#that's how I'm saying the prompt applies at least

[celtic-crossbow]

Blood Ties Chapter 29

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Slightly graphic depictions of labor and childbirth A/N: Maybe a cliffhanger. Maybe not. You'll have to read to find out! ;) Daryl is definitely ooc in this. I'm sorry, I tried to get as close as I could to how he might react. Also, the saying he uses is one we use in the south that means "how is that relevant?" You'll know it when you read it, lol.

“About 4cm now. Progressing nicely.” Hershel informed, wiping his hands on a cloth that Carol had provided. 

Rick and T-Dog were out doing yet another night run in the van. It was also low on fuel but the map showed another town close by. Fuel, gloves, and other necessities were on the list. Glenn was on watch with Daryl for backup if anything happened. It wasn’t an ideal situation but it couldn’t be helped.

Thumper was calling the shots at that point. 

Before the men had left, Daryl had confiscated all the blankets except for those that were for Lori and Carl. When Glenn began to complain, one look from the anxiety-driven archer had brought the young man very close to hiding behind Rick. While some blankets were used for your comfort, others were fashioned into a tent-like structure over the bare branches of a decently sized bush. You needed some sense of privacy. 

Carol and Lori had dug through the maternity clothes that hadn’t been lost on the road and found a button up dress. It was comfortable and made things much easier than leggings. 

After your immediate needs had been met, Daryl then perched himself just beside your shoulder and hadn’t moved since. 

“S’the number we’re aimin’ for?” He asked with frustration lacing his tone, making sure the blankets were back over you and tucked tight to keep you warm. He had been muttering to himself how he wished he had made time to read the rest of the books. Daryl was not a man that liked being in the dark on anything. It made him feel helpless, as you had learned over the last several months. 

“She needs to be at 10cm and the baby needs to be in the correct position before she can push.” The old man positioned the ear tubes of the stethoscope before pressing it against several spots on your belly. “Heart beat is strong. Everything is looking good.”

You had remained quiet until that moment. “Do I just—I don’t know—lay here?”

“Walking encourages the cervix to dilate and soften. Once you dilate a little further, the contractions will likely be stronger, whether painful or not.” The calmness that man practiced really made you want to strangle him with that stethoscope. “Make sure you don’t go alone, and—”

“She ain’t.” Daryl snapped. 

Hershel shot him an admonishing look. “As I was saying, take breaks. Sleep when you can. I’ll check you periodically. You’ll need to keep timing the contractions, son.” Daryl nodded. “Sip small amounts of water, no food. Keep me informed of any changes. And as unpleasant as it may sound, if you feel the pressure and urge as if you may need to have a bowel movement, call for me immediately.”

You, as well as Daryl, reared back, lips curling. 

“The fuck that gotta do with the price’a fish?” The archer queried, not so nicely. 

“Settle down. The pressure from the baby’s head moving into the birth canal can feel similar to that.” Shaking his head, Hershel shuffled his way out of your tiny tent. 

Finally alone, you turned onto your side and scooted your upper body toward Daryl. He stretched out his legs so you could rest on his thigh. 

“Get some rest.” His hand wiggled beneath the blanket and rubbed up and down the length of your upper arm, but moved to your belly when another contraction took over. Without prompting, he slid his warm palm around to your lower back and applied the least bit of pressure, rubbing small circles. You buried your face into his thigh to ride it out, but you had to admit the light massaging helped, if only a little. 

“You’re supposed to be—” You were panting when you rolled your head to remind him, but found the watch already lifted to eye level, his gaze shifting from it to your stomach. 

“Sleep if ya can. I got this.” His brow was furrowed in concentration, your heart swelling and warm. Any worry you had entertained of him running when things got real, just gone in an instant. He was there. He was there. 

“I’ll try.” You whispered, the pain finally an afterthought. You felt him slide his hand back to the side of your stomach before you let yourself succumb to exhaustion. 

“Sorry, Sunshine. Doc says up, so up ya get.”

You let Daryl take your dead weight and pull you up by a grip beneath your arms, making it as difficult as possible so you might get to stay in your warm little nest. You were still at 4cm. Hershel had said you had to start walking to help labor progress. 

“This isn’t fair.” You whined, rubbing your back once you were upright. The pain that accompanied each contraction had lessened but was still ever present. “Can’t you walk and I dilate?”

Daryl snorted. “Don’t think that’s how it works.” He placed a careful hand on the small of your back and kept your pace, slow as it was. 

“Okay, then how about if it gets worse, I kick you in the balls and punch you in the kidneys so you can participate properly?” You were only half joking. 

“If it gets ya through this, I guess.” The archer shrugged. You regarded him with a skeptical brow arched. 

“You’d really let me do that?”

“Hell nah, but s’the thought that counts or some shit like that, right?” He didn’t even try to dodge the smack you aimed at his shoulder. 

“You’re hilarious.” You deadpanned, even as you leaned into him while you strolled in circles around the perimeter. The moonlight caught the watch in his right hand, his finger tapping against the casing. Bless him, he was taking his role of supportive partner very seriously. You gasped when the next contraction came, stopping to bend slightly and breathe through it while Daryl secured an arm around you and flipped open the watch. 

When it was clear you weren’t falling, he slid his hand to the middle of your back and massaged the length of your spine using gentle pressure from the heel of his palm. He never said much—if anything—during the episodes themselves, but kept you informed of the timing of each one. 

“Oh, goddamnit, this one sucks.” You managed through clenched teeth. You swayed slightly when it was over, grasping blindly for the man next to you. 

“Thirteen minutes since the last’un. A minute, twelve.” He was slow and careful when turning you back toward camp. “Let’s getcha back to Hershel.” 

You shook your head. “One last loop, then we can go back.” Daryl didn’t say anything but you felt him tense. “I’m sure. They’re just getting a little more painful in the stomach, less in the back.” 

He still hesitated. “Alright. One more.”

Hershel stepped into your path before you started the second loop, allowing Daryl to fill him in on the last contraction. 

“Do one more. Rest. And then again.” The old man ordered curtly. 

Once he had vanished back toward the small fire, you mocked his words. “Rest and then again.” Daryl shook his head beside you. “I mean seriously, how much help can walking actually be?”

“Fuuuuuck!” You were digging your fingers into the blankets below you, swatting away Carol’s hand when she tried to dab your face with a piece of cloth. Daryl was sitting beside you, wide-eyed and lost, the watch forgotten by his leg. Hershel was between your knees, sporting his medical gloves that had been brought back by Rick and T-Dog. 

The archer cleared his throat. “She alright?” 

“Do I look alright, Daryl?!” You hissed, making an admirable attempt at breathing the way Carol was instructing. The contraction finally ended and you fell back onto the folded blankets. “I’m sorry.” You found his worried blue eyes easily and fumbled for his hand. 

“S’okay.” He whispered, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. 

“She’s at 6cm. We can still time the contractions but I think she may need your attention more than that watch does now.” Hershel reached for the item and placed it in his pocket once Daryl handed it over. “Keep moving but stay closer, no more perimeter walks.”

Daryl nodded, you whimpered. 

“I’ll be back soon to check again. If we’re lucky, things will move a little faster now that you’re in active labor.” Hershel left the tent while Carol fixed your dress. 

“I know it hurts, but you two will have little Thumper in your arms in just a matter of hours.” She smoothed your hair and tucked it behind your ears. “You’re doing great.”

“I don’t feel like I’m doing great.” You murmured, ducking your head almost bashfully. “I’m really sorry I snapped at you, Daryl. It just—well, it hurts and it’s hard to think.”

“Ain’t mad.” He tried for a half smile but it was weak. “Better than gettin’ kicked in the balls, I reckon.” You laughed and squeezed his hand. “Guess we oughtta getcha up again.”

“I’ll help.” Carol offered. You could see that a refusal was on the tip of Daryl’s tongue but he never voiced it. With Carol under one arm and Daryl under the other, you were pulled upright. 

Your body already felt wrung out and sore, and the epic finale hadn’t even begun. Still, you allowed Carol to pass you off to Daryl. 

“We movin’ on? Be better to find a house or somethin’.” He looped an arm around your back, following as you shuffled your way around. 

Carol shrugged, not touching you but keeping up with your small strides. “Both vehicles have fuel but Hershel isn’t sure we should move her. He thinks the baby will come soon and she needs to be kept in one place.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back in frustration. “She is right here. And if my opinion matters, I’d rather not—” The contraction came on strong, halting you suddenly with your hand fisting into the lower part of Daryl’s vest. The archer stepped around in front of you, rough but gentle hands grasping your wrists to guide your arms to his shoulders. 

“Try to breathe. Sometimes humming or even moaning helps, like an outlet.” Carol advised while rubbing your back. 

Your head fell forward against Daryl’s chest, a deep but quiet moan muffled against the firm muscle beyond his shirt. His hands had fallen to your hips, his body followed you as you swayed back and forth. The episodes were growing more intense, coming closer together and lasting longer. It wasn’t difficult to surmise that things would be growing more difficult to handle. 

“Ain’t nothin’ we can do for ‘er?” Daryl asked quietly above you, each word blowing his warm breath over the top of your head. Carol must have answered in the negative because his fingers flexed against your hips. 

The skin of your belly was pulled so tightly that you swore it would tear open, the muscles feeling as if they would pulse right out of the gaping hole your torn flesh would leave. 

“Shit.” You whimpered, your voice finding its way back during the last dregs of pain. You almost didn’t register warm hands gliding up and down your sides, a smaller hand on your back. “I don’t want to have the baby here.” You argued weakly. “It’s too open. Things will be too chaotic, too loud.”

“I know, Sunshine, but the doc says—”

“I don’t want to risk Thumper here in the open, Daryl. With—with walkers or people.” With enough strength having returned after the pain, you lifted your head, eyes pleading. “Please.”

The archer was visibly upset. He was just as vulnerable as you were at that moment, torn between what he felt was right and what Hershel said was for the best. His tongue wet his bottom lip before he pulled it in between his teeth, looking to Carol for guidance. 

“Could lay down the seats in the van. Use the back.” He suggested. “Plenty’a room an’ if we need to move fast—”

“I don’t think that’s unreasonable.” Carol agreed, rubbing your back in a few soft strokes before beginning to move away. “I’ll go talk to Hershel. You two keep walking.”

You watched her go, turning your gaze up to Daryl when he shifted back to your side to urge you along. “Gotta keep movin’.” You groaned, dragging your feet with your head falling back in frustration. 

You were in the middle of a contraction, when you heard it. A snarl, a raspy growl much too close. You were already clinging to Daryl and breathing through the pain that was readying your body for Thumper’s arrival, but you’d have to let him go. He had to protect the baby. And to do that, he had to protect you. 

But he didn’t move. He was nearly vibrating, rigid beneath your hands on his shoulders. He was just as scared as you were, even more so. He knew he could take the walker but that would mean letting you go. He needed to protect you but he wanted to support you. He had told you he'd never let you fall and you knew he had meant it.

“Go.” Your hands slid from his shoulders, down his chest before they released him completely to clutch your belly.

His boots disappeared from your view of the ground but you couldn’t focus after that. The pain was growing in intensity, immobilizing you with your lips tightly pressed to withhold the cries that vibrated behind your teeth for release. You couldn’t, you just couldn’t make a sound. You’d attract more, endanger everyone. You’d endanger Thumper. Daryl. 

There were scuffles. More snarls. Tears were threatening your waterline. Pain was coursing through you like a serpent, slithering around each muscle and tendon and pulling them tight. You felt disappointment and guilt over all the agony when your mouth fell open with a guttural moan, your will to cut off the scream that begged to follow barely holding true. 

“D—Daryl.” You cried out. And he was there, hands on your face, your biceps, your belly. 

“M’here. M’here. Gotta move, though.” He swept you up with the slightest strained noise. “Gonna getcha to the van. Gonna find somewhere safe for ya.” The pain was fading. You could focus on the dark blood on his face, the dirt and grime. 

“Herd?” You whispered. 

“Ain’t your fault.” His expression emanated fear and stress. “The hatch.” Someone was with him. The small hands that opened the back of the van and spread out the blankets, those were Carol’s. She sat a pile of smaller blankets and squares of fabric toward the indents on the floor where the seats had been stowed. 

“Get as many in the truck as you can! In the cab and the bed!” Rick was calling out at the same time that Hershel climbed into the van. Daryl was careful when he placed you inside, climbing over you before pulling you further in to make room for Hershel and Carol. 

Through your haze of exhaustion, you saw Rick climb in the driver's seat and Maggie beside him. That meant that five others had to somehow fit into the truck. 

“Is everyone okay?” You asked, eyes pleading with Daryl for an honest answer. 

“Yeah, they’re all good.” He nodded, smoothing a hand over your hair. 

The van was moving, though you didn’t realize when it had started. Hershel was between your knees when another contraction came. It felt like only moments had passed since the last one. In the safety of the van, though you couldn’t be bothered to consider that, you bowed forward with a scream. Daryl gingerly worked your fingers loose from the blanket to take your hand. 

“She’s at 9cm. This baby is coming soon.” Hershel didn’t move this time, he and Carol began sorting things that you couldn’t see. Panting, you leaned to the side, knowing Daryl would be there. His arm wrapped around your shoulders and squeezed. 

