#the way I had to force myself to write this thing

[bbycake2]

hi hi i BEG of you to write about tutor! armin and reader being academic rivals (he’s also obsessed with reader) and they make a bet to see who can get the highest score on a test and he gets it and idk smth ensues (this probably makes no sense haha) anyways nsfw perchance

Where is my reward? Get on your knees .ᐟ Nerdmin, tutor. Armin Arlert

Loud screams, lots of parties, alcohol, sex — that was the world waiting for those who went to the academy. It was the daily routine, but not yours. You had different priorities. You studied hard, ranked among the top with your results, you were the best. And that feeling was something wonderful.

One day a blond guy joined your school — skinny, with a funny little fringe and fogged-up glasses, like he stepped right out of a cartoon. Sometimes he’d glance your way, but whenever your eyes met, he’d quickly blush and look away. You often caught sight of him in the same places you were — in the café eating cake, accidentally grabbing the same slice as you, or in the library. Do you both like the same kind of literature?

Strange coincidences, but you never thought much deeper about them. You didn’t care — he wasn’t someone worth your attention.

He was quite cute yeah, but absolutely not your type…. one day, when the school administration posted the test results, you were stunned. You stared at the paper, unable to believe what was happening. You didn’t have first place — for the first time in two years, you weren’t the best. Gritting your teeth, you read the name: “Armin… Armin Arlert” And there, next to his name, was a perfect score — a 100%. Armin Arlert. You stared at it.

Suddenly, you felt his presence beside you. He read the posted results and gave a dumb little smile as he adjusted his glasses.

“I really worked hard for that score. Feels a bit painful being second, doesn’t it?”

His audacity got under your skin.

A fucker with that stupid bowl-cut fringe.

Your blood was boiling as you made your way to your room. You threw yourself onto the bed like something had possessed you. That feeling of losing, of being second place, tore you apart from the inside. The next morning, the alarm clock dragged you awake. You forced yourself up, went through the motions to get ready, threw on a skirt and a shirt, slung your bag full of books over your shoulder, and stormed out toward the school. You were dead set on confronting that asshole.

You spotted him down the hallway, pulling something from his locker. Without thinking, you marched straight toward him.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, locked in a silent exchange of glances.

Your eyes were sharp, burning with anger and the sting of wounded pride. His, wide and unsure — cheeks flushed, gaze dropping every few seconds in a mixture of guilt and shyness. You don’t remember what drove you, probably jealousy and wounded pride, but you do remember that you made a bet with that idiot about who would get a higher score on the test next week. He had smiled when you said it, that annoying, calm smile, you started to hate it.

For the past few days, you’ve been seeing his blond hair everywhere. At the library, leaning against the shelf with that stupid, lazy posture. At the café, pretending not to notice you while ordering the exact same drink as you — again. Even in the hallway, always just a few steps ahead,

Is he doing it on purpose? Just to piss you off? To get in your head before the test?

On your way back from school, you dropped down on a bench outside, digging through your bag with growing panic. Where the hell were your chemistry notes?

“Shit, I’m gonna kill myself” you thought, flipping desperately through every page of every book, looking for those stupid notes.Chemistry had been a problem from the very beginning, the one subject that just wouldn’t click. No matter how hard you tried, how many hours you spent staring at reaction formulas and tables, it never made sense the way other things did.

You’d never even scored 80% on any test in that fucking subject.

A boy with glasses approached you slowly, his steps looking like he was about to fall or die or whatever.

He was wearing a green T-shirt and red Converse sneakers — like he’d gotten dressed without ever looking in a mirror. You stared at the pages he was holding, heart pounding with something between relief and fury.

“Why do you even have those?” you asked, standing up, trying to sound more annoyed than embarrassed.

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head just a little that same casual confidence that made you want to throw something at him.

“You left them in the study room. I was going to give them back, but you seemed so determined to panic first.” He cleared his throat softly.

“Thanks” you said, surprised at your own softness.

“Listen, I don’t want to come off as rude. I think you misunderstood me last time. I really do believe you’re talented and that you work hard. He paused, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly unsure if he should keep going. But reading what you’ve written here… I can see you’re having some trouble with chemistry. And well… I’m actually really good at it. I’d like to make up for how I acted before and help you with chemistry, if you’ll let me.” He looked up for a second just long enough to meet your eyes before quickly looking away again.

“Um… maybe I overreacted too. You know, wounded pride and all that” You said it quietly as your fingers nervously twisted the paper you were holding

“ You know what? I’ll take that offer, when would you like to start?”

The boy with the glasses gave you a shy smile

“Even now!” he said with an unexpected spark in his voice just like a child

You couldn’t help it and you laughed, at his enthusiasm

You went to his house.

His room was clean, surprisingly clean. His parents were kind, genuine way that made you feel instantly welcome. And the room? Full of books, mangas, and games stacked in neat, almost obsessive rows.

It was… nice.

Actually, it was really nice.

The kind of place you could accidentally spend hours in — and you did. Time slipped by faster than you expected. Somewhere between balancing chemical equations and arguing about which video game soundtracks were overrated, you started to realize something

Armin wasn’t so bad.

In fact… he could be kind of funny. Not in the loud, attentionseeking way. More like in the dry, unexpected, catchyouoff guard kind of way that made you laugh even when you didn’t mean to.

And maybe he wasn’t the annoying knowitall you thought he was.

“Remember our bet?” he said, flipping the page over.

Exactly the bet. You were having such a good time you completely forgot about it. When it was time to say goodbye, you felt a little sad. He helped you pack your things and walked you down the stairs.

“You’re leaving richer, with some chemistry knowledge and two Pokemon cards,” he laughed softly. Sweet. he was sweet.

A few days passed, and you didn’t talk much, both of you focused on studying. Then the time to announce those damn biology results, the ones you had bet on.

You walked up to the list, confident you had done perfectly. But when you read what was written there, that damn feeling of losing hit you again.

Armin Arlert 100%

(yn) 98%

The disappointment hit harder than you expected. Your chest tightened, and before you could stop it, a few tears slipped down your cheeks. The boy walked up to you, trying to pretend he wasn’t pleased but it was obvious he was bursting with satisfaction. He stood there for a second, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, rocking on his heels like he didn’t quite know what to do with all that smug energy.

“Hey,“Told you I was good at biology.”

You shot him a glare, still wiping at your cheeks. He hesitated, then reached into his backpack.

“Here,” he said, holding something out.

Two small, shiny Pokémon cards.

“I knew this would happen. I had to come up with something to cheer you up.” You took the cards from his hand, wiping away your tears.

“What about your prize?” you asked, voice still a little shaky. Do you have something in mind? Some secret dream?”

He smirked, eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite read. After a short pause, he said quietly

“Yeah… there’s something I’ve got my eye on.”

He took your hand and, without a word, led you quickly down the hall…Until you stopped in front of the You raised an eyebrow, “boys bathroom”?

“What, am I supposed to hold your hand while you pee?” you joked, smirking.

“Come on, it’s classes right now, no one’s gonna be in there,” Then he gently pushed you forward, just enough to make you step inside.

Urinals, stalls, and a sink. What else could he possibly be looking for in here? The awful smell of the boys’ bathroom hit your nose immediately, making you wince. Disgusting.

He opened one of the stalls and motioned for you to go in. “A silly joke, but I’ll play along”, you thought as you stepped inside. Then he closed the door behind him, stepping in with you.

“What about my prize? Get on your knees, loser girl.” he said it confident, a bit mean. What had gotten into him? And what on earth was he talking about?

It was weird. But… kind of attractive? You did like Armin and technically, you owed him a prize. So why not make it something you’d both enjoy?

You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ve changed,” you said, half teasing, half cautious. “Did winning a bet unlock your fucked up side?”

Armin laughed, a short, nervous laugh. The cocky look cracked just a little. “Maybe,” he shrugged, pretending to look casual. “Or maybe I’ve just finally figured out what I want.”

You leaned back against the wall of the stall, arms crossed.

“Oh yeah? And what exactly is that?”

“You.”

Oh fuck, you haven't had a boyfriend for a long time and you were a bit horny, and your fingers and pink vibrator weren't enough for you anymore, a little cock won't hurt you. smiling, you got on your knees in front of Armin, looking into his eyes.

He was slightly nervous, his cheeks were red, he didn't know what to say.

“you wanted it yourself and now you're ashamed? idiot”

He just made a sound closing his eyes as you unzipped his pants taking out his cock, of course it was big nerds always have cocks like they came out of a porn. you spat on him and ran your tongue along his length, one hand playing with his balls. he himself couldn't believe what was happening, girl with his dick in her mouth and she was smiling! it was the best day of his life… You took him into your mouth, moving your tongue while looking at him as if it were the last day of your life. Desire took control of him, he moaned so loudly and so sweetly, and yet the one who enjoyed the moment even more was you.

You choke on his cock slightly, pulling back with a gasp, only to dive in again, hungry for more.

“You’re wonderful, I’m so lucky to have met you.” he moans, biting down on his bottom lip

Both of your hands wrap around his dick, jerking him off with a wicked smile on your face. You were enjoying it way too much. “Seems like luck is on our side today.” You gave his cock kitty licks, just to take it all the way up down your throat

You moved your head quickly, alternating between kissing, licking, and taking him all into your mouth to suck as best as you could.

“Ah, ah, yes, yes! Fuckkkkk!” His eyes are rolling back, that poor guy didn’t know what to do with his hands, sometimes he stroked your head, other times he covered his face.

“mhhhm please, let this moment never end.” A moan escapes while his teeth nibble on his bottom lip.

You’re sucking his balls and stroking his cock letting your spit drool all over not only your face but also his body

Pop!

You took his ball out of your mouth and looked up at him with a fucked up smile. “I think I’m in love,” you said, gazing at his face, it was so sweet, and he was just so sweet.

“Hey, is someone in there? I see four legs in the stall, come out!”

you were torn from your drunken moment by the sound of one of the cleaning ladies, your makeup smudged as if you had been fucked by at least 3 guys, saliva everywhere and the smell of dick, how will you show yourselves?

[riddlesrizzler]

𝙒𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙃𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨

summary: He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. characters: mattheo riddle. shy! ravenclaw! reader warnings: none! but it made me cry. word count: 2.1k a/n: thank you all for supporting this serires! it was one of my favorite things to write and i am sad this is coming to an end. but mattheo riddle and shy! ravenclaw! reader will come back in other ways on my page :)

The rain drummed softly against the castle windows, a steady, rhythmic patter that seemed to pulse in time with the quiet of the Slytherin common room. The sound was soothing, as if the world outside had been muffled by the storm, leaving only the comforting crackle of the fire in the hearth to fill the air. Its golden light flickered, casting a warm, inviting glow across the room, where shadows danced across the walls and the faint scent of burning wood filled the air. The atmosphere was peaceful, cocooned from the outside world-a perfect setting for the two of you, nestled together on the worn leather couch.

Mattheo sat beside you, his arm resting lazily along the back of the couch, the movement casual but with an air of comfort that spoke of the quiet intimacy you shared. One of his hands held a book-your book, of course-its pages well-worn from use, the cover soft with age. He had become more than just the boy who sat beside you in class, more than the person you never expected to feel so at home with. In the few short weeks you had been together, despite the whispered gossip, the two of you had carved out a space where things felt natural, easy, like you belonged together.

You had learned that, just like you, Mattheo preferred solitude to the chaos of crowds. His discomfort in the Great Hall, where voices swirled and overlapped in a chaotic dance, was something you had come to recognize. You saw the slight crease that appeared between his brows when too many people crowded in, his need to retreat into quieter spaces where the noise didn’t drown out the thoughts in his head. And you-well, you had always been the same. You both sought refuge in the shadows, in alcoves where silence reigned, in corners of the common room where the firelight stretched far enough to offer warmth but never quite reached the noise.

Rainy days were your favorite, offering the perfect excuse to stay inside and do nothing but wrap yourselves in blankets, get lost in books, and let the world outside fade into a distant hum. You relished the peace of it all-the soft companionship of sitting together, reading for hours in content silence. Mattheo would absentmindedly reach for your hand, fingers brushing lightly as he turned a page, a silent connection that never failed to make your heart flutter.

He never complained about the time spent in such quiet company, never questioned the hours you lost to stories, always content to sit beside you, his presence a constant, grounding force.

There were little things that you both shared, things you hadn’t expected to find in a person you barely knew just months ago. The first time you had introduced him to your music, sitting in the Astronomy Tower with a pair of enchanted earbuds, you had half-expected him to mock your choices, to roll his eyes at the songs you loved. But instead, he surprised you, nodding along to the rhythm, humming quietly when a familiar tune played.

"I like this one," he had said, a small, unexpected admission that made something warm flutter in your chest. His quiet approval felt like a shared secret, like a melody that you both understood.

Now, in the dim warmth of the common room, you sat beside him once more, your fingers lightly skimming the worn pages of Wuthering Heights. The storm raged on outside, its distant rumblings echoing through the stone walls, a constant, steady companion to the quiet that surrounded you. Mattheo’s presence beside you felt like the calm amidst the chaos-a steady comfort, like the fire that crackled nearby. He didn’t demand your attention, didn’t fill the silence with words when it wasn’t necessary. He just was, his very existence beside you a quiet reassurance that everything was right.

You turned a page, your eyes following the words, when they suddenly stopped-your breath caught in your throat as your gaze lingered on a passage.

"He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."

You read it again, and again, feeling the words sink deeper into you with each repetition. The quiet storm outside seemed to fade away, leaving only those words to echo in your mind. Slowly, almost without thinking, you lifted your eyes to Mattheo, who was still absorbed in his book, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, his thumb absently brushing the edge of the page. But as you watched him, your heart stirred-those words, those exact words, felt like they were meant for him.

He must have sensed the weight of your gaze, because he looked up then, his dark eyes meeting yours with a hint of amusement, as if expecting to find something odd on your face.

“What?” he asked, a small, teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Is there ink on my face again?”

You shook your head, your voice soft and almost uncertain. “No,” you whispered, though your heart was pounding now. “I just-” You faltered, unsure how to explain the wave of emotion crashing over you.

Mattheo closed his book, giving you his full attention now. His expression softened, his gaze warm, patient, waiting for you to find the words. “Just what?”

For a moment, you hesitated, your fingers tracing the page of the book as if it would give you the courage you needed. Then, without a word, you shifted the book slightly toward him, tapping the passage with your finger.

“I just read this,” you said, your voice quieter now, filled with a vulnerability that you hadn’t intended to show. “And I think-I think I get it now.”

His gaze flickered to the words, and for a moment, his face shifted, the teasing smirk fading into something deeper, more thoughtful. He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he reached for your hand, his fingers gently threading through yours, holding you with a tenderness that sent warmth flooding through you. It was a silent promise, a quiet confession, wrapped in the simplicity of a touch.

“I think I get it too,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere.

In that moment, the storm outside seemed to fade entirely, leaving only the soft crackling of the fire and the quiet of the room between you. And as the words hung in the air, you realized with a certainty that made your chest ache-this wasn’t just about love. It was about understanding, about finding someone who could see the parts of you that even you sometimes couldn’t.

You hadn’t just found someone who loved you. You had found someone who understood you.

-

There had been a time when you ran from him. It wasn’t just avoidance-it was an instinctual thing. The mere sight of Mattheo Riddle rounding the corner would make your heart race and your mind shout in panic. Without thinking, you'd turn sharply on your heel, your shoes slapping the cold stone floor as you fled from his presence. You had learned early on that proximity to him was dangerous, a fact you clung to fiercely. Whenever he came near-whether in the library, the corridors, or even in the Great Hall-you slipped away as if he was a storm you needed to outrun, a force of nature threatening to consume you.

Back then, he had been a mystery, an enigma wrapped in cold eyes and sharp edges. You kept your distance, not out of fear, but out of self-preservation. He was different-too calculating, too elusive, too... intriguing. But now?

