#i feel like i can cram it if i focus enough

[depthnessingsweet]

I feel like i only come on here to complain lol

[moonstruckme]

hey, i love your writing so much!! can you do something with remus where reader is really upset over doing bad on an assignment and he comforts her. i had an essay today and i KNOW i failed😭😭i fr need a remmy

Thank you gorgeous! I hope you did better than you thought <3

modern au

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 831 words

Remus can feel some sort of upset building inside you. You’ve been quiet ever since dinner, a glumness accumulating around you like a thick fog. He’d call it a sulk if your usual kindheartedness didn’t seem so intact. But every smile is thin-lipped and you’re making painfully slow progress on your section of the puzzle, your eyes too often going cloudy and distant, off to somewhere Remus can’t follow. 

“Think I’ve got one of yours,” Remus murmurs, pushing a puzzle piece towards you. 

You take it with a low hum of thanks. 

He watches as you put it in your pile. His section of the puzzle isn’t coming along much better; he’s too worried about you to focus. You’re teetering on the edge of some sort of fracturing, he can feel it, and he doesn’t know what to do or how to make it better. 

He tries a new tactic. “Do you feel like some dessert, love? I might nip to the corner store for a sweet.” 

“Sure, that sounds good.” The smile you give him this time is more a grimace than anything else, and then you’re pushing yourself up from where you sit on the floor. “I’m going to go to the restroom.” 

Remus watches you go with a hollow ache in his chest. During dinner, you’d gotten an alert on your phone, and the change had been instant. Your shoulders had drooped at whatever you’d seen, your lips parting and then pressing determinedly together before you’d set your phone on the table, face down. Remus didn’t ask, and you didn’t seem inclined to bring it up. But whatever it was has clearly stuck with you. 

He gives it a few minutes before he follows. You could actually be in the bathroom, but he doubts it; he thinks he knows where you’ve gone. There’s a small gap between the bed and the wall in your bedroom, just barely big enough to walk in.

That’s where he finds you. Slouched in the corner as if you’ve misbehaved. 

“Hey,” he says softly, cramming into the space in front of you. He places his feet on either side of yours, your drawn-up knees slotting between his calves. “Why’re you hiding from me?” 

You’ve got your face covered with your hands, and your voice muffles into them when you speak. Still, the evidence of your crying is audible. “Because I know I’m being stupid.” 

“You’ve never been stupid, not once in your life,” Remus replies lightly. He takes your wrists in his hands, letting his thumbs run over the sensitive skin. “If you tell me what’s wound you up so badly, I can tell you if it’s stupid, but I doubt it is.” 

You lower your hands without his asking. It takes a good deal of self-control not to crumple at the sight of you. Your face is blotchy, a terribly sad downturn to your pretty lips, and when a tear globs and drops from your eye, Remus feels like someone’s thrust their hand into his chest and squeezed.

“You’re too nice to tell me if I’m being stupid,” you say, a teasing note to your voice despite your sorry state. 

Remus goes with it. He nods, faux serious, and gives you a look of great solemnity. “If any stupidity comes to light, I promise to laugh at you for the rest of the night.” 

You start to smile, but it crumples halfway through. “I really messed up.” 

There’s no joking to his seriousness now; he feels his brows bunch as he rubs a path up your forearm, desperate to soothe you. “How, sweetheart?” 

“I did really badly on my essay,” you whimper. “I know it’s dumb to cry about but I just—I really wanted to do well.” 

His heart swells with sympathy, though there’s a bit of relief that comes with it. “That’s not stupid,” he promises you, working his hand up your arm to your shoulder. It’s halfway to a hug, and you lean towards him a little, craving the comfort. “To some people, it might be, but you put so much pressure on yourself about these things.” He kisses your knee. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed, lovely, but it’s going to be okay.” 

You shake your head, sniffling. “The grade’s already in. There’s nothing I can do.” 

“I know,” Remus says apologetically. He moves closer, looking into your eyes so you can see the sincerity in his. Your chin wobbles. “It’s done, but you’ll be alright. You’ll still graduate, get a job. In a year from now you won’t even remember this.” 

You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. You’re still weeping, but it’s slowing. He sets both hands to your cheeks. “You did your best, sweetheart. Keep trying. You’ll be okay.” 

“Promise you won’t leave me if I fail this class?” you joke.

Your efforts win a rare smile. Remus scrunches his nose against yours. “Promise. It’ll take a lot more than that, you’ve got me all settled in.”

[bits-and-babs]

✦ 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 5: CLOTHES ON

joel miller x reader | smut, 18+ | 1.1k words

summary: trapped inside a wardrobe whilst hiding from infected, joel ups the ante of survival.

cw: f!reader, forced proximity, threat to life, mentions of gore, quiet or die kind of vibe, unprotected sex, p in v sex, cream pie, autassassinophilia – arousal in the fear of being killed.

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 6: NIPPLE PIERCINGS ⇾

The curve at the base of your skull cracks against the decaying wall of the wardrobe as Joel smothers your startled gasp with his palm. His life-line stifles your heaving, fearful breaths as the croaks and moans of the infected seep beneath the rotten door. Shuffling feet stumble down the corridor, bodies bumping into each other and snarling as they chase the promise of a pulse. Joel forces your eyes to focus on him, silently urging you not to look at the hoard slowly staggering by.

You can make out the image of your horrified expression reflected in his glassy eyes, see the way you shudder and flinch when a body bumps into the door. Joel leans his bodyweight against you, crushing your chest with his own and offers you a stiff shake of his head; a wordless ❝don’t❞. In truth, you don’t need his caution. You wouldn’t dream of it. 

Still, fear continues to coagulate in your gut, the awful stench of the infected creeps between hinges of the wardrobe you had both frantically crammed into in a desperate attempt to avoid the advancing numbers of animated corpses. They weren’t quite like the smell of the rotten carcass of Bill’s friend, Frank, hanging by his neck and emanating a putrid odour that threatened to bring up the rations that you had halved and then halved again – precious calories and nutrients so hard to come by now. No, the infected had a base scent of something similar, but mostly reeked of damp-mould, as though wood had absorbed water and had begun to rot from the inside out. It wasn’t quite retch-inducing, but what they lacked in rancid scent they made up for in threatening numbers and horrifying looks. 

Joel breathes deeply, and the sound wrenches you from your spiralling desire for survival. You watch as his eyes mutate, shift into something much darker. It’s thrilling and horrifying, sets your arm hair on end as you feel him lean forwards, the tip of his nose brushing your temple. 

Stranglers of the hoard of infected runners continue to lumber down the hallway, rasping and snapping at anything that moves– but the chilling sounds are drowned out by the thumping of your pulse in your ears when Joel’s teeth scrape at the curve of your neck. 

“J-Joel,” you squeak, the single syllable barely audible. Fingertips bury into the flesh of your hip, brand your skin with purple, blotchy bruises in warning. He wants you to be silent. An image flashes in your mind's eye; the museum, Joel’s index finger pressed to his lips as the ticking echolocation of a Clicker pulsed through the room. You’d hardly survived then. Tess hadn’t. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you feel your heart leap when he takes the flesh above your pulse-point between his teeth. He bares down on it, tendrils of pain sparking out across the nerves in your neck– enough to mark. A precarious round of Would-I-Lie-To-You when you inevitably stumble upon other survivors who would demand to know where the bite came from. How would you even begin to explain? “Oh, well, me and my partner were chased by a hoard of hundreds of runners into a hotel where we hunkered down in a wardrobe and he decided he wanted to take the chance to fuck me while the runners passed by.” 

Yeah, you wouldn’t believe you either. 

You’d seen Joel before the hospital in Salt Lake. Before he lost Ellie to a lie. Seen the ruthless, immovable survivor who did everything by the book and never once flirted with danger for the sake of a ridiculous thrill– just to feel something. But that was before “I swear.” Before “Okay.” 

The clink of your belt between Joel’s fingertips is the crank of a gun’s hammer pulling back. His own, slow suicide. 

The blunt head of his cock spears your cunt slowly, a shuddering breath buried in the crook of your neck as he sinks into your velvet heat. Thighs crushing his ribs, you rock your head back against the wall of the wardrobe and swallow down the wail that bubbles in your throat. 

Then he’s grasping the backs of your legs, just below the crook of your knees and folds them back against your chest. Joel’s practically folding you in half, exposing your glistening cunt before beginning a pace so devastating that it obliterates the primal fear settled deep within your gut and reinstates a carnal arousal that has you clawing at his shoulders. 

Again, his palm smothers your shrieks before you manage to ring the dinner bell. Joel, however, works in utter silence. Easing back before cracking his hips back into you, the most he offers in return is a soft groan of relief. Perhaps the jolting thrusts of his pelvis had shaken your very being from your body, but you’re almost certain you feel a smirk dance against your pulse. 

Dampness clings to your skin, fear and delight, horror and bliss drawing the perspiration from your pores. Joel loves it– lathes his tongue against your throat to taste the salt of you as he buries his cock deep inside of you. He’s bruising you. 

You try to say his name, but it dies in your throat before you even mouth it. Joel hears it anyway– he always does. Listens to the tremor in your thighs, pays attention to the tightening of your abdomen beneath his palm, takes heed of the strain of your leather boots when your toes curl. He responds likewise, roughly pushing his thumb into the throbbing swell of your clit.

It rocks through you, materialising so quickly there’s no way to halt the faint cry of bliss swallowed by Joel’s palm. He halts his thrusts suddenly, each muscle in his body stalling in fear as you come apart around his fat, throbbing dick. Tears well and stream from your eyes, bleeding into your hairline as you thrash against the seering pleasure. 

“F-Fuck–” Joel chokes quietly in your ear, and suddenly he’s pulsing, painting your pretty pussy with his cum. There’s so much of it, seeping from your folds and streaming down the inside of your thighs as he fucks it into you, face contorting with bliss as he overstimulates himself through his orgasm just to draw out the sensation a little longer. 

When the dust settles, no infected claw at the door. There’s no runners who have heard your cries, silence falling on the corridors of the hotel beyond the hinges of the wardrobe. Instead, an altogether different monster rears its ugly head and sinks its teeth into your flesh. Neither of you will admit it– can admit that the fear of being found, of being torn limb from limb and devoured had been enough to force a mind-shattering orgasm from Joel. No, you can’t admit it, but you can’t forget either. 

The cum leaking from between your legs as you both continue your journey back to Boston makes sure of it. 

pedro pascal/kinktober masterlist:

@xwing-baby , @mybugboy , @pansa-1-san , @pedrosprincess , @cosm1c-babe , @lil-stark , @heart-atttack @crybaby-blue-blog, @ssimelttilgniht @2pacacabra @pauldanosgf @leithatnight @kirsteng42 @dindjarinsmut @s0ftgabby @milly-louise @aynsleywalker @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @uncassettodiricordi @howellatme @mortallyuniquepeach @maviee @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @stvrlights-world @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @girlofchaos @s-u-t @pintsizedsunshine @djarin-dreams @solidly-indulgent @bii-aan-ckaa @casa-boiardi @maelstrom007 @nikisfwn @levi-llama @haunt3dh3art @lundenloves @rentaldarling @cyberpr1m3 @jedi-in-crocs @yunggoblin @spideyman-peter @iaur @cool-iguana @paleidiot

@bloodmoon-bites @wiltedwonderland @doggydale @limegreenbabx @namelesshumanperson @ninahhh-brahh

[tightjeansjavi]

⟡ sentiments n’ bubbly ⟡

A/N: so, this one another one of my post shower thoughts that has now transformed into this little fic 🥹 this time of the year is a struggle for myself and for others, and I hope it can bring us all a bit of peace before the new year 🤍

~word count: 4.5k~

pairing | Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: it’s NYE and you find yourself in Joel Miller’s coffee shop. He’s a firm believer that no one deserves to spend New Year’s Eve alone.

Warnings: angst, fluff, no age gap, discussions of self image issues, bullying, food/eating, language, anxiety, fear of social situations, fomo, mentions of therapy, NYE blues, self deprecating thoughts, flirting, meet-cute, no outbreak/modern day AU, Sarah and Tommy exist in this universe, soft!joel, mentions of alcohol, reader has no physical descriptions such as body type or skin color, some content included may be triggering for some as Joel and the reader have some very real conversations about life. +18 minors dni!

It’s New Year's Eve. The official last day of the year. A whole 365 days has come and gone, and yet, you find yourself feeling the same way you did last year. It wasn’t like you had a particularly terrible life or anything of the sorts, but you still had your struggles. Your daily contemplations over whether you were doing enough, being enough in your little life. You try to focus on all the good that happened in those 365 days of life.

All the laughter, smiles, the warm fuzzy feelings that you found yourself chasing more often than none. The bad times always find their way to trickle in and weasel into your conscience like an infection. The truth is that you know life comes with both good and bad memories. But why is it so hard to push back the bad? Why is it so easy to beat yourself down? You could have done this better, you shouldn’t have said the things you said, did you remember to turn your out of office on before you left the office?

Shit. There was that one email I didn’t get to.

Maybe you find yourself trying to cram in as many last minute tasks before the new year. Closet clean out? You haven’t worn that sweater in months..yet, you find yourself holding onto it because it was a gift from a dear friend, and you don’t want to unintentionally hurt their feelings by donating or regifting it.

Fridge clean out? Well, it does say that horseradish never expires..but you can never be too careful!

Clean your living space from top to bottom? Maybe next year you’ll invest in cleaner products for both the earth and your brain cells. Bleach can be awfully nasty to deal with.

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table in front of you. Leftovers are your meal of choice for the evening. You spent hours cleaning your kitchen, and you’d rather not have to do another wipe down till tomorrow.

Hey, are you sure you don’t want to come out with us tonight? We’re leaving in an hour!

It's not that you don’t want to go out with your friends, it’s the steps before getting out the door that have always been a struggle for you.

What if my outfit doesn’t look the way I planned it out in my head?

What if I completely botch this makeup look?

What if the club is too packed?

You hate feeling this way, often thinking you’re a burden to your friends because you're constantly planning ahead of time. Living in the moment for you has always been tough. A gray area that sometimes you have found yourself making peace with, and other times you just wish you could be different.

You reach for your phone while you’re already mentally planning the steps in order to get ready in time. Being late is never an option, even when it’s just a fun night out in town.

Hey, I thought it over and I’d love to come out with you guys :) see you soon!

You send the text in a flash before tossing your half eaten slice of pizza onto the coffee table and rush to your room.

You tear up every inch of your closet looking for the perfect outfit. It's New Year’s Eve after all, and you want to be shimmering like a grand disco ball.

The outfit is on, and you look great! It turned out even better than you pictured it in your head. But the longer you stare in the mirror.

Fuck. Can’t I just turn my brain off for one night? Please?

And there it is, again. That gnawing little voice inside your head that pops up, gleaming and waving its hand just in case you forgot that it existed.

You aren’t actually going to wear that..are you?

It looks all wrong.

And you’re going to be freezing—

Your friends are going to look 10x better than you—

“ENOUGH!” You shout to no one in particular before you stomp off to the bathroom.

After taking a deep breath, you pull out your array of makeup from one of the bathroom drawers. Pinterest becomes your best friend again while you scroll to find a makeup look that screams you.

Bold. Glittery. Too much glitter?

There is never such a thing as too much glitter. You remind that little voice inside of your head.

Even with your ‘going out playlist’ on full blast, you feel your confidence begin to shrink and diminish as you stare at your painted face in the mirror. It’s not exactly like the picture you found on Pinterest, but there’s no time for you to change it now.

Your phone buzzes again, and this time it’s your friends sending you a group picture of all of them pregaming in their glittery outfits and bright smiles. You heart the message before typing back,

Wow, you guys look amazing! Please don’t be mad, I’m just not feeling up for it tonight. I hope you guys have a blast and stay safe! :)

Your friends understand, because they know that this has always been a struggle for you. A sore spot that hasn’t exactly quite healed the way you wish it had. It’s hard to dig yourself out of a hole that you dug, but you're grateful that they have always been so understanding.

No worries, we love you, and Happy New Year!

And all you feel is guilt.

But instead of wallowing away in your apartment, you grab your coat, purse and keys before making the final decision to go out.

You find yourself outside of a coffee shop just down the block from your apartment. You passed by it everyday during your commute to work, but you never found yourself going in, until now.

The coffee shop is found to be empty as most people are already out to dinner or at a party. It’s somewhat comforting that it’s just you and the lone barista who hadn’t heard you come in yet. His back is turned to you while he wipes down one of the counters, humming to himself as he moves about.

You're immediately drawn into how cozy everything feels. From the decor to the crackling fireplace to the soft music playing through the speakers.

The man turns then, towel gently grasped in his hand when he finally registers that he’s no longer alone. He takes in your attire, finding it odd that someone all dressed up for the evening found themselves here. Then he remembered how his daughter told him it’s rude to judge strangers because you never know what the next person is going through.

He smiles warmly instead. “Hey there, I was uh—jus’ about to close up for the evenin’ but can I get you anythin?’” He’s got a face that you already know you’re going to have a hard time forgetting. Strong built frame, yet soft in all the right places and despite his exterior appearing to be hardened, he seems friendly enough.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I hadn’t noticed that you were closing up for the night..I don’t want to keep you here. I can always come back another time?”

