not just History, as he was willing to help where he could. It was so kind of him to offer and it seemed that he genuinely wanted to help you succeed. He even gave you his phone number to contact him with any questions you had. You weren’t sure if he was allowed to do this but you didn’t care. Mr Miller had given you his phone number. You saved it under JM with a little sparkle emoji, concealing his identity in case of prying eyes.

The first text you sent at home that night was simple, yet your hands trembled as you typed and deleted it over and over, not wanting to sound like an idiot.

Thanks for agreeing to help me, I appreciate it :) just texting so you have my number too

After sending the message you buried the phone under your pillow, too anxious to watch and linger, waiting for his response. You’re surprised when his reply comes back within a few minutes.

my pleasure, darlin. can’t wait for our first proper session on wednesday. X

The message, punctuated by a kiss at the end, sends your heart into a flutter. You remind yourself he probably sends texts like that to everyone, not just you. Then, a second message arrives with a buzz, startling you and causing you to nearly drop your phone.

don’t forget the watergate worksheet tomorrow—ya gonna regret letting me have ur number when I’m nagging ya for homework haha. X

You begin to type with haste. Your fingers hover over the x key, debating on whether to return the gesture. Fuck it. No harm done, it’s just a letter after all.

Hahaha I won’t. See you tomorrow x

Within a minute, his response arrives.

see ya then. sweet dreams, darlin. X

You decide to leave it there and head to bed. As you slip into sleep, Mr Miller haunts your dreams: his rugged face, strong hands, broad shoulders, and deep caramel eyes are a tantalising vision. That night is the first of many dreams you have about him, leaving your soft folds drenched with longing when you wake.

Wednesday 20th November

12:31pm

The arrangement of additional tutoring worked out well. You got to miss an hour of EPQ and you were able to spend even more time with your favourite teacher. During the sessions, you were able to get your college work done whilst getting to know more about Mr Miller.

In your exchanges, you find out he grew up in Austin, Texas, with his younger brother Tommy. Tommy, a soldier turned contractor, founded Miller’s Construction after an honourable discharge from the US Army at 23. Mr Miller would help Tommy out during grad school summer breaks and whenever money was tight. Despite the long, gruelling days under the hot Texan sun, he enjoyed the hands-on work, something different from the realm of academia he found himself in. He’d graduated with a respectable bachelor's degree at 22 and then pursued a master's in American History and Politics. Working as a teacher’s aide during his master's program had ignited his interest in teaching, leading him to take up lecturing positions at community colleges and universities around Texas after grad school. Eventually, seeking new opportunities, he moved to the UK, where he worked at several universities. However, the insecurity of temporary contracts pushed him to switch to the further education sector, seeking the stability of a full-time salary. And that’s how he found himself teaching at your college.

You’re mesmerised by how he recounts his life—his eyes gleam with fondness when he speaks of Tommy, his voice comes alive as he recalls the wild nights in Austin with his younger brother when he was home from service, and he speaks openly about his initial fears of leaving home. Getting to know Mr. Miller on such an intimate level feels like a breath of fresh air; teachers often seem like distant robots, detached from their true selves. You never quite understood why.

Today’s session is like any other. After a long double period of English, you find your way to his classroom. He looks up as you enter, greeting you with a warm, inviting smile that makes the day’s stress melt away.

“Hey, ya ready for our session?” he smiles, that kind expression always so infectious that you felt your own lips curling.

“Gimme a sec, I just had back-to-back English and my brain feels like jelly. Who knew Shakespeare’s sonnets could be so confusing.” You sigh in exasperation, dropping your heavy bag on the desk closest to Mr. Miller’s with a thump. Rifling through it, you find your notebook and pencil case, then shuffle through the notebook for your university entrance essay drafts. With the UCAS deadline steadily approaching, you’re anxious to finish. You’re on what feels like the zillionth draft, and it’s driving you crazy. Mr. Miller noticed your frustration during your last tutoring session and encouraged you to bring it along this time so he could help. How kind of him.

You hand the drafts to Mr. Miller, who spends a few minutes reading through them, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. You watch him anxiously, your heart racing, as he writes comments in the margins. After what feels like an eternity, he hands the pages back to you. Your heart flutters at the sight of his positive feedback, the final comment punctuated with a smiley face: ‘This is great, darlin’, keep it up :)’

Warm stirs in your chest as you read over the comments, a coy smile tugging on your lips and you find yourself giddy with elation. 

“Happy?” he muses, quietly pleased with your reaction. He felt good about making you happy, you deserve it after all considering the essay fiasco with Mr Hall.

“Yeah,” you respond, drawing your eyes away from the pages to meet his eyes, “I just had one question.”

His brow furrows, a little confused. “Sure, darlin’, shoot.”

“Why is it that you always call me dawrl-lin’?” you imitated his Texan drawl, narrowing your eyes. The nickname had intrigued you and you never heard him call anyone else so why not ask?

“Now, that was a terrible impression, ya need to stay in your lane.” He chortles at your inquisitiveness.

He pauses before revealing his answer.

“I only call pretty girls darlin’,” a smirk flashes on his lips, before realising what he’s implied and its implications. You feel your breath catch in the back of your throat and you suddenly feel hot.

Shit, he thinks, chastising himself. Y’done gone and crossed the line, you fuckin’ tool.

“It’s a-a Texas thing,” he attempts to justify himself, lying through his teeth. Joel's eyes widened like a deer in headlights. His mind was racing with the consequences of his behaviour. Reported. Investigated. Suspended without pay. Fired. Blacklisted from teaching. All because he couldn’t stop himself from running his mouth trying to flirt with you, and forgetting himself.

“‘m sorry if I was making you uncomfortable. I can stop if you wanna.”

In truth he didn’t wish to stop. He wished to whisper it over and over whilst he ravished your body, nibbling, biting, kissing you all over.

“It's okay, Mr Miller. I kinda like it,” you smile, glancing back at your work. You didn’t just like it though, you loved it. Texas thing or not, you were quietly delighted he’d given you a pet name that was reserved for you. He sounded so seductive whenever he called you darlin’ during class, in the corridors in between lessons, or during your one-on-ones, he had to know what he was doing, surely.

Every time darlin’ passes his lips, without fail, knots form in your tummy, affecting your ability to concentrate on occasion. Sometimes, when you were on your own late at night, save for the company of a bullet vibrator attached to your clit, the wicked imaginings of Mr Miller could and would often throw you over the precipice of bliss. You imagine him whispering darlin’ and sweet nothings in your ear whilst his calloused fingers skillfully worked with your clit before devouring your pussy as if he were starved. The thoughts of him leave you a shaking mess, forcing yourself to stifle any moans and gasps with the palm of your hand as the waves of illicit bliss ripple through you, making your cunt flutter with pleasure as you tease your sensitive bud through the aftershocks. You always felt a little shameful after the fact, unable to hold his gaze the morning after, the thoughts of Mr Miller ravishing your body still raw in your mind from the night before.

“That’s alrigh’ then. We’ll keep it that way,” he replies, quietly relieved.

She’s not gonna snitch on me, he thinks.

What a good girl.

Thank you for reading this to the end! If you enjoyed please extend a like or reblog (with a comment if you'd like, I love reading them <3) to support writers, it helps a ton!💞

[michellemisfit]

✨Weekly Tag Wednesday ✨

Thanks for creating the game and for the tag @jrooc thanks for the tag @vintagelacerosette

Today we’re talking fandom. Come play!

Name and A03 handle: Michelle, michellemisfit

Current Location: Living room, surrounded by feathers, as I’m currently fletching some arrows

Favourite picrew: This one is pretty fucking spot on. Or at least it was at the time. Hair is very different now. But then, hair is always different… lol

Also this one is spiritually VERY me

What's one thing you want in a picrew? Ability to add coloured streaks! And a wide selection of scars, or alternatively the ability to move them around the screen. Either is fine. But mostly the hair thing. My hair is generally 4 different colours. Don’t try and limit me to one!!