Now, your steps led you toward him, not away. The shift was gradual, but it was there, undeniable. You walked toward Mattheo, your feet carrying you in his direction like a pull you couldn’t explain. And every time you did, something in his chest tightened.

He noticed it-noticed how your eyes would find his after class, how the corners of your lips would twitch into a smile, shy yet certain. Your steps no longer retreated but moved confidently toward him, as if you wanted to be there, wanted to be with him. It was a strange feeling for him, this sudden shift, the realization that someone-you-were seeking him out, drawn to him in a way he hadn’t expected.

He wasn’t used to it. He had never been used to people seeking his presence, to anyone walking toward him with open intent. People were cautious with him, careful, as if his very presence could shatter the fragile peace around him.

But not you.

You had gone from an untouchable mystery to someone he could rely on. Someone he now looked for after every lesson, someone whose voice he strained to catch in the sea of noise, whose laughter had become the music he needed in a room full of chaos. You had become his quiet anchor, his steady constant in a world he often felt detached from.

And you? You had started to see him differently too.

The nervous tension that once overtook you when he approached, the instinct to shrink into yourself when his dark eyes flickered your way, had begun to dissipate. Now, when Mattheo stepped closer, you didn’t stiffen. You didn’t retreat, didn’t make excuses to slip away. Instead, you let yourself lean into him, into his presence, into the space he occupied beside you. You didn’t try to hide anymore. He didn’t make you feel small or out of place-he made you feel like you were seen, like it was okay to let down your guard. You were no longer afraid of what he represented.

He was your safe space now. And as much as you had become his.

Mattheo had never thought he’d be the type to lose himself in books. In fact, he’d spent most of his life convinced they weren’t for him. Pages filled with ink, bound together into stories that seemed as cold and lifeless as the paper they were written on-those things were for other people. People who cared about things like words and meanings. But that was before you.

It was strange what people would do for attention, he mused one night, sitting alone in the common room with a book of The Great Gatsby in his hands. He hadn’t been reading it because he enjoyed it, not at first anyway. No, he had picked it up because he wanted to keep you talking, keep you looking at him a little longer. He wanted to impress you, to show you that he was more than the cold, distant Riddle that everyone else saw.

And maybe it had worked. Maybe he had succeeded in capturing your attention. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about impressing you. It stopped being a game, a tactic. Somewhere between the late-night readings, between the hours spent annotating lines of Fitzgerald’s carefully crafted prose, he realized-he was no longer pretending.

He understood now.

He understood why people wrote books. Why people spilled ink across pages, pouring their hearts into every word. Because books were more than just stories. They were attempts at capturing something intangible-something that couldn’t be fully explained or quantified, but only felt.

Mattheo had always seen the world in black and white, a series of logical conclusions and cold calculations. But you-you had come into his life like a splash of color, something he couldn’t quite fit into any neat little box.

And in that moment, as he read through the pages of the books you’d introduced him to, he finally realized what all the fuss was about.

Gatsby had thrown grand parties, filling his house with light and music, all for a chance that Daisy might walk through his door. Charlotte had woven her web, crafting intricate messages, all to make Wilbur feel seen. Darcy had fought his pride, changed in ways he never thought possible for the woman he loved. Even Winnie the Pooh, with his simple wisdom, had understood what it meant to leave behind his own world to be with those who mattered. Heathcliff had been willing to tear the world apart just for the chance to belong to the one person who truly understood him.

And now Mattheo? He had started reading, yes, to keep your attention, to earn your approval. But now he understood. This-what he felt for you-was what it was all about.

Love wasn’t about grand gestures or perfect words. It was about finding someone who completed you, who understood you on a level deeper than you’d ever known was possible.

Mattheo Riddle had never thought he’d get lost in a book. But for you, he had. Because you were the story he was most desperate to understand.

And in that moment, he realized-he understood why people wrote books.

To capture something that no words could ever fully express, something that could only be felt and he had found it-you-and it was more than any book could ever contain.

[astraljedi]

The First Night (Miss Americana - Joaquin Torres)

President's Daughter AU Series | Joaquin Torres x Female Reader

Warnings: political setting, sexism/microaggressions, emotional vulnerability, reference to past injury

Word Count: 2.6k

Song: Vienna by Billy Joel

A/N: I grew up watching First Daughter and Chasing Liberty all the time! And this idea has been storming my thoughts the past few days and I just had to sit down, plot it and write it. I hope you guys enjoy my version of this trope and let me know your thoughts!

Masterlist | Prologue

Chapter 1

The champagne in my palm is growing offensively low as I try to smile and half-listen to Senator Williams ramble about how things were done in the old days. Of course I get cornered by the most conservative man in this entire gala while I’m trying to keep my opinions to myself for the rest of the night. I pretend to care, to actually look like I’m taking all his words into consideration and quietly reconsidering my entire political identity.

My father—well, the President—eyed me earlier with his usual tense stare when I accidentally let my tongue loose in a debate with another sixty-something white politician about basic human rights. Someone who wasn’t exactly on my dad’s good side to begin with. I promised him—and the chief of staff—that I’d keep my mouth shut for the evening if I was allowed to sneak out of the event early.

Even though my father moved into the White House two years ago, I’ve learned from his long political career to bite my tongue and focus my energy where it actually matters: outside, with the community.

“Your father tells me you’re a doctor,” Senator Williams says, and I try not to laugh. I shake my head, placing my empty champagne flute on a silver platter a passing waiter offers.

“Not really. I’m not a medical doctor,” I say, forcing a polite smile. “I have a doctorate in environmental engineering. My research focused on developing technology to reduce emissions and improve the air quality.”

“Oh.” He steps back slightly. Now he’s the one who wants out of the conversation. “You’re one of those.” His entire face shifts, scanning me with that familiar brand of disapproval. Even his tone changes, from civil to presumptuous.

I shift on my heels. My feet are starting to ache from all the standing, and I scan the room for an excuse—anyone—to rescue me from this sleep inducing conversation.

That’s when I feel a shoulder brush against my back. I turn around while the man mumbles an apology, and I latch onto it—onto him—without thinking. My hand finds his solid, muscled bicep, and I pull him into my vicinity, not bothering if he was having another conversation with someone else.

I focus on the confused dark brown eyes looking down at me, my eyes scanning him entirely. He’s my age, maybe a few years older, but the odds are in my favor tonight. 

Clean-shaven jaw, dark hair styled back—though a few curls have stubbornly broken free—and a black tailored suit that fits him too well. This gorgeous man is my escape plan.

“I’m sorry, Senator, but I did promise him a dance,” I say, stepping closer to the stranger. A hint of his cologne hits me, warm and woodsy, and I close my eyes for just a second, letting it sink in.

“Is that right? Well, I mustn’t take more of your time. Enjoy the dance, kids.” Senator Williams quickly forgets me as I lead my unexpected savior to the dance floor—whether he can dance or not.

His hand is large and warm in mine, but he lets me lead us into the center of the room, surrounded by other couples chatting and swaying.

The quartet plays an elegant version of They Way You Look Tonight as he pulls me in, one arm resting on my waist, the other holding my hand in an almost perfect ballroom frame. He leads and I follow, surprised—and a little impressed. I fix the position of our hands slightly, perfecting our posture as we fall into the rhythm with the music.

“I’m sorry,” I begin, glancing up at him. “For making you my escape plan. I couldn’t handle another conservative man telling me to find a husband and shut my mouth.”

I exaggerate—kind of. No one says it outright, but the intentions are there. 

My handsome partner laughs, a real jubilant laugh. A few couples glance over, eyes wandering over to us as I can’t help but laugh too, the sound escaping me before a second thought.

“It’s an honor to be your victim,” he says, flashing a smile that nearly makes me miss a step and step on his polished shoes. “Now I can proudly tell my mom that those dance classes finally paid off.”

“A little rusty,” I tease, “but luckily I’m a pro. Comes with the territory from attending more than a handful of these galas.”

The music shifts, something slower, softer, more intimate—but neither of us stops. We draw closer and the crowd around us thins, but we’re still in the center of the floor, like the moment belongs to just us.

“This has been my favorite song for years.” I confess, as the nostalgic, bittersweet notes of Vienna by Billy Joel fill the room. “I always make sure to dance at least once at these galas, for the photos, you know. Don’t tell anyone, but I always ask the quartet for the setlist so I can at least get one dance to my favorite before the night ends.”

His hand settles against my lower back—not too high, not too low—his warm fingers grazing the skin exposed by my backless black dress. We move easily together, like we’ve done this before.

“It’s a beautiful song,” he says, leaning closer. “And the perfect song to dance with a beautiful woman.” He whispers into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. 

We sway through a couple more songs as he talks to me more about his mom. How she signed him up for dance class, saying that it would help him get all the girls in high school. Additionally, he admits that he was the class clown in school, always getting in trouble for interrupting the class, but that always worked hard for his grades.”

“I’m thankful for the sacrifices my mom made,” he says. “And I regret how I made it harder for her everytime the teacher called her while she was at work to complain about me distracting my classmates. Even though she would scold me, she didn't tell me to stop, just help me direct my energy somewhere else and that was football. ”

I nod, my eyes softening noticing his face light up. He was grateful. 

“Now she’s having her payback,” he adds with a grin. “Trying to set me up with all her friends’ daughters every time I come over.”

I laugh again, cheeks aching in the best way. I don’t even remember the last time I smiled this much at one of these events. Or laughed genuinely. 

“I never had a rebellious phase,” I whisper, resting my head lightly on his shoulder. “Never snuck out to meet friends or secret boyfriends. I was valedictorian, President of the debate club and the Environmental Science Club in high school. I’ve always tried to live up to my family’s image and I tried not to be a burden, so I did everything right. I was the perfect daughter and left no mistakes for the media to broadcast and spin it into something it wasn’t.”

“Are you a rebel now?” he asks softly, and I can hear the smile in his voice as he guides us around the floor.

“Sometimes I forget I’m not in the debate club anymore and don’t bite my tongue when someone’s spitting ignorance about climate change, women’s rights and gun control...” I pause, breathing out the frustration that’s been bubbling all night. 

“I need to remind myself that if I want to make real change… it starts out there, not within these architectured walls.” I nod toward the window, where D.C. glows alive in its chaos while the rich sit, drink and gossip behind these highly protected walls.

“It starts with the people, the community.” Joaquin adds, validating me. 

I remove my head from his shoulder and I look up, the chandeliers glistening sequin stars across his rich chocolate eyes, lighter than they looked earlier. 

The quartet announces their break, the crowd disperses–but we don’t. We just keep looking at each other like we’re in our own world.

My mind sparks and I realize I don’t even know his name. We spent a couple of songs talking so openly that asking him for his name didn’t even cross my mind, or his apparently. 

But as I open my mouth to ask his name, Sarah—the White House press secretary—abruptly taps on my shoulder, pulling me out of our trance.

“Sorry, it’s time for the press photos before the event ends.”

I sigh, stepping back from the warmth of his body. “Duty calls.” I pout, already missing the way his body melted with mine. 

Our hands linger, fingers squeezing once before I force myself to let go. I follow Sarah off the dancefloor, and I don’t get a chance to look back. 

Carmen, my favorite agent, falls into step beside me as we head down the hall toward the photo corner, already decorated for the official family portrait for the press to display on the front cover tomorrow morning on every newspaper and newsblog. 

“This is the first time I’ve seen you have more than one dance,” she teases, opening the door for me. 

But before I can get swept away into the sea of flashes, I grab her wrist. “Can you find out his name?”

She smirks. “Sweetie, I can find out way more than just his name.”

Before I can say thank you, my mother appears and pulls me into a sea of cameras, my media smile planted on my face like a professional.

The next morning, I sip my coffee, trying to shake the exhaustion from my body. I never dance more than one song—and now my aching legs and back are paying for it.

“Good morning,” Carmen sings, energetic for someone who probably went to sleep at four in the morning. She closes the door behind her and strides happily into my spacious loft. “I come bearing gifts, my lady.”

Carmen slaps a navy-colored folder onto my white counter and stands proudly, a wide smile on her face. She wears her usual work attire: a fitted black blazer and pants set, a neat white shirt underneath, and the tiniest United States flag pinned to her blazer, right over her heart.

“You found him?” I don’t know why I sound so surprised—it’s the Secret Service. Of course they’d find him. The odds were even higher since he had to be cleared to get into the party last night.

“For someone so smart, you sometimes forget the power the government has,” Carmen says, shaking her head.

Trying to act calm, I pour her some coffee. What if I don’t like what’s in that file?

“Hey, this is the first time I’ve used my privilege for something like this,” I defend, my fingertips lingering over the file.

“It’s not going to attack you,” Carmen teases, hiding a smile behind her cup.

I shoot her a glare and finally open the file.

I look at the picture clipped to the side. Joaquin Torres. 

“Spoilers—he’s actually a decent guy. Sam Wilson vouched for him,” Carmen adds.

“You talked to Sam about him?” I place my almost-empty cup on the counter, careful not to spill it on the file.

“Joaquin was invited by the White House with Sam. Joaquin is The Falcon, sweetheart.”

It all clicks.

I remember the news, reporting on The Falcon’s condition after a horrible incident during a mission overseas. It was almost a year ago—I was finishing my thesis. The news was the only thing that didn’t distract me in the middle of the night, not like The Nanny that never failed to brainwash me away from my laptop screen.

I flip to the next page: A photo of him in his suit, in the clear blue sky.

“I remember. Didn’t he have a horrible accident?” I read through his accomplishments, security access and his basic information.

“He did, but Sam says he’s better. Physical therapy helped. He’s a strong guy, if anyone was going to make it out of that, it was him.” Carmen scrolls on her phone, coffee in hand.

“Do you know what happened?” I ask.

“I do, but that’s not my story to tell. I’ve got to get back to work, my break is almost up.” She moves around the kitchen and washes her cup. “His number’s on the Post-it note. You should call him.”

“What? That’s crazy—and a complete violation of his privacy! What if he doesn’t want me to call him?” I ramble, eyes wide.

Carmen grabs my shoulders and meets my gaze.

“Trust me, he’s probably asking about you to Sam,” she chuckles. “And I think,for the first time,you should do something you want. Not for your mother or your father. For you. This feels like something that could be good and fun. Maybe even for him too.”

“You know you just said not to do something for the President of the United States—your boss—while on the clock.” I try to change the subject. I shut the file and look down at my feet.

“He’s my boss, but you’re my responsibility. But as your friend, I’m telling you to live. You’ve done so much in your life—aren’t you tired of not having someone to celebrate your wins with?”

“I’ll think about it.” I bite back a smile, and Carmen claps her hands together, content.

Once she leaves, I grab the file and drag my feet across the wooden floor toward my bedroom. I crash onto my bouncy mattress and open the file again in front of me. 

None of this is normal.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

Things I Never Told You

I stand in front of your gravestone. It suits you. Polished. Elegant. Only your name, no dates. Ageless. Timeless. That’s how I’ll always remember you. 

You will never get grey hair. I can’t help wondering if you would’ve dyed it if you’d lived to experience it. 

Your fingers will never know arthritis. I can’t bear the thought of you being forced to discard your Stradivarius. 

The tightly fitted shirts and trousers will always fit you. Your belly will never soften, coerce you to size up.

Your flawless skin will remain so. No wrinkles will blemish parts of your body.

Never will your mesmerising eyes be framed by glasses. The sharp eyesight will forever pierce through souls and puzzles.

221B remains your home. Mrs H doesn’t allow anyone but me and Mycroft up there.

I think Billy misses you. He stopped talking to me after a week of ranting. Apparently, he didn’t like that I yelled at you. Do you know what he said before he got mute? 

“He had no other choice, for heaven’s sake!”

His voice is so similar to yours. 

I’ve written you a letter. There are things I never told you. Things I can’t bear to say out loud. Not even to your gravestone. I’ll leave it here.

Bye, Sherlock. I miss you. So much. 

***

Dear, Sherlock

Retrospect is a bitch, isn’t it. But so is fear. You always called me brave, remember. Well, you were wrong about that, Sherlock. I am a coward. If I had been brave, I would’ve said what I’m about to write, to your face instead of placing this letter on your grave where you won’t be able to read it.

