#i'm a normal girl. i have normal hobbies

[coldshrugs]

[queerstudiesnatural]

ok well. just went to see a neuropsychologist and all she asked me were the standard questions you find in every internet autism test. which i KNOW don't apply to me ("do you find it difficult to infer people's intentions", "do you find it difficult to read between the lines" etc) and like she was literally reading off of her computer and asking me to pick one of the options between "strongly agree" and "strongly disagree" and it's like girl i could have done that at home. sure hope she's not stopping there and that she's not gonna just look at what i said but at the way i said it. idk it irked me that she just pulled up the old (as in outdated and reductive) standardised test on her computer and acted as if those questions would make me question myself like girl i've done this test fifteen times. not only is it not going to tell you anything about me but it's not going to tell you anything about most people. and most autistics. and she did suggest i come back for a more formal and global assessment, but she also kept using the words "cognitive deficit" to describe autism. which i realise is a commonly used term, but it feels reductive idk. so overall i'm not overjoyed with how this went lol.

[inkskinned]

pay attention to how your partner values your time.

i mean this beyond things like how much time you spend at work or how often you answer their text messages.

if you spend hours getting ready for them, do they value that effort? if you plan a meal and do all the shopping and prep and cooking for it, is it just dinner for them? do they notice the small chores you're always doing, or does it just magically "get done" when they're not looking? do they notice when you've spent time for them, or is it just something that is expected to happen?

my ex understood our relationship as some kind of credit service. he would do something large and nice for me maybe once or twice a season - and then "collect" on that credit for a while. my time was not as valuable as his - i was expected to give up my time for things like the upkeep of our relationship, chores, everything. even though i was in school and employed (and honestly doing more than he was), he assumed my time couldn't be better spent. he used to say i was just "better" at the daily stuff. he was my first longterm boyfriend - i hadn't been taught it. it didn't come naturally. it's just that if i didn't do it, he valued his time too much to do it for me.

recently i saw a video of a man smashing a cake into his new wife's face after she explicitly asked him not to. i'm glad that these days, most people don't find it funny. but still, someone comments: girl, just wipe it off and jump back into the party! but the fact of the matter is - even if it wiped off perfectly, even if the makeup only took a few minutes to reapply, even if the dress wasn't ruined by the oil in the icing - she would have to spend time away from her own wedding in order to do it. her new husband - he gets to laugh and sit around and party. she has to leave her loved ones and go be alone to handle the results of his prank. it might be the only day she gets to see some of these people; but that time spent (the makeup, the dress) is just valued less. it's seen as inconsequential.

just... pay attention. is it normal for you to give up your time, but they wouldn't reciprocate? do they consider their hobbies essential while yours are just "useless ways to fill the day"? is going out with their friends a hallowed event that must not be interrupted - but at the same time, you find that you're punished for or banned from similar events. do you do most of the upkeep? do you trust that if you needed to take a break, they'd absolutely pick up the weight? if you spend time and energy and effort on something, is that valued; or is it just a thursday to them.

[alrtyhoney]

The rundown: You looked like someone Miguel terribly misses– his daughter. (FIRST PART)

Content: Miguel x Daughter!Reader (wc: 1359)

“Have you thought about it already?” 

The girl remains focused on her drawings, doodling away. “About what?” She mumbles a reply, without turning her gaze, still engrossed in her drawings. She knew what he was going to say anyway.

Miguel reaches forward and tenderly tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Your quinceanera, Gab.” He remarks warmly. 

She only laughs in return, shaking her head. It's silly, she thinks to herself. "I'm not even near being fifteen yet!" she protests in between fits of giggles. It occurred to Gabriella that his father had an ulterior motive from the sudden pique of interest in her hobbies and likes; he wasn’t particularly chatty, so the past few weeks had pushed her to finally ask him what he was trying to do. 

She didn’t understand at first. Miguel, very patiently, explained that a quinceanera was a special once-in-a-lifetime event for every girl. It was more than just a birthday celebration, it was an important milestone in her life. But she quickly discouraged the idea, not wanting to think about it so early. They had all of the time in the world, she thought, there was no reason to rush.

“I just want it to be special.” He says, “Your mother would’ve wanted that.” 

“No te preocupes, papá.” She reassures her with a kiss on the cheek. “We’ll make it special.” 

The clip ended, the screen slowly fading until only his reflection remained in the empty frame. All he could see now was a hollow shell of a man looking back at him; his expression blank and unflinching. Miguel closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. That scene had etched itself into his mind, burning– mockingly so. 

Nothing could ever fill the hole that his daughter had left in his heart - like when he first held her in his arms so many years ago; her presence still obvious on his chest where her memories had imprinted themselves, a permanent reminder of the loss of a child. He trudged through life with heavy feet and an even heavier heart. 

He wonders if things could’ve been different or if he would always be incapable of keeping people in his life, always slipping from his fingers and out of his grasp.

“You’re watching it again,” Lyla appears on his shoulder, sitting there with her legs crossed. 

“What about it?” 

"That's the fourth time today," She says, her voice laced with a trace of worry that she was quick to try and disguise as part of her normal banter. It had become increasingly clear to her that something was amiss and although she was programmed to know anything, Lyla did not know much about Miguel. 

“What do you want?” 

“An anomaly is spotted in earth-829, a renaissance-like hawk wreaking havoc in a modern museum– yikes.” Lyla briefs him, “Jessica is already on standby.” 

Miguel shakes his head, sighing. “Shouldn’t she be on maternity leave already?” He asks, his suit already appearing and opening a file regarding the mission. A hologram opens in front of him, filling in the details. Vulture. “Tell her to go home. I’ll handle this one.” 

“I think you shouldn’t,” Lyla squeaks with a nervous smile on her face. “Think you really shouldn’t.”

Miguel taunts with an arrogant tilt of his head, matter-of-factly declaring, "And who's the one taking orders here?" His mask then slides firmly into place, and a portal opens beneath his feet as he steps through. Lyla knows too well by now that there isn't any room for negotiation. 

As he stepped into the unfamiliar environment, a chorus of cries and screams greeted him from the running crowd. They pushed each other to safety, a few staying to watch spider-man in action. Miguel sighs, cracking his neck as he prepares himself to step in.

However, he slightly flinches as the said hero narrowly avoids him, crashing into the wall behind him with a loud thud. She quickly scrambled back to her feet, dusting the bits of rubble from her suit. “Hello? Mascot-man? I’m kinda in the middle of something here–” 

“I’ll take it from here, kid.” If it wasn’t for the mask covering his face, his nonchalant tone would betray his expression. It was no surprise to him that someone as young as her had been bitten by a spider like so many others before her, but he knows damn well what awaits for her and that is what troubled him every time. 

“And who are you exactly?” She shouts, running towards the anomaly again. 

Miguel quickly binds the vulture's wings with his webs, allowing you to throw in a few punches before the bird regains its footing and takes off into flight. “I’m from another dimension.”

You audibly gasp, the eyes on your mask widening as you swing around, “I knew dimensions were real!” Completely unfocused, the anomaly narrows his eyes before charging towards you– before you could react to your senses tingling, you were sent tumbling to the ground, near the broken pile of rocks and other rubble. 

Miguel loudly groans, getting a hold of the enemy. “Kid, focus!” He barks out, and you immediately snap back to what you were doing, swinging enthusiastically towards him. 

“How did you do it? I mean– I tried to prove it all my life!” 

“Aren’t you 12?” He scoffs at your statement, clearly not a fan of exaggeration.

“14 – and that’s not the point, mascot-man!” 

The fight went on with you chatting and talking his ear off. Miguel had answered in dismissive grunts and his usual ‘it’s classified.’ remark, but he just couldn’t discourage your eagerness in any way. You had tired him out, more than the anomaly did.

Spider-society, magic watch, many more of you– you’ve basically summed up. 

“You should definitely let me join,” You offered cheerfully, cocking your head and wiggling your foot. The battle had finally come to a close, thanks in part to the arrival of a couple more spider-men who lent an extra hand. You had caught up to Miguel, basically begging him to let you in. “We made a great team back there old man!” 

“Old man?” 

“Okay, sensitive,” You muttered under your breath. “But seriously– I could learn more from you!” 

“Kid, listen–” 

You had cut him off again, seemingly not taking no as an answer as you tried to persuade him again. You continued to babble, not leaving any room for him to interrupt. Miguel rubbed a hand over his face, hidden beneath the fabric of his mask, as he groaned in frustration for what felt like the hundredth time today. His eyebrows furrowed as he listened to you rambling on and on– patience nipping on itself from your lack of understanding with regards to the matter at hand. 

“First off, I did most of the work back there. If it weren’t for me calling for back-up, you could’ve been injured badly. This society isn’t some school club you can just sign yourself in,” He explained, already itching to return and leaving you in the dust. A liability is the last thing he needed. “You don’t have what it takes.”

You throw your head back, groaning. You take your mask off, revealing a busted lip and a frown. “Whatever, your club sounds stupid anyway.” You mumble under your breath, suddenly feeling worn out yourself. Of course what he said had stung– it had taken so much effort to learn how to control your powers over the past two months since you were bitten by that spider. It wasn’t like there was a manual or a book written for freaks that happened to have superhero powers under such circumstances. You had to learn on your own. 

Turning your back on him, you had fully expected him to disappear as well– but, to your surprise, he was totally motionless; a statue in solidarity unable to shift an inch. His stillness made the atmosphere unbearably tense and although you could not bring yourself to look back at him (well, you did call his club stupid.), you sensed his gaze upon you like a heavy weight pushing down on your shoulders. 

“Gabriella?” 

[vanteguccir]

It's noted | Chris Sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where Y/N is part of the Sturniolo Triplets fandom and makes videos about them on TikTok. After years of creating content, one of her videos seems to catch the attention of none other than Chris.

Warning: None.

Requested?: Yes, from anon.

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

PS.: I used this tiktoker as an inspiration for the content that the reader creates on this.

PS. 2: I'm thinking of making a tag list for my Sturniolo Triplets x reader, so if you want to be included in it and be tagged on every Sturniolo x reader that I post, comment here please! 🩷

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It was true that the Sturniolo Triplets fandom grew so much in such a short time thanks to the fans themselves, who play a big role in bringing the channel to other people through social media - mainly TikTok. It was also true that, at least 90% of this part of the fandom works with edits of different types of the boys; compilation of parts from a certain video or podcast, edits and even memes.

But there was a small portion that made videos talking about the boys, showing their faces and voices while explaining their content, work and even giving tips on how the triplets themselves could increase their audience or improve their brands.

And Y/N was part of this small portion, having been in the fandom since mid-2021 and not missing any videos of the triplets, she could talk about them for hours on end.

Her biggest hobby was making videos giving ideas for their channel and brands: some brands they could collab with, theme ideas for car videos, topics for podcasts, prints for hoodie sets and t-shirts - both for the triplets' brand and for Fresh Love -, different flavors and themes for Space Camp, and so on.

The girl applied all her love and knowledge to all her videos, editing the backgrounds and explaining her ideas with the smallest details, making them understandable. She had perfect lighting, audio, and set equipment for her work, which made the quality equally good as her content.

Her trademark was her strawberry frappuccino, which she was always drinking every time she turned on her phone camera. Fans joked that her obsession with the drink was like Chris's obsession with Pepsi.

And all that was exactly why fans loved her so much. Y/N had more than 400 thousand followers on her TikTok account and all her videos reached an average of 150 thousand likes, in addition to the many comments saying how smart she was for having those ideas, her kindness in sharing them with the public and even complementing her beauty.

The girl spent hours of her day reading each one of them and interacting with fans as if they were best friends, always being very kind. She laughed her ass off at the comments from people who madly tagged the boys, especially Chris, as it was a well-known fact that he was her favorite - she loved to make that very clear.

Some fans even went so far as to say that if Chris was ever ready to get romantically involved with someone again, they wanted it to be with Y/N. The girl read that type of comment with a huge smile on her face and red cheeks, feeling honored. Although she imagined that the boys would never even notice her, she allowed herself to travel through the world of delusion from time to time.

So it was an understandment to say that she was super surprised when, after waking up on a typical Saturday and picking up her phone for the first time in the day before even getting out of bed - a bad habit of hers -, she saw the notifications in triple the volume of its normal.

She felt dizzy with so much information, trying to find in the midst of so many comments and messages what was really happening.

Finally, after traveling between her TikTok, Instagram, and Twitter for long minutes, she finally found it.

Chris Sturniolo had commented on her last video.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

It was Friday, and the triplets had just returned home after finishing recording their new car video that would be posted in a few hours.