Favourite thing you’ve created (or seen created) for the fandom? Erm… 3 way tie between Mexico Gallacrafts, Fimo Gallavich, and Cookie Gallavich? Maybe? Argh. Turns out, looking back at my art tag… I’ve created some pretty cool stuff. Huh. Yay me.

Why is it your favourite? I don’t really do photography, and I’m really proud of the idea behind and the execution of that photo. And while I LOVE drawing more than anything, I don’t think I’m exceptional or anything. But I’m damn creative when it comes to silly 3D craft projects, so both Fimo Gallavich and Cookie Gallavich make me happy and feel like something not just anyone could do… I dunno.

Did it come easily or was it hard to create? It was LONG to create. Both cookie and Fimo Gallavich took several days in total. And I think that’s the other thing I like about myself. I am willing to put in the work, and it usually pays off.

Last ao3 fic you commented on? Hah! You’ll be able to corroborate this, I’m not just sucking up!! LOL I’m currently reading Camp is a Battlefield by @blue-disco-lights, @jrooc, and @mybrainismelted, with artwork by @creepkinginc, so that’s the last one I commented on :)

Biggest WIP heartache you’ve ever experienced? I mean… every single WIP I have ever started reading, only to realise that maybe there won’t be any more of it… 😱 Every. Single. One. They’re all special, and they all hurt in their own special ways. And I will remain subscribed to all of them FOREVER, because you never know!!

Also? Comment on WIPs. Tell authors how much joy the story brought you, how much space it’s occupying in your brain, how much you would love to see it continue but how happy you are to have read as much of the story as there is because it’s changed your brain chemistry… do NOT comment saying ‘next chapter when?’, cause that makes you a dick bag.

Favourite trope or head cannon you like included in a fanfic? I’m a sucker for fake dating, only one bed, and a soulmate AU 🤷🏽‍♂️

Least favourite? …not a huge fan of kid fic, but hey, all it takes is a great author to make it work.

Secret or surprising kink or trope? Again, do not kink shame, because you’re only ever one good fanfic away from discovering something about yourself you did NOT see coming…

Describe how you feel after you’ve created something new? Exhausted and antsy. Is it good enough? Are people gonna like it? Should I even bother anyone with this? Why don’t I just go and hide under a rock forever?? I felt okay about this when I finished it, why is it suddenly the worst thing to have ever been created??? …I wish there was a sense of calm and accomplishment. There is not. Brains suck!

Top hype man you have that always helps you get across the finish line: @deedala - I so appreciate how we’re on a similar wave length when it comes to art as well as ‘everybody wants to hunt me for sport’ vibes. I know I can always count on you for kind but honest words, and that’s so important!!

It's been a bad day, you turn to the fandom and you _____? Read comfort fic. Probably Like Real People Do or None the Wiser.

Edit: Also? Go and read comments and tags on old art posts. That’s a sure fire way to cheer me up!

This was fun, and made the 15 minute wait between fletching each feather pass much faster. Thanks!!

If you are currently making your own arrows and need something to occupy your wait time with… how about completing a tag game? lol

@heymrspatel @loftec @creepkinginc @deedala @too-schoolforcool @darlingian @iandarling @iansw0rld @ian-galagher @mybrainismelted @palepinkgoat @crossmydna @mikhailoisbaby @sickness-health-all-that-shit @rereadanon @rutherinahobbit @energievie @junemermaid @francesrose3 @deathclassic @faejilly @rutherinahobbit @gallawitchxx @look-i-love-u @jessij1997 @callivich @celestialmickey @wehangout @doshiart @lynne-monstr @the-rat-wins @blue-disco-lights @suzy-queued @sleepyfacetoughguy @spookygingerr @burninface @gallapiech

[onepiece-fics]

The strawhats reacting to receiving gifts

Summary: How do the strawhats react to receiving (personal) gifts? Gender neutral reader.

Authors note: Soooo the request was a lot more general than what I ended up writing but I hope this still works <3

Also I added links for pictures for most of their gifts if you're curious of how I imagined it :)

Warnings: Chopper and Brook are FULLY platonic!!

Word count: 2346

Luffy

Neither Luffy nor you are very materialistic people, but giving gifts isn’t always about that. You love doing various little crafts. You decided a while ago to start learning how to crochet, and your first project was gonna be to make a little crochet plush of Thousand Sunny! 

After about a week of working on your project, you finally finish it, and you’re ready to give it to your captain. You go out to the lawn deck, seeing him playing around with Chopper in what looks like a game of tag. Of course, your captain is winning by quite a lot due to his powers. You shake your head before you call his name, feeling bad for the reindeer with the frustrated expression on his face.

“Luffy! Could you come here for a second?” you call out. He stops dead in his tracks and looks at you, arms behind your back. His interest is immediately piqued at how suspicious you look. 

“Oh! Y/N! Whatcha got behind your back?” he asks, voice full of excitement. He tries to look behind your back, turning around your body to see what's in your hands.

“Here! I made this for you” you say, holding your arms out to show him the plush. It takes him a minute to register what you’re holding out to him, but when he sees what it is his face lights up with his iconic grin.

“Y/N!! That’s awesome!! You made Sunny!” he can’t hold his excitement anymore and he lifts you up by your waist and spins you around in a circle. He lets you go and looks intensely at the plush.

“Oh my god, I have to show Franky… Chopper look at it!!” he shows the reindeer whose face also lits up. He turns to you again, taking ahold of your shoulders with a grin on his face.

“This is absolutely amazing. Thank you so much” he says and gives you a peck on the cheek before he runs off to find Franky. 

Zoro

Zoro is one of those people who’s absolutely awful at both giving and receiving gifts, but honestly, that’s part of the fun for you. On the last island you were at you found a jewelry shop and found a cool-looking bracelet that you knew you had to buy for him, and you couldn't wait to see his reaction.

“Zoro!” you exclaim as you see him waiting for you on the ship. His face lights up as he sees you and he greets you with an arm around your shoulder as you come up to him.

“I got you something!” you say, a smile wide on your face. He looks surprised, a blush on his face coming immediately.

“For me? Y/N you really don’t have to give me anything…” he starts as he receives the bag from the store and looks inside.

“Nonsense. I saw it and I thought of you so I wanted to give it to you” you tell him. He opens up the packaging the bracelet lays inside and takes it out, admiring the handiwork done on it. “Do you like it?” you ask as he puts it on his wrist.

“Uhm. Yeah, it’s really cool…” he says, blush still on his face. You know him well enough to tell that he loves it, even if he can’t express it well. The way his face flushes red will forever expose how he truly feels.

Nami

As much as Nami obsesses with money, you know that what truly makes a good gift for her are handmade ones. That’s why you decided to make friendship bracelets for the two of you. At first, you were scared she would find it silly, but after finding the cutest pearls and decorations on the last island, you knew you had to do it. 

“Nami! I got you something!” you say as you approach her. She’s sitting under the tangerine trees, book in her hands and leaning against one of the trees. She looks up at you and smiles.

“Lean your arm out and close your eyes” you order and she obeys, putting her book aside. You carefully put the bracelet around her wrist and she smiles, she can tell just by the feeling of it what it is. As she opens her eyes her face lights up.

“Y/N! It’s so cute oh my god! Thank you!” she immediately gets up to hug you tightly, squeezing you tightly. You laugh at her reaction and hug her back. She pulls away from you to admire the jewelry on her wrist.

“Did you make this?!” she asks excitedly and you nod.

“Yeah, and I made a matching one for myself too!” you say, feeling your face heat up with a blush. Nami squeals in excitement and brings you in for another hug. She’s such a sucker for handmade gifts.

Usopp

Having found a funny-looking book in a bookstore, you knew that you needed to give it to Usopp. He needed to read it out loud for story time with you and Chopper. The three of you are sitting in the library, about to have your weekly tradition of listening to Usopp's stories.

“Oh, Usopp, I found this book, you should try reading it for us today!” you say excitedly. He takes the book and inspects it closely.