I love you, Sherlock Holmes. Not in the platonic-best friends-flatmates kind of way. The other way. The opposite way. The way everyone assumed from the very first day we met. The I-am-in-love-with-you kind of way. 

You were so beautiful that night at Angelo’s. Took my breath away, is what you did, and I couldn’t help myself. I had to know if there was someone special in your life. God, I still cringe thinking about it! You were so gracious about it all. Let me down so gently, totally unprecedented by your normal standards. That’s when I knew you had the biggest heart. You had every right to be rude, to brush me off. We’d only known each other for hours for Christ’s sake!

Well, that’s what I’ve wanted to say for the longest time. I don’t know if you changed your mind after that night. But your brother, Greg, and our landlady seem to agree that I’ve made an impact on you. Mycroft was particularly bemused when he learned that you actually listened to me and tried not to be too harsh with witnesses and clients.

I don’t know, Sherlock. I’m still grieving. Coherency was more your thing than mine anyway. It doesn’t matter. You’re dead and won’t read this. It has more to do with my sanity at this point. The words needed saying, and I don’t want anyone else to read them. I’m the only one who comes here, so it will be safe until tomorrow. 

Forever yours. John

Tears are trickling down my cheeks when I’ve read the letter.

“Oh, John,” I whisper. “I am so sorry.”

***

When I return the next day, the letter is gone.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

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[arcadianmoonshadowjedi]

TDP Arc 3 Speculative Fic-WIP:

I’ve finally done it 😩😭 I’ve officially declared myself a part of @tategaminu’s Pregnant Rayla cult 😂🙌🏽

Jokes aside though, I’ve always had ideas regarding a plot of an unplanned Rayllum pregnancy especially during the time or right before Aaravos’s return and how much of an interesting plot and storyline this would be for our beloved couple 😊❤️ So here’s what I currently have for a pregnancy reveal fic that I came up with and I still have more ideas before and after this about theories I have for arc 3 that I hope to write out too and plan to post on my ao3 I hope you enjoy this 😁❤️

.

Callum walked into their bedroom to find Rayla pacing back and forth, gripping her chin.

“Hey honey, I’m back!” He said, only to receive no response, just Rayla stopping and heaving. “Uhh Ray?” He asked, quickly walking up to her and turning her towards him. She looked up at him with worry in her eyes.

“Hey…is everything alright?” Callum asked softly, caressing her shoulders.

“Callum, I…” Rayla paused, gritting her teeth. She let out a light sigh then forced a smile. She grabbed one of Callum’s hands off her shoulder and placed it on top of her belly, to which Callum’s eyes widened.

“Callum, I’m pregnant,” she finally told him with a light but nervous smile.

Callum’s whole world just froze. Suddenly, so many clashing thoughts ran wild in his head. This was just so… so unexpected. And at a time like this too. But also…

Callum let out a little chuckle. “Wow that’s…that’s amazing!” He exclaimed as he wrapped Rayla in his arms. Rayla buried her small face into Callum’s chest as he rested his chin on top of her head.

“But Callum,” she finally said, slightly pulling away. “Aaravos is returning this year. And now we have a baby on the way. And there’s still Claudia and her loyalists preparing for his return. How can we deal with all of that and… and keep our little one safe in all of this?” She said while stroking her belly.

“Rayla,” he finally stopped her before she could say anything else, holding onto her waist. “We’re in this together, ok? We have our friends. We can do this. Let’s just…take things one thing at a time, ok?”

Rayla looked at him with a determined smile and nodded. Callum leaned forward, cupping her cheek in his hand, then planted a kiss onto her forehead. He then pulled Rayla into his embrace once more and held her protectively.

.

Thank you for reading and this is all I have for now! It’s currently just a WIP so I might revisit this and make any changes I find necessary.

[dreadnotau]

Dread Not Act 1 has finally concluded and with it, sadly, so does my formal creation of the AU. This is the end, and my goodbye to a story that’s defined the last five years of my life.

TL;DR: Thank you for reading, thank you for engaging, and I hope to see you again on the road ahead, whether through Deltarune or otherwise.

Why Quit?

It’s pretty well-known to the people that’ve been following this AU for a long time now, that my motivation for working on it has had its ups and downs. Mostly downs. I want to emphasise that this isn’t a hasty decision, I’ve been mulling over and trying to find other avenues for a while, but suffice to say the pros of continuing are few and far between when compared to the cons. For one, my working pace is horrendous and my drive is lacking, with the pace I’ve had these years Dread Not Act 4 would finish in, like, 2040. I don’t think anyone wants that, least of all me. Even if I turned the story into a fic rather than a comic, or simplified the story to the point it could be told in only a few comic pages, I feel like I’d still just hate working on it, not to mention it’d be a disservice to that original vision I had so long ago.

If you’d indulge me in a bit of needless self-psychoanalysis, Dread Not as a story has been a sort of mythologized retelling of my own adolescence without me even knowing it. To put it simply, when I was first writing it, it meant a lot to me, because it was an externalization of my constant inner conflict, the conflict between conformity and weirdness, femininity and authenticity, masculinity and powerlessness. I had a lot of jumbled up feelings about myself and my place in the world and Dread Not gave me a good outlet to explore and externalise it all, but... I’m turning 22 this year, I’m well on my way to finally get prescribed HRT, I’ve physically and mentally grown up, and this story no longer reflects the parts of me it used to. I think that’s the biggest reason why working on it has been so unfulfilling for me.

On the more technical side of things, my general artstyle has changed a lot (as I’m sure you’ve noticed) and so have my mediums of expression. I still love comics and will probably make more going forward, but not in this format. Not of this scale. Not alone, at least. Dread Not was a technicality NIGHTMARE to organise for my brain riddled with executive dysfunction, but I don’t want to paint it as a net negative. This project has taught me so much, not just about myself, but about how to work and create and tell stories, and put myself out there. It’s not an over-exaggeration to say it’s defined the last 5 years of my life because this story is how I met my best friend who I don’t know where I would be without. Whenever I’d do anything for school, I’d compare it on a technical and emotional level to Dread Not because it’s essentially been my golden standard of passion and discipline. It’s how I started actually posting my art online, like, AT ALL, and getting over my fear of people and being perceived. It’s how I’ve met all the wonderful people who joined its discord server who I’d consider good friends and I’m unspeakably grateful I met them all, and also... it’s taught me more than I ever asked for about the unstoppable force that is the human spirit and the immovable object that is time restriction. If I had like 5 clones of myself, by god would this have been easier.

But, cloning magic doesn’t exist yet and I can’t push myself any longer. I want to start new projects, actual original ones with my own characters instead of AUs, and I want to be unburdened from self-imposed deadlines and standards. I’m no longer the kid who could draw 3 fully coloured comic pages in like 2 weeks out of sheer will and school procrastination alone, and I’ll try to make my future projects reflect that both in skill and maturity. I think, what I’m trying to say the most is, I’ve outgrown Dread Not. I’m sure a lot of you have, too. It was a story born from my teenage angst and it had a pre-planned happy ending, it was always meant to. The only problem is, I reached that ending before the comic did, and my motivation to tell this story has dropped to an all-time low.

This doesn’t HAVE to be the end though.

What could have been

I know what it’s like to be really invested in something, and have the author just give up on the project halfway through, often even sooner than half. The untied loose ends, the disappointment, the tension of the story never released... Exactly because I know what that’s like, I’m really sorry, and I hope the ending of Act 1 and this post at least brings a little bit of closure on that front. If you want to know what the future acts WOULD have been about, you’re in luck. Since I’m leaving the AU anyway, I might as well document all my ideas for it so at least SOME version of it completed exists in the heads of people who care.

Not just writing it out for the sake of itself, but also if anyone wants to continue the AU themselves, they’re free to. I consider this whole concept up for grabs now, if you want to carry on based on the notes I leave here, or if you want to spin it in a completely different direction, or make your OC the president of the world, go for it! Alongside this post, I’ve made a dedicated Dread Not Neocities site, where I’ve compiled all the pages of ACT 1 and included my author commentary that is excruciatingly long, that I suggest you do not read every entry of unless you really, REALLY want to read all of my unhinged rambling about the creation process and the character beats I was conveying. I’ll be adding full descriptions of what future ACTS were MEANT to look like there too, plus concept art and sketches (that I might upload here if there’s enough demand for it), and that site will turn into the de facto “where to find the original Dread Not” place, as it’ll house everything I could’ve wanted to make with the AU.

For those curious who don’t want to read too much Kooki Speak (but still frankly a lot), here’s a shorter version:

ACT 1 was always planned to be just buildup, but by god am I bad at pacing. There’s a lot of small threads in ACT 1 that I never really had plans to address in future acts (Clover is one of those things, poor girl got retroactively shafted because I made her a third wheel in the Ralsei and Kris plot), but one of those is NOT Undyne and her team.

ACT 2 would’ve been entirely from their point of view, or rather the point of view of their newest recruit, Alphys, who joined the military essentially just for the money and perks, and ends up having an extended multi-year crisis over not being good enough physically, morally or mentally.  Alongside the running plot of the guard team (and sometimes directly involved with it) would be the two seperate threads left over from ACT 1 - one following Spade, Asgore and Kris trying to find their way in exile, and the other following Toriel, Gaster and their new maid/head of security, Muffet, who all descend into varying forms of villainy thanks to the influence of one another.

The Act wou;d’ve taken place over the span of 10 in-universe years, and the mutual element in all these stories would’ve been self-denial, with it being most prominent in Gaster denying his own mortal body while “helping” Mettaton with creating him a metal one, secretly using Mettaton as a guinea pig for his own experiments with his own body, becoming more and more machine-like in body and mind as the story goes on, for the sake of “productivity” (which itself was just his way of trying to escape the mounting guilt he felt for his involvement in Asgore’s exile). Mettaton would never be fully satisfied with Gaster’s work, and turned to Alphys for help to secretly “fix” it. The ACT would’ve ended with Alphys and Mettaton getting exiled after they in/directly cause a malfunction that nearly gets Gaster killed. They decide to stick together in the wilderness not because they have no-one else left, but because they WANT to help each other, self-denial turning into self-acceptance through another.

Toriel and Muffet would’ve spent the ACT building a rapport with one another, mostly through Toriel’s refusal to harm the spiders Muffet thought would’ve been dismissed alongside her, and in turn Muffet being Toriel’s only refuge from the chaotic demands of her subjects and courtiers. They would’ve ended the ACT as an official yet secret couple (since Toriel’s Queen she’s expected to court men for the sake of having offspring one day, and not Muffet who is a weird spider girl). Formally Toriel being the sovereign of the country, but informally they’re acting as essentially dual Queens, one dealing with trying to bring her people up while the other puts the “bad guys” down. Note Muffet’s skewed perception of morality and how it rubbing off on Toriel probably isn’t a good thing, even if they’re good for each other in a romantic sense.

Asgore and Spade, meanwhile, would’ve gone through ups and downs in their relationship in exile, predictably, as the circumstances are kind of really fucking dire, but eventually stabalize and preffer being fused most of the time rather than unfused (the fusion, yes, in-universe keeps being called The Fusion throughout the whole story, but he has an actual name so I’ll call him Corundum from now on). Kris, meanwhile, grows from being a scared kid who doesn’t really know humanity, to a teenage little shit rebelling against everything because they’ve Met humanity, and Embraced humanity and want to fight for it. Kris is actually a good segway into mentioning that ACT 2, alongside Alphys and Muffet, was meant to introduce the rest of the key players for future acts, namely Noelle, Susie, and Lancer. I’ll get to it.

Undyne would’ve started the ACT as a diehard patriot, but over the course of several failed missions, losing her eye and finally losing Alphys, starts to doubt and resent the cause they were enlisted for. Papyrus would essentially be the only universal constant, as his conviction doesn’t wane while his concerns for his friends grow, trying to keep what’s left of the team together and “fighting for good” because he doesn’t really want to consider that the country that won the war and saved monster kind could be Bad. Napstablook is there and Sad.

ACT 3 would’ve tied all the disparate threads together, from Undyne finally standing up to Toriel and getting exiled, to Ralsei becoming Gaster’s apprentice and inheriting his unhealthy coping mechanisms, to Corundum and Kris casually hanging out with Alphys and Mettaton like a weird extended found family. All of this (mostly) through the lens of Lancer, an orphan who heard about the traitorous escapades of the fusion and wanted to follow in his example of being a bad guy. Shenanigans ensue and he gets caught spying on them, only for Spade to eventually realise that, whoops! Lancer is his biological son, and he had no fucking idea he even existed.

Along the way Kris also meets and (spitefully) befriends Susie, who’s Lancer’s childhood friend he kind of left behind in pursuit of being a criminal. Susie both resents Lancer for abandoning her, but also admires that he even had the guts to go out on his own at all. Her and Kris mostly bond by being weird. Spade, meanwhile, makes the opposite choice to what Asgore did in ACT 1, opting to leave Lancer in the foster care system because he doesn’t think he’s capable of being an actually good parent, his influence on Kris be damned. This is (almost) immediately narratively punished, as after leaving Lancer behind, the family end up ambushed and terribly outnumbered by the Queen’s guard, now with machine reinforcement.

The fight goes poorly and Kris is wounded really badly. For the sake of survival, Spade and Asgore have to unfuse, and while Asgore gets Kris to safety, Spade is captured. Unwilling to let him be taken away alone, hoping he’d be able to save him, Asgore leaves Kris with Alphys, in pursuit of the people who took Spade away, and doesn’t return. Kris wakes up some weeks after, and realises they’ve been abandoned just like Lancer was. This causes them an understandably huge amount of pain, where they leave Alphys as well and try to live completely on their own, culminating in them talking to their memory of Ralsei through their old doll. They regress back to their younger self mentally, feeling alone and unloved and like they don’t belong, but it’s exactly the memory of Ralsei that reminds them that belonging isn’t something given to you, it’s something you find in other people, just like they did in each other when they were kids.

This invigorates Kris, and they gather their rag-tag team (AKA literally just Susie and Lancer) and head to the capital, looking to free their stupid imprisoned dads and reinstate the family they belong in, the family they really want. The heist is complicated as the prisons are heavily guarded, but Kris eventually manages to sneak in on their own while the others form a distraction. They find their parents (first Spade, who chews them out for meddling before realising he really DOES need their help, and then Asgore who’s just crying, man. He’s just crying a lot.) and once the two fuse they begin making their exit, which is noisy and easily attracts attention. Attention of none other than Ralsei, who was just here to grab some documents for his boss and ended up seeing his convicted childhood friend escaping prison. He gets the chance to pull the emergency alarm, to call the guards, but even as Kris has to run and leave him behind again, he can’t bring himself to do it, he lets them go. Later that night, Kris sneaks into the castle just to find Ralsei’s room and leave a thank-you gift.

Meanwhile with the exiles, Corundum realises how badly he fucked up, in a lot of ways, both for his passivity in his own kids’ lives, as well as his refusal to accept how badly his own life has gotten. Lancer gets osmosed fully into the family (while Susie aggressively refuses to be part of any group hugs) and the next morning, Corundum finally decides to take up arms against the Queen, to make a stand against the tyranny, because it really seems like no-one else will. Until Undyne busts down the door, suplexes Corundum and declares herself queen of the pirates. It’s a weird day, and the direct segway into ACT 4.

With the Capital unstable and Corundum on the loose, Toriel’s attempts become somehow yet more desperate. While Kris and their friends are only wanted alive (they’re kids after all) Corundum is wanted Only Dead, and because of the giant target on his back and how badly the Queen wants him dead for no discernable reason (traitors of similar status in the rebellion like Undyne are wanted dead OR alive), he essentially becomes the mascot of the revolution while the actual organised army is a lot more loosely structured. Undyne plays a big role in actual battle advancements while Corundum mostly handles recruitment and survival off of the grid, as he’s kind of gotten the hang of by now. Alphys and Undyne reunite but way too much is happening right now for Alphys to actually ask her out.