He detects the way your face slightly begins to fall as he lightly taps his fingers along the counter top he just finished wiping down. “S’alright. I forgot to change the sign out front so that’s all on me. So, what can I get ya? It’s on the house.” He gestured to the menu board above his head.

You hesitated for a moment as you didn’t want to inconvenience this man who probably had his own New Year’s Eve plans to get to. “Are you..sure? I really don’t mind coming back another day.”

“S’alright, I promise. I don’t have anywhere important I need to be anyway.” He said with a slight shrug.

“No fun New Year's Eve plans? And I’ll take a cappuccino, please.” You stepped closer to the counter as you reached into your purse for your wallet.

“Nah. ‘Supposed to meet my brother at a bar nearby for a couple drinks, but he can wait a little longer.” He was already reaching his hand out to stop you from pulling out your wallet, when your eyes met his.

“For the tip.” You said with a smile while placing a couple five dollar bills into the tip jar.

“Oh, thank you. ‘Awfully kind of ya.” He responds softly, out of surprise because most people never bothered to tip. He might even be blushing a little..but he can’t really tell. Maybe it was just the steam from the espresso machine.

“It’s no problem. Gotta support small businesses, y’know?”

He nods in understanding. “Yeah, it’s the least people can do. Anyway, I’ll get that Cappuccino goin’ for ya. Feel free to sit wherever.” He gestured to the empty tables.

The table closest to the fireplace ended up being the one you ultimately chose. It happened to also be his favorite spot as well, go figure.

On any other occasion, Joel would call the customer's name once their drink was ready, but given the current circumstances..and the fact that he hadn’t asked for your name, bringing the coffee to you was perfectly acceptable.

“Here’s that Cappuccino for ya.” His voice drawled above you as he set the mug down in front of you. “Let me know if I can getcha anythin’ else. I’ll just be in the back finishin’ up with the cleanin.’”

“Thank you..” you start to say before realizing that you don’t know this man’s name either.

“Joel.” He clears his throat. “My name is Joel, and you are?..”

You tell him your name and he nods with a small smile.

You're left alone to your thoughts as his footsteps disappear behind the countertop once more. You can faintly hear him busying himself and putzing around as your cappuccino begins to cool without you realizing it.

You find yourself vacantly staring through the windows, and the dimly lit streets and passerby’s. You’ve always had a fond love for people watching and imagining what their lives were like. What their jobs and aspirations were. Did they have a family waiting for them? What made them happy? Would they be able to relate to you?

You don’t even hear Joel’s approaching footsteps nearing the table until he’s saying your name with an edge of concern in his voice because you’ve neglected to have a single sip of your cappuccino that has now become room temperature.

Your eyes meet his deep brown warm ones as your own sense of confusion washes over you.

“Is everythin’ alright? You haven’t touched your cappuccino at all..” he’s not offended, nor hurt, but the empath in him is genuinely concerned, even though you’re just a stranger in his coffee shop.

“Oh.” Your voice falls flat. “I’m so sorry, Joel. I guess I got lost in my own thoughts and completely forgot about it.” You feel bad, awful actually because he took the time to make you this drink, and all you had to do was just drink it—

“Hey, it’s alright. I find myself getting lost in my own thoughts as well. But, I can’t have ya drinkin’ a cold Cappuccino. I’ll make you a new one, alright? It’s no trouble at all.” He’s already reaching over to grab the mug.

“Joel, are you sure? You really don’t have to—”

He cuts you off reassuringly, “I insist. I won’t have my customer drinkin’ a cold Cappuccino on my watch. Ain’t no way.”

He disappears back behind the counter before you are able to protest. Joel returns 10 minutes later with two mugs in hand. You listen to the sound of the chair across from you scraping before he slowly sits down.

“I uh—hope you don’t mind me joinin’ ya? You jus’ seem like you could use some company, darlin.’ S’that alright for me to call you darlin?’”

He’s sweet like warm sticky molasses and honey. He actually might be the nicest guy you’ve met in a long long time.

“Oh, I don’t mind at all, Joel. I could actually use the company, and you can call me darling. That’s alright with me too.”

He smiles at you over the rim of his mug that is clasped between his hands. He gently blows on the billowing steam before he takes a small sip. “So, do you have any fun plans for the evenin’? I’m only assumin’ cus’ you’re all dressed up for a night out in town.” He gestures to your glittery getup that sparkles under the warm flames.

“Well, I did have plans to meet up with some friends tonight..but I wasn’t feeling up for it in the end and somehow ended up here.” You said with a sigh before taking a sip of your own Cappuccino. “This is delicious, by the way.”

“How come?..if ya don’t mind me askin?’ And I’m glad you’re enjoyin’ it. Tastes a lot better when it’s hot.”

The last thing you expected tonight was to engage in a conversation about your daily anxieties with this absolutely gorgeous man. Whom you just met, but crazier things have happened before.

“I don’t mind you asking, Joel. I just don’t want to burden you with my troubles or anything. Especially since I think they’re a bit silly and blown out of proportion.” Your eyes casted downwards into the mug.

“Hey, I doubt you can do that, and between you and me? I’ve heard it all. Got a teenage daughter who’s goin’ through all the things that I’m tryin’ to understand..but as a single father, it’s fuckin’ tough sometimes. But I’d be happy to act as a listenin’ ear for ya.” He genuinely means it, too.

“You have a daughter? How old is she? Teenagers can be a handful, that is very true.” You responded thoughtfully while leaning back against the chair.

You watch the way his eyes light up like a Christmas tree when you show a genuine interest in this man’s life. It’s sometimes a rare occurrence to meet a stranger who you feel like you can just immediately open up to without thinking too hard about it.

“She just turned 13 this year. She’s a good kid, super smart. The kinda kid that probably will end up growin’ up and changin’ the world. She’s..well, my world.” He clears his throat and you notice his dimple poking out in his cheek.

As if this man couldn’t become any more attractive.

“Anyway, she’s already goin’ through some friend and boy drama and it’s jus’ a lot to keep up with. Her mom ain’t in the picture either, so it’s not like I can turn to her for any guidance. She went to her first ever school dance this year in a dress that she picked out. The next thing I know, she’s callin’ me up in tears because some kids thought it was okay to make fun of how she looked. I know kids can be mean sometimes, but I wanted to go in there and teach those little shits a lesson myself.”

He was quite the protective father.

“Kids can be real bitches sometimes, Joel. I never quite understood it myself. Especially since I’m sure your daughter was just minding her own business and having a good time? I learned at a very young age that there’s a lot of jealous people in this world that enjoy causing pain in others for no apparent reason.They might have their own struggles, but that is no justification. Those kids that bullied your daughter will hopefully learn from their mistakes sooner rather than later.”

“She was just mindin’ her own and having a great time. She was so excited to wear her dress. It jus’ makes me so goddamn angry because I can’t protect her from everythin’ out there. It’s somethin’ that I’ve really struggled with this year especially. And I’ve tried to talk to my brother about it, but he doesn’t get it either.” Joel said with a sigh. “I’m glad that you can understand all of this though. I don’t really have any female friends to talk to about this stuff either.”

“Most kids grow out of their ‘mean’ phase after highschool. I can admit that I went through a phase similar to that. Made a lot of mistakes that I had to hold myself accountable for. But, with your love and support, I think your daughter is gonna end up being okay. She’s lucky to have you as a dad.” You reassure him.

“Really? You don’t seem like the type of person to ever hurt someone..then again, I ain’t perfect either. Never have been, never will. I’ve had my own regrets as well. But, I appreciate all that you’re sayin.’ S’Nice to be validated every now and then.” He leans forward with his elbows resting along the table and you’re just beginning to notice how broad his shoulders truly are under his faded flannel.

“I don’t think anyone can ever claim to be perfect. We don’t know everything and can make genuine mistakes. But all we can really do is learn from them, make it up to the people we may have hurt, and move forward. I think you’re a really nice person, based on our conversation, Joel.”

“You’re right, darlin.’ No one in this world can claim they are perfect. It's impossible.” His knee brushed yours gently from how close he was leaning in giving you a clear indication that he was actively listening to everything you were saying. “Anyway, I’m sorry I went off on that tangent jus’ now when we were talkin’ about your New Year’s Eve plans.”

“Dammit.” You sighed with a smile tugging on your lips. “I thought you forgot all about that.”

“Nah. I’m pretty good at rememberin’ even if I find myself havin’ to circle back. So, you didn’t feel up to meeting’ your friends tonight?”

“I was going to, truly. But I just got into my head way too much. It started with finding an outfit to wear. I absolutely tore my closet up and I’m really dreading having to clean it up later. Anyway, I’ve got the outfit on, right?”

He nods while taking another sip of his Cappuccino.

“I’m feeling great, and loving the way the outfit looks on me, and then there’s that stupid mean voice inside my brain. You know the one?”

“Ahh yeah. The voice that tells us that we’re unattractive and worthless? Like when we put on our favorite outfit and it’s not fitting quite right, and we know it’s silly to cry over clothes..but sometimes we just can’t help it? And that voice is right there beating us down because sometimes we forget that it’s natural for our bodies to change?”

Damn, he’s good.

“So...you hear that voice sometimes too? I honestly thought I was alone in this feeling. I tend to keep these thoughts to myself because I don’t want to burden others, y’know? I do see a therapist, though. It definitely has helped a lot, but I’m still struggling.”

“Darlin,’ I know exactly where you’re comin’ from. I had these favorite pairs of jeans that I would wear pretty much everyday. Well, just this past month I found that they ain’t fittin’ the way they used to. The zipper wouldn’t budge, and then I spent a good hour tryin’ all the tricks in the book to get those suckers to fit. Well, none of it worked and then I started beatin’ myself up. Sayin’ all the nasty names I could come up with. Then after all of that, I thought about all the delicious meals I had this year and especially these damn ice cream sundaes that my kid is obsessed with. Suddenly, the jeans not fittin’ didn’t bother me as much anymore.”

“Ice cream sundaes are delicious, and even more-so when you are enjoying them with your daughter. I pretty much went through the exact thing that you’re describing. I know that we shouldn’t give into the societal bullshit of looking a certain way to appear more attractive, but it’s just hard sometimes. That’s why I try to cycle through my closet every now and then so I’m not holding onto clothing that doesn’t fit me anymore. Did you end up keeping the jeans?..”

“She’s been requestin’ them for dessert pretty much every night, and I have a hard time tellin’ her no. They are absolutely delicious. It is definitely hard to pass them up sometimes. It’s comforting to know that other people go through the exact same thing that we’ve gone through. I did in fact donate the jeans, and then bought a new pair the same day. Wearin’ ‘em now actually, and I gotta say, I think I look quite good in ‘em if I do say so myself.” He said in a cheeky tone that sent heat rising on your cheeks.

“Well, I think you should stand up, if you feel comfortable doing so, that is, and let’s see what this jeans talk is all about.”

He grins at you, eyebrows playfully dancing while he sets his mug down along the table before pushing his chair back to stand up.

He gives you a little spin, one that neither you were expecting, but you could tell that he was having fun showing off his new denim.

“Okay, respectfully? Those jeans look amazing on you, they are very flattering, Joel.”

He laughs a warm and hearty laugh as his cheeks turn beet red from your words. Even if you’re just playing along, he’s feeling charmed by your presence.

“Really? Y’know, I was thinkin’ the same thing and a’that..but I’m a pretty humble guy.” He said sheepishly.

“Joel, screw being humble. You’re wearing those jeans like they’re made for you! You gotta own that.” You said with a giggle.

“Alright. Alright. If ya say so, darlin.’ I appreciate the compliment, but have ya taken a look at yourself tonight? You’re glitterin’ like a goddamn mirror ball. Gonna blind me with all that sparkle Y’got goin’ on.” He’s flirting, now. He’s absolutely shamelessly flirting with you.

You find yourself leaning forward then, close enough that he can see the pretty shimmer painted on your eyelids and your undeniable flirty smile.

“Joel, are you flirting with me right now?” You’re feeling bold, and curious to know if you were reading the signs correctly, or letting your brain run a muck in theories.

“I am, darlin.’ Is that..alright? Cus’ if it makes you feel uncomfortable, I can stop.”

“No, please continue to flirt away. I’m glad that you’re getting to see my outfit, Joel. I probably have glitter in places where glitter doesn’t belong.” You said with a light, airy laugh.

“You’ll be finding little bits of glitter all over the place well within the next year. Do you have any to spare?” He asked with a warm chuckle.

“Actually..I do have some to spare.” You reached for your purse along the side of the chair and pulled out your tube of glitter eyeshadow that you had brought just in case you needed any touch ups. “May I?”

“Oh, you really weren’t kiddin’ when you said you have some to spare, huh?” He leaned in closer to get a better look. “That’s a really pretty color, darlin.’ You think I can pull that off?”

“I don’t kid when it comes to my glitter, Joel.” You said teasingly. “I absolutely think you can pull this color off. But, I’ll need you to close your eyes so I can apply this more eveningly.”

“Okay, I’m trustin’ you, darlin.’” He slowly closed his eyes then and only flinched a little when he felt the applicator glide across his eyelid. “Sorry, wasn’t it expectin’ to feel that damn cold.” He murmured softly.

“No worries, Joel. It can be a bit ticklish at times.” You scooted your chair in closer to him so both of your knees were tucked in between his as you delicately applied the shimmering shadow. Your tongue was peeking out between your lips as you focused on the task at hand.

He tried to peek his eye open once, before you playfully scolded him and said, no peeking.

To which he grumbled out a response with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Am I pretty yet, darlin?’” He asked with his eyes still shut as you admired your work.

“Very pretty, Joel. Okay, you can go ahead and open them.” You pulled out a little handheld mirror from your purse and held it out for him to admire his appearance.

He opened his eyes, blinking a few times to get used to the feeling before he averted his attention to the mirror you were holding. “Oh, shit. Wow. Y’know what..I actually think I like it.” He looked over at you then before he realized how close you were sitting to him. “Thank you, darlin’ I feel like I’m a mirror ball too.”

“It really brings out your eyes, Joel. They were already pretty before, but now, they’re even more beautiful.”

You were already forgetting about how awful you felt earlier, and the guilty feelings for turning down your friend's offer to go out. It admittedly felt nice to talk to another person that shared more things in common with you than you realized. To be validated, and in turn, validate someone as well? It felt really, really good inside.

“So, now that we’re both glittered up, and it’s two hours till the start of the new year, would you maybe care to join me for a drink? Only if you’re feeling up for it, that is.” Joel asked you with his eyes flickering back to yours. Truthfully, he’s happy that you somehow found yourself in his coffee shop tonight. He can’t remember the last time he’s connected with someone on such a deep and personal level.

“I’d love to get a drink with you, Joel.” You don’t even second guess your answer, and if the feelings come up later, so be it. That little voice inside of your head is nowhere to be found as Joel offers you his arm.

You help him finish closing up for the night before the two of you find yourselves walking arm in arm to the bar that his brother Tommy was at. During your walk, you find yourselves falling back into conversation that flows easy like a steady stream. When you bring up feeling guilty for often being a homebody, he reassures you that wanting to spend a quiet evening with yourself is perfectly normal, and it’s something you shouldn’t feel ashamed of. He goes on to add that if you want to go out more, that’s perfectly okay to do as well. But you should never pressure yourself to go out and have a good time, if that’s truly not what you want to do.

And when you find Joel’s brother at the high top with a glass of bubbly in front of him, the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “Joel, what is that on your face?” He leans in close to inspect the glitter shadow painted on Joel’s eyelids.

You and Joel turn to one another with two knowing smiles plastered on your faces before you laugh in unison, “it’s glitter, of course!”

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[shalotttower]

Darling, Darling

Title: Darling, Darling Fandom: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) Summary: The way he cradles you to his chest is almost reverent, like you are something precious. Bubba delivers a lesson after you tried to run away. Word Count: 1500+ Characters: Bubba Sawyer x Reader (female) Notes: Captive Reader, murder (implied), blood and gore (implied), violence, spanking, yandere Bubba Sawyer, cannibalism (mentioned), kinda NSFWish?

The way he cradles you to his chest is almost reverent, like you are something precious, delicate. Something to be cherished. Hands capable of ripping through flesh with ease carry you down the hall, careful not to bang your feet into corners. He doesn't want to hurt you. You know he doesn't, but it hurts anyway. Everything hurts.

Covered in dust and god knows what else, this house is in terrible shape and it reeks - of old colourless wallpapers, age and grime, of grease and smoke and slow decay. No one cleans here, at least from what you've seen. You make an effort not to look into the surroundings; there's a head on a coffee table and it's enough to make bile rise in your throat. So you focus on a single abstract spot in the distance.

"Please, I want to go home," your mouth feels dry when you speak.

He looks down, concerned eyes and messy hair, then shakes his head. Bubba Sawyer doesn't talk. Well, that's not entirely true. He makes sounds, noises. Squeals and grunts. He hums and whistles sometimes, but doesn't form words like you do. Whole and functional sentences don't come to him, which is likely a product of both genetics and childhood environment.

"Please."

With a quiet whimper he presses his face into your hair, and speeds up. The mask he's wearing today belongs to a young woman, or what once was a young woman, now it's merely skin stretched to a degree it shouldn't be.