Chris was currently lying in his bed, the lights in his room dimmed, and the low noise coming from his phone filling the four walls.

The brunette was just getting ready to take a shower minutes ago, having opened his TikTok and scrolling through his For You for a few minutes, about to take off his clothes used in the filming, when a video of an unknown girl talking about himself caught his attention.

It was very normal to have videos of and about himself on his For You, after all, the hours over the last few years that he spent liking one video or another showed the algorithm that he liked this type of content. Edits and memes of him alone or with his brothers filled his app, and he spent enough time watching, laughing, liking, and, sometimes, reposting some of them.

But it wasn't normal for him to have a completely unknown person talking directly about him, with her face and voice exposed for the world while doing it. And what surprised him most was what she was talking about, that specific video being about different prints and colors that he could use in the next Fresh Love collection.

His blue eyes lingered too long on the girl's face, admiring her features, her sweet voice serving as a melody for his ears.

When Chris dragged his thumb from the right to the left of his screen, entering the girl's profile, he finally noticed her name.

"Y/N." His voice came out in a whisper, enjoying more than necessary how the name slipped off his tongue so easily.

His fingers wandered across the screen, going from one video to another, listening to the ideas carefully - even writing some down on his Notes app -, saving some in a separate folder and browsing the comments, only then realizing that practically all of them were from fans tagging him.

Laughter escaped his lips at some of the jokes the girl made every now and then, while fascination filled his eyes with the effort she put into each idea.

The sound of knocking against his bedroom door startled him, his body jumping as he turned sharply towards the source of it, Matt's head appearing between his door and the frame, his eyebrows furrowed as his eyes traveled around the room briefly.

"You've been listening to this girl for so many hours that I thought she was here with you." Matt commented, opening the door wider and approaching Chris.

The youngest of the triplets rolled his eyes, suppressing the urge to lock his phone screen and keep Y/N all to himself, but she was well known in the fandom and her videos were about him and his brothers, the possibility of her content getting to them as quickly as it got to him was huge.

"It's a girl who appeared on my For You today. She makes videos of ideas for our channel and brands, can you believe it?" Chris looked at Matt as he showed his phone screen with Y/N's profile open. His eyes were wide with fascination, and his lips stretched into an enthusiastic smile.

Matt observed him for a few seconds, noticing his body language and the way he spoke about the girl, it was different from all the other times the boy commented about tiktokers or videos others made about them.

"Send me a video of her, I'll take a look later. Now go upstairs, I bought us something to eat."

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Another Monday had arrived, and Y/N was looking for strength in her body to get out of bed and face another start of the week.

The thought that in a few hours, she would have a brand new Sturniolo Triplets podcast was what made her tackle her tasks.

Her eyes traveled to the time on her phone and to her notification bar every 10 minutes, as if she was expecting Nick to release the podcast earlier than usual - it was obvious that that wasn't going to happen.

After last Saturday, where she had woken up to a comment from none other than Christopher Sturniolo, her weekend was complete madness.

She spent hours staring at the little comment as her mind tried to process whether she was actually awake or still asleep and in a very good dream.

"loved the idea! it's noted ;)"

"it's noted"? What did that even mean? Did he actually write down her idea for future use? Should she be prepared to wake up some other day and see that he has launched a new collection with something she suggested in one of her videos?

And what made her go crazy the most was that Chris Sturniolo had seen her face, and not only that, he found her attractive enough and her idea creative enough to watch it until the end.

She spent almost the entire previous two days waiting for him to comment again, or even like one of her videos, but that didn't happen. Instead, Y/N received thousands of comments from fans going crazy with her about what happened. At least she had a good laugh with them.

Now, she was in her bedroom, the light from the movie playing on the TV was the only source of illumination. Y/N was lying in her bed, already in her pajamas and with her pre-bed cup of cappuccino on her lap, keeping her legs warm, her eyes on the television, but her mind somewhere else.

The sound of the YouTube notification came from her phone and Y/N had never moved so quickly, her hand taking the device out of her bedside table and unlocking the screen while muting the television, clicking on it with her thumb without even looking at the other notifications.

Her fingers worked on increasing the volume and screen brightness, setting it to the best resolution and getting comfortable on her bed, preparing to stay in that position for the next hour.

The podcast was already at minute 35, and Y/N felt her cheeks hurting from how much she was laughing at the topics brought up by the boys. Nick was especially funny that day, making Chris and Matt laugh at every moment.

In addition to the senseless fights that would arise between the three of them out of nowhere, which made Y/N roll her eyes playfully, already accustomed to their way with each other.

Until her big smile was replaced by an expression of a mixture of fright and surprise.

"Can we take a moment to talk about the intense crush Chris developed this weekend?" Nick interrupted Matt's laughter, taking a sip of his Doctor Pepper.

Chris turned abruptly to his brother, his eyes wide at the comment as he shook his head, almost begging through telepathy for him not to talk about that.

"It's true, Chris spent the weekend obsessing over a fan of ours who makes videos on TikTok with different ideas for our channel." Matt agreed, looking briefly at Nick while his hands moved the microphone support, pressing his lips together as he tried to suppress his laughter at Chris's reaction.

"Yeah, she is super pretty, and her ideas are very interesting. I think I only saw her profile once, but I listened to all her videos through Chris's phone." Nick continued, raising his right hand and directing his palm towards Chris, pretending to cover his figure with it and ignoring his desperate expression. "He literally spent the entire weekend watching her."

"Her name is Y/N. Search for her guys. We might even use one of her ideas on our next podcast." Matt added, his voice coming out low despite his mouth being almost glued to the microphone.

"You guys are horrible, I hate you." Despite the distance, the camera lens that focused on Chris's image captured his red cheeks as he tried to suppress a smile at the thought of the girl who took over his thoughts, rolling his eyes to his brothers.

"Now he will be silent for the next 10 minutes." Nick continued, amusement in his voice as he picked up his Space Camp watermelon lip balm, playing with the object in his hands.

"He's in love Nick, give him some credit." Matt mocked alongside the oldest triplet, a small smile on his face as his eyes watched his brother's reaction.

"Okay, next topic." Chris interrupted loudly, his voice cracking with embarrassment. He raised his arms and moved them from side to side exasperatedly, earning laughter from the other two, before Nick briefly passed his eyes on the document open on his laptop, starting the next topic.

"Oh my God." Y/N whispered, clicking once on the screen and dragging the small ball in the bottom bar to the left, going back a few minutes of the podcast and rewatching that specific part.

The girl repeated that action at least three more times, her brain still processing that Chris Sturniolo had been watching her TikToks all weekend - as if she were some kind of famous artist - and that, apparently, he was developing a mini crush on her as well.

Her heart was beating too fast to be normal as her cheeks burned, a red tinge taking over her skin. Goosebumps ran through her body as her fingers trembled slightly. Her jaw was already hurting from the time she held her mouth open, but no sound escaped from it.

A notification suddenly appearing at the top of the screen caught her eye, her right hand instantly flying to her mouth while her left hand lowered her phone, resting the device on her mattress.

Her eyes were now fixed on the wall in front of her bed, as her mind screamed at herself.

christopherturniolo sent you a direct message.

"hey!"

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

My asks are always open. Feel free to send requests or anything at all 🩷💋

Also, again, I'm thinking of making a tag list for my Sturniolo Triplets x reader, so if you want to be included in it and be tagged on every Sturniolo x reader that I post, comment here please! 🩷

Asked tags: @lustfulslxt @soimightlikeoldmen69 @p1xieswrld @lovrejoana

[writers-potion]

Don't Fear Criticism

Creating homosexual characters can feel like planting an active grenade in the middle of your story. You start to fear bad reception of your work - even before you start!

But really, there is no need to worry. The fact that you're concerned only proves that you care.

You probably won't get it the first time.

You probably will get some criticism.

Only remember that it's perfectly normal to make mistakes. After you punch out your draft, have beta readers who are part of the community and incorporate their feedback.

No Diversity Shopping

Yes, diversity is important, but it's no checklist where you need to list all possible sexual orientations and have at least one character for each.

First of all, it would be quite impossible.

Second, that is likely to make all of them underdeveloped and stereotypical.

Check if you really need the character in your plot.

If they turn out to be homosexual, let them run their own course and shape their path. If your story's theme is related to the character's sexuality, think about the message you want to convey.

Quality over quantity, always.

Go Beyond Sexuality

Your characters exist, and they happen to be homosexual, not the other way around. This doesn't mean that it won't be an important, or that you should downplay their sexuality.

Strike a balance by showing readers their hobbies, interests, likes and dislikes, relationships with their family and friends, etc. The more holistic they are, readers are going to be convinced that you have an actual character, not a scarecrow holding up the #diversity tag.

How do their sexuality play into their broader narrative?

Develop a Backstory

Every homosexual character must have thought about their orientation and identity, with a process of how they came to recognize their sexuality.

Whether you're character is a confused teenage girl, or a middle-aged gentleman with a stable relationship, think about what brought them here.

Backstories don't have to be tragic. They can have supportive parents and find escapism in online communities who accept them for who they are.

There isn't just one "gay life". Get creative.

Normalization is Important

Sometimes, your story world will not accept homosexual people as normal. That's okay!

However, there is a difference between other character treating them unfairly and you as an author normalizing homophobia in your narrative.

Word choice and tone would play a key role.

When a likeable character is homophobic, avoid normalizing it by making it a flaw. Show that your conservative medieval village is narrow-minded when they treat them as outcasts.

Homophobes may not necessarily be the evil guys.

It's enough to state (clearly) that it's wrong.

Make Use of Tropes

Stereotypes aren't just an issue with gay characters, but when used successfully, have created wonderful retellings and spinoffs that are refreshing.

You can purposefully overplay stereotypes to show how silly they are. Deconstructing stereotypes can add humor to your narrative.

You can also use them to explore the expectations that readers have for those kinds of characters. The Gay Best Friend might be a trope, but you can get them to go deeper than the typical sidekick to realize their true potential as a cast member.

Religion and Homosexuality

In the real world, religion and homosexuality are often presented on far opposites of politics, and that makes me sad. Homosexual characters are free to be religious, find peace, support and mindfulness through any religion of their choice.

Vise versa, deeply religious characters can have wonderful relationships with homosexual characters.

It all comes down to how your characters interpret religion and homosexuality in light of those religious values. Though I'm an atheist, I believe all religions have the ability to embrace diversity at their core.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[kiarastromboli]

𝐁𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧:

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐱 𝐲/𝐧

⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱

⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱

𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘: Masturbation, smoker!reader.

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: Matt's life is going to be completely upheaved by an encounter he will have one day at work, leading him to discover a new feeling: obsession.

ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖: I'm glad to come back with this new series that I had in mind for a while. I hope you'll enjoy it. The first chapter is from Matt's point of view, but it's possible that in the days to come, the point of view will shift to that of the reader. Anyway, I'll inform you beforehand. Feel free to ask me in the comments if you want to be part of the taglist. Enjoy reading!

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐, 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐞 𝟑

⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏:

My life has always been a damn bottomless pit without interest. I grew up in a normal family, in a normal town surrounded by normal people; there was nothing special about me.

I've always had this feeling of discomfort, like something was missing from my life.

In high school, I tried to fill that void with sports like any other teenager, but nothing worked.

I was fortunate to be a triplet, so I started life with people to love and who loved me in return.

Naturally, people think that having siblings erases the loneliness of life, but it's false. I had my brothers, but I still felt that emptiness and loneliness.

As I grew older, I realized that I would never fill this void, that I was destined to have an uninteresting life and become Mr. Average.

I moved to New York, where I found a job in a bookstore, which seemed more than logical given my passion for books.

I lived five minutes away from my brother Chris, and Nick, my other brother, continued his studies in Boston.

My weeks repeated and resembled each other.

I worked on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. On Wednesday, I spent the day with Chris; most of the time, we just went out to eat and stroll. As for Sunday, I dedicated it to my motorcycle rides and various hobbies.

By various hobbies, I mean fleeting activities that I forced myself to practice to keep me from losing my mind from living the same days on repeat.

But all of that was before her.

When I saw her for the first time, I felt like I was waking up after an endless sleep.

It was a Thursday evening, we were about to close, I just had to put away the last books we had received, and I could finally close the shop and go home.

That was until I heard the sound of the little bells at the entrance jingling as the door opened.

I sighed when I heard the door open, thinking, 'Another bookworm waiting until the last moment to come get their fill of books.'

I went back to the counter to wait for the person who was there to bring me their book so I could quickly scan it and finally go home.

I honestly expected a student with glasses or some nonsense like that, so I was surprised to see this brown-haired girl a few meters away from me, browsing the shelves to find what she wanted.