Meanwhile, the kids are travelling with the rebels but aren’t allowed to participate in any real fights, which they all think is lame. One day while out and sulking, Susie and Lancer stumble upon a weirdly cold part of the forest, and find a lost girl singing to herself in what looks like a magic, giant snow globe. They take her back to camp, and while she’s suspicious, none of the adults really think of her as a threat, mostly because of how absolutely petrified and hungry the kid is. She refuses to say anything about where she’s from or why she was half frozen out in the woods, all anyone knows about her is that her name is Noelle.

On one of their self-given missions, the kids split up into two teams to see who could score more points in their made-up game. Susie and Lancer in one team, and Kris and Noelle in the other. They end up bonding a lot faster than expected, and Kris uses their human soul to power up Noelle’s already pretty destructive magic. Turns out, the ice Noelle was ‘trapped’ in was of her own making, a defense mechanism to keep her safe from the wild forest, but now Kris is teaching her how to use it for offense, too. This backfires quickly when it gets out of hand and Noelle ends up hurting Kris. They aren’t injured too badly, but are cold and bleeding and can't exactly stand up on their own, but Noelle completely panics and runs away. Kris is hoping she’s going to get help, but she doesn’t.

Once Susie and Lancer get back to camp alone, and realise Noelle didn’t come back with Kris and seems to be in a silent state of shock, they kind of panic too. Corundum and Lancer go out looking for Kris, while Susie stays behind and tries to talk to Noelle, to no avail. Once the family return, Corundum is visibly PISSED while Kris is lowkey/highkey scared of Noelle, now. Susie pieces together what happened and stops trying to reason with Noelle, instead just trying to get her to say WHY she did it, to say anything at all, basically. Alphys ends up intervening and telling Susie it probably wasn’t intentional, Noelle is having a panic attack and yelling isn’t gonna help anyone. Alphys ends up being a pseudo mom figure for both Susie and Noelle, separately. For Noelle, because she’s the only adult who really understands her animalistic anxiety and panic at the smallest perceived threats, and for Susie for being someone willing to talk her down from anger rather than egging her on or ignoring her.

During the kids’ misadventures, the two actual political factions were gearing up on both sides. On the day the rebels finally invade the capital, they do so by hijacking a trade boat and secretly passing through the border via the river, after which all hell breaks loose. The city becomes a battleground and the citizens are all weirdly equipped with shelters to wait out the storm. Meanwhile, Noelle runs at the sight of the capital back into the woods, and Susie goes after her. Kris and Lancer stick to Corundum and Undyne like glue until they get to the actual castle, which has been turned into a giant mechanical labyrinth. Alphys and Mettaton run into Papyrus and Napstablook, and end up reasoning with them rather than fighting. Undyne has her sights on fighting the Queen just as much as Corundum, but it’s really tough to manoeuvre the castle and the team gets split up.

Lancer fights and conquers the staff (Rouxls) and is so happy with his victory that he takes a nap. Kris ends up in the bowels of the mechanical castle and comes face to face with Gaster, who Corundum advised them to go easy on earlier, which backfires. To their rescue comes Ralsei, and the two fight Gaster side by side, reclaiming their childhood and friendship in the face of cynicism and hopelessness. Gaster is essentially completely incapacitated, but Ralsei knows how to keep him alive via the machines while cutting off his influence on the building. Susie and Noelle’s fight ends more peacefully though, with Susie realising Noelle was running from her family this whole time, and opting to help her rather than chase her away. Undyne comes face to face with Muffet and finally fights her head on, making up for not standing up for her teammates when she should’ve.

And then there’s Corundum and Toriel’s fight, which goes so much worse. The two of them are symbols for both sides, yes, but their conflict is a lot more personal. Despite his best efforts, Corundum is unable to fully conquer his legitimate FEAR of Toriel, while she’s unable to deliver any decisive killing blows because she’s still holding onto the vague hope that no one has to die for the prophecy not to come true. The tides of their battle go in her favour, and she forcefully unfuses them, again. Wounded and emotionally exhausted, neither Asgore nor Spade can put up a fight, at which point Toriel makes the difficult decision to kill One of them, deciding that if they can’t fuse anymore, the vision won’t be able to come true.

Only for her to be interrupted by Kris, kicking down the door only to be unceremoniously kicked out of the throne room by Toriel in a single blow. She pities them, but can’t risk leaving both their parents alive, only to see that Kris isn’t alone. Behind them, storming the halls, the rebels have formed an entire siege, and it finally clicks into place for Toriel that the prophecy already came true, and she only certified her own doom rather than preventing it. She resigns herself and refuses to fight anymore, which Asgore witnesses and is extremely confused by, even as Spade helps him back up on his feet as the Queen’s surrounded by rebels, just like in the vision. They fuse again, and while Corundum is 70% ready to kill Toriel for real this time, Papyrus of all people ends up stopping him, as even though he’s on the side of the rebels now, he still believes in a true hero’s principals, the relevant one being that you may never strike down an enemy that’s already surrendered.

Toriel is jailed instead, dropping her crown along the way and (to everyone’s surprise) putting up so little of a fight that she’s essentially the one to lock her own cage. While Corundum stays in the throne room and ponders life and what the fuck he’s gonna do now (going back to the simpler lives he had in the capital before his exile still somehow seems like an impossibility to him), the kids all reunite outside the castle. Lancer and Kris introduce Ralsei and brag about their battles, while Susie (holding Noelle’s hand very tightly) asks them if there’s a way for their big scary four armed monster dad to make sure Noelle doesn’t have to go home to her parents. Undyne and the rest of her team summon Corundum and organise an impromptu coronation and correction of the system, pronouncing the fusion as the new king while the actual delegation of the system won’t be solely in his hands (allegedly).

The story would’ve fully wrapped up with Corundum finding Toriel’s crown, and more importantly finding her in jail. As a show of spite, he breaks the crown in front of her and tells her that her reign of terror is over. Toriel looks at him, coldly and dismissively, and “wishes him luck” in ruling better than she did, if he really thinks he’s capable of it. Despite her not saying much, Corundum is still lowkey/highkey terrified of her, and the sword of Damocles begins to swing again.

There was also a planned epilogue, but... you’ll have to go to the neocities page if you want to read up on it ;)

(When I update it, that is)

Meta-deconstruction of my own work

If you don’t want to read me ramble on about my own psychological issues intertwined with trans confusion and gay denial, just skip this entire subtitle, I wouldn’t blame you at all.

I’m a big proponent of ‘death of the author’ as a means of engaging with a story, original intent being secondary in importance to your own, individual perception of the themes and characters. However, in this case I AM the author, and don’t really have that alternative lens. That kind of screwed me over in a lot of ways because I kept trying to engage with my story only through the way in which it relates to Deltarune and Undertale, like it was an extension of someone else’s work rather than my own world. From this arose issues like... really unclear timeframe for when the story takes place at all, disjointed aesthetics and character designs I was never fully proud of, but had to stick to for the sake of being reminiscent of the original. I gave myself plenty of leeway, don’t get me wrong, but I always thought of Dread Not as the third wheel in a very solid twin story, and it blinded me to what the story was, metatextuality, actually about.

I was in high school when I came up with the concept of the AU, the monsters winning the war and Toriel inheriting an unstable throne. Originally, it was just Asgore, Spade and Kris, on the run from Toriel and Gaster. The conflict was more overtly a love triangle (square?) and Toriel’s motivations were fairytale-like while Asgore and Spade were... my main focus, I’d say? I designed their fusion (lovingly nicknamed Corny by me and my best friend who I expanded the AU with later on, and who you can thank for the scope of the story described in the above subtitle) and, for a long time, he functioned as my stand-in whenever I’d make other AUs, or when I’d just be randomly doodling stuff. Yeah, the scrawny transboy with no confidence made a big fat furry to project onto, what else is new. The difference is, I never admitted that to myself. There was a lot of shame and vulnerability in openly having a fursona for me, especially since he was just two of my favourite characters literally mashed into one, it’s pure wish fulfillment. I still kind of struggle with that, and I think it shows in the way I wrote Corny in my Act 2 drafts and onwards.

He’s just a big ball of pride and shame mixed into a destructive fake cat man, running from his own identity while trying to embrace it. It's weird and complicated and, frankly, with the drafts I had I never felt like I was really doing him justice. Like there was always somehow More to him that I was failing to bring up. In time, I realised that ‘something’ is the melancholic haze of losing the place in society you thought was your birthright. You USED to be normal, you USED to be successful, but now you’re not. You’re something else, something monstrous, something everyone despises but also, you could never be anything else now. You love the new you, but you hate that no-one else does. You want this, but you also want to fit in, and you can’t. And it sucks. And that’s what the fusion of two exiled gay men have in common with a former girly girl transman slowly figuring out he’s gay.

Asgore and Spade, and Corny by extension, all represented this almost shunned masculinity within myself. I kind of lived vicariously through these outlaw gay men because, even though I’m not illegal, living day to day as a teenager at the tail end of a puberty that scarred me, still struggling to come out even to myself at times, kind of gave me the impression that I don’t belong, anywhere. Kris is and always was representative of my inner child, loud and creative and kind of just unwittingly tossed into this whole mess. And Toriel? Sadly, she got saddled with the symbolism of all the femininity I was forcing myself to live up to, to stay hidden and “passing” as the wrong gender. I never disliked Toriel, and her “villain” role to me (at the time of originally making the AU) was a necessary evil. She would get overthrown eventually, yes, but while she’s still here her reign is stifling and strict. Tyrannical. But necessary to survive. She was the one making sure the country didn’t collapse in on itself through paranoia and control, analogous to my very thin perpetual mask of girlhood I didn’t belong in that I used as a survival strategy to not get relentlessly bullied again like I used to.

I kind of feel bad that I made Toriel the villain if I’m being honest. Like, in hindsight, she really doesn’t deserve that role. Even if she’s prone to acting paranoid or rash sometimes, I feel like I really undersold her very real wisdom in the games by (plot hole DING) having her not realise that trying to stop the prophecy would probably end up being its exact catalyst. I always meant to give her that sort of resigned realisation of that fact moments before it happens, but, I’ve gotten complaints from certain people that her acting the way she does in the comic makes it seem like she never read a single piece of ancient greek literature, and I’m kind of inclined to agree with that criticism. I needed SOME kind of effigy for my younger self to metaphorically burn in order to finally embrace what I’ve been all these years. And, that reflects really poorly on Toriel. If she were a real person I’d owe her an apology. Not for trying to dethrone her, but just for giving her kind of weird motivation that I had to further expand on retroactively in later pages.

If I were to make the AU from scratch today, I’d probably put more work in giving Toriel a more grounded motivation, give her actual stakes and history in the monster/human conflict outside of a vague family lineage, and potentially also tie Kris into her plot more. It feels like a missed opportunity in hindsight, they ARE her child in Deltarune, after all. Gaster, out of the main cast, got the lamest symbolism out of everyone though, the “adult” voice that’s nudging everything into conformity, beefing with a literal child to represent the constant war between “adultness and logic” and “childlike wonder” that plagues everyone during puberty. His general role in the story was of a passive machine, someone who’d do as he’s told and not question sides, that sort of “neutral instinct” to not rock the boat that’s generally expected of adults. Again, if I were to make the AU over, I’d probably give him a more mysterious role? Have him be less overtly one of the main catalysts for the story’s events, and more like a shadowy observer cataloguing the misfortunes of the people around him for the sake of trying to prevent tragedy. He’d still be a bumbling gay idiot though, don’t worry about that part.

All of this writing about the AU, I hope, can put into perspective why it meant so much to me, and kind of still does. I might never make all four acts into standalone comics, but I still put as much of it out there as I could. It’s 7AM on a Friday after pulling an allnighter writing this entire spiel, so please excuse me if it’s sloppy or weirdly phrased in certain places. From start to finish, Dread Not has been an honest work of pure passion, and I hope if nothing else about this AU sticks with you, it’s that I loved working on it, and I’m eternally grateful for all the people who engaged with the story. Even you, whenever you’re reading this ungodly spiel, thank you.

What’s next?

For a lot of you, I’d understand if you weren’t interested in my work outside of Dread Not, or outside Deltarune/Undertale. For a long time I branded myself on those games alone, but I’m hoping to branch out more soon. If you want to keep up with me outside this project, my Art Tumblr and my Youtube are the best places to do that. I’ll be turning off Asks for this blog, so if you have any questions for me about this AU or anything else really, the art blog is the best place to go.

Alongside the formal “closure” of this blog (no more updates) I’ll also be working on remodeling my Dread Not Discord Server into just a Kooki Discord Server, and if you join you can see the myriad of fan characters for this AU that people have already made and that I never cease to be impressed by. If there’s ever going to be an “official” continuation of the story, that’s made without me but with my blessing, it’ll have its roots in that server. But, also, I wouldn’t entirely bet on it. This story is kind of a behemoth and if I can’t do it justice I don’t want anyone else to feel pressured to try it either.

Once again, thank you for reading, thank you for commenting, thank you for caring. I hope to see you again on the road ahead. And, hey, if you’re second guessing whether you wanna put your own stuff out there, take this as a sign to just go for it. You have no idea what will come of it, but that’s part of the fun. Even if you can’t see it through to the very end, it’s better to try than to never give yourself that chance. Make that comic, write that script, draw that idea. It’ll be worth it, even if it takes a few years for you to see how.

Alright, I really gotta stop writing now. I think I’m just postponing the inevitable, because ending this post means really, genuinely ending Dread Not... I guess all that’s left to say is

Goodbye

[call-me-mother-darling]

Obsidian Doves

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

AU: My dearest how will I ever express how deeply sorry I am. I have been neglectful and have made time to put this out for you. I had so much time on my hands while I was sick so I just went ahead and finished this for you. I appreciate each and every one of you. I soon need to step away from the smut and write some ungodly heartbreaking scenes again. I apologize in advance for whenever that comes out. Also in honor of pride month I decided to release this a couple days earlier. Love you <3

Feedback is always encouraged!

No Plot, just 2k words of smut.

Warnings: Lesbianism, men being pigs (brief), shower sex, smut, mommy kink, bdsm themes

If I missed anything lmk

Word Count: 4,498

Her energy guides mine so naturally. During this mission we have to stake out at a party. Meaning dressing the part and acting like we are so madly in love with each other. With the team knowing who I’ve been crushing over, of course I am partnered with Nat, they tease me any chance they get. Like daring me to kiss her during truth or dare. I always come back to reality bright red, how truly embarrassing.

This “party” was going to be the death of me, with the small touches as she passes me. My lower back, my arms, my hips, my ass, anything she can get her hands on. By the end of the night my brain is foggy and I follow her every move, every word. She holds me against her and I feel like I am on top of the world. Like I am wanted so deeply. Just with her gaze I can fall into place. I don’t know how she does it. How we fall into our roles so perfectly. 

The people around us eat it up. They believe every word she says. They believe she owns one of the most important companies to attend this party. Each year they throw a party to raise money for cancer research. We are here because one of the members on the council has been embezzling money from the main company. That’s why he’s the richest of them all.  His name is Jim Guardwell. I try my best to keep my anger at a minimum around that bastard, they can’t figure out why we are really here.

“ How amazing for you two to join us.” Jim says. Giving us a smug smile.

“Amazing to be here Jim.” Natasha says, gripping my waist tightly. He eyes me, taking in all my curves and I can’t help but feel disgusted with myself. 

“How are the donations doing this year?” Natasha asks, grabbing his attention.

“Currently we are sitting at about one million. We have a lot of big spenders tonight.” A playful smirk crosses his lips. If we didn’t know what it is doing we wouldn’t have questioned the slight gleam in his eye. It could easily come across as happiness but the way he stands a little too confidently and the way he looks at everyone like they owe him something tells me everything we were told about him is true. He doesn’t care about anyone in this room. His rolex, Van Cleef cufflinks, and very badly made suit tell me everything I need to know about his view of money.