“What—” He swallowed audibly. “Tell me what I need to do.” 

“Just be with her.” Carol poured some water from a bottle onto a piece of fabric and passed it across you for Daryl to take. “Wipe her face, put it behind her neck.”

The archer’s hand was trembling fiercely when you felt the blessed cool cloth touch your forehead. The moan that left you was not one of pain but utter relief. “Oh, that’s nice.” You breathed. Your skin was on fire, every cell of your being felt twisted and wrong. But that trembling cloth wiping at your face grounded you, centered you around what your body was preparing to do. 

You were so close to being a mother. 

But that didn’t stop the scream that ripped from your throat when the next contraction tore through you. You sat up, propped on your elbows with your eyes screwed shut. Tears leaked from the corners, the wailing cutting off into wretched sobs when you felt Daryl’s forehead fall against the crown of your head, his mantra of m’sorry m’sorry m’sorry shattering you into a million shards. 

You couldn’t tell him it was okay. You couldn’t remind him why you hurt. You couldn’t reassure him that he was the one you wanted and you were more than happy to do this with him. For him. You didn’t have the breath. 

“Don’t push, Y/N. Not yet.” Hershel’s tone was even but not cruel, his gloved hands on your knees. 

“It fucking burns!” You shrieked, squeezing Daryl’s hand until you were certain you felt the bones shift. The contraction let up, the fiery sensation dulling but ever present. 

“What’s happenin’?” Daryl sounded breathless. Terrified. You were still catching your breath when you looked up at him. His tan skin was white as a sheet, no color in his lips. His blue eyes were brighter than you’d ever seen them. From tears or fear, you couldn’t be sure. 

“The baby’s in the right position. Y/N, it’ll be time to push soon. It’ll be very important for you to listen to everything I say. Can you do that?” Hershel wasn’t looking at you, between moving around things Carol was handing to him and keeping a constant eye on your progress. Distantly, you wondered why it was Carol at his side and not Maggie. Maybe because you were close with Carol? For your comfort? 

“Yeah. Yeah, I can.” You turned your attention back to Daryl when his grip on your hand loosened slightly. He swayed, the pallor of his skin growing more concerning. “Daryl?”

The archer shook his head almost violently. “M’good.”

“Okay, I just—oh, fuck, already!?” You grit your teeth as your stomach tightened, a visible shift beneath the fabric of your dress. 

“Maggie, can you climb back here?” Hershel requested calmly. His eldest said nothing but maneuvered her way into the back and on your opposite side. “I fear we may lose Daryl at any moment and Y/N will need support.”

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Daryl snapped but it was a weak effort. He inhaled deeply and began squeezing your hand to keep you from dislocating his fingers. 

“Here.” Carol passed him an opened bottle of water. “Drink a few sips. You’re white as a ghost.”

You were barely aware of everything happening around you, shaking almost violently to refrain from bearing down until Hershel told you to do so. It was bordering on excruciating. 

“Jesus Christ, it feels like you’re holding a flamethrower to my fucking pussy!” 

Hershel sighed while Maggie and Carol chuckled and Daryl snorted out a quiet nice, Y/N. 

“It’s just the birth canal stretching to make room for the baby.” The veterinarian explained coolly. 

“Just?” You mocked. “Just, he says while it’s my—oh Jesus fuck!” With all the presence of mind you could summon, you managed not to start screaming at Daryl for putting you in that position. You knew that beyond the pain and fear, you wanted Thumper in your arms more than anything in that fucked up world. 

“Okay, Y/N,” Hershel patted your bare knees just at the tail end of the contraction to ensure he had your attention. You had fallen back against Maggie while Daryl held the cool cloth against the back of your neck. His hand was vibrating your skull to the point that you nearly asked him to move away. “You’re ready. On the next contraction, you need to push.”

“God, your calm voice makes me want to kick you in the teeth.” You didn’t mean it—mostly. Hershel must have known that because he chuckled. You could feel the next contraction already building when the van lurched to a stop, throwing everyone in it. 

“We got a herd in front of us!” Rick called from the front. 

“Go ‘round it! Turn ‘round! Just keep ‘em off us!” Daryl yelled as the pain peaked. “Fuck!” He bellowed when your hand began to shake with how hard you squeezed his own. 

“Push!” Hershel shouted over the bumps and jerks of the van doing whatever Rick had deemed best. “Good, good!” He began to countdown from ten while you screamed.

You were being torn open. Thumper was going to rip you in half on their way out. Your throat was raw, surely bleeding from your wails. When the old man reached one, you fell back against Maggie but Daryl’s hand was there too. 

“Maggie, Daryl, hold behind her knees. Help support her legs. It’ll keep her hips open.” Both moved forward, taking you with them to sit you up a little straighter. Daryl had to release your hand to hold you and your leg. The archer hissed with the pressure against his abused palm. “Perfect. Alright, Y/N. A nice, strong push this time.”

You almost snarled. “Last one wasn’t good enough?”

“Easy, Sunshine.” You felt Daryl's lips against your temple and yearned to keep them there. 

“I’m sorry, Hershel.” Once again, the man simply smiled. Lori had told you that childbirth in the movies was often dramatized but so far, you weren’t seeing the truth in that statement. When the contraction reached a crescendo, you leaned forward while Maggie and Daryl held your legs steady. The pain was extraordinary. You almost wished you could see what was happening, but any train of thought was derailed with Hershel’s next words.

“The baby is crowning!” 

Gasping, you swallowed hard, glancing at Daryl—who had a front row seat to what was happening—and then back to Hershel. “Crowning?”

“The head will be out soon.” 

“All this and we don’t even have the head out?!” You screeched, just as your stomach rippled into a rigid mound and you were pushing again. This pain was different. Thumper was definitely ripping you apart. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! It burns!”

“S’that—” Daryl cleared his throat and swallowed, swaying on the spot. “S’that normal?”

“Perfectly normal.” Hershel glanced up at the archer, back down, and then up again. “Carol.” He needn’t say anything else. The other woman was moving to grab the back of your leg and let Daryl fall against her so he didn’t smack his head on the side of the van.

You were completely unaware, your entire focus centered on the inferno between your legs. There was no way any woman would willingly do this unmedicated. Never in your life had you wanted drugs more than you did in that moment. Thumper. Thumper, Thumper. You chanted internally, even as your vocal chords vibrated harshly with your screams. And just as you thought you would lose consciousness from the pain, it lessened. It hadn’t disappeared but comparatively, you would take that over the prior. 

“The head is out!” 

Panting, you smiled but then fell into confusion when you saw Carol beside your leg and Daryl slumped against her. “Daryl? Daryl?!” You shifted but Maggie held you still. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.” Hershel chuckled. 

“Who knew a man that could gut a walker without batting an eye couldn’t watch his baby’s head come out?” Carol smiled but began to act, jerking her shoulder to jar the archer. “Daryl. Daryl, wake up. You don’t want to miss this.” He stirred and started to lean back. “Think you can take a look without losing it again?”

“Shuddup.” He shook his head hard, grunting. His hand was the first thing to move, sliding beneath Carol’s to take hold of your leg. Then he was looking at you. “M’sorry. That was—fuck, m’a pussy.” Maggie was moving your hand and pulling you forward as you watched your partner. 

Then your fingers were touching a soft, albeit slimy, head. 

You gasped. “Daryl.”

The man gulped, but then sat up on his knees a little. You watched the fear and apprehension melt away into awe, his jaw loosening, eyebrows rising, and eyes beginning to shine. “S’that—”

“That’s Thumper.” You were able to say before Hershel announced your miniscule break was over. He didn’t need to say a word, your body was already letting you know. Daryl’s hold felt stronger now and he was watching with an awestruck intensity that just made your heart want to explode even as you rode out the waves of agony. You were going to be a little family.

Then, out of the blue, you could feel something was different, wrong.

“Her—Hershel—Ow, fuck—” You fingers clawed at Daryl’s chest, his wet eyes going wide with concern. The contraction ended and you were gasping and swallowing convulsively, feeling nauseous regardless of your lack of food. Daryl’s eyes were darting back and forth between you and the old man. “Daryl, something—something’s wrong.” You could tell the baby had not moved an inch during the pushing, but not only that, it felt like they had actually pulled back toward your opening. 

“I know.” Hershel’s voice had lost the calm and was taking on an emergent edge. “The baby is stuck.”

Panic flashed over Daryl’s face in the form of anger. “The fuck ya mean stuck?!”

Still trying to catch your breath, sweat dripping into your eyes, you thought for certain Daryl was going to jump across your leg and attack the old man. Thankfully, he remained at your side. Trembling and breath stuttering, but he wasn’t moving. 

“Shoulder dystocia. The baby is turned in such a way that the shoulders can’t fit through the pelvis. Carol, I will need your help, please.” You were already on the edge of the next contraction when Hershel nearly barked “Y/N, don’t push.”

“What the fuck’re ya doin’?” Daryl snapped, leaning over your leg to investigate. So many emotions were battling for dominance in his expression that you couldn’t even begin to imagine how he was feeling.

“Daryl, please.” You pleaded, trying your hardest not to sob. For once, you cared nothing about being self-reliant or what the group thought of you and how much you needed Daryl. As you fought through the pain and against your body’s natural insistence to push, you just cried. Daryl kept a hand below your knee, too afraid to move unless Hershel gave the okay, but he leaned as far as he could to hold you without influencing your position.

“S’okay, Sunshine. S’gonna be okay.”

“Y/N, listen to me. I can feel the shoulder.” Now, the veterinarian’s tone was just downright frightening. “Maggie and Daryl are going to pull your legs back on the next contraction. I’m going to apply some pressure above your pubic bone. It’s not going to be pleasant, but if I’m correct, the head should come and then the baby. I need you to push with all you have, do you understand?”

You pressed your cheek further into Daryl’s chest and nodded, hiccuping through ragged, exhausted breaths. When the contraction began to tear through you, Maggie and Daryl reacted immediately, pulling your legs toward your belly while you curled inward with a guttural scream. Hershel pressed into the area just above your pubic bone, the pressure only compounding the whirlwind of pain you were already caught in. And then it was over and you let the two supporters take your weight.

The van rocked again, but was ignored. Hershel looked at Carol gravely and shook his head. 

“S’that ‘bout?” Daryl hissed, trying hard for your sake not to lose his cool.

“It didn’t work.” Before Daryl could speak, the old man continued. “We’re going to try one more time. If it doesn’t work, there are a couple of other things we can try but time is of the essence. The baby isn’t getting the oxygen they need like this.”

“Whatever ya gotta do. Just take care’a both’a ‘em.” 

Hershel nodded. “Alright, same thing, Y/N. A big, big push for me.”

You shook your head, exhausted. “I can’t.” You whispered, your eyelids heavy as hope attempted to flee and you accepted that once again, the world would take from you. It would take from Daryl. “I’m so tired.” You felt movement beneath your left leg and then Daryl’s hand was grasping your chin, firm but gentle. 

“Hey. Cut that shit out.” He wasn’t angry. He was using the same tone you’d heard him use when he had told Thumper to cut you some slack. When he had started communicating with the baby. “Ya’ve gone through hell an’ back for this an’ I ain’t lettin’ ya quit at the goddamn finish line, ya hear me?”

“I’m tired, Daryl.” Your face screwed up in pain as the next contraction began to build.

“Nu uh. Ya ain’t gonna bust into my life an’ fuck up my world six ways from Sunday, make me love ya an’ this kid, an’ then just give up. S’you an’ me an’ Thumper. S’what ya said!”

You blinked at him, slowly starting to sit up.

“I’ve seen ya be a badass before, Sunshine.” Your breaths were coming faster, the contraction nearly on top of you, but you only had eyes for Daryl. “Be a fuckin’ badass now.” His hand left your face and went back to your leg, pulling it toward you at the same time Maggie moved the right one. 

You screamed so loud that you were certain the rocks and bumps of the van were due to your wails alone. Something shifted, you felt it and it hurt. You were on fire and aching at the same time. When the contraction ended, you still felt painfully stretched and bruised and uncomfortable. “Did—did it work?” You panted, grasping desperately for Daryl’s shirt.

“The head is out, the shoulders are turned. One more big push, Y/N. Just one more.”

You breathed harshly through your nose, trying to amp yourself up. Maggie and Carol were throwing encouragement your way, but you didn’t hear them. You only felt Dary’s breath against your ear, his stubbled cheek rubbing against your skin.

He whispered, only for you to hear. “I love ya.” Kissing your temple, he moved back to his spot and when you looked at him, exhausted and crying, the corner of his mouth twitched and he nodded.

You could do this.

When the next contraction ripped through you, the world went silent. It was only you and the pain, white hot and all consuming. You were indeed being torn in half but if it meant Thumper would take that first breath, would open those little eyes to see the world—fucked up or not—then you would gladly be wrenched into pieces. 

The moment the baby slipped free of you, you felt the emptiness. You still hurt, but the worst of the pain was suddenly absent. Sound and sight came back to you in an onslaught that had you sucking in a breath like your lungs had been starved. 

“Is—Hershel, the baby?” You asked, trying to move as Daryl and Maggie lowered your legs. The archer was leaning across your knee. You couldn’t even tell if he was breathing, but his eyes were wide and darting. 

