#unfortunately there is no way for me to make it clearer at this time

[thanksvideogames]

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unlike other skills, every traveler has a unique animation for when they use the ‘bewildering grace’ dancer ability

[serejae]

anyone else but you | x.minghao

pairing : idol!minghao x reader

WHAT ! - painting minghaos nails (reader likes doing nails),

warnings: petnames, kisses, established relationship, self indulgent

you sat in the living room practicing on the practice nail hand minghao had bought you when he found you wanted to start doing nails, while spotify was playing in the back. minghao walked out of your guy's shared room noticing you working. he leaned against the wall softly smiling at the sight

there was something so comforting about how your posture was horrible but the small light on the coffee table that was originally supposed to help you see the nails clearer emphasized the features on your face more as well as how your brows furrow and your lips softly pout out as a result of focusing.

feeling a gaze on you, you turn to look and see minghao propped against the wall, when he realizes he got caught he closes his eyes for a second and chuckles in embarrassment, but he knows he could only blame himself due to the fact he didn't try to hide it.

minghao walked over to where you were sitting looking at his nails that you painted for him about a week ago and how some were chipped due to practice for seventeen's upcoming comeback.

he sat in front of you and you noticed his nails. holding his hand to take a closer look, "do you want me to repaint them?" he nodded and smiled at you "thank you"

you slid the practice hand aside and grabbed your acetone removing the old polish. as he looked for inspiration on his phone, a design caught his eye. he saw how it matched the comeback colors as well as the aesthetic, gently sliding the phone toward you

"can you do this one for me please?"

"yeah anything for you"

although you've been in a relationship for a while he couldn't help but smile each time you agreed to do something for him, because out of all people it was for him.

as you started on the base coat, the song had finished and a new song was playing

"oh i love this song" you said excitedly turning the volume up

minghao just sat in front of you as you worked on his nails making them look pretty smiling at you as he listened to you sing the lyrics quietly

"i dont see what anyone can see in anyone else, but youuuuu" you sang and you moved your head from side to side with the beat

laughing slightly at your movements he mirrors them tilting his head with you and synchronizing with you as he hums to the beat

as you worked he broke down each of the lyrics and applied it to your relationship

"i kiss you all starry eyed, my body swinging from side to side"

he wish he could kiss you right now but unfortunately, you were too focused on his nails for him to swoop in and kiss you, but he will swing side to side with you.

"just because we use cheats, doesn't mean were not smart"

smiling at the lyric he remembers when you two were still in high school and that one algebra 2, the class where he met you. oh, he hated that class so much but loved it for bringing him to you. his mind traced back to when you would send him looks as a way to ask for the answer to a question on the quiz, he knew you well enough to read you and then give you the answer with his expressions. and like telekinesis, you nodded like you understood him (you did) and circled the answer on your paper

sure wasnt the most ethical thing to do, but you both survived the horrible math class

"my name is adam and im your biggest fan"

minghao couldnt help but laugh at that lyric, cause it was so him.

his name is minghao and he's your biggest fan

he hates public attention but if he had to shout it to the world, he would. anything you dream or want to do, he will always be your backbone to rely on

you looked up at him laughing and raised your eyebrow

"whats so funny?" you asked

minghao smiled at you and softly pushed back a piece of hair from your face

"nothing, i'm just your biggest fan"

smiling at his words you continue working on his nails

"i'm your biggest fan too"

he's never listened to the song, but he was sure about one thing

he didn't see what anyone else could see but you

[babyangelsky]

I know we're all still sweating over the first half of this episode (or I am at least) but since I'm feeling chatty today, I really wanna talk about Mut and Tongrak's conversation at the restaurant and how much I loved it. There are so many little moments that deserve appreciation and recognition.

This is the first one. When the auntie comes over to sing Mut's praises, he doesn't look at her or at Tongrak, he just ducks his head. From what she says, we can gather that this isn't the first time he's brushed off compliments so it isn't that he's not used to praise. I think there's a little more to it.

And look at Tongrak's expression after the auntie leaves.

And the way he looks at Mut afterward. There's fondness there. There's respect and admiration. We've had small moments before this where the way Tongrak looks at Mut changes but this feels like the first time he really sees him. He's getting a clearer picture of who Mut is and what he means to the people in the village.

And it's because of that that he looks genuinely surprised and a little shocked when Mut reveals that his father kicked him out at 15. You can almost hear him asking himself, "how could anyone ever do that to this man?"

Mut talks about how he went to live with his aunt and started supporting himself relatively casually but there's a faraway look in his eyes when Tongrak asks why he doesn't go home.

And he looks down because despite his tone, it hurts to remember why he can't go home. It makes him sad to remember why he considers the fishing boat only his father's instead of theirs, as a family.

There's a defiance in his expression when he says that his father never takes back what he says and neither does he, and there was something about this specific wording and look that made me think that the reason his father kicked him out has to do with him being queer.

I have not read the novel (nor am I asking for spoilers) so I could be very wrong but this moment just read so queer to me. It unfortunately wouldn't be unheard of for a parent to kick out their queer child and for that child to cut ties with them because of it.

The shift in expression when Mut asks Tongrak if he thinks he's pitiful is so tiny but it's so significant. It's like he's daring Tongrak to pity him and resigned to it simultaneously, like pity is a foregone conclusion. It tells me that Mut is used to being pitied. He says himself moments before this that Tongrak could ask anyone on the island for his story so I'm sure there's no shortage of people who do pity him.

Maybe that's why he reacts the way he does when the auntie praises him. Maybe for him it's rare to be praised for his successes without having it be qualified or run through the filter of his personal history.

Even before Tongrak said a word in response, I knew what his answer was going to be. There's sympathy (and maybe even some empathy) in his expression. There's a sort of...I don't know how to describe it. Defiant kinship? that says, "why would I pity you?"

He shakes his head and gives a firm, decisive no. He doesn't pity Mut. He may not say it, but his face says that he's very quickly growing to admire and respect the person Mut has made of himself.

Of course he doesn't pity Mut. And hearing it makes Mut smile. A true, genuine smile that reaches his sparkly eyes and softens just a little bit when he says thank you.

This conversation felt like such a big shift for them. I have no doubt they're going to continue to bicker and annoy each other and piss each other off but from here on I think and hope there's going to be an undercurrent of understanding to it.

Tongrak is open to learning more about Mut and although Tongrak isn't willing to reveal too much of himself yet, the desire to learn more is there on Mut's part, too. He's not gonna push though. He accepts Tongrak's answer of why he became a writer being only for the fun of it.

And he does what no one else has before and praises Tongrak for it.

Which Tongrak was not expecting at all because why would he when no one has ever complimented him before? For Mut to be the first means a lot, and so does the fact that Tongrak compliments him right back.

Because I really do think that his compliment is coming from a place not only of respect, but from solidarity as well. We know that Tongrak doesn't want the people in the village to think badly of Mut for being affectionate with a man in public, and that moment also read very queer to me.

Queer people are like magnets and, in my experience at least, not only are we drawn to each other, we look out for each other. Tongrak doesn't give a damn what people think or say about him both because he's secure in who he is and because he's only a tourist, but Mut lives there. Despite his snark and snippiness, I don't think he wants Mut to have a hard time existing in his home.

Anyway! Those are just my few cents for this episode. This scene really stuck out to me and I wanted to talk about it because the whole time I was just:

Fort and Peat did some beautifully subtle acting and I didn't want it to get lost in the horny shuffle.

[alomone]

Hello, I hope ur having a nice day :)))

Im here to request a Thomas x m! Reader.

Thomas is in the middle of butchering a victim when reader enters and distracts him. If you don’t mind, a make out session. Alternatively, you can replace it with a bunch of hugs and soft kisses!

Thank youuu

: ̗̀➛ Are you busy?

Thomas Hewitt x male reader

CW : FEM ALIGNED DNI, kissing, attempt at writing a make out session, no graphic depiction of the victim

Author's note : I'm having a wonderful day and I hope you do too!! my mind went wild with this one! thanks for the request!! I tried my best but I wrote it on no sleep so i'm sorry if it's bad!!!

This particular afternoon, you knew Thomas was busy, you could clearly hear it, the noise from the chainsaw could be heard from the shed and the sight must not be pretty at all. The screams were still ringing in your ears as you slowly approached him, the sound getting clearer and the smell of blood was burning your nose.

You could see him standing in front of the table, holding the chainsaw, "Thomas?" you called out to him, opening the door as you focused your eyes on your partner and not on the gruesome sight that once was another human being, another victim. "Are you busy?" He could clearly hear the grin in your voice as you knew that he was, indeed, busy. Thomas grunted but didn't turn his head toward you, telling you silently that he was listening.

"It's too hot in here, I don't want you overworking yourself, you know? Please, come inside?" You slowly asked him as you walked to stand in front of the table. A sigh left his lips as he turned toward you after some times, putting down the chainsaw on the side of the table that wasn't occupied by he rests of the victim. Thomas knew that no one was going to steal his chainsaw anyway, the only person capable of doing so was currently on the table emptying themselves of their blood.

You couldn't help but smile as he followed you to the house, Thomas knew you had an idea behind your head, he knew you enough to see that. When you finally set foot in your share room, you turned to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close. "It's been some time since the last moment we shared together, alone without anyone else disturbing us, don't you think?"

You looked at him and he sighed again, this time out of relief as his hand left his sides to come hold your hips tightly, pulling you closer to him. Not caring about the blood on his clothes, you left him to remove his mask, not wanting to overstep by any means. He had some troubles in the past with removing his mask in front of you but this was long dealt with, he did it on his own as you never stepped over the line and left him to come up to you by himself.

Thomas slowly left his hands roaming you body as they slowly reached you face, holding it closer for him to finally kiss you. Having his lips on yours was always such a good feeling to you. You couldn't help but gently ask permission with your tongue to enter his mouth, Thomas groaned into the kiss at the feeling and let you do it. Your mouth didn't leave his when he grabbed you by the hips and pinned you to the wall.

You forgot about the dead body in the shed, about his family and the way they despised you for being a man in a relationship with Thomas, about the time and the hot weather as you lost yourself into the kiss. Playing with his tongue as if you were trying to win over the other, it felt like it had been years since you last kissed each other. It was incredible, Thomas was incredible, you loved him so much it almost made you fall as you felt your knees weaken under you.

Thomas grabbed you again as to avoid letting you hurt yourself and you unfortunately had to part with him as you both were out of breath.

"You're so good to me, Thomas."

He nodded at your words as he caressed your hips, he was happy with you and he hoped it would stay like this for some times if not forever.

[boneblushed]

Glitch

synopsis Rafe has a bad fall on the ski slopes. A temporary amnesiac, he falls in love with you all over again.

a/n oh Euro Trip Rafe I have missed you so bad 🥹

The velcro of your left glove snags, the worn edge catching on the handle of your ski pole. You sigh. The gauntlet cuff on the right side isn’t looking much better, all scruffy and threadbare so the underlying skin’s exposed.

“Hold on,” you call out, skidding to a reluctant stop.

It’s high time you replaced them with a newer pair, especially considering you’ve been using the same gear your parents bought you post middle-school growth spurt. But you don’t come to Aspen nearly enough to justify doing so at the moment; not that money’s a particular issue, it’s more so the inconvenience an unnecessary shopping trip will bring you.

“Dude. Again?”

You abandon the broken strap to send Topper a helpless frown. He’s a little way ahead, partially obscured by the crowd, but the exasperation on his face is made evident by his tone.

He draws nearer and glances down at the shaggy velcro, shaking his head disapprovingly. “We’ve gotta buy you a new pair.”

Above him, the sky is a gauzy blue, juxtaposing the sugary white hue of fresh snow.

“Not worth it Top,” you argue. The strap hitches again, an objection. “They’ll barely get used.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he answers, turning again. “Come on. I’m going to buy you a new pair.”

He’ll buy you a new one, your heart sings. And then it stops. You know better than to read into this gesture — he isn’t being chivalrous on purpose; when is he ever? This is the fourth time you’ve had to stop to untangle or readjust, and you’re pretty sure he’s just getting sick of you holding him up. Logic prevails, but your traitorous cheeks warm anyway, demure about the offer.

“It’s fine,” you insist. The velcro barely sticks when you refasten it. Fine enough. “Let’s keep going.”

You continue to push through the horde ahead of you, making your slow way toward the chairlifts. As you near, the ant-like skiers and snowboarders on the mountain become clearer, and you pull down your goggles, blinded by the sun’s glare.