“That sounds wonderful sir. It was wonderful speaking to you but we have to get going. Big meeting tomorrow.” I say with a bright innocent smile. The last thing I want to do is escalate the situation. 

“Aw what a shame, I was enjoying the view.” He says. Before I knew it Natasha’s fist was forcing his head back. 

“Oh no.” I say pulling Natasha off of him and dragging her out to the car. 

“Are you okay Hun.” I ask worriedly. 

“Yes. I couldn’t stand him talking about you like that. I couldn’t sit there and not do anything.” She says opening my door before closing it behind me.

“I know Nat but you could’ve gotten really hurt. We knew what we were going into. I’m surprised he didn’t say something sooner. We can’t let them get to us okay?” I say as she gets into the driver's side and turns the car on. 

“I’m surprised too. I’m glad you're okay Detka.” Her fingers lift my chin up, my eyes meeting hers.

“You look so beautiful tonight.” Her thumb rubs my jaw softly, a small smirk pulls at the corner of her lips. Any disgust from earlier vanishing. The only thing I see is her eyes staring right back at me. My body begs to just jump on her lap and kiss her like there is no tomorrow. But alas I can’t. The whole ride back I’m going to be squeezing my thighs together.

The ride back from the party was in one of Tony’s blacked out SUVs. I had told him if we want to blend in we need a more realistic car but he would not budge on our safety here. We’re dealing with highly trained individuals. Nat was an expert in these missions. I trusted her with my life. Her hand possessively on my thigh gives me reason to believe she’d protect me with her life. I rest my head on her shoulder and I say 

“You don’t have to pretend anymore, we're alone." Even with all the signs proving she feels something for me I need to make sure she’s okay. 

“I know hun. I can take my hand away if that’s more comfortable for you! I couldn’t take my eyes off you tonight. You fit so well by my side just got me thinking. I don’t want to do this with anyone but you.” Her hand loses her grip on my leg and her thumb rubs my knee.

 “It’s okay Nat. You can keep your hand there.” I take a deep breath before finding the confidence to say what’s on my mind.

“ I feel safe with you, you know? I loved being by your side at the party. I feel we blend so perfectly. No one even batted an eye at us.” A small smile tugs at my lips.

 “I agree my little dove. Although, I feel your last statement is not entirely correct. From my eyes no one was questioning us because their jaws were too busy being on the floor from looking at you.” When we get to a red light she kisses my head. I can feel my cheeks brightening at her statement alone.

“Thank you for your kind words Nat.” I say softly.

“You’re welcome sweetheart.” She says. My body immensely relaxes more into her arm. I lean my head against her bicep letting my body fully relax. I’ve never felt this safe around someone. I welcome the feeling more than I would like to admit.

The rest of the ride was so peaceful. Soft jazz played through the speaker and I watched as we passed all the city lights and soon were surrounded by trees. Tony insisted we go to his massive hotel in the middle of nowhere. He had gone on and on about our safety for this mission. How being two women alone is extremely dangerous. She ignored the fact that we have both been through the Red Room and have over five hundred confirmed kills. He just goes full dad mode whenever I go on a mission. Tears well in my eyes. Today was so beautiful, my life has become so beautiful. Even through all the PTSD, I'm so grateful to have a family now. I look at Nat and smile. I plant a kiss on her cheek, closing my eyes. I want to enjoy the feeling of this. 

When we got to the hotel the parking lot was empty except for about ten cars parked next to each other. I can only assume they are all workers. They are also surrounding the only light so I can also assume that is the safest spot to part in at night. 

“I'm going to complain to Tony that his employees don’t have their own locked parking area. If they are going to be working late they need a safe area to park in.” I say getting out of the car.

“He has no excuse for why it’s not done. That man’s a millionaire. I’ll be damned if he doesn’t keep his workers safe.” I voice, annoyed, as Natasha opens the truck and she grabs our duffel bags.

“Yes I will be taking our stuff, don’t even think of opening that pretty little mouth and you are one hundred percent right. They deserve to be safe. It’s so dangerous at night.” She says stopping me in my tracks, my mouth snapping shut.

“See now that's my good girl. Let’s go inside.” She says holding her hand out. Her eyes gave me a look of questioning. Like they were asking if this is okay. I grin and take her hand. Letting her lead us to the front desk.

“Good evening ladies, what can I do for you?” The kind receptionist asks.

“Hi, we have a reservation for tonight. It should be under Natasha Romanoff.” I say giving her a sweet smile.

“Ah yes, Natasha. Mr. Stark said you’d be staying with us tonight. The room she originally booked had two beds but Mr. Stark had called and got you into our suite. That just means there is only one Alaskan king bed. Will that be okay with you guys?” She asks kindly.

“Yes, that will be perfect.” Natasha answers before I get the chance to correct her.

“Perfect, here's your key. Should be room 227. It's on the fifteenth floor, you can use the elevators that are down that hall.” She says handing us the key and pointing to the hall she mentioned.

What am I going to do? I have to sleep next to her for the rest of the weekend. How am I going to survive? She seems fine with it but what if I make her uncomfortable.

“Hey Nat? Are you sure you’re comfortable sleeping in the same bed as me?” I ask.

“Yes sweetheart. If I could spend every night with you I would. Just to make it clear.” She says stopping abruptly. Dropping the duffel bags as soon as we get in the elevator and hit our floor. Her hands pull me close by my hips, her forehead touching mine. My gaze switches between her lips and her breathtaking eyes.

“Please kiss me.” I almost whine. She doesn’t waste another minute before our lips meet and my arms wrap around her neck pulling her impossibly close. Slowly, our bodies move and she has me trapped between the wall and herself. Her lips trail to my cheek and down my neck. Nipping at sensitive parts. My moans soon fill the elevator.

Her hands grip the back of my thigh letting my leg wrap around her hip trying to pull her closer. My fingers getting lost in her hair, pulling at it when her teeth scrape at my skin. 

Much to our disdain the doors to the elevator open and she pulls away panting,

“Behave until after dinner, Okay hun?” I nod quickly.

“Yes Nat.” I answer and follow her to our room. Praying to the gods to take away my throbbing between my legs. To let me walk without shaky legs. 

The walk to the room was anything but simple. A slight sway in my steps as my brain racks through all of my feelings. The feeling of her touch on me.

Nat waits for me at the door. Holding it open with an arm and eyeing me like a piece of candy.

“I think I might take a shower before we go to dinner. It’s late and I need to wake up a little.” I say listing off the first excuse I could think of. 

“Okay, darling, I'll be in the room.” A small smile pulls at her lips.

I quickly move past Natasha and straight into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I back into the door taking a deep breath. This bathroom is gorgeous, there is no way this doesn’t go over our budget even with the discount. The countertops are beautiful marble, the faucet a shiny gold. The floor is a classic white tile polished to the heavens. The shower takes up most of the room. Having two rainfall shower heads with a mirror as the outside walls. A blush creeps up my cheeks at the thoughts of what Natasha would do to me. 

My body vibrates at the thought of her hands on me, guiding my thoughts, my movements. 

No, stay focused. I remind myself.

I strip out of my almost too tight dress and heels. Hanging the dress in the small linen closet, leaving my heels on the floor in front of the sink. The heat spreading throughout my body is almost too much to bear. I need to get cold water on me or I fear my skin might erupt into flames. Our little interaction started a fire in me that I didn’t know I had.

My hands make haste in turning the shower knob to the coldest temperature possible. Letting myself in and closing the glass door behind me. My knees falling to the floor, letting the cold water cool my body. But the cold did nothing to soothe the ache coming from in between my legs. I flipped my body. My torso just out of reach of the water and my legs angled perfectly in the rain. My legs spread, my back arching at the water hits my swollen clit. A deep moan escapes from my chest.

 My hand secures itself over my lips muffling the sound of my enjoyment, with the water hitting all the perfect spots I can’t help but get closer and closer. My breath quickening, my mind only thinking of one thing. Her. Her hands on me. On my hips, my thighs, in between my lips. My imagination runs wild with how her fingers would expertly touch every part of my body. Claiming me as hers. 

A small muffle of words stops me dead in my tracks. I can barely hear it but a hum follows it as furniture is moving around. Curious, I open my eyes to find the room has gotten brighter and a shadow casts over me.

“Now what do we have here?” her voice dripping with seduction. I can’t move.

I’ve heard of this kind of bathroom but I've never witnessed it in person. Those mirrors that lined the wall of the shower, they were two way mirrors. Instead of my reflection staring back at me, Natasha looks into my soul. I’m so fucked.

“Don’t stop on my account, little one. Give mommy a show, why don't you?” She pushes the chair in the middle of the wall watching your body intently. Like a cheetah daring you to run. 

But I can’t move. Her eyes hold me in place.

“Shall I have to guide you through it? I bet your cunt just begs for my fingers, huh? Darling.” The nic-name sounding like a moan. My cheeks set fire and positioned myself back in the water. Letting my clit get rained on. I need more, I need her fingers. 

“Atta girl, listening to mommy.” A small moan falls from my lips, a whine quickly following.

“Come on baby, I know you can use your words.” Her tone teasing.

“I need you mommy. I need your fingers.” I moan pleading. My hips buck into the water making her eyes flash to my hips. The want ever more apparent. 

“Dry yourself off and lay your ass on the bed.” Her voice unwavering and ready to pounce. I do exactly as told. My hands shake with anticipation. After drying off I slowly walk to the bed, very aware of her eyes taking in my body, like she is ready to feast. Her talented fingers strip her of every piece of clothing she has on. Leaving her body for my eyes to devour.

My back hits the cold sheets while I keep my legs bent and together. My legs shake as her confident steps walk towards me. Her nails finally making contact with my legs.

“You are such a needy little thing. You couldn’t wait to be fucked. So you had to go do it yourself. Now I am going to use you and you will watch. If I see your eyes wandering, I will stop. Is that understood, darling?” Her voice not yet daring but serious. My eyes water at the safety I feel in this very moment. My brain is turning to absolute mush.

“Yes Natasha. I trust you with my whole life. Do you have a safe word? I use obsidian.” I ask gently.

“I use dove. Thank you for asking my beautiful girl. Now spread those perfect legs of yours.” A small smile spreads across my lips as my legs open for her.

A sultry groan comes from her. My eyes scan her face for any hesitancy but all I find is pure hunger. Her teeth take her bottom lip between them as she lowers herself to my dripping cunt.

“Mmmm already so wet for me, sweet thing. How blessed am I?” She smiles, dipping her head down to kiss and nip at my inner thighs. I can’t help but moan. I watch as her pupils dilate as her teeth dig into my thigh. My back arches, my hips trying to get closer to her mouth. 

“Now that pretty little moan you just made?” I nod aimlessly to her question, too lost in her nails digging into my hips. Pulling me closer to her mouth.

“I need you to do it again and don’t stop. If you stop, I will stop everything. Understood?”

“Yes mistress.” That hit something in her. Her whole demeanor changed.

“Am I allowed to use you how I really want? Like how we deduced before?” We had a conversation when I was drunk. I told her about all of my kinks and told her everything I would allow her to do to me. When I was a fully functioning human again she sat me down and asked again. I agreed with everything drunk me said. 

“Yes mistress.” My whole body breaks out in a cold sweat as it waits for it to happen.

“Beg for it.” Her tone is low. Not asking, but commanding.

“Please mommy, I’ve been craving you for so long. Please, please, I just want your fingers in me. To fill me to the brim and only stop when you feel right..” The plea fell from my lips almost immediately. I wanted her on me now.

“Now that's a good girl.” Her tongue licks her teeth before they dig into my other thigh. I gasp at the sensation.

“Can I touch you?” I moan. Watching as her lips pull away from my thigh, her eyes dark.

“Since you asked so politely, yes.” She was quick to put her mouth on me again. Her lips sucking my thighs. Showering me with bruises. My fingers run through her hair, gripping it at every bite.

Her tongue moves to my fold as a loud moan tears through me. Her warm muscle circles my already swollen clit. My hips move against her tongue begging for more friction. 

I don’t know if I can take this, it’s edging on too much. Her hands all over my body, her mouth devouring my very soul. A never ending line of moans come from my lips but I am too lost in her to notice.

“Please, mistress.” I beg.

“What's wrong baby? Didn’t I tell you to use your sweet words?” Natasha teases, tongue flicking my sensitive bud.

“Fuck. I need your fingers. Please mistress, I'll be good. I just need you to stretch me.” My hands move to the gorgeous dark oak headboard. Digging my fingertip into the wood.

“Oh what a naughty girl I have at the mercy of my tongue. I will do as you wish, pretty girl.” Two digits slip into me, meeting no resistance.

“No please, I need more.” I don’t wait to beg for more. I need her to stretch me. 

“So needy.” She slips two more digits into me while her tongue continues her merciful technique.

My back arches so high off the bed I can fully see the head board behind me. Her pace begins slow while I get used to the fullness.

“Yes, fuck me.”

“Oh darling. I fully intend to fuck you so deeply you feel me for weeks.” Her fingers begin pounding into my wet cunt. Hitting my sweet spot every single time. There is only the feeling of her inside of me. Of her lips kissing up my body to worship my breasts. My back hits the wine satin sheets. The cool sensation is almost comforting. 

Natsha wastes no time in bringing my attention back to her. Hip hips guide her fingers deep in me. Deeper than she has ever been before. I am at a loss for words. My brain can only make up random noises.

“Ah, ya- yes- rig- ther- fu.” An evil chuckle comes from the women above me.

“That's right baby. Who does this pussy belong to? Huh little angel?” Her tone dripping with sweet venom.

“Y-you. I belong to you. All of me.” I attempt between each debilitating thrust. 

Her forearm hits my clit perfectly from this angle. I look up into her eyes, just now noticing she moved fully above me. Her eyes are dark. As deep as the bottom of the ocean.

“That’s right baby. You, all of you. Belongs to me.” Each thrust has even more emotion than the last. Her bottom lip is nestled between her teeth while sweat glistens off her forehead. Dominance radiates off of her. Just by the way her eyes devour my body I can tell she's enjoying this just as much as I am. I can feel the cord about to break. With our bodies so close, like two puzzle pieces meant to fit together.

“Natasha I’m so close. You feel so good in me.” This only seems to spur her on. Her movement begins to lose it. Her arm shakes, her eye brows furrowed, her fingers pound into me with even more passion.

“Say my name when you cum.” Her command leaves no room for arguing. She brings her head down to connect her lips to my neck. Biting harshly. 

“Nat.” I moan. Her ungodly pace along with her mouth on me sent me over the edge. I can feel the pool she just pulled from the depths of my soul as she helps me ride out my orgasm. 

Her lips meet mine as she slowly pulls her fingers from me.

“You did so good for me baby.” Her tone is sweet with love. She moves her body next to me. Gently pulling me in her arms.

“You felt so good. I’ve never experienced something as euphoric as that. I mean I felt so safe and I trust you with my life.” I smile wide at her kissing her cheek.

“Oh what did I do to deserve you. Your body reacting to every single one of my touches almost drove me over the edge. You were so beautiful coming undone like that. I would love to be able to do that again.” Her smile never faded as her lips met mine. Locking me in a deep kiss.

“Why don’t we go shower together? I would love to return the favor.” I pull away just enough to get the words out. A small smirk appears on her face.

“Mmm I love that idea. Come on cutie, let's get cleaned up.” She says tapping my ass leading the way to the shower. 

This time the water was warm. She had grabbed my hand, helping me in the shower with my shaky legs. 

“I really did a number on you, huh baby?”

“Well I did beg you to use me.” I laugh, grabbing the body wash and net sponge and handing it to her.

“Would you mind getting my back?” Her smile is so bright as she takes the soap. I hear her put the soap on my back. Using her hands after the soap got a good lather, her fingertips massage my tight muscles and I relax into her. Her hands grip my shoulders lightly.

“Get on your knees for me.” She whispers softly. Without hesitation I fall to my knees. The tile dig into my legs, making me spread them so I am sitting on the arches of my feet.