“Hmm, I suppose I could… I can’t promise it’ll be up to Captain Usopp's standards though!” he says, a smile on his face. You and Chopper shuffle excitedly, getting cozy and preparing for the story to begin. 

“Wait, where did you find this?” he asks as he opens the book. His face is full of confusion and he’s scratching his head.

“Oh, I just found it in a bookstore at the last island…?” you reply, confused. “Is there something wrong with it?” you ask.

“No… It’s just… This is a very famous book from East Blue… And there seems to be an autograph from the original author…!” his face lights up as he turns to look at you. “Thank you so much, Y/N, this is so amazing! I can’t believe I get to read this all over again… And with his autograph…” 

You smile at his excitement. A happy Usopp is a happy you.  

Sanji

You know for a fact that Sanji will always love anything you give him, regardless of what it is. You still think he deserves the best of the best though, so you decide to crochet some nice and warm gloves for him. One night you both have nightly surveillance duty, and seeing him lighting his cigarette in the cold weather, hands shaking from the freezing air, you knew it was the perfect moment to give him his gift.

“Ah, Sanji, I made you something” you softly tell him. Taking it out of your pockets, you hand him a small present, all wrapped up in cute wrapping paper.

“Oh dearest! Thank you so much, but why so suddenly?” he asks as he receives the present. His cheeks are blushing and he has a warm smile on his face as he unwraps his gift. He gasps as he sees the gloves, soft wooly patterns across the palms, with the fingers freed at the top.

“Oh, you know… I just figured it was cold for you in the winter when you light your cigarette and all that…” you tell him shyly. He brings you in for a big hug and places his head on yours.

“Thank you so much, Y/N. I really don’t deserve this but… Thank you” he says, giving you a kiss on the top of your head. You snuggle into his chest and let out a content sigh.

“Sanji, you deserve all the gifts in the world”.

Chopper

You absolutely adore Chopper, just like everyone else, and you just absolutely LOVE making him even cuter. Having found a cute, pink scarf on the island you were visiting, you couldn’t not give it to him. 

As you approach the deer from behind, carefully sneaking, you softly wrap the scarf around his neck. He lets out a noise of surprise and turns around to see you, squealing at his cuteness.

“Oh my god! Chopper! You look so cute!” you exclaim, grabbing the attention of your crewmates.

“Huh? Wait what?” he says, looking down at the scarf hanging around his neck. His eyes widen as he realizes what's happened. “Wait what?” he repeats again.

“I found this scarf and I thought of you! It fits you so well!” you say, and Robin and Usopp hum in agreement. 

“It does fit you really well, Chopper” Usopp says, examining the deer up close.

“It’s really cute” Robin says with a soft smile on her face.

“I- I’m not cute! Stop! I’m a man, I’m not cute!” Chopper exclaims, an embarrassed look on his face. Despite his words, he’s making no attempt to take off the scarf. You all know he secretly loves to be babied by all of you.

Robin

Have you ever heard of the knitted sweater curse? It’s an old myth that if you knit a sweater for your partner, then you’ll break up! You knew though that that would never happen with Robin. All those people who broke up over a sweater were because they didn’t understand the amount of work that goes into one. Robin, however, is very well aware of the time and effort it takes to knit!

One chilly afternoon you approach her, sweater folded up in your arms and you give her a shy smile. Her face lights up as she sees you, making you feel giddy inside.

“I uh… I made you this sweater, I hope it fits” you say and hand it to her. She touches the wooly material, a smile big on her face.

“Thank you so much, dear. How long did this take you? It’s absolutely wonderful… It feels so soft, I bet it’s going to be so warm and cozy” she says, blush on her face. You know she’s not used to receiving gifts randomly so you can tell that she’s a little bit flustered.

“It took me a few weeks to be honest, but I’m happy you like it!” you beam a smile at her. 

It didn’t matter how long it took you to make something, or how frustrating it was, it was always worth it at the end when you see the love in her eyes.

Franky

Franky is one of those people that’s kinda hard to give gifts to. You know that regardless of what you end up giving him, he’ll appreciate it, but you still want to give him something personal. After a lot of thinking, you decide to make him something super simple: a flower crown. After all, a cyborg wearing a flower crown would be cute, right? 

“Hey Franky!” you say as you approach him. He turns around to look at you, and you motion at him to bend down to your height. As you lean towards him you put the flower crown on top of his head before giving him a quick kiss on the forehead.

“Oh? What’s all this?” he asks with a smirk on his face as he stands back up. He goes to touch the flower crown before you stop him.

“Wait what is this?” he laughs. 

“No, No! Don’t take it off! Let me take a picture first!” you giggle. You take out your phone, snapping a picture of him and showing it to him. His smile widens and he laughs at the picture.

“It’s a flower crown! Isn’t it cute? I made it myself!” you exclaim and his eyes fill up with adoration.

“Thank you so much dear, I love it. It suits the cyborg aesthetic superrr well”. 

Brook

Giving Brook a gift was always a gamble: you never knew if he was going to take it seriously or turn it into a dad joke. After you had found a cool-looking guitar plectrum in a second-hand store though you felt like you had to give it to him, it SCREAMED his vibes. 

“Ah, Brook, I found this earlier and I figured you might like it” you say as you hand the skeleton the plectrum. He takes the plectrum and inspects it.

“Ooohh, Y/N, do you know what this is?” he asks and you shake your head. 

“This… The symbol on this plectrum… It’s a symbol for a band that I liked when I was younger…” he starts. It’s hard to read his emotions, with the whole having no face and all, but you can tell he’s surprised to see it. 

“Oh? What was their music like?” you ask him. Brook thinks for a minute.

“Ahh, it’s been so long since I heard it but… If you want I could try playing one of their songs?” he asks. You nod your head in response and call Luffy and Usopp over, knowing that they’ll love it too. 

“Well… It goes kind of like this…” he brings his guitar out and starts playing, the music floating through the air. It’s a sort of soft sound, yet with a lot of emotions behind it. Luffy and Usopp are both moving their heads to the beat as if they’re in a concert crowd and you close your eyes to focus on the sound. It’s so beautiful.

The skeleton stops playing his guitar and takes a moment before he speaks.

“Y/N… Thank you so much for bringing back these memories. It really means a whole lot”. You look up at him with a soft smile.

“I feel like I could cry right now… Oh. But I don’t have any tear ducts!”.

And there goes the dad jokes.

[skyfallscotland]

@heartfeltletters-written asked me 💥 How do you feel about criticism? and it felt like something that needed its own post, so here goes: the hypocrisy of critics in modern fandoms, an essay.

Criticism. I don't like getting it or giving it when it comes to writing. I struggle to even gently give it to friends, even when they ask me what I think of their work. Writing is such a personal thing that we pour our heart and soul into and like you say, many criticisms aren't necessarily valid. By that I mean, there's a difference between "Amy you use em dashes a lot babe" (I do) and "This story would have been so much better if Remi were a virgin" (actual criticism I have received, lmao). 

Unlike traditional authors, we will never make money from this, we do it for the love of it and it's time we will never get back. For some of us, it's time we could be working on our own original manuscripts too. I don't think people who give the second type of criticism are writers, generally. They don't understand the craft and what goes into it. Whenever I post and someone says a chapter was short or they immediately ask when the next one is, and that's all they say, I die inside a little. I try not to take it personally, but it's hard.

Personally, I think fandom behaviour is getting worse and that flows over into our comment sections and tumblr asks. I have a whole other dissertation on this that we’ll call ‘the slow death of fandom as we know it: an essay’, but that’s perhaps for another post. I don’t know how welcomed that commentary would be. 

You said the word ‘entitled’ in your original ask and I think that’s spot on. People have become more entitled in general and downright rude (which is not restricted to online spaces, by the way). I write for ACOTAR, but you’ve never seen me discuss it here because no matter what you say in that regard, you can’t win. Someone will always attack you and I do mean attack. Even in regards to Fourth Wing, I don't talk about my opinions a lot outside of my own little bubble of friends and readers.