“Doc—”

The ferocious first cries of the distraught newborn echoed throughout the van. Maggie had moved behind you to keep you sitting up while Daryl had staggered backward and fallen on his ass against the interior wall, eyes on the little thing that Hershel was looking over intently. Maggie reached over your shoulder and began unbuttoning your dress, whispering in your ear as she moved.

“The baby needs to nurse, bond with you on your skin and it’ll help when you have to push out the placenta, okay?” You blinked at her, concerned. “It’s okay. It’s nothing like what you just went through. One or two small pushes and it’s out.”’ You nodded robotically, watching Hershel maneuver some sort of tape around a slimy cord.

Thumper was not happy. They were probably cold and that thought made your heart ache. Your baby should never be uncomfortable. Daryl was slowly, clumsily making his way toward you, but wasn’t taking his eyes off the baby. When he was sitting beside you, Hershel finally leaned over you and placed the squirming, slippery baby on your chest.

“Congratulations. You have a daughter.”

[krenenbaker]

Trick or Treat~!

Pairing: Che'nya x Floyd (could be read platonically or romantically)

Summary: It's finally Halloween night, but Floyd is in a bit of a slump. However, the arrival of a curious companion may just make the Halloween party a bit more interesting for him.

Notes: This is my first attempt at something following a prompt - specifically, "Trick or Treat" for the 2023 TWST Rarepair Halloween event. I'm trying to get more comfortable/practiced with writing prose (which is why this wasn't posted on the 30th... oops), and only vaguely ended up following the prompt. I'm fairly happy with how this little piece turned out, though!

Tags: @dove-da-birb, @azulashengrottospiano, @inkybloom-luv, @eynnwwyjth, @officialdaydreamer00 (please let me know if you'd like to be included or excluded from future writing of mine, or only want to be included in specific types of creations)

Floyd wanted to take a break. 

It was Halloween, and all he had done the entire week was work, work, work. Getting costumes ready, decorating, helping with their dorm's presentation, plus cooking and serving at the Lounge, all on top of normal classes? 

Sure, it was fun, especially getting to show off Octavinelle's cool setup, and 'taking care of' those misbehaving visitors. But now? Everything felt draining and boring, and Floyd simply wanted to leave, which sucked because the actual Halloween party had just started!  

Maybe he should just ditch and go back to his dorm; being in a funk when everyone else is having fun around you is not enjoyable.  He slumped down on a bench and unwrapped a sweet he had picked up earlier, before wrapping it up again. Ugh, not even in the mood for that candy he wanted only a few minutes ago. 

As he shoved the sweet back into his pocket and was about to get up from the bench to leave, Floyd heard a rustle behind him. Someone was quietly humming, and… laughing? The sound gradually moved to his side, towards the empty side of the bench.  

“Trick or treat~”

Floyd turned to face the voice. "Listen, man, I'm not in the mood to—” he froze, staring at the figure beside him. “Hang on a second, where's your body!?"

A toothy smile came to the face of the head that currently floated beside Floyd. "Oh, it's here.... or maybe it's there." A pair of hands materialized on either side of this boy's head, followed by the rest of his body. 

“I'm just kidding. Mind if I take a seat? I’d like to rest up before I keep purrowling around and startling people.”

Floyd blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “Uh, go for it.” 

This guy was... weird, and it was hard to tell if he'd be annoying, or interesting. "You don't go here, do ya? At least, I’ve never seen you before. And you’re no ghost, either.”

The cat-like boy shook his head, his jewellery jingling softly. "I'm just passing through for the festivities and collecting treats. Scaring some people, too. That’s loads of fun. And it's always nice to see my friends let loose." 

Floyd had a vague memory surface. "Ohh... you must be that RSA boy who's friends with Sea Turtle and Goldfishie." 

"'Sea Turtle' and 'Goldfishie', hey? Those are good names for my green and red friends. Cats are known for liking fish." He leaned forward, his grin growing. “Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Floyd nodded, “Floyd Leech. It's nice to meet you, too.” He looked curiously at the boy beside him, taking in his shaggy hair, piercings, and impish smile.

"You're not what I expected.” Floyd smiled, "But you seem fun, Catfish. I didn't think Goldfishie would get along with someone so... interesting."

Che'nya's eyes lit up slightly. "Catfish? Heh heh heh, most people call me Che'nya, but I guess that works. And I’ve heard some… interesting stories about you, too."

He stretched his legs out in front of him, leaning back with his arms behind his head as he sighed. "But yeah, I don't think Riddle could shake me if he tried." 

"I'm almost jealous." Floyd tipped his head slightly. "Most of the time, Goldfishie likes to swim away before I can play with him."

Che'nya laughed, "Well, if you're wondering, he 'swam off' that way." He pointed off to the side. “Just don’t be rough with him. I don’t like people mistreating my friends.”

Floyd looked off into the crowd where he had pointed, and let out a small laugh. “Alright, good to know. Maybe I’ll find him later, if I feel like it”, he smiled and sat back. “And Goldfishie’s stronger than he looks, but I guess you’d know that.”

Che’nya nodded, then leaned closer with a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know, I bet we could do something that would really surprise him.” 

Floyd turned slightly towards Che’nya, and flashed a smile. “Yeah, we probably could. I think we should talk more in the future, Catfish. You seem pretty fun.” 

Che’nya grinned, “You seem pretty fun, too.”

"Well,” he stretched his arms above his head. “I think I’m going to go and find some more treats… and play some more tricks tonight. I'll catch you around, Floyd." 

With a haunting giggle echoing in his ears, Floyd watched as the boy beside him faded into nothingness, just the same way he had arrived. 

What a weird guy.

Floyd unwrapped the candy he had pocketed earlier, then popped it into his mouth. Maybe this party was worth staying at after all.

[itsnotacostume]

yeah <3

[cordeliawhohung]

pornstar!gaz because my brain cannot control itself. unedited because i'm a whore

Whoever turned the AC up in your dressing room was going to get an earful of it when you were finished with your makeup, because you were certain you were going to freeze to death. Really, it made sense why they turned it up so high. Studio lights got very hot very quick while filming, and with all the... physical activities that would be shot, stars were known to pass out if it got to hot. But not even the warmth from the bright vanity lights could defrost the ice forming on your skin, and you tried to keep your hands from trembling as you applied your foundation.

Or, at least you tried to tell yourself you were only shivering. You were filming with Kyle Garrick that day, after all.

You'd seen his videos. You always made it a habit to sleuth through the history of anyone you were going to be on set with just to see what you were dealing with, so it wasn't like he was anything special. Except he was. He was the sweetheart most viewers fell in love with, and the darling of the film studio. Half of the income the studio made last year was from the videos he was, which meant the video you were about to shoot that day was certainly going to be viewed at least a few million times.

It was easy to see why. He was attractive enough to draw in a female audience, and even you had to admit he was rather pretty. Even if he wasn't, his voice was alluring enough he could still draw in an audience just by dirty talk alone. Men enjoyed his skills and how he could seem to draw orgasm after orgasm out of his co-stars. Theoretically, anyway. Female porn stars were the best actresses in the world.

As you dipped the tip of your finger in the basin of your highlighter, a soft knock rapped at the door. You threw a cautious glance at the door as you rubbed the highlighter on the tip of your nose. It was unusual for someone to bother you while you were getting ready. It wasn't like makeup was all that important when it would get smudged on every surface imaginable half an hour after application.

"Come in," you hummed.

It was difficult to act distracted when Kyle Garrick, the bastard himself, walked into your dressing room. He was even more beautiful in person. Cameras could never quite catch the warmth of his skin or just how easy and intoxicating his smile was. What made it worse was that he wasn't at all bashful. No, he was completely confident as he strolled into the room and shut the door tight behind him.

"What's up?" You tried to act nonchalant, but if anything you were a little weirded out. Never in all your time in the industry had you ever had your partner enter your dressing room like you were school girls gossiping in the bathroom during passing period. Still, he kept his distance, which eased your nerves a little, yet did nothing to quell your confusion.

"Just figured we could have a chat before the cameras start rolling," he answered simply.

"A chat? You make it sound like I'm in trouble," you teased.

He chuckled at your comment, and you swore you could feel the way the waves of it shook your chest. "Not at all. I just always feel more comfortable getting to know my partner's do's and don'ts."

Comfortable? Like some sort of debrief? You couldn't say you ever had someone come to you about boundary setting before a shoot (not when you filmed with men, anyway) but you had to admit, the idea was rather refreshing. Giving him your full attention, you placed your makeup back in your back before gesturing to the seat next to you.

He took the seat without hesitation, and you tried not to be jealous at how poised he was in doing so. He treated you as if you had known one another for years rather than seconds, and he slouched back in the chair like he was right at home. An odd lump formed in your throat when you noticed how wide he had spread his thighs, and though you were sure he was used to it, you tried your best not to stare.

"Alright then," you prompted. "Shoot."

A warm smile bloomed on his lips as he leaned his arm against the counter. If you hadn't known any better, it felt like the two of you were just hanging out rather than getting ready to fuck one another in front of the cameras and a half full studio.

"Tell me what you like," he said with a nod.

You shrugged. "The usual stuff. I'm pretty vanilla, honestly."

"That so? Or are you just not wanting to get so deep so quick?" Kyle teased with a boyish smirk.

"Deep? I'll probably have your cock in my mouth in the next half hour, I think we're a little past acting shy," you retorted playfully.

That got him to laugh. Not chuckle, not some deep hum in his throat, but truly laugh. So much so that he leaned forward and had to readjust his position.

"Right, well part of the job isn't it?" he said with a tilt of his head. "Well then, what about hard no's, then?"

You hummed as if you had to think about it, but in reality you were well aware of your boundaries. Having them usually meant very little in that line of work, but if your partner asked about it so casually, you might as well be honest.

"Degradation. Not a big fan of it. Or slapping," you admitted simply.

Kyle nodded in understanding. "Right, so praise then?" You nodded. "And no slapping. What about spanking?"

"That's fine. Just nothing hitting my face."

"Right. So, no pain play?" he asked.

"Well, I'm not a total normie," you joked.

"I'll keep that in mind."

A small stretch of silence settled between you filled with nothing but the dull hum of the AC unit, which suddenly felt like wasn't working as well. His eyes studied you carefully, remaining surprisingly intent on your face rather than anywhere else. There was a delicious richness to their color that made you feel like you would get lost in them, and maybe that was his intent. You quickly broke eye contact with him before that could happen.

"What about you? We've been focusing mostly on my desires," you said in an attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere.

"But that's what I like. Focusing on you," he admitted.

Kyle caught sight of the slight quirk of your brow at his comment, and quickly amended his statement.

"My partners, that is. Whoever I'm on set with. I like doing the work. As long as you're having a good time, so am I," he concluded.

He didn't have to tell you that much, you were able to gather that from the videos he filmed. His grunts while eating his co-stars out, the way a smile always seemed to tear across his face whenever they came, fake or not; he truly did seem to be a pleasure dom. You were excited to see if that theory was correct.

"Any hard no's then?" you asked.

"None that you'll be able to push," he replied.

Your brows raised incredulously at his comment. "Underestimating me?"

"Not at all. I just plan to have you so fucked out you won't be capable of much," he admitted.

Those sickly teasing words of his left your mind completely blank, and you weren't sure why. Was it the prospect of it? The tone of his voice? Whatever it was, it stole the words off of your tongue, and the only response you were capable of mustering was a slick grin.

"Well, I'll let you get back to it," Kyle said as he pushed himself up from the seat. "If you think of anything else between now and then, let me know."

"Will do," you said, chest quaking with breathlessness.

Just as he was about to leave, Kyle paused for a moment with his hand loosely on the doorknob. His body turned to you, just enough so that he could glance at you from over his shoulder. Except his glance wasn't something quick and innocent; no, it was the first time you caught him giving you a full once over as if he inspected his meal before eating it.

"Excited to work with you, doll," he said with a slight lick of his lips.

When the door shut behind him, you let out a breath like you finally got your lungs to behave properly again. You felt like you needed a cold shower after that conversation with him, and had you not just put on your makeup, you probably would have. A thick layer of sweat formed on the palm of your hands, and you cursed to yourself as you wiped the moisture off on your shirt.

"Jesus christ," you muttered to yourself.

Perhaps you shouldn't have complained so much about the AC after all.

[tgcg]

part 3 of something specific

CG: SO YEAH, THERE’S NOTHING BLACK ABOUT HOW THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS SET UP BEYOND PURE SUPERFICIALITY. THEIR RIVALRY IS TEXTUALLY POSITIVE BOTH TO THEM AND FOR THEM, BECAUSE IT LEADS TO THE DISCOVERY OF THEIR STRONGEST BONDS, WHICH ARE TO EACH OTHER. AS SOON AS SASUKE DISCOVERS HIS BROTHER’S RETURN, HIS IMMEDIATE CONCERN IS TO GO OUT OF HIS WAY AND FIND NARUTO TO ENSURE HIS SAFETY.