That’s when the accident happens.

All of a sudden, but crashing in dusky orange slow-motion. Some guy hits a rocky bit of the slopes, losing control of his snowboard and nosediving into the snow. It’s a gnarly looking collision, made worse by his concerning lack of helmet, and you share a worried look with Topper before making your way toward him.

“Dude, fucking move—hey, sorry, best friend coming through—”

You startle, halting abruptly. You’d recognise that voice anywhere.

“—sorry, ‘scuse me gorgeous, I’m just gonna squeeze past you real quick—”

“Noah!”

In the split second that follows, you endure several emotions at once. The first: concern heightened ten-fold. Because if Noah’s referring to himself as the best friend, the some guy in question is actually Rafe Cameron.

The same Rafe Cameron that you love to hate, almost as much as your poor heart avows it.

The second: a concerning ache. Right at the centre of your chest, within your ribcage, as if the tired ligaments that hold it together are as weak as your velcro straps. The feeling swells, and you feel your heart squeeze through the cracks.

And then there’s apprehension, some excitement, a sudden bashfulness that makes your cheeks burn.

All round pathetic. You force a smile that’s more a grimace, hoping that Noah doesn’t notice your disquiet.

He pauses en-route, a surprised expression on his face. “Y/N!” He exclaims, breathless. The surprise melts into a mixture of delight and amusement. “Tell me you witnessed him bailing just then.”

You sigh. “Unfortunately.”

“Good,” he replies soberly, linking his arms in yours and tugging you forward. Your ski poles cross in protest, your centre of balance askew. “You’re coming with me.”

“What?” You ask, evidently bewildered. “Noah…”

You twist around and find Topper in the crowd, who shrugs, equally perplexed. Help me, you mouth, though you’re moving ahead too fast for the poor boy to discern it.

“…uh,” you try again, turning back to the face him, “I don’t know if this is —”

“Y/N,” he interrupts matter-of-factly, zig-zagging through the crowd with ease. “If there’s one person that can talk some sense into him, it’s you. I mean, shit, did you see how fast he was going? He’s going to board himself into a fucking coma if he keeps doing stupid shit like that.”

This brings a pause. It’s sort of endearing, really, how fiercely he cares about Rafe.

Your gaze softens a smidge. “You’re a good friend, Noah,” you say. “He’s pretty lucky to have you.”

“Us,” Noah corrects.

Your pulse jolts. “He doesn’t have me,” you reply, frowning a little.

“Everyone else may believe that Y/N, but I don’t.”

And again, a terrifying emotion bounding forth in your chest. “I —”

You’re saved the trouble of sputtering through an excuse by Rafe’s languid groan, a thready-sounding, “Shit.”

The crowd parts at Noah’s command, and the pair of you squeeze through, now face to face with Rafe.

He’s splayed out on the snow with his limbs in disarray, only one of his boots still strapped onto his board. His cheeks are a chilly rouge, dirty-blonde hair sticking out at odd angles. You resist the sudden urge to reach forward and comb your fingers through it.

“Idiot,” Noah mutters, crouching down beside him. “Absolute fucking idiot.”

He unfastens the aforementioned boot and tosses his board to the side, the nose-end looking notably abraded.

“Huh?” Rafe mumbles, a little dazed. He gropes at his purple-hued goggles blindly, pulling them off to squint up at Noah. It takes a worrying number of seconds for recognition to dawn on his features, and when it does, finally, Noah turns around and beckons you forward.

You hesitate, your gaze flitting down to Rafe’s face. “Someone should call Ward.”

“No!” Rafe yells suddenly, attempting to push himself up before collapsing backward languidly. He clutches his left side and groans, his eyebrows pinching in pain.

His discomfort makes you wince. You spring into action without meaning to, that concerning ache in your chest pulling you forth until you’re crouching down beside him like Noah.

“No Ward,” you murmur, placing your hand on his shoulder. “Noted.”

Up close, you can see a cut on his bottom lip, the rough stubble on his jaw all dewy from the melted snow. Your brow furrows. As he tears his gaze away from Noah to face you instead, you brush back his dirty-blonde fringe, searching for any more injuries. He has a graze on his upper forehead and you thumb over it gently, the furrow in your brow deepening with concern.

You glance up at Noah and nod. “Absolute fucking idiot.”

Rafe tries to do the same, but a sharp ache sears through his head when he attempts to turn it again.

“Stop moving it,” you instruct sternly, exerting more pressure on his forehead to hold it in place. “Noah isn’t going anywhere.”

“Have to,” he groans, his voice all gravelly and rough, “make sure he’s still here.”

He’s almost certain that Noah won’t be, that he’ll turn to him and find that the two of you are the only people sitting on the slopes. He imagines it like that scene at the end of Deathly Hallows, everything in blinding white and playing inside of his head.

You know, because he’s almost definitely dreaming if you’re crouching down beside him right now. With a soft hand on his shoulder, another pressed over his forehead. Two points of contact, he marvels, dazed. He squints up at you again, his reverent gaze falling over you in paces, and it feels as though a fog is descending on his surroundings. Everything blurs. He blinks abruptly.

“Dude,” Noah chastises, leaning over Rafe’s torso so that he’s within his line of sight, “where the fuck would I go?”

Rafe’s eyes widen, and he looks between you and Noah, evidently bewildered. “Bro,” he groans after a pause, his head falling back defeatedly. “I’m fucked.”

Your heart lurches worriedly, and you frown, looking over his figure for more injuries. “R’you in any pain?”

“Not physical,” he mumbles, lifting his head tentatively to squint at you. He drops it again and groans, overwhelmed by your closeness. “You’re really fucking beautiful, by the way. It’s messing with my head.”

You roll your eyes, feeling a tell-tale warm creeping up your neck. “Alright, you guys can go,” you say, turning to address the crowd. “He’s totally fine.”

Noah grins down at him, looking equally parts proud and exasperated. “There he is.”

Rafe isn’t sure what that means. All he knows is that he doesn’t feel fine, his head’s all jumbled and there’s a dreadful ache in every one of his limbs. The sound of blood pounding through his ears is unrelenting, and the chill in the air is downright abrasive. Not to mention, there’s this angel reincarnate that’s leaning over him at present, a concerned expression on her face that’s somehow making her look prettier.

Two points of contact, Rafe thinks again, agonised. Your softened features come to him in slow motion, the light reflected in your wide eyes, the shine of gloss on your frowning lips. You look extremely familiar, but he’s having difficulty recalling your name. There’s this overwhelming pull in chest that tells him you’re a big deal to him—his girlfriend, he hopes, aghast and probably deluded. That’s the concussion talking.

Besides, he isn’t even entirely sure that you’re actually real, all things considered.

“We should probably get him checked out, huh?” You ask Noah.

Noah knits his brow thoughtfully, peering down at Rafe. “You good, Cameron?”

“I feel fucking hungover,” Rafe mutters, pushing himself into a sitting position. Your hand falters as he hangs his head forward, and he reaches up, pressing it back into his skin. The rough pressure makes your breath hitch, less languid and more sure than he’s been since he bailed.

“You’re concussed,” you correct meekly, frowning down at him.

Rafe tries to shake his head, wincing as another bolt of pain shoots through it in dissent. “No,” he says, quick to fix his features. He grins dazedly. “I’m Rafe Cameron. And you’re… well, I hope you’re my girlfriend or something, because otherwise this heart attack in my chest’d be pretty concerning.”

You breathe out a scoff, mildly exasperated. A little relieved. If he’s well enough to remember to be an incessant flirt, he’s well enough for the concussion to not have caused any permanent damage.

“Alright, nevermind, no medical attention necessary,” you mutter, sending him a glare. It’s hard to hide the fact that your palms are clammy when you pull them away.

Noah loops his bicep under Rafe’s and pulls him to his feet, steadying him in place. The throbbing in his forehead intensifies, and he groans, staggering forward and doubling over.

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Noah replies then, frowning. “Maybe I’ll give my mom a call, just to be safe.”

“Your mom?”

“Dr White,” Rafe supplies, forcing himself to straighten. He tries to control his breathing, ignore the way his surroundings seem to be spinning.

Everything except you. His focus acquiesces. He must look pale or something because your gaze is apprehensive, this pretty furrow in your brow that he wants to smooth his thumb over. God, he must look pathetic right now, weak and mildly concussed, the aforementioned bail notwithstanding.

So he lies, adding, “Don’t worry about it White, I’m good,” mostly for your benefit—so you don’t think he’s some fucking chump who can’t handle a bit of a tumble.

He wants to impress you, bad. He plasters on another grin, going for roguish and landing on dense. “Would be better if you let me take you out later.”

“No way you’re asking me out right now,” you reproach, sending him a glare. “You almost just died five minutes ago, and that’s the first thing on your priority list?”

“You are, yeah,” he agrees, still grinning. He tries to walk toward you, staggering a little. “Seriously though, this has gotta be fate — bailing real fucking hard and finding a beautiful stranger along the way.”

You blink. “Beautiful stranger?”

“Heavy on the beautiful,” Rafe agrees, lumbering forward clumsily.

“Stranger?” You repeat, and then you falter, glancing down at his feet. “Rafael —”

He loses balance far too quickly for you to intervene, and he falls against you heavily, causing you to topple into the snow. Biting cold on your back, delightful warmth on your chest. His instincts must be somewhat intact, because he manages to hold his weight up despite being right on top of you.

Like, right on top of you. A terrifying emotion sears through your chest. The smatter of freckles on his nose are almost faded, his cheeks a brilliant rouge, snow-burned lips parted slightly. His overgrown locks brush against your forehead, just.

“Sorry,” he breathes out, and then he pauses, his gaze flitting to your lips. In the beat that passes, he agonises over the soft planes of your face, how pretty your eyes are up close. His heart’s just about pounding through his skin. How kissable your lips look, your cheeks, your neck, how right your figure feels pressed into his. His palms feel clammy; that hasn’t happened in a long while. He thinks, oh shit. And then, I’m absolutely fucking fucked.

You swallow, watching his pupils dilate. “Cameron. I need you to focus for a second.”

“Listen,” he murmurs, ignoring you, “D’you believe in love at first sight?”

“Rafael —”

“Because I know we’ve only just met,” he continues, drawing closer still, his heady gaze deepening, “and that — shit, I don’t even know your name, but I’m pretty sure that if I don’t kiss you right now I’m going to go fucking insane. That’s crazy, huh? I think you make me crazy. Have I mentioned that you’re really fucking beautiful yet? It’s messing with my head. Wait — I think I might’ve said that already —”

“Rafe Cameron,” you interrupt again, your eyes widening slightly. “If this is some stupid prank —”

“Prank?” He echoes, frowning slightly. He leans forward a little, brushing his nose against yours. Your pulse jolts. “You’re a prank.” He groans then, dropping his head to your shoulder. Your closeness may quell the pounding a smidge, but not completely. “You’re not real are you? I’m dreaming all of this?”

Your lock eyes with Noah over his head, sending him a worried look.

“Rafael,” you try again, pushing him off you and sitting up carefully. “This isn’t funny. I’m so beyond serious.”

Rafe, still splayed out on the snow, angles toward you with a furrow in his brow. “I’m confused.”

“Noah,” you say then, your voice louder, a little panicked. “I think you will need to call your mom after all.”

Noah frowns, crouching down beside the pair of you. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong,” Rafe answers, groaning in pain as he sits up. “Is that I’ve made a fool out of myself in front of this gorgeous stranger.”

“Ask her,” you continue, your heart feeling a little odd, “how long post-concussion memory loss takes to wear off.”

Noah eyes widen, searching Rafe’s face for any signs of mirth. “No way,” he says. “He’s gotta be fucking with us.”

“There’s an us?” Rafe echoes, raising his eyebrows at Noah. “Dude. Did you know your girlfriend’s a fucking smokeshow?”

“If this is some new pick up line you’re trying,” he replies, eyeing him warily. “It sucks ass Cameron.”

“Oooh, territorial,” Rafe answers, grinning dopily. He props himself up further, leaning closer to you and lowering his voice to a stage whisper. “You’re totally out of his league, by the way. Pretty sure you’re like, out of the Earth’s league.” He frowns. “That doesn’t make sense,” then groans, “fuck. Having a concussion is like drinking on an empty stomach.”

The pillow of his bicep presses into yours, full well engulfing it. You turn to face him, chewing on your bottom lip worriedly. If this was his idea of a prank, you want to believe that he wouldn’t let it go on this long. Especially not when you and Noah look so concerned, the latter retrieving his phone to give his mother a call.