I'm not the type to linger on pretty girls, but she had something extra.

She was wearing this navy blue sweater three sizes too big for her, which forced her to roll up her sleeves, and you could see the collar of her white shirt peeking out underneath.

With that, she wore a small brown pleated skirt that matched the bow she had in her hair.

An outfit that said a lot and so little at the same time.

I'm the type to analyze people on a daily basis; it's my thing when you work in a bookstore like this one in New York, you get bored very quickly.

I had a little game with myself where I enjoyed deciphering the people who entered this shop, first by their way of dressing, then by their mannerisms, and finally, I drew a conclusion based on the book they bought.

However, I was stuck on her way of dressing; I couldn't really figure it out. Her outfit was simple and casual, sure, but there was this complexity with her accessories that made me wonder if she did it on purpose or if she just randomly picked out clothes.

I mean, who pairs such a large sweater with such a small skirt? Maybe it's her boyfriend's sweater?

When I thought that, I felt anger rising within me, but why? I don't even know her; what does it matter to me whether she has a boyfriend or not?

I shook my head to try to think of something else and continued to observe her.

She had been wandering around the store for five minutes, stopping at each aisle without ever grabbing a book. Does she even read, or did she just come here thinking she'd find a fun book to read for once?

Even her behavior was indecipherable; the more I looked at her, the more intrigued I became.

She finally stopped at the romance section, where she picked up a book before walking towards me with a big smile.

Strangely, I felt a certain stress when her eyes landed on me; I hadn't realized how harmonious her face was.

"Good evening," she said warmly, placing the book in front of me.

"Good evening," I replied nervously.

"I hope I'm not bothering you by coming at this hour. I'm new in town, and I thought you closed later," she said politely.

"No worries; I didn't have anything planned after anyway," I replied without looking at her; I was far too intimidated for that.

I scanned her book, and of course, that's when the cash register decided not to work properly, leaving us face to face in an awkward silence while I tried to open the register.

She seemed amused, judging by the little chuckle she let out, and when I looked up at her, she simply said, "Sorry," timidly, unable to suppress the little smile on her lips.

I finally managed to unlock the cash register, then gave her the change and reached for a small bag to put her purchase in.

That's when I saw the book she had chosen.

"Pride and Prejudice, good choice," I said without thinking too much.

"I know, I've read it already," she said, chuckling, and I looked up at her to watch her.

"It's a gift," she added.

"For your boyfriend?" I said again without thinking, and this time I quickly added, "Sorry, that was very intrusive of me."

She looked at me with a smile before saying, "For a friend, I don't have a boyfriend."

"Good to know," I replied, handing her the book.

She took the bag with her book inside and turned to start walking towards the exit, and I was dying to catch up with her to continue talking, but I stood there frozen like an idiot.

She walked through the door, and I sighed.

My heart started beating normally again, and I felt a sense of longing in her absence.

My life, which until now had been flat and uninteresting, was unknowingly taking a whole new turn.

I finished tidying up the bookstore, trying to distract myself, but she continued to haunt my thoughts.

I kept asking myself hundreds and thousands of questions.

Will I see her again? What did she think of me? What's her name? What does she do for a living?

Fuck, what had she done to me? I thought as I pushed the door of the store to leave and locked it behind me.

Unintentionally, the key to my apartment detached from the keychain around my waist, and I hadn't noticed until a familiar voice informed me.

"Hey, you dropped this!" the girl from the bookstore said, catching my attention and tapping my shoulder.

I turned around and felt my heart race again when I found myself face to face with her; if she keeps this up, she'll give me a heart attack.

"Thanks," I said, taking my keys from her hand.

Unintentionally, my eyes roamed over her body, analyzing her.

I noticed the butt of a cigarette she held in her other hand, probably the reason she was still around.

"No problem," she said, smiling.

"Can I ask your name, if it's not too forward?" I asked, curious.

"Y/n," she said, extending her hand after finishing her cigarette and tossing it to the ground to crush it with her foot.

"I'm—" I started to say before she cut me off.

"Matt, yeah, I know," she said quickly, and I looked at her confused.

She knows my name?

"Oh, um, it was on your apron earlier, I promise I'm not a weirdo," she said, chuckling, and I chuckled too.

She seems observant too, interesting.

"You don't really seem like a weirdo, if that reassures you," I said, smiling.

"And you don't seem like a guy who reads romance novels; I guess we can all be surprising, maybe you should watch out," she said, shrugging with a smirk.

"Pride and Prejudice is a classic; I work in a bookstore, I have to know my classics," I replied.

"Fair enough," she said, smiling.

A moment of silence ensued, leaving us there in the middle of the street, staring into each other's eyes.

"Are you just passing through here?" I asked, to break the unbearable silence.

"Hm?" she simply hummed, confused.

"You said you were new here earlier," I clarified.

"Oh, um, no, let's just say I'm in the process of settling in," she said, nodding.

"Great, I hope to see you around here then," I said, smiling.

"There's a chance that could happen; this bookstore seems nice, and who knows, maybe I'll need a friend who knows their stuff to advise me," she said, smiling back.

"You already consider me your friend? Wasn't it you who said I should watch out?" I teased her.

"Oh, because you thought I was talking about you? No way, I was talking about my friend who works at the same bookstore as you!" she said, trying to justify herself.

"Oh, really? I probably know that friend then," I said with a smirk.

"Okay, you got me; I'm a big liar," she said, raising her hands, and I laughed.

"I already suspected that," I said, chuckling.

We stayed silent once again, staring into each other's eyes before she spoke again.

"Well, I have to go if I want to have a chance to catch a taxi before it's too late," she said, playing with the ends of her hair.

"I can drop you off if you live nearby," I offered.

"Whether by car or taxi, the journey is still long in the streets of New York, and I don't want to bother you with an extra 20-minute ride," she said timidly.

"I guess it's a good thing I have a motorcycle then," I said, pointing to my bike parked a few steps away.

"I don't know... um," she said, shaking her head hesitantly.

"If you don't trust me and prefer to go by taxi, I totally understand, I won't hold it against you," I said reassuringly.

"You know what? Fuck this; a little danger never hurt anyone, and anyways, if you try to kidnap me, know that I did boxing in middle school, so I won't go down without a fight," she said, pointing her finger at me, and I laughed.

"Alright, Mike Tyson, let me just grab my spare helmet from the bookstore," I said, chuckling before doing just that.

When I returned, I handed her the helmet, which she put on.

She got on behind me after indicating where she lived, and we hit the road directly.

We weaved through traffic, and I could feel her little arms tighten around my waist with each acceleration.

I couldn't help but slightly harden beneath my jeans because of the proximity between us; I could feel her chest pressing against my back.

This girl had something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up when I looked at her.

She smelled like vanilla and cigarettes.

She was destabilizing, and I felt like I was losing my balance with every word she uttered.

Once we arrived at her destination, I stopped my motorcycle in front of her apartment complex.

It was large and luxurious.

I wondered if she was a daddy's girl to live here, or if she simply had a good job. In either case, this girl clearly wasn't short on money.

"Thanks for the ride," she said, smiling, after taking off her helmet to hand it back to me.

"It was my pleasure," I said, removing my helmet and staying on the bike while she got off.

"That was really nice; I'm glad I made a new friend," she said, quickly fixing her hair.

"So, we're friends?" I said, smiling.

"Of course," she replied, smiling back.

"Great," I said timidly, and a new silence fell.

"Um, I'm going to head in; it's getting late. Good night, Matt," she said this time in a much softer voice.

Why the sudden change in tone?

"Good night, Y/n," I replied, and she turned to walk towards her apartment complex.

I couldn't help but watch her as she went inside. I should have immediately started my bike and left, but I was stuck in place.

She paused in front of her stairs for a moment before suddenly turning around and running back towards me.

I watched her return, a little confused, and when she reached me, she simply said, "Hi."

"Hi," I replied, a bit confused but smiling.

"Is it weird if I suggest we see each other again? It's a friendly offer, of course; you just seem really interesting, and I felt silly leaving like that without suggesting we meet again," she said quickly, and I chuckled at her tone.

"Of course. I finish early on Saturdays; just drop by the bookstore, and we'll go for another motorcycle ride if you want," I said, smiling.

"Sounds great!" she exclaimed excitedly.

"Well, goodbye for real this time," she said, chuckling.

"Bye," I replied, watching her leave before putting my helmet back on and heading home on my motorcycle.

On the journey back, I had only one thing on my mind: her.

Arriving home, I was surprised to find that my erection hadn't subsided.

How could this girl make me so hard without even touching me?

I felt bad for getting hard like this over a girl who seemed as innocent as her. What was wrong with me that I'd do something like this?

I sighed and slumped onto my couch.

I took off my pants and slid my hand under my boxers to touch the bulge there.

I started to stroke myself, unable to stop myself from thinking about her at that moment.

Her sparkling eyes, her long brown hair, her full lips that I was dying to kiss...

Why was she affecting me like this?

Her curves vaguely hidden by her oversized sweater, her legs, and especially her thighs that looked nice and soft.

"Oh my god," I muttered in a low voice, speeding up my movements and throwing my head back.

Her laughter and her voice, yes, her soft and slightly husky voice, almost like she was sick.

I edged dangerously close to the edge, and that's when I remembered her change in tone when she said, "Um, I'm going to head in; it's getting late. Good night, Matt," almost as if she was inviting me to follow her home and do all the things I was dying to do to her.

Maybe she was just as eager as I was. For my hands on her body, my lips on hers, and my name coming out of her mouth.

I thought about what she would look like sitting on me without her clothes, screaming my name, and it pushed me over the edge.

"Y/n," I moaned before climaxing.

I can't deny it any longer, this girl is clearly becoming my obsession.

⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱✮♱⋆♱

Taglist: @mayhem-72 @tillies33ssss @junnniiieee07 @bernardenjoyer @whicked-hazlatwhore @nicksmainbitch

[pamsimmer]

LUNAR PHASES CHALLENGE

My very first challenge and I'm excited? haha

When I was looking for occults challenge to play I found a lot of witches and vampire type of things, but I don't quite remember seeing a werewolf one.

These three occults are my favorites (unfortunately I kind of ignore the others because you know... meh, not as fun to play with them. But maybe one day I'll try to make a mermaid challenge)

Down here you're gonna find the rules and guidelines for each gen. You don't have to follow strictly the rules if you don't want to, I know it can be annoying sometimes. And also I made it short for those who prefer shorter challenges (like me).

I just hope you have fun!

[edit: a friend made the graphic rules and it looks amazing. if you prefer it like this: HERE]

Rules:

You must reside only in the occults’s worlds, but preferably in Moonwood Mill (You can always kick your family out and pretend you’re living in another place hehe)

Start as YA, any gender

You can use cheats if you want.

Heir must be a werewolf

Normal or Long Lifespan

You don’t have to max all these skills, but it would be nice if you at least worked on them all your sims lives

When I put ( / ) is because you can choose what you prefer or if you don’t have said pack you can choose the base game one.

Requirements: Werewolves, Snowy Scape, Get Together, Get To Work

GENERATION 1: Waxing Crescent

You grew up close to the Moonwood Collective, they are basically your family and you learned how to be a good sim and not hurt others. You prefer to lock yourself up than to behave like an animal in front of others. You always loved art/writing and your hobby is to play piano. You don’t like the spotlight because of your werewolf tendencies, so you chose a more “reclusive” career.

Traits: Proper/Snob, Bookworm, Good

Aspiration: The Emissary of the Collective

Skills: Charisma, Piano/Painting, Writing

Career: Painter or Writer (It can be the freelance career if you prefer)

Volunteer with family (or alone) at least once a week

Your partner can be any gender, can be human or even another type of occult, as long as the heir is a werewof.

Get married to your partner and never divorce. You two were made for each other

GENERATION 2: Waning Gibbous

Your parents wanted you to be as perfect as they are, but you’re not them. You have your own personality and your own desires. You’re a rebel. You love being a werewolf and you feel powerful when you show others who you are. The only thing you got from your parent was the love for music, but you are more of a guitar type of sim. And you want to be the leader of your own pack.

Traits: Mean, Active, Kleptomaniac

Aspiration: Wildfang Renegade

Skills: Mischief, Fitness, Guitar

Career: Criminal or perform only odd jobs and have a part time job

Meet your friends at the bar every weekend

Have a “fight club” club

Get pregnant/get your girlfriend pregnant as a teen (if your sim is a boy: don’t assume the responsability / if your sim is a girl: give the baby to someone else. you can keep the child close to you if you want to play with them later, in case it’s a werewolf)

Get married as a Young Adult and divorce before become an Adult. You can find love again, but if you don’t, that’s okay. (preferably die alone :)

One day your sims is gonna teach their teen kid (the heir) how to fight. You’re take them to Greg and let them fight Greg… alone.