TG: (man how is karkats hair always the exact same amount of messy)

CG: SASUKE FINDS NARUTO ANNOYING, BUT SO DOES LITERALLY EVERYONE ELSE IN HIS VICINITY! SO IT’S NOT LIKE THEY HAVE A UNIQUE BOND REGARDING ANY CONTEMPT FOR ONE ANOTHER.

TG: (its like hes got that shit down to a science)

CG: THEY DON’T HATE EACH OTHER DEEP DOWN! AND THAT’S THE CRUCIAL PART, THE ABSENTEE SUPPORT BEAM THAT PROMPTS THE FOUNDATIONS OF BLACKROM TO CRUMBLE IN ON THEMSELF. NO DAVE, THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS DEFINED BY EMPATHY AND COMPASSION.

TG: (professor sepulchritude were noticing a 0.6% decrease in the angle of elevation in the frontmost swoop)

CG: NARUTO KNOWS ALMOST FROM THE BEGINNING THAT ANY HATRED SASUKE HOLDS FOR THE WORLD ISN’T DIRECTED AT HIM WHATSOEVER. HE DIRECTLY ACKNOWLEDGES THIS WITHIN THE TEXT!

TG: (unacceptable doctor dicktopus, apply several degrees worth of emotional turmoil and see to it that the issue is ass blasted to oblivion)

TG: (fuck yes sir)

CG: SASUKE SAYS HIMSELF THAT HE FINDS SAKURA REALLY ANNOYING, AND SAKURA IS IN TURN MOST ANNOYED BY NARUTO.

CG: AGAIN, SQUANDERED POTENTIAL. FUCK THAT.

TG: (is it natural or premeditated is some kind of product involved)

TG: (did alternia have fucked up guerilla combs designed to mangle your hair just right)

CG: … DAVE?

TG: (actually hell nah i couldnt see him doing that in a billion shitty troll sweeps)

CG: METEOR TO FUCKING DAVE?

TG: (no doubt he just rocks up like that)

TG: (man looks the same every day)

CG: DAVE!

TG: (shit abort)

CG: GOD DAMNIT. YOU AREN’T LISTENING ARE YOU? YOU’RE DOING THAT THING AGAIN WHERE YOUR LIPS START MOVING WHILE I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF TELLING YOU SOMETHING! JEGUS, AT LEAST HAVE THE BASIC TROLLIAN DECENCY TO INTERRUPT ME WITH CONVICTION IF YOU'RE GOING TO HUMOUR AN EXCHANGE IN CULTURE, YOU ABSOLUTE TOOL.

CG: DID YOU EVEN GET A WORD OF WHAT I SAID?

CG: WELL YOU’RE THE ONE WHO ASKED, CHUCKLEFUCK! SO--

TG: yeah theyre just quivering in tearful delight at self recognition through the other dude

TG: if not for these sick shades youd be moved to shit by the glistening eyejuice gathering in these peepholes

TG: fit to burst but i remain static in the face of euphoria

TG: im protecting your ass such as a knight is pretty much wont to do

CG: PFF, WHATEVER, “DUDE”.

[crepesuzette2023]

Hi! Because someone just asked me, I'd love you hear your Top 5 favourite McLennon fics!

You made my day! Nothing could have made me happier than this ask.

I'm not going to evade your question. I will post my top-five, even though it hurts to choose. But you inspired me to finally write a longer (okay: very long) post about some (not nearly all!) of my favorites, which will be under the cut.

(Sorry for not knowing every writer's tumblr, by the way. Please feel free to let me know, so I can tag authors where appropriate. Thank you!)

My Top 5:

MIRACLE WORKER by @scurator. What can I say. Every time I need my heart broken and to feel an inkling of what grace truly means, I go to this masterpiece about Paul and Robert Fraser finding each other again at Cavendish in 1981.

COAST STARLIGHT by bookofapril is "Miracle Worker's" cosmic twin. The sun to its night. Paul and Robert Fraser on Fire Island in 1974. Nothing I can say will do it justice, so I won't try. This is the "other world" conjured in "Tug of War," so powerfully and joyfully imagined, it's real. (I'm always thinking of this story, but I did so extra hard when I came across a prompt recently: 'They aren't each other's first love, but they're each other's true love'.)

SAME AS IT EVER WAS by RedheadAmongWolves. My favorite Outsider's POV. An ageing newsstand owner from Liverpool remembers John and Paul as boys and young men. There's something magical about the relationship coming alive in these glimpses. A story filled with tenderness that reminds me to always look closely.

AN ORGASM OF SOUND by @pauls1967moustache. The insanity of John and Paul in 1967 got the tribute it deserves. I sleep easier since I read this story. It feels cosmically right that it exists.

PLANT A SEED by @eveepe. Paul in his slutty sailor outfit in Miami. He and John are into each other, and happy, and fuck slowly. Afterwards, Paul has an idea for a new song. That's it. Tender, glorious, hot perfection. Apply at least once a week for best results.

For more thoughts about some of my favorite stories, sorted into very much defined-ad-hoc categories, read under the cut.

Young Love:

I love the myth of their first meeting, and stories that speculate about the sexually loaded creative fireworks/gritty jealousies/tentative hand-holding/topping and tailing during the first years. Here are some faves:

Paul finds music, and John, and his life is changing. In STREETS OF OUR TOWN (@with-eyes-closed) you can taste the upheaval and promise of first love and growing up. Deeply sensual, even without on-page sex. The shaky, sweet, and all-consuming fire of John and Paul’s first kiss is immortalized in ALL I KNOW SINCE YESTERDAY (RedheadAmongWolves). In NON NOBIS SOLUM (@downtothe-lastdrop), art student John simply has to know how far grammar school boy Paul will go to please him. But Paul matches him play-by-play. In THE CAST IRON SHORE (@m1ssunderstanding) Paul earns extra money through music and sex. John finds out. They fall in love, and hide their mutual pining behind transactions—but in the end, they man up to pair up, and get their band back on track. (The first part is finished; I can’t wait for part 2.) John and Paul’s ’61 trip to Paris has been honored in fiction many times; WHEN YOU ARE YOUNG THEY ASSUME YOU KNOW NOTHING (@lilypadd23) is a slow-burning, blessedly long story that blossoms sweetly. DON’T THINK ABOUT IT is the concept by which Paul measures both his pining for John and their deeply satisfying (but surely not really queer?!) sex life. Perfectly realized Paul POV by @merseydreams. Finally: I NEED YOU DARLIN’ (verse) (by @beatlessideblog) would have fit many categories, but I put it here, because in the end, it’s about young John and Paul becoming friends, making music, having sex, and falling in love. No more, no less. Embedded in a late 50’s/early 60's Liverpool omegaverse in which there's a place for their bond. But, surprise (?!): It’s still complicated. I can’t overstate how charming and satisfying and funny and hot this work is.

Old John and Paul:

Is there anything as lovely as imagining John and Paul growing old together?

In HERE TODAY (@herspecialagent), John and Paul found happiness with each other in Scotland. On 8th December 1980, they invite friends for a party, and fight an inexplicable sense of doom. A reminder that our other lives can be closer than we think, and to keep our loved ones even closer.

GROW OLD WITH ME (@inherownwr1te): Old farmers and husbands John and Paul enjoy domestic bliss, deal with a broken arm, and make sweet love.

HAVING COFFEE (@feathersandblue): John Lennon and Paul McCartney, “one of the most iconic gay couples in history,” look back on their early love, the Beatles, and being outed in the 80’s, in this oh-so-glamourous, well-written 2020 portrait…

Magical re-tellings of J/P and/or the Beatles Story:

No matter where you come down on the blessed vs. cursed continuum—they were living through something magical.

In KISSING THE BLARNEY (@zilabee) the Beatles draw love and music from kissing Paul, and each other, until the stupid world interferes. But fear not, all ends well. How to tell the truth through whimsy: this story demonstrates it.

In WE ARE ALL TOGETHER (also by @zilabee), John and Paul switch bodies. It helps.

I WAS A YOUNGER MAN NOW (THEN) (POST HOC) BY @fingersfallingupwards: Paul is a time traveler and braids his life together with John’s, out of order, through the years. And yes, they do grow old together—but not without losing each other first. I’m in awe of this story.

A darker time-traveling story is A MATTER OF TIME (D12Fan), in which John and Paul love each other, over and over, and never manage to make it work—but Paul won’t give up.

FOR THOUGH THEY MAY BE PARTED (@downtothe-lastdrop): The misery of the 'Get Back' sessions and memory-stunting technology imported from “Severance” are not enough to kill off John and Paul’s attraction and longing for each other. Again, this is basically what happened, so.

John and Paul without the Beatles?

Yes, please! Sometimes, the best way to dissect and celebrate (and fix?) this mesmerizing and exasperating partnership is to lift it from its context and drop it elsewhere. Anything goes.

WHATEVER FATE DECREES by @dailyhowl: A gorgeous, finely spun, securely handled, self-contained vision of how John and Paul could have worked as artists in love, without a band to 'legitimize' and constrain their bond. I love this homage to their deep and complicated love that needed trust and breathing room.

1967 by @walkuntilthedaylight: What if John and Paul had gone to Spain together and not come back? This story not only explores their relationship layer by layer, it also dives into the the feelings of those who knew them 'before' and who now meet them again, as a couple. A fascinating alternate history. Not a fluffy one.

TOMORROW I'LL MISS YOU (@pauls1967moustache): Paul abandons John in Hamburg—or John stays behind without bothering to write, depending on who you ask. This "Before Sunset"—AU reunites them, years later. They ride a bus and write a song, and the love and tension are sweet and painful.

DOUBLE FANTASY (by @javelinbk): Modern AU in which John and Paul meet at John's flower shop and manage to ignore and creatively re-interpret their feelings for one another for a surprising amount of time, before fate has mercy. I love how their sweet, well-matched eccentricity makes the world a warmer place for both of them.

WE ARE STARDUST (Unchained_Daisychain): AU. John and Paul meet at Woodstock, fall hard and fast for each other, and have to decide what to do with it: Paul's life is back home in England...except...

Angst, darkness, and courage:

Pain, fear, grief, and other dark emotions are part of the real J/P story, so it makes sense to honor and harvest them in fiction. One of my favorite brands of McLennon angst is the one triggered by their feelings for each other, and the thing they become once they're together™. When they're scared of how much they need each other, and of what will happen next.

ONE AND ONE AND ONE IS THREE and MANAGING EXPECTATIONS (both by @pauls1967moustache), for instance. The first is a terrifying threesome with Yoko (at John's instigation, of course), in which trust is never rewarded and sex resolves nothing. The second is Paul wondering, in thoughts both messy and crystal clear, whether he exists independently of John. He turns to Brian for answers. They fuck. It feels like a human thing compared to what is going on in Paul's mind. Just astounding.

SUNDAY DRIVER (@boshemians) dives into the theme of Paul and John being afraid of themselves in the aftermath of Paul's accident (moped, sexual) with Tara Browne. This one, like "Managing Expectations," ends on a lovely grace note.

MACABRE (@dovetailjoints). Lennon and McCartney go too far.

OPEN HEART (@paisanas). Paul drinks John's blood. John lets him. But Paul starts to hate himself for how much he needs John, which John feels as rejection. I love how this story ends on Paul embracing his need. You can see the painful, bare bones of their malnourished love under the lush sensuality of the vampire sex. Raw and rich.

SILENCE (@ohjohnnysblog). Short and piercing. If there is someone you love—tell them. Don't wait.

THE LATE, GREAT JOHNNY ACE (@midchelle). Reeling with grief, Paul is recording an album in 1981. George and Ringo are there. John is not. But in the end—he is. And they touch. I've always admired Paul's resilience in the face of having to perform or "prove" his love of John in public, and this story showed me, without sugar-coating, where this resilience comes from.

Light, hope, and fixing things:

There is also much lightness and brightness in McLennon, because John and Paul were ridiculous, and horny, and weird. And also: they deserve a laugh. They deserve the fluffiest of happy endings. They deserve high-quality, life-affirming smut. They deserve silly, because silly is what they were. You know their names, look up their number.

1980. John is in BERMUDA (@scurator), Paul visits. Paul comes prepared, John just comes. Sometimes, it can be this simple. This story always leaves me in such a good mood. Paul is the (more) experienced one, and it...really works for me.

GOT TO GET DOWN (@eveepe): In praise of John's obsession with Paul's...precious. His small and perfect prick.

ADVENTURES IN TOTAL HONESTY (@merseydreams). Pithy and sexy, and, I quote from the tags: #Excessive Margarita Mixing.

ANINUT (@pauls1967moustache): The Beatles heal, together and separately, after Brian's death. Once more, I quote the writer: "The Beatles did not follow any of the Jewish mourning traditions, and frankly, they should have."

The unhinged weirdness of the Mad Day Out, with John and Paul escaping and Francie, Yoko and Mal not missing them...much, is rightfully celebrated in one of the insaner stories I read: JOHN, I'M ONLY DANCING (@skylikeaflame)

FAIR'S FAIR (@javelinbk): John and Paul are being silly during a press conference, resulting in acute arousal requiring John's skilled intervention. I love the unexpected care and tenderness in this one!

WHERE THE POETS WENT (RedheadAmongWolves): Tender and enchanted story in which Paul and John go to a bookstore, where they're not as famous as everywhere else. As delicate as the chiming doorbells and the pages murmuring around them.