“Hey mom,” he says, sandwiching his phone between his shoulder and ear and getting to his feet. You do so too. Rafe staggers to a standing position far more clumsily. “Yeah — no — the snow’s been sick, but I’m calling because something’s happened with Rafe. No, no, nothing too serious, he’s just a little concussed and may have some temporary amnesia. I was wondering if…”

“Maybe we can go on a double date,” Rafe tries again, grinning hopefully. There’s a bit of snow that’s melted on your bottom lip from the fall, and he aches to thumb over it, tuck his fingers under your jaw. “You, Noah, me.”

“No, no, he remembers me,” Noah continues, sending you a significant look. “But he doesn’t remember — yeah, it’s pretty selective — uh, maybe a few meters? Uh… no, what the hell’s a trigger? I’ll…”

“What d’you reckon?” Rafe prompts.

Noah turns away and you move your gaze to Rafe, half amused, half exasperated. “You, me, and Noah? Who’re you going to bring?”

“You,” he replies, like it’s obvious.

“And Noah?”

“Me.”

You breathe out an exasperated laugh, shaking your head. Rafe thinks it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard. His already muddled brain short-circuits for the billionth time.

“…half an hour?” You hear Noah affirm, the frown on his features audible. “Yeah — no — it’s been just over that — a trigger like what, though? What d’you mean you don’t know him as well as I do, he’s been coming to our house since he was like six years old…”

You don’t realise your brow’s furrowing until your feel Rafe’s rough thumb brush over it. You startle, feeling your skin warm as you look up at him.

“I’m lucky,” he murmurs, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

You swallow. “Why?”

“You’re worried about me.” His hand drops to your jaw, thumb swiping over your cheek. You swallow instinctively. “And you’re way too beautiful to be worrying about someone like me.”

“You’ve lost your memory,” you answer weakly. “Anyone’d be worried.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He draws closer.

“Which part, exactly?”

“That people would worry,” he answers quietly, his voice gruff. Closer still. “That I’d forget about someone like you so easy.”

“But you have,” you prompt.

“Then remind me, sweetheart.”

“Not your sweetheart, Rafael,” you murmur, trying for a frown.

“Not my — wait.”

The thumb that’s swiping over your cheek freezes suddenly. “Wait,” he repeats, blinking several times. He scrunches his eyes shut, retrieving his hand to clutch it against his forehead. “Wait — fuck.”

You lean forward instinctively, tugging his arm away to look over his features, his concerning graze. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I knew…” he answers, shaking his head and groaning, “…but…shit, it’s so fucking obvious now —”

You furrow your brow in confusion, locking eyes with an equally bewildered Noah.

He holds his phone away from his ear, walking over and surveying Rafe’s features. “You good, brother?”

“Fine, shit,” Rafe curses again, scrubbing his hand over his face before meeting your gaze, chagrined. He grins hopefully. “That might’ve been quicker with true love’s kiss, though.”

You aren’t about to believe that he’s back without concrete evidence. “And my name is…?”

“Mrs Cameron,” he replies seriously.

You let out a scoff, more relief than indignation, catching the twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?”

“Maybe,” he answers, raising his eyebrows, “if you let me take you out I’ll be too busy to bail.”

You roll your eyes. “Nice try.”

“But I’m maimed, sweetheart,” he adds, brushing back his dirty-blonde locks to show off the forehead graze. He pouts for good measure. “C’mon. Not even a pity date?”

You shake your head exasperatedly, catching Noah’s eye over his shoulder. “You’ll take it from here?”

“What? You aren’t gonna hang out with us?” Noah asks, pressing the phone against his chest. “I thought you were my girlfriend, Y/N.”

“Off limits, bro,” Rafe says matter-of-factly.

You’re about to protest when he draws closer and ducks his head, his warm breath on your earlobe cutting you off. “I won’t ever do that again,” he murmurs, the smile on his face audible, “I promise.”

“Good,” you answer, frowning sternly.

“Oh, and Y/N?”

You turn toward him, startling at his closeness. “Hm?”

He grins wider, brushing his nose against your fleetingly. “Missed remembering you bad, dream girl.”

[val-cansalute]

𝙱𝙴𝚈𝙾𝙽𝙳 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝟶1

summary: - a prologue of sorts - you and ellie will never be the same. the words you exchange are so deep seated and visceral, an accumulation of all the hurt. hers are telling; the love she gives is nothing like yours, nowhere near as intense, nowhere near as desperate. she’s closed off to you, and she may never be open again. she’s leaving town before it is even given a proper ending, to go on tour now that her music career is taking off. this is the end. at least for a few years.

warnings: not rlly proofread bc i ball too hard, angst with no comfort yet, dw it’ll come, ellie is dealing with trauma, references to sex.

an: this shit is reaaaaally short cuz it’s just some context for the main story. unfortunately for me, bc whenever i start a story i get rlly anxious until its over, the next one prolly won’t be coming for a while since im gonna be travelling for a bit and i got quite a lot of stuff going on: love you guys, stay safe, never stop talking about palestine. do your clicks. :-)

masterlist

When you first saw Ellie, there were embers in her eyes - front of the pub, she didn’t even need a stage as she sang her heart out. Her captivating nature was enough to elevate her. Everyone else in the room faded to grey in the background, nothing more than a lively buzz punctuating the atmosphere. You were enraptured.

And she was too.

Hesitant glances from across the room at the same time each week, the music and the feeling was electric. The flush of her cheeks melted into the splotches of red from the sweltering heat each time she met your eyes. You sat on that same barstool; she stood in that same spotlight.

And when you started seeing each other, there were so many moments where you felt like your love for her was uncontainable. It spewed out of your pores and overwhelmed your senses every time she was near, even in spite of her soft and reserved demeanour.

It had a hold on you. Each time your lips met, it always became visceral for you, slow and sensual movements transforming into borderline aggression, tongue desperately searching her insides and tearing all the petals off the rose that was in her mouth. You wanted to consume her, suck her up and hold her in the comfort of your rib cage. She was everything to you.

And she was bound to fame. You knew it would come. She was made of stardust, and an aura so golden it would burst if confined in small town pubs any longer.

Sometimes, you gently trace the ridged edges of the polaroid pinned to your wall and feel a pool of warmth gather inside you at the feeling of familiarity her younger face brings. Her face, back then when her eyes seemed greener, her cheeks seemed fuller, her voice seemed clearer. It’s a sick feeling: nostalgia, remembering the way your intensity felt and what it has become.

If you stare too long, you’ll watch the grainy photograph melt and churn, the hues of her skin becoming duller and sunken inwards.

The house is quiet. It’s a silence so dense, you’re almost fooled into thinking Ellie isn’t home. But she is. She’s there, like a ghost lingering in the cracks of your walls.

It feels cold, with a lingering scent of whiskey and a heavy silence that creaks in the hollows of your ears, even for the weeks at a time that Ellie is home.

Maybe it’s a sick thought to have about the woman you would give up your life for, who you would do anything for, who you love more than anything in the world millions of times over, but you prefer it when there’s a distance between the two of you these days. Playing into that constant facade of everything being okay drains you of all your worth and for no return. Ellie gave up on it a while back. It’s just you prancing away solo on that stage now, like some jester.

You’ve become a slave to it, lost yourself out at sea trying desperately to make things okay, whatever that means. She'll never talk to you about it. There’s only scraps left to hide but she clings to them like they’re her lifeblood, tearing them away from you as if you’re just some stranger. Some stranger who watches her crumble to pieces and put herself back together, like she’s a damn mix and match, each time the memories come back to surface in her mind. You beg for more, for crumbs of her resolve but she’s gone. Not coming back.

Nothing has been okay. Nothing has ever been the same since Joel died. Ellie has never been the same. That day, he left and took a piece of her with him. A piece you know you’ll never get back.

There’s no room for argument, what is between the two of you is like glue that barely sticks, so you keep yourself deathly still and hold your breath with a pounding heart and complete desperation, not wanting to ruin anything further. But there’s so much you have to say, and no time to say it.

Instead, you watch her pull further away, see her eyes become duller, notice her absence get longer, feel the sex get colder, watch everything warp and twist and writhe until you’re beyond the point of no return. Until you’re not sure you trust her, or yourself, or the concept of anyone truly loving you the animalistic and self destructive way you loved them at any point in time.

It’s lonely on that island, watching her drift away, the person you thought completed you, she felt incomplete regardless of your presence.

You know the glue has faded when she turns to face you from the foot of the bed, looking so far away as she speaks.

"What? You're moving to LA?" She looks down at the fingers she’s twiddling, and takes a deep breath before continuing.

"Yeah, Max said it wa-"

"Well, how long?" You cut her off, already rising from the bed and moving closer. She meets your eyes but the look she gives doesn’t satiate your anxiety in any way, despite how you beg it to.

"... About that, we were thinking it might be… indefinite for now..."

Your heart stills in your chest and the blood rushes from your head. She can’t even look at you.

"Ellie. What the fuck… How are you just gonna dump this on me now? W-what about us? What are we gonna do? I already barely see you anymore,"

"I... I'm sorry but, I gotta do this. You know I do, if I'm gonna make a caree-"

Desperation takes over, your palms quivering erratically beneath you,

"Ellie… I know you care about your career, but, God, we've been together for so long. I love you so much, please don't do this to me,"

She raises her gaze to the ceiling and forces the lump down the dry, tight hollow of her throat,

"It's not forever, babe, I’ll come home.”

But you’re already shaking your head in dismissal of her blatantly dishonest words,

"You and I both know that that is not true. You’ve been desperate to go since it happened and I know I’m just an obstacle now.“

"That’s… That’s not true. I really can’t do this right now."

"You never can. And it’s because I fucking know you're not coming back, Ellie! And I'm not gonna sit around, waiting for you to call, only ever hearing about you through other people when we’ve been together for so many fucking years! I want you to be happy more than anything-“

"We can call.”

"But you fucking won't! And you're always drunk! You need to talk to me, Ellie, we're never gonna be okay if you don't!”

“I can’t be okay when I’m trapped here! All I can think about is him! I don’t eat, I don’t sleep!”

"But this isn’t gonna make anything better! We have something here! We said we would start a family together, Ellie… LA; you would never have wanted this… Okay? Joel would never have wanted this!"

She gets up and turns without a second thought at the sound of his name and your blood pressure spikes in complete desperation.

"Ellie, Ellie, please. I'm sorry. We can work through this, I promi-"

“I have to go.”

“No, you don’t! You aren’t being fair! You shut me out! You shut everyone out! I’ve been trying so fucking hard!"

"I know, and I’m fucking sorry, but I can't stay here, there's nothing left for me! I love you-"

Your voice is quiet and quivers with emotion that lulls her in, begging her to see that you need her - that she has always come first to you even if you’ve become secondary to her,

"Then prove it. Stay."

But her mind is already made up.

"… I can’t…”

You’re shaking your head,

“I have to do this.”

No, this is seriously the end.

“I'll come home."

You stop shaking your head and look at her.

“No. I can't wait around for you, Ellie, not when we’re like this. If you do this, it's over."

"That's up to you."

The rest of the night seems blurry to you. A deep despair festers to the brim of your skull. You can’t bring yourself to move once she’s gone, can’t bring your mind to calm itself down.

But once you do, the house is plunged into the darkness you encounter. The weight of Ellie still hangs thick in the air and lingers like a whine in the creaks of cold floorboards. As you leave the house you shared with Ellie, you pass through each room, switching the light on and then off, from top till the bottom, until you reach the last.

Click,

and then you leave, once and for all.

Pass round the bend and then by the sea. Watch the waves rise and then crash into each other, right where Ellie used to plant her feet beside you.

more pics of my cat bc she’s just so adorable 😩

[uplatterme]

MORAX, The Second.

MASTERLIST | BARBATOS | BEELZEBUL

cw: sub!zhongli, dragon hybrid!zhongli, jealous!zhongli, dom!reader, they/them pronouns, dacryphilia, drink spiking, overstimulation, orgasm denial, implied poly!zhongli and poly!reader

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ZHONGLI AND HAPPY NEW YEARS EVERYBODY! this is gonna be sappy so feel free to skip this note but i want everyone to know that i’m truly grateful for my readers and the commissions that i’ve gotten this year despite me being gone half of the year. i love you guys so much, let’s look forward to a year full of simping and i hope that everyone’s wishes will come true as well :D

———

Your visit to Liyue was uneventful, and you liked it that way, just needing a time to unwind especially with having too much on your plate lately. You planned on merely checking out newfound ores and jewelry to add to your collection. Unfortunately, things took a rather quick turn than your normal visits.

