#with a good tagging system. and privacy. is it really so much to ask!

[ivyithink]

finally got around to creating a back-up account on another app. only took a million years, but hey! it’s here.

https://bsky.app/profile/ivyithink.bsky.social

just a little explanation! I don’t plan on moving over to bluesky, it’s not really the kind of app I like, but! just in case anything happens to my accounts here/tumblr in general, I’d like people to be able to find me (and me being able to find the mutuals!!), so there we go.

the bluesky account may stay empty for now or maybe I’ll copy some of my stuff to there, but no matter what most of my activity will still be here! y’all are very welcome to come find me over there though, if someone already has an account/plans to create one))

[shmisky]

Ford and Stan discuss Ford’s feelings for Bill. Stancest.

Tags: abuse recovery; character study; meta in fic form; accurate and in-character to the best of my ability; undeniably spiteful; I needed to get this out of my system; mentioned past triangle/ford (you know the ship); emphasis on “past.”

4692 words.

“This isn’t some dark bible or cursed gateway—it’s the last pathetic gasp of a has-been who fears being forgotten. Bill isn’t a god, he’s a needy theater kid in search of a stage. [...] You can’t kill an idea, but you can think of a better one. [...] I’ve found my happiness.”

— Stanford Pines, The Book of Bill

“Ford.” Nothing. “Ford.” Nothing. “Ford. Hey, buddy, I’m talking to you.”

“Hmm? Oh, sorry, Stanley, I was too busy studying these beautiful translucent scales,” he gestured to a pile of glittering stuff beneath his microscope, and alright, Stan could admit they were pretty, if only in the safe privacy of his thoughts where he didn’t have any grunkliness to uphold, “that Nayara—the redhead siren, if you don’t remember—so helpfully gifted us. Who could imagine that they can shed them, after all! Fascinating!”

In any other occasion, Stan would have asked for some to send their grandniece. This was not any other occasion.

“You sure... like... anomalies, huh. Monsters. Whatever. According to Dipper, you once dated a siren...?”

“Oh! Yes, yes. I have. I suppose that’s something I have in common with Mabel, despite sirens and mermaids not quiiite being the same thing.” He chuckled quietly to himself, and Stan knew his brother enough to identify the sheer fondness in that sound. It warmed his heart a little, like a single cup of coffee with sugar, before the Arctic chill rushed in again. “Really charming creatures! I could write an entire book about their mating—”

“DoyoueverthinkaboutBill?”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

Stan grunted. He didn’t believe in no god, double negative and all, but a mysterious force in the universe seemed to really hold it against him sometimes. Which was ridiculous, because Stan was innocent. Could it be that wretched pink lizard? Paul Bunyan would never.

“Do you. Ever think. About Bill.”

Ford’s sweet disposition changed almost instantly. Stan didn’t need to see his face, not when his shoulders visibly tensed. Guilt wormed its way in his stomach—he hated to be the one ruining his brother’s good mood, but he had been in a terrible one himself, ever since...

“Stan. You know I do.”

Stan cringed. Yes, he knew. He was the one to comfort his brother every time he woke up from a particularly vicious nightmare, sweating cold. Ford had learned to abandon most of his paranoia, but it had been a struggle all of its own to convince him a gun underneath his pillow was not, in fact, necessary. Bill had probably traumatized him for life, but at least that trauma could be managed with time.

“Yeah, I know. I don’t... I don’t mean it like that.”

“How do you mean it, then?” His tone now had a curious edge to it.

“I mean... If you still miss Bill,” Stan whispered, steeling himself for the answer.

“Sorry? I couldn’t hear you.”

“If you still miss Bill!” He had to remind himself not to shout. Ford wasn’t the one with the hearing problems, between the two of them. “I know, I know, you told me that I shouldn’t ever touch TicTac—TokTik—that strange hellish app Mabel likes so much, ever again, but! But I couldn’t help but be curious! I wanted to know what more they were saying! I knew it would be bullshit, okay? But I wanted to know what kind of bullshit! And guess what! I found out!”

“Oh, Stanley...” Ford had turned to look at him now. There was emotion in his eyes that could almost be pity, as if they were saying, Strangers on the internet, Stanley? Really?

Stan really didn’t need his judgement now. Especially not when Ford was supposed to be the focus of that conversation.

“So. Do you miss Bill or not?”

“Short answer: no.”

“No, what?”

“No, I don’t miss him. I’m relieved he’s gone.”

“Stanford. Be honest with me.”

“I am. I don’t miss him. Sometimes I do miss the being whom I mistakenly thought he was, in my utter blindness and naivety. Not his true self, not whom he really was.” Ford sighed. “The being whom I thought he was—I am free to admit it now—was especially fashioned to enchant me. It reminded me a lot of you, Stanley, in a period of my life where your absence was especially felt, down to the very nicknames you called me. Sixer, Fordsy.” He made what Stan was Pavlov-conditioned to identify as a self-deprecating noise. “I see it now. He took advantage of my loneliness, of how much I missed my brother and human companionship. He was imitating you, not fully, but at least a little. I am ashamed of how well it worked.”