No. No, you can't leave; Bubba pats your head to make a point - this is home.

"You can't keep me here," you rasp.

He smooths your back and makes more sounds, muffled by the leather; but he can. He can keep you, Drayton said so. He asked. Begged. Pleaded to keep you and Drayton said yes. Not before hitting him with that thick broom - ouch - but it was okay, because Bubba got to keep you. You're the first girl he has like this, the only girl he has like this since Nubbins died. Bubba misses Nubbins, but maybe with you he won't miss him so much anymore.

He needs you to see, to understand. To not run again.

Up, up the stairs you go, past framed pictures in the shades of brown, grey and black. Past the bathroom with peeling paint, stained bathtub and old medicine cabinet. Upstairs smells better than downstairs, cleaner somehow. The first time he brought you out of the basement was terrifying, you thought that was it. A filthy kitchen and walls caving in - the last thing you'd ever see. He gave you one of his grandmother's nightgowns instead, it had a faint perfume smell. The ruffles reminded you of lace wedding dresses from vintage movies. Bubba tucked you in next to himself, like you were a doll or a teddy, and you spent the whole night staring into the darkness, listening to his loud snores. It was warm, better than sleeping on the floor.

The mattress creaks when he sits you down.

His room is a simple space with a single bed and a shelf, crammed with objects that catch Bubba's eye. There's a crucifix on a wall; the irony of it even being there is almost laughable.

You look up. In a white-frame window the sun is setting, and nothing but miles and miles of cornfields surround this house.

You are in the middle of nowhere.

If he once decides that you're not something worth keeping around but food, then it's over. No one will ever find you.

A sob wrecks out of your throat. He crouches, and before you know what's happening, wipes your tears. Hushing and cooing and gently pressing his big hands to your cheeks. It would be so much easier if you could hate him, if he hurt you out of some deranged and violent instinct. But no, Bubba doesn't do any of those things.

He looks at you like you hung the moon and stars, he tries to care for you. Brings you flowers and plates loaded with food which you can't eat, because one look turns your stomach upside down. Because you know what is it, and he...he just doesn't understand why you keep refusing - Drayton always cooks nice meals and Bubba loves his cooking too.

He feeds you warm milk and bread, applesauce and boiled chicken breast cut into small pieces. Watches you chew with careful attention, lips smacking, tongue peeking out as he copies the movements of your mouth.

You feel sick.

He brings you gifts - broken toys, jewelry snatched from dead women, trinkets found in trash cans or discarded by the roadside. You wear some, because if you don't he gets upset and his shoulders sag. It's like kicking a puppy, and it's so...twisted. Everything about this is twisted, like some grotesque play.

Bubba doesn't hurt you.

Unless Drayton tells him to.

He hates this, when Drayton tells him to, because "you're getting uppity and spoiled". It's confusing - you're not spoiled. You behave well most of the time, eat chicken and never call him names, you're warm and soft and let him hold you at night. He likes that a lot. Bubba thinks it might be love, it's fuzzy inside when you're close, like in those shows Grandpa and Grandma used to watch before they gone still.

But Drayton is the oldest, he's smart and knows best.

You whine softly into the pillow as Bubba slaps your backside and whimpers too each time a croak of pain wrenches from your mouth. He wishes that he didn't have to do this, but you need to learn and be good, not try to run, otherwise Drayton might take you away. Bubba doesn't want this.

Your panties dangle around your knees - blue, lace trimmed - Bubba finds them very pretty, if it was in his power he'd give you all the pretty things to wear.

He swallows and raises his hand.

The flesh jiggles under his palm as he spanks you. Bubba counts in his head - Drayton said seven should be enough - one, two, three, four-

He tries to be gentle, but his strength is not used for being gentle. He has spent most of his life doing manual labor. With bare hands he can kill food. The soft skin of your backside changes color quickly into a bright shade of pink, and Bubba squeezes it for a moment, trying to soothe the sore area.

It doesn't help, tears rolling down your face keep wetting the pillow. He wants to scoop you up and cuddle, press kisses to your cheeks, but Drayton told him no. No kissing or hugging until you learn; "she is manipulating you, dimwit".

Your breath comes out ragged in uneven hitches, Bubba doesn't like how miserable you look, small and fragile on his bed. When your sounds subside to quiet, intense sobs, he makes a distressed whine. He feels bad, so very bad, but maybe next time you won't try to leave.

Six. Seven. Done.

Your poor bottom is bright red and raw looking, Bubba pats it carefully. He rubs cool cream to your skin, the one he snuck from Drayton's drawer, making sure to get everywhere before pulling your panties up. You smell nice - sweaty and salty like after work on a hot day.

You always stop talking to him right after. For the rest of the evening, the next few days or sometimes a whole week, and it's awful. You don't eat chicken, the pretty trinkets lie discarded and you won't even look at him.

It hurts more than Drayton and his broom do.

Bubba sits beside you on the mattress for several minutes, waiting. Waiting until you turn - just a little bit - so that he can tap your damp cheeks dry with a towel and maybe feed you apple slices dipped in honey. If you'll let him.

You don't.

Eventually you crawl under the blanket, stiff and quiet, back facing him. His throat burns, you're mad, you don't like Bubba anymore. Dread unfolds at the bottom of his stomach as the sky outside starts darkening, every time he gets scared that this will be it, that you'll hate him forever from now on.

Hesitantly, he climbs underneath the covers, settles on the very edge of the mattress and wriggles a bit closer every five minutes, in case you'll change your mind and want a hug - the lesson is delivered, so it doesn't matter, Drayton won't know anyway.

But the time passes and turns into an hour, yet still you don't move, not even a peek over your shoulder. He waits longer and then a bit more. His heart drops when Bubba realizes: you fell asleep without saying goodnight.

He watches your back rise and fall, then reaches across the bed to stroke your hair. Somehow his arm curves over your frame, and before Bubba knows it, he moves you closer, closer, up against his chest. Your breath is shaky and rough, but he holds on tight, the same way he'd clutch his favourite things.

Tomorrow Bubba will bring you flowers, some tulips because they are pretty like you, and maybe you'll be less angry. Maybe you'll eat apple slices and sit on Bubba's lap by the stove while Drayton cooks dinner, and won't try to run again. He hopes you won't.

[melrodrigo]

Tardy, part 9

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Summary: It’s time to take down Ghostface once and for all…nothing can go wrong, right?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Language, Angst

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: There’s also fluff in the beginning because it wouldn’t be me without fluff…happy reading! Don’t forget to tell me what you think <3

The rest of the evening is spent in bliss. Tara in your arms splayed on the floor while you guys whisper disgustingly sweet nothings into the other's ear.

The morning after is no different. You wake to the smell of burnt bread, bacon, and eggs.

You get up drearily, try to stretch and immediately regret it when you feel a sharp sting pull at both your shoulder and stomach.

Humph. Last night almost made you forget you had two additional holes in your body.

You poke your head into the kitchen and smile cheekily.

"Good morning sunshine. Whatcha making there?" You hum, waltzing over to stand behind your girlfriend.

You don't see her face but you can tell she's pouting. Her shoulders tight, fists balled at her sides.

"The bagel burned." She says, letting out a tiny huff.

You peer over her to see 4 halves of a bagel burnt to a crisp, sitting sadly at the feet of the table.

"I can see that." You chuckle. She turns around quickly, big frown on her face.

"It's not funny. This has never happened before." She whines.

"It's a little funny. I mean, who would've thought an amazing chef like you would burn some plain ol bagels?" You tease, tilting your face down to press a kiss to her hair.

She pinches your sides a little too hard in warning.

"Okay, okay! Come on, I'll do the bagels. The bacon smells amazing though, you should go check up on those." You suggest, watching Tara brighten up at your praise comically fast.

You can almost see the imaginary lightbulb spark above her head.

"Yes. That's what I'll do." She grins, sauntering over to her bacon and eggs. She turns back quickly as if she just remembered something.

"But not because you told me to." She says, a mischievous grin on her lips. You roll your eyes but nod nonetheless.

She picks up her phone from the counter, presses play on a song.

It fits the energy nicely. Sort of slow, sort of upbeat. It's very romantic though.

She senses it too, you can tell by the way she snakes her hand around your waist and pulls you closer for a dance.

It might look a little silly from an outsider's perspective, you'll admit that, but it fills you with warmth.

It's times like these you want to use those cringy words couples are always describing their feelings with. You feel fuzzy. You want to forget about everything else in the world and focus on her.

"Tsk. tsk. Lovebirds, outta the way, I'm starving!" Mindy exclaims, popping out from god knows where. You frown a little at the intrusion.

She hurries over to the fridge, grabs a stray piece of bacon on her way there; earning her a light slap from Tara.

She rummages through the fridge, moving things left and right and out and in again.

"What's got you so excited?" Tara asks, sharing a look with you. Mindy doesn't turn as she answers.

"Not excited, I'm getting prepared. Can't defeat Ghostface with an empty stomach, can I?" She replies jokingly.

It's enough to ruin the mood. It makes you remember it's not just you and Tara in this world, and absolutely nothing is currently fine.

You straighten, clear your throat. Then turn to Tara, hoping you can still pretend to live in the moment.

"Shall we have breakfast, m'lady?" You ask, bowing dramatically.

You can tell it doesn't work. Tara's eyes darken again.

"Yeah...yeah. Let's." She says, sending you a small smile and pulling out your chair for you.

You squeeze her hand three times and try to send her a secret signal. She smiles a little, returning with three squeezes of her own.

-

You're quiet most of the ride to your apartment. The seven of you are crammed into Sam's little SUV; knees pressed together uncomfortably.

"What's the plan again?" You ask, trying to relieve some of the anxiety that's forming inside you with a distraction. The untimely news about your father had shaken you a bit, leaving you with no memory whatsoever of the plan the rest of the gang had made.

Tara's the one who answers you.

"We call Ghostface, get him to come to your apartment. You, me, Sam, and Chad will be waiting. Try to get him to fall for the trap, cage him up, shoot him and then we chop chop and pretend this never happened for the rest of our lives." She says simply, with all the chill of someone who's planning a holiday vacation.

When you get to the apartment, Sam equips herself with a net gun, the most important weapon; because she claims she's the only one who can use it. She's not wrong about that.

When she hands out the rest of the weapons to the group, you can tell she sees the hesitance on your face. You're tired. Not ready to fight.

The only weapon she gives you is a tiny pocket knife.

There's a trap set up right at the front door, and if all hell goes loose, there's a secret gun stashed in your bedroom.

You're not confident in the plan, not at all. There's way too much assuming what Ghostface will do when you all know he's a deranged psycho with a mind of his own.

By the time you get there, trap at the front door set, you're shaking. It's an unfortunate habit, really. You feel the dull ache in your stomach get worse with anxiety.

You're all standing smack dab in the middle of your living room. Nobody's relaxed enough to sit down.

Mindy, Ethan, Anika and Danny are situated together somewhere downstairs, in hiding. Ready to signal to you guys if they see anything suspicious.

You told them that you shouldn't split up, and safety was in numbers; but alas, the four of them had refused.

"Don't worry. We'll be safe." Ethan had said to you before he left, quickly following behind the other three with a skip in his steps.

Now, Tara inches closer to you, obviously sensing your turmoil. She grabs both your hands in hers and brings them up to her lips to kiss each of your knuckles. Her face is tight, determined.

"I'm gonna kill this fucker for what he did to you." She whispers, low enough for no one else but you to hear.

Normally, you'd laugh and quip back that she's way too tiny and weak for that, but the way she's looking at you; all mad and worked up sends shivers down your spine.

You open your mouth to tell her you'd happily do the same for her, but the indistinct sound of a phone ringing beats you to it.

Sam looks down at the contact and her expression turns unreadable. She sends all of you a final 'you ready?' look.

"Hello, Samantha." Comes the raspy voice out of Sam's phone.

"Hi." Sam grits out, grip so hard around the net gun that her knuckles turn white.

It's quiet for too long, almost like Ghostface is unsure of what to say. You raise an eyebrow internally.

Wasn't Ghostface supposed to be like super witty and stuff?

"Hey fuckface, would you mind telling us where you are? I'll show you mine if you show me yours." You say, voice light; sort of teasing. Tara grips your hand hard in support.

"Oh, YN...you didn't think I didn't know about your little plan did you?" Ghostface drawls and all four of you pale almost collectively.

"Plan? We just want to meet the fucker that wants to kill us," Sam says, eyes darting back and forth between your windows.

"Why don't you show yourself hm? Or are you too much of a pussy that you can't even fight me face to face?" She taunts, and you try to bite back the surprise on your face at her tone. She's serious, snarl on her face, fire evident in her eyes type of serious. It scares you a little.

What scares you even more is that you agree with her. There's something stirring deep in you, the feeling of ever losing Tara, the random uncalled DNA test, the fact that this fucker wants to take you away from her.

It's never going to happen.

You're about to open your mouth and bully the hell out of Ghostface when a loud shrill scream cuts you off.

You can feel the atmosphere change immediately.

It's not like your first night up on the roof with Tara now, you know what you're supposed to do. Or at least you kind of know.

You dart out the front door, leaping past the trap door you've made and practically sprint down the flights of stairs.

You can hear the three of them close behind you, footsteps hurried.

"Guys?" You call out.

There's a thumping sound and an animalistic groan. It makes you run even faster.

You round the corner to see Danny pressed up against a wall, Ghostface too close for comfort and thrashing wildly.

He's putting up a good fight, dodging and throwing in punches when he can; but it's clear who has the upper hand here.

"Hey, fuckface! Get away from my girlfriend's sister's boyfriend!" You yell, as loud as you can.

Damn, that's wordy.

You grip Ghostface's shoulders, using as much force as you can to squeeze and squeeze and squeeze in an attempt to try and pry him off Danny. You manage to throw him back, and quickly steady your feet as he tries to take a sloppy swing at you.

"Danny, where's the rest of them?" You question, looking around to see no sight of Ethan, Anika nor Mindy.

Ghostface surges at you again, and you dive to the side, kicking him in the side.

"I don't know, they just left." He says, sounding exasperated. You scrunch your eyebrows at his statement.

You see Sam behind Ghostface, ready with a beer bottle in her hand.

Huh, wonder where she got that.

She slams it down on his head hard, and Ghostface lets out a whimper. He swings madly at the both of you, not letting you approach. Then, he dashes out the lobby door before you guys can do anything.

You see the internal conflict in Sam's eyes. She wants to follow Ghostface, but she also wants to check up on Danny and his sort of worrying-looking wound.

"Stay with him. I'll follow Ghostface." You say, your tone authorative. You know she needs to hear it right now.

"Absolutely not." Tara pipes up, rushing up to you and putting her hands on your waist.

As if that was going to stop you.

You lean down quickly and press a kiss on her cheek.

"I have to go. Like right now. Or else we're going to lose him." You murmur, rub her back comfortingly. You can tell she's about to open her mouth and argue again, but Chad beats her to it.

"I'll go with her, don't worry Tara." He announces. He grabs you by the arm and urges you forward.

You mouth a quick 'love you' to Tara and run out the front lobby door, Chad in tow.

It's not hard at all to guess where the three of them could've gone. You notice the splatter of blood beneath your feet immediately; signal it to Chad.

"Holy shit." He whispers.

It's a lot. It has to be at least a gallon of blood, paving a clear way, hand prints and feet prints crazy and wild.

There's a spluttering sound to the left of you where the blood trail starts getting bigger and thicker. In big, random splotches till it stops right in front of a bush.

It would be a good hiding spot, if it weren't for the liquid painting everything crimson.

You round the big bush, weary; scared of what you might find. The pocket knife is pressed hard in your hand.

"Ethan?" You say as you see the brunette boy propped up against a wall, hiding behind the bush, hands pressed to a wound at his ribcage.

He looks extremely close to death. Like the grim reaper is five seconds away to coming and sucking the life out of him type of dead.

You don't waste a second. You rush over, fall to your knees, already feeling tears prick at your eyes.

"No no no, please." You murmur to no one in general, gripping and slapping at Ethan's shoulders, trying to get him awake.

His eyes are half-lidded, breath coming in in short sharp gasps.

You turn sharply, scream at Chad to get down here. You make him press at Ethan's wound further while you grab desperately at your shirt and ripping a piece off.

"YN." Ethan croaks, trying to get you to look at him.

There's no time, you can't. You can't let him go, not when you've just started to get to know him. Your closest friend, under you, bleeding out slowly.

There's no use trying to stop the tears now, tears stream down your face, blurring your vision.

You take the cloth in your hands and wrap it around his wound, tight, in hopes of stopping the bleeding.

It's too late, you all know it. He's already lost too much blood. He shakes a little and it makes you look up.

He's laughing.

He doesn't get to do it for very long, because blood is trickling out his mouth and choking him.

"Please, Ethan. I need you. Please don't go." You plead, taking his hand in yours and squeezing as hard as possible.

You feel the faintest squeeze before his hand falls entirely limp.

"I love you." He whispers, and then he closes his eyes. It looks almost peaceful, like he's falling asleep after a long day.

You're sobbing now. There's nothing holding you back, just pure carnal screams.

Chad sits, hands limp at his sides. Like he doesn't know what to do. He's crying too, you notice, but it's hard to see anything through your hazy vision.