Your hands were on Zhongli’s collar, clutching them angrily despite the unfazed appearance of the archon. Your head hurt, you were dizzy and annoyed being woken up and put in this state by no one other than the man in your grasp. His eyes were serious and stern, acting like he didn’t understand what it was that he did wrong.

“You!” You slurred out. “You purposely made me drunk!”

“I…” He mused out, disappointed at how you’re behaving.

“My apologies, It wasn’t my choice to upset you.”

“You archons and your spoiled attitude… Is that a requirement for being one?” You sighed, letting go of the man and trying to regain yourself.

“Just weeks ago, Barbatos pulled a similar stunt. Seducing me, even.” You expanded on your reasoning for being angry.

“Did it work?” He questioned, a worried look on his face that he may have been too late.

You let out an amused laugh. “If it did?”

Silence seemed to fill the cave you were in and you found yourself idiotic for letting another god have his way without noticing it. You two had a meal, Zhongli calling over the waiter each time to refill your glass. Not wanting to seem rude, you kept drinking. 

The Geo Archon’s mood had been sour ever since you saw him. 

He put his arms around your waist, not letting you go and blocking the entrance with one of his structures.

“I…How do I say this? Must you really spend time with that drunkard and that girl more than me?”

You clenched your fists, his warmth relieving the coldness of the now dark cave as the light which was previously coming from outside was now shut. Your eyes only focused on Morax’s glowing ones.

“Morax… You and I both know that you’re different from Barbatos.”

You knew that both of them were the complete opposite. Morax was the one who thought of things in a more calculated manner. However, if one continued to store their feelings without a word, they would eventually come crashing down like a meteor.

“This isn’t something you’d normally do.” You restated so that it would be clearer for him.

“If it’s something to prove that I have fallen deeply, even comparable to the deepest layer of the earth for you, then it is. It is something that I would do.” His words would take even a bard for a surprise.

“I’m already bound to Barbatos. Does that not sadden you?” You questioned the god.

“It’s not something that I wish to be reminded of.” He admitted.

“I see. I’m still not happy about this but…should I make that the least of your worries?”

It didn’t take much for the god to be lost in a trance full of pleasure. It was as if he was a zither who’d let out a sound each time you plucked his strings. Perhaps it was due to the darkness making his senses twice more attentive but he was just too sensitive, far too sensitive.

It didn’t matter where your fingers lingered upon, his breath would hitch as he awaited for you. 

Undressing Morax revealed his toned body, shiny and gorgeous scales that beautifully decorated the human form that he took. 

“No amount of Mora could compare, Morax.” Your words made his heart flutter, he always liked it whenever you praised him.

It embarrassed him that he was already in this state when he was the one who said that he would seduce you. If he couldn’t even last long, how would he even be able to achieve that? He stopped your hand that was making its way to his cock, to your surprise.

“Is this not to your liking?” You asked.

No one may be around, but the rocks would always remember. They would remember everything, especially the contract that he had decided to make with you.

“It would be better if we were to make a contract.” He stated.

“A contract? For what?”

Morax bit his tongue, were you really forcing him to say it out loud? His cheeks heated up, thankful for the darkness that surrounded the cave.

“To not finish until penetration begins…”

You sealed your lips, not expecting him out of all people to say something like that. “Alright, and what if you do?”

“Then, you have the right to deal with my body as you wish.” 

“Big talk for someone as needy as you.” You said, latching your fingers to his nipples that had his cock twitching.

Zhongli’s sensitivity finally made sense. He probably hadn’t had sex in this human form of his, which was why each time you kept pushing his buttons, he already felt being sent over the edge.

Still, you knew how he was about contracts. He wouldn’t disappoint you now, would he?

Maybe you should take back your statement of him not being familiar with the art of seduction, especially with the way he fluttered his eyelashes at you as he moaned out loud, whispering your name under his breath.

“Haah!~” Zhongli spat out, feeling your teeth on his shoulder. You didn’t expect him to react so much from just a bite, but he is a dragon, perhaps having his skin hurt when he’s not used to any kind of pain was something he found pleasurable?

You haven’t even gotten to the best part yet and he was already providing so much.

Morax’s cock was something you needed to see to believe. His smooth skin contrasted with its rough and large shape. Moreover, he’s already oozing out cum more than the average man. If you weren’t paying attention, you would have mistaken it for him already being at his climax.

He yelped when he felt you grind against his groin, tears swelling up his eyes. You weren’t doing much, just allowing the friction from your clothes to do all the work for you. Yet, Morax is sobbing as he chanted your name like it was some sort of spell.

“Ugh, Please!” He screamed out, your fingertips lightly dancing on the tip of his hardened cock. He may have said it out loud but it looked more like he was saying it to himself, that he shouldn’t cum this easily.

His voice serenaded you even more when you grasp what you could of his cock and slowly started stroking up and down. His thighs quiver, seeking the warmth and movement from your hand. His body moving on its own, humping and grinding against the cage of your hands.

“Stop—stop! I can’t—Not yet!” He whimpered out desperately, the pleasure was too much to the point that his body was moving on its own accordance and he couldn’t do anything but to grit his teeth together, begging his own body to stop before he stepped out of line.

He faced down, face full of shame as he had no choice but to swallow in it, that he as the god of contracts, was unable to fulfill something that he proposed himself.

“Nghh-!” You pulled his ponytail like it was a collar, making him face you as he dwelled in the pleasure that you had given him oh so generously.

His vision is blurry, mind too hazy to think but he focused it on you. Your face which seemed to be judging his actions. He pushed down his sobs, holding them as much as he could, not wanting to receive your wrath.

“Good boy, I haven’t even said anything and you’ve already got it.” He sniffled, quieting down even if your movements had become more quick and rigorous. He was furiously shaking his head, begging for no more. If he couldn’t even take this, he’d just come off as someone narcissistic, someone that’s all talk.

His hands held onto your arms, drool dripping down to Morax’s chin. He wouldn’t be able to stop it anymore and he was letting you know that.

“Hmph! Ah-ah-ah!” 

His nails grew sharper and started digging into your skin, though it seemed as if he was unaware of it. You continued stroking his cock determining when he’d reach his limit. He looked like a mess, continuing to beg himself to stop although none of his pleas were to you.

You stopped at the right moment, his back arching, cum splattering on the floor. He didn’t cum. He didn’t, but he felt both disappointed and glad that he didn’t.

“Good job, Morax.” You congratulated him.

“You held back…” He said breathlessly.

“You should be thanking me and apologizing instead.” Morax glanced at your scratched arm and flushed a deep red.

“I-I apologize! It wasn’t–” You placed a finger on his lips.

“I’m still mad about everything. Don’t think just because I gave you what you want meant that I have forgiven you.”

He clicked his tongue. “I see. What will it take for me to be forgiven then?”

“I don’t know, just let me have my way with you while I think about it.” 

“Of course–Hn!” Zhongli choked out a sob. You didn’t even let him finish before you had attacked the god.

“You’re so fucking slutty, Morax. Look at how you crumble under me.” Your cold voice sent shivers down his spine, already cumming from having his insides played with.

Your words conflicted with his thoughts. Why was he so enamored of you to begin with? To the point that even if you throw such harsh words, he would still consider them as praise regardless.

He cried from the way you ravaged his walls, you were so forceful but it felt so damn good. Like you knew that this was just the kind of thing he was into.

You had him scratching the ground beneath him, unable to hold onto anything inside the cave. It’s cold, and the smell of alcohol you previously ingested mixed well with your smell. It was addicting, something he couldn’t get enough of.

His throat hurt from moaning nonstop, but how could he restrain himself when you’re fucking him as if there’s no tomorrow?

“Hmpf–Keep going!” He pleaded, knees bruised against the ground.

Morax shivered when he heard a crumble coming from his right ear. The structure that he’d placed there collapsed due to his senses being dumbed down. He whined as he realized that he could see everything, all the biting that you’d done to him, his legs sticky with his own cum and the marking that he’d accidentally placed onto you.

Worry came right after when he figured out that if the entrance was open, people could pass by or hear him. Or worse, any of the adepti would be able to hear the pathetic noises that he was making right now.

He shut his lips together, crying out instead of making any sound.

You slammed your legs even harder, Morax gasping as he shook his head at the pleasure that was overwhelming him, cumming again within just a few minutes.

“N-No more…” He begged, hoping that you’d take any kind of pity on him.

“You say that, yet you were the one who said yes. Just earlier you suggested that I may do what I wish with your body and now you’re taking it back?”

“Do you think that’s fair at all? Mr. God of Contracts?”

Morax reached his climax again and this time, the god growled. A dragon’s roar that was surely heard by everyone in Liyue.

You giggled. “Rex Lapis, you were supposed to be laying low. Is it that good?”

“Please–!” 

You sighed, not being able to believe that you were strapping another archon to your belt.

“Fine, but only because you’ve proven that you’d risk your identity to others to be with me.”

You don’t think you could handle two archons fighting over you and you’re sure that Barbatos already knew of what you two did. 

You’re just glad that Ei wasn’t like them.

Or so you thought.

[drchucktingle]

It’s Carly Tingle’s big day, the release of her first traditionally published horror novel, Camp Damascus. Unfortunately, Carly’s having trouble enjoying this moment as fear and chaos begin to swirl around her. She wants the book to do well, of course, but it slowly becomes apparent there’s more to Carly’s ambition than meets the eye.

Things get clearer when Carly revisits an old erotica short she’d written, titled Eaten Right By The Physical Manifestation Of My Pride And Excitement That The Lead Character Of My First Traditionally Published Horror Novel Is On The Autism Spectrum Just Like Me. This sets off a chain of fourth-wall breaking events that will send Carly on an adventure unlike any other.

Now at the book shop, Carly will come face-to-face with the beautiful physical manifestation of her pride and excitement as an autistic artist, culminating in an erotic lesbian encounter that could inspire generations to come.

This erotic tale is 4,300 words of sizzling human on sentient physically manifested excitement in the form of a punctuation mark action and lesbian autistic pride love.

----

please enjoy EATEN RIGHT BY THE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF MY PRIDE AND EXCITEMENT THAT THE LEAD CHARACTER OF MY FIRST TRADITIONALLY PUBLISHED HORROR NOVEL IS ON THE AUTISM SPECTRUM JUST LIKE ME out now for free but asking for donation to AUTISTIC SELF ADVOCACY NETWORK

MORE ABOUT THIS TINGLER:

hey there buckaroos i would like to use today to talk on something that is very important to me. i have talked a lot about my journey as a bud on the autism spectrum, and about how I LOVE BEING AUTISTIC.

my story on the spectrum is not a struggle. my way was diagnosed in early twenties, but because of way of masking VERY FEW BUCKAROOS WOULD EVEN NOTICE. it has given me ability to hyper focus and get large amounts of writing done, to find creative ideas neurotypical buds might miss, and to have a unique perspective on life on this timeline.

HOWEVER as man name of chuck my pride in this way used to make me uncomfortable, thinkin i should not share my story. there are many buds on this spectrum who have a MUCH harder time than chuck, and i want to respect the VERY IMPORTANT AND VERY REAL struggles of my fellow autistic buckaroos. for long time i did not feel like it was my place to share and say ‘personally, i wouldnt change my autistic trot for anything. i think being autistic is very cool’

but as tingleverse got more fans and buckaroos started listening to my words more i started thinking: THIS is an opportunity to prove love. part of the reason i am PROUD of my spectrum way is because FIRST INTERACTION with idea of this trot (was called aspergers way back then) was to realize that ALL MY HEROS were on this spectrum: david byrne of band TALKING HEADS being number one.

my FIRST INTERACTION with this idea was not ‘whoa this is tragic’ it was ‘whoa the coolest buckaroo on the PLANET is the same as me’

POINT IS i have been on this timeline a while now and now i am in this position myself. i can be the one buckaroos see when they learn this about themselves and think: WOW LOOK AT THIS WILD ARTIST I ADMIRE BREAKING THE NORMS AND CHARTING A NEW TROT THROUGH THIS TIMELINE WE ARE BOTH AUTISTIC THIS IS THE HECKIN COOLEST

most of the characters i write are probably a little on the spectrum because they are comin from inside chucks head. i look back and notice this and laugh, but other than a single tingler i rare actually OUTRIGHT SAY this character is autistic. i decided that FIRST BIG HORROR NOVEL WITH A TRADITIONAL PUBLISHER was a good time to change this. while i write erotica most of the time which means NO YOUNG BUCKAROOS ALLOWED, horror is a little different. buckaroos young and old can read CAMP DAMASCUS and think ‘i see myself in this autistic hero and I FEEL COOL’

EVEN WRITING THIS NOW makes me get teary eyed and emotional, because these feelings of belonging and positive representation were SO IMPORTANT to me. i would not be trotting here without these autistic heroes, and now i have been given the chance to create one of my own with CAMP DAMASCUS and WITH MYSELF just by being chuck and talking openly about my joyful, exciting, artistic trot on the spectrum.