And that's the kicker to this whole conversation, really. If I were to criticise Iron Flame/RY everyone would jump down my throat (as has happened on other platforms), even though I'd never say it to her face. Do I stand by my opinions? Absolutely. But it would be rude to tell her them, unless asked. I’m not allowed to (validly) criticise certain elements of her story, a published novel, without being attacked for it, but those same people are fine criticising my work directly to me. Hypocrisy at its finest.

There’s a new influx of people to fandom spaces who are completely unwilling to integrate and completely unwilling to be kind. You mentioned those who criticised your work could have saved themselves the trouble and read the tags, but the thing is: they don’t want to. They can’t be bothered to take five seconds and figure out how they work, to curate their own experience, because that’s what half these people are like. They want an algorithm to do it for them, gods help us.

For me, personally, I'm my biggest critic. I also have raging generalised anxiety, so just posting on the internet is enough to send me spiralling (seriously, I feel sick just typing this out). It's very, very out of my comfort zone and I've been very, very lucky so far to have cultivated the readership I have, full of very like-minded people. Perhaps due to some of the darker content matter. But the second I get harshly worded comments, I get upset.

I don't say that to elicit sympathy, it's just a fact. I get upset about it the same way I would if you were standing in front of me saying it to my face, and for someone with depression and anxiety, that lingers. I'm getting better at laughing at them, but it's like when someone tells you they don't like you and your mum says "just ignore them"—not that easy, right? 

So yeah, I don't mind if you want to tell me I use a lot of em dashes, or that I've used a word incorrectly in context, but I don't need to hear how much you hate original character fic when you could just use your last remaining braincell the back button and continue on with your day. Just be kind, is all I'm saying.

[quinns-shadowy-arts]

Steve's Perfect Mixtape

Day 8 of @steddielovemonth‘s Steddie Love Month Event!   Rating: General CW: None Tags: Getting Together, Love Confessions, Eddie’s a Romantic, Tooth Rotting Fluff. WC: 1,308 Prompt: “Love is the perfect mixtape”; Submitted by @thefreakandthehair and “Love is the heartbeat I can feel when I hug him”; Submitted by anonymous  

Eddie’s been thinking about this for months. He’s had the small cassette tape tucked into the depths of his dresser drawer since March. He started making the mixtape the same week he found out when Steve’s birthday was.

It was the night of January 24th. Big, fat snowflakes were falling from the sky. Steve and Eddie were sitting on the living room floor of the Munson’s new trailer. They were passing a joint between the two of them, relaxing and listening to some of Eddie’s tapes. They were sharing secrets and stories, lips loose from the weed. 

“I’m going to be 21 in April, isn’t that crazy?” Steve had asked. Eddie didn’t really think that was all that crazy if he was being honest. 

“I was supposed to be in college right now. Studying to take my dad’s spot as CEO or whatever.” Steve had looked over at Eddie before looking back up at the ceiling. Eddie’s heart squeezed at the thought. 

“Do you- Do you wish you were in college?” Eddie asked, looking at the slope of Steve’s nose; straight and gorgeous. Steve looked back over at Eddie, taking a hit of the joint he’d been hogging, before responding.

“I used to. I felt like a failure for not being accepted, still sorta do. But I’m happy now that I didn’t. If I hadn’t been rejected from all the schools I applied for, I wouldn’t have Robin. I wouldn’t have worked at Scoops and wouldn’t have ever met her, y’know?” Eddie nodded. Steve made eye contact with Eddie and kept going.

“I wouldn’t have met you either. I’m happy here, with you. I would kill to be here with you, sitting on the floor and shooting the shit, rather than at some stuffy school, studying for a boring future that I don’t even want. I’m more than happy, here with you.” Steve smiled at Eddie. Eddie pulled a chunk of hair in front of his face, trying to hide the heat spreading across his face.

“Aw shucks, Stevie.” Eddie teased. Steve chuckled at Eddie’s theatrics.

“When is your birthday?” Eddie asked, still holding the hair over his face. 

“April 17th, 1967. You?” Steve quirked his eyebrow at Eddie. 

“August 8th, 1966” Eddie responded.

The next day, Eddie was brainstorming things he could get Steve for his birthday. He toyed around with the idea of something sportsy, maybe some compression socks or something. But that felt too simple and disingenuous. It was a gift you would get for a coworker, not a friend you’ve spilt blood and battled demons with.

Eventually the idea struck Eddie like an arrow. Eddie loved music, believed it was one of the best ways you could connect with someone. You could learn a lot about someone from their music taste. So Eddie started crafting Steve's Perfect Mixtape™.

He spent weeks choosing the songs, listening to Top 40’s pop songs to assemble the perfect selection of songs. After choosing what he deemed were “the best songs” (and Steve’s favorites of course), he listened to them for hours on end, trying to figure out the perfect order. The order that would flow into itself in the most satisfying way. 

By the beginning of March, he had perfected the tape. He had finally recorded all of the songs down onto one tape. He had labeled the tape as what it was, “Stevie’s Perfect Mixtape”. It held Steve’s favorite songs, such as “Head Over Heels” by Tears For Fears and “Sunglasses at Night” by Corey Hart. He tucked the tape into his dresser, hoping to keep it safe and secret until Steve’s birthday.

Finally, Steve’s birthday had come. Steve planned for everyone to come over, nothing too extravagant. He used to throw absolute ragers, back when he was King Steve, but he much preferred the simple hang outs with his closest friends. 

Eddie dug the tape out from the back of his drawer and wrapped it in some wrapping paper he found in Wayne’s closet. He tucked the cassette into the pocket above his heart. He hopped into his van and drove over to Steve’s house. 

Steve’s party was chill, including only the kids and older teens. They hung out in his living room, songs flowing from Steve’s speakers. They all played games and ate pizza, the older teens drinking mainly beer while the youngins drank soda. The party continued on until the late evening. Everyone would’ve stayed longer, but the gremlins had school and everyone else still had curfews. 

Robin had gone with Nancy, Mike, and Lucas while Jonathan and Argyle carted Will and Dustin home. Which had left Steve and Eddie alone. Steve was happy to have the company still, wasn’t exactly looking forward to falling asleep alone. Eddie still hadn’t given Steve The Tape yet, had wanted to wait until they had some privacy. 

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie called out. Eddie stood in front of the couch while Steve was in the kitchen. Steve walked into the living room at the sound of Eddie’s voice.

“Yeah, man? Is everything ok?” Steve’s eyebrows were furrowed with concern. 

“Yeah, everything’s ok. I just had a present I needed to give you.” Eddie said. Steve’s concern melted away, making him look light and happy. 

“Oh, you didn’t need to do that.” Steve said, but he smiled and walked towards Eddie. Eddie reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the little wrapped rectangle. He handed it over to Steve. Steve grabbed onto it and started pulling away the wrapping. 

“Is this a mixtape?” Steve looked up at Eddie while tugging the last remaining half of paper off. A note fell to the ground as he did so. Steve looked down and picked it up, tucking it underneath the cassette tape as he read off the song list.

“You put “Bad Boys” on here?” Steve smiled up at Eddie. It was one of Steve’s favorite songs, he had only told Eddie about his love for it, 

“Yeah, I know how much you love Wham!, and it reminded me of us a little bit” Eddie smiled at Steve, it was one of Eddie’s favorite songs now too. Steve finished reading off the list before pulling the note out from underneath the tape; he unfolded it up and began to read it. 

As Steve read through the note, Eddie’s heart had started to pump at top speed. He pulled a lock of hair over his face, trying to hide his embarrassment. Steve’s wide smile morphed into something smaller; something private and sweet. He bit at his bottom lip, tears springing to his eyes. After a couple of minutes, he looked up at Eddie. 

“Do you really love me?” Steve’s voice wobbled with emotion. Eddie nodded,

“Yes, Stevie. I really love you. I understand if you don’t feel the same way, I just needed to let you know. You deserve to know that someone loves you.” Tears trickled down Steve’s cheeks, his smile remained on his face.