You know they were close too, to the point where Chad was comfortable enough to introduce Ethan to the rest of the gang.

You feel hot, and the sadness switches to anger fast. You feel enraged.

You stand up, look both ways.

"Ghostface! Show yourself you fucker, or I'm going to hunt you down and gut you myself." You yell, hands gripping the pocket knife so hard the handle sinks between your fingers a little.

Immediately you hear something coming from the back of you. You're knocked back and stumble onto the pavement, a blur of black and white on top of you.

Your heart picks up till you feel like it might explode. Ghostface's taking your arms and placing them above your head, trying to stop you from moving.

You scream as he takes his knife and slices open the wound on your stomach once again, not too deep for it to be fatal; but enough for you to feel like you want to die.

He gets knocked over by Chad, who's standing arms flexed and ready for more fighting if necessary.

You roll over, get as close to Ghostface as you can, and try to sink the pocket knife into his chest.

You hit something hard and furrow your brows, trying with all your might to press down so you can finally kill the fucker.

He's wearing a bulletproof vest, you realize all at once, and try to change the directions of your knife.

It's too late, because he's recovering already. Ghostface reaches down to grab at your shoulder wound. You hiss, retracting immediately at the pain.

He takes that opportunity to get up and flee, but not before aiming a knife to Chad and throwing, ninja style.

"Yeah, flee you pathetic coward." You growl, taking Chad's extended hand and getting up.

"Guys?" You hear Sam call out, somewhere somewhat close.

"We're over here!" Chad yells out, and it takes only moments before you see the three of them running towards you; faces distraught.

Sam and Danny slow down halfway when they see that there's no immediate danger, but Tara picks up her pace, rushing towards you and all but flings herself into your arms.

You wince, but hold her tight.

She pulls back when she feels the thick sticky liquid painting her own shirt red. Her hands dart to cup your face, deep frown on her lips.

"You got hurt again." And her voice cracks as if she might cry.

"I'm okay." You try and reassure, tilting your face and kissing her hard.

You pull back, too quick for her liking.

"Ethan." You mumble, suddenly feeling weak in the knees.

"Ethan what?" She asks, trying to wipe the blood off your face.

"He's dead." Chad answers, voice hollow.

Tara's face changes immediately. She knows how close you were with him.

"Oh baby, I'm sorry." She whispers, rubbing comforting circles at the top of your head. You bend down, bury yourself in the crook of her neck so she doesn't have to see you cry.

You sniff slightly.

"So like...what do we do with the body?" Danny pipes up.

"We'll call the police. No use calling the ambulance now." Sam answers, eyeing you while she says the second part of her sentence.

You don't react, trying to block out the noises around you and focus on Tara. You think you might break down if you don't.

"Where's Anika and Mindy?" Tara asks softly, moving her hands to rub at your back now.

"I don't know." You mumble, shake your head to affirm your statement.

No one says anything for a long moment, but everyone's thinking the same thing.

"You guys don't think...Anika and Mindy are the killers do you?" Chad asks, a little hesitant. He sounds in disbelief.

Sam moves to touch his bicep lightly, trying to offer him some comfort. He leans into her touch, shoulders sagged and defeated.

"We don't know," She says, "but we should find them. Before we make any assumptions. Tara, call YN an ambulance.  The rest of you follow me."

There's always a sense of authority in Sam's voice that makes you want to follow, want to believe in her.

Tara nods at her sister, and leads you onto the edge of a sidewalk where you can sit freely.

She walks away to call the ambulance, and you watch as the rest of them walk away; till their silhouettes look the size of an ant.

You turn your attention to the road in front of you, the busy city. Not a single person bats an eye your direction, and you wonder how not a single person had come to your aid when you were screaming for your life.

"God, I hate people." You say as Tara sits down beside you.

"Me too." She says with no hesitance. You turn your head to look at her.

You think you understand her trauma a little bit better now. You can't even imagine doing all this a second time.

Your girlfriend really was a special kind of person.

She smiles at you softly, and the lamps above you light her face nicely.

"We'll be okay." She says, and squeezes your hand three times.

You hum but don't say anything. Squeeze it back three times.

[damonblack966]

How To Master Witchcraft Even Having Little Spare Time

When Life Makes Practicing Witchcraft Difficult

Are you finding it hard to make time for your daily magical practice? Do you feel overwhelmed by all the other obligations of life, and have no idea how to fit one more thing into your already crammed schedule? You’re not alone! This is one of the most common things that I hear when I chat online, what’s stopping them from really pursuing the craft. It always comes down to too many responsibilities and too little time.

The truth is that the flashy witchcraft practices you see online are often staged, exaggerated, or even entirely made up. Comparing yourself and your practice to what you see other people doing online simply isn’t reasonable. Why would a mom of three who also works full time have a witchcraft practice that looks the same as a university student on TikTok who has no job and very few responsibilities? The answer is, she wouldn’t! That would be insane!

The thing that is actually causing such a major block in your ability to practice witchcraft isn’t a lack of time, it’s actually a lack of self-compassion. By constantly comparing yourself to other people and getting down on yourself about how you can’t, or you’re not good enough, or you’ll never be a real witch because… you’re adding a huge amount of judgment and shame to your life and your craft.

In all honesty, this kind of negative self-talk takes up a ton of time and energy! That’s time and energy that you could be putting toward literally anything else, like, ya’know… witchcraft. Rather than spending a bunch of time and energy beating yourself up for not being a good enough witch, why not make ANY amount of witchcraft a win?

The key is to start small. Instead of fitting an hour-long ritual into your daily life, try sneaking in a few minutes of magical activity here and there. Regularly writing down your thoughts in a journal that you keep near your bed or planning out a few quick spells can be just as powerful as doing full-fledged rituals. Just because it’s not big or flashy doesn’t mean that it doesn’t count! Start counting absolutely every magical moment, even 10 seconds of tuning into the energy of a room, as real witchcraft and you’ll likely find that you’re already doing way more than you thought.

You can also try to make small tasks magical. Channeling your energy toward something small can help increase the power of your spellwork and ritual work significantly. Even doing ssimple things like taking care of plants or wearing particular colors or jewelry that have special meaning for your practice can add an extra layer of magic to any activity.

Most importantly, give yourself permission to take breaks from witchcraft when needed—it’s ok if you don’t always find time for it! It’s more important that you take care of yourself first—and will ultimately help maintain stability and balance in both your magical and mundane life.

Where to Find Magical Time in Your Schedule

You don’t need to give up on living a magical life just because you don’t have the time to focus on witchcraft. With some creativity, you can find a few moments here and there to fit in magical practices but again, the key is to approach this with self-compassion. You may not be able to find time every day. Even one extra moment of focus on your craft during the week counts as a win!

Start by mapping out your weekly schedule. Take a look at the hours you spend on work and other responsibilities. Think of what small changes you can make in order to create space for witchy activities—even if it’s only five or ten minutes here and there.

For example:

Wake up 10 minutes earlier for a morning tarot card pull

Take a short meditation break during lunch

Spend half an hour listening to an audiobook or podcast before bed or during your commute

Fit in manifestation sessions or spell casting during study breaks

You’ll soon find that you are able to fit in small doses of ritual and these small moments can really add up!

Finally, if even these small moments still don’t seem to be enough, look into creative ways to practice and immerse yourself in the world of witchcraft. From joining online communities to taking classes or workshops, to learning from books, there are plenty of ways to enrich and add depth to your craft that don’t have to take up a ton of time.

At the end of the day, carving out a successful magical practice requires a bit of ingenuity and flexibility. Don’t feel bad if you can’t meet the expectations of a glitzy witchy lifestyle—start with small changes and over time, you’ll be able to gradually create a more grassroots and fulfilling magical practice.

Establishing a Daily Practice

You might not think you can make time for a daily practice of witchcraft, particularly if you have a demanding job or too many responsibilities. But it’s actually easier than it sounds—you don’t need to do something elaborate. All it takes is a little bit of effort and the right mindset.

To establish a daily practice, start by carving out just a few minutes each day for yourself. This could be during your lunch break, when you wake up, or before bed—it doesn’t matter when, as long as it works for your schedule.

Here are some simple steps to get you started:

Choose something that resonates with you—this could be divination, writing, or meditation.

Create an easily accessible space where you can set up everything you need for your chosen practice. Not having to do any setup or put things away every single day takes a LOT of the burde out of this process and makes you much more likely to return to it regularly.

Be flexible. If something in your life changes, let your practice change with it. Consistency requires that you keep the reality of your life in mind! Sometimes schedules change, your energy levels change, and what you need and want from your practice changes. Switch from mornings to evenings when you need to, let yourself do a tarot pull instead of meditation sometimes, and build ease into the practice.

Finally, BE COMPASSIONATE WITH YOURSELF. Did you miss a day? That’s fine, life happens. You missed a week? No sweat, that’s life. Get back to it when you’re ready just stop agonizing over not doing things exactly right all the time. You can become a perfectly good witch even if you get it “right” less than half the time! You are good enough.

What Do You Do If You’re Short On Time And Not Sure Where To Start?

I get it. You’re busy, you have a million responsibilities, and finding time to practice witchcraft is one thing but you don’t even know what to DO with that time when you manage to find it.

Make Figuring It Out The Goal

If you have no idea where to start, the first thing you should do with the time you do manage to carve out is figure out where to start. Literally. That is a perfectly good goal to begin with. This could mean something like spending 15 minutes a day reading about witchcraft or spending a few minutes writing about what you actually want to do with your craft. It’s ok to spend a few weeks or even months just getting the lay of the land and figuring out where you want to focus your energies first. Witchcraft is a huge and incredibly varied subject and nobody expects you to just jump straight in and know exactly what you’re doing.

Start With What Interests You

It’s important to focus on what really resonates with you when it comes to your craft. Pick one thing that speaks to you the strongest and start there—maybe you begin by studying astrology or learning spells—and go from there. This way, you don’t feel overwhelmed with all the options out there and can concentrate on mastering that one thing first before moving on to something else. It doesn’t really matter what you pick as long as it’s something that piques your interest, there’s really no “correct” order to learn things in.

Learn from Others

No one ever said that mastering a magical practice had to be done alone. Reach out to experienced practitioners and those knowledgeable in witchcraft to pick up tips and learn from their experiences. Don’t be afraid to ask questions and to open up about your own struggles—not only will it help you to get perspective on things but it will also create a sense of community among those who have similar interests and goals.

If you want someone to help you learn witchcraft in a more structured way that takes a lot of the guesswork out of it, look on a site like Udemy.

Track Your Progress

Finally, make sure to keep track of your progress. This doesn’t have to be complicated; it can take no more than writing a few words in your journal each day or creating a spreadsheet or digital document to track your spells, rituals, divination, and other activities related to your practice. Write down all of your wins, big and small. In fact, especially write down the small wins! Remember that those little moments add up and they DO count.

By tracking your progress, you’ll be able to easily refer back to your successes, what worked and what didn’t. And on days when things seem to be hitting a dead end, you’ll be able to look at the progress you’ve made and remind yourself of how far you’ve come.

By integrating these tips into your magical practice, you’ll be well on your way to mastering witchcraft despite life’s little hiccups and obstacles.

When life gets overwhelming, don’t forget that you can still practice witchcraft. It doesn’t have to be an in-depth practice or a lengthy ritual – it can be a five-minute positive affirmation every morning or lighting a white candle every night before bed. While it’s important to build a strong foundation of knowledge and practice, a lot of times the simplest techniques are the most powerful.

Remind yourself that you are in control and have the power to shape your life. Invest in yourself and create a personalized practice that works for you, but remember that a little bit goes a long way. No matter how busy or stressed you might be, a few simple steps can take you a long way on your journey to mastering witchcraft.

[flower-boi16]

Let's Restructure Helluva Boss

Helluva Boss has major pacing and structuring problems due to it cramming in far too many plotlines within 1-2 seasons, leading to the show feeling cluttered and unfocused. So, let's try to fix these issues by restructuring Helluva Boss and each of its plotlines so the show feels more focused.

I'll make the show have three seasons, that should be enough.

First, the show would focus more on its actual premise of the Imps going on misadventures to kill people for clients. The show can have other plotlines but they must be in the background.

Stolas could have his own plotline and character arc throughout seasons 2&3 about him realizing his mistakes and growing as a person and making amends with Stella and Octavia (btw this is in the same thing as my Stella rewrite), but It'll be in the background and not take up too much screentime from the show's premise so it could stay focused.

Season 1 would just be purely episodic adventures

Season 2 could introduce the Cherubs as antagonists and rivals for the Imps.

Season 3 could then introduce the Dhorks as antagonists and rivals as well and have them be the final antagonists of the show

Some plotlines like Blitz's relationship with Verosika could also be implemented fine but they can't take up too much screen time from the show's premise

Every other plotline I did not mention will be scrapped.

The show could have some serialized elements in it during seasons 2&3 but should mostly remain episodic.

Each season could have 20 episodes

The show will now be a bit more focused now that it's not cramming in so many plotlines at once

What do y'all think?

[mangoisms]

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter nine: i want to make it right | read chapter eight

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 5k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

Finally, for one last time, you surface. 

Your senses are muddled, everything feeling hazy as you crack your eyes open. A gross taste lingers in your dry mouth and you try to swallow past it. Stiffness lingers in your belly and when you shift, it sends a piercing ache through you, so you stop moving, letting out a slow breath as you try to get your bearings. 

The throb in your belly lingers even as you still. That, at least, hits you quickly. You were stabbed. Great. And here you thought nearly dying during the earthquake and losing your parents was the last time Gotham would hurt you. Looks like that’s not the case—you get to have your collection of scars just like anyone else. 

The memories of what happened are fuzzy but… still in reach. Before you can focus on that, though…

Reaching up to rub the sleep from your eyes—you go for your left hand first, which tugs at the IV in the back of it, so you switch to your right hand, gingerly dropping your left back into your lap—you take stock of your surroundings.

You’re in a hospital room, of course. The blinds over the window tell you it’s dark outside. The light inside your room are dim, emanating from somewhere behind the bed you’re in, warm yellow unobtrusive to your tired eyes but still allowing you to see your surroundings.

The first thing your eyes catch are the sleeping figures in your room.

In a small cot in the corner is Steph, curled up beneath a blanket, golden hair spread out on the pillow. Her soft snores are easily audible over the mechanical hiss of the various equipment you’re hooked up to. Near her and a little bit closer to you is—

A man, asleep, whom you have never seen in your entire life.

But then, you look again, and you realize… That shock of red hair and tan skin looks awfully familiar. Handsome—not in a way that is attractive to you specifically per se, but an observation you can objectively make quite easily—and… familiar. So, so familiar. 

You keep looking at him, slowly waking up more and more with each minute that passes.

Flash was here. 

You know that. You heard his voice. His and someone else’s. A woman’s. His friend? 

Is this… is this him?

The red hair feels like an easy enough tell but it’s the eyes, you think. It’s the eyes you need. You know Flash’s hair is red. A wild mop of it, windswept and ruffled most of the time—the same here. You know his eyes, too. Grass-green, twinkling with mischief or mirth or both, waiting to spring a joke on you. Visible with the type of cowl he has, one that reveals his hair, eyes, and lower half of his face. One might think it too much but considering that even you hesitate now to make that connection, you can conclude it does enough of a good job. To be fair, thought, the hard part—for you—is consolidating his presence, that he would be here—for you, unmasked and vulnerable. That… that’s something.

But still. Ignoring that, those implications… something inside you, something deep in your bones, is telling you that this is him. This is the Flash unmasked. 

But you won’t know unless he wakes up. So, you move on to your last visitor.

On the other side of the bed, crammed into an uncomfortable-looking chair, is Tim.

Asleep, his head lolls at an angle that makes you grimace. Even in sleep, his eyebrows are furrowed. He’s closer to you, so you can see the circles under his eyes.

You watch him for a while, too, everything starting to come back to you. 

The way he fought off that man. His interaction with Steph as Spoiler. The conversation you heard while asleep—conversations that are still blurry around the edges; the argument between him and Maybe-Flash is the clearest one, just because of the tension, their voices. 

You take a deep breath.

Okay.

Your best friend, Stephanie Brown, is Spoiler.

It explains a lot. Odd disappearances, reoccurring tardiness, odd bruises and cuts, old aches and pains. 

Those incidents weren’t isolated to just her, though.

God.

Of course.

Red Robin started visiting you around the same time Tim started avoiding you. When he kept saying he was too busy to hang out. 

You’d put it together, if you’d continued to encounter both of them. But his avoidance distracted you from looking too closely at Red Robin. And of course, since you weren’t actively seeing him, it was even harder to put it all together. 

You swallow, staring at Tim, hurt piercing your chest. 

You just don’t understand why. 

But in that next moment, you think you might be able to get your answer as he rouses, sighing, straightening his head.

You watch with bated breath as he rubs his eyes, then one hand goes to his neck, rubbing at the crick that no doubt formed from the angle. 

Then he lifts his head and his eyes meet yours.

It’s been so long, you realize. So long since you’ve seen him, face to face. Last night (was it last night? God, you have no idea how long you’ve been out) doesn’t count. Neither does the day before, at the ice cream parlor. 

But here he is. 