WITH ALL OF THIS IN MIND i am releasing a brand new tingler called EATEN RIGHT BY THE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF MY PRIDE AND EXCITEMENT THAT THE LEAD CHARACTER OF MY FIRST TRADITIONALLY PUBLISHED HORROR NOVEL IS ON THE AUTISM SPECTRUM JUST LIKE ME for free. HOWEVER i am requesting that if you choose to read you send your three dollars (or whatever donation you would like) to the AUTISTIC SELF ADVOCACY NETWORK. this way 100 percent of all profits will go to them. (WARNING this is actual erotica so no young buckaroos allowed for this one).

all ages (who are old enough to read horror) can preorder CAMP DAMASCUS at any bookstore. i also have a tingler name of NOT POUNDED BY THE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF SOMEONE ELSE'S DOUBT IN MY PLACE ON THE AUTISM SPECTRUM BECAUSE DENYING SOMEONE'S PERSONAL JOURNEY AND IDENTITY LIKE THAT IS INCREDIBLY RUDE SO NO THANKS that is pound free so all ages can read so check that out if you would like.

thank you for blessing me with a space to explore these ideas. i am so thankful to be here with you and you have treated me so well. i am eternally grateful for our tort together and look forward to the future we craft on this timeline.

LOVE IS REAL - chuck

[incognitopolls]

hi, i sent in a comment back when one (not me) anon said they were unfollowing due to constant cisnormativity and gender essentialism in the polls. you didn't answer my ask back then, or maybe the ask disappeared since tumblr does that sometimes, but i would appreciate it if you would answer this, because i think it would be beneficial for everyone to actually talk about this openly.

i'd just like to ask, knowing that you may edit polls submitted to be more inclusive and clearer, why is the recent poll about preferences for a partner's pubic hair specifically for people with penises? and if there is another poll coming that's the same but for people with vaginas, i'm wondering why it would be necessary for a question like it to be separated like that. personally i don't see how that would make a big, or more importantly an interesting difference in the results. to me all it seems like it's doing is excluding intersex people and supporting this idea of "the two sexes" being fundamentally completely different from each other and someone's genitals playing a big part in defining people's preferences.

i'm not intending this as a hate comment, but as a genuine request for conversation around this subject, as you yourself said to the anon that unfollowed, that you'd like to hear about their side. i know i'm not said anon, but i think we're kind of talking about the same subject here, and recently there's been a lot of polls here separating people via genitals, and it's beginning to make me feel a little uncomfortable, in big part due to it implying that a huge portion of people here see gender and/or sex as a binary, and that people on the opposite ends of that binary are fundamentally different from each other due to their sex/gender.

apologies for the long ask, i just really wanted to avoid misunderstandings so i may have rambled a bit more than necessary.

Hi! Thanks for bringing up your concerns. The way I interpreted that question is that anon was curious whether pubic hair affects the sensation on the penetrating partner‘s penis, or whether pubic hair can be a hindrance– for example, acting as a barrier, or adding friction.

The original question was only aimed at people with penises, and I hadn’t planned on posting any variations for different genitals because (from what I’m assuming about anon’s curiosity) the question is so specific in asking about the sensation and/or logistics for a penis navigating around hair. I don’t think it would be helpful or yield any interesting data to post the same poll for people with other genitals. 

In this case, I think my error was in not specifying “does a partner’s pubic hair affect the sensation on your penis during penetration?”. That’s the question I think anon was trying to ask, but unfortunately it was more clear in my and anon’s heads and didn’t come across in writing as clearly as I thought I was saying it. 

Also, in response to the sentiment that there have been a lot of genital-related polls lately, there have been about 3 in the past 2 weeks, or about 3%. (7 polls per day; 49 polls per week; 98 polls every two weeks.) I understand if it seems like a lot, but the actual saturation is fairly low. I'm saying this not to dismiss you, but in the hopes of reassuring you that this blog is not shifting to become more heavily focused on separating people's genitals.

I got a number of helpful messages about the previous conversation on dyadism. I didn't respond to them due to some things in my personal life that limited my time, but I read them and have them saved as a reminder to myself when writing up polls so that I can continue to make these polls more inclusive of intersex people– I promise those messages weren’t ignored.

[wallterwall]

day 32

if you like my (cybrthrillz) content, please read this

tw for self harm and suicidal ideation

i want to take a break

this is not a victory or a win for anyone. if anything all of the harassment and relentless targeted hate has only made me even more motivated to make this little space ive created a more accepting place, and i will continue to be a voice of support for "weird and contradictory" queer identities because we all deserve to be happy and accepted

but, for a long time ive been putting myself in harms way, generally neglecting my own needs for the sake of other people, because i dont care about what happens to me as long as other people are happy and safe, and right now i dont think i can keep pushing myself like that anymore. im tired

i havent had a s/h problem since middle school but now those urges are resurfacing again when i thought id never have to deal with that again

i havent been able to relax or enjoy any of my time without having dreadful thoughts in the back of my mind

ill probably be changing things going forward too, or maybe things wont be changing at all. i dont know. i just know that i want to try and relax and watch those movies ive been meaning to watch and play more video games without feeling guilty that im not using my time for drawing.

the controversies have wounded me a lot but unfortunately regretevator is still my main hyperfixation so ill have trouble getting myself to draw anything else and i dont think i want to really avoid it. so ill still be drawing, but ill be drawing for myself without really worrying about posting schedules. ill still be active on discord, tumblr, instagram

im not going to kill myself today, nor am i going to in the future. because whether some people want to believe it or not, i know and my friends know that i always try my best to be a considerate and kind, overall good person. i know that i genuinely have positively impacted many people in life. i hope that ill be able to go back to regularly posting soon with a clearer state of mind because your support has genuinely improved my life both emotionally and financially, and i couldnt be more grateful.

but right now, its okay to be a little selfish for my sake. and i hope that you all can understand and be patient with me. thanks for stickin around

[bernardisgross]

Bim bam boum ! Here's the whole comic i drew for Crossroads @zine--garden , a zine focused one showing and sharing love for Hunter x Hunter ^^

I chose to focus on my two favorite teachers !!!

Bonus, making of & talk in the read more⬇

I was very happy to be able to participate and even more happy to finally share a headcanon i've had for years about Bisky and Wing's meeting.

I don't know how clear it is but basically, Wing is a young nen user who happens to have been taken in by a big criminal family. The boss is using his abilities to forge precious gems from cheap materials, passing them as precious gems he bought for his collection. As a renown collector, he also sells the gems and makes tons of money from it. As Wing's skills become sharper though, his forged gems become more and more precious, making it difficult to tell them apart from real ones.

Having sold a good gem in a batch of "bad" ones, the boss is trying to get it back, framing his client as a thief. He calls for Bisky (a "young" hunter with a good resume) planning to trick her into committing insurance fraud in his place. Unfortunately, she's got a better eye than he thought, and asks for the good gem as compensation.

Feeling antsy about his money, the boss accepts, already planning to get rid of her once the job is done.

Bisky can sense the residual nen from Wing the moment she meets him, that's why she demands he comes with her. She wants to make sure at first that this is a normal child in the wrong place rather than the boss's actual associate.

Making him her disciple just came along the way because she honestly didn't know what to do with that kid LOL but didn't want to return him to a bad place. Also, she saw his potential. Here's a rejected final page (rejected bc I couldn't tie the text properly and wasn't very happy with the visual) where it's a bit clearer that she's got back with the good gem and values it a lot BECAUSE it was made by Wing. (also metaphor, analogy blabla)

I love teachers/masters in stories, i love that trope so much!! It's always so interesting to me to have someone older and wiser share their knowledge with the young waiting for nothing in return. Nurturing and loving, becoming a support with the only satisfaction to witness the growth and blossoming of someone else. I think it's so beautiful to help others in this way, to give a little of yourself with kindness.

I think if touches on other tropes i'm sensitive to like found family etc... So of course, i've loved Bisky & Wings for a looong time, and i'm even more obsessed with the fact they're on the same line of teachers 🥺💕

I was always curious about how they could have met and what could have moved Bisky to take him under ... her ..................... wing.....🔥🔥🔥 lol... anyways !!! I went full indulgence and comics are not my thing at all so if you've enjoyed it, i'm very very, very blessed and happy ^^ !!!

I've also included a rejected sketch of the cover with big Bisky :3

and here's a look at all her outfits !! I love Lolita alt fashion soo much, i do tend to latch onto characters who dress like this... and love making my own outfits for them too !!!

I also made a sticker of Palm for the merch bundles !!

Thank you so much if you've picked up Crossroads, it was great from the start !! I'm so lucky and so grateful to @/gachahugs and all the contributors for having me ^^ !! thank you thank you !

[pariahsparadise]

ye of little faith | e. p.

nav. | m.list

summary: eustace doesn't believe that edmund has a girlfriend.

wc: 800

pairings: edmund pevensie x fem!reader

warnings: VERY unedited. also it's 1am and i just wrote this in a burst of inspiration, so please don't expect it to be good.

a/n: i don't really know if this will make sense to anyone lol, i think i wrote it in a confusing way, but hopefully it's okay. it's mostly eustace's pov, i wanted to try something new. also, this exact scenario has been in my head for months now.

“There’s no way he has a girlfriend,” Eustace tells Lucy, barging into the room. She immediately knows who he’s talking about, able to hear Edmund on the phone downstairs, voice softer than it usually is, taking the tone he automatically opts for when he speaks to Y/N.

“Why?” Lucy asks, half-heartedly entertaining her annoying cousin while she thumbs through the pages of her book. Unfortunately for her, Eustace Scrubb brightens at the attention, straightening up and launching into a rather well-thought out spiel.

“First of all, it’s Edmund we’re talking about. He’s awkward, way too hostile and bad-tempered. Not to mention, he’s barely of average height, and his hair? Absolutely ridiculous.”

“Y/N likes it,” Lucy says mildly, earning a scoff from Eustace.

“Y/N.” he says with disbelieving scorn, “As if she actually exists. You expect me to believe that a woman as beautiful and intelligent as you lot claim she is would actually be interested in Edmund? And so interested that she calls and writes to him multiple times a week? Yeah, right. I bet that Ed’s hired an escort to help him forget about how lonely he actually is. Or he’s paying some poor girl to play the part of a caring partner.” Eustace has had many such theories, the more creative ones dealing with blackmail and holding family members hostage, but so far, monetary imbursements seem to be the most likely.

“Sure, Eustace,” Lucy mumbles, having checked out of the conversation a while ago. He shakes his head at her disinterest, convinced that he is right, and leaves the room, muttering to himself disbelievingly.

A few days later, a painting gushes out water and swallows them whole, so poor Eustace, although having taunted his cousins with his skepticisms about the magical land of Narnia and called them fools for believing in the same, is forced to confront that he was wrong. 

Eustace is soaking wet and miserable, still slightly panic infused. He can’t believe his eyes, convinced that he hallucinated the last fifteen minutes. Sitting on the ship, the Dawn Treader, he watches as his cousins are recognised as King and Queen. He’s related to royalty. 

With a humorous snort, he realises that this is more believable than Edmund Pevensie having a girlfriend.

Hell, even the talking rat next to him is more believable.

He goes to voice the same, but is distracted by a joyous whoop descending from the sky, followed by a splash in the ocean. Eustace is too busy trying to catch a glimpse of the figure underwater to notice the hopeful glances Edmund and Lucy exchange, the faint tremour in Edmund’s hands as he snatches a telescope from a passing crew member, getting a clearer view.

“It is her!” Ed cries, only barely held back from jumping overboard by Caspian, who laughs fondly at the Just King. Eustace tries to hear what the Prince tells Edmund, but all noise turns to mush the second he sees the young woman surface, a brilliant smile on her face.