GENERATION 3: Full Moon

You never got along with your parent. You actually hate them. You prefer to be alone, you’re like a hurt puppy that attacks others who tries to come closer to you. But you’re very sweet on the inside. And finally one day you find the love of your life and you have a beautiful family together.

Traits: Loner, Gloomy, Hot-Headed

Aspiration: Lone Wolf

Skills: Gardening, Handiness, Fishing

Career: Gardner or Fisherman (and perform odd jobs)

If you chose gardner: go fishing every weekend, if you chose fisherman: have a garden

Live off the grid, at least until you get married (after that you can go back to society again if you want to. But it’s not mandatory)

Have at least two kids

GENERATION 4: New Moon

You grew up in a loving family. You have so many plans for your life, but you don’t want to be a werewolf forever. You spent your teenager years reading werewolf books and you got the Lunar Epiphany and learned how to make the cure. Maybe you’re the one who breaks the family’s curse, right? and you want to be a super parent because your own parent inspired you.

Traits: Genius, Family-Oriented, Loyal

Aspiration: Cure Seeker

Skills: Logic, Parenting, Baking/Gourmet Cooking

Career: Doctor/Astrounaut

Find love when you are already a human and be the best parent you can be!

Go out on dates at least once a week with your partner, and when you have a child go out at least once a week with your family.

[resinfish]

Louisville Doll Theft Update

So I posted a couple weeks back about my friend whose landlord stole his doll collection, and I have good news and bad news.

The good news is we were able to track down one of the trucks. The bad news is that it belonged to a charity donation pickup that just ended up with their clothes and furniture after everything else had been taken by the "cleaners."

After calling all the cleaners and junk haulers in the area, we've narrowed it down to two, the first admitted to working with Barrett Goff/Allodium in the past but acted a little squirrely when I mentioned stolen property and said they hadn't been on that side of town that week, but the guy was otherwise sweet and cooperative, and said company policy is to donate anything not broken. The second admitted they let their employees just grab and take whatever, then got an attitude and said they "couldn't confirm or deny involvement," and told us to come back with a warrant. They're the only ones out of the internet's entire trove of KY Louisville area junk haulers that refused to give answers, which is pretty sus.

(Who, in the course of a normal conversation, says stuff like "can neither confirm nor deny involvement"? Not sure if these guys are guilty or just extra...)

Anyway, with nothing turning up on online resale platforms, the next stop is flea markets. As they're working extra gigs to save for a new place (and a lawyer), I'm hoping to save them a PI fee by organizing a sweep with people in the area, to run through local flea markets and see if anyone's trying to sell a massive doll collection. They already can't afford HRT anymore, if they have to pay a pi and a lawyer, getting justice will get prohibitively expensive both financially and personally

If you are local to the Louisville KY area, even if you're not in the hobby, please dm me and I'll go over the ones we haven't eliminated by phone yet. They've been advised to get a private investigator, but they really don't have that kind of money lying around after being robbed and left homeless. If I can get enough Baker Street Irregulars together to help, we can let them use their savings for a lawyer.

Again, the collection is made up of mostly Ringdoll, DIM, ResinSoul/Bobobie, and some Soom. Also among the more distinctive dolls we're trying to recover are Custom House Saint Mina and LE Sad Mina, an Island Doll Shukaku ver. 2 fullset, and a secondhand Volks free choice girl with goth vampire faceup and antique-looking dress.

If anyone knows attorneys who take cases for cheap or pro bono, please contact me so I can refer them. They've applied to the ACLU, but with the organization's workload these days, it's kind of a crapshoot.

If you can't volunteer and want to help, you can donate at:

Cashapp: $hyperionasshole and his new PP @memeharrington

Because posts with images get more traffic, here is me and my friend on my annual bluebonnet day, and our dolls (the blondes--RS Dai and 1st gen BBB Apollo--are his, and probably still wearing these outfits):

[lizzy-bonnet]

I love Jane Austen's work and I love podcasts, so naturally I follow several JA podcasts (please drop recs in the tags). I'm enjoying Live from Pemberley from Hot and Bothered, but a comment from literally the first episode of the series has been circulating in my brain since I listened to it several months ago: one of the hosts expressed surprise (and disappointment?) in the fact that when we first meet Lizzy, she is "employed in trimming a hat". This comment literally comes right after a conversation about how Austen tells us so much in the very short space of Chapter 1; without wasting any words, we know exactly who Mr. and Mrs. Bennet are (lightly toxic relationship), understand their family situation (need to marry well), meet the main driver of the first act (rich man in the neighbourhood), and understand a social dilemma (girls can't meet him if Mr. Bennet does not make the first overture). So what is Austen telling us when we meet Lizzy in the employment of trimming a hat?

We so often read a sort of modern girlboss feminism into Lizzy because she is smart and stands up for herself, but I think that's something that really gets embroidered on to the text. Lizzy trimming a bonnet is telling us several things about her:

She is frugal - new hats and bonnets are really expensive (my casual hobby is shopping for reproduction bonnets and this remains true), because the straw is braided by hand, the bonnet shape is assembled and blocked by hand, feathers have to be gathered from real (living or dead) birds, ribbons and flowers are hand-finished, the whole situation is fuck expensive. Lizzy is most likely putting new trim on a straw or wool bonnet she already owns to make it work better for this season's fashions, or a new dress, and possibly recycling trimmings from other hats. Contrast this with Lydia's spending all her pocket money on an ugly hat in Chapter 39, just so she can reduce it to parts, even though she acknowledges she'll also have to buy some extra satin too, to finish the project.

She cares about fashion - we don't get a lot of information on sartorial choices in Austen's work, and when characters are discussing fashion, it tends to be a framework for explaining something about their characters; Miss Steele's need to know how much Marianne's dresses cost (rude, crass); Mrs. Bennet's loving description of the lace on Mrs. Hurst's gown (shallow); Catherine Moreland's agonizing over what to wear to the Assembly (young, a bit flighty); Bingley wears a blue coat (has probably read The Sorrows of Young Werther, is fashionable). The fact that Lizzy is trimming a hat tells us she is fashionable, but paired with the fact that she will get a petticoat muddy in order to see her sister, and does not spend a lot of time worrying after fashion like Lydia tells us that she does not live and die on fashion.

She is creative - I've trimmed various hats and bonnets over my years of interest in historical fashion and honestly it's not easy. It's quite fiddly to get a nice ribbon edge, a ruched lining takes forever, and getting sprays of florals and feathers to be nicely shaped and all in a complementary palette is quite fussy. Getting a nice looking bonnet requires some thinking and planning. But it's also great fun! The Regency era is, in my opinion, a particularly good period for hats.

She is normal - I think Austen wants the reader to understand that Lizzy is a young woman with normal cares and concerns. She doesn't have cash for a new bonnet, she wants to look nice, she knows how to put an outfit together, she's not frivolous like her sisters, and she engages in the typical pursuits of someone who is not yet one and twenty who does not have a specific occupation.

A lot of modern readers are expecting Lizzy to be striding around the countryside unconcerned with "girly" things, or reading a clever book because we have come to think of her as proto-feminist in a way that suggests she might be a bra (corset) burner, but I think that comes from an outdated feminist lens that still wants to tell us that girly things are bad, or at least, a bit weak, and I don't see that in the text at all (I think some of this trickles over from the adaptations). Lizzy walks enthusiastically, she enjoys reading (but not to the exclusion of other employments), she dances very well and plays with mediocrity, she cares deeply about her friends and family, she has excellent manners, and dammit, she trims hats.

[charmedreincarnation]

Sorry, y'all, for the random spam, but I had a lot of things I was doing and exploring, and I now finally have the motivation to share a lot of changes that have happened in my life. Okay, so my life is pretty great, and I've been actively manifesting for a while now. But I had a problem. Outside of shifting when it comes to my manifestations, for the most part, I like them to happen in a "realistic way.” (I wasn’t like this at the beginning ofc but now I am). I know that sounds stupid, but for example, when I manifested a car, I didn’t just have it appear on my driveway. I like to be a part of the process and watch it blossom into my reality (very quickly, may I add, because I'm impatient and a "now, now, now" type person), but I like to see my creations, you know?

So I was talking about my friends about some revisions I'd like to see in my state and life, more so bigger manifestations outside of myself for my community, you know? I've been feeling very grateful, and outside of manifesting, I love to dabble in philanthropy and other hobbies, and I'd like that to intertwine with manifesting as well!

There were a few things I had in mind, but again, I'm picky and annoying, and I was like, "Hmm, how will this come to fruition in my way?" I tried to plan it out, which is like (?? Rule number one of manifestation: don't worry about the how), but I actually do like to plan things out sometimes because I'm annoying, and when it happens, I'm like, "Hehe, that was me, go shawty."

Anyways, here were a few things I wanted:

* I visited Vienna, Austria in the summer, and I found the concept of their homeless shelters very admiring. In Vienna, they have emergency flats provided by the city for safe housing in emergency situations. I wanted something like that in my state, but living in America, which is very anti-homeless, it seemed challenging. I mean they spend more money on funding anti-homeless architecture than solving the ever so rising mental health and housing crisis but that’s a topic for another day. However, I was inspired by the Vienna Women's Refuge Association and their efforts to support women in need and I wanted something like that here.

* I wanted many restaurants that I've seen in other cities I've visited to be established in my city. My city is pretty big, but for some reason, it's often ignored when it comes to those corporations. I wanted to visualize all my favorite restaurants and make a list of where I want them, downtown, by my house, etc. It wasn't coming together, and I couldn't find the desire to script it. I also wanted more unique clothing stores because I’ve gotten more into fashion these past few months.

* I wanted my city to have more of the vibes of LA and NYC, without actually moving there. I love my city, but I wanted it to have that same energy. However, I didn't know how to get to that end point like I normally do with my other desires.

Honestly, I kind of put these desires on the back burner and just forgot about them, knowing that my life is already going in the direction I want it to. Then, we began getting a lot of news about how gentrification is about to occur, and how the prices in my city are going up. There's a lot of new construction happening for seemingly no reason. It turns out a huge tech company is establishing companies in my city, which will bring in new jobs, money, and people. At first, I was annoyed, thinking these people need to stay away, but then I remembered that I literally asked for this. Gentrification and all the other things that come along with migration, jobs, and a rising economy tie into what I wanted for my city to be like NYC and LA. I'm already seeing the renovation reflect what I imagined, and I am a happy girl.

Then, the next like week or so idk, my state gave funding to my fav mall and they received a couple billion dollars for a massive renovation. At first, I thought it was irrelevant, but then I saw a list of 300 establishments, clothes stores and restaurants that will be around my mall area. Every restaurant I desired, even the ones I only thought about for a second, were on that list. It's so funny when you forget about your manifestations and they come together even better than you could imagine. The mall getting renovated is one that I visit all the time, and now I can have all my favorite indulgences in one space. I'm super excited for everything to be done.

* On that same day, I saw that my state's very conservative governor (btw I went to school with his grandson and he was asintelligent as a bag of rocks) Is opening very affordable housing for human trafficking victims. This cause is close to my heart. Though i don’t personally know any victims myself I have read of many cases on the news and trials like cyntonia brown would make my blood boil. I’m surprised I didn’t think of this of myself but I’m m glad to see steps being taken to support these survivors.

So, sometimes, when we put our desires on the back burner, they can still manifest in unexpected and amazing ways.I seriously forgot about all of this and was just living my life, not even consciously trying to manifest it, and it happened anyway. Also, this may seem very stupid, but hey, all desires should be manifested no matter how small or stupid. There's this kind of big influencer at my school, and she seems really sweet and someone who I'd get along with. She's really political and speaks her mind, and has a bunch of reels about spirituality and feminism which is really dope considering how people act on social media, especially Instagram.

Anyways, I just thought one time, like a week ago, it would be nice to be friends with her or meet her or something, and out of nowhere, she slid up on my story yesterday and messaged me 😭😭😭. It was so funny to me, but yeah, we have plans to hang out. So yeah, even though sometimes I like planning my manifestations to see them happen in color, the same thing can happen without you planning either way. It will work out better than I expected, I promise don't worry.

[thornsnvultures]

clumsy boy

eddie munson x plus size!fem!reader

summary: Eddie's in love with the cute alt-girl that works at the local hobby shop.

cw: fluff, pathetic eddie is my favorite, r calls eddie a "good boy", sub!eddie

a/n: no one asked for this and I should be working on like three other things but 🤷‍♀️ oh well lol

-----

Eddie needs to find a new hobby shop to get his mini figs from if he intends on living past thirty. Every time he walks through those doors he makes a goddamn fool of himself because of you and one of these days he's going to die from sheer embarrassment.