Dark hair falling over his forehead, messier than usual, like he’s run his hand through it constantly, circles under his eyes, long, dark lashes fluttering as he blinks at you, lips parting in surprise. 

Finally.

It’s contradicting, the way the sight of him makes you want to pull him close but also makes you ache, reminding you of the hurt, of all that he’s done.

How he lied to you and you can’t find anything that would justify that.

The entire time.

The emotions surge inside you, uncontrollable. 

Your eyes sting, vision blurring with tears, and all you can choke out is, “Why? Why did you lie? Why did you do that?”

Your tears spill over. You’re too caught up to feel embarrassed.  

His face crumples. “I don’t know,” he whispers, voice cracking on the last word. “I just. I don’t know. You were avoiding me and I…”

“Thought it was a good idea to see me as Red Robin?” you ask, voice thick. “How does that make any sense, Tim?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. Hesitating. 

What, mulling over another lie to feed you?

The thought is acerbic and mean and unfamiliar—a way you’ve never quite felt towards him and that realization hurts, too.

“Tell me the truth.”

He looks away, hands clenched in his lap. The knuckles of his right hand are bruised, red and swollen. 

“It was… it was easier to talk to you that way…”

“What?”

Something cracks inside of you. 

“You’re joking.”

Your head whips to the side. 

Your other visitor, the one who may be Flash but also maybe not, is awake, sitting up, grass-green eyes narrowed in on Tim and oh, yeah, that’s Flash alright. You know his eyes, you know his hair, you know his face, and you know the anger sitting in his body, tension tight—you recognize it, from when the two of you talked and he was bothered about everything that’d happened to you.

But even with that, the animosity in him—on your behalf—surprises you. The air in the room thickens with something… odd, fine hairs on your arms standing on-end and you could’ve sworn the light behind you just flickered.

“Flash?” Your voice cracks on the word.

His eyes meet yours, softening considerably. “Hey, kiddo.”

It is him. 

His eyes slide back to Tim and the anger returns. “Tell the truth, Tim. Stop digging yourself deeper.”

“I…” The way he trails off snags your attention again. Still hesitating. No, refusing. But…

“What do you even mean by that?” you ask, voice trembling, looking at Tim. 

He doesn’t look at you, opening and closing his mouth a couple times, eyes darting around anxiously.

Did he…?

Did he figure it out?

It was easier to talk to you that way.

Humiliation bubbles hot in your chest. You squeeze your eyes shut, bringing your hands to your face as more tears spill over.

You can’t do this.  

Tim whispers your name, sounding so pained, so agonized, it tears at you. But what does he have to be hurt about?

“J-Just get out.”

Silence.

“What?” he croaks.

“Just get out!” Your voice raises. In the corner, Steph jerks awake. You ignore her, you ignore Flash’s arm sliding around you, his quiet murmur to Take it easy, kiddo, you’re gonna hurt yourself.

You look at Tim. He looks back at you. 

“Haven’t you humiliated me enough? If—if you were uncomfortable with my feelings, you should’ve said something! Not—do that! I messed up, too, I know that but—dammit…” you stop, turning away again. 

“That’s not why,” Tim whispers. 

You shake your head, burying your face in Flash’s chest. You don’t want to hear it, you don’t want to hear why he felt it was easier to talk to you as Red Robin, a vigilante you previously had no interactions with, rather than himself. Tim Drake, your best friend for over two years. 

He whispers your name. “I did it… because of my own feelings.”

Your breathing stutters. The room falls so silent, you can hear a dog barking somewhere outside and the familiar sound of a wailing ambulance making its way through the city. 

Slowly, you turn back to him. Flash keeps an arm around you, though, fingers tight in the material of your hospital gown.

The look on Tim’s face is unfamiliar.

Mostly because Tim Drake is not desperate. No. Never. And yet, the way he looks at you…

“I didn’t know how to deal with it,” he continues, talking faster, rambling, as if everything inside him is spilling out in this moment. “I-I didn’t want to mess with our friendship. I was worried that you were avoiding me and Red Robin could reach you when I couldn’t but then you started talking to me again and I kept coming back because with the mask, it was easier. I could do things Tim Drake couldn’t.”

He pauses to suck in a breath. He looks unusually pale, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. But the desperation in his gaze doesn’t change. 

“But then it got out of hand. I was lying to you. But I knew if I tried to come to you, you—you would want an explanation and that’s—that’s fine, that’s what you deserve, but that would mean telling you how I felt and I—”

He chokes on his next words. 

“What?” you ask quietly.

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he breathes, agonized. “I-I can’t. Please don’t—”

He stops again, squeezing his eyes shut with a groan.

After a moment, he composes himself, looking at you again, so earnestly, it makes your throat ache. 

“I’m sorry. For everything. I’m so sorry.”

You swallow at the sharp turn this conversation has taken. 

It still hurts, though.

All of it does.

Even the fact that he—he feels the same as you do… it assuages only a small part of the ache. 

And you…

“Okay.”

He swallows audibly, looking torn between hope and agony. “O-Okay?”

“I need… space. Just… I need space.”

Too raw. Too open. The wound is still bleeding. You need it to scab before you can see him again, before you can talk about what all of this means. 

You need time to forgive him.

And with that…

“I’m sorry, too, though. For what it’s worth.”

His eyes are glossy. He blinks a few times, looking away. “You… have nothing to apologize for.”

“Yes, I do,” you whisper. “We both do. And we did. But I think what we need now is some space. Not—not forever, just…”

“I know,” he whispers. 

The two of you look at each other for a long moment.

You’re still hurt. Aching with it. But another part of you still wants to reach for him. Wants to be held. Wants to hold him. 

His eyes are full of the same pain you’re feeling but also full of an open want, a longing, the kind that makes your heart skip a beat. 

But you can’t.

Neither of you can.

Not right now.

“Just tell me when,” he murmurs. “I’ll wait.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

Your throat tightens painfully, eyes stinging once again with oncoming tears as he slowly, reluctantly, turns to leave. 

It’s so obvious he doesn’t want to and one part of you, a big part of you, doesn’t want him to, either.

But this has to happen. 

Once the door shuts behind him, you start crying again. Flash pulls you into his arms again. Steph is right there, too, sidling up on your other side. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Flash doesn’t say anything.

He just holds you.

Later, in the morning, after getting a couple more hours of rest and some breakfast, you finally learn Flash’s name.

Well, it’s only after…

“Linda?”

You blink at the familiar sight of your old regular from Keystone City. Linda Park-West. 

She closes the door behind her, dark eyes sliding to Flash, arching a brow.

“Oh, yeah!”

You look at him and he grins at you, a little apologetic. In the corner, nursing a big cup of coffee, Steph snorts a laugh. 

“Sorry, kiddo,” he says, holding out a hand, giving you a wide smile. “Wally West, at your service.”

Oh. 

“You’re married to her?”

Steph bursts out laughing. Linda does, too.

Flash—Wally, you remind yourself; it fits, it really does—doesn’t take offense. He laughs, too.

“I got lucky,” he informs you ruefully.

“We both did,” Linda amends, sending him a look that is so soft, you have to look away. 

Your eyes catch Steph’s. She pretends to gag. You suppress a smile.

“How are you feeling?” Linda asks, taking the seat by your bed. The one Tim was in.

You close that thought out quickly. Thinking too much about it is going to make you cry and you don’t want to do that right now. You need a distraction. Anything, anyone. 

“Not as bad as I thought I would feel,” you admit.

Barring the more emotional side of it, of course.

There is the fact that the nurse had come in not too long ago to give you another dose of pain medication but after sleeping for a little while longer, upon waking up, even without the immediate relief of pain meds, you felt… okay. Not great but not bad, either. It’s a little strange. 

Linda and Wally share a look.

“Well, that’s good—”

A knock on the door cuts her off. She stands, going over to it. 

Someone says something you can’t hear.

“Oh,” she says. “Really?”

More murmurs.

Steph stands, putting her coffee to the side and joining Linda at the door as the two of them accept something. Multiple somethings. Wally stands, too, going over to help them with… four vases of flowers. What?

“Who is that from?” you ask, bewildered.

One is from the Garricks, who Wally and Linda somehow know personally, one is from… the Pied Piper who didn’t sign off with that, but with his real name, Hartley (Wally has to clear up your confusion by informing you of that connection). Then one from your two regulars, those of which Steph also, apparently, knows personally.

“Babs—Barbara—is a friend slash mentor. And Jean-Paul is, uh, friends with her.”

There seems to be more going on with that but you don’t pry. Neither do Wally or Linda.

The last vase doesn’t have a name—not a full one, anyway. It is simply signed off with H. 

“That’s… nice of her,” you murmur. Surprised but not put-off. Especially after what she did for following the confrontation with Batman, taking time out of her patrol to sit with you and talk. 

Wally frowns, a tad suspicious. “Who—?”

“Huntress,” Steph says. “Tim’s close with her.”

This is news to you. But maybe it shouldn’t be, since she and him as Red Robin seemed so familiar. 

It’s thoughtful—all of this. If not a tiny bit confusing, particularly the stuff from the Garricks and Pied Piper—Hartley. 

“I told Jay and Joan what happened,” Wally tells you. “Barely managed to convince them to stay behind.”

“You… know them?”

“It’s a long story.”

“And… Hartley? I mean, he didn’t—he doesn’t—” 

Still struggling to wrap your head around the fact that he gave his identity up just like that. 

“Hartley likes you,” Wally says in the next minute. “Pretty fond of you, actually. We all are.”

“But… but I’m…” 

You don’t know. You.

Just some kid from Gotham. You’re no one special.

You shake your head, evading Wally’s eyebrow raise. “Anyway, what about the Garricks were you talking about?” 

Wally tells you. Just like Linda was his wife and started coming around to Circle K because of him, the Garricks did the same. But it’s not just because of that—Jay Garrick is a Flash. The first of them, actually. 

“Uh,” Steph says, unsure. “Should I still be here?”

“Are you going to snitch?” Wally asks.

“Of course not,” she huffs. “I have a secret of my own, too.”

“Then we’re fine.”

“Right…”

“We aren’t Batman,” he says dryly. “I mean, discretion is key, yes, but you have the bonus of being a vigilante and being her friend. So, it’s fine for you to know this stuff.”

“Oh.” She seems lost on that prospect of trust. “Thank you.”

Wally sighs, looking at her, then at Linda. “I swear, even when he’s not within five miles of me, he’s still pissing me off.”

Oh. 

It all comes back to Batman, it seems.

Linda sits back down, rolling her eyes. “I know. He’s a… real piece of work.”

Steph snorts. “Oh, yeah.”

You look at Linda. “So, then, Linda, can I ask why you’re here? You—I mean, I don’t mind! It’s just… the kids… and I’m sure you have better things to be doing…”

As you say that, you realize that her kids—the twins, Jai and Iris, then baby Wade—are also Wally’s kids. 

God, today is so insane.

Linda gives you an evaluating look. “I wanted to be here.”

“It’s true,” Wally adds. “Threatened to hop onto a plane if I didn’t bring her here.”

She nods proudly when you look at her. Steph muffles a laugh into her fist.

You smile, too, shaking your head.

“And the twins are staying with the Garricks right now,” Wally adds. “So is Wade. They’re alright. Though we might bring Wade over here, depending on how long it takes you to recover.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Steph stretches her arms above her head. “And with that… good luck with this one, you two. I’m gonna head downstairs for some breakfast.”

“Bring me back a cookie,” Wally calls.

“No,” she says, then slips out.

You ignore that, looking at Linda, who gazes at you patiently, then at Wally, who grimaces a little.

“What was she talking about?”

Wally looks at Linda and takes a deep breath.

“We’re staying. Just for a little while.”

“Why? What about Keystone? And Central?”

“There’s Jay,” Linda says. “And Flash and Kid Flash. They’ve got it handled.”

Wally nods in agreement.

“Okay… but why?”

He sighs, looking at you. “So, we can stay to help take care of you while you recover.”

It takes a second.

But when it does…

“No.”

He says your name.

You shake your head. “No, no, no, I-I can take care of myself. I can—I mean, Steph—”

“She wanted to, initially,” Linda informs you. “She and her mother. But she has her internship and her mother is a nurse. Wally isn’t currently working—”

“Excuse you. I’m a stay-at-home dad,” he interjects. 

“My apologies. He’s doing that,” Linda says diplomatically, though you can see the amusement twinkling in her eyes. “As for me, I’m working on finishing a book right now. With the kids out, if only for a brief period of time, we’re free.”

“But I can take care of myself, I mean, it’s not—”

“That bad?” Wally asks, cutting in a bit sharply. “You were stabbed. A few inches to the left and it would’ve hit your kidney. You got lucky, kid.”

“And what are you?” you snap. “My dad?”

Silence.

Tears of humiliation burn in your eyes. You squeeze them shut, reaching up to press the heels of your hands into your eyes.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Sorry.”

“I’m not your dad,” Wally says quietly. “That’s not what we’re trying to do here. We—I—care about you. Let’s just leave it at that.” 

You sniffle, dropping your hands from your eyes. “Okay. I get it. Sorry.”

He sighs. “I know it’s hard. I know you’ve been taking care of yourself on your own for a while. But you don’t have to anymore. Alright? This isn’t—it’s not some kind of moral obligation I’m fulfilling. If you don’t want anything to do with me, because of the whole… superhero thing, that’s fine. But I’m doing this ‘cause I want to.”

“We want to,” Linda amends.

Your next words choke you, lodging in your throat with the honesty of them, the vulnerability.

But you have to say it. Knowing why Wally wants to, just because he cares and nothing else to it… he has to know. He has to know that—

“It’s not like that for me,” you mutter. “The risk, I don’t care about the risk. I don’t care about any of that.”

“It’s okay if you do,” he says gently.

“The trade-off, if I did, is not worth it. I would lose too much and I can’t. I can’t…” 

Not after your parents. Not when you finally have people who want you, who are choosing to be here once again.

Steph. Wally. Linda. Tim. All of them. 

You don’t care about that. 

You know what it’s like to have nothing. And maybe your chances of losing them are higher now, knowing what you know about them, but the chances of them being able to protect themselves are higher, too. Whatever happens to you because of it is a mere afterthought to you. 

So, you would rather have them with the chance of danger than nothing at all.

“Aw, kid,” he mutters, rising from his chair at the same time that you sit up. He wraps his arms around in the next second. He’s warm, so very warm, and smells like sunscreen and coffee. Linda sets a hand on your leg, squeezing gently. 

His heart beats steadily against your ear. You release a shuddery breath.

You can’t ever let this go. 

You can’t.

But the way Wally holds you tell you he isn’t going to let you go, either, and it’s a promise. 

Steph returns with a couple cookies for Wally, and with Crystal in tow. She doesn’t work at this hospital—University Medical—and she wasn’t able to get here until her shift was over. Though she sheds no tears, you can tell she was worried. 

You nervously introduce her to Wally and Linda. They both easily come up with a cover story about knowing you from Keystone. You can tell she thinks it’s all a bit fishy but she doesn’t say anything.

You understand why when Wally and Linda step out to take some calls. 

“So, you found out, huh?” she asks, eyebrow raising, eyes flickering to Steph, who smiles sheepishly.

It takes a second for you to understand.

“Wait, you know?”

She gives you an affronted look. “Of course I know. I’ve known since she was a teen. Didn’t like her doing it back then but she obviously never listened.”

“I listened!” she protests.

Crystal gives her a look.

She chuckles nervously and amends, “I listened a little.”

“A little,” Crystal says dryly. “Then you were right back in it again. No matter. Can’t change it, especially since she’s over eighteen and well, she’s got some good people looking out for her.”

Your eyes shoot to Steph’s. Does she know…?

A subtle shake of the head. Ah. Well, you suppose Steph doesn’t need to give away identities to assure her mother she is okay. Hanging with the likes of the Bats and the Batman himself, it gives an undeniable kind of credibility. 

“Yeah,” you say. “Guess she does.”

Crystal’s eyes catch the flowers. “That’s sweet. Who are those from?”

“Old friends from Keystone. Wally and Linda kinda spread the word among the regulars. Old regulars, I mean.”

“Nice of them.” A cursory look around the room. A frown. “Has Tim visited?”

Your heart squeezes painfully, your breathing stuttering.

“He did,” Steph says quickly. “Earlier, this morning. He had to fly out of the city, though, for some WE stuff in California.”

“He couldn’t have cancelled?” she asks, peeved. 

“It’s okay,” you say, clearing your throat. “It was a really important meeting, I think. He said he would, um, call and stuff.”

She huffs. “Well, the least he could do is send some flowers, too.”

“You know Timothy, Mom. Not that great with the ladies or gentlemen.”

You laugh, surprising yourself. Steph beams. 

Crystal smiles, too, shaking her head. “I suppose so.” 

She and Steph stay for a little while longer before they have to leave. Crystal to go home and rest and Steph for work. 

“Tell me what the doctor says,” she says to you. “And let me know if you need anything. And I mean anything. My supervisor can suck it.”

“No, Steph, she cannot. You need this work.”

She pouts. “I guess.”

“Don’t fret,” you say dryly. “You aren’t the only hero coddling me.”

“True!” She leans forward to hug you and you go easily.