 He pulled Eddie into a hug, Eddie’s head landing against his chest. Steve’s hand held Eddie’s head in place, his face pressing against the top of Eddie’s frizzy hair. Eddie could hear the rapid thumping of Steve’s heart against his ear. He listened to the rhythmic Thump thump thump of Steve’s heartbeat while Steve pressed kisses against the top of his head. 

“Thank you” Steve whispered out, voice overflowing with emotion. He squeezed his arms tighter around Eddie. 

“I love you too, for the record” Steve smiled even wider, even though Eddie couldn’t see it. Eddie turned his head and kissed at the spot above Steve’s heart. He pressed his ear back to Steve’s pec. He listened as Steve’s heart calmed down into something tender. 

Ba-bump   Ba-bump   Ba-bump

Both their hearts thumped with love, full of affection and joy. This really was the perfect mixtape. 

[rabbit-surfboard]

Fictional podcast recs

One of my friends got into audio drama and I just sent them a whole list of recommendations to go through, I thought someone who follows these tags might also appreciate it and perhaps have some more to throw in. I resisted the urge to throw in the little blurb about audio dramas as a weird little medium and their tropes that I wrote up. It was something to the effect of nodding at how the medium has rapidly been improving since Welcome to Nightvale started, also how a lot of the tropes that tie the medium together are products of the indie podcast scene being accessible and primarily based in audio. Also at how well horror works in the format. Those paragraphs went unsaved but writing first about the medium in general helped me to reflect on a lot of the things that make audiodramas appealing or repulsive to me for discussing each show in brief beyond just explaining what they're about.

All recommendations are tagged for the tldr.

Fiction podcast recommendations in no particular order:

The Magnus Archives

Horror

The biggest criticism I ever had of this podcast’s voice acting from episode 1 turned out to be a relevant plot point. This thing is probably the best of the best, but I would never recommend it to someone unfamiliar with podcasts because the listener only notices a plot hook somewhere between episodes 20-40 and that’s daunting in the face of a 200 episode show. Getting sucked in rewards you with 200 episodes of thoughtful content and a great explanation for most of the weird things this show chooses to incorporate.

Old Gods of Appalachia

Horror

Fantastic production quality on this ongoing show. Many seasons with interconnected lore and a hell of a narrator. It’s not my personal favorite but it’s quite excellent.

Red Valley

Found footage mystery

One of the newer shows I’ve gotten into, Red Valley is well-crafted. It becomes compelling very quickly with a rapid pace that slows down to land in a neat spot for a while so you can savor the cool parts. The production quality is excellent and the two main voice actors have excellent chemistry. The third and final season is currently being produced.

The Silt Verses

Horror

Often compared to American Gods, this newer podcast made by an experienced team is doing a lot of creative and fresh things at once. The magnificently fucked up religious system of The Silt Verses is both a neat plot vehicle and cleanly works as a criticism of late stage capitalism, where many podcasts like to jab at capitalism this one is much more pointed in its commentary. Episodes are long and very well produced. All the credits in the third season have been mostly diegetic and add flavor to the world.

Archive 81

Found footage horror

Slow to start but by season 2 the production quality and plot are among the best in the game. Unfortunately, on an extended hiatus.

Ars Paradoxica

Science fiction, historical

Very well produced considering its age, this is a highly regarded show among people who follow the medium. Excellent time travel mechanics here. The plot drags a bit by the end because time travel stories must violently contort themselves into a conclusion, but the first season or two are fantastic and it’s always nice to have an ending instead of interminable hiatus.

Caravan

Gay demons n stuff

Showed up, did magic and gay shit, disappeared and went on hiatus probably with some kinda unsatisfying cliffhanger seeing as I don’t remember the plot. Could I recommend it in good faith? Not until they at least cough up season 2. I don’t remember it being bad and that alone is notable for the medium.

Mabel

Gothic horror

This is the deepest cut on the list except for maybe Caravan. Lesbians pine at each other for increasingly complicated reasons, eventually devolving into them doing datura and then spewing cryptic poetry together for the rest of their days. The production quality is fair. The slow windup and creepy house are American-gothic af. This show has had a few hiatuses, but each time it comes back significantly more intriguing.

Welcome to Nightvale

Goofy spooky news broadcast

Old and iconic, not very consistent. Sometimes explores emotional, tense, spooky, or funny scenes well, but the show is really focused on being local news for an ooky spooky desert town because Cecil is damn good at his job. Don’t come here looking for plot, it’s a fun vibe and I don’t know that anybody’s ripped it off and notably improved on this classic. Above average production quality for its time which improved through the years.

Alice isn’t Dead

USA road trip, horror

Made by at least one of the Nightvale writers, totally different show with a lesbian trucker making wry observations of some magnificently twisted shit seen around the United States. The producers know how to run a show, so the production is pretty good.

Tanis

Found footage horror

Tanis is not good. However, it was the first fiction podcast to make me ask “Is this real?” and hesitantly believe it for a frankly embarrassing number of episodes. The stories in the first season were interesting and the lore is just some big-tent conspiracy style of cramming a bunch of fun Wikipedia research into what turns out to be an increasingly nonsensical plot. Every season after the second, I return to hate-listen and am gaslit into thinking the show might low-key rock a few episodes before the finale, which is routinely frustrating and makes sure to throw out any good plot points Terry Miles comes up with. The acting is routinely terrible, and the frame narrative allows lazy and frequent retcons, ruining what I think is a good premise. Also it’s incomplete.

The Black Tapes

Horror

Terry Miles started this show before Tanis began releasing about 5 months later. I think of it as one of his earlier works because it behaves like Tanis with an added layer of cringe from a time waster of an awkward romance(?) between the two main characters. I couldn’t finish this show. You won’t see this recommended as often as it used to be online because there’s many better shows now, but this used to be a big deal. There’s a bunch of memes making fun of the annoying cadence of the characters’ speech and iconic sponsorship reads in both this and Tanis. If you’re interested in some cringe atop your creepypasta podcast, the two are interchangeable.  

Rabbits

ARG investigation

Not as horror focused as Terry Miles’ other shows, the cringe is dialed down and the show is better for it. Tanis and The Black Tapes are more well known, I think the only reason more people don’t think about this one is because the first two don’t inspire trust in the production or narrative quality of this show, but I remember it being fine for a season. I have not gone back to catch up now that more is out.

Malevolent

Horror

Inspired by The King in Yellow, one man performs two voices and verbally abuses himself with aplomb. Having a blind main character with an extra voice in his head is a frame story I haven’t heard yet (unless it came up in the magnus archives and I don’t remember), the concept works out great for the frame of a podcast to deploy the environmental imagery that foley cannot communicate. It also prevents the podcast trope of lengthy exposition about visual surroundings from sounding awkward or potentially impacting someone’s character development to show setting.

Wolf 359

Comedy, science fiction

A crew of whacky characters is stuck in deep space, hanging out and researching a star. Since that’s not actually very interesting they crack jokes and fuck around for a slow burn until interesting stuff happens. Good but not great, this one is long and satisfying and a bit less heavy than all the horror this medium often focuses on. Decent production quality.

The White Vault

Found footage horror

I lost patience with this podcast even though the overarching story seemed very cool – it progresses very slowly yet appears to grow bigger and more confusing instead of deigning to answer basic questions for a frustratingly long drag through the first four seasons. I worry that this frustration may be the point and the Patreon gated stories are the drivers for this tendency towards the confusing patchwork of ideas this show communicates. The production quality is good though.

The Left Right Game

Found footage horror

Genuinely great reddit creepypasta got turned into an overproduced podcast – I say “over” in comparison to the voice acting quality because it’s kind of impossible to sell some of the lines, which makes sense considering the source. Brief, complete, punchy, interesting, and just a little odd to hear such a clean production but a creepypasta this fun deserves the effort.

Wooden Overcoats

Comedy

Surprisingly good production quality for its age, and also a refresher from the usual tropes of the medium. Just a chill sitcom about a funeral parlor in a small town. I haven’t finished this 4 season show yet but its good.