He wished today would be the day he perishes, but no, you're standing there staring at him and the entire display of discounted figurines that somehow got knocked all over the floor. Eddie knows he's beet red, stammering like an idiot while you look at him with a face that can't choose between laughing, incredulity and possibly, hopefully sympathy.

"Need help finding anything?" The teasing tone in your voice makes Eddie blush harder. Jesus he's an idiot.

"N-no. Sorry I didn't- I mean I did but it was an accident," Eddie drops to his knees, picking up the mess of boxes strewn under the table of marked down paraphernalia.

"It's okay, dude. Happens all the time," you smile at him when he hands you each box. It's not butterflies in his stomach but dragons. They're either breathing fire or he has indigestion, either way his stomach rolls nervously every time you look at him.

"I doubt this happens every time," Eddie tries joking, picking up the last box as he stands up and hands it to you.

"Only when you're here. I was trying to be nice." The way you lick your black lipstick covered lips and let your hand linger on his does feel pretty nice. So nice, the nicest girl he's ever met.

"Thanks for your help..."

"Eddie. I'm Eddie," he tries a smile that he hopes doesn't look as erratic as he feels, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. This is the most you've spoken to him outside of saying your customary "Hello" when he enters the store and telling him his total at the register. Your slight, smirking smile back tells him he might've not been successful but he doesn't care. He'll keep looking like a dumbass if you keep smiling at him.

"Thanks, Eddie." You start to walk back to your post at the register before you stop and turn around. "Try not to knock anything else over, okay? I don't want to have to start charging you for damages every time you come in."

Eddie gulps as you walk back towards him. No, stalk back. Like a lioness and he's your prey. He wants you to eat him alive.

Jesus, Munson. Easy boy.

"And if you're trying to get my attention, you don't need to knock things over to get it."

You poke his chest with one painted black nail and smile at him again. Eddie practically melts into a puddle on the floor, not even bothering to hide the slack-jawed way he watches your hips sway as you walk away.

Eddie manages to find the things he needs between trying to will his boner away and replaying that interaction over and over. At the register, you scan his things, all your attention on doing your job while Eddie tries to remember how normal people breathe.

You hand over his things with a smile and tell him to have a nice day. Eddie trips over his feet looking over his shoulder at you as he leaves because he just can't help himself.

Once he's home, Eddie dumps out his things on his bed and grabs his paints. He's about to throw out the recepit when something catches his eye. It's a number. And a name. Your name. Eddie's heart falls out of his ass. You gave him your number. He should play it cool. Wait a few hours. Maybe a few days. He doesn't want to seem desperate.

Eddie's plugging in your number before he knows what he's doing.

"Hello?"

Fuck, it really is you.

"Hey, uh, it's Eddie. From the hobby shop. I broke all your stuff?" Eddie cringes, banging his head on the wall next to the phone.

"Oh I remember you, Eddie."

Your voice carries through the line and curls around him, warm and soft and he needs to say something before he's breathing into the phone like a creep. But you're way ahead of him.

"I'm glad you called, clumsy boy. I rented a movie but I don't have anyone to watch it with."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it's a real scary one too. Wanna come over and watch it with me?"

Eddie screams into his fist, thanking whatever otherworldly being has blessed him today.

"Sure, sounds fun," he says, cringing again at the way his voice cracks when he says "fun".

He can practically hear your smile over the phone as you give him your address, Eddie frantically writing it down in his nearly illegible handwriting on the edge of a takeout menu.

"See you soon, Eddie," you say before hanging up. Eddie clutches the menu to his chest and grabs his keys before floating out to his van.

Years later when you and Eddie own your own hobby shop, running games of D&D for local kids and selling comics and mini fics to your fellow freaks, Eddie asks you why you took a chance on a goof like him all those years ago.

"You really want to know, Munson," you tease as you run your fingers through his curls, sitting on the couch with him for your weekly scary movie night.

"I do," he smiles up at you from your lap. "I was pathetically in love with you, y'know?"

"Oh I knew," you laugh. "I saw you watching me every time you came in. You never hid it well."

"Pfft. I was a master of stealth."

"You failed every stealth roll, baby, don't lie."

"Then what?" Eddie huffs, crossing his arms.

"You, silly. The way you looked on your knees that day I gave you my number. All cute and flushed. I knew you'd be a good boy for me."

Eddie groans and rolls onto his side to bury his face in your soft tummy. "You're the worst."

"I'm right, though aren't I," you cackle at the way his face flushes, still in love with teasing him after all these years.

"You are, you terrible minx," Eddie looks up at you again and smiles, takes your face in his hand. "But I'm still desperately in love with you."

"Me too, clumsy boy. Me too."

---

--

-

🖤

[vioartemis]

The one for you

(Tara Carpenter x fem! reader)

Summary: After meeting in a quite awkward way, Tara and you started dating in secret, until eventually, the rest of the group finds out Request is here :)) Warnings: none, just fluff :)) (English isn't my first language, I'm sorry if there are mistakes or if something doesn't make sense TvT)

It was a normal day of classes, and you were late. You had missed your bus, and so you were running in the corridors of the building.

When you turned a corner, you bumped into someone. You both fell to the ground, along with a lot of sheets of paper.

"Ow..." you rubbed your bruised arm, before opening your eyes

The person you had just bumped into was a girl. She seemed kinda small, had brown hair, dark eyes, freckles, and the most beautiful face you had ever seen.

"Shit... I'm so sorry, are you okay?" she asked

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out of it. Her voice was as mesmerizing as her.

"Y-yeah... and you?" you managed to say after a moment, getting on your knees to help her gather her papers

"Just going to make a very bad first impression... But other than that, I'm okay"

Once she had all her papers in hands she got up, and you did the same.

"Oh, you're new here? Who's your first teacher of the day?" you asked

"Uh... Mrs Castillo"

"Oh, I had her last year. She's nice don't worry." you reassured her "Do you want me to show you the way to her class?"

"Is it that obvious that I'm lost?"

You chuckled, shrugging your shoulders.

"Just a little. Come on, it's not far away"

You guided her to the class, thinking of an excuse to give to the teachers. You look at yourself and noticed the coffee stain on your shirt. You had tripped with your cup in hand and spilled it all over yourself, and being already late, you hadn't had time to change.

"It's here" you said, in front of the door

"Thank you. Without you I wouldn't have found it" she smiled warmly "I'm Tara by the way. Tara Carpenter"

"I'm Y/n L/n, nice to meet you, Tara" you replied. Then, after a hesitation "Do you want to meet at lunch time? I could give you a little tour of the building..."

You hoped she said yes. You were dying to know more about her, her life, her hobbies, what she liked, what she didn't like...

"Sure!"

You felt your lips curl up into a smile.

"Cool" you simply said

You knocked on the door and opened it with a smile.

"Miss L/n? I thought you weren't in this class"

"I'm not, actually. I'm bringing you a new student: Tara Carpenter. I uh... I kinda ran into her earlier and spilled my coffee... I asked her for help to get it off my shirt... It's my fault if she's late, sorry for that..."

Tara was about to protest, but you shook you shook your head and mouthed to her 'don't worry'.

The teacher sighed.

"Miss L/n, you really need to stop involving other students in the problems caused by your clumsiness..."

"Said like that it looks like it happens everyday" you groaned

Mrs Castillo raised an eyebrow at you, silently saying 'do you really want to talk about it?'. You gave her a guilty smile, lifting your hands up in a sign of surrender.

"Miss Carpenter, I'm sorry for that. You can take a seat."

You smiled at the brunette when she walked past you. She smiled back as a silent 'thank you', before heading towards the nearest chair.

You watched her sit down and take a notebook out of her bag, before Mrs Castillo made you snap out of your thoughts.

"You're starring, miss L/n. Don't you have class to attend to?"

You blush in embarrassment, before looking at the time.

"Fuck, yeah, shit, I'm very late now!"

You ran out of the classroom, not fast enough not to hear the teacher reprimand you.

"What did we say about swearing!" she sighed, and continued, more for herself than anything else "I swear this girl really is something..."

You ran to your own class, giving the same excuse to your teacher, before sitting in the empty chair next to your best friend Anika.

"Where were you? And why do you have a coffee stain on your shirt?"

"It's- a long story. And I didn't have time to change"

"How? Girl, you're like 20 minutes late!"

"As I said, long story"

Later this day, Tara and you met again at lunch time, and you gave her a little tour of the campus. It gave you the opportunity to talk, and eventually exchange phone numbers.

And four months later, you finally had enough courage to ask her out on a date. You had found a café quite far away from college and figured it would be the kind of date she would like, along with a walk in the nearest park.

Turned out you were right, because at the end of the date you were kissing under a tree. It would have made a perfect picture if someone was here to take it.

"So... are we like- together now?" you asked

"I think so? I mean- Do you want to be my girlfriend?"

"Yeah of course!"

"Okay so we're together then"

She smiled and leaned in to kiss you again, arms locked around your neck.

"There's something I have to ask you tho..." she said, suddenly nervous

"What is it?"

"Can we um... keep this a secret? Us, I mean. Don't get me wrong, I'm not ashamed or anything, but considering what happened las year at Woodsboro I don't know how the others would react, especially Sam..."

"I understand, don't worry" you smile

"Are you sure? It can take a long time before we-"

"I don't care how long it takes, as long as I'm with you. I love you, Tara. If it's the price to pay to have the chance of being your girlfriend, I'm in"

It had been a month since Tara and you started dating, and keeping it a secret was way harder than you thought. Not holding her hand when hanging out with her friends was hard. Not kissing her goodbye before and after classes was hard. Seeing Chad flirting with her right in front of you was hard.

But the reunion was worth it. You would invite her over, pretending doing homework together, and make out on your bed when your parents where not home.

But today she had been the one calling you, telling you she was alone in the apartment. You didn't think twice and put your shoes on before literally running to her.

It had been a long time since you'd seen each other alone, and you were craving her kisses and cuddles.

As soon as you knocked at the door, you heard the 5 locks clicking and the door opening. Before you could say anything, a hand grabbed your shirt and pulled you in, pinning you against the door once it was closed again, soft lips pressed against yours.

"Y/n, I missed you so much..." the brunette said in between kisses

"I missed you too, babe" you replied as she was guiding you to the couch without breaking the kiss

You were soon lying on your back, Tara on top of you kissing you passionately. It felt so good to finally kiss her after such a long time. Her lips on your felt like heaven, exactly like the first time you kissed, at the park under that tree.

Everything began to fade around you, nothing existed anymore. It was just her. Just Tara, her soft lips, her cold hands sneaking under your shirt, her silky hair between your fingers and-

"Tara, I told you to lock the- oh my god"

Hearing Sam's voice, you both froze, eyes wide.

"Sam why are you yelling? What is happen- oh" Mindy said

The rest of your friends arrived behind her, each one with a different reaction. Quinn let out a whistle, smirking; Anika had the 'proud bestie' look on her face; Ethan looked away shyly; and Chad tried to hide his disappointment.

Tara quickly abandoned her position on top of you and stood up, soon followed by you.

"Are you guys-" Sam started, before getting cut off by Tara

"Yes. And I love her. Please, I know you told me not to get attached too much but-"

"Are you happy?"

"Yes" Tara answered instantly

Sam came closer to Tara and hugged her tight.

"I'm happy for you then, if you found the one for you" she smiled at you over Tara's shoulder "But get a room next time, please"

[generic-anime-boy-bracket]

Final Round

Shigeo Kageyama vs Tadano Hitohito

Reasons for being generic + Propaganda below

Mob/Shigeo Kageyama

Reasons:

Shigeo’s whole thing is being the most average boring middle schooler ever. He yearns desperately for a social life but he’s always been part of the crowd, so much so that his classmates and even his boss call him “Mob”. Also consider this post https://www.tumblr.com/codynaomiswire/190630281009/spot-the-main-character-amazing-mob-psycho-is?source=share

https://64.media.tumblr.com/15122b75c98b6a5978d892e284f5fe60/1c80e81d36417001-2f/s1280x1920/195aa0ce13b4bbea7fab38e3f930c250940fa9a2.jpg could someone who's never seen this anime pick him out as the main character

very plain face, and his hair is a simple black bowlcut. his design is intentionally as simple and generic as possible, mob appearing plain and unremarkable is a big part of his character.