She presses her nose to your hair, sighing. “I’m glad you’re okay, you know that, right?”

“I know, Stephie.”

“And…” she pulls away to look at you, guilt in her blue eyes. “I’m sorry. I was… indrectly lying to you, too. I knew what Tim was doing and I never—”

“Hey,” you say softly, cutting her off. “It’s okay. I mean I… yeah, I would’ve liked to know, just ‘cause we’ve been friends for so long…”

“I was going to tell you,” she confesses. “In June, actually, but then Tim started acting like an idiot and it just got so…”

You crack a smile. “Complicated?”

“Complicated,” she agrees, smiling, too. “But still. I’m sorry.”

“I know. Thank you.”

She kisses your head. “Get some rest. I’ll swing by later, if you aren’t already discharged.”

“Okay.”

She steps out and Wally and Linda both step back in. 

Seems like they both went downstairs to the cafeteria. The former has another handful of cookies in hand.

“Want one?” he asks around a mouthful.

“It’s nine in the morning.”

“So?”

“I’d take it,” Linda says. “It’s a rare privilege for him to share food.”

“I share food with you,” he protests. “And the kids. And Hartley and Dick and—”

“Yes,” she says dryly. “That’s the point. Only with people you love.”

“Oh.” He looks at you. “That’s true.”

“I’ll take the cookie,” you quickly say, if only not to think about what that means.

He gives you the cookie.

You’re unwrapping it when your doctor pops in. Dr. Scott is a kind, if not harried, woman. Working at a Gotham hospital does that to you, you suppose. She tells you the scans they did came out fine, showing not too much internal damage, nothing you can’t come back from and that they weren’t able to fix, and that they gave you a booster against potential infection from the knife. She says you’ll be discharged at the end of the day, too.

That’s a relief, though you’re still not looking forward to the hospital bill.

When you mention that, they both tell you it’s being taken care of.

“Wait a second—”

“Not us,” Linda says. “We did offer but Tim said he would take care of it. It’s not quite better, we feel, since there are… others who might owe you that much—”

“No kidding,” Wally mutters.

“But he insisted,” she finishes.

“No,” you say. “No way, that’s—that’s too much—”

“You can’t afford it, though,” Wally points out a bit ruthlessly. “Just let the kid do it. He’s got the money for it.”

“But—”

“You can bring it up with him,” Linda cuts in. “But for now, it’s taken care of.”

Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised. Tim… isn’t exactly ostentatious about the money he comes from. Not in the way some of other rich boys of the city can be. But he does things like this sometimes. Back during your internship with Quickstart Enterprises, he flew both himself and Steph out for Thanksgiving break. Not to celebrate the accursed holiday, no way, but because you had the time off, time they would gladly monopolize to help you relax some and finally enjoy yourself.

In that time, he got all of you a room at the Four Seasons in Central, saying, for one, the three of them couldn’t fit into your tiny studio. You pointed out they could just stay at a hotel nearby. But they both wanted all of you to be together. And of course, you couldn’t just go for the nearest Holiday Inn, it was the freakin’ Four Seasons. 

Obviously, you don’t begrudge him for it. It was fun and it was nice sleeping on a proper mattress with thousand-count sheets and having them within reach. 

He just… he does things like that. You had to take a summer class last year, after failing it the semester before, but your degree plan didn’t allow for any re-takes, not unless you wanted to throw your schedule way off course. He paid for it. 

Steph understands your wariness about it. Crystal doesn’t make loads of money on a nurse’s salary. 

It’s hard, she once said to you, because it feels like you’re being judged, right? For not having the means to do it yourself? But really, for Tim, that doesn’t even cross his mind. He just… he takes care of his friends. It’s really as simple as that. I know it’s still hard, though, so… handle it how you see fit.

Handling it, for you, meant paying for snacks and tickets every time the two of you went to the movies. He let you, understanding why. Not without reiterating that you didn’t have to pay him back, that he did it to help you, because you’re friends, but still. 

Back then, even with that, things were so much simpler.

You sigh, leaning back against the bed, heeding Wally’s advice to take a nap.

Things won’t be like that ever again but… you hope you can achieve some semblance of it. 

With time, you think you can.

reblogs are appreciated!

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[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Things I was happy about in the episode:

Pretty much everything actually. The Fukuchi 36 years reveal was rushed due to the pacing but it made sense and finally explained why the hell he would go about blowing up the world when he was so motivated by the horrors of war. It also leads itself into some interesting questions for later. But I'll list some other highlights:

The pretty flashbacks

Aya and Bram :) Also Bram getting his body back.

Whoever "that man" was that Fyodor mentioned. I am intrigued tell me more. Does this mean that Fyodor was projecting his feelings towards his rivalry with an ex onto Dazai. That would be so funny. (Also I wonder about his age still... how long ago are we talking?)

Dazai's strength explicitly being stated as the absolute trust he has in his allies, as opposed to Fyodor's need for complete control. <-I mean. We all knew but it's the confirmation that's nice.

Nikolai's conflicted emotions on Fyodor's death getting focus and attention - and Dazai not saying anything and just letting him feel whatever he's feeling. My poor jester lad.

Chuuya trying and failing to pull the fangs out of his mouth

Poor Teruko having to deliver the final blow

Semi-confirmed old man yaoi??? Like. The way that whole scene was framed between Teruko, Fukuchi, and Fukuzawa. Um.

Fukuchi's dying moments. Fukuzawa trying and failing to throw away One Order. The most emotional and devastated we've ever seen him. Ranpo knowing he can't throw it away. For all I was saying earlier, guys I'm so so glad he isn't dead.

Whatever that last bit was??? Are we changing the setting? Is this what happens after the other side of the Page is activated? Are we pulling in mythology? Sskk complete confidence and Atsushi smiling at Akutagawa? Hell yeah?????

Things I am not sure yet how to feel about:

Fyodor's apparent death. If he really did just die and won't be back in any capacity... it's kind of a let down. He. Barely did anything. But I feel like there's still going to be something. Like even if he's dead for good he'll still haunt the story in some way.

Hope they do something more with Teruko after this. Interesting to have her end things like that but. Please can we elaborate on her more. Other than just she had feelings for him. Please.

No involvement from Yosano or Kyouka or Kouyou. I get that it was already busy and crammed enough as is, so it wouldn't have worked to shoehorn them in at this point but. Please do something with them in the next arc.

Things I did not like:

...Chuuya wasn't really a vampire he was just wearing contacts and glue in fangs the entire time. 🙄

[sirfrogsworth]

Thoughts on Live Action Avatar: TLA

I'm sure people are going to hate this. Some for valid reasons. Some because of endless nitpicking that really has no bearing on how good or bad it actually was. Some because they have already chosen to hate it and it's just a self-fulfilling prophecy.

But I always root for things to be good. I want them to succeed. And I always go into everything I watch with the hope and expectation it will be good. I turn off my critical brain and try to just experience the show for what it is. As I said, I saw no trailers. I read no reviews. I knew almost nothing about the production of this going in.

Initially, things were rough... buddy.

And I think that is a longstanding problem with live action TV shows in general. I am always reminded of Star Trek TNG and how it took two seasons (48 episodes) before they figured out what the hell they were doing. Back then shows were able to find their footing and grow and learn. Actors were given time to find their characters and understand them and finally become them.

But now, every show has to be amazing from the start or they get cancelled. And I think people have become very unforgiving of first seasons as well. I feel like not enough people consider the potential of something getting better. And I think that is a shame.

So, yes, Avatar started out rough. They tried to cram all of the exposition into the first 20 minutes. And that was unpleasant. The effects were jarring at first. It is incredibly difficult to translate animation into live action. And please don't say the CGI was "bad." It wasn't. There was just so much that needed to be packed into every frame of this show to make it work, and finding a way to make it all seamlessly blend is a monumental task. I think the artists did an amazing job with the constraints of essentially making an 8 hour movie in the time usually given a 2 hour one.

But as the show continued, the actors seemed more comfortable in their roles. The showrunners seemed to figure out what worked and what didn't. The quality across the board started to improve. Especially when they started to deviate a little bit from following the cartoon. I also noticed that the effects that were jarring in the beginning eventually stopped bothering me and breaking immersion. I got used to them and was able to just focus on the story. And I think they got a little better as well. The bending was much more convincing as the show progressed. And it was a bajillion times better than the slow-motion bending of that movie that shall not be named.

And by the final episode, I was all in. The Avatar monster was really cool. And I was crying my eyes out and having all kinds of emotions. And there were some changes they made to the story which I actually thought made more sense. And I was glad this show was doing a few things to differentiate rather than being an exact carbon copy.

It won me over.

And I know it won't do that for everyone. And perhaps I am forgiving a lot of sins just because I wanted it to be good. The original was my absolute favorite show of all time. I just liked spending time with these characters again.

But I liked it more than I didn't and I'm hoping that is the general consensus, but I fear that is not the case.

Things I really liked...

I thought the actor playing Sokka was really great. They didn't give him enough humorous material. But I think this kid absolutely nailed the role. And if this gets another season, I do hope he can show Sokka's lighter side a bit more.

Ken Leung also did amazing as Zhao. I think he surpassed his cartoon counterpart in villainy. I loved hating him.

The final battle was beautiful. I think they probably dedicated a lot of resources to that. Maybe at the expense of other things. But I think it was worth it to end strong.

In the first season of the cartoon, the trauma was often skipped over or kept very brief. I'm sure the idea of dealing with genocide and war time trauma was not an easy sell to Nickelodeon initially. But they did actually take the time to show some of that trauma, especially with Katara and Sokka. And I cried a bunch.

They seemed to go to considerable effort to have a diverse cast. I am glad they learned that lesson from the movie.

That said, they probably could have brought back Dee Bradley Baker to make the animal noises. This might have been an overcorrection...

I guess this will give the anti-wokesters something to complain about since the original was already super woke and it is probably a challenge to complain about the new thing being woke as well. Though I'm sure they are up to the challenge.

Things I didn't care for...

The compressed timeline caused a few stories to be combined and accelerated. I understand why that was necessary. But there were some important moments of character growth that got lost.

Sokka's missing sexism. I think it is much more useful to see someone grow and change and let go of their problematic traits than to pretend that never existed. Sokka's sexism was a symbol of the conservative views within water tribe culture in general. It was also foreshadowing for the conflict with Pakku (which was also minimized). I just think young viewers seeing a character overcome ingrained ideals has a greater influence than just erasing that aspect from the character.

Things I hated...

Princess Yue's hair. You get the amazing Amber Midthunder to play Yue, and she does an amazing job with extremely abbreviated screen time, but I couldn't stop staring at whatever that was they put on her noggin. I know I criticized people for nitpicking, but that was very distracting. I don't know exactly how it could have been done better, but I worry a great performance is going to get overshadowed by... hair.

In conclusion...

I think the people making this show loved the source material. I can see that love. I think they tried very hard to make the best show possible. And I also know they are probably going to get a lot of hate. I still haven't looked at the reviews because I didn't want to be influenced when writing this. But I can feel the review bombing as we speak.

But this was not a Witcher situation where the writers didn't respect the source material. This was displaying how incredibly difficult it is to convert one of the most beautifully animated shows in existence into live action. Maybe that is an argument for not making live action versions. Though I usually love them when they work and am happy both versions exist.

I really hope people can remember the original still exists and they can completely disregard this and watch the cartoon any time they wish. This doesn't have to "ruin their childhood." These two things can exist and everyone is perfectly capable of ignoring all of the live action material.

But I do hope this gets another season. I think that final episode showed the potential. I think the cast was getting comfortable in their roles and they deserve another chance to show what they can do.

I love Paul Sun-Hyung Lee and I think he was a great choice for Iroh. But Mako's shoes are probably the biggest shoes in the existence of shoes to try and fill. I do not envy the task he was given. But every once in a while I saw that Mako spirit come out in his performance and I think he could use another season to really find that and show us what he is capable of.

This felt a lot like The Phantom Menace to me. There was actually a ton of amazing stuff to love in that movie. But it didn't quite work the way the original movies did. But I think this was good enough to hope for the future.

[wrathful--artist]

The Caged Bird and The Chased Mouse

Part 1! \/

Okay so this idea wont leave me, genshin Sagau, classic isekai imposter scenario, but you didnt do the main sumeru story quest yet (like i did on my account, I did everything else, except the story when it came out). I’m so sorry if I mess up characterization, spelling, or general writing structure, I don’t write often.

WARNING FOR: Swearing (F-word and thats it)

So let me set the scene:

You have been isekai’ d into the Genshin world and you’re the creator but its an imposter situation. You’ve been to every other region and have been chased out, betrayed by characters you love and trust. You venture into Sumeru, with an idea of the layout but no clue of what will come next when you step into Sumeru City.

You walk into Sumeru City, amazed by the architecture in person but wary of what might happen if people catch a glimpse of your face. You wander around, just listening to conversations and seeing what foods they have to offer, eventually ending up near the Academiya. You consider if you want to set foot into the daunting structure, considering it looks guarded well and if something went wrong you’d be in the deepest trouble, unsure how the Archon of the region would react to you (poorly you assume). But against your best judgement you start walking in, far too curious for your own good. You get a handful of steps into the building until you run into who looks like a playable character, one you haven’t met before but vaguely remember from the leaks. With grey hair and skin tight shirt, look at you with suspicious, I mean who wouldn’t be suspicious of someone in a cloak that you can’t see their face.

“….” He stares at you with an intense gaze, as if we can see right through your disguise, you’re hoping he can’t actually do that.

“Well it seems we have a newcomer, hello there.” He finally speaks, “My akasha doesn’t seem to know who you are, are you new to Sumeru?”

‘Akasha?’ You think, regretting the fact you didn’t play the story quests before getting sent here. You stay silent, unsure how to respond.

“Are you, or are you not? I’d like an answer or else i’m afraid I’ll have to call the guards.” He adds the last part, to add pressure to you.

“Yes, yes! I’m new to Sumeru and I thought I might take a look at the illustrious Aca- uhm, Academiya!” You mess up on the last part, nearly forgetting the name of the building you’re in.

The grey hair man gives a hum in acknowledgment, but doesn’t give any indication that he fully believes you. You’re getting more nervous as the pause stretches on and curse at your idiotic curiosity, you’re praying to whatever higher being thats left in Tevyat to have this guy to let you go. He starts to circle you, taking in your outfit and body language.

“Alright, well, do make sure you don’t cause too much of distraction, the students need their focus.” He finally breaks his silence and gets out of your way. You let out the biggest breath out in relief, the guy absolutely catches it but you don’t care enough at the moment while your body pumps adrenaline. You debate with yourself if you actually want to continue in self or just run out, but decide it’d look far more suspicious to just run out after that exchange. You give a nod to him and start walking to the main door, you’re able to see some books so you assume you’re walking into a library.

Once you enter room and get near the middle, you’re in awe of how large the room is, how high the books reach, and just how many books are crammed in one room. You imagine you could start reading and wouldn’t finish all the books in the library by the time you die. You start walking around the room, with an odd feeling as you walk around, as if someone was watching you, but you brush it off as someone took notice of the weirdo walking through their space. Once you finish that you start your walk out of the Academiya, entirely done of it’s stuffy feeling that you’d mostly ignored.

As you walked out your foot catches a ledge making you fall to the floor, with your hood pulling back enough to show your face, you yelp.

You catch yourself before your face makes contact with the floor, not taking notice that the hood had fallen back. People started to look where the noise came from and stare in shock at seeing the creator’s- no, the Imposters face. You notice the attention on you and reach up to the hood, and pale when you realize what had happened.

You book it.

You run back into the Akademiya, with a vague idea of an escape ruin, you take left and start running up the wooden ramp. You can hear calls of “GET THEM” behind you, thats starting to gain on you. You run through the almost maze-like path with your feet pounding on the stone with students looking at you with bewilderment. Your cloak flipping behind you as you start to get closer to the top, with your ripped clothes underneath showcasing your struggles from the other three Nations.

You reach the top and jump forward, avoiding the spears of guards and get to the large green door, unsure of what’s behind but hoping, hoping to the fake stars above that it’s a safe place. You struggle to get it open but get yourself in and quickly slam the doors shut. You can hear pounding but it doesn’t seem like the door is going to open, you slowly step away and turn around to assess the room you’ve entered. As you look to the orb in the middle to walk forward to get a better look of what seemed to be inside-

Oh your stars.

That’s a fucking child.

What the fuck.

You stare in shock at the little girl seemingly trapped in a green orb in a large empty room. She’s looking at you.

You start walking even closer, she follows the movement. She isn’t scared or mad or venomous, she just watches. You try reaching your hand up to touch her prison, only then realizing that it was too high up for you to touch. She seems to understand what you want to do and touches the wall of her prison, a ghost of a hand touch. You sit down after a few minutes of starring at each other, and yawn. You havent slept in a while due to circumstances, so you lay your head down knowing that any second they could come and get you but honestly, you just wanted a rest and get away from this new reality you’ve found yourself in. You drift off and all you hear is..

“Everything will be okay.”

_____________________________________________

Okay so,, i really hope people like this, this was just my thought to the screen and I’m very willing to make a part two!

I also added a doodle because i done know thought it’d add to the story

[ofsappho]

Heartless, Chapter 3

🔞 Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader 🔞

Fake marriage/marriage of convenience, SMUT

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The morning after. Tags under the read more.