At first glance, he thinks it’s a siren. He’s heard stories about their enchanting beauty and ethereal forms, and Eustace does genuinely believe that this woman is too gorgeous to be human like he is. As she swims closer, though, and the ship's crew help pull her onto the ship, Eustace notices the lack of a tail. And though her hair is soaked and strewn across her face, and her clothes suction themselves to her skin, none of it takes away from her radiance.

It also doesn’t distract him from the fact that she’s walking right towards him. 

Eustace’s mouth goes bone dry, and he gulps nervously, afraid she’ll talk to him and afraid she won’t, when suddenly, Edmund swoops past him and towards the woman. He snatches her up in a passionate embrace, hands securing her to him as he twirls her around in sheer delight.

When they kiss, chaste but heady, Eustace decides that he has never actually known anything about anything.

He’s scouring the sky for flying pigs when he hears Edmund’s self-satisfied voice behind him, “And this, my very real girlfriend, Y/N, would be my cousin, Eustace Scrubb.”

“How do you do?” Eustace says weakly, extending a hand, trying his hardest not to faint when you take it.

“Pretty well. If only Edmund would- what was it again?- stop holding my family hostage, I think I’d be great,” you rib amiably, throwing back one of Eustace’s earliest theories back into his now scarlet face.

“No, darling, you’ve got it wrong, I’ve currently got your dogs kidnapped and ready to be shipped to the pound, remember?” Edmund joins in on the fun, his smile widening as he earns a couple of chuckles from you, and a darker flush from Eustace’s cheeks. 

Eustace Scrubb, though unwilling, is forced to admit, after watching the two of you interact, gravitating towards each other naturally, at ease with the love that surrounds you, his cousin’s eyes brighter than he’s ever seen them, that it is very believable for Edmund Pevensie to be dating Y/N L/N after all. 

[majesty-madness]

Within the Cover of Night - Arthur Morgan x reader (sfw)

Summary: At first, she thinks it’s nothing but her imagination; that because of the life she lives, she’s letting her paranoia get the better of her. And then she’s snatched up in the dead of night by a pair of unfamiliar hands. 

Word Count: 3500+

Warnings: established relationship between Arthur and Y/N, horror themes, kidnapping, stalking, violence, blood, injury, cursing, pissed off Arthur, crying, attempted rape, mentions of sexual assault, panic attack, attempted murder, serial killer, hostage situation, brief escape, comfort 

a/n: Not proofread. This is a very intense part two (and final), if you couldn't tell from the tags. However I will say that whenever I write something, I make sure to list the content in the warnings because I do not want anyone to be surprised (which has happened to me several times in my years of reading fanfiction, unfortunately). So if you do not see it explicitly mentioned in the warnings, it is not contained in the story at least when it comes to more serious or dark themes such as this. Just an FYI.

Main Masterlist

Commissions are available so don't forget to check that out!

HOUR ONE

HOUR TWO (final)

There’s a pressure, a pounding assaulting her temples. 

First there’s only darkness, what looks like an infinite void of nothing but slowly, the dark seeps away to give way to an orange flickering light. The blurriness of her vision gives way to clearer sight as the seconds tick by, and when she gathers the strength to lift her head, she sees him. 

It was the man from Strawberry.

Y/N lets out a gasp that echoes in the cave around causing the man to swoop forward from his sitting position, inching closer to her. 

“Shh, shh, shhh, everything is okay. You’re alright.” 

She attempted to scoot further away from the man but the thought quickly escaped her when her back collided with the rock wall behind her. The man stopped a few feet from her, eyes cascaded darkly by the single lantern before them.

“Let me go, you bastard! Let me go!” 

Even as the words fell into silence, Y/N could sense the malevolence shrouding him like a cloak. Especially, the moment that a smirk crested against his lips. 

“My my, you are beautiful. Compared to the others, you are a goddess.” 

His choice in words caused her to pause, contemplate. “Others?” She hated the way her voice quivered when the words left her mouth. 

“Oh yes. Don’t misunderstand me, they were all beautiful but it was in an…” He stopped, pondering what word he wanted to use, his face twitching in thought. “eccentric way; unique to each of them. Though I can’t say that was a bad thing.”

The pit in her stomach sank deeper with a cold chill pointedly reminding her this wasn’t the first time he’d done this. There had been other women, others that he had done God knows what to. But the way he was speaking about them made it seem like they were-

“Like my first, she was pretty. She had this long black hair softer than satin, and reflected the light like no other. Despite that, she had a speech impediment so I had to keep her gagged.” He stood from his slightly crouched position to begin pacing back and forth. 

Y/N watched him while he continued his monologue.

“Oh! And a few months ago, there was Isabell; blonde hair, fair skin, thin, perfect lips. She was a gift from the unsuspecting eye, but when I finally got her down to her chemise there was a rather unappealing birthmark across her collar.” He scoffed, “Didn’t like that.”

She felt the tension within her body rising, her muscles clenching and shaking with anxiety, the tips of her fingers turning cold from the nerves, and heart thumping at a bruising pace against her ribs. 

What kind of man; human could say these things?

“Though, Mary-Ann, she was special. She had a way about her, the way she carried herself; she had fire that girl. Not surprising, she had the reddest curly head of hair I ever did see. That’s not to mention those emerald dipped eyes.” In the midst of his description of this woman’s eyes, he jerked his head over to Y/N, enjoying the shell-shocked expression on her face. 

“And all those girls felt soo…good.” He ran his hands fully over his face, drifting promiscuously down his chest to his hips; his rolling back of his eyes and the sharp inhale of breath left little to the imagination of what he did to them. 

What he forced them to do.

He paused for a moment, letting the eeriness fall in and permeate the air with a suffocating weight. Then without warning, he whipped his head back to her, now taking slow methodical steps toward her. 

“Unfortunately, they didn’t love me enough. Didn’t appreciate me enough, but they were failures; the trials to my final prize.” Once he’s only mere inches from Y/N does he crouch down on one knee, extending his hand out to grip her chin with his thumb and forefinger.

Her skin crawled, prickling with the sensation of being dirty, covered in grime.

“You. You’ll love me. I can tell, you’re different.” With his manic eyes, he caresses her cheek with surprising gentleness. “You’ll love me, right?” 

No. Is what flashed to the front of her mind, but her mouth uttered something else. 

“Of course.” She breathed inside a heavy exhale she didn’t realize she was holding in. 

The words felt disgusting, wrong as they left her and hovered in the air. No matter how much her body wanted to scream and curse him out to set her free, her mind flipped the script and decided that the best way to escape was to placate him in his sick game. 

Y/N watched as the man unnervingly grinned and hopped up to a full standing position. “Wonderful. First things first, we need to get you some clothes. It’s proper for a woman to wear more feminine attire.” 

He gestured to her riding pants and button up shirt tucked into her waistband as he sauntered off into the darkened cave. 

Bastard. 

Y/N silently swore, eyes drifting from what she assumed was the entrance of the cave and the environment around her. She skimmed all around for any kind of sharp object that could be used to cut her free, but none existed. It seemed that he was more thorough than she originally thought. 

And now that she was looking around she paid more attention to what was actually contained with this, mining shaft as it were. There was the lantern still sitting in front of her, but there was also a second one in a near corner and it illuminated a padded bedroll with a pillow. 

The mere sight of it caused a bubbling in her stomach and burning sensation inside her throat. Her mind began to imagine the most horrible things if she let him take her to it. 

Thoughts of him forcing her to lay down, tearing her clothes from her body, all the while he’d trail poisonous kisses against her flesh making her flesh feel as though it were rotting and his hands caressing her skin with sandpaper before he did the unthinkable.

“No! No, that’s not gonna happen.” Y/N pleaded to herself, shaking her head briefly to wave the vulgar thoughts away.

Snapping her from those thoughts were the sound of footsteps echoing through the mine. 

Her eyes whipped over to the sound, gulping down the saliva gathering in her throat, trying to steady the heart that beat so wildly inside her ribcage. 

The man turned the corner with an obvious outfit in hand, a simple white blouse and plaid skirt. “This should do you very nicely.”

He walked over to her, setting the skirt onto the ground and throwing the shirt on top. 

Y/N shifted uncomfortably as she set the trap. “Can you take these ropes off me?” 

“Excuse me?” He said incredulously, raising a brow at the suggestion. 

“Well..” Y/N tilted her head, bit her lip, as she tried to appear more docile. Innocent. “I can’t change in those clothes, if my hands are tied up. Don’t you want me to be pretty for you?”

In his moment of contemplation, Y/N thought he’d flat out refuse. His lip quirked up, and he clicked his tongue like it was a difficult question. However, to her surprise, he let way to a smile. “Of course, darling. You make an excellent point.”

He leaned down and yanked her up with one swift motion. “As long as you promise to behave for me, dear.”

Y/N nodded slowly and without hurry for fear that any expression of emotion would upset him. 

Softly, he untied the itchy ropes from her wrists leaving her standing awkwardly in front of him. It took a second before he gestured to the clothes. “Well?” 

Arthur suddenly flashed to her mind, giving her the false presence that he was with her right now and she silently hoped that he would forgive her for what she was about to do. Hesitantly, she began to unbutton her own blouse followed shortly by her pants leaving her in her bloomers. 

Once she got the fabric off her, the heat of shame flowed through her cheeks from standing so exposed in front of a man she didn’t know. The reality of it almost sent her to tears, but she hardened her resolve to appear calm for she needed him to let down his guard for her escape. Although she could sense the hunger in his eyes even if she tried her best not to look at him.

She started on the blouse first, and it was on in less than a minute so she switched to the skirt. The skirt itself was by no means complicated, but it took some adjustment to get it around her hips and it was in the middle of doing so that an idea popped into her head. 

Instead of methodical tugs on the garb to fit, Y/N tugged hastily, and with seeming difficulty around her body (not to mention a few puffs of air to sell her plight).

“What is it, my love?” 

Y/N huffed again, pouted almost. “I’m..having some trouble. It doesn’t seem to want to-” 

Without warning, she fell forward; tripping on her own feet and into his arms. The man’s arms instinctually extended out to break her fall and Y/N’s hand inconspicuously smoothed over his waist to feel for a weapon. 

No gun, no knife. She concluded, moving onto her next move. 

“Clumsy.” He uttered condescendingly causing Y/N to dip her head back to gaze up at him and give him the best doe eyes she could muster. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” 

He chuckles as he brings a hand up to cup her cheek. “It’s alright, you didn’t hurt me.”

From his waist, Y/N brought her hands to rest on the back of his neck. “Oh yeah?” She tugged him a little closer to her and smiled. “Well, that’s too-”

She brought up her right knee in an upward motion, managing a single blow to the man’s groin. “Bad!” 

A choked moan from his mouth punctuated the dark cave and he fell to his knees and when he did so, Y/N gave him one quick jab to the side of his jaw and made a run for it down the same way he had returned. 

Her rapid footsteps reverberated off the stony walls, along with her shallow breaths for oxygen as she sprinted for the exit. In the first few minutes of running, and she only kept seeing the rock surrounding her, Y/N worried that they were a lot deeper inside than she suspected which devolved into the thought that this could be a maze. 

Those thoughts were dashed once she caught the night of the starry sky. 

It was cool outside despite the hot sun during the prime hours of the afternoon. The open air cold water against her burning lungs, the sound of trees rustling in the wind a sweet symphony, the light of the full moon a beacon of hope. 

To her immediate right, there was a well traveled footpath leading, maybe, ten feet until the drop off to the solid dirt floor. She wasted no time hiking down the trail. Y/N was in such an adrenaline fueled hurry that she ended up actually tripping the last few feets and rolled on the forest green grass below her. But she crawled her way from the ground to begin in a mad sprint toward the trees where a populated trail would more than likely be. 

She burst through the shrubbery, avoiding many rocks, fallen logs, and dirt holes in the process. 

It took several minutes (though it felt like hours) before Y/N caught a glimpse of a road just beyond the treeline. 

A glimmer of relief surfaced from the depths of her fear and repulsion of that man. 

So close, she was so close. 

Just then, a brutal force from behind tackled her to the forest floor.

She knew who it was, she didn’t need to look and with that retaliation, the panic flooded her veins and she let out a blood curdling scream. 

“Shut up!” The man shouted over top of her screaming. 

They tussled with each other on the grass, Y/N attempting with all her might to pull away from him and the man pulling her under him and pinning her hands above her head. 