TAKEN AWAY (@crumblingcookies) Extraterrestrial Intelligence intervenes to reunite John and Paul.

CAN I TAKE MY FRIEND TO BED? (manhattanvalleys). Paul fucks the band in sequence and gets off in the end, as is his due. This is a story like Prince's KISS. No filler, all effect.

THEY SAY IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY (@ohjohnnysblog). Warm and nostalgic phone sex in the 70's.

KEEP THE LIGHT WE'RE GIVEN (@backbenttulips). Amidst the rise of Beatlemania, Paul and John expect their first child. This is Paul's 1962 diary.

More Outsider POV's:

STILL MATES (@pauls1967moustache): in 1968, Peter Asher takes the leap to act on his feelings for his sister's spiraling ex fiancé. This isn't about Paul as much as about Peter, and who he wants to be. Gutting character study. It made me love Peter.

ANOTHER GIRL (@boshemians): Astrid reunites with the Beatles during the making of AHDN and registers their words and deeds with the same stark objectivity as her camera. I love how she seeks the shelter of obscurity while they are being dragged into the limelight. But she sees them, wherever they are. J/P in this story feels incredibly real to me.

WHY BUY THE COW (RedheadAmongWolves). The milkman sees everything on his early morning rounds: the arrival of a nice new family, the McCartneys, the mother's illness, the sadness after her death...and the arrival of a new love in the older son's life. He shouldn't approve—should say something, in fact. But a small inner voice holds him back.

SLEEPLESS IN WALES (thinkpink20). Mike overhears Paul and John whisper in bed. He doesn't understand everything they say. I do. Adorable.

Not each other's first love, but each other's true love

THIS YEAR'S FOR ME AND YOU (@skylikeaflame): After a long life, after deep and loving partnerships with other people, John and Paul, encouraged by their grown-up children, finally meet their mutual love head on. A festive story about waiting the perfect amount of time.

THERE ARE ALWAYS FLOWERS (tarenas): The Beatles are in the past; John and Paul's love is in ashes. Paul, who is fragile and bereft, lives with George, who is content. The four ex-Beatles unite for the second wedding of Mike McCartney. At times, the aching grief in this story is almost unbearable. But the love between George and Paul is unusual and real. This is unfinished. I'll keep waiting for the final chapter.

Beyond J/P

WANT ME WHEN I'M NOT THERE (@backbenttulips): Linda catches Paul cheating on her with John. She divorces him. Finally: a story that puts her most likely reaction front and center, with no mercy for the messed-up geniuses.

In the Rebecca-AU LOVE LIKE GHOSTS (@backbenttulips), Yoko becomes Mrs. Lennon. Soon, she discovers that her husband is haunted by the ghost of his first love. It's pleasing how well this re-telling matches the events as they (alas) (almost) happened. The ending is chilling. Genuinely horrifying. I love seeing Yoko as the sensible one and as the focus of empathy.

THE BASS LESSON (@aquarianshift). Paul and Stu fool around without letting go of their mutual resentment for even a moment. And it works. "Let's never do this again." I don't think so.

TELL ME ALL MY LOVE'S IN VAIN (@midchelle). Forget about quote unquote platonically obsessed male rock stars: This about about Maureen and Patti through the years. The web weaving continues.

SPOTLIGHT ON JOHN AND STU (@dailyhowl) A love story in letters—too brief, like Stu's life, but sounding as if the writer transcribed their dictation. Some of the best descriptions of what it must have been like to play on stage with the Beatles during the mania are in NO I IN THREESOME (@with-eyes-closed). George finds himself in the beam of attention between John and Paul, and nearly loses his mind. But he's determined to stay and become part of them. Paul is daddy and "fucks like music" as seen through George's eyes. The whole story is vicious and hot and uncomfortable—until there's the love and quiet at the eye of the storm.

Not for the faint of heart! WHAT THE CIGGIE CARTON SAW (@waveofhand): Paul McCartney having his way with cigarettes.

This is getting out of hand...but I'll stop here. There are so many more stories I love. And I can think of many other categories that would deserve their own post.

So, who knows: To be continued?

[mtchacffinz]

loose lips sink ships!

prompt! you don't talk much when you're tipsy, but when you do..

content! gn!reader, drunk confession, heavy on fluff, mutual pining, drabble ficlet, short and sweet ♡

note! kaf is here again !! not much words from me right now, but i want to feed Dan Heng stans so here you go (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ love you ~

Dan Heng doesn't seem to mind going out once and a while. Of course, being closed off in one space could get suffocating even for someone like him who enjoys his time in solace. In a time where one needs at least a breath of fresh air, he knows more than well that it's time to get a new landscape to take in for the sake of himself.

He didn't expect that landscape to be you. The sight of you, on the Express counter, dazed.

You looked heavily flushed. You're eyes were unfocused and hazed. It didn't take even a moment of pondering for Dan Heng to know you were intoxicated and he wasn't about to ask why. Don't get him wrong, this man doesn't like to pry. As he approaches your figure, he observed you were quiet, as always— absorbed in your own little bubble universe. Making his way to the counters, the Trains kitchen always kept an abundance of food sources; he got you a glass of cold water.

Tapping onto your shoulder lightly, he hands you the glass. Delighted, you take it from him gleefully; giving the teal eyed prince your thanks. Dan Heng knows you don't talk much when you're tipsy. Times like this were pretty rare, he knows you don't usually drink.

The raven haired boy sits beside you silently, joining you in comfortable silence. On the occasional tap of your fingernails on the glass, he counts the minutes he's been spending with you. Stealing a glance from your figure, he notices your face was flushed in hues of heat. Slowly, your gaze found themselves to be locked with his — as Dan Heng can't seem to look away from.

"I'm not drunk, you know."

His eyes narrow at you ever so slightly. Humouring your antics, he voices out his own thoughts.

"How so?"

"I'm dreaming. I definitely am!" You say that so proudly, he can't help but curb a smile. He almost sighs, leaning towards the counter— letting his jaw rest on his palm. You continue your musings. "I can barely make out of anything. Hey, there's this local specialty I've been gifted in a world recently. Its so strong, i think I'm going to pass out."

Dan Heng's gaze never left yours, urging you to continue. Did you know? Aside from the calming splash of ocean waves, he loves listening to your voice. He loves hearing you ramble about every little thing you'd like to share.

"I'm not surprised if I passed out just recently, so I might be dreaming right now."

"So you mean to say I'm a figment of your subconscious." With that remark, you can't seem to refute. Thats what he at least thought. But no, you surprise him with your next words.

"You're still divine, even in dreams."

It wasn't related to his previous response at all. Dan Heng seems to be taken aback, his eyes slightly widening. Nevertheless, he purses his lips and let's you keep talking.

"Ah, you've stuck to me so deeply even if I can't see at the moment, you're perfectly fine to me.." a slight pout on your lips, you shake your head dismissively. "Dream Heng, let me tell you something ~" you coo sweetly, trying to attain his interest. Come closer, you beckon. A little reluctant, he leans into you, his ears at your disposal.

Dream Heng? So you really do believe you're asleep. What in the world did you ingest anyway?

You lean into his ear. He feels your hot breath on his cheeks, inciting that fluttering churn in his stomach. You're hand lay rest in his shoulder, while the other slightly caress his green earpiece.

"I really like your earring. Is it an earring? I don't know.. I'm not sure." You ponder out loud. Heat rushes up to his cheeks very quickly; not just from the close proximity, but from your sincere praise as well. "Your eyeliners really nice too. Can you apply mine?"

There was a reason, and he knew. Dan Heng knew why his heart fluttered, the mere fact of that is extremely conflicting. If he gets you involved in his life, and gets you tangled in this mess..

You pull away so suddenly, flushed. He inwardly deflates. It's embarrassing that he almost pulled you back just to have you near him. In Dan Hengs defense, it was a reflex.

"I've always wanted to ask you that, I'm embarrassed.." gushing, fanning your face. He blinks. Sitting straight up, his ears was still dusted with a cute hue of peony. Dan Heng clears his throat before you continue. "Dream Heng, you'd do that for me, would you? Please? Awwe, this is so nice! I feel like I can do everything with Dream Heng ~" your voice was so sweet. As you play around, you almost trip when you stand up.

Ah, the floor is like jelly right now, it feels like you're in a Donut. Dan Heng was quick to put you back on your feet.

"Be careful." he says softly. The boys hold on you was firm, making sure you don't stumble. God, you really we're drunk. There was an entirely new aroma somewhere, not of the usual beverage he knows. Maybe it's the new specialty you've dug out in a new world? Nevertheless, your hold on him was just the same. Tension was in the air, and you were about to make a move on it.

Dan Heng's teal woven eyes slowly travels to your lips. Was it conscious cognition? Maybe, maybe not. But the dark haired prince knew you saw, and you weren't about to let go.

"You can kiss me. I really like you, so it's fine." His breath hitches, face brightening up with brilliant red. You say that with no reluctance, non-existent restraint, and with a grin so shameless! Of courses, he admits— he wants to! But he j can't. He just can't! In a attempt to collect himself, Dan Heng gives himself a pause.

After a few mere moments of him sulking, as you were completely oblivious to his internal crisis, he finally speaks.

"You.. like me?" Dan Heng asks, slowly. He swallows thickly. His voice lingered in your head— echoing his heartbeat. Was it his? No, maybe it was yours. You don't know!

"Hmm? I do." That seemed to flip something in him. Oh, he wants to keep hearing you say this. But at the same time, there's something crawling in his back. It watches him like a hawk and it gets under his skin— but before he could say something, you cut him off.

"Hmmm. Even Dream Heng can't kiss me in my dreams. How could I ever get with a real one?" you sigh, breathless. It came out more like a soft whine. What? Eyes avoidant of his, you go about your way of immersing in your own thoughts. Maybe you didn't have thoughts at all, just zoning out. Dan Heng holds you closer this time.

Suddenly, the so-called ice prince lifts you up into his arms, carrying you effortlessly. Surprised, you let out a yelp. Eyes averting yours, even if you're in his confinement, he disallows you to see his face. You can't help but think what's up with him?

"I can't." he says sternly; like there was no room for discussion. How could he? How could he when you're at your most vulnerable? Your thoughts may be distorted, and maybe it's feeding you these untrue and conflicting feelings.

What if he got this all wrong?

He'd prefer if you flirt with him sober.

"But what I can do is to let you get rest."

Upon hearing that, you quickly protest, trying to get out of his hold. "What? No! If I sleep here, I'd wake up pissed. Imagine sleeping in luxury and waking up in an alley way! Just put me on the floor. I'll wake up soon."

He shakes his head in disagreement, only holding you closer. "You'll be fine. I promise. If your real Dan Heng wouldn't lie to you, how could I be any different?" Dan Heng says this so calmly— as if it was natural. His words were truthful, and he could only wish you knew. He would never deceive you— Dan Heng would never dare take advantage of you.

You swore your heart leaped. Are you in it so deep your brain creates these fantastic fantasies? You've always loved his sincere attitude, as well as his considerate nature. Dan Heng was always a man of his words, rationalizing every bit for the sake of his dear ones and himself. As your thoughts for on, only before then your eyelids start to feel heavy. Drooping sleepily, your hands lay on your sides, snuggling to his body heat closely.

After that, all left was darkness.

He's genuinely such a sweet guy, even if you get to read his messages. I want to eat him like a cupcake (⁠●⁠’⁠3⁠)⁠♡⁠(⁠ε⁠`⁠●⁠)

[supernaturalfreewill]

"But that was after I left France and backpacked around in Switzerland for a while. I sold a bit of art and photography so I was able to stay in Europe a bit longer and eventually get a little studio apartment. Then—" You suddenly became self-conscious about how much you were talking and broke off abruptly, scrutinizing Sam's expression. He had a small, soft smile on his face but your anxiety still made you ask. "Sorry. Am I boring you?" you asked.

He shook his head and twirled his beer in his hands. "No. Not at all. Please, go on. I love hearing you talk. You have—so many lovely things to say," he said, smiling. "And it's nice to know that you were at least able to get out of the life for a little while. Frankly, I'm a bit jealous," he laughed. "If you ever need a traveling companion over there again, please consider me!"

Your face flushed from his words. "No need to apply, Sam. Just say the word..."

Sam swallowed nervously and nodded. "How's tomorrow?" he joked, his heart pounding.

"I could be talked into it," you replied.

Prompt: "Am I boring you?" / "No. Please, go on. I love hearing you talk. You have so many lovely things to say."

[vodika-vibes]

Hi hi Ive just seen you're bouquet request is coming g go an end I'd LOVE Acica(Secret love) ambrosia (returned affections) for Commander fox (I adore him)

If you need any baseline idea maybe him just refusing to accept his feelings and after some kinda push finally is like shit like them ofc reader loves him back and has the whole time

I'd also be happy with any of the more classicly grumpy fellas eg alpha 17, but who ever is in your brain

A New Love

Summary: Fox is in love with his friend...he just refuses to admit it to anyone, including himself.