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Tags: degradation kink, praise kink, facefucking, they make each other worse as always, pet names (same as last chapter), idk this is just smut and no plot

-

You begin your second day as a wife on your knees.

Ghost has to sit on the edge of the bed for you to suck his dick. When he stands, he’s too tall, and you can’t reach him comfortably.

He has your freshly-washed hair gathered in one hand as you work.

You already established last night that he was very well-endowed, and blowing Ghost might be a challenge to a lesser mortal. But you are many things, and a quitter is not one of them.

You hollow your cheeks as you bob your mouth up and down on his cock, your fist working in tandem to stimulate the length you can’t fit in your throat just yet.

He has a beautiful, almost angrily-hard dick, about as thick as your wrist, and just looking at it is enough to make your stomach tighten. Like a Pavlovian response beginning to beat itself into your body, first the sight of Lt. Riley’s cock, then your hollow, empty cunt aches.

Ghost seems to be stoic and silent in every situation other than sex. You appreciate how he lets his mouth run and run, desperate noise after desperate noise. It lets you know that you’re doing something right.

He’s letting out these groans, not quite whimpers, but if you keep sucking, you can probably get him there. Deep, raspy, overlaid with the disgustingly sloppy wet sounds of your saliva and his pre-cum dripping out of your stretched-wide mouth and down on your fingers. 

His fingers tighten in your hair. “Fuck, fuck, yeah, just like that,” Ghost moans, rolling his hips into your face to cram as much of himself down your throat as he can.

He tastes salty, musky, maybe some secret third thing. It’s like a fucking aphrodisiac, and it keeps you focused on the prize - getting him to come harder than he ever has before.

What can you say? You’re competitive.

You pull your lips away for a second to trace the vein that runs along the underside of his dick with your tongue. Though Ghost protests and wrenches your hair sharply, trying to get your mouth back where he wants it, you merely smile and catch your breath.

Your fingers barely touch when you take him in your hand and let him fuck your hand.

Since you won’t cooperate, he forces you to rest your head on his denim-covered thigh, using your hair as leverage.

Little jolts of pain sketch through your scalp and down your neck. Between that and the brewing arousal that rages like a wildfire between your thighs, leaving you dripping out all over the floor… your begging whine is almost louder than his.

Ghost twists his wrist again. “C’mon, doll. Do it properly, or not at all,” He hisses as he wedges his boot between your thighs, encouraging you to grind your underwear-clad cunt on his shoe.

Your eyes roll back from the ache and the position he has you in, your neck stretched so you can’t close your jaw. “I- I-“ You gasp. Your fist doesn’t stop moving on his dick, even though you can barely focus, even though your hips rock on his boot, and the stimulation sends shockwaves of pleasure through your aroused clit.

He sits up to clasp a gloved hand around your jaw. “Where’s that smart mouth now?” You feel him shove a couple of fingers in your mouth and hook them behind your teeth.

Then he moves his boot, forcing your underwear to twist into your soaking folds, and you jerk upright with an open-mouthed moan. “Open up.” That’s the opportunity he was waiting for.

Ghost feeds his cock into your mouth slowly, slow enough that if you really wanted to, you could pull back and end this.

You must remind yourself to breathe through your nose and tamp down on the primal instinct to choke as he begins to fuck your face. “Good girl, shit.” When you chance an upwards look, Ghost’s head is tilted back in pleasure.

You watch those pretty pale lashes flutter, and the mask rides up with each labored inhale like your wet mouth is sucking out his soul. Good.

Good. That sight alone of your new husband unhinged and overwhelmed with trembling fingers that can barely keep your mouth under control…

Your moans vibrate around his sensitive flesh, sparking a fresh wave of salty pre-cum to mix with the messy saliva drooling all over your tits.

His dick twitches when he picks up the pace, hips meeting your face more forcefully. “Think- fuck, think you can take the rest?” Ghost pants.

When you think you might flash him a dirty look or a pointed glare, he intentionally guides your face up to thrust the blunt, thick tip of his cock against your soft palate.

He’s making you choke just because he can.

Any resistance goes straight out the fucking window with that single, elegantly-done exercise of power. “Shit, what’s wrong with me? You’re too cock-dumb to answer.” There’s no room in your brain for listening comprehension. He’s fucking it out of you, and you’re too busy trying to breathe and maybe come in your panties before he notices to care.

The very moment you surrender fully with a slumped spine and numb knees, your hands weakly braced on his shins, Ghost slips himself a few inches further into your throat. “Gonna make me come in your mouth if you’re not careful, pretty girl.” It wouldn’t be physically possible for any human to deep-throat this man.

You change tactics in your determination to at least try.

Succumbing, giving in, letting him chase his release as he groans and tells you how wonderful you are, all of that helps open your throat up as far as it can go.

Ghost doesn’t slow down or anything, not really. But as he speaks, as he thrusts his cock between your bruised lips, he tucks some stray hair out of your face.

The softness alerts your lizard brain that you should listen, getting past your wonderful, blissed-out brain fog by waving a giant mental flare. “You want it? Yeah?” Oh shit. Yeah.

What, is he seriously asking whether or not you want him to blow a load in your mouth while you’re gunning for personal best head?

Your eyes go from teary, hazy, and half-lidded to sharp and cutting instantly.

Ghost understands without any further input on your part, which is good because you’re now focusing your remaining half brain cell on actively sucking. You’re a little too busy to elaborate. “You’re- fuck, fuck that’s incredible- you’re askin’ for it,” He tells you, looking down at you like a god. You hear a hitch in his breathing, and his dick hardens.

He’s close, but you think he needs something more-

You lathe your tongue along the underside of the meaty, bulbous head, stroking as much as possible.

Ghost is a goner.  “I’m coming-“ He chokes out before spilling salty cum down your throat and fucking it in with a few prolonging thrusts.

You like watching him come, particularly from this vantage point. The mask has ridden up so far that it exposes most of his pale throat, and you can see how dewy his skin is with sweat. His muscled chest rises and falls, Ghost has the new bed sheets clenched in a death grip as he empties himself between your lips.

He’s fucking alive.

You’d like to watch him come again sometime, just like this.

You pull back first with a sputtering cough. Neither a clean swallow nor a graceful spit is available to you right now, not after the volume of sticky white cum in your mouth and the critical lack of oxygen you endured for the sake of it.

You end up halfway between the two. It takes some careful breathing to avoid getting anything in your windpipe, and most of it drips down your breasts and stains the bra you foolishly put on after your shower this morning.

Dammit. You’ll have to wash it sooner rather than later and by hand, so that a washing machine won’t ruin the fabric.

You’re up off your knees without a second thought, stumbling through the pins and needles digging into your feet so you can get this bra off.

One of your hands struggles with moving the clasp to your front so you can pop it quickly while the other swipes at your mouth, just to clear up more of Ghost’s spend from distracting you.

You turn away from him and ignore the rustling sounds behind you. As far as you’re concerned, your job is done, and successfully so.

Cold water lifts bodily fluid stains like period blood out of clothes. It will probably do the trick for this bodily fluid.

You don’t make it three steps toward the bathroom before Ghost speaks up in a low, raspy voice. “The fuck you think you’re going?” That’s the sound of trouble. It promises all sorts of horrible things.

You turn around, suppressing the shiver sweeping down your spine. “I need to soak this in the sink? So… it doesn’t stain?” Then you hold up your bra, so the pearls of cum on the pretty lace shine in the light.

Ghost slips his mask back into its rightful place. “Nah,” He casually grunts, as if he’s entitled to order you around.

He thinks there’s no chance you’ll put up a real fight and that you ending back up in his arms is a foregone conclusion.

The awful thing is that he’s not wrong. “No?” You enjoy how he leverages that rough, cocky attitude against you way more than you should. For your health.

Sunshine dances across his mask when he tilts his head. “Nope. Get back here.” The white skull seems fiercer and more menacing, making his bearing threatening and inhuman.

“But my bra is going to stain,” You tell him, letting your vocal fry morph the words into something that hopefully sounds like a cheese grater to his British ears.

Ghost tucks his dick away and zips his fly up before sitting forward.“Woman. Not gonna play your game.” His voice echoes off the walls, and it leaves you helpless, caught like a deer in his headlights.

That is not a tone that should be used in the bedroom. It would better suit a battlefield, demanding submission from a broken enemy.

“I’ll buy you a new one. Get your pretty arse over here.”

Heat flashes under your skin, curling and wriggling through your veins, and you’re reminded of just how uncomfortable your damp underwear feels.

Ugh. Your bra will have to wait. “Better make this worth it.” You take all the time in the world walking back to bed. Just to be… tedious.

Ghost’s gaze never leaves you, and you doubt he blinks more than once. It’s one thing to call you pretty. Anyone can do that.

It’s another thing entirely for him to gorge on the sight of your curves, the softness of your arms, and the round weight of your breasts with starving desperation.

He pats a gloved hand on his lap. “You always this ornery?” Ghost asks as you oblige and straddle his thighs. Even when you’re standing above him, he’s still tall enough to have his face level with your tits.

Then he takes his gloves off to run his hands up the back of your thighs. “I haven’t had my coffee yet.” It tickles when he swirls his fingers across your skin, stroking circles into your ass before kneading the flesh.

Your giggle rings out sun-bright and earnest, and you watch his eyes blink a few times at the sound.

Ghost snaps out of his daze in an instant. “Coffee? We’ve gotta teach you some better taste,” He says as his hands wander to your waist. One lingers there while the other goes down your front, down to your thigh.

You widen your stance without thinking, your body practically begging him to slip his fingers between your legs. “I thought you enjoyed my taste last night.” 

Ghost rolls his eyes. “Fuckin’-“ He shuts you up by shoving your underwear to the side and circling his thumb on your clit.

If he weren’t holding you up by your hips, you would’ve dropped to your knees in surprise. “Doll. Listen to me. Are you listening?” He asks, lowering his voice into a mean-spirited purr as he watches you tremble.

Your muscles clench down on the single finger he presses inside as soon as you feel him begin to pump in and out. “God- fuck, Ghost… please…” You moan with your eyes closed, too overwhelmed to look at his heated gaze.

He kisses your hip through his balaclava. “When I let go, you’re gonna take these off, get up here, and sit that pretty, needy cunt on my face.” He punctuates each word with a thrust and a matching, torturous grind against your swollen clit.

Ghost seems content to watch you squirm and rock on his hand. There’s a little too much glee in his touch, in his tense arms. You’re more or less incoherent, and he is relishing in it. Damn him. Shit.

You breathe fast, trying to take in enough air to distract you from the hot, burning pleasure coiling in your pussy. “Oh… oh my god- wait, wait, just be careful.”

“Careful?” He slips his finger out so you can articulate properly before wiping off the slick arousal on your skin.

You maxed out on the ability to hold yourself up unsupported while you were sucking his dick.  “My, um, my back. I can’t, like, hover or anything. If I’m sitting, I’m sitting,” You warn. Your thighs will suffocate him, you’re sure of it, and that’s probably not what he wants.

Your back muscles twinge at the thought. There are some things you can do for a very short amount of time, and this is one of them. You’re not eager to push your limits for his benefit.

Ghost’s company is tolerable. You might go so far as to say enjoyable. But do you trust him? No. You weren’t born yesterday, even though you were married then.

You hear the crack of his palm against your ass before you feel the sting. It hurts like a shot of good vodka, the pain turning into lit gasoline for your desire.

He knows how to smack someone and do it well. There’s an art to these things - too little force, and you’re left unimpressed; too much force, and it feels like a dull thud, like falling to the ground.

At a later date, you’re going to get Ghost to treat you further to his hand. “Ain’t that what I told ya? No hovering. I know you heard me through this mask,” He demands in a voice that rolls fiercer than thunder.

He slaps your ass again, this time with a vengeance.

Ghost digs his nails into the spot he hit. “I- I did.” You squirm as you speak. Tomorrow that will bruise something fierce. You bruise easily, and you’re eager to show him what it looks like, how pretty the blue and black will shine on your skin.

With your obedience well in hand, Ghost lays back on the bed. “Come on. Tap my hand if you need a break, love.” You wait until he has his mask up halfway before you peel the last of your clothes off.

A flash of a generous pale-lipped mouth and a sharp, squared-off jaw teases you. You look away once your brain registers what you see, mindful of his barbed-wire boundaries.

Just as you’re about to swing a leg over his chest, Ghost stops you. “And don’t you ever fuckin’ assume I don’t mean what I say.” The bottom of your stomach drops out.

How can his ability to terrify you remain unchanged even when you’re literally on top of him?

Ghost hooks one large palm around the back of your knee to guide you into place. “Good girl,” He tells you before pulling your hips towards his open, wet mouth.

He puts some force into it, leaving you no choice but to sit and rock your cunt against him.

God, that feels good.

The pleasure blooms hot and heady in your core, unspooling shaky moans from your throat. He parts your folds with his tongue, alternating between fucking you with it and gently licking at your clit.

You can feel his groans vibrating through your sensitive flesh, his hands tightening on your thighs like he can’t get enough, like he could lie here and eat you out forever.

Your hair sticks to your sweat-slick neck as he helps you grind, instinctively supporting your lower back, so all you have to focus on is his mouth, the slick arousal dripping from your spasming pussy, and your denied orgasm from earlier surging with vicious, angry force.

You keep your hands planted on the wall in front of you, and you’re sure you’ll leave nail marks in the paint by the time he decides to let you go. “Oh- oh my god, Ghost, I’m fucking-“ You whine, embarrassingly loud as he takes your clit between his lips and sucks, and then keeps that up, you feel yourself clench and twitch with each motion.

When you try to move away, he merely growls and forces you back down, this time tormenting your pussy like he’s got something to fucking prove. He’s still mad that you left him on the bed after blowing him, isn’t he?

He doesn’t take breaks. He doesn’t stop to breathe. Ghost somehow accomplishes the impossible and constantly mouths at your reddened, sensitive cunt, drinking up your slick like a starved man.

You peek between your thighs, over your rounded belly, only to find his eyes half-lidded in what looks like ecstasy. As if he’s getting off on this almost as much as you are. You don’t need to hear his voice to know that.

Something sharpens in his gaze, and you find yourself melting, quivering, struggling as he finds the right pressure to hold you down. “Please, please, more…” Your voice rises into a wail.

Your body takes over when your mind shuts off, too numb and overwhelmed with pleasure to function. Your thighs spread a little further to give you more purchase, you relax and let him control everything, the tilt of your pelvis, the pace that you grind against his face.

Your eyes flutter, then roll back. The sweat gathering at your hairline drips down your back, you can feel beads gathering between your tits, even Ghost’s fingers slip slightly from their bruising grip.

Everything- everything is hot, it’s all him, you would do anything, pledge any prayer, just to come on his face.

Ghost doesn’t give you a choice, or a chance to breathe, or a warning. One second, your body is shuddering, your dripping cunt screaming for release, and the next, he drags you screaming and jolting into it.

This orgasm feels like being drunk, your knees digging into the bed so you drench his tongue, the tongue that won’t quit lapping at your pussy, and it sends a jolt through you each time. After a moment, you realize you’re laughing as you whimper.

His hands keep you steady through it all. Then he digs his fingertips in, pain sparking in your skin beneath his touch, and you can feel him chuckle as the sting wrenches the very last bit of syrupy, decadent, addictive pleasure from your body.

Finally, Ghost releases his grip and permits you to sit back on your heels.

Your heartbeat pounds rabbit-fast in your ears as you try to catch your breath and keep yourself upright. “You are too good at that,” You sigh with a stupid, languid smile.

Then Ghost just has to absolutely destroy the vibe. “I know,” He says while looking up at you from between your thighs. His deep, dark eyes are all mockery and a self-satisfied arrogance that makes you want to throw something at a wall.

And then kiss him.

This will be the last time you compliment him with a clear head. “Would it kill you to not be a prick for, like, five seconds?” The sight of his mouth, still slick and shiny with you, undercuts your scorn, and you fall silent to watch his pink tongue lick his bottom lip.

Then he bats your attitude away with the ease of swatting a fly. “Was plannin’ on making you come again, but if you wanna be like that…” Ghost trails off before kissing your inner thigh, a kiss that turns into a swift, savage bite.

“No, no, wait. Hold on. That- that’s not necessary. We can still…”

He rewards that with another kiss. “Play nice,” He cautions as the corners of his eyes wrinkle with a smirk.

Before you can say some dumb shit, Ghost hilts two thick fingers inside your cunt as he forces you down towards his face again.

It’s a smart move on his part - your eyes roll back immediately, mouth open and desperate from the stretch alone.

“Fuck, I… ohmygod, what- um, am I? A dog?” He should gag you next time if he really doesn’t want to hear your snark.

Ghost supports as much of your body weight on one arm as you’re willing to give and fucks you slowly, almost gently, with his hand.

Your core tightens around each thrust, you can feel your muscles ripple with the stimulation, and the good, high, incredible feeling churns through your pussy like it’s trying to kill you. 

Then Ghost sighs in enjoyment when he feels you squeezing him, like he remembers how that felt around his dick. “Yes, you are.” His voice is gravel-rough and rich baritone, and listening to him is enough to get you to clench and fight his hold so you can sit yourself down.