The whole point of his character design is that he looks bland and blends into the background (hence his nickname "Mob"). There are characters with way more exciting designs, even including his brother who at least has Anime Hair™️, meanwhile Mob is just very plain with his bowlcut and monochrome design

a very obvious candidate. black hair, spends the majority of screentime in a school uniform, got his nickname (mob) literally bc of how generic and bland he is. a perfectly common face. no aspirations, no hobbies, no academic achievements, no sport talents. just a guy. regular dude. the only notable thing about him is his immensly powerful psychic abilities but he avoids using them in daily life, doesnt like to show them off and supresses them as well as his emotions

the point of mob's entire character is to be generic and plain. even his nickname "mob" was given to him by others to show that he is just part of the crowd and nothing special.

He's got a bowlcut, a very simply designed face, and usually is only seen in his school uniform.

He is designed to look like the most generic middle school boy with a plain unexpressive face and a bowl cut, and his nickname Mob comes from the fact that he doesn't stick out and everyone sees him as a background character. He spends most of his time going to school (he is bad at math) and reading manga and daydreaming/zoning out. He's socially awkward and gets nervous around girls. He started working out recently. He also has psychic powers but it's not a big deal it's just another trait someone can have like being charismatic or smelling bad

look at him. his literal entire point is that he is just some guy. his name (mob) was given to him because hes so bland and doesnt stand out that hes part of the mob / a background character in everyones life. it's also, in japanese, the equivalent to the english term "john doe."

Hair is a black bowl cut. Wears a school uniform, plain face. His whole thing is basically being completely average except for his insane psychic powers. He suppresses his emotions and powers because he just wants to live a normal life like everyone else.

bowl cut. standard school uniform. literally designed to look like a generic background character

classic bowlcut kid, literally designed to look generic and blend in

He's literally just a schoolboy with a black bowlcut and no distinguishing features. Look at he: https://mob-psycho-100.fandom.com/wiki/Shigeo_Kageyama?file=Mob+Fullbody.png Ofc, he's also an OP psychic, but he looks so entirely generic I think he fits perfectly

look at him. He checks every “how to look as generic as possible” box

Normal kid (appearance wise)

He is meant to look generic, he is this very powerful esper but he has black hair, a bowl haircut and mostly dresses in his school uniform. He looks like a background character even though he is the protagonist.

Propaganda:

i love him so much he's like a son to me

(Sorry to the person who submitted a Reddit img link it won't make me put the image there because i'm on phone since I probably won't get Access to my pc since I'll be outside 😭)

i love mob so much he is my boi

…but also, if it helps, mob's character is "boy with bowlcut, almost always seen wearing standard japanese middle school uniform, who speaks in a monotone voice and has no strong opinions of his own (for reasons but its not important)"

He's literally earned the nickname Mob for being so bland and generic looking (Mob being a term Japanese programers use for background NPCs). He also was purposefully designed by the creator to be as un-protagonist looking and plain as possible.

he is literally just some guy and that is the point of the entire show is that hes not special hes just a guy. this is a good thing :)

he has my exact autism :)

Look doesn't he seem like a very polite young man? With no distinguishing features whatsoever? Yeah. He's THE generic anime boy. Immense psychic power notwithstanding

He <3

Tadano Hitohito

Reasons:

Just a good bean. Like a kidney bean

his name is LITERALLY a play on the japanese equivalent of the phrase "just some guy". he is DESIGNED to be a generic-ass dude. everything about him is comically average.

Propaganda:

No propaganda submitted for this character

[allysunny]

Can you do little stories and scenarios of Bruce and a female reader. Her and Bruce have been together since birth, living in the Wayne manor (both of them had their parents unalived at the opera… yk how that goes). She’s this girl who’s constantly annoyed with Bruce 🙄 and Bruce is head over heels for her and would literally do anything and die for her in a heartbeat. She would too, it would just take a little more effort for her to be okay with dying for him🙄. (This is going to get very specific, hold on) They’ve been hooking up for years and Bruce always wants something more but the reader is always like 🙄🥱 “no Bruce”. Anyway, PLEASE WORK YOUR MAGIC🙏🙏 SO SPECIFIC I KNOW LMFAOOOO BUT PLEASE I HOPE YOU SEE THE VISION I HAVE ❤️🖤🙏🙌✨♾️💍🥹🌳🌴🎉

Secretive Stares | Bale!Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Words: 2.7k words

Warnings: Suggestive themes, implied friends with benefits, Bruce Wayne is one whipped guy, mentions of period and period pains, sort of angst? If you squint, really. If I let something out, please let me know!

A/N: Hey everyone! Happy New Year, first and foremost! I hope your holidays have been pleasant and you guys have had an amazing time!!

So, I just wanted to start by saying that I did not see the vision. I'm so, so, sorry. This was a very fun request, but I clearly did not see your vision, or I'd have written more, and something better. These type of relationships are not really my cup of tea, but I tried my best to step out of my comfort zone and give you what you deserved! I apologize if it did not live up to your expectations. I really did try my best and I hope you appreciate it!

Second of all, I'd just like to remind everyone that my requests are now open! I write for Bale!Bruce (duh), Nanami Kento and Miguel O'Hara. Hopefully in the future I'll be able to write other characters.

That's it! Again, thank you so much for the request, and I really hope you enjoy it!

You grew up with Bruce Wayne, which meant your childhood was anything but normal.

Mostly because not all kids grew up with the title of Gotham’s Prince and Princess. Most kids are normal, spending their time in classes, running around, completely carefree.

But not you two. You couldn’t afford to be careless and carefree. Having your parents shot that night at the opera made you two grow up quite quickly and become little adults rather than children. Alfred loved you both and your personalities of course, and he encouraged you to seek out the childhood he thought you deserved. In between classes and lessons from private tutors, he would try to get you to play outside, to create your own worlds and have fun. All he wanted was for the children he would raise as his own to be happy and unburdened.

And to be fair, he did achieve that, somehow.

You two grew up to be as thick as thieves, two birds of a feather. Wherever you were, Bruce was quick to follow, feeling more comfortable in your company. Alfred would try to convince him to spend some time on his own and make his own friends, but to no avail. He could see Bruce had a little schoolboy crush on you, and it always made him chuckle.

You didn’t seem to reciprocate his feelings (but to be fair, you were quite young to know what those were), but always treated him like a close friend.

While you two attended Princeton, everyone was far too scared to treat Bruce like a real person. They’d treat you normally – after all, you integrated so well in the student life, making friends and picking up hobbies and clubs like it was no big deal. Even if it was something quiet and calm like the journalism club, you were always surrounded by people (who may or may not be as quiet as you).

Bruce, however, was alone most of the time. He tried making friends, truly, but it was hard. He couldn’t find someone he trusted as much as you, so he found himself having lunch by himself or studying alone at his dorm. People would treat him like he was made of glass, too nervous to call out any mistakes he might’ve made or even ask for help. But not you – you saw right through him and never felt the need to coddle him like everyone else.

“Can you please just focus?” You mumbled, pointing to the notebook in front of you. You had been trying to explain your Literature assignment to him, but he not only did not feel like it, but was also too distracted by you. Had you always looked this pretty? Clearly, but you seemed to radiate with something Bruce couldn’t quite pinpoint. Perhaps it was the frustration of not being able to teach him that made your eyes sparkle a bit more.

“Bruce, I swear to Gotham that if you do not listen to me, I’ll –“

“How about we stop for today, huh?” he asked, taking the pencil you were holding from your hands and putting it aside. “I think we’ve studied hard enough. We deserve some rest.”

“Yeah, I have been studying hard. You’ve been distracted the whole time and haven’t even thought about the topic for your essay. Seriously Bruce, how you’re a top student, I’ll never know.” You huffed. “The answer to your question is no, by the way.” You leaned over to get the pencil from him and shook your head. Now, where were we?"

Bruce just groaned and silently went back to work. He got an A+ on that assignment.

He’s always tried to be your knight in shining armour, no matter how many times you’ve told him you can handle yourself just fine. Any minor inconvenience will set his “Batman mode” off, and he’ll just feel the need to help you. There’s a spider in the kitchen? Worry not, Bruce Wayne is taking care of it (even though you had just rushed into his office to grab a sheet of paper so you could safely place it outside). Your car’s oil needs changing? Don’t panic, Bruce is doing the changing himself (even though you already had an appointment with the mechanic and knew what the problem was). The door to the guest room you usually stay in is locked? No big deal, because Bruce is going to do his best to jam it open (even if you were already doing it with a pair of bobby pins).

It annoys you to hell and back whenever Bruce tries to do things for you. You like his gestures, sure, when they don’t implicate you’re either a baby or unable to complete the simplest of tasks.

But Bruce would do anything for you. Literally everyone in Gotham knows that. He will drive to your apartment at 3am to deliver a tin of cookies and some sodas in case you were feeling down, would take you all the way to Paris in one afternoon just because you mentioned how pretty the Eiffel Tower must be as the sun sets, bought an entire chain of restaurants simply because the one you wanted to go to was full. He was completely whipped. If you asked him to take a bullet for you, he’d do it in a heartbeat. He would lay his life before you if it meant you would be happy.

You reciprocated. Sometimes, and not as easily as him. But still, it was something. Your comments were rather ambiguous. Sometimes you’d tell him straight up, others you’d weave the little mind games that he so much loved to play into.

One time, you were lying on your bed, internally dying as your period got the best of you. You were curled up with a bunch of blankets, waiting for your painkillers to have its intended effect, when you heard the door of your apartment being open. Bruce and Alfred were the only ones with a spare key, and you doubted the butler would want anything from you right now.

There was a gentle knock on your door. Not any kind of knock, his knock. Your secret knock from when the two of you were children had stood the test of time, and he still used it after all these years.

You were far too exhausted to see him. Your whole body was screaming out in pain, and you didn’t really feel like talking to your childhood best friend. No, all you wanted to do was cry your eyes out while your uterus did whatever the hell it did.

“Go away!” you yelled, rolling on your bed, and pressing your hands against your stomach, in an attempt to soothe the pain.

“Is everything okay in there?” Bruce sounded concerned, and part of you felt bad for wanting him to go away – after all, he came all the way over to your place just to check on you. Pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes, you groaned out, “Just leave! I’ll be fine, just go away!”

Ignoring your command, Bruce slowly opened the door to your bedroom, head peeking inside.

“I told you to go away!” You yelled, throwing a pillow in his direction, and failing miserably.

“Yes, and I decided to ignore you. I brought you something.” He walked inside, taking the time to pick the pillow up and place it next to you, before handing you the plastic bag he was holding.

Reluctantly, you peered inside, and your eyes widened.

Your favourite snacks. All of them, inside this small plastic bag. Bruce knew you better than you knew yourself and had gotten you everything you loved to munch on when you were feeling down, as well as a few of your favourite beverages.

“How – how did you?” you stuttered.

“Lucky guess. I thought either heartbreak or period, and there was a high chance it was either of them, so I stopped by the supermarket. Was I correct?”

You were already halfway through your favourite chocolate bar, nodding at him. “The latter.”

Bruce grimaced and sat at the end of your bed, looking at you.

You tried not to look at him, into those pretty brown eyes of his.

“You’re whipped, Bruce Wayne. This is something only a creep would do. I don’t show up and you come over with sweets?” you chuckle, before finally meeting his gaze. After a while you looked at the bag in front of you. It had been a very sweet gesture. And no matter how “whipped” he might seem, he’d pretty much just saved you from a day of moping around in endless pain and discomfort. “Thanks,” you said quietly. “I really appreciate these.”

Bruce only nodded and stood up.

“Where are you going?” you asked, finishing your chocolate bar.

“I don’t want to prolong my stay more than what’s necessary. Don’t want to annoy you too bad today.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and shrugged, looking at your sheets.

“If you want to, you can stay.”

“Really?”

You shrugged again.

“Eating all of this will probably make me super sick. I need someone to clean up my vomit.”

He chuckled, nodded, and sat back down.

In reality, you just wanted his company.

Whenever you’re lazing around in the Manor, you often find yourself putting on some of Bruce’s clothes. His hoodies, which are way comfier than yours and reach your knees, his dress shirts when it’s warmer outside, even his favourite slippers. You reason with him that “everything that’s his is ten times more comfortable”. At first, he tried to fight you and banter back tenfold, but after a while, he just gave up. You did look great in his clothes. Bruce found himself catching glimpses of your bare legs or your thighs peeking out of his shirts, and wished you’d walk around like this more often.

In fact, he wished you’d stay forever. After all, whatever is his, was yours. He’d told you that plenty of times before. You, however, had brushed him off plenty of times, but clearly not enough to deter him.

You’d been hooking up for years now.