Her warm finger tips grip my chin making me look up at her. The steam surrounding us only separating for her. Her body like a goddess. 

“Now, I want you to use that pretty mouth of yours on mommy. Can you do that for me?” I nod immediately. She turns around with so much pose and confidence to lean against the wall.

“Crawl to me.” Her tone switches in an instant. Now emanating power. My body moves before I even have time to think. My tongue begging to me to be on her. My hands steady myself on the slippy tiles. I sway my hips the best I can as she eyes my waist. 

“Good girl. Now put your mouth to good use.” I lift her leg on my shoulder. My tongue finds her throbbing clit with ease. Her wetness already coating my chin. I lick up her juices like this is the last meal I’ll ever eat. Her hands quickly find a way into my hair. Pulling and proding at my scalp.

“Yes my darling, just like that. Keep going for mommy.” She says. I moan in response, sending vibrations through her body. My fingers dig into the leg on my shoulder while my other hand is holding her hip against the wall. I can tell her legs are shaky as my tongue wraps around her clit.

She tastes heavenly. I finally found my happy place and it’s in between this goddess’ thighs. I suck and nip on the spot she favors the most. Making her more wet by the second. Loud moans echo through our glass enclosure. The water is running luke-warm by now. 

Her thigh trembles against my head making me only double my efforts. My tongue finds the pace her body reacts to the most and I keep it. Not letting up. Her thighs lock my head in place, the dizziness almost claiming me but I am too focused on pushing her over the edge. 

My pace stays the same but only hard. Her hip jerked into my face.

“Yes. Oh my god. Yes baby. Don’t you dare fucking stop.” Her voice low.

I press my tongue into her firmly. That pushed her over the edge. I look up just in time to see her back arch off the wall, mouth open wide as her cum fills my mouth.

“Holy shit baby.” She says breathless kneeling down to my level. I quickly rid of my cum filled mouth and smiled brightly at her. 

“You did so good, baby.” Her tone as sweet as honey.

“You taste so good I could stay between your thighs all day.” I smile, giving her a quick peck on the lips. 

“While I would love that I will need to take a rain check.” She chuckles.

“Yes, mistress. Now let's get cleaned up. I’m sure dinner is almost over by now.” She chuckles at that, giving my ass a firm tap. Enough to sting but not hurt. 

“You little minx.”

[writtenbyshama]

Memory Theatre (Sylus x Reader)

Synopsis: Y/n is a protocore researcher who is looking for answers about how an aether core got lodged into her heart and why is it messing with her brain. In the midst of this elaborate maze of dead ends and false answers, she encounters a man who seems to be very interested in her and is willing to find ways of providing her with the answers she's seeking.

Author's note: Y/n is not a hunter; she is a Master's student (not based on myself at all) and a part time protocore researcher at the Association. No changes to Sylus, although there may be situations in the story where he might be a little out of character. Mentions of the other LADS men, but they are not the love interests here.

Chapter 11: There Is No Escape

If I’d been doubtful that Sylus was someone I had history with, I was certain of it now. 

After returning from the N109 Zone in one piece, my mind was open to a whole new set of nightmares. I didn’t know whether it was because of those empty protocore shells stabilising my protocurve or the forced resonance attempts with Sylus, but I very clearly remembered all the nightmares I had each night. 

I had resorted to keeping a journal, writing every detail and my additional thoughts about them meticulously every night before bed. I went over the entries the next morning, adding the latest dream/nightmare. It was a Sisyphean task to remember everything, since all I had to go on were a few bits and pieces along with night terrors and sad, angsty feelings that made my chest ache. 

After all the writing and inner contemplation, I realised that I wanted to talk to someone. Tell them everything and get a fresh perspective instead of spiralling silently. 

That was all I thought about as I lowered myself into a chair opposite captain Jenna. However, I kept my lips sewed shut. 

She was flipping through the printed report of my unofficial mission (adventure) into the N109 Zone and returning alive. I was not supposed to be doing all that since I wasn’t a hunter, but I didn’t care. Along with the pressing sleepless nightmares, I was harbouring the guilt of not being completely truthful in the report. Jenna read through every line, and I occupied myself with the crystal pen stand on her desk. 

When Jenna finally lifted her head, I masked my face into a neutral expression, or I thought I did, since she picked up on the omission instantly. She straightened the pages and tossed it on the desk’s surface. “Spit it out. What did you not write here?”

I sighed. “Um, I had a glass of low-level alcohol and a piece of appetiser.”

Jenna’s lips pursed and her eyes narrowed slightly. Eating and drinking during an infiltration mission was a clumsy, foolish move, but I couldn’t help it that night. And maybe she understood it too, because I had explained every other detail of the auction and it read like a fairytale more than a formal report. She sighed and let it go. 

“Anything else?”

“I…bid on an item there.”

“Using your card?”

“The card is not traceable to me.”

“Was it a protocore?”

“A piece of jewellery. It was so pretty, I just had to have that.”

She looked down at her lap for a minute, thinking over my words. I waited nervously, only part of my guilt eased. I had not mentioned even a letter about Sylus anywhere, and I was never going to. He was my precious little secret, and I wanted to be the only one to have access to him.

Jenna sighed again. “This is the first and the last time I’m letting you off with a warning…”

The audible sigh of relief from me made her smile, despite herself.

🗡️🐦‍⬛🗡️

It was one thing to find out that I had history with the most powerful criminal in the universe, and another thing to come home to loneliness. 

The crow had obviously been called back and relieved from his job of stalking me 24/7. I hadn’t realised how empty the villa was without that ruby eyed little shit giving me company. In addition to the abandoned nest, all the blooming flowers and trinkets he’d gifted to me over the years winked at me from their places and I had nowhere to escape. Sigh. 

This depressing loneliness combined with slight insomnia had me readily agreeing to go to a bar with my research and hunter colleagues one Friday night. Tara applied makeup on my face and helped with my hair in the Association’s washroom before we hailed a taxi to our destination.

We were about ten to fifteen people in our group, and it was not that bad. The bar was just like any other loud, noisy, drunk place, but it was nice unwinding with people whom I had only seen in a professional setting before. 

I paced my drinking, not wanting to get sloppy drunk and embarrass myself right during the first time I’d gone with them. At the bar, I listened to Tara rant about one of her tiny crushes on Jenna. We were on our third cocktail, and I glanced around the area only to freeze suddenly. 

There, seated at one of the dimly lit booths, was Sylus. 

🗡️🐦‍⬛🗡️

I'm on Ao3 now, with the same username. Happy reading!

Part 1:

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

[schlattschlut]

On Ted’s couch (Sorry Ted!) - Schlatt Smut

Well, Schlatt fucks you on Ted’s couch after a party. Heavily inspired by THIS (ty to my bbs on discord for this idea btw)

I really need to find my motivation to write longer things again :(

Cw: Smut, drinking, drunk sex, dub con, fingering, Schlatt is Schlatt yall

1.4k words

Parties at Ted’s were always eventful, tons of drunk people coming and going; music playing in every room as people shouted over it to hear each other. Drinks were endless and everyone always seemed to enjoy themselves.

I told myself I wouldn’t drink so much this time, knowing I had to call an uber to get home. But as soon as Schlatt showed up, all hope was lost. He offered me drink after drink, ensuring my cup was never empty. He drank as much, if not more than me; yet he could stand on his own two feet as I swayed slightly.

Schlatt stood at the kitchen counter, talking to Ted about something streaming related as I clung to his side. Ted crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at the sight; “You’re getting her drunk again?”

Schlatt just laughs, looking down at me as I sip from my cup again. “She gets herself drunk, I just guide her along.” He shrugs, pressing on the bottom of the cup and forcing more liquid into my mouth.

I gasp softly as he finally pulls the cup away, setting it on the counter. I wipe my mouth before clinging to his side again. Ted chuckles, picking up his drink and wandering away as Schlatt poured more tequila into my cup.

Towards the end of the night, Schlatt and I were cuddled together on Ted’s couch; an afghan blanket over our laps as I leaned my head on his shoulder.

“I should go home.” I murmur, trying to pull my phone from my pocket.

Schlatt grabs my wrist, keeping me from moving further, “Just stay the night here, I can drive you home in the morning.”

I look up at him, pressing my shoulder to the back of the couch; my vision doubling slightly as the alcohol continued to flow through my veins. I knew that I should tell him no, to hold my ground and order the uber. But he looks so hopeful, like he needs me to stay with him.

“Okay.” I mutter softly, pulling my hand away from my pocket and resting it in my lap.

A goofy smile breaks out on Schlatts face, he leans forward and kisses my temple firmly before pulling me into his side further.

Once the party dies down fully, everyone eventually finding their way out the front door. Ted wishes Schlatt and me a goodnight; demanding we don’t fuck on his couch before heading upstairs to his room.

Schlatt flips on the tv, some show playing quietly as we both stared at it in silence. He leans against the back of the couch, running his fingers through my hair slowly as my eyes flutter shut. He pulls away slightly, my eyes opening as I turn my head to look at him.

“Let me fuck you.” He practically demands, his pupils growing in size as he speaks.

My face flushes at his words, “Ted said-“

“Fuck what Ted said.” Schlatt growls, leaning in closer until our noses touched, “I’ll fuck you quietly. He’ll never know.”

I bite my cheek, blinking a few times as I process his words. My heart rate increases, my skin tingling under his touch now as my brain racks the pros and cons. I nod quickly, “Okay.” I whisper, “Quietly.”

Schlatt nods back, pushing himself forward to connect our lips. I breathe heavily as his fingers tangle in my hair, keeping me close to him as his tongue pushes past my lips; pressing against my own.

I groan softly at the feeling and Schlatt pulls away. “Shut up.” He grunts, tugging on my hair gently, “You’re supposed to be quiet.”

He kisses me again, smiling against my lips as I try to keep my noises down. His hands find my waist, slowly pulling me closer to him until I’m practically in his lap before I feel his fingers start to tug at the hem of my shirt and he breaks the kiss just long enough to pull it off. I smile softly, kissing him again before my own hands work to pull his shirt off.

Schlatt pushes me back just enough to hastily shove his shorts down his legs; leaving him bare to me as his already hard and leaking cock springs free. I bite my lip, tugging at my own pants to get them off quickly.

As soon as we’re both naked, our bodies are pressed together again; Schlatt pulls my hips against his and grunts softly as my wetness spreads against his thigh. I wrap my fingers around his length, my thumb spreading the precum over his tip as I smile sweetly at him.

“Jesus.” He moans quietly, one of his hands trailing down my leg slowly, parting my folds as watching the way his fingers come back shiny. He smiles at the sight, pressing his fingers into me quickly; his lips moving slowly down my neck and towards my chest. His mouth connects with one of my nipples; his teeth grazing it slightly.

I whimper quietly, my head falling back a bit as he curls his fingers inside me and switches to my other nipple. My hips move against his hand and my back arches into his mouth, my body craving more of him.

Schlatts free hand leaves my hip and he grabs the back of my neck, forcing my head forward as he pulled his fingers from me gently, admiring them one more time before he shoved them into my mouth. I groan around his fingers, licking them clean before he pulls away slowly.

“Fuck, I need to be in you.” Schlatt groans, adjusting his hips until his length is pressed against my entrance; he presses it against my clit a few times, gathering my wetness with his cock. I whine as he pushes himself in slowly, feeling every inch as he pushes in to the hilt.

One of my hands falls to the couch behind me, supporting my body as his hips started to thrust deeply against mine. His movements press his tip into my G-spot every time, my head lolling back in pleasure as I bite back my moans and rock my hips with his.

Schlatts hands slip around my waist, pressing against my back to keep my body close to his. My head falls back even further, my hair cascading down my shoulder as my neck is exposed to him. Schlatt leans in, covering my shoulder in kisses before biting into my neck gently.

Our hips move in time with each other, slamming into each other repeatedly as we both try to keep our noises quiet. My breathing quickens as my release starts to approach; my body squeezing around Schlatt as he presses his thumb against my clit.

“Fuck-“ I gasp out, each of his thrusts pulling the air from my lungs. My vision was clouding, my brain short circuiting and only thinking of him. “Please-“ I cry out softly.

Schlatt smirks mischievously, his hips pushing even deeper now. I can feel him pulse inside of me as he chases his own climax. “Come on, baby. Come on my cock, let’s ruin Ted’s couch.” Schlatt groans softly, his eyes watching me closely. “Need to feel you come around me.” His lips attach to my chest again; leaving soft hickeys along my skin.

His words and his tongue push me over, my body shaking slightly as I hide my face in his neck to dampen the sound of my moans. Schlatt hums contently, slowing his hips ever so slightly as he presses me back against the couch now; chasing his own high with the feeling of my own. His hips are rocking so gently yet so aggressively, I can still feel myself coming around him as he moves.

Schlatt groans as I squeeze around him again, he pulls out quickly and coming across my stomach. The warm liquid rolling off my side and onto the couch below as he strokes his length a few more times, milking himself for every drop.

Schlatt is panting heavily, his eyes on the mess he made as he composes himself. He chuckles quietly to himself, picking up his shirt off the ground and using it to clean his release off my stomach and between my thighs. He tosses the shirt down and leans forward, kissing me gently. “Aren’t you glad you stayed?” He whispers against my lips, pressing his body weight into mine and pulling the blanket over our bodies.

I hum, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling back down to lay against my chest. “Absolutely.” I murmur happily before drifting off to sleep, Schlatt starting to snore softly on top of me.

[acti-veg]

Hi there, as a recent vegan I just found your blog and saw you answer a lot about pets. I have a cat, I got her a little under a month before I fully went vegan. I love her to pieces, but when I go online to vegan spaces a lot of the posts there make me feel like shit for having her.

I was looking for a cat for ages from shelters and rescues but never found one, until this person posted online that they have a kitten but they can no longer care for it. Immediately we get her (no payment for her), and it’s a good thing we did because the woman had another cat who was essentially bullying her and bit a chunk out of her tail! She’s the sweetest girl (the cat) ever.

I’ve seen a lot of debating about cats being obligate carnivores and if that’s true or not and that true vegans shouldn’t have pets and it’s kinda put me in a whirlwind. The meat in her kibble is minimal (the kind to reduce dander) but it is still meat and I feel shitty for it but there’s not other options available. And there’s posts about vegan cat food but those have been debunked because of the small sample size and aren’t over a long period of time and a whole bunch of other stuff, and arguments about the ethics of forcing a vegan diet onto animals for our own feelings etc etc

I don’t know. I don’t really know why I’m writing this…I’m just overwhelmed, I guess? Can I even call myself vegan if I have a cat? Am I as bad as meat eaters? Am I a bad person? She’s literally my best friend now (she’s literally attached to me 24/7, which is nice but not in certain situations when having a cat on your lap isn’t practical, if you get what I mean, haha).

Sorry this has been all over the place and back. I guess it’s not so much as whether I can call myself vegan because now in all aspects I am so even I couldn’t call myself it I’d still be living as vegan as possible (and practical), but I’m concerned about being a bad person? She gets a good home, safety, love and I get a best friend, reduced anxiety and company when I’m on the toilet or in the shower. Can I really call myself ethical when I have a cat? And if I can’t call myself ethical then I’d have to be a bad person, right? Sorry again for bothering I’m just in a bit of a whirlwind and it’s that time when everything is cranked up to 11.

I don’t believe that there is anything about caring for a cat and providing a nutritionally appropriate diet for her that is not vegan, or not ethical. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that studies on plant-based diets for cats have been debunked, but it is fair to say that the research is still in its infancy. We certainly aren’t in a position to be able to recommend plant-based food for all cats at all stages of life, or say that it doesn’t carry any risk. With that in mind, when the animal is already in your care, the responsible ring to do is to feed them what you know to be safe.

As you spend more time in the vegan community, you’ll get a better sense for just how diverse opinions are within the movement. What I’m expressing here is just my own view, and there is room for nuance and debate among vegans. Too many of us though, insist that there is only one right way to be vegan, and that everyone else just isn’t vegan at all. They also like to play the ‘I am more vegan than you are’ game, though what they get out of it I don’t know.