The Black List Table Reads

Movie script readings

Some movie scripts just short of making the cut to be turned into a full Hollywood production were well liked enough by a group of film nerds that sat down to act them out as a podcast. Half of the episodes are interviews with screenwriters, and the other half see a script read all the way through by actors. They’re all rejected for different reasons so there’s a pretty broad spread of genres. My favorites were Blood From a Stone and Balls Out.

[luxaofhesperides]

Listen. I love the dcxdp crossover. It’s a lot of fun! There’s so much that can be done for this crossover, with all the characters and settings and the many plots that can spring up from them. But as much as I love writing for it and sharing my fics with the community, there’s been a significant uptick in things that are rubbing me the wrong way. Some of these things have to do with canon vs fanon, but others are more about the shifting culture of the community.

(keep in mind that I only see things on Tumblr and am not in any discords, so my experience will be different from others bc I have a more limited experience with the wider community)

(putting it all under a read more bc its long)

Let’s start off with a look at what we’re doing as a group:

Building off of completed fics on tumblr: I always thought the etiquette is to not build off of a completed work without permission. Someone had an idea and executed it, then shared it with us. It should end there. If you want to add to it, contact the author first and see if it’s something they’re fine with; some will say no, some will say yes, some will say yes but be sure to credit them for the original fic. A lot of what I’m seeing is a completed fic gets added on to in a way that completely takes it away from the original idea. Having experienced this myself (on a requested prompt from someone else, no less), I found it kind of rude. Maybe it’s just me, but a completed fic is not a prompt request or something open for building up another story around. It’s already completed. Leave the story as is and let the author know you liked it.

Expecting others to write for you: the prompts are what build this crossover fandom, in my eyes. Prompts are posted and people create something around them, either as a group by adding onto what other people are saying, or as individual fics that one person wrote. Now I’m seeing people throw out prompts that are basically fic outlines, then begging others to write something for it. Like, those prompts are already written! They have very specific details! Why not write it yourself? You’re already halfway there, you can just write the thing you want to see and post it. It’s not about being ‘good’ or ‘bad’ at writing, it’s about crafting an idea to share to the world. Why ask others to write it for you when you’ve already practically done it?

But also, you are not owed fic. This might just be general fandom burn out talking, but being a fic author who has been treated like a machine? It sucks. I love writing, but I share what I write because what I wrote made me happy and I wanted to share that with others. I’m not a content creating machine who has to pump out fic after fic for other people’s entertainment. I just want to share what I love and having people pop up in my notifs only going “write more/tag me/sequel?/etc” is tiring. I get that it’s coming from a place of love bc you liked the fic enough to want to see more, but please actually talk about what I’ve already written instead of going “update? More? MORE????”

Hostility to DC canon: I get that DC canon is a mess, but it still is a canon and has a lot of cool stuff! I’m seeing a lot of posts recently about how dpxdc people refuse to engage with the comics, and I need to let yall know that this is not a new thing. DC fans also refuse to engage with the comics (it’s mostly batfam) and it’s very easy to tell who has and who hasnt ready batfam related stuff bc the fanon is incredibly wrong about characterisation and what happened in comics. But that’s for a different post.

I’m seeing both sides of the argument (this is for fun, reading comics isn’t required, don’t like don’t read vs it’s tiring seeing people butcher my favorite characters into ocs with their name/face, I want to share my love for comics but there’s so much pushback, it shouldn’t be weird to expect people engaging with a media to have actually engaged with that media). And I think you should engage with comics! DP is a unique case in which fanon is for the most part better and more interesting than the original show (also death to the author/butch hartman), but DC comics shouldn’t be engaged with in that way. If you like the characters you see in dpxdc, you should read about them in comics! The whole point of a fandom is that you’re a fan of the original media. That’s why you’re engaging with it in this way, writing within the world and characters and canon.

I don’t know how people write for fandoms when they’re not familiar with the source material. I wanted to write dcxdp so I started rewatching DP. I’m reading comics. I want to know the characters and their stories so I can have a foundation to write from, and also to better understand the media so I can share my love for it. The refusal to engage with source material while engaging with its fandom is so strange to me.

Also dc fans who love the comics are great! In my experience, they’re very kind and willing to help you jump into comics! Don’t know where to start? Pick a character or team and follow them! Want a reading guide? We’ve got TONS. want thoughts on a specific character or comic run? Just ask!

Now to more specific points about what I’m seeing in dcxdp works:

Mischaracterized batfam: this is a group of people who are disasters and have complicated relationships with each other. They’re kind, wonderful people who bring out the best and worst in each other. Why is Batman always adopting people. Why is this a running joke with the batfam. I get it being a joke the first few times, but I’ve seen it so often and done like it’s accurate characterization that I just. I can’t. I leave that fic immediately. I can’t do it anymore. Batman is paranoid and tried very hard to keep kids away from him/away from being a vigilante. Unfortunately all the kids he got are stubborn and smart so he was doomed from the beginning.

Superman and Kon: you guys are pretty much only pulling from Young Justice Animated which I think is a terrible adaptation, but that’s my own taste. But seriously. Clark is kind. That’s an important part of his character! He’s the strongest man in the world and he’s kind. He was also dead when Kon first appeared as a experiment from CADMUS in Hawaii. They’re not father-son, but they are family and they do care for each other, once they get to know each other. Also Kon is not an angry broody boy, he’s funny! And annoying! pls read kon comics guys, i promise youll like his actual character

Chronos??? Guys. Chronos is not a god in DC canon. He is in Greek mythology, but in DC he’s a Captain Atom villain and he’s literally just a guy who got obsessed with having perfect timing. He’s themed around clocks. He has nothing to do with time travel or time gods. The Speedforce is Time, basically, and it is not human. It is an eldritch being beyond our comprehension that can eat people. If it chooses to have a human form, it’s going to choose to look like Bart. Please read Flash stuff, it’s interesting!

Lazarus Pit Madness lasts like 5 minutes in canon. Jason having it, and being affected by it for years, is a purely fanon thing from the dc side. Not going to say anything more on this because it goes into Jason Todd discourse.

Repetition: I’m sorry but I’m tired of seeing the same things over and over. I barely see anything out of the dcxdp tags thats new and fun to engage with. Everything is the same variation of “Danny helps Pit Mad Jason”, “Bruce insta-adopts Danny”, “Superman is mean to clones”, etc etc. Think of any popular dcxdp trope and that’s all you’ll see. I get why these are fun and popular, but the way it’s being engaged with now? It literally makes me exit Tumblr and put my phone down.

Not every prompt has to go down the same routes as the other prompts. Please explore more options, branch out, twist those tropes around to do something new with them. And also stop going onto other people’s fics and saying “what about [dcxdp trope]? Cant wait to see [dcxdp trope]! You should have [dcxdp] trope.” If I didn’t include it, it’s not included for a reason. There are hundreds of other fics that write specifically about those exact tropes. Read those, or write your own. (im being super bitter here but please just let me write what i want to write without trying to pull the story into another direction for a trope you like. Im writing for me, but sharing it for you. Not every fic needs those tropes in them.)

Tumblr specific things: this is less about the content and more about general posting etiquette. Please put long posts under a read more. If it’s more then three paragraphs, consider adding a read more if there is significantly MORE than three paragraphs. Tag appropriately. Content warnings and trigger warnings should be at the very top of the post and in the tags so they can be properly blocked. If you’re posting fic/prompt, please double check your spelling and fix any typos you find because posts that are filled with excessive typos are difficult to read.

There’s probably a lot more to talk about, but just getting this much out is tiring and, frankly, I don’t want to think on it any more today. If you reply/add comments, I won’t get to them in a while bc I will be writing ghostlights and yhk fic to lift my mood :)

[helpolnix]

Dolus/Dolos, god of trickery, craftiness, and cunning deception

I’d say the majority of people that work with Greek deities have either not heard of Dolus or haven’t looked into him. Well, for the latter you wouldn’t find very much anyway so I don’t blame you.