Pairing: Commander Fox x F!Reader

Word Count: 2028

Warnings: Mentions of Palpatine physically abusing Fox

Prompts: Acacia - Secret love, Ambrosia - returned affections

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I don't really know anything about make-up because I'm allergic to almost all of it and so I don't wear it. So I apologize if anything is wrong. Also, I hope this is close to what you're wanting? I was struggling to come up with something good here.

“Will you hold still?” Fox rolls his eyes but stops moving as she carefully applies the makeup to his jaw and cheek, “Do you want me to cover the scars on your neck too?” She asks as she tilts his head to the side so she can see better.

“Probably should.” He replies with a sigh, “Don’t want my brothers to ask any questions that I can’t answer.”

She scowls at him, “Maybe you should let them ask questions, Fox.”

“You said you were willing to help without judgment, sen’ika.” He reminds her with a pointed look.

She sighs, “I am. Of course I am. I’m here, aren’t I?” She pulls away and eyes the covered scar critically, “Alright, open your shirt so I can to your neck and chest.”

Fox rolls his eyes again, and unfastens the clip at his neck, exposing his neck enough that she’s able to get to the scar.

She inhales sharply when she sees just how bad the scarring is, “...Fox-”

“You promised.” He reminds her flatly.

“Yes. I know. I know I did.” Her voice sounds thick with tears, and Fox feels a surge of guilt. If he had anyone else who would help him cover his injuries he would go to them, rather than bothering his one nat-born friend.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”

She shakes her head, a weak smile on her painted lips, “It’s okay. I was pushing, and I promised that I wouldn’t.”

“It’s for your own safety.” Fox mutters, his eyes closing as she goes to work.

“I know. So you keep saying.” Her hands are warm against his skin as she gently applies the make-up to cover the scarring. She’s quiet for a moment, and then she sighs, “Sorry, I have to restart. These scars are redder, I need to do some color correction.”

Fox opens his eyes and watches as she pulls a wipe from the table and starts wiping the makeup off his neck, and then she crosses the room to her vanity and digs around for some other make-up.

He really is lucky to have her. 

Fox knows that he’d never be able to explain these scars to his brothers. Or, he doesn’t want to explain these scars to his brothers, rather. He pushes the swell of bitterness away with ease. He loves his brothers, he wouldn’t want any of them to be in his place.

But it would be nice if they noticed that he was suffering.

At least his sen’ika sees it.

She’s a make-up artist, who works at one of the largest and most well respected theaters on Coruscant. She invited herself into his life, and Fox has to admit that his life is all the better for it.

Partly because she keeps his secrets and is able to help him hide his scars and bruises from his brothers. But mostly because she’s a genuinely good person.

It’s not love.

It’s not.

He can’t afford to love anyone, not with the state of the galaxy. Not when his boss throws lightning around like it’s nothing. 

Sure, he thinks about her all of the time. And sure, he worries about her constantly.

But he doesn’t love her. He can’t.

“Ha! Found it!” She hurries back to his side with a tube of something green, “I’ll use some of this first,” She murmurs, “And that’ll help hide the red-”

“You’re the best, you know that?” Fox asks, leaning back as she applies the color corrector to the scar.

“Well, I try.” She takes a step back and sets the tube back on the table, “How are you feeling, by the way? You look like you haven’t been sleeping.”

“I work a lot.”

She sighs, “I’ll cover the dark circles under your eyes too. But, Fox, this isn’t feasible in the long term.”

“I know it isn’t, sen’ika.” Fox replies quietly, “I appreciate the fact that you’re willing to cover my scars as regularly as you do.”

“Yeah, well…” She grabs the concealer and then points it at him, “It’s not like the Republic bothers to pay you, so this is quite literally the least I can do. Normally you’re not this concerned though.”

“Yeah, well. I’m going to 79s with my brothers this afternoon,” Fox says with a sigh, “And I don’t want them to worry.”

“Oh?” She grins at him, “Maybe I’ll join you.”

Fox glances up at her, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah? Looking for a boyfriend among my brothers?” He asks as he ignores the pang of jealousy.

“Maybe I want to dance with you.” She counters.

Fox laughs softly, “That’s a terrible idea.”

Her smile falters, “Right. Of course. I just…I wish you would tell me why it’s such a bad idea for me to spend time with you.”

“It’s complicated.”

She sighs, “Right. You could just say that you’re not interested, Fox. I won’t be mad.”

He sighs, “The more time you spend with me, the more likely it is that you’re going to get hurt.” Fox says, “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” She pulls back slightly to admire her work, “Alright. You’re done, Fox.”

“Awesome. Thanks, sen’ika.” He refastens his shirt and stands, only for her to press his helmet into his hands, “I don’t deserve you.” Fox says with a fond smile.

“Nonsense.” She shakes her head, “You deserve everything in the galaxy and then some.” She favors him with a small, adoring smile. “I’m still planning on going to 79s tonight, Fox. I’ll just…keep my distance and find someone else to dance with. Promise.”

Fox’s fingers flex against his helmet. He’s not jealous. He’s not.

“Sounds like a plan.”

She smiles at him and hugs him quickly, “Be careful, as careful as you can be, at work today. There’s only so much I can hide.”

He folds his arm around her, “It’s not up to me, but I’ll be as careful as possible. Promise.” He drops a light kiss to the top of her head, and then pulls himself out of her grip, and heads out of the apartment.

Fox genuinely didn’t think that his sen’ika was going to come to 79s. He knows her, pretty well by this point, and he knows that she’s not really into the club scene.

She doesn’t like loud music, or the scent of stale beer, or the press of strangers against her.

So when he sees her enter the club, he nearly chokes on his drink.

She looks…great. Wearing a miniskirt and a crop top, and leather boots that make her legs look amazing.

Fox isn’t surprised to see that she’s drawing attention from his brothers. She’s already stunning, after all.

His gaze lingers on her as she heads to the bar, and his grip tightens around his bottle when he sees several of his brothers crowding around her. She probably hates that, Fox can’t help but think with a small smile. 

“She’s pretty,” Wolffe notes lightly, his gaze following his twins, “You should go dance with her.”

“Pass.” Fox replies, though he keeps his dark gaze on her, “Besides, she’s got enough admirers as it is.”

“Yeah. But they’re shinies and you’re Marshal Commander.” Wolffe replies with a small smirk, “You should feel honor bound to save her from their drooling.”

“I’m trying to get drunk, vod.”

“Maybe I’ll go and ask her to dance.” Wolffe muses, as he leans to the side to get a good look at her legs.

“Maybe you should leave her alone.” Fox bites out. 

Wolffe pauses and leans back in his seat, his eyes locked on his twin. “Huh. You know her, don’t you?”

Fox doesn’t answer him, he just takes a sip of his drink, though a small smile crosses his face when his sen’ika meets his gaze from across the room. Though she’s quick to look away, likely remembering her promise to not bother him.

“You know her well,” Wolffe continues, his eyes narrowing accusingly, “I saw that look. You’re friends with her.”

“Wolffe-”

“No, no. Why didn’t you tell me you had a pretty natborn friend? Are you sleeping with her?”

“What? No!”

“Why not?” Wolffe demands.

“Our friendship isn’t like that.” Fox bites out.

“Bullshit. I saw that look. You want her.” Wolffe says, “I’m going to get her and bring her over here.”

“I…no-” but there’s no point, Wolffe is already up from the table and crossing to the bar.

Fox watches as Wolffe talks to his sen’ika, and he watches as she glances at Fox, and then back at Wolffe and shakes her head with a small smile. He can practically hear her telling Wolffe that she promised to keep her distance tonight.

And then one of the shinies flings his arm over her shoulder and she cringes.

Fox sets his bottle down on the table as the shiny presses himself right against his sen’ika and twines some of her hair around his fingers. He watches as the shiny rubs his cheek against hers, and he’s on his feet and crossing the bar before he really thinks about it.

She’s his, damn it.

He firmly pries the shiny off of her, “Did you ask the lady if you could touch her?” Fox asks his voice flat.

The Shiny blinks at him hazily, and then he straightens, “Marshal Commander-”

“I suggest you go and clear your head.” Fox says, his voice very unamused, and then his gaze lingers on his Sen’ika once the shiny leaves. “Are you okay?”

She smiles sheepishly, “I guess I shouldn’t have even bothered trying to come here.” 

“It’s not really your scene, sen’ika.” Fox points out, gently.

“Yeah, I know.” She pushes her hand through her hair, “I guess I’ll just go home then.” She smiles up at him, “Sorry for ruining your night, Fox. I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.” Fox replies, “I’m always happy to see you, you know that.” Her smile grows and Fox releases an internal sigh, he’s so karked. Why did he have to realize that he loved her now, of all times?

Fox glances at his twin, who has a wide grin on his face, “I’m going to walk her out. Please don’t make this a thing.”

“Oh. Too late. It’s a thing.” Wolffe puts out his comm, “I’m telling…everyone?”

Fox just sighs and lightly nudges his sen’ika towards the door.

Once they’re outside, he turns to face her while she waits for her taxi to arrive, “Sorry, again. It seems I made things difficult for you.” She says sheepishly.

“Wolffe is my twin, he’s always going to be difficult.” Fox admits, “It’s not your fault.” He hesitates and then he lightly reaches out and brushes his fingers against her cheek. “I am glad that I got to see you tonight.”

“But…you said-”

“I know what I said. I’m an idiot.” Fox interrupts, he lightly brushes his thumb against her cheek, “I want, no need, you to know that I’m not uninterested.”

She blinks at him. “What?”

“Earlier, at your apartment. You said that you wanted me to let you know if I wasn’t interested.” Fox clarifies, “And that’s not the case. At all.”

“Oh,” She breathes the word out.

“I’m just…terrified that someone will hurt you to get to me.”

“I know. I’ve known that for a while.” She admits, “But, Fox, I don’t care.”

He stares at her, “You don’t?”

“I love you enough that it doesn’t bother me.” She speaks so lightly, so nonchalantly, as if she’s not admitting something huge.

Fox sighs and lightly cups her cheek, and he smiles when she leans into his touch, “I think we need to have a long chat.” He finally says, “Tomorrow. In the morning.”

“Yeah. Definitely. I’ll make breakfast.” She beams at him, and then turns as her cab pulls up. She flashes a quick smile and kisses his cheek, “I’ll see you in the morning, Fox.”

“Yeah. Good night, Sen’ika.”

And then she is gone, and Fox realizes that he has to deal with his overly excitable brothers for the remainder of the night. Tonight’s going to suck.

[dungeon-meshi-tournament]

Like last time, asking people about different monsters' fuckability is a good way to get them to say funny things. So here's some of the comments I got on the Least Fuckable Monster in the Dungeon Tournament that cracked me up, sorted by which poll they were commented on.

Man-eating plant vs Skeleton (round 1 part 1)

big L for the undertale fandom. at least the man eating plant has something resembling lips you know

me: [suspiciously passionate argument about the versatility the plants could have with their vines and bulbs and how it could easily apply to multiple kinks at once thus has a larger audience it can apply to] also me: hehe skelly because bone :)

skeleton? on the sans undertale website?

Living picture vs Dryad (round 1 part 1)

Me desperately resisting the compulsion to black out & vote on dryad simply because she's there and I'm but a lesbian

Minotaur vs Warg (round 1 part 1)

dogy

Green slime vs Undine (round 1 part 2)

Would you rather fuck a slug or a puddle?

Kraken vs Gargoyle (round 1 part 2)

one of these has their own porn category irl and its not the gargoyles

the kraken is lubed up for my safety whereas the gargoyle would probably chafe everything and i dont like that. exfoliating my pussy. nothanks

How is this possible Gargoyles are like B+ Tier in monster fucker circles, a Krakens smallest tentacle would be thrice the width of a human

Skeleton vs Living picture (round 2 part 1)

Take that sans undertale

Ghoul vs Skeleton (round 3)

ROTS ON YOU ROTS ON YOU ROTS ON YO

hello???? at least the ghoul still has some meaty bits left, how are you gonna fuck a skeleton??

look at least you can disinfect bones you're going to get exciting new diseases from a ghoul.

necrophilia isn't fun if there aren't maggots so vote skeleton

Dungeon rabbit vs Bladefish (quarter finals)

to shreds you say

bracket of oof ow my genital

Dungeon cleaners vs Giant parasite (quarter finals)

nah i could totally fuck those bricks

Bladefish vs Treasure insects (finale)

bladefish isNOT fuckable but what if it gives you bottom surgery? i prompt you that

[watatsumiis]

"Darling, you're the most gentle person I know." Foul Legacy x GN!Reader

Inspired by a prompt from @sh1-n0bu !!

Heads up for a passing mention of injury (a scratch on the cheek). Foul Legacy struggles with words in his abyssal form.

Childe, despite all of his elegance and prowess in battle, is far from what one would call 'coordinated' in his day to day life. 

This seems to shine through even more when he's in his 'Foul Legacy' form. Though he doesn't mean any harm (to you, at least), you often end up with little nicks and cuts from his razor-sharp claws, as well as bumps and bruises from him accidentally knocking you over or holding you too tightly. 

You accepted after the first few times that this was simply how it was going to be when Childe managed to trap himself in this abyssal form. You'd resigned yourself to the occasional injury, especially knowing how much anguish being like this caused him. 