“Let me go! Let me go, you bastard! Just let me go!” Y/N continued to screech and now, beginning to cry, for the fear became too much to contain. 

With her plea, the man ripped the front of her shirt open to expose her to the open air. “You should’ve done what you were told, you little slut! Now, I’m gonna show you who you belong to!” 

He leaned down to harshly kiss her neck, running his tongue along the pressure point all while Y/N kicked and screamed and cried and begged for him to just stop. 

“HEY! You get away from her, you son of a bitch!” The growl of a voice shouted from somewhere. 

Y/N opened her eyes to witness the man being yanked off of her and thrown to the ground again, only this time someone was on top of him, and this time, met with the fury rage of another man’s fists. 

Through the bleary tears, she saw the back of a familiar tan jacket along with a familiar black hat. 

Could it be?

The touch of someone’s hand made her jump, almost recoiling from the sensation. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay. You’re alright.” 

She recognized that voice. 

“Charles?” 

“Yeah, it’s me. Everythings’ okay now. Let’s get you out of here.” He gently coaxed, lifting his hand out for her to take. 

In a daze, she took his hand in her’s in order to let him lift her from the ground. Once she was standing, he tried leading her away from the man but she stopped. 

“Wait, I want to see.” 

Charles offered no rebuttal or suggestion, opting to let Y/N do what she wished and turn back to the event unfolding in front of them. 

Before her, Arthur, the man she loved so dearly, was beating the life out of the man that had threatened her mere moments ago. By this point, the man’s face was covered in blood and one eye was horribly swollen, turning shades of purple. 

The sight of it was awful, downright brutal as Arthur brought down blow after blow to the man’s more than broken cheekbone. Yet seeing him in pain as Arthur wore a pure predatory expression sparked the slightest bit of satisfaction in her gut.

After what that man had done, not only to her; kidnapping her, and attempting to have his way with her, but what he did to all those other women, he would pay for it. And perhaps the law would have caught him someday, who knows? But that didn’t matter, not now, not to an outlaw who had nothing to lose except the love of a woman who he’d thought he never deserved.

In a split second, Arthur had stopped punching the man in order to begin choking him to death. He gasped, sputtered for air as his hand desperately grabbed Arthur’s jacket sleeves to somehow loosen his grip. It quickly proved useless especially when the man’s eyes finally closed, and the rapid breathing of his chest slowed to nothing. 

Arthur pulled his bloodied hands away, stumbling back as he came back to standing. His body contracts with the stuttering breaths of heightened exhaustion. 

“Arthur…” 

Barely a word, a whisper really, regardless it draws his attention. The hardened expression full of a white hot rage softens to one of unadulterated love. 

“Y/N…” 

He rushes to her, nearly colliding with her but once he takes her into his hold, she wraps her arms around him tightly fearing that if she let go, he would disappear along with her hope that she had survived. 

“Oh Arthur..” The beginnings of a deeply wounded sob burst from her mouth, tears rolling down her face. 

Arthur cradled the back of her head and held her back, whispering sweet words into her hair. “Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here, I’m here. I gotcha.” 

He proceeded to press kiss after kiss into her hair, temple, and cheek while he gently rocked her back and forth. 

“He..he was gonna-” 

Y/N started but Arthur quickly cut her off from her train of thought. “I know, I know, you don’t gotta say it. But he ain’t gonna hurt you ever again nor anyone else, I promise.”

She cried harder at his loving proclamation causing him to hug her tighter.

Charles, who had been standing off to the side, carefully took a few steps toward the couple. “Arthur, we should go.” 

Arthur’s eyes flicked up to meet Charles’ and nodded before gently tugging Y/N away to look at him. “Let’s get outta here, okay?”

She simply nodded, saying no more as Arthur led her to his horse nearby. He got up on the saddle first, then extended his hand down to Y/N which she happily took and resided to sit behind him, letting her arms wrap tightly around his waist and bury her face in his back. The smell of smoke and gunpowder with a hint of the earthy forest filtered through her nose, soothing over her every nerve. 

His distinct, musky aroma brought her back to the sweetness of his love and adoration for her; a sense of being that brought about the comfort of undeniable safety. 

Before she knew it, they were in motion; the familiar bouncing of being on horseback allowed Y/N time to readjust back to reality. The entire ride back to camp was a long, tired one. Once the surge of adrenaline had worn off, her body began to feel the effects; particularly the urge to sleep. 

She had such a difficult time keeping her eyes open that she barely noticed when they’d finally gotten back and Arthur helped her down from the horse. 

As soon as he escorted her to sit on his cot, she snapped out of her sleepy state.

“You with me, darling?” 

Y/N finally looked up at him out of her daze, “Yeah, I’m with you.”

He nodded, suddenly pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing it against her cheek. 

“What’s wrong? Is there dirt on my face or something?” Y/N asked, pulling her head away. 

“No, but you got a cut on your cheek; bled quite a bit.” Arthur softly answered as his hand hovered in the air, waiting for her to let him help. 

“Oh..” She uttered, leaning back to let Arthur wipe off her, unknowingly, bloody cheek. 

A couple of quiet minutes passed of Arthur focusing hard on wiping away the blood, and Y/N watching him. Her eyes first observed on his own green-ish blue eyes then down to his lips, then to the old scar on his chin; the one she’d spent days memorizing, and eventually to his wickedly bruised knuckles, obtained when he beat her would be rapist to death. It got her wondering.

“How did you find me?” 

“Uh…” He breathed for a moment, startled from his deep thoughts, “It wasn’t too long after you were taken that Charles and I followed the tracks left behind. It was actually Charles who had realized something was wrong. He woke up everyone in camp and then we started after you.”

“In the dark?” Y/N asked surprised. 

More often than not, she was advised against hunting or tracking at night. It was nearly impossible to track at that time especially with moonless skies, and it was also more likely that you'd get lost or start following your own tracks so to hear that Arthur and Charles followed her through the forest at night shocked her. 

“Of course.” He huffed as if the answer was obvious, “After you told me about that little confrontation in Strawberry, I wasn’t about to wait ‘til morning.” 

She watched as Arthur swiped the handkerchief across her cheek one final time before setting it on the table nearby, figuring he’d probably wash it when he got up tomorrow. He stood from his crouched position in front of her to instead sit beside her on his cot. 

“Thank you. I mean it, Arthur. I-I don’t know what I woulda done if you hadn’t been there in time.”

“Don’t go worrying about it,” He reassured, “It didn’t happen and I won’t ever let it happen. Not as long as I’m with you.”

Y/N nodded, then leaned down to rest her head on his shoulder. He brought one arm to settle around her shoulder while he used his free hand to take her small hand in his much larger one. They enjoyed the silence of the night, the gang already having gone back to bed once they saw Y/N was alright and the hidden crickets all around providing a lolling symphony 

“Would it be alright if I slept in your tent again tonight?” Y/N asked, a hopeful fluttering residing in her stomach. Though, she pretty much already knew the answer.

Arthur playfully scoffed, kissing the top of her head. “After today, sweetheart, I ain’t never lettin’ you sleep alone again.”

Y/N smiled fondly. “I look forward to it.”

[061306]

␥ list of things i’ve successfully manifested !

i discovered manifestation and the law around early 2022 and here's what i have manifested since then! this might not be much but this is to remind me that i am capable of anything and everything!

𖥻 1. clearer skin

i used to have a terrible breakout on the right side of my face + oily skin. now my skin is much better and less oily! i do not have acne anymore.

𖥻 2. weight loss ( 14 kgs )

i went from 69 kgs to 55 kgs in around two months with minimal exercise ( walking ) & a simple diet.

𖥻 3. height increase ( 11cm )

i used to be 150cm but not anymore lol. i got better proportions too!

𖥻 4. text messages & instant replies from people.

i also manifested message from a friend i was no longer in contact with.

𖥻 5. passing exams i thought i was going to fail

accountancy was my weakest subject but i manifested passing several tests and exams. i also manifested getting better in it!

𖥻 6. getting above average % board exams

board examinations are a big deal in my country and i, unfortunately, ended in a stream i was not interested in. i manifested getting ~80% in them despite getting way lesser in school examinations.

𖥻 7. food

one single thought turned into an assumption and i am having whatever i want for dinner!

𖥻 8. storage of my phone increasing

i only have 32gb of storage in my phone lol. so sometimes i have to clear app caches to make space, but not anymore.

𖥻 9. love confession

i simply wanted a love confession and i got it. as easy as it gets.

𖥻 10. an increament in my mom’s salary & money for myself

my mom really wanted an increament and i manifested it! she got increament of 5.5k! also manifested a bonus for her. + got gift money from my parents and relatives!

𖥻 11. letting go of & detaching from several people

i used to be attached some people that hurt me but not anymore. i have let go of them and it feels so much better.

𖥻 12. books & manga ( jjk )

my mom is not the type to let me spend money on buying books ( for leisure reading ), much less a comic book. but i manifested her allowing me to buy 4 books + 1 manga volume! she even paid for them.

𖥻 13. delaying the start of my college, teachers & professors taking leaves, not getting scolded for submitting assignments late

my college was supposed to start from early june but i manifested a delay and it started from mid-july. i have manifested both school teachers and college professors taking leaves on my desired days.

𖥻 14. nice aura + compliments

i have a magnetic aura, people feel comfort around me and i get so many compliments about literally everything i do!

𖥻 15. quick deliveries of my orders

🤭🤭🤭

𖥻 16. winning an elocution competition

i was really worried because i only found about it a day before and some other contestants had been trained by their professors. i was full of nerves but still won the first rank! the judges said my content was unique and everything i did was perfect.

𖥻 17. kitten type beauty

manifested myself big upturned eyes with pretty lashes & a v-shaped face with smooth skin!

𖥻 18. cats loving me

call me a cat whisperer the way cats love me! i can easily befriend any cat!!! ˃ᴗ˂

𖥻 19. desired skincare products for cheap

i really wanted vitamin c serum and face cleanser and sometime later i saw an ad with an offer to get both for 1 rupee! crazy right?

𖥻 20. entering the void on several occasions.

i have entered the void several times albeit unaware. recently i've started becoming aware before snapping out of it!

masterlist. | notes – i've also manifested getting a merch of my bias. i got it from my best friend as gift but i didn't add it on the list because i didn't want break the perfect 20. also this list is as on 04 DEC 2023.

[rambleonwaywardson]

Sleepless

A Clegan (Buck x Bucky) one-shot

Summary: Buck and Bucky both struggle with nightmares after the war, but they help each other cope.

Word Count: 2380

Author's note: some hurt/comfort for you all with some fluff at the end. As before, I'm posting here for now, and if I manage to build up a small collection of Clegan drabbles I'll see about putting them on AO3.

--

Bucky can’t sleep. But he could sit and watch Gale sleep for hours. 

They’ve been doing okay, since the war. They’ve had good days and bad days. Good nights and worse nights. Over time, something in both of their minds is slowly, slowly beginning to heal, and the frequency of worse is steadily decreasing. Bucky is proud to say that he can, on average, probably sleep through the night almost every day of the week now. It’s taking time, but he’s getting there. He thinks to himself that he should start keeping track: “nights since last nightmare that made me afraid to close my eyes again…”

Zero.

Tonight, unfortunately, had fallen into the worse category. 

Sometimes, when he wakes up, he can’t even remember what he’d been dreaming about. Sometimes, he isn’t sure that he had a dream at all. Just a feeling, an unease, a fear. Something that grips his mind and soul and just refuses to let go, no matter how hard he tries to shake it off. Funny how in war, in a bomber plane under attack, in a POW camp, in a near-death experience, he didn’t notice the fear so much. It was there, sure; he felt it creeping around in the back of his brain almost every second. But it was rarely all-consuming, and he did his best to push it away. He had to keep going, after all. Had to survive, had to find Gale, had to look after his men, had to make it home. There wasn’t time to let the fear drown him. There wasn’t time to truly think about how terrible, how harrowing, his experiences were in the moment. For the most part, he just had to keep going.

Now, in the aftermath, the fear pops up seemingly out of nowhere and makes him feel sick. He finds that unfair. He’d made it. He beat all of the unbeatable odds and survived. He’d found his way home, made it back to Gale. He isn’t dead no matter how hard the world has tried to do him in. And this is what he gets: he gets to remember it all in clearer detail than he experienced it when it actually happened. He gets to be haunted by it.

He made it home, but part of him is still at war.