It had started out one cozy November night. You’d been watching a movie on his huge TV screen, sitting side by side, keeping a respectful distance from each other. Suddenly, it got far too cold for that, so you fetched a blanket and laid it on top of the two of you. And next thing you knew, you were on top of his bed, hands tangled up in his dark locks of hair as he pressed kisses down your body.

The next morning, Bruce had held you close to his chest, relishing on how perfectly your body slotted against his. His hands were tracing patterns on the skin of your arms. His mind was going a thousand miles. Finally, he had you. Finally, you were his. He couldn’t resist placing kisses on your shoulder, and you stirred awake.

“Good morning,” he mumbled against your skin.

It took a while for you to respond. You yawned a few times, before looking around his bedroom. Your gaze settled on him, and your eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. Last night’s events came to you. Oh. Right.

“Morning,” you replied, yawning right after. Slowly, you untangled yourself from his grip, and sat up, looking around for your clothes, or at least something you could cover yourself with. You found his shirt on the floor, and quickly leaned over to get it and put it on.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asked, using his arm to prop his head up.

“Fine. You?” you replied, brushing a few strands of hair from your face.

“I couldn’t be better.”

You offered him a small smile and stood up, looking for your clothes, or a pair of pants.

“What’s the hurry?” he asked once again, brows furrowing. Were you leaving?

“I’m getting something to eat. I’m starving, Bruce.” Chuckling, you found your pants and put them on as well. Bruce sat up on his bed and his eyes roamed over your figure, now hidden by clothes. He’d liked the view much better when you were bare before him.

“Aren’t we going to talk?”

You stopped, turning to him.

“Talk?”

“Yeah. About last night. About us.”

You let out a small chuckle.

When you looked at him, you found Bruce looking at you with a serious expression.

Oh.

“Wait. You’re – you’re serious about this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not like I’ve ever hid how I felt about you. But you’ve never told me how you felt.”

You stood there, staring at him. You didn’t know what to say. And what could you? Bruce was a good friend. Your closest friend, ever since the two of you were children. And there was no denying it, he was extremely good-looking, and last night you’d been attracted to him. Who wouldn’t? But you didn’t like him. At least not like that.

It was Bruce. He was your friend. The guy you tutored back in your Princeton days, who couldn’t concentrate on his homework for more than five minutes and somehow got stellar grades. Who pretended to be an eccentric billionaire for the sake of Gotham (or so he said).

“I’m sorry Bruce, I – I don’t feel that way about you.” The words came out, firm and strong. You had no doubts on your mind about how you felt. “I’m sorry if last night led you to believe otherwise.”

He stared at you, and it was like he could feel the pieces of his heart breaking bit by bit.

“But hey – we’re still friends. Right? You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Nothing needs to change.” You offered him a smile and he tried to give you one back, but it didn’t really reach his eyes.

“Sure. Nothing needs to change.”

You two thought that’d be the end of it, but it wasn’t.

For years, you slept together, tearing each other’s clothes at night, and awkwardly scrambling for them the next morning. You saw it as mere lust and physical attraction. You two were good friends who occasionally slept together. It was good. It felt good. But that was it.

Bruce, on the other hand, saw things differently. He thought it meant he had a chance. He thought that every time you decided to sleep with him, it meant you were one step closer to falling for him, to admitting how you felt.

Every morning he woke up with you in his arms, he’d try his luck. Brushing his fingers on your skin, ghosting his lips over the love marks and bites he’d left the night prior, he’d whisper to you.

“Would it be so bad for us to be together?” He’d sense you tensing under him, and then you were sighing and breaking free from his hold. He’d chastise himself mentally for scaring you away again, and that’s when you replied. You always gave him the same reply, looking him dead in the eye. “No, Bruce.”

And Bruce would lie back down as you hurried to get dressed and grab something to eat. His mind told him it was a terrible idea to keep sleeping with you, to allow you to toy with him like this when you had no feelings for him at all.

And although Bruce Wayne was always a very logical man, when it came to you, he was irrational, and always listened to his heart.

And his heart told him that someday, somehow, someway, you’d see the light. Someday, you’d finally understand how much emotion and love his kisses and caresses conveyed. Someday, you would listen to the unspoken words that hung in the air whenever he dropped to capture your lips with his own.

And even if you didn’t, he convinced himself that he was okay with it all, if only it meant he got to wake up next to you.

A/N: And that's it! I hope you guys liked it! It's not my best work I would say, but I gave it my all, as always! I hope you all have a wonderful day ahead!

[fairyysoup]

it will come back

part one

a.k.a. sever the blight (eddie's version)

pairing(s): werewolf!eddie munson x fem!milkmaid!reader

summary: You don’t go into the woods. You don’t talk to strangers. And you don’t, under any circumstances, approach a wolf. Unless one shows up bleeding at your door.

cw: dark themes, mature content, animal cruelty, animal death mention, gunshots, physical abuse, reader is a servant to an abusive master, misogyny, suggestive themes, fairytale au, some kind of historical fantasy period, inspired by The Company of Wolves by Angela Carter, eventual smut (in later parts)

a/n: hiiiiiiii :) so remember when i said i'd stop posting fic on tumblr? well one mental breakdown later i decided that was literally making me miserable and ruining my hobby! so i'm back. it's me, hi, i'm the problem it's me <3 this is a reupload

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

There are things they tell you about the woods from the time you are born, weaning you on them just the same as you are weaned on milk. Don’t go into the woods on a full moon. Don’t talk to strange men. Likewise, if you see a strange man alone in the pines on the full moon, run and don’t look back. And don’t, for any reason, approach a wolf at any time. They’ll kill you before you turn the other cheek.

In your twenty-some-odd years, you have never seen a wolf. You’ve heard them howling, distantly, so deep in the forest that you don’t even feel the need to be frightened by it. They exist in there, somewhere, going about their business as wolves do.

Sometimes you hear about the wolves wandering into town. Old Mr. Thatch, from just over the creek, said his pigs were slaughtered in the night. He’ll have to spend a fortune to get a few more. Torben Plack from the end of Warder’s Row saw one drinking from the horse trough outside the inn last month. 

There are whispers of wolves when a baby is missing from its crib. There are whispers of murder in the night. There are accusations that some of the townsfolk themselves are wolves in disguise.

Nonsense, the lot of it. Or, that’s what you believe. That’s what you choose to think about it– even though you’ve been told time and again that a pretty girl doesn’t think, a pretty girl believes and does what she’s told. She doesn’t go into the woods. She does her chores and she says her prayers and she marries a boy with a healthy income and lives quietly, rearing children until she can’t anymore.

(You don’t believe that, either.)

You don’t have the luxury of making any other choices, though. You are a servant, a milkmaid in the employ of a rather cold Master– you have no time for philosophy or discerning what you do and don’t believe about the local folklore.

You milk the cow. You chop the firewood. You feed the chickens. You harvest the cabbage and you don’t complain. You sleep on your bed in your shack– or, servant’s quarters– behind the grand house and you don’t, under any circumstances, question the Master or his wife. You wash the bedsheets after he sloppily takes his wife to bed, and you try to hide your disgust. 

You usually do what you’re told. Usually. 

On a night when the moon hangs round and full in the sky, lighting the stretch of land beyond your small shack in a milky blue haze, you’re building a small fire in the fireplace when you hear it. The howling. It’s so much closer than you’ve ever heard it, almost as though the wolves are just beyond the treeline that backs up to your master’s land.

You pay it no mind. Normally, the wolves are on the hunt for something– small animals that titter through the woods, unassuming until it’s too late. The howling will be distant soon, and you’ll be able to sleep soundly while the rest of the town frets about the dangers of the wolf-men, locking their windows and bolstering their doors. 

Just as you thought, the howls drift away slowly. You snuggle down into the covers of your bed, and you barely flinch when Mr. Thatch fires off a pistol over the creek, ringing through the dead night louder than hell. These things mean little to you. You’re more interested in what the land of dreams holds for you tonight– it’s one of the only reprieves you get from your long days of work.

It isn’t until ten minutes later, when you are mere inches from sleep, that you hear a soft whining outside your cabin door. At first, you think it’s the wind. Then, when it gets louder, you wonder if you’re imagining it.

And when it turns into a soft howling, well. That’s not your imagination.

You wrap a woven blanket around your shoulders and leave the door open when you step out into the chilly night. You don’t have a candle– you could always knick one from the Mistress, but that might risk getting caught, and you don’t love that idea. So, you contend with the little amount of light that spills out of the open door from your small fireplace, and you squint into the dark toward the source of the sound.

It takes shape in the form of a wolf. A big one, covered in black fur and curled up beneath the gabled roof, as though attempting to make itself smaller. It shivers and whimpers miserably, tucking its paws close to its body. 

You shrink back in the doorway, drawing your blanket closer around your shoulders. The hum of crickets in the bushes and in the grass across the pasture covers the shakiness of your rapid breathing. You don’t know what to do. You couldn’t possibly be expected to bother the Master this late at night– even if it is a wolf, the barn is shut up and the animals are safe. You’d probably be expected to just stay put in your little cabin and wait for it to go away on its own. Maybe in the morning the Master will find it and skin it for the Mistress’s bedquilt. 

The image makes you shudder. This poor thing– even if it is nearly as big as you, even if it’s a nasty predator in the eyes of everyone else– is clearly looking for some sort of reprieve. Just the same as you do at the end of the day. You can’t let it be skinned alive just for searching for safety.

“Hey,” you whisper softly, and you know the creature hears you, because it flinches badly. Almost as though it may bolt away in a panic. “No, no… don’t be frightened.” 

You lower yourself down towards the ground, tentatively inching forward as the creature turns its head to blink up at you. Water brims its dark eyes, sparkling in the low light from your open door. Streaks of tears flatten the fur on its snout; the wretched thing lets out a noise like a sob, hanging its head like it doesn’t have the energy to stand you off.

“I’ve never seen a wolf cry before,” you tell it quietly. You’ve never seen a wolf, period, but you don’t need to tell it that. You’re not sure that it can understand you, anyways, but you keep talking like it can. “Are you hurt?”

The wolf snorts, sneezes loudly, and then trembles. There’s a high pitched whining, a heart-shattering noise that cuts deep into your chest as the beast cowers away from you. The whine turns into a low growl when you move a bit closer, but it doesn’t sound like it really means business. More like it doesn’t know what to do with your closeness. 

“Hey,” you say again, more insistently. You inch your way forward, crouched low to the ground, holding your blanket around you with one hand as you reach the other out toward it. You’ve never tried to approach a wolf. You don’t know if it’s similar to trying to gain a domesticated dog’s trust– hold out your hand, let it catch your scent. Show it that you mean no harm, allow it to come to you. “I’m trying to help you, okay? Let me help.”

The wolf growls for a moment longer before finally relenting, and reaching its head forward to sniff curiously at your hand. You don’t know what you expect– perhaps that it would drop its head again, or back away cautiously. Instead, the wolf surprises you by pushing its head into your outstretched palm like a sad puppy.

“Oh,” you coo, stroking the wolf’s soft head as it trembles. Its ears twitch against your fingers, and it snuffles a few times, its body shaking with each, like an all-too-human fit of sobbing. “Okay, baby. Let’s get you inside.” 

Again, it’s a shot in the dark. You back slowly away from the creature, whose watery eyes blink up at you, and then you stand, and open the cabin door wider. The wolf doesn’t move, still continuing to shake with its uneven breathing.

You take a step into the door, and watch as the wolf slowly struggles up out of its cowering position. On all four legs, it seems to be favoring its right front leg, lifting its left paw limply upward. When you take another step back into the cabin, and it follows, it shudders a breath and limps badly on its left leg. 

“Good job, honey,” you tell the wolf gently as it tentatively follows you into the cabin. 

You don’t know whether to leave the door open or to shut it; you’re not sure if there’s any wisdom in shutting yourself in close quarters with a wild animal, but you also don’t want the Master to find it come morning. You suck your teeth and swing the door shut, quietly latching it and hoping the damned thing doesn’t suddenly decide it’s too hungry. 

You turn, and take two steps before dropping to your knees in front of the fireplace, where the most light hits the ground. You drop your blanket to the floor, and pat your lap as you look at the creature shivering a few feet away. “C’mere. Lay down.”

As far as you know, wolves don’t normally lay down and play lapdog for strange humans, but this one does. You wonder at it, remarkable in its size and beauty, as it flops down tiredly onto your floor and rests its head in your lap. Through your cotton chemise, the wolf’s chin is warmer than the heat of the fire.

You pet the wolf’s head again gently as you examine its left leg. It doesn’t seem to have any major wounds except for a spot of wetness on the side of it. When you lift it, the wolf in your lap whines loudly.