Even now, as he's staring forlornly at the long, shallow cut along your cheek, still burning and tingling in its freshness, you don't really have much to say about it all. It was an accident, you understand. You've already got the first aid kit to clean yourself up. 

Foul Legacy plonks onto the floor by your feet, a long puff of air escaping him in a sigh that sounds almost comically like a tired old dog, followed by an odd, guttural crackling sound from somewhere in the back of his throat. 

You recognise it as a noise of distress, and react accordingly, even as you're still dabbing your cheek clean with a cloth.

"Hey. Stop that." You chide gently. 

Childe tucks his chin in, broad shoulders hunching in a defensive manner as he pointedly looks away. You hear the gentle tapping of his claws against one another as he holds them close to his chest, curled so they're out of the way. "I hurt you." You barely manage to catch the tinny whisper.

"It was an accident." You reassure him warmly. "I'm not mad." You hurriedly dab your cheek clean and apply a band-aid, wrangling out a crooked smile to demonstrate that everything is okay. "See? All better." 

"I…I always…" He lets out a little 'hff-hff' and shakes his head. 

“Hush.” You tell him sternly, reaching out to give him a pat on the head, right between the arcing horns that jut out from the mane of fuzz there. 

“I…I can never…” he chokes on the words, shying away from your touch as if he’s the one who has been hurt. “I can’t not.” he tucks his chin in and worries at the scarf around his neck with his claws.

You sigh gently, pityingly, as you bend your knees and crouch down beside him. It’s almost comical, when a creature this large is so curled in on himself. “Hey.” You tilt your head to the side and wait until he meets your gaze. “It’s not your fault, okay?”

“All I do is hurt people.” He mumbles, about to look down at the ground once more. 

“No.” Before he can turn his gaze off of you, you reach out and grasp his chin between your fingertips. The almost metallic texture of his face-slash-mask is cool and smooth against your fingers. He lets out a little chrrr. “You’re wrong.” You tell him gently, hoping the conviction on your face will communicate just how serious you’re being.

Though he may be clumsy, especially in this abyssal form, Childe is always kind, soft and caring to those he loves. You’ve been around him more than long enough to have witnessed firsthand how careful he is when handling things that are delicate or alive. It’s inevitable that he may accidentally scratch something up every now and then.

It’s hard for Childe to express emotions through his face when he’s like this, but you’re familiar enough with his abyssal form’s body language to know that he’s slowly calming down, latching onto your words. He lifts his big hands a little and you take them carefully in yours.

“Darling, you’re the most gentle person I know.” You tell him, and it’s nothing but the truth.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagarise my writing! This includes posting translations to other sites.

[whumpsday]

my unhinged rant about the whumptober discourse, below the readmore for the benefit of ppl who dont wanna see that crap. im just gonna go insane if i don't say this somewhere bc i feel like i'm losing my mind

this drama is genuinely so mind-blowingly stupid it's unreal, and it's been bothering me so much that i just HAVE to talk about it or i'm gonna go insane, if for no other reason than to get it out of my system. i honestly never expected the whump community to go on the kind of bad-faith tirade that's taking place.

disclaimer right here that i do not support AI scraping creative works without permission (like chatgpt and a whole host of AI art programs do) or these AI-generated works being passed off as legitimate creative works. obviously that stuff is bad, and literally everyone on all sides of this agrees it's bad. i used chatgpt exactly once one week after it came out, before i knew how shit it was, and haven't touched AI stuff since. because it steals from creators and it sucks.

now:

saying "whumptober supports/allows AI" when their official policy says plain as day:

"we are not changing our stance from last year’s decision"

"we will not amplify or include AI works in our reblogs of the event."

"we discourage the use of AI within Whumptober, it feels like cheating, and we feel like it isn’t in the spirit of the event."

is bonkers! whumptober is a prompt list, there is nothing TO the event other than being included in the reblogs. they literally cannot stop people from doing whatever they want with the prompts.

someone could go out and enact every single prompt in real life on a creativity-fueled serial killing spree and the whumptober mods couldn't do shit about it. it's not like it's a contest you submit to. it's a prompt list! someone could take every single prompt from the AI-less whumptober prompt list, feed it into chatgpt right now, and post them as entries. and the mods of THAT wouldn't be able to stop them either. because it's a prompt list.

the AI-less event have also made just... blatantly false claims, like that grammarly isn't AI. grammarly IS AI and they openly advertise this. hell, this is grammarly's front page right now:

and this is a statement from grammarly about how its products work:

its spellchecker / grammarchecker is AI-based! claiming it's not AI is just... lying. saying "this is an AI-less event" and then just saying any AI that you want to include doesn't count as AI is ludicrous.

and you know what? whumptober actually pointed this out. they said they don't want to ban AI-based assistive tools (like grammarly) for accessibility reasons. this post has several great points:

"AI is used for the predictive text and spellchecker that's running while I type this reply."

"Accessibility tools rely on AI." this is true and here's an article about it, though the article is a little too pro-AI in general for my tastes, there's nuances to this stuff. it's used for captioning, translation, image identification, and more. not usually the same kind of AI that's used for stuff like chatgpt. THERE ARE DIFFERENT KINDS!

"But we can't stop that, nor can we undo damage already done, and banning AI use (especially since we can't enforce it) is an empty stand on a hill that's already burning, at least in our view of things."

and people were UP IN ARMS over this post! their notes were full of hate, even though it's all true! just straight lying and saying that predictive text isn't AI (it is), that AI isn't used for accessibility tools (it is), that whumptober can somehow enforce an anti-AI policy (they can't because it's a prompt list).

in effect, both whumptobers have the EXACT SAME AI POLICY. neither allows AI-generated works, but both allow AI-based assistive tools like grammarly. everyone involved here is ON THE SAME SIDE, they all have the exact same opinion on how AI should be applied to events like this, and somehow they're arguing???

not to mention that no other whump event has ever had an AI policy. febuwhump, WIJ, bad things happen bingo, hell even nanowrimo doesn't have one.

and you wanna know the most ridiculous part of this entire thing? which is also the reason why none of the above events have an AI policy.

no one is doing this. no one is out there feeding whumptober prompts to chatgpt and posting them as fills for whumptober cred. it's literally a hypothetical, made-up issue. all of this infighting over a problem that DOESN'T EXIST.

to the point that people are brigading the whumptober server with shit like this:

saying "everyone who participates in whumptober is a traitor, you should go participate in this other event with the exact same AI policy but more moral grandstanding about it" is silly. every single bit of this drama is silly.

in the end, please just be nice to people. we're ALL against the kind of AI that steals from creators. the whumptober mods are against AI, the AILWT mods are against AI, whumptober participants are against AI, AILWT participants are against AI. there is no mythical person out here trying to pass chatgpt work off as whumpfic. let's all just be civil with each other over this, yeah?

[fang-and-feather]

Ikemen Vampire - Leonardo x Reader

Visions of Temptation, Day 1 Prompt: Cowgirl Position

Challenge hosted by @xxsycamore

yeah, this was for yesterday, but I'm still a little out of shape with writing smut

Kinktober Masterlist / IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist / AO3 Link

You should be mad. It wasn’t the first time the disaster that was Leonardo’s room had caused an accident. He could at least organize things a little for your sake..

This time, at least, he was close to save you from an actual disaster, the two of you losing balance and tumbling down on the bed, you on top of him.

And that was why you found it hard to be mad at him. Not with the way he looked up at you, eyes of molten gold shining with both love and lust.

It was hard for you to be mad when looked at with such desire and adoration, and there was something about having him like this, underneath you, just waiting for you to make a move rather than acting on what he wanted and dragging you along like he always did, that made your heart race and your whole body heat up.

You had always wanted to take charge at least once and you had no doubt Leonardo would let you but, after the first few times he flipped things around, you were afraid that, if you asked, he would agree to it for you, no matter if he would enjoy it or not. You wanted to try new things because both of you wanted to, not because one of you was sacrificing their own desires for the other.

Though, wasn’t you holding back a form of sacrifice as well? Were you approaching this the wrong way? And maybe you were just too accustomed to past relationships being simple, other people would even say boring, although you would never apply such a label to a relationship with someone you had loved.

Leonardo touched your cheek, making you focus back on him and his sexy smile.

“If I didn’t know you better, cara mia, I would say you wanted me in this position the whole time, with how much you seem unwilling to get up.”

You didn’t know if you were blushing, or the heat in your face was just the heat from the rest of your body spreading. What you knew was that you couldn’t take it back anymore. Your body ached for him and every look and word from Leonardo only tempted you further.

You pushed yourself to a sitting position, tracing a finger from his collarbones down his chest, stopping at the first closed button of his shirt.

“Oh, it was really an accident,” you grinned at him, toying with the button, “but a very convenient one, don’t you think?” You opened the button, then traced the same path back up his body lightly with the tip of your nail. Leonardo visibly gulped,  tipping his head back when you reached his neck.

“What do you plan to do to me now, amore?” He asked, with a hint of laughter in his voice.

“I’d rather just show you.”

Not that you knew, anyway, you were just following the inspiration of your desire. And even if you did, you wouldn’t tell him. Leonardo was always surprising you or dragging you along with his own plans without telling you a thing.

You followed the same path your finger made with open-mouthed kisses, occasionally sucking the skin, determined to get a reaction from him.

It never bothered you that Leonardo wasn’t very vocal, you were satisfied with physical reactions and occasional praise. This time, though, it was frustrating. Was it because of the switched positions?

You moved to the side of his neck, at first with more kisses, but when you gave him a tentative bite, that drew a low groan from him.

“You like that, don’t you?” You bit him again, a little higher.

“I like anything when you’re bold like this.”

“Anything?” You pulled back, looking him in the eyes.

“You don’t need yo hold back from me, cara mia. I’m yours to do as you please.”

One look deep into his eyes and you know he means what he says, and that steels your resolve. Leonardo wasn’t the only one who could read you beyond words. Your relationship was pretty new, but you knew him enough to know when he was lying or forcing himself for your sake.

You reached for his shirt again, carefully undoing one more button.

“I wonder for how long you can hold yourself to that.”

You both chuckled and Leonardo finally reached for you, starting to unbutton your clothes.

“I will behave tonight. But I am a wolf. I can’t always resist how delicious you look.”

Leonardo pulled you into a kiss while he finished removing your clothes. You let him do as he pleased at first, his hand roaming your body, leaving your body burning outside as it already was inside. But when he cupped your breasts, you pulled away, before he started taking full control.

“I thought you said you would behave.”

“Sorry, but you never said I couldn’t touch you.”

“Touching, not teasing. But now I’d rather do the touching.” You replied, rolling one of his nipples between your fingers.

You bent down, licking the other, then sucking at it, letting your teeth gently drag over the sensitive skin. That drew more low sounds from him.

“You don’t need to hold back either. Let me hear you. You like it when I’m a little rough, don’t you?”

“Where did you learn to be this wicked, cara mia?” He groaned when you bit him again.

“I’m just imitating you, amore mio.”

You trailed kisses further down his body, leaving red marks. You bit down on the side of his hips while you worked to open his pants.

These clothes were discarded quickly, drawing a relieved groan from Leonardo as you finally released his hard cock from its prison.

You stayed there for a moment, watching it, contemplating your next move. You were tempted to tease until he completely lost himself, but you wondered which one of you would break first. What you truly wanted was him inside you, fucking you so hard you would have a hard time getting up the next day.

So you settled for a happy medium, crawling back up his body, aligning yourself with him, hands on his chest for support, and slowly taking him into you.

You still loved the sensation of that first stretch. The slow joining of your bodies. But this time, going slowly was more of a torment.

You had intended to sit there for a moment, watch his reactions, tease him a little, but as soon as he was all the way inside, you lost all your composure.

With a low moan of his name, you moved, trying to find a comfortable rhythm. You don’t complain when Leonardo holds your hips, guiding you to rock into him, in a way that also gives some friction to your clit.

He releases you as you get into a rhythm, and you speed up your movements.

“That’s it, cara mia,” Leonardo said in a husky voice. “Embrace your desires. Lose yourself into the pleasure. Take as much as you want from me.”

Leonardo touched you again, from your hips up, teasing all your sensitive spots. Your pleasure was already building fast without this. It peaked sooner than you expected. Your mind almost blanks as the tension in your lower body is released.

You slow your movements, still riding him to prolong your orgasm, your juices aiding your movements.

When the aftereffect was over, you took a deep breath and started building a rhythm again, despite how weak your legs felt.

Leonardo was more openly responding to the pleasure, now that he probably was close to his own release. It didn’t take long for him to grip of hips, holding you in place as he came inside you.

He must have noticed your limbs were tiring, because one of his hands left your hip, moving to tease your clit. You sat on his lap, letting him work you to another orgasm.

You collapsed against him, and Leonardo hugged you, caressing your hair.

“Rest now, cara mia. You did so well.”

“Good.” You muttered, snuggling into him. “Next time I won’t go this easy on you, or tire this fast.”

“As long as you’re not forcing yourself, I can take anything. I love you, principessa.”

“Love you too, Leonardo.”

And every time you loved him more. With him being so welcoming, you were more confident in bringing up new ideas and discovering even more about each other.