You’ll need to form your own opinions on these debates, and more than that, develop some confidence about the position you have arrived that. I know vegans disagree with me about my position on pets, but I also know that not a single one of them is capable of making me feel any less vegan than I know I am. That comes with time and experience, but it will happen for you, and you won’t be so affected by contrary views or the fear of being judged.

Veganism is about avoiding animal exploitation as far as is possible and practicable, how we interpret that is up for debate, and that’s a real strength. Just don’t let someone else enforce their interpretation on you and convince you that it is the only correct way to think. Someone like me who has been vegan for a decade has no more authority than you do, and my opinion isn’t worth any more than yours is.

You’re doing your best for your cat, you’re giving her the best life you can and it sounds like she is lucky to have you. Don’t let anyone else convince you otherwise.

[snowseasonmademe]

long post ahead🤍:

hey everyone! i decided i’m ready to come back now :) i actually didn’t plan on taking a break when i mentioned it in that post. i wasn’t going to until after the fics i promised (we’ll get to that in a second), but life works in interesting ways. ironically, the very next day after that post i woke up and things went downhill from there. nothing severe of course.

long story short, random spontaneous grief of a loved one hit and then i was having emotional crash outs almost everyday about other things. and then……..ex bsf had the audacity to text me and ask if i lived close to a place she wanted to visit (completely ignoring the fact that she still hasn’t replied to anything i said and my whole family unfollowed her on everything). that ruined my whole day. this time away was very important for me to continue on my journey of learning to let myself feel deep negative emotions without making it feel like an inconvenience to myself. i’m glad to say that i have improved a lot and it feels great. crying because of anger, sadness or frustration (or all three) doesn’t make me weak or annoying and i’m excited to let myself feel.

anyway, after all that settled i did what i actually wanted to do during my break and touched the real grass outside and actually use my time for good lol. i started watching video essays again which i’m very excited about!

i never realize how stuck in this app i get until i come away from it. i think i feel somewhat attached because i know i am one of the only (if not the only) people some of you can talk to about certain things and i don’t want to feel like i’m letting anyone down by not listening to or helping with a problem you have. it doesn’t feel like i’m forcing myself but i feel like if i can be a listening ear then i want to be.

okay so about the last three fics…..i didn’t write a single thing while i was away lol and i don’t think they will be fully written and posted for a bit. they are all drafted though so they absolutely will be written at some point. i don’t know when but i don’t think it will be too long.

i’m happy to be back. i wanted to be open with you all because i know i give a lot of advice on how to deal with things and it may seem like i don’t go through hard things or that i always deal with things well. but sometimes i don’t and that’s okay. although i am very grounded in my emotions and mature about how i handle things, some things aren’t pretty to feel and it’s okay to show that on the outside. not everything can be stored inside. it’s okay to cry, and it’s okay to talk about it 86 times until you feel better. thanks everyone for being so patient and kind with me :) enough of this sappy stuff, let’s have fun now💝!!

[thesightstoshowyou]

Hi hi! I was wondering when you come back to writing requests, could I ask for a Pennywise/Bob Gray FanFiction with a Fem reader sharing her first time with him but it’s noncon but he tries to be gentle with her. She knows about him through the town they live in, reader is home from college which thrills him and finds a way to take her. Maybe some chest play from Penny? I really hope this is okay to ask! I love love love your penny stories there so good! Can’t get enough ❤️❤️

You are an angel for waiting so long for this. Thank you for your patience 🙇🏻‍♀️

Idk if Penny can be considered gentle in this one, but I suppose he’s gentle compared to how I usually write him 😂

~~

Use

Bob Gray/Pennywise x F Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Noncon in the back of a van baybeee, social anxiety, age difference, objectification, degradation, supernatural elements, nipple play, fingering, loss of virginity, threats, crying, a little daddy kink, put that reader in a mating press—readers love mating press, creampie, cum eating

It starts with a prickle.

The fine hairs on the back of your neck and along your arms raise as your skin tightens and tingles. In your belly, unease writhes like a thousand snakes. Your shoulders tense as your feet dig into aging tile, ready to flee should your nervous system give the order.

Except…. You’re standing in the middle of the grocery store bakery, a warm loaf of freshly baked French bread clutched in your white knuckled grip, paper cover crinkling against your palm. It’s 1:00PM on a Thursday. Why on earth do you feel like a cornered animal here of all places?

Cautiously, you glance to your right. You find nothing more than muffins, croissants, and danishes all gleaming temptingly from their plastic containers. An employee restocks the organic section, her back to you.

To your left….

Your throat goes dry when you meet the piercing blue gaze of the lanky man hovering at the end of the aisle. Buck teeth peek out between full lips, lips that glisten with spit and curl into an unnerving grin. Long fingers slip from a tattered, tweed pocket and raise to greet you with a cartoonish waggle.

Recognition is instant. Robert Gray is unmistakable, even if the last time you saw him was as a child. Though, why the hell he’s staring so intently is beyond you. You barely know the guy.

And he hasn’t aged a day….

Suddenly, the room tilts and your stomach lurches. Your shoes squeak on tile when your legs flail, as though they’ve come unstuck from the ground beneath you. Wildly, you reach out to grip a shelf when you begin to float right up into the air.

You blink.

The feeling vanishes as quickly as it came. Your feet are flat on the floor. On the shelf, your hand shakes as you hold on for dear life.

Had anything even changed at all?

Mr. Gray still leers at you from the end of the aisle. Gasping, trembling, and not knowing what else to do, you raise your own hand and tentatively wave back. He responds with a titter and a wink before slinking away.

Once more you glance around, wondering if anyone else saw this bizarre exchange or your strange behavior. You’re only a little relieved to find yourself alone. Saved from embarrassment, but not the fear that still clings to the back of your throat.

**

At the checkout sits Marge, as round as ever. You recall the powdery smell of her perfume, unchanged from when you clung to the hem of your mother’s dress as a child. Derry remains as static as ever.

She greets you generically as you set your purchases on the conveyor belt. The beep as your goods are scanned fills the space between the two of you and saves you from conversation. You’re thankful she doesn’t recognize—

“Well, goodness gracious, I hardly recognized you!” You spoke too soon, it seems. Marge says your name like a question and you force a smile and a nod. “Where have you been, missy?”

Awkward chuckle, “Ah, college. Just back for a few weeks, visiting mom.”

“Oh I bet she is loving that.”

“Ha, yeah….”

“You kids just grow up so fast. So, tell me about school! How many boyfriends do you have?” You bite the inside of your cheek when she ends her question with a self-satisfied giggle.

“Oh, no, nothing like that. Just…focusing on school, you know….”

You continue on this like for another agonizing minute or two, forcing out answers to Marge’s barrage of questions until she prattles off your total and hands over your groceries.

“Say hi to your mom for me!”

“Will do, thanks Marge.” The bell above the door jingles as you flee to the parking lot. Afternoon sun catches you full in the face and momentarily blinds you. You manage a scrunched glance left and right before crossing the road to your vehicle.

Strained huffing from somewhere nearby makes you pause. Furiously blinking to adjust to the light, you find Mr. Gray at the rear of the white panel van parked next to your car. The back doors are wide open as he attempts to load what appears to be a folding table all on his own. Attempting, and failing.

You only hesitate for a heartbeat. He’s a weird guy, a bit unnerving with his nineteenth century garb and knowing smile, but he doesn’t deserve to throw his back out.

“Need any help?” you ask, setting your purchases on your trunk and hurrying over to him. Where did he even get this from…?

“What a good girl, gracious little thing, helping old Mr. Gray.” The strange lilt of his voice almost makes you wince. His wide, blue eyes rove over your face and down your neck until the hair on your arms raises in alarm once again. Your own eyes flick down to his wetted bottom lip, so slick it appears drool will spill over any moment. You swallow thickly for him.

“Uh, yeah, let me just, um—

Bob moves to the end of the table still sitting out in the parking lot so you have no choice but to take the other end that is half lodged in the vehicle. It’s awkward, crouching and backing into the van while maneuvering the load, but you manage to shuffle all the way to the front seats until the damn thing comes to rest on the floor of the van. Easy enough—

SLAM.

All at once the sunlight disappears but for the weak imitation trickling in through the windshield. It takes your brain a moment to realize Bob has followed you into the van and slammed the doors shut, though how he managed to move so quickly is beyond you. He now sits between you and the exit, cast in shadow.

“Little treat might be too gracious for her own good, hmm? She makes it too easy for ollllld Mr. Gray.”

‘What are you playing at?!’ The question is there, right on the tip of your tongue, but it freezes and dies when Robert Gray’s eyes glow, glow like golden fire burning unnaturally from the shadowed corner of the van. Terror zips up your spine as you choke on a shout and scramble away, intent on clambering over the center console for the driver’s side door.

Long fingers wrap around your ankle and yank. Your own digits slip on vinyl seats and you crash face first into the accursed table top. Onto your back you roll as Bob slinks over you, wedges his hips between yours, and pins you down with an impossibly strong hand around your neck. Every muscle strains as you try to buck or twist or anything, but he doesn’t even budge, doesn’t even give a millimeter.

How, how…?

Wet warmth splatters onto your cheek. Drool has spilled over his lip, a steady stream of spit that reeks of decay raining down on the side of your face and dripping into your hair. It’s further smeared up to your brow when Bob crushes his lips to the side of your head to noisily inhale. He titters, a little giggle you feel inside your head that rattles your teeth.

“Its fear is unsoiled, yes, fresh like a babe.” Confusion at his words plucks at the back of your mind, but your panic is too intense and overwhelming to spare it full attention.

“What—p-please, please stop, I don’t—

“You don’t, no, no, you haven’t. Have you, little treat?” The deep growl of his voice shakes your own chest. He looks at you expectantly as he speaks, buck teeth on full display, golden eyes wide and staring. One of them drifts to the side and you try your best to melt into the tabletop at your back.

Furiously, you shake your head back and forth and stammer out a, “Bob, please, I d-don’t understand—

“No boyfriends, it says. No fumbling hands that prod and squeeze, no one to use it like the meat it is. Sweet. Untouched. Meat.”

You blink and shake in shock. Your mouth opens but no words escape. Bob laughs, high and piercing and you flinch at the ferocity of it.

How…how could he know that…?

“No hiding from me, little bite. Mr. Gray can see it allllll. Now he has you here, all to himself. And he’s soooo hungry.” The last, rumbled word reverberates around the van and you scream, arch, kick your legs only to freeze in place when Bob ruts against you. The hard girth straining against his trousers slides deliberately along the length of your clothed cunt and, suddenly, the end game becomes frighteningly apparent.

“N-n-no, no, oh god please, don’t—

“Not like you had imagined it, is it, tiny thing? No candlelight. No love. Just old Mr. Gray and his teeth.” He sets them against your cheek, his teeth, as his free hand weasels under your shirt. You loose a protesting grunt when spidery fingers push aside your bra to pinch a nipple between thumb and forefinger. Gently, they tug and, thoughtlessly, you squirm. You tense and fall still when the movement grinds your clit against his bulge, a little zing of pleasure shooting through your belly at the contact.

Bob hums knowingly like he can hear what you’re thinking and twists his fingers ever so slightly. Instead of a grunt, a little whine slips past your quivering lips. More unbidden pleasure, more curling heat where it shouldn’t be.

“Mr. Gray’s good little girl. I can smell it now, needy, needy.” He snuffles along your jaw, and slides his thumb away so he can press slick lips to your fluttering pulse. “You stink like a virgin, too stupid to know what you need, hmm? Let him show you. Let him put your meat to use.”

Again you shake your head and open your mouth to protest, but this time the words are a cry as Bob humps you and tweaks your nipple all at the same time. Your head spins, overwhelmed by new sensation and fear of who…what causes them. Something deep down in your guts knows this is no man hovering over you.

The thing called Bob shifts his hips to the side and you tense to act, to shove, to fight, but he’s so much faster. His hand leaves your breast and burrows into your pants. Tricky fingers find your clit and stroke, perfect pressure that makes your limbs twitch and your lungs gasp. Hands poised to claw just moments ago instead fly to his shoulders and grip on reflex.

His digits sink inside you faster than you can inhale. They curl until they reach some spot you didn’t know existed until now. Even just this stretch is more than you’ve ever experienced, but the surprise comes not in the pain, but the pleasure. It doesn’t hurt, not even a little.

Didn’t they all say it would hurt?

You emit a strangled sound and then, to your dismay, a wanton little mewl follows after as Bob works his hand and rubs euphoric little circles inside you. The nails intent on scratching his eyes out have curled into the fabric of his dingy button-up and your legs fall open like they have a mind of their own. No, no, stop, you’re not enjoying this….

You shouldn’t be enjoying this….

Robert chortles in glee and finger fucks you faster until your eyes go out of focus and you arch—toward, not away this time. Still, your mouth tries to lie about your body’s obvious reaction with a stuttered, “S-Stop, I don’t…want….”

“‘Don’t.’ There’s that silly word again. ‘Don’t!’” He mocks your pathetic timbre. Next, his lips move to yours so he can growl against your panting mouth, “You don’t know what you want. Listen to that slippery little hole, hmm?” He jostles his arm and your cunt squelches in answer. “Desperate for purpose, isn’t it?”

Without warning, he rips his fingers from your channel, grabs hold of the waistband of your pants, and gives three sharp tugs. They’re down and off before you can even think to shriek. Bob grips you behind the knees and shoves, bending you in half and spreading you wide.

Fear returns with the sound of his zipper, trepidation that makes you scramble to grab hold of something and pull yourself away. His iron grip keeps you from budging, however, and you’re helpless when his thick cock lines up with your glistening slit.

“And a one, and a two, and a—

“Wait, wait, wa—

The last ‘wait’ is lost in whatever garbled nonsense escapes your throat when Bob eases forward. Unused muscles part around cock and you experience that foreign stretch and pressure for the very first time. Bob makes an inhuman guttural sound low in his throat when your walls squeeze his girth. It’s a sound that dumps icy terror into your veins, but you think what startles you most is the absence of discomfort.

Maybe it hurts, but the main sensation you feel is…delicious. Blissful. Addictive. You close your eyes to keep them from crossing.

“Useless until I found it,” Bob coos against your lips. Heat jolts in your gut and you can’t help the pitiful moan it brings. Is he the reason you’re reacting this way? Are his horrible words spurring you on? What the hell is wrong with you?

“B-Bob,” you choke out when he bucks his hips. In your shoes, your toes curl. He snickers and does it again, and again, each thrust eliciting more desperate sounds than the last. Moans and cries fill the interior of the vehicle and mingle with the sounds of wet slapping and the harsh grunts escaping from Bob’s throat. Any fight left in your fists is gone, replaced by need that has you gripping his shoulders like you gripped that shelf in the store. You could float away like this….

“Float, yes, that’s right, little girl. You’ll float. But first, you’ll cum on Daddy’s cock.”

“I-I….”

“You want to. Say it.” You shake your head and Bob snarls, “SAY. IT. Or I’ll sink my teeth into that supple little throat and paint us both in pretty red.”

“Iwannacum! I want to, p-please…D-Daddy—

“It’s learning, it’s poliTe.” The “t” sound hurts when it snaps off his tongue and Bob cackles when you jerk and shudder in his grip. Still, you don’t release him. You can’t, the insistent, hot pull in your belly too great to ignore.

Frenzied tears well in your eyes as you beg again, “PLEASE, please, I need…need….”

“Neeeeed, now it knows, now it understands what it NEEDS. Cum for Pennywise, little treat. Give it to Me.”

Pennywise…?

Climax hits you like a runaway train and wipes all sense from your mind. You shake and scream, rippling ecstasy washing over you in wave upon endless wave. Bob follows suit and hilts himself, spilling so deep you feel him twitching behind your navel. There’s so much, too much. It spills over and pools beneath you, a sickly sweet scent filling the air.