Sitting cross-legged on their bed in sweatpants and no shirt, Bucky rests his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. He takes a deep breath. It’s fucking unfair, but at least it’s getting better. At least this is only his first sleepless night in about a week. We can’t win all the time, huh?

Exhausted but unable, unwilling, to close his eyes again, he watches Gale in the dim light of the bedside lamp. It’s fucking unfair, but at least he has this.

Gale is still fast asleep, peacefully laying on his side with his hands tucked up under his head. Bucky’s actual angel in disguise. He loves the way Gale’s messy hair falls down over his forehead and his lips part ever so slightly. The way he curls his legs up towards his chest just the littlest bit. Bucky wants to wrap him up in his arms and hold on forever. He focuses on watching Gale’s breathing, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. It reassures him that, no matter what his unconscious mind tries to tell him, Gale is here. He’s the picture of health. He’s alive, and he’s all Bucky’s. He’s not about to get taken away in the blink of an eye. Gently, Bucky reaches out and strokes Gale’s soft hair. Gale smiles in his sleep, and it makes Bucky smile, too. He thinks to himself that he’d do everything over again if it meant he’d end up here.

When he pulls his hand away, Gale scrunches his brow and frowns. Bucky blinks, hand hovering in the air, waiting to see if Gale’s face will soften again. It doesn’t. Instead, Gale starts nervously clenching and unclenching his jaw. Bucky’s heart sinks and he reaches back out, places his hand on the side of Gale’s head again, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Gale’s breathing picks up, faster, faster. He screws his eyes shut tight and makes a soft, wounded sort of grunting sound as one of his hands curls into a tight fist under his face. 

Bucky runs his hand reassuringly over his hair the way Gale likes when he’s awake, trying to calm him down. It takes a minute, but his breathing starts to slow again, and then his eyes flutter open, unfocused and glassy with worried sleep. He scrunches his nose unhappily.

“Hey,” Bucky says softly.

Gale’s eyes find his. He tries to smile, but it’s just not quite there. “Hey.” Slowly, he sits up, the sheets falling down away from his chest so they sit in his lap as he leans forward, hands on his knees. He’s wearing a thin light gray t-shirt, but under it Bucky can see the chain around his neck and the outline of dog tags swinging against the fabric. Bucky is wearing his, too. They still haven’t quite gotten out of the habit. Oddly enough, they both have found that they often sleep better with them on.

Gale scrubs at his face with one hand and brushes his hair back away from his eyes. He checks the clock on the bedside table. 3:30 AM. Looking over at Bucky, he frowns. His voice is low and gravelly from sleep and carries a sort of guilt that Bucky wants to whisk away. “Did I wake you?”

Bucky shakes his head as he picks at the fabric of his sweats. “Was already up.”

“Mmm.” Gale nods and looks down at his lap, takes a deep breath. “What was yours about?”

They’d started doing this recently. Talking about their bad dreams. For a long time, neither of them wanted to give voice to what was in their heads. They wanted to push it away, ignore it, move on. Didn’t want to bug each other with it, add more weight to the burdens they already carried. Lately, though, they’d found that at least briefly putting words to it, saying it out loud to someone who would understand, helped them move forward a little easier. Instead of weighing more heavily on each other, talking about it lifted some of the burden away.

Bucky scratches the back of his head and sighs. “I-” Shit. It never really got easier to talk about, though. “I jumped from the fort, you know? And they were shooting at me, but they didn’t get me. I was still there. But. I looked over.” He glances up at Gale, who is looking vaguely in the direction of Bucky’s dog tags. Bucky breathes. “I looked over, and you were there, too. And I saw you, and I called your name, but you wouldn’t answer me. You wouldn’t answer. And then, I saw that you were dead. Hanging from your chute. A bullet hole through your…”

Bucky trails off, like the breath was pushed all out of his lungs before he could say the last word. He shuts his eyes tight and smacks a fist against his knee. Then there’s gentle fingers on his hand. A thumb stroking over his knuckles. I’m here, the touch says. Bucky nods. He knows. He just wishes his brain would start believing it.

“Mine was about the kid Nazi in the woods,” Gale says. This was one of his more frequent dreams, about the kids who killed George, the kid who pointed a gun at Gale’s head. In the dream, Gale doesn’t give him the chance to run. Bucky knows it by now, but he lets Gale say it anyway. He squeezes Gale’s hand back. Neither of them are looking at each other. Sometimes it’s easier that way. “I shot him,” Gale breathes out. “A kid. Just a kid. And I shot him.”

When Bucky looks up again, Gale is looking right at him, his face a mess of sadness and resignation, searching for something, anything, to make it go away. Bucky leans forward and pulls him in close, wraps his arms around Gale’s shoulders. “You didn’t, though,” he whispers.

Gale nods. “And I’m here.”

“You wanna try to go back to sleep?” Bucky asks him. Gale just about scoffs, burying his face deeper in Bucky’s neck. Bucky laughs mirthlessly. “Yeah, me neither.” He pats Gale on the side and pulls away. “Come on.”

Hand in hand – a tether proving to each other that they’re there, they’re safe, they’re not alone – they walk out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, turning on the lights. Bucky makes a show of how painfully bright they are even as he eyes the liquor cabinet in the corner. Gale shakes his head wordlessly and guides him away from it. He’d been so nervous since they came home, since the nightmares started in earnest, that Bucky would turn to alcohol to numb the pain. Months later, Gale still makes every effort to make sure that doesn’t happen. He’s thankful every day that Bucky tries his best, and that he lets Gale step in as his moral compass when the nights get hard. Bucky has no idea where he’d be by now if Gale wasn’t here with him.

So instead, Bucky pushes himself up to sit on the kitchen counter, fingers tapping nervously on his thigh, while Gale goes about making tea. Bucky never used to like tea, but he isn’t allowed to have alcohol after a nightmare and Gale insisted that coffee wouldn’t help matters either. So he lets him make him tea, and eventually he had learned to like it simply because it came from Gale when he needed Gale most. 

They don’t always wake up on the same nights. Often now, it’s one or the other at a time. And not all the dreams make it impossible to fall back asleep either, thank God. But sometimes, when they’re bad, they’ll wake each other up because they just can’t be alone. It’s an unspoken agreement: it doesn’t matter what they have going on or what time of night it is; if one of them needs the other, they’ll stay awake together. No exceptions. Every once in a while, though, like now, the night turns on both of them. Often, they barely talk on nights like these. Words tend to feel empty; they’ve all already been said. They just need to be. To touch, to feel, to breathe. They just need the closeness and the care. They need each other, and that has to be enough.

Gale hands Bucky a mug full of tea, and Bucky spreads his legs open so Gale can stand between them. Gale tries not to look too intently at the tags dangling over Bucky’s bare chest, and he raises his own mug. “Cheers.”

Bucky half smiles and raises his mug to clink against Gale’s before taking a sip, letting the comforting warmth run through his body. He closes his eyes for a moment and feels the heat radiating from Gale standing in front of him, so close they’re almost touching. When he turns his head and looks out the kitchen window, he can see stars. So many stars, a constant the past few years no matter where on the Earth he’s been. Everything is quiet. He drinks his tea.

After a while, Gale sets his mug on the counter and leans his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky sets his mug down, too, and places his hand on the back of Gale’s head, running his fingers soothingly through his hair. Then, carefully, he slides down off the counter so they’re face to face, and Gale wraps his arms up over Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky rests his head against Gale’s, cheek pressed to soft hair. Gale is not particularly small, but Bucky is still bigger than him, and he takes comfort in being wrapped securely in his arms. Like somehow, Bucky can be a shield, protecting him from all of the bad things in his own head.

When Bucky starts swaying, Gale raises an eyebrow even though his face is hidden in Bucky’s neck. “What are you doing?” he mumbles.

“Dancing,” Bucky says matter of factly. It’s somewhat less convincing because he yawns in the middle of the word and has to say it again.

“Why are we dancing?”

Bucky lifts his head up, kisses Gale’s forehead, and leans back as much as he can so he can look him in the eyes. “Why not?”

Gale rolls his eyes, but he smiles. It’s small, but it’s real, and Bucky smiles back.

They dance all around the kitchen, first just swaying, going in circles to the music in Bucky’s head. Then Gale slips away to put a record on in the living room – it starts on Blue Skies, Bucky’s comfort song – and when he comes back Bucky grabs him by the waist and spins him around. Gale laughs even as he nearly loses his balance and grabs onto Bucky’s arms again. Neither of them are very good, and they’re even worse together, but they do it anyway. And soon they’ve stepped and turned and spun their way into the living room. Bucky has tried to lift and spin Gale around in the air no fewer than three times. Gale has tried to twirl Bucky to no avail, to the point of stepping on each other’s feet and stumbling into each other’s arms. Until eventually, they collapse onto the couch, half laying on one another, and their eyes are still tired but they’re brighter again. 

Bucky crawls forward and kisses Gale softly, slowly, before laying his head on his chest. Gale rubs his hand up and down Bucky’s back, wondering how on Earth he isn’t cold. Gale hasn’t had much tolerance for cold since the Stalag. It feels bone-deep and he often finds himself shivering even when it’s warm, unless he has something covering his body. He takes comfort in the warmth of Bucky’s skin, though, lets it calm his senses as they match their breathing to one another.

The last thing Gale hears before he falls asleep is a whispered, “I love you,” and he smiles.

[utilitycaster]

I'm glad to see you mentioning how disconnected the PCs are from Marquet! I'm a little surprised that I haven't seen more discussion of this in the fandom at large (although maybe I'm looking in the wrong places), since it was a point of discussion at the very beginning of the campaign in a couple of private PoC tabletop/LARP groups I was in. The consensus in the aforementioned groups at the time was that maybe the cast didn't feel comfortable representing characters coming from cultures that were explicitly based on real world PoC cultures (but the decision to have almost everyone be an "outsider" in a PoC-coded culture had unfortunate Orientalist overtones). This was very, very early campaign (like e10 maybe), though, before we really knew the trajectory of the plot (or that they'd spend so little time in Marquet).

It definitely came up a lot early on and I think a lot of the people who felt this either left Campaign 3 quite early and said "this isn't working for me" or else said, as I did, that it is what it is.

I think my issue here is that like...Imogen and Dorian are the only Marquet-born characters and while I have complicated feelings about how people see Imogen (see my previous comments about the bizarre bordering on creepy glorification of a very white-coded Southern culture that have spread into like...white anglophone but not United States portions of the fandom) she and Dorian are both very much coded to North American cultures (Imogen, accent aside, honestly fits any rural agrarian portion of the country and honestly reads closer to the great plains than the south, and Dorian is influenced by Native American culture). I actually do think that Taliesin did a good job making Ashton feel like they were part of Bassuras (and they aren't from there originally, but did grow up there culturally), but the fact is I've seen multiple people ignore that "Bassuras" is specifically taken from Tagalog (and that Makenzie de Armas was one of the Marquet designers) and hc it as Central American rather than Filipino despite Matt explicitly saying it's the latter.

I do think that the answer, if the cast was not comfortable playing Marquesian characters (and I am not a POC so take this with that grain of salt, but I also think, with some effort and some sensitivity work, they could have done so, particularly since Marquet is inspired by but not one to one), the answer should have been to either be clearer this wouldn't be centered in Marquet and would simply start there which would have lowered those expectations and to perhaps plan an EXU in Marquet that does primarily star actors who are from north Africa, or western, southern, or southeast Asia; or just set the campaign in Issylra or something. I get that Marquet is more central and cosmopolitan than Issylra by far, but we're now in an awkward position where we might have a campaign set mostly in Fake North America; a campaign set virtually entirely in Fake Europe/debatably central/northeast Asia; and a campaign that was ostensibly set in Fake SWANA/SEAsia but really was mostly about the moon. Like, the cast doing a thoughtful but perhaps imperfect go at Marquesian characters would have, at least in my opinion, been preferable.

If it helps I think the way Matt and the worldbuilders describe Marquet it doesn't feel (to me) overly orientalist and the fandom has definitely had way more "do you see this shit Edward Said" moments than the cast, despite the fact that only half the characters had spent significant time in Marquet. Really, the narrative issue is "the characters don't feel tied to this place or invested in the same way in this plot because the plot isn't tied to this place", and the unfortunate overtones come from the fact that it was the Ostensible Marquet Campaign that got the plot that's not really about Marquet.

(as someone running Netherdeep - I will say that helps. The bulk of that story is in a lovingly and sensitively reworked Ank'Harel. I'm hoping TLOVM also does a better job than C1 with Ank'Harel.)