I felt drawn to him when I had happened to stumble upon his name during some research with an unrelated project. Reaching out to Dolus was an easy thing to do, but what wasn’t easy was tackling how to exactly work with him or even worship him.

There’s basically nothing on this guy. Like next to nothing.

There is one main myth, but that is all there is on him which is incredibly unfortunate. I’ll put the Aesopic fable he’s mentioned in at the end if you want to skim it, but it doesn’t have his personality in it at all, or all too much about him. It does show off the “craftiness” title of his, though.

Some may not know if Dolus is a good fit for you if you’re interested. But from the little time I’ve known him I would say his expertise stretches way beyond what you may think. But, primarily he would be great for those of you who work with other trickster gods and the like. But also anyone that wants to try out types of divination that are a bit more niche and strengthening your intuition.

Depending on one of the two literature quotes you can find very easily on his theoi page, Dolus is either the son of Nyx or Gaia. Going forward and on any post I make on him (if it comes up) I’ll be addressing him as the son of Nyx, though.

His personality is one that may catch you off guard, as he, with me anyway, goes from such a kind and warm energy to one that has me wandering what the fuck I did to deserve him playing jokes on me I don’t understand half the time. (All in good fun I’m just terrible with social cues) But that’s the fun of working with him. I’m learning to let loose a bit more and find hobbies that actually tap into my more.. “craftier” side for lack of a better word that doesn’t sound like a really horrid pun.

I’m not great at tarot reading, or just that type of divination in general. Which is unfortunate since I’d like to be quite good at it. Dolus is someone that caught onto this rather quickly, noting my horrid shuffling and how long it took me to interpret cards and such. If you’re in the same boat at me, he’s your guy. The energy that filled my room was one of patience and understanding, but also an energy that wanted to push me to actually dedicate myself to learning the craft.

When I decided I wanted to help him set up more things to associate him with, I don’t think I’ll ever forget the warmth I felt from him. It was a moment that helped me decide that I’d love to do something like this for other gods too. Ones that are either buried or are too intimidating to reach out to because there’s such little knowledge out there. I hope this encourages others to do the same. It’s an incredibly rewarding task, as it also helps you develop a close relationship with said deity.

I’ll have a separate post I’ll link right here that gives you a nice idea for what you could put on an altar for him. In the future, I’ll be mentioning him a lot more, hoping to fill up his tags until it’s filled with people other than me lol.

His Theoi page.

Devotional activities and things to put on an altar: here.

I also have what he looks like to me here.

If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask. I know this isn’t super thorough, but I’ll update with anything else that comes to mind or make another post soon. 🩶

[ask-mikitama-suzuki]

What do you think of other ocs?

(oh gosh she’s shipped with a lot of boys so get ready-)

Ayuna- “Sh-she’s really nice and strong..! I really admire her..! I do wish she’d take better care of herself though..”

Amika- “Sh-she’s very sweet and helpful, I enjoy sewing with her..!”

Yuto- “I-I love him so much, he’s so amazing and loving..!”

Sadashi- “Sh-she’s a bit loud and aggressive, b-but she’s also silly.. We aren’t very close but I like her..!”

Asai- “I-I love her so much..! She’s the best aunt ever..!”

Michika- “She’s v-very blunt but also nice..!”

Ames- “Sh-she’s so sweet and I love playing with her..!”

Shiina- “Sh-she’s the best Itoko-san ever..!”

Shou- “I-I love that he always does his best to be affectionate with me, I-I really appreciate it and I love him so much..!”

Hanako- “I love talking to her and training with her..! I just wish she’d take better care of herself..”

Miyu- “Sh-she’s so bubbly and sweet..!”

Satoshi- “I-I love him so much, h-he always goes above and beyond to make sure I’m safe and happy..!”

Irina- “She’s so happy and outgoing, but she also always makes sure to tone it down when I-I’m around..! I-I really appreciate it and she’s like an aunt for me..!”

Kishin- “I-I love how sweet and gentle he is..! I love doing crafts with him..!”

Liliya- “She’s very silly and sweet..! I really enjoy talking with her..!”

Sebastian- “H-he’s so funny..! H-he needs to be nicer to Kishin though..”

Yudi- “I-I love how cuddly and cute he is..! I’m so thankful for him protecting me from Zankoku and Takahiro..!”

Takahiro- “…..”

Nikko- “He and my Itoko-san are so cute..!!”

Yuna- “B-best mama ever..!”

Zeno- “He’s so n-nice and silly..! I think he and Kitari are really cute..!”

Aneko- “I-I’m a bit scared of her, but she’s nice in her own way..”

Hachikazu- “I-I love how compassionate and loving he is..! He’s so silly too..!”

Hikaru- “H-he’s so cool..! I-I love his hair so much..! I love letting him play with my hair..!”

Amari- “I-I love all of the gifts she gives me, she’s really nice and she’s always helping me do things I’m scared to do..!”

Mari- “She’s so fun..! I-I love to talk to her..! I wish I could be a better help when it comes to overtraining herself..”

Ilona- “I think it’s cool that she’s a half demon..! She’s really pretty and cool.! I love going on missions with her..!”

Hiroyuki- “H-he’s so kind to me, I’m very grateful for him and I love him very much..!”

Hasuki- “H-he’s so sweet and silly..! I love him a lot..!”

Gideon- “I-I really admire him, I think of him as another big brother..! I’m so thankful for him, h-he protected me from my uncle 3 years ago b-back when we met, a-and we’ve been super close ever since..!”

Chiaki- “H-he’s like a father for me, I’m really glad that I h-have him in my life..!”

Basil- “H-he’s very kind and generous, I really care about him and I’d do anything to keep him safe..!”

Ceres- “I don’t know that much about him, but he seems really strong and cool..! H-he and Vesper are a cute couple too..!”

(okay ik this is far from everyone, if you want me to add on then lmk pls)

Tagging: @ayunakatsukiwolfhashira @night-mince0 @donkeybro @nothingtoseehere1-2-3 @rion-isnot-an-ai @shycroissanti @kimetsu-chan @pinkwisteria @risingscorchingsuns @knyinfinity @cloudymistedskies @tokito-dulya20 @zeechyii @ackie-slays @ame-delights @aceofstars0

[toxicopolis]

Hello, and welcome to my page! ᡣ𐭩

I am an adult, and my content is intended for other adults. Viewer discretion is strongly advised!

I am an intersex man, but I don’t care much for the gender binary or for gendered expectations in general. I tend to prefer/default to “masculine” or “neutral” terms of address for myself, but I don’t get upset by any pronouns, titles, or compliments others may use for me.

I have ADHD and am very extroverted… I talk a lot, and I hyperfixate a lot! Feel free to DM me or fill my inbox. I do like attention…

HIGHER-EFFORT/MORE NOTABLE PERSONAL POSTS are tagged “the main stage”.

LOWER-EFFORT/LESS NOTABLE PERSONAL POSTS are tagged “the boudoir”.

SEXUAL/KINKY/EROTIC POSTS are tagged “the sex dungeon”.

BUSINESS/FINANCE-RELATED POSTS are tagged “the conference room”.

INFORMATIVE AND OPINION BASED POSTS are tagged “the podium”.

FASHION/OUTFIT POSTS are tagged “the dressing room”.

TV/FILM-RELATED POSTS (excluding art and memes) are tagged “the picture palace”.

VIDEO GAME-RELATED POSTS are tagged “the arcade”.

CRAFT-RELATED POSTS are tagged “the studio”.

MUSIC-RELATED POSTS are tagged as “the music room”.

INBOX RESPONSES are tagged “backstage”.

POPULAR POSTS (100+ notes) are tagged “money shots”.

I also do tend to use more specific tags for established fandoms, “aesthetics”, and repeated themes/imagery!

All content is original unless stated otherwise/reblogged!

[lovebugs-and-snakecharmers]

LBSC Lukanette Month - September 2024

Welcome to LBSC Lukanette Month 2024! If you're in a hurry, skip on down to the prompt list below, but be sure to check out the rest of the post for information about where and how to post for maximum visibility. Just to be clear, even though we call it LBSC Lukanette month, ANYONE can participate. There's no membership card and you don't have to join the discord or follow the blog.