I will be starting a tag list. If you want to be tagged on future writings, you can reply to this post or send me a message

Kinktober Masterlist / IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist

[laffy-taffy-creations]

An Cumhachd A Thig Le Cùram

The Power That Comes With Caring

This is my secret santa gift for @esperosisdoeswriting! Their prompt was Villain and/or monster dad that is quite evil but very much loves and adores his power-less child. Found family highly encouraged. I hope you like it Esper!

WARNINGS: violence, death, cussing

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Supervillain was shoved in the direction of the cop car. "Alright, ALRIGHT I'm going! Fuck off!" he said while walking in that direction.

How angry he was. These stupid heroes treating him like nothing more than a herd cattle! It was infuriating.

If Child weren't nearby he'd tear out the throats of everyone around him.

He sat down in the back and was closed in there for a bit. Apparently getting him into custody wasn't the first priority.

He heard squabbling. One of the voices sounded like Child. They were probably so scared right now, those heroes taking their parent away from them, no wonder they were resisting.

Eventually the car started moving, the person in the passenger's seat asking Supervillain questions.

"Yes, I kidnapped them." "No, that kid is not someone I kidnapped." "My history of torture does not apply here." "Those heroes? They're dead. Pissed me off too much while I held them hostage, kept asking for food or water." "Her screams were oh so delightful. You should've been there." "Leave the kid out of this."

He had no reason to hide anything he did. Infact he took much pride in all his crimes.

And why wouldn't he? He was Supervillain. He marked everything thoroughly once he realized the cops would never find him.

He was… ticked off about that, to say the least. Child was just a kid. A powerless one at that. If there was ever a group of people that would take advantage of them, exploit them, even abuse them, it would be the police and heroes.

Except now they had. And now they had Child too.

They arrived at the agency. "C'mon, get out. We're putting you in custody."

"No."

"No?" one of the heroes sneered.

"Tell me where my kid is or I'm not getting out of this damn vehicle."

Laughter. Laugher that made the supervillain see red. Laughter that made him almost break the cuffs right then and there.

"Tell me where they are right now or so help me-"

He was cut off by a sniggering hero, "You're infront of a hero agency. Whatever you do, you have an army's worth of heroes to contend with. You ain't gonna do shit."

"Tell me where they are."

A superior walked up to the group. "What's the hold up? I need him in a cell, STAT."

"He won't leave the car unless we tell him where the kid we found in his house is."

You fuckers that's my child.

The superior sighed. "Just tell him, we can't waste anymore time."

One of the heroes rolled their eyes then turned to Supervillain. "Fine. They're being brought to our agency and held in an interrogation room for a while where you can't get to them while we figure out why they were there."

He finally stepped out of the car, satisfied with that. Child would be here too. He was okay with that.

He was led down into the facility, celebratory cheers following him at every turn while the heroes led him on.

Something isn't right.

He could sense it. Deep down. Call it parental instinct. Something was wrong.

He stopped moving. The heroes started shouting at him, pushing, trying to drag him. He tuned them out. Their methods didn't work as his body didn't budge.

Then, he heard it.

His child was screaming.

And so the cuffs broke.

Red, red, everything was red as the screams turned from a child's fear to adults' pain. He lashed out, tearing out their throats, hearts, lungs, whichever of the vital body parts was closest.

The shadows of his power stretching far and wide and terrorizing the whole damn agency.

He would not stop until he found his kid.

Rushing through the halls, leaving marks across every surface his shadows scraped. Like a wild beast searching for its prey.

You fuckers better pray to whatever gods you follow that I'll be quick.

People started fighting back, there was electricity, punches, force fields, weapons. None of it was Child. And so the rage continued.

He hunted, hunted, tracking down the heroes that stole his child, took them from his home.

Clawing his way through the bodies separating him from his kin.

And there they were. Child, crying, backed against a wall while Supervillain crushed the skull of the hero they were cowering from.

His mind cleared, his child was in front of him. And he had just killed.

Out of everything, that was his one rule. No villainy in front of his kid. In front of Child. But now…

He walked forward, wary. Would they even look at him the same? Would there be fear in their eyes?

He knelt down in front of them. "Hey. I'm… sorry you had to see that. I understand if you're-"

"PAPA!" Child suddenly lunged forward and buried their head in his chest, sobbing and shaking like a leaf.

He was stunned, to say the least. "Yeah, it's me." He stroked their hair a little bit.

They cried and cried, finally safe, finally secure. They didn't care that Supervillain had just murdered every hero in the building, they were finally okay because their father was here.

And he wasn't leaving them any time soon.

He wasn't Hero afterall.

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

I've asked myself many times over the course of three years about how would I react to information that comes to contradict a specific image I have about people. And the answer would differ, more or less, depending on a myriad of factors, such as my mental wellbeing, my attitude toward the fandom, the group, the members, etc. The truth is, I only knew how I would respond the moment it happens and I was pleasantly surprised in a way. I see it as a sign that I'm doing better or at least I'm on the path of doing better.

These are things that I didn't want to allow to come to surface in the way I used to handle the BTM blog. Perhaps because the point was to create a platform in which I could offer the rational, researched perspective which I considered to be the correct one. I'm not retracting any of that. I still believe that it is possible to offer a more complex perspective if I can back it up with knowledge from various fields, but it was also one of my defense mechanisms.

Without expanding on the personal reasons, it has become very easy for me to separate my rational and emotional side. So much, that even when I should be staying in the moment and let my emotions take space, I can't really do it, I need to come up with a rational explanation so it can make sense. I then applied this to BTS as well. I couldn't just say I like this group when someone would ask, I would have to tell them about all the studies I read and how my fascination is mostly intelectual, when in truth it was both. I used to talk about jikook only in the context of analysis, be it GCF through semiotics or various types of interpretations when it came to their performances or fandom reception in terms of their dynamics. It had to be in the context of rational fascination and curiosity because I was merely trying to justify myself on why I care that much about two strangers that I look at on my phone. Again, my intellectual curiosity is real, but that has always been only one side if the coin, but it was one that I pushed.

It's about shame actually. I can't actually accept that I have such an interest. It doesn't fit with the idea I have of myself. And sometimes I don't like it because it makes me question my intellect, my critical thinking. How can I be so good academically and at the same time I fear that I've fallen into a fandom trap? I'm smart, right? Right?

I'm sure a lot of people have dealt with or ar going through this process of cognitive dissonance. How does one deal with the mere idea that something they believe in based on their understanding of the world, their ability of decoding (not in a conspiracy sense, but in a Saussurean way) can turn out to be wrong? We see something that resembles a specific behavior that we are surrounded with our entire lives, sometimes we ourselves engage with, but we've identified it wrong on others? Of course, it's through the visual medium, one that is edited. It's a puzzle with large chunks missing, but we're getting a general idea of it. But we can be wrong. So how do we deal with that? Well, I don't have a correct answer.

Me in 2020/2021 would have been more affected because my mental health was not good. I was functionally depressed and I clinged so much onto BTS, Jikook and the small community that I found myself in at that time, that I would have felt a lot more torn than I am now.

A couple of years later and having to actually go through a situation in which my understanding of people's relationship might not be accurate, I realized I'm fine. And I think it's because it made me really register just now that I finally learned how to have fun with it. It took me three years. By having fun, I mean genuinely being able to simply enjoy the little things. I'm still on the path of not being ashamed for liking kpop or spending time talking about the dynamic/relationship of two people.

What prompted this post was reading what is currently being written in the jikook tag. Yes, I had this big introductory chunk that perhaps people won't bother reading, but I'm doing it for myself. If I can't be honest while writing stuff into the void for strangers to read, then what is the point?

I get frustrated very easily. I like debates and contradictory points of view, but not always. And that's because I like to be right. Almost all the time. So when I see something that I believe it lacks logic or I find it absurd, then my fingers are itching. I don't comment or DM people, I can control myself. I'd rather get out of the app and do something else.

What I want to say is I was surprised at how much fanfiction is being written. More that usual. Shipping contains a big deal of fanfiction by its nature. Gestures and events taking place at different times are interpreted and having information added that fills the gaps. People do that because they have to make sense of what they see.

They like to make relationship timelines. They speculate on first kisses and first sexual experiences. That's their imagination. None of us has any way of knowing. The element of fiction is heighted when people feel like they are losing control of the narrative. When they are unsure of what they are seeing. Which is what usually happens in the shipping community on a yearly basis. Anons flooding the bloggers' inboxes because they need confirmation or they didn't get any ship content in a month or two which means something is wrong.

There's this understanding that the shipper/supporter is delusional while the one who stops shipping is the rational one. From what I've observed throughout time and mostly now, that is a false distinction. The so-called rational fan makes use of fiction just as the shipper. The difference is in purpose. One talks about why the supposed romantic relationship is real and the other tries to refute that. But both categories seem to need fiction in order to build their arguments. That is because none of them have access to someone's private life and relationship, so the gaps need to be filled with speculation. There is no right or wrong version here, despite how much the idea is being pushed. And me writing about this won't make a difference. It's simply how the fandom works. The one who position themselves on the side of anti-delulu will always be seen as the less crazy one. The similarities will fade for the collective consciousness of the fandom.

I think it's difficult for a lot of people, regardless on which side they find themselves on, to accept that the option of simply not knowing is enough as well. Or knowing, but without getting anal about it. But it's hard and they write posts after posts, anons are sending asks over asks because there has to be a firm answer. Only a few allow themselves to be in between lines.

I'll bring back something that I always used to say. Shipping and involvement in the fandom is a lot more about us and less about the people we're talking about. It's about fullfiling some needs, of needing a community, of focusing on the idea of love. Those things can still be done in a way that still makes the experience enjoyable. But not everyone can and I'm not blaming it.

There's a way to just like how people behave with each other and imagine things without adding so much weight to it. Regardless of the true nature. It's our imagination, there's no need for a moral inquisition to tell anyone how to think or that they should stop thinking a certain way. Touching some grass is a cliche and an expression I ended up hating, but I do believe that being connected to discourse on a daily basis can really alter our sense of reality and what we consider to be real issues. We really should pay more attention to that and take some distance if necessary.

[rosepascal]

beating heart || Joel Miller x Reader

prompt: heart pounding whenever the other does so much as to hold onto their wrist while guiding them through a crowd (prompt list)

warnings: none

a/n: I'm feeling the writers block so I know this is short and it's not much but I needed to get something out just to try.

One man should not have such an effect on you. His hand on your wrist, firm and protecting in nature, should not send your heart into a frenzy. Beating against your chest so loudly you swear he could hear it himself. Joel's not an affectionate man in public. Or really at all. He has his moments where you think that maybe he feels a certain way towards you.

When he smiles after something you've said or keeps you close when the nights get cold or that one time you got cut on your forehead and he insisted on patching you up himself. His strong hands shook slightly as he applied the bandage to your hand but you had never felt safer.

Truthfully you found excuses for his behavior at every turn. It was friendly, he doesn't see you that way, you're just a work partner. If only your heart could catch up to your brain. Pretending to not be in love with Joel is easy in your head.

As Ellie puts it "being in complete denial". You can say that you don't mind when Joel doesn't come to dinner. Or when someone decides to flirt with him. You can laugh it off when he's being particularly cold one day. Even if it cracks your heart a little. Even if it leaves you feeling stupidly jealous. No one has to know what you're feeling inside.

It was somehow easier to hide when it was just you, him, and Ellie. Sure you were alone with him but you had Ellie and you were more focused on staying alive than a crush. But once you settled into Jackson, into normal life again.

The feelings bubbled up again. Seeing him relaxed, or as relaxed as he can be. Seeing him happy. It brought back everything you felt for the man. He's just so, handsome and strong and caring and yes he has his faults, who doesn't, but those faults don't matter as much when he's been the one to watch your back for the past few years.

Which brings you back to now. How you managed to day dream during a simple walk through town is amusing but you feel his thumb rub the inside of your wrist slowly and it brings you back down to earth. He doesn't need to hold onto you.

There's a low chance you'd get lost given that there's no where to really go. But Joel grabbed your wrist anyways. He keeps you close as he weaves through the crowd. Even looking back just to make sure you're there. You're safe.

No matter how hard you try you can't calm your heart. You just hope he can't feel your pulse spiking whenever he readjusts his grip. He does. When you reach the end and he lets go you feel disappointment creep through you. Already missing the feel of his hands.

"You alright?" He asks.

You nod, giving him a smile to hide any feelings you have inside but this time he doesn't buy it. Slowly he steps towards you, backing you up until you hit the wall behind you. His eyes staring deep into your own, making you shiver.

There's a hint of a smirk dancing on his lips and you have to resist cursing him out for being a jerk. He's teasing you. He's doing this on purpose. Before you can push him away he grabs your hand. Not your wrist, your hand.

Wordless he intertwines your fingers until he's properly holding your hand. If your heart was beating fast earlier, it was nothing compared to now. A loud pounding echoes through your body as he squeezes your hand gently.

"Don't want to you to get lost." Is all he says.

Joel knows how he feels. His heart does at least. The pure terror that fills his veins when he thinks about it says everything to him. He can't say it out loud though. That's admitting more than he's ready for. But that's okay. Because he pulls you close, holding your hand in his warm one, keeping you safe.

For once you manage to ignore your own wild heart, only to notice that his is beating in sync.