He crooks his fingers. “A fuckin’ bitch. My fuckin’ bitch,” Ghost tells you, and you nod, helplessly caught in his netlike presence, drawn into his orbit by inescapable gravity.

You feel him lower you down so he can mouth at your hypersensitive cunt while his fingers move, picking up the pace in time with his tongue tracing your folds.

It’s so good that you have to rest your head against your arm, too overwhelmed by the sensations to hold yourself up. “Holy shit-“ You chant, your soft, plush thighs twitching around his face.

A series of obscene, explicit squelches echo from between your legs. It’s a good thing that you’re so wet; he fucks you harder and harder, stretching out your pussy with ease.

“Ghost, please, I’m so- I’m too sensitive-“ You’re not sure if you’re begging him for mercy or punishment, but he doesn’t care either way.

There’s a little blood in your mouth from where you’ve bitten into your cheek. “Fuck, fuckfuckfuck.” Oh, God. Shit. His fingers seem to search for something inside you, and then he finds it.

That spot towards the front of your walls, the one that makes you keen as soon as he brushes it. “Hngh- yes, shit, right there,” You moan, sobbing out each word. He’s knuckle-deep and pushes in a bit further so that it hurts the teeny-tiniest bit so that your stomach aches with pleasure and your thighs try to push him away.

The hand on your hip tightens, making it clear that that’s not going to fly.

Then he slips in a third digit, and you’re screeching, suddenly within arms’ reach of coming again, just as Ghost promised.

He’s gentle on your g-spot, never pressing too hard or rough, like his fingers are sweet-talking that second orgasm out of your tense, tight cunt.

You force yourself to breathe through your nose as you blink back the tears and sweat trickling into your eyes. “I’m close, I’m really, really, really close.” It’s sneaking up on you, you can feel it, tingling at the base of your spine and sending electric shocks through your whole body.

For a second, his lips curve into a smile against your core. Then he switches up the game, stroking your sensitive flesh instead of thrusting, sucking your swollen, aching clit in time, the pressure builds and builds, and then you’re coming.

It’s like a string has snapped, like your composure and mental clarity have collapsed, and you’re nothing but a pleading, wanting mess. You buck and writhe above him, every muscle seizing and spasming as your twitching cunt milks his hand.

His mouth is so hot on your clit, sucking greedily, and you just know that Ghost doesn’t fucking care whether or not you can breathe… as long as you keep coming.

Finally, the waves of pleasure racking your core subside into little ebbs and flows, and your heart rate begins to slow, and you can feel your toes again.

Except-

Ghost is still going. He’s still going between your thighs, still thrusting his fingers into you, and you have the horrible, awful realization that he’s going to shove you headlong into coming for a third time.

Your hands drop to his head, fingers tangling in his mask as you try to push him away. “No, Ghost, stop-“ You tell him, voice choked with tears, as your body betrays your will and opens to his touch.

He slows down for a moment, giving you a chance to tap the hand clutched around your hips.

Close like this, you can see his blown-out pupils and the momentary flicker of his pale lashes.

You put your hands back on the wall.

After that, it doesn’t take much. He bounces you one more time on his hand, the edge of his teeth graze your clit- “Fuck, I’m coming…” The words slip out of your mouth small and twisted before your body locks up, and then you can’t speak at all.

This one fucking hurts, quick but violently pleasurable. It freezes your lungs and all you can hear is your heartbeat and the blood running hot through your veins, and your cunt- your orgasming cunt clenches around Ghost’s hand, a release that’s so good that you don’t know anything else.

He moves swiftly once your muscles relax. You find yourself on your back before he gathers your hair away from your neck so it won’t bother you.

Through a lazy half-lidded gaze, you watch Ghost swipe messily at his mouth with the back of his hand. Then the mask goes back down.

Instead of checking on yourself, checking to see if you’ve ruined your back for the next week, you check him out. “You should wash that,” You say after a while. 

The fabric around his mouth is a shade darker than the rest. It must be damp and uncomfortable.

He sits on the edge of the bed to keep a very polite and respectable three-foot distance between you. “Why?” That’s deeply amusing. You didn’t pin him for the shy type, especially not after… all of that.

You only bite when you want to, and if he’ll ask.

He brought sheets at some point while you were asleep last night. Sheets, pillows, a blanket. The thin cotton sticks to your sweaty skin when you shift.

“Bet it smells like me.”

Ghost clears his throat. “It does,” He acknowledges. You’d be more embarrassed by his reflex to get away if not for the fact that he can’t take his eyes off your flushed, naked body.

You don’t have energy for round two, but clearly, Ghost can’t be that upset with your presence. “Don’t blame me for that. You’re getting in your own way.” You point a finger in his direction. Honestly? His awkwardness is sort of… endearing.

It makes you want to break it open with your nails and see what’s inside.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on blaming ya, doll.” Amusement shines in the visible part of his face, through his worn-down, sweaty eye black. He’s been examining you, too.

You can see more of his pallid skin in the places where the grease paint has smeared away. “Why ‘doll’?” You ask, tamping down on the urge to follow up with a question about his circulation.

His lips were just as pale, and you’re hypnotized by the possibility of seeing the rest of him.

Your mouth goes dry when he shrugs, and you see his broad shoulders move up and down. “Dunno. Why not? Got any complaints?” Ghost asks. Then-

As if he can’t stand his self-inflicted distance a moment longer, he reaches out and wraps his long fingers around your ankle.

You let him distract you with his wanderings. He’s gentle about it, caught up in the smoothness of your skin and the lines of your calf.

“I guess not.”

He tsks. “Again with the questions.” What would happen if you pulled your leg out of reach? Maybe he would follow, come closer, close enough for you to touch him.

Maybe you would scare him off, and he would refuse to touch you until some future moment, on his terms.

“You realize that having sex with me isn’t a good deterrent, right?” You ask, keeping your ankle exactly where it is.

The eye black creases into inky smile lines, and they grow darker each time Ghost softens. “It’s fun, though.” If he’s making fun of you, that doesn’t seem fair. He should hold off until you’ve put your clothes back on.

But there’s no venom in it, so all you’re left with are warm and sheepish feelings, not injured ones.

Now that he has nothing left to explore, he lays his palm flat on your ankle. “Can you, like, get down here and cuddle me?” You ask. It’s as if the man needs a goddamn invitation.

Ghost looks at you out of the corner of his eyes. “I don’ cuddle.” That’s such fucking bullshit.

Honestly, you’re a little insulted. With your nose in the air, you snatch your leg back. “You did last night. So let me rephrase that. Get down here and cuddle me.” You’ll have to address his deeply-flawed perception of your intelligence later because this marriage will fail if he doesn’t understand that you have two brain cells to rub together. Two at minimum. Typically.

Ghost looks between the door and the space next to you that you’ve vacated for his use. “…yes ma’am.” He peels out of his hoodie, revealing a plain black t-shirt and rippling biceps.

You weren’t expecting that. Ghost climbs on the bed before drawing you carefully into his arms. There’s no need for that - this won’t be the last straw that makes you break, even though he thinks it is.

You’re still in shock over the sudden removal of his jacket that you don’t react to when he kisses your hair. It probably wasn’t even a kiss, just an accidental brush of his mouth against your head.

The only barrier between your back and his chest is the fabric of his shirt. He’s so warm and solid behind you, painfully so. When he drapes his tattooed arm hesitantly around your waist, you’re awfully glad Ghost can’t see your face and the blush that’s surely there.

-

Tagging:

@abbiesxox @thedevillovesflowers @poohkie90 @averyyreads @lialacleaf @backupgal @kitty-satan1 @androgynoushellscape @555ilovecats @pinkwigonmytv @almightywdm @discowizard88 @castielsangelsx @jaymicrosoft @rengokulover96 @copiasratscheese @fluffysmiko @d3athtr4psworld @drugsaftersex @teenagegever2k22 @badame0224 @toilet-paper-headbands @itsrosebabe @bangirl134 @silverianni @nezukos-number1fan @deadpoetsandhoney @crowsjourney @vanevafu @xxghostyx @rafaelacallinybbay @akaotv @chibijusstuff @wasteland-babe @anubiseqq

Note: some of y'all got settings that make it rly difficult for me 2 tag u :(

I wrote this while sick (I am still sick) so if this sucks, that's why lol.

Thank you for reading and let me know if you want on/off the tag list! <3

[dalia1784]

I feel as though enough time has passed that I can be open about Ducktales and the fandom at large. Though in all seriousness the fandom can be a bit uptight when it comes to anyone leaving anything but praise.

Ever since Ducktales (2017) ended, I've had a lot to think about in regards to how I feel about the show as a whole.

Throughout the run of the show and as of recently I found that I lean in favor of the comics that inspired the franchise as a whole. By the time the series was coming to an end my feelings overall were inherently mixed.

On one hand there were moments, characters, and lines that worked and even made me laugh; but on the other it felt at times I was watching what essentially felt like a multimillion dollar fanfiction that tried to alter characters (the results varied from character to character), make some changes that were questionable, and left lots of character development and major plot points unresolved in favor of cramming in references to other Disney Afternoon shows as well a Millennial and Gen Z humor that was extremely hit or miss.

You can't even blame solely the cancellation for any of the unresolved stories and unanswered questions, because in all honesty it's complicated as to who is to blame. But these tend to come to mind: Writers/Showrunners, Disney's Standards and Practices, out of touch focus groups, and of course Disney themselves.

Other than the show itself, the fandom experience was just as mixed, I love all the friends and fans I made over the years and am forever grateful for them. What I found to be abhorrent was how many fans were chased away for the most petty and nonsensical reasons.

Didn't like a popular ship? You were chased off and called a terrible person.

Didn't support popular a headcanon (especially ones in regards to neurodiversity, sexuality, and gender)? You were instantly labeled as (fill in the blank)-phobic.

Liked a villain that wasn't Magica, The Beagle Family, Bradford, or Glomgold? You were instantly shamed and falsely accused of a laundry list of things.

Had concerns or criticisms about certain popular characters and plot points? You were called every name in the book and labeled as not a real fan.

I know this has always been a common thing in all fandoms but with Ducktales it got out of hand quite a lot.

Remember when Moonvasion first aired and how everyone reacted to Launchpad asking Penumbra out, it unleashed the most rabid and vile fans who managed to chase away a sizable portion of the fandom.

Remember when some fans were critical of the fact that Della was never told how much her disappearance had caused turmoil for her friends and family or how she didn't face any serious confrontation about her actions from her family? You still have fans to this day labeling anyone who brings this up as misogynistic haters because god forbid anyone has some problems with a character story wise.

Bottom line I still enjoy Ducktales for what it's worth, but the fandom can sometimes be hypocritically obnoxious.

Sorry I needed to vent this out completely and with that, I shall return to minding my own business and drawing.

[justeclotilde]

Thoughts on LEGO Monkie Kid, pacing, and season 5

I’m taking this from Twitter, but basically this thread about “Say something BAD about the show Monkie Kid” came up and my biggest gripe so far has been :  The show has way too short episodes. Like, 11min30. And tries to do SO MUCH in those 11min30 that either somethings get scrapped (DBFamily but not just that) or big important elements get solved way too fast (Samadhi fire and broken scroll among other things). And it steams I think from the fact that the show went from episodic to serialised while keeping the same amount of time. 

I ramble :  I see a lot of newcomers say that they jumped s1 and 2 and really started with s3/4, and while everyone has their reasons I think that’s silly Because that format is what made me love the characters and settings in the first place. The episodes are short, so the show can only focus on a tiny thing, but sprinkled LBD being a menace throughout the season, with the spider gang being a menace. And now ? lBD is still reveared as one of the best villains, and Spidergang is still very appreciated. Same thing for DBF : Red Son was slowly developed through s1, and returned on s3 Granted he wasn’t in s2, but since he was a major part of s1, and the spider queen special, we grew to care about him and the family to an extent. Because that’s what the show is good at ! Characters interactions, character personalities, CHARACTERS !! And now, the show is going for serialised, which is great and maintains attention, but it wants to do too much with the same amount of time: - In s2 : LBD took 10 ep to build her mech. MK started slowly to grow, and his relationships were explored one ep at a time. Slowly. - In s4 : we lose SWK, MK meets Azure, we learn about Tang, Pigsy and Sandy through their ancestors, we start to question MK’s existence, Monkey MK, the scroll is a menace, Azure betrays the group, MK loses his mentor and morale, DBF is important but scrolled, the JE is defeated and BAM world explodes we have to kill God in 4 episodes now. 

Granted for the characters as well it feels rushed. We don’t have to see everything either. Of course. They have a life outside the show. And overall they did a good job in those 11 bloody minutes 30.

But

But

But.

Now that we have a bit of breathing room, maybe it’s time to have that character moment by episode we’ve been asking for instead of cramming feelings and heartfelt conversations in an episode while the world is teared apart outside. Especially since we’ve seen the characters go through hell for a whole season. MK needs to breath but he isn’t the only one. We could have an episode on Red Son and his time in the scroll, an episode on MK going monkey a whole episode, an episode on SWK and Macaque in coloc, an episode on Tang Pigsy and Sandy trying to get back to their lives since they’re the most normal of the bunch - technically (cuz apparently having episodes focused on them in s4 wasn’t enough to have conversations about it but that’s a gripe i have with the community for LATER). We could have SWK and DBF reminisce on their time together, since DBK is one of the last friend that doesn’t QUITE hate him anymore, or an episode on how Nezha starts rebuilding Heaven by himself while keeping the JE power safe, or an episode on Mei just being awesome honestly, like just Mei observing MK going insane and being the girlboss she is, especially since she went through the whole “excess power that could kill everyone you love” and is still living with that, in a way. That could answer where the Samadhi fire business went. Cuz like in real life some things are tamed but don’t disappear, she might still be struggling but has learned to live with it. And MK is going through a similar path. We could also have Red Son in this one since he’s honestly the most controlled in a way.

And through all that… discretly… the world starts to break apart again ? Tears appear and with it new monsters and ghosts of the past maybe start seeping from the Underworld ? Maybe an unmasked man tries to prevent Mk’s attemps at coming back to some normal because as long as he’s confused and scared he stays the Harbinger of Chaos ? Idk ! TL:DR A lot of critics I see sum up as « They should show this more, why did THIS disappear out of nowhere, this is wasted potential », which seeps from the show not having time to show all that happens at once. Maybe it’s time to take a breather and tackle the problems one at a time again, ep by ep, like in season 2. And then go back to « We’re all gonna die in 4 episodes » to get the panic back on track.

Anyway Please come talk to me about the show and your theories, or headcanons about what the characters are doing now that the wreck of S4 has rolled past them. I wanna talk about my babies some more...

[flower-boi16]

This is a problem I've never seen any hh/hb critics bring out so...both shows lacks story arcs. There are so many definition for story arcs, but I'm going to explain what I mean by that. Story arcs for me is a certain part in the story that works like pieces focusing different journey or problem for characters in the same story. If both shows have story arcs like if season one of helluva boss focus on the imp doing their job and their beef with cherubs, season two focusing on their beef with dhorks. Season one of hazbin focusing on hotel's clients bonding, and season two how angels think of redemption. Each season can have multiple arcs going on, but given how limited episodes they got on each show, I decided to make each season focus on different arcs, but the writers have no plan how to organize different arcs resulting in many conflicts showing out of no where, and rushed payoff because they don't know what they want to focus. If the hh/hb crews know how to utilize arcs, they can put as many characters as they want as long as they can give enough episodes for their development. Imagine if every harry potter's villain showed up in the same book, that's how I feel about hh/hb.

HH and HB are just structured pretty poorly. They cram multiple seasons worth of plotlines into just 1-2 seasons and messes with the pacing REALLY bad. It all feels so...cluttered and unfocused like the shows don't know what they want to be about.

HB is ESPECIALLY bad at this as I've talked about before. The show completely forgot it's main premise and turned into a soap opera about Stolitz. It has no idea what it even wants to be anymore and it comes to a simple lack of structure.

Season 1 laid the groundwork for a lot of the show's issue and Season 2 would go ahead and make those issues significantly worse.

There's just two many conflicts and recurring plotlines for a show that currently has only 1 completed season, with the second still ongoing. It makes it into kind of a mess. Hazbin is at least better structurally but it still faces a lot of the same issues that HB does when it comes to how it's paced; the first four episodes feel like the first season and the second half feels like the second season because it feels like there's this giant gap in between halves where major things happened, but...we just never saw it.

And for HB, conflicts like the Dhorks plot line and Stolas' family drama are conflicts that are already enough to be the main story's of whole seasons, yet the show crams them into one season and it again, gets unfocused as hell. The seasons of both shows just choose to focus on multiple things at once rather than just having one, maybe two major plot lines per season, one show sets up six plotlines into just it's first season and the other rushes to the stuff that feels like it should be saved for season 2.

I just want to emphasize how unusual it is for a show to have this much stuff in just 1-2 seasons. Most TV shows tend to have one or two main recurring plot lines per season, with some smaller plot lines here and there that are typically plot lines for a specific character relating to their arc. HB in just it's first season set up six major plot lines within its story. Let me repeat that. SIX.

There's just. Too much shit going on in these shows. Plain and simple.