You will notice we have many more than 30 prompts here - because there's no such thing as too many prompts. This way you can pick and choose which ones speak to you. As with all of our events, the rules are quite laid back (although we do have some hard and fast rules at the bottom of the post regarding the type of content). You may fill as many or as few prompts as you like, as often as you like, in whatever order you like, in whatever format you like (sprint, minific, 30 chapter epic, whatever makes you happy). Our official event dates are September 1 through September 30, but if you post outside of those dates, we'll still reblog. If you're inspired to write something that you wouldn't otherwise have written, our goals are met, so don't fret about the rules - unless rules inspire you, in which case, take the first 30 or the last 30 prompts and write one prompt every day.

If you are having trouble finding a prompt that speaks to you, you can also check out the LBSC Smooch Roulette generator or take a look at our past sprint prompts.

Please make sure to tag @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers in the body of your post so that we can be sure to reblog your work and include it in our final summary post!

If you post to AO3 please tag LBSC Lukanette Month 2024 and add your work to our collection here.

Feel free to drop any questions in our ask box or join our discord group.

Blue

Pink

Blackout

Locked In

Getaway/Vacation/Road Trip

Out of Town

Street/Craft Fair

Laundry Snuggles

New Pet

A: says something stupid B: laughing "Shut up. I love you."

Broken chair

Big Changes/Little Changes

City Walks

Streetlamp

Music

Shipwrecked

Memory loss

Bonfire

Thief

Headphone

Escape

Dorm

Myth

Planetarium

Change

Voice

Opposite

Improvise

Complications

Fancy Dress

Silly Costumes

Stars

Scales

Compass

Rhythm

Lightning/Spark

Mischief

Notebook

Melody

Secrets/Surprises

"Do you trust me?"

"I can't believe our first date ended in the emergency room."

"Why do I feel like you enjoy getting yourself into danger?"

"Are you okay?" "That was really attractive."

"You're a terrible liar." "I don't know what you mean." "You're smiling."

"I missed my chance once. I won't miss it again."

Rooftop

Free fall

Fate

Concert

Bridge

Piercing

"It‘s not what it looks like!"

"I already take care of 18 little guys so what‘s one more?"

"Is that my hoodie?"

Ink

Fortune

Famous

Panda

"Love is a choice, and I've made mine."

"Look, I know I don't deserve a second chance. But I'm hoping you'll let me have one anyway."

Unexpected

Stage fright

Nail polish

First tattoo/piercing

Secrets

Promises

Learning to drive/ride a bike

Airport

Luggage

Regret

The Rest of the Rules:

NSFW responses are permitted but characters must be 18 or older and the fic should be tagged accordingly. This is a Lukanette blog and a Lukanette event, so while Lukanette does not need to be the main ship, it needs to at least be included or referenced and considered endgame (in other words, they don’t have to be together by the end of your work, but the intent is that they’re headed in that direction, and if they're not, it's a tragedy, not The Best Thing For Everybody). The decision about what qualifies for reblog rests solely with the LBSC moderators. If a piece hasn’t been reblogged within a couple of days, either the mods felt the piece didn’t meet the criteria or it was simply missed; you are welcome to reach out in the asks to inquire which.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Helping Hand 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of divorce, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Jonathan Pine, 40s reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The computer beeps at you again. That shrill offensive chirp that makes your heart zing. You hold your fingers above the keyboard and cringe. You can’t seem to get through one transaction without error. 

You try to back out but a pop-up shows, asking for manager approval. You give a sheepish smile to the customer and apologise. You could point to the trainee sticker on your name tag or tell them it’s only your third day, but you won’t make excuses. The two other associates you started with are doing just fine.

Giselle comes over as you look behind you searchingly. She snaps the gum in her mouth and rolls her eyes, “what is it this time?”

“Sorry, I–”

“Back out of the sale,” she snips.

“I tried, it won’t let me,” you gesture to the screen.

She doesn’t even read it and puts in her pin. You bite your lower lip as the total screen finally shows. You ask the customer cash or card. They say card but you hit cash. When you try to go back, you get the same sirenesque chirp. UGH!

Giselle doesn’t say a word as she keys in her pin again, huffing before she storms off. You blame yourself. You’re not good with technology. You didn’t grow up with a computer lab in your school or a cell phone in your back pocket. You were a bit too early for that.

It all just passed you by. Like everything else in your life. Your career, your marriage, your hopes. You gave up the first for the second, and let the third shrivel away to regret. You definitely never expected to be starting over again at this age. To be a retail slave in your 40s. Divorced and depressed.

You get the customer checked out and bagged up. You hand them the paper-sheathed books and give a smile. There’s a tick of impatience in their cheek. You don’t blame them. Andy always said you were too slow. Clueless. Well, he’s gone now, you don’t have to worry about his opinions. And you won’t get to prove them wrong.

“Go sort the sale tables. They’re a mess.” Giselle orders as she checks her manicure, “I’ll take the till.”

You nod. It’s probably the best idea. You’re not much of a salesman so you don’t often walk the floor, but you’re good for grunt work. You always were in the background, making sure everything looked just right. 

You push through the waist high door that closes out the general public from behind the counter. You surpass the queue of customers waiting and head through the small homegoods section towards the bargain floor. You go to the first table and sift through the mess of cookbooks and crafting manuals.

The next is history. Mostly military and the like. Hollow eyes of soldiers staring through you, men in armour on horses, and tanks rolling over mulched up dirt. You reach for a book on the Battle of Britain but it’s swept up out of your grasp.

You look at the man as he examines the cover. His blonde hair is tidy, his blue eyes gleam as they scan the book, and his grey suit is cute precisely to his figure. You fold your hands over the nearest stack and muster a smile.

“Hello, sir,” you greet, “am I in your way?”

“Not at all,” he lifts his head, an amiable expression softens his features, “browsing.”

He sets the book exactly where it belongs. You slide your hands off the book, keeping them clutched in front of you. You’re not sure how to proceed. Right, customer service.

“Can I help you find anything?” You offer.

“I know my way around, pretty well,” he assures you, “pity,” he takes another book and puts it in its place, “people come and make such a mess. Leave you all this work.”

“Well, it’s what I’m paid for, I suppose,” you grab a book too and another identical one, collecting three before finding their slot.

“Still,” he steeples a hand on the nearest book, dragging his fingers thoughtfully. “Do you read? Hmm, that sounds rather… presumptuous. I mean, do you read any of this? History?”

“Um, some, admittedly I’ve devoured a few biographies of Princess Diana,” you shrug, “but nothing more bloody than that.”

“Ah, yes, war, terrible thing. No wonder it’s all on sale,” he chuckles, “what kind of person would subject themselves to such savagery?”

You want to shrug again but it seems rude. Almost dismissive. He’s talkative but not annoyingly so. He is charmingly casual.

“I’ve not seen you here before,” he considers you, eyes flitting up and down, “ah, I see, trainee. You are new.”

You part your lips and pause before you collect your wits, “uh, yeah, I started on Monday. You must come here often?”

“Now and again,” he arches his brow as if telling a joke.

Suddenly, you’re self-conscious. You must be older than this man, if even by only a few years. And look at him, he’s established, confident, and he knows exactly what he wants. But you, you’re just muddling through until you can return to your bachelor apartment and TV dinner.

“I’m certain I’ll see you again,” he winks, “Jonathan,” he touches his lapel subtly, then sounds out your name with a deadly lilt. His voice hits a timbre that plucks in your chest, “it was very nice to meet you.”

“Oh, you as well,” you eke out, “if you need anything else, I’ll be around, sir.”

“I’ll be sure to look for you,” he smiles and the tension dissipates at that simple gesture. “Have a splendid night.”

He taps the stack of books under his hand and pushes away. He fixes his tie as he passes you, strutting off with no special urgency. You fight not to watch after him. He is suave and admittedly handsome. But you are you; middle-aged and painfully average.