Wet fingers prod at your lips and you crack an eyelid open one at a time to find Bob insistently poking at your mouth with slick-covered digits. Not thinking, your lips part and the taste of rancid cotton candy bathes your tongue when the fingers push past your teeth.

You grimace at the flavor. Bob grins, too wide, terrifyingly wide. Fear renews like a bolt of lightening to the heart and rational thought whirs to life in your pleasure-addled brain.

Pennywise…. He’d called himself ‘Pennywise.’ Where had you heard that before?

“Pennywise was right to save you for later, yes, yes he was. Let you marinate. Let your meat age.”

Pennywise…. Pennywise the clown….

Your heart beats so fast you fear it will burst. Bob’s eyes are jaundiced, wide and wild. Familiar.

The clown. The clown from your childhood nightmares. The clown from the house at the end of the street.

Pennywise.

“And now you see it all, don’t you?” Bob’s voice is a warbled whisper, slow and solemn. “Now you know why.”

More tears burn their way down your cheeks.

“Purpose, hmm?” Bob chuckles, light and airy. “You’ll be of good use to IT.”

[qaanngi]

I'm super grateful for Veilguard giving me something new to obsess over that easily aligns with my interests because I haven't spent an entire weekend glued to my computer drawing in years. Probably since January/February 2021. Also feeling a little less insecure about my drawing style and not hating it knowing the community thinks it's fugly as sin.

[helpimstuckposting]

TW: mentions of homophobia, brief f-slur mention More silly conversations and goofy friendship moments that Steve hasn't had in a while! I just love the Robin/Steve/Eddie dynamic, it's my favorite out of everything so I hope you like and I did it justice

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

—

After their midnight talk, Steve couldn’t just go back to bed. There were too many thoughts, too many emotions, too much going on in the past day for his mind to quiet enough to let sleep take him. Instead, Eddie kept him company in the kitchen. They talked about the other Steve, Eddie hesitant at first, but Steve reassured him he wanted to know more about the man he could have been, the one everyone saw when they looked at him.

It was interesting, hearing all the differences of his life that appeared from the crossroads of his father living and dying. Apparently, Richard Harrington had died in some sort of travel accident when Steve was four. Eddie didn’t quite know the details, he’d never asked, but the rumor around town was that Mr Harrington had gone off on a business trip the morning of Steve’s fourth birthday. He came back in a casket.

Steve could vaguely recall begging his father to stay home for his birthday that year. He’d begged and begged until his father relented, it was probably the best birthday Steve could remember. And yet, because of that, the rest of Steve’s childhood suffered. Oh, the irony, Steve thought.

They went over some of the pictures hanging on the photo wall, Eddie dramatically re-enacting a few of them, though Steve could tell it was hard. If Eddie’s rings were his armor, Steve thought maybe his DM persona was a shield. Like it was easier to remain detached if he pretended they were campaigns and not memories.

Steve also noticed that since their talk outside, Eddie refrained from calling the other Steve ‘his Steve’. He just called him Steve, just like it was another person who happened to have the same name. It was nice, like Steve wasn’t a replacement or the same person or a mistake. He was just Steve, and so was this other guy. Two different people with the same name, like it was normal.

It was a relief, in those moments, to be someone new, someone separate from the other Steve. It made him feel a little less like he was taking up space he shouldn’t be in, and Steve thought maybe that was Eddie’s intention. He said Steve wasn’t taking someone else’s place, and he kept his word.

At some point, before the sun rose, the stairs creaked with footsteps. The two had been crouched over the counter with cups of coffee, legs too numb from sitting for hours. Robin swayed sleepily into the kitchen, blinking one eye at a time before rubbing at them with her balled up fists. She looked kind of like a toddler who was searching for her parents. Steve snorted into his mug, setting it down before he choked on the liquid inside. Robin’s eyes narrowed at him, before she rolled her eyes and lazily lifted two fingers up in a peace sign.

“Sup, Dingi,” she croaked, voice not quite awake yet.

Steve shared a look with Eddie, scrunching his nose up in a sneer and nodding silently toward Robin, what the hell did she just say?

Eddie snorted and took a gulp from his mug, a silent don’t ask me, sent back.

Robin sighed and pointed to Steve, “One dingus,” she said, then pointed to Eddie, “two dingi,” she concluded, before wandering over to Steve and stealing his mug of coffee. She clasped it in her hands and shuffled over to the other side of the counter island, plopping herself into a stool. “So what were you two lovely ladies talking about at four in the morning?”

“I was telling Stevie here about that one time Steve bet you couldn’t beat his track time and you sprinted so hard you threw up in your lunch bag before band.” Robin squawked, slamming the mug down on the counter and leaning threateningly toward Eddie.

She jabbed a finger at him, “Not cool Munson, we agreed that story went to the grave!”

Eddie laughed maniacally, bouncing in his place, “I lied, Buckley, tough shit!”

As Robin leapt from her stool to chase Eddie around the kitchen island, Steve silently stole his mug back to watch it all play out. He’d dreamed of this so many times, the casual teasing and horsing around just like the kids did. He’d never had a large group of genuine friends, just Tommy and Carol and whoever else they deemed cool enough to join them that week. It was never light hearted jokes and stupid faces, it was silent smoking and jabs that were too sharp, too mean spirited. Carol taught him how to hold himself, how to look intimidating and aloof. She’d never in a million years stoop down to make herself look stupid for a laugh or to cheer someone up. She was calculated, like his mother, but now he wondered if things had been different, would she have been happy too? Does a Carol or Tommy in this universe chase someone around a counter to make them laugh? Or any other universe?

After a couple laps around the kitchen island, Robin caught up to Eddie, tugging his back to her chest and lifting him off his feet. She looked like a wrestler trying to suplex Eddie into the ground but she couldn’t get him higher than a couple inches, tops. Steve snorted into his coffee again as Eddie shrieked, shards of pain stabbing through his nose as he coughed the liquid back out of his lungs and sinuses. There were tears in his eyes from the choking and the laughter and the tightness in his chest, and after hacking up the dredges of coffee in his lungs he kept watch as Eddie kicked and screeched and Robin struggled to keep him in her arms.

Eddie threw himself forward so his feet finally landed back on the ground, and it was Robin’s turn to yell as she was hoisted onto Eddie’s back from the sudden movement. She still refused to let go as Eddie rapidly stalked around the counter, squatting to keep Robin’s weight on his back as she kept his arms pinned to his side.

Steve could watch them fight it out for hours, if he were honest and it had been years since he’d laughed this hard. The rest of the party was going to show up eventually today and they’d have to start looking into the gates, but for now Steve watched and laughed and rolled his eyes as Robin finally gave up her hold and slid off Eddie’s back, pooling onto the floor like a sad little puddle.

“First you break our vow, then you try and murder me, and for what? For what, Munson? I know where you sleep!” She mumbled into the tile.

Eddie crouched down to lean over her, smug look plastered over his face. “I’m pretty sure you tried to murder me, this was purely self defense.”

“And I’m sure the cops would say you had it coming!” She said, lifting herself off the floor and sitting back in her stool. She snatched Steve’s mug up, took a sip and then squinted at him, slowly lowering the mug to the counter and pointing at it.

“Did you spit in this?”

“Not on purpose,” he replied, voice still a bit hoarse from the coughing fit. She gagged dramatically and shoved the cup back in his hands, standing to pour her own.

“It’s about time you learned how to be self-reliant,” Eddie teased, sitting down in the next stool over, across from Steve who remained leaning over the counter, elbows holding his weight on the shiny granite while his ankles were crossed behind him.

“Shut the whole fuck up, Munson, or I swear to god-,”

“How did you three meet, anyway?” Steve asked, cutting off whatever threat Robin was about to throw out. He looked back and forth between Eddie in front of him, and Robin behind him fixing her mug of coffee. He watched as the two shared a look, both a little sad at the reminder that their Steve was gone. Or at least, that’s what Steve assumed the look was, the droop to their smiles telling Steve maybe he shouldn’t have asked. However, before he could take it back, Robin sat back down in the stool next to Eddie and started to answer.

“We were all in band together,” she said as Eddie nodded and silently took a sip from his mug.

“Band?” Steve asked. He knew Eddie and Robin were in the high school band in his universe, but they hadn’t become friends as far as he knew.

“You and Eddie played sax,” she said. Steve tried to cover his flinch at the mention of ‘you’, the reminder that they all expected him to be someone he wasn’t sparking uncomfortably in his head.

“Steve and I sat right in front of Buckley here, who always had a penchant for playing just a little too close to my ear,” Eddie chimed in, shoving his shoulder against Robins.

“Well Eddie here was never a team player, always skipping ahead or pretending to play when he didn’t like the music,” she shoved right back.

“I never-,” Steve started, pausing when the two pairs of eyes locked onto him. “I never learned any instruments.” He sighed, fiddling with the mostly empty cup in his hands. Their eyes felt like lasers boring into his head. “Mom signed me up for piano classes when I was little, but my dad said the arts were for ‘females, fruits, and fags’ so I never got the chance to finish.”

“Well hey, I’m a female and a fruit,” Robin said.

“And I’m a fag!” Eddie said, turning to Robin for an enthusiastic high five. “Guess Mr Harrington was right, huh Stevie?” he said sarcastically. Steve swallowed nervously around the saliva pooling in his mouth. He actually didn’t know about Eddie, had maybe suspected sometimes but it had never been confirmed. It felt… weird that this seemed like something he should know, but he didn’t and now he does but Eddie never told him. Or, well, he did just tell him but he also didn’t and now he knew something that he wasn’t sure he was allowed to know.

“Oh shit,” Eddie mumbled, “did you… uh,” he glanced between Steve and Robin, “did you not know about us?”

Steve shook his head, “I uh, I knew about Robin, but not…”

Eddie winced. The giddy look in his eye from the playful banter was gone, and he seemed… sadder, like Steve had just tossed water over a campfire and killed the light. “Why does it feel like I just outed someone else?” Eddie mumbled to Robin. She grimaced and set a comforting hand on Eddie’s shoulder, sharing a warm look that Steve once again couldn’t read. Again, he felt like an outsider watching over two strangers. The side of the counter he was leaning against seemed cold and wide, a million miles away from where Robin and Eddie sat side by side.

“Well anyway,” Eddie scooted closer to the counter, clinking his empty mug against Steve’s, “regardless of the Eddie you know, I’m gay so… welcome to the Queer Closet of Hawkins, you’re officially on the guest list and it’s a very exclusive honor.”

Steve chuckled, awed by the way Eddie had just closed the chasm between them. The metalhead grinned, patting the stool on his left and closing that gap even more. Steve placed his cup in the sink behind him and walked around the counter to sit in the vacant seat, the gap completely shut with a final click as Eddie lightly patted Steve’s knee.

“So what about you?” He asked, “how did you meet Robin and Eddie?”

Steve laughed, “it’s uh… a much longer story.” Eddie nodded eagerly and Robin pulled a leg up to squish under her on the stool, leaning against the counter to look over Eddie and nod just as enthusiastically. Steve looked back and forth between the two, feeling more whole than he had even just a few hours ago.

He shook his head fondly and launched into the story of Scoops, Russians, Steve and Robin’s unfortunate drug-filled escapade through the mall, and Dustin’s weird ability to imprint on older teens. Eddie laughed at that, tossing his head back and almost falling backward out of his stool.

“I was so annoyed! Dustin wouldn’t shut up about his cool new friend Eddie who played D&D and understood all his references. Eddie who was ‘the best DM ever’, who was ‘so cool, you don’t get it, Steve’ the little shit.”

Robin was leaning against Eddie’s back now, arms thrown over his shoulders to keep him planted in his stool. “Oh, oh!” she exclaimed, smacking Eddie in the chest as she thought of something.

He grabbed her wrist, stopping her from hitting him again. “Jesus, Buckley, spit it out,” he grumbled, shooting eyes at Steve, who just smiled back at him.

“Does your Robin have any game? A girlfriend? Is she cooler than me?” She asked excitedly.

Steve snorted, “I don’t think any Robin Buckley has ever had game.”

“Hey!” Robin exclaimed, and then squinted at him, assessing something in her head. “No, yeah, that makes sense,” she conceded, bobbing her head back and forth.

“She did have a massive crush on this girl Vicky from band, though, and they got pretty close. I always told Robin to go for it, because Vicky? Not straight, not at all,” he swore to them, pointing back and forth as emphasis.

“Ah, Vicky,” Robin sighed dreamily, “she was so cute.” Eddie rolled his eyes, shaking his head at Steve like he’d heard way too much about Vicky for a lifetime. “I never did get the chance to see if Steve was right about that.”

This time Steve rolled his eyes, "Of course I'm right, she was totally giving you eyes, like, constantly I can't believe you would doubt me!" he scoffed, missing for a second that he had slipped in and made himself her Steve, what he'd been trying to avoid this whole time. He had to remind himself constantly; he wasn't their Steve, he was an outsider, he was a different person. He remembered what Eddie had said by the pool; he's not a placeholder, he's not stealing someone's spot, he's his own person.

Still, with the jokes and banter and laughter, it was so so easy to just slip up and forget. He brushed it off, hoping they would too or even better that they wouldn't notice his mistake or the slight dim to his smile before catching himself. Luckily, Eddie and Robin were as close to reading his mind as possible it seemed and the three powered forward as if the slip never happened.

As it turns out, in this universe the Russian fiasco still happened, in nearly the same way. The only difference between Steve's story and Robin's story was that they'd already been friends for years, had applied to Scoops together, just like Family Video. Eddie had been working in the record store on the second floor, but was off with Wayne for a fishing trip at the time. Everything else was the same.

"I can't believe that was our first test of friendship, oh my god," Robin whined, smushing her face up with her hands and dragging them down, pulling her features with them.

"I'm still so mad I missed that, I was so useless and I had no idea until Wayne and I came back and everything was fucked. What if Samwise was on vacation and he just came back and Bilbo was suddenly a hero, missing a finger, traumatized from all this shit Sam had no idea about! I spent the rest of that summer feeling like I had missed your whole lives," Eddie said. Steve wasn't quite sure who the hell he was talking about, but there was something else in his eyes, something that Steve still hadn't translated and couldn't put his finger on. He wondered if Eddie would tell him, eventually, wondered if he'd ever be able to read those looks before they had to shove him back through the gate to his desolate wasteland of a universe.

He shoved that thought away from his mind, locked in a little box labelled 'for later', and trekked on through their morning. It would probably only be an hour now before the party showed up to finalize plans and start splitting up to put it in motion. He sighed and looked between Eddie and Robin, still going through random memories, teasing, poking, and laughing at each other. 'For Later' he whispered in the dark of his mind, joining back into the conversation as if he'd never left. He'd worry about it then, for now he was more content than ever to just sit here at the dark kitchen island as the sun kept up its rise over the horizon. He'd sit, and listen, and contribute, and laugh, and everything else could come later.

—

@devondespresso @weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @space-invading-pigeon @aliea82 @goodolefashionedloverboi @emly03 @bestwifehaver @mentallyundone @13catastrophic-blues @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @likelylad @aellafreya @wxrmland @shunna @fangirltofangod @howincrediblysapphicofyou

[gomzdrawfr]

making mood boards as banners reminded me the time I would draw banners for fics

[danothan]

i’ve been having a hard time realizing and grieving my naivety/lack of intuition, especially relating to autism and ocd. there’s smth so helpless in feeling like you can’t trust yourself. but i think i’m starting to reach a point of balance. ik i don’t have the best judgment, but maybe my intuition can be the kindness i judged as naivety

i just couldn’t accept the idea that kindness (as far as i understood it at least) could have led me into harm’s way, especially bc protecting myself feels so “cruel,” so maybe that’s not the narrative i have to accept. sometimes i feel like i’m slipping into old habits when i catch myself giving someone a second chance, or the benefit of the doubt, but it’s not the same now as it was before. kindness never led me into harm’s way, it was my lack of trust in myself. i don’t need to dial in my kindness, i just need to strengthen my trust. i need to practice informed kindness