“I know, baby,” you coo at it, trying to pet its head as soothingly as you can while you look over the mangled leg and paw. Through the fur and dirt, you see a patch of pink skin matted with bright red, and your own hand comes away smeared with blood. There is a bad gash, enough to still be bleeding. 

You don’t want to jostle the animal now that it’s relatively comfortable, so you bend backwards and sideways to reach the cup of water on the shelf at your bedside. It’s what you have on hand to clean the wound– you suppose you could sneak into the grand house to steal some soap, but just the same as the candle, you’d rather not risk it. You take your time in pouring cool, clean water on the wolf’s wound, rubbing dirt and blood away from the gash. In your lap, the beast huffs softly in response.

“I don’t know what you’re doing out of the woods,” you tell it as you tenderly clean its wound, expecting that you’re only speaking to settle your own nerves, “but you ought not to come around here too often. The men here are bloodthirsty. Don’t want you getting any more beat up.” 

The wolf heaves a sigh. For what it’s worth, you take that as some sort of acknowledgement. 

“I can’t do much else for you besides this,” you continue softly. The wound is clean now, the fur gone wet enough that you can pull it aside and peer at the gash itself. It’s quite deep, straight, and slices from the middle of its leg upward at a diagonal. It continues to ooze even as you examine it, painting your fingers red. You tip a little more water onto it. 

You grab one corner of the blanket you’d used to wrap yourself, and rip a strip off along the grain. The light pink fabric looks almost comical when you wrap it around the wolf’s leg, tying it and tucking the tails in gently so that it won’t fall off too easily. You figure, eventually, the damn thing will come off while the wolf goes off on its merry way. You don’t delude yourself into thinking you’ve got a pet, now.

“I wish I could give you more,” you tell the beast, petting your hand down its mane, feeling the silken fur slide through your fingers like the plushest finery that you’ll never be able to enjoy for yourself. “But, I suppose, you can rest here tonight. If you promise to stay polite.”

The wolf doesn’t fuss when you slide a stiff pillow under its chin, and slip back under the covers of your bed. You gaze at it, curled up in a big black mass on your floor in front of the hearth, and you wonder why on earth a wild animal would be so well behaved. 

You wonder how a wolf is capable of crying.

You wake in the early morning light expecting to find a big black wolf sleeping in front of your hearth. Instead, when you rouse and rub the sleep from your eyes, you find that the wolf is gone.

In fact, there appears to have been no wolf at all. No blood on the floor, no black fur on the pillow that has inexplicably reappeared on the foot of your bed. Your water cup is full. And the door to your cabin is latched, just the same as it had been last night, after you let the wolf in.

By all appearances, nothing happened last night. There was no wolf. You half expect that you dreamed the entire thing. And you would continue to believe so– but, the end of your pink woven blanket is still torn, missing a strip from the end, frayed along the grain.

You slip from your bed and fling open the door to your shack, emerging into the cool morning air. You look down at the nook beside the door where the wolf had huddled in the dark, seeking shelter away from harm. There is nothing there to suggest that it had been there last night. 

But you know it to be true. You know it.

How could a wolf, a four legged creature with full use of only three of them, manage to unlatch your door, step out, and then relatch it from the other side? How could your water magically refill itself? It’s a mile to the well in the town square, and it’s not like the wolf could have done it. 

Broken from your thoughts, you hear a shriek of your name. You lift your head to see your Mistress, fully dressed, feeding the chickens. The daily chores have already begun.

“What are you doing outside in your underclothes?!” your Mistress yells, flinging grain down at the birds. “Go inside and dress yourself this instant, you wretch! And begin your morning duties!” 

You jump, darting back behind the door. You hadn’t thought anyone would be out yet. “Sorry, Mistress!” 

You rush to grab your stays from the end of your bed. You’ll pay for that one, you think. 

There are a million reasons why you prefer doing your chores out of the house. 

One, the Mistress isn’t around to rag on you over every little thing. Two, you don’t have to be watching over your shoulder to make sure you aren’t in the Master’s way. And three, you can take all the time you want to do other things as well, as long as you get done before dinner has to be served. 

Your skirt is filthy, but it’s a beautiful day, and the creek that separates your Master’s land from Mr. Thatch’s land is babbling quite a bit, and it makes doing the washing up much easier than it otherwise would be. Which you’re happy about, since your arm is so badly welted you can barely curl your fingers. 

You sniffle and lift your apron to wipe your nose. Then you wring out the Mistress’s petticoat– of which there are far too many for one woman to reasonably have– you whine at the strain on your injured hand, and you move to the basket of other soiled clothes. You think about blowing your nose in the Master’s linen shirt, and you’re about two seconds from doing it, too, when you hear a splash nearby. 

“Shit,” says a man’s voice. There are a couple more splashes around the bend, and then yelps, and then there’s one enormous splash, and a laugh. 

“Hello?” you call, trying to peer around the bank of overgrowth beside you. Then, there’s a cacophonous amount of splashing, which makes you screw up your face, and a man emerges from around the bank of greenery.

You pause, holding your Master’s laundry in your hands over the water like you’re wondering whether to dip it in or not. Really, you’re just shocked to see a strange man on your Master’s property at all. He’s out of breath, rosy cheeked and soaking wet from the chest down.

“Um,” is all you can say.

“Hello there,” the man says with a rakish grin that flashes sharp teeth at you. You blink a few times, just to make sure he’s really there. And when you do satisfy yourself with the fact that, yes, he’s very real, you then have to acclimate yourself to the idea that he’s also absolutely beautiful.

His very pretty face is framed by long, dark hair, and his eyes are strikingly dark. There’s something on his skin peeking out of the open collar of his burgundy blouse, but to look at that from this distance means to look at the way his shirt clings to his body, and then his trousers, and if you weren’t already struck dumb, now you are.

“How– how are you– um.” You wave your hands around, gesturing to the general area around you. “Whatareyoudoinghere?” 

“I think I was going for a swim, of sorts,” the man laughs, holding one arm out a bit to indicate his damp appearance. 

“Who are you?”

“Now, there’s a question for the ages.” The man tromps forward through the water, splashing along gracelessly and with exaggerated steps, like he’s trying to make you laugh. “Generally speaking, no one really cares who I am, just what I want.” 

“Okay,” you snap, irritated by the man’s jovial attitude and his need to speak in riddles. “What do you want? Why are you on this land? What business do you have here, and with whom?” 

“Whoa, hey–” the man holds up his hands, and grimaces like it’s painful to do so. Then he recovers with a flashy smile. “I don’t mean you any harm, princess. I have no business anywhere, I was just following the creek and seeing where it leads. Guess the time got away from me.”

“I’m not a princess,” you grumble back at him.

He tilts his head, his smile lingering as he looks at you. “Just an expression, no need to be nasty.”

You scowl down at your master’s clothes, and then plunge them into the water like they personally offended you. “Following the creek from where?” He points his thumb over his shoulder, towards the trees. “You came from the woods?”

“Thereabouts.” 

You squint up at him. “What’s your name?”

“Eddie Munson, at your service.” He bows dramatically and takes another step towards you. “And may I ask who you are? Or shall I just call you ‘My Lovely Lady of the Creek,’ for time immemorial?”

You tell him your name flatly, and turn your face away as he gets closer, suddenly very invested in getting sweat stains out of your Master’s linen blouse using a cake of lye soap. “You should know not to go into those woods alone. There’s wolves.” 

 “Oh, I think I can handle myself in the woods, sweetheart.” Eddie smirks down at you. “Anyways, who wants to be in the trees on a day like this?” 

You grunt. You don’t think the man will be going away anytime soon, which is bad news for you, because the closer he gets, the more inclined you are to look at him. Then, you’re more inclined to talk, and you’ve already been punished once today. You don’t think you could handle another.

The man, Eddie, sits himself down on a large rock jutting out of the water next to you. He watches you for a moment, scrubbing with one hand at the cloth on the board in the water, and then he points down at your arm. His billowing sleeve flashes red in your peripheral vision, along with the silver of the rings on his hand.

“What happened here?” he asks softly, his voice losing its humorous tone.

You look down at the welted skin. It stings, but the cold water numbs the pain just a bit. Now that he’s brought your attention back to it, your eyes prick with tears again, and you sniff. “My Mistress caught me outdoors in my chemise.”

“She should count herself lucky. It’s a sight to behold.” 

“What?” You blink up at him. From this angle, him looming over you on a boulder, the sun rings his head in gold like a halo. “How would you know?” 

“I’m… supposing.” Eddie bites his lip, staring off to the side for a moment, as if suddenly at a loss for the right words to say. “You’re a very… beautiful girl. I can only imagine.” 

“That’s forward of you.” 

“Besides, it doesn’t answer my question,” he rushes out. He scowls back down at your arm. “What did that to you?” 

You heave a sigh. “Well, the Mistress told my Master. And the Master is very heavy handed with a cane.” A small sob constricts your throat for a moment, tears pricking your eyes again so badly that you have to stop working and close them. Your sinuses burn from the effort of holding it in.

“You were beaten because you went outside without a petticoat?” Eddie remarks incredulously, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Well, I… I was also late to start my chores,” you admit in a wobbly voice. “So I suppose I got off easier than most would…” 

“It’s cruel. I’d love to see how he would take it, if the tables were turned.” Eddie’s dark eyes flash dangerously when you look up at him; there’s something in the set of his jaw and the steely expression on his face that makes you think of the growling wolf last night. After a moment, he softens towards you again. “Why were you late to your chores?”

“I…” you trail off. You think about telling him about the wolf, but you wonder if he’s the kind of person who will go into town and yell about the wolves trying to steal women in the night, and you could do without the embarrassment. “I had a nightmare. Slept too late.”

Eddie clicks his tongue and rocks backward a bit. “A nightmare,” he repeats, considering the word like it’s a part of life’s philosophy. “What about?”

You don’t respond for a few moments. You’ve moved on to washing a pillowcase now, which is significantly less soiled than your Master’s blouse. “Why do you care?”

“I care because I hate to see My Lovely Lady of the Creek in distress. Even if she is completely vexed by the sight of me,” He says lightly, as you tilt your head down to hide the way your cheeks burn. He reaches up his right hand and produces a silver coin from behind your ear. You stare at it in puzzlement as he hands it to you. “What was your nightmare about?”

You hesitate just a moment before taking the silver coin. “Is this bribery?”

“Absolutely,” Eddie announces with a wry smile. “For your thoughts.”

You sigh. You could use the coin, you’ll admit. Maybe you could buy yourself a new robe, or a loaf of bread from the baker, or any other of the myriad things you’re in want of. 

You tuck the coin down the front of your bodice, where it slides down and gets stuck between your ribcage and your chemise. Eddie’s eyes follow the path that it takes between your breasts with a hungry glint in them. 

“There was a wolf,” you tell him quietly, going back to your work. “It came to my door bleeding. I brought it inside and nursed it. But when I woke, there wasn’t a wolf. It was just a nightmare.”

“Oh,” Eddie hums amusedly. “I wouldn’t call that a nightmare. I’d rather call it a dream.”

“A dream?” you echo with a scoff. 

“Yes. A lovely dream, with a heroine and a lonely beast in need of kindness.” He leans towards you, his hands on his knees. “But, you know what they say about wild things.”

You huff with indignance, but humor him, because you’re curious in spite of yourself. “I don’t know. What do they say?”

“You shouldn’t show them kindness,” he whispers, so close to your ear that you can feel his breath on your neck. “They’ll keep coming back for more.”

You startle, standing up with a noisy splash of water as you yank the last of the laundry from the creek. There’s a flush under your bodice that you don’t like, sticking to the coin that’s going hot against your skin as you think about it even being there. That it was produced by his hand. The more you think about it, the more you imagine it as an extension of his body, touching you just beneath your breast. 

Eddie snickers to himself as you hurriedly, shakily, smack the last piece of laundry into the basket with the rest, and pick up the washboard from the water. With a frustrated huff, you stand and rest the basket of laundry on your hip. You gaze out across the creek, and then away towards the trees, and finally, when you’re sure you can form words, you turn back to him. 

“Goodbye, Mr. Munson,” you say stiffly, so that you don’t trip over your own tongue. It comes out icily as a result, and you turn away to hide the way that you blush.

“Until we meet again.” Eddie presses his lips together, as though he’s stifling a laugh. Then he says, in a slightly bossy tone, “Take care of that arm for me, princess. Don’t want you getting any more beat up.”

You whirl around to ask him to repeat that– what the hell did you just say?– but when you do, the man is already gone. Along with any trace of his presence by the creekside. 

Except, the coin he bought your dream with still grows warm against the heat of your skin, under your bodice.