Stan could feel his own cheeks warming. Ugh. Not the time to be a sap.

“But that isn’t news for you, is it, Stan? I told you about how I always needed that second, that other person. You, and then Fiddleford, and then Bill, and then even poor Dipper.”

“That’s not it.”

“What is it, then?”

“I want to know: Bill’s true self, for you, is...?” He didn’t finish, hoping his brother would understand the opening to elaborate.

Ford looked puzzled again.

“You have read my old Journal 3, haven’t you? It’s exactly as I have described him in there, both visibly and in blacklight: a monster, a screeching, graceless lunatic, an angular psychopath. The good guy he pretended to be never really existed, and it was that nonexistent good guy whom I once thought I loved, if only in an obsessed, quasi-religious sort of way.”

Loved. Past tense.

That was enough, Stan thought. It was more than enough reassurance. Any reasonable person would be satisfied with that and not continue to push further, not with something that clearly made their brother uncomfortable. Again, Stan was not a reasonable person.

“But what if he became that?”

“Huh?”

“What if Bill became exactly that, Ford. The good guy you thought he was. For real, this time.”

“He won’t.” He had never heard Ford sound as certain of something. “There’s no hope for a being like him, Stan. He’s irredeemable.”

“Pretend with me, okay? Indulge me, like you say.”

“Well, then... good for him, I suppose. It would mean the Axolotl’s therapy worked.”

“And?”

“And, what? Stanley, if you’re not clear with me, I can’t know what you mean. Communicate, remember? Imagine Mabel is here. Imagine her saying what you know she would say if she knew—”

“Can it, Poindexter! What I want to know is if you would forgive him!”

“The Axolotl? There’s nothing to forgive, really. Do you mean it in a classic ‘God wasn’t here when I needed it’ way? No worries about that. I understand that, in the end, the Axolot’s ways are not our ways and things would have turned out—”

“Not the fucking lizard, you dumbass genius! Bill! Bill! Would you have forgiven BILL!” To hell with the no shouting policy.

Ford tilted his head like a confused dog. He had seen that gesture on the twins, before. It was cuter on them.

“Me... forgive... Bill...?” he repeated, dumbfounded.

Stan nodded.

“Stanley, do you have a fever? Are you drunk?”

Stan shook his head.

Something too quick for Stan to identify passed like lightning through Ford’s face.

And then he smiled.

“Alright, then,” he said in a far, far too cheerful tone. “I’ll just have to be a liiiittle more specific, Stanley! Just a little bit.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. An almost manic expression he had never seen on Ford’s face. “What do you want me to forgive Bill for?”

“I—I dunno, the—the whole—”

“For deceiving me? For making me distrust my brother and my friend? For traumatizing poor Fiddleford? For haunting my dreams and giving me sleep aversion? For controlling my body like a puppet and bruising it all over? For threatening to commit suicide with it just because he could? For using it to ruin my reputation with the townsfolk? For tattooing it without my consent as a sign of ownership? For making my eye bleed, driving a nail through my hand, and making me eat live spiders? For persecuting and terrorizing me? For pulling my bones out of their sockets and subjecting me to excruciating pain? For threatening to erase my memories and messing with the meaning of words in my brain? For calling my brother’s number and threatening to commit suicide? For ruining my entire goddamn life?”

Stan was impressed, it nothing else, with how quickly Ford was able to name all of those things. Did he keep a mental list? Less impressed, however, with the clear annoyance behind them. Directed at Stan? Uh-oh.

“Stanford, I didn’t mean—”

“No, no! Let me guess!” The fake cheerfulness was grating in Stan’s ears. “For deceiving and possessing Dipper? For leaving a message to Mabel threatening Dipper’s suicide? For hunting me down in the multiverse? For taking advantage of Mabel’s feelings? For mocking one of my deepest insecurities? For humiliating me publicly? For turning me and the townsfolk into statues? For torturing and electrocuting me? For attempting to blackmail me? For turning Fiddleford and five more people into tapestry? For threatening to kill the three people I love the most in the world, for wanting to destroy the entire planet, for relishing in human agony, for being one of the most feared beings in the entire multiverse and terrorizing other dimensions to the point that their inhabitants were afraid to pronounce his very name?” He took a deep breath, as if recovering his energy. As if getting ready for more. “For—”

“Stanford, I’m sorry, okay? I really am! You don’t have to keep listing shit!”

Especially not shit Bill had done to his family. Stan wanted nothing more than to bring him back and kill him ten times over.

Something in the tone of Stan’s voice—or the fact he was offering a sincere apology, and those didn’t come easy to him—must have finally snapped Ford out of it. His visible anger gave way to deep-seated exhaustion.

“Oh, Stan, no. No. I’m sorry. Remembering all those things... I couldn’t help but... take it out on you. I forget myself sometimes. It wasn’t fair and I... I apologize.”

“It’s all good. I didn’t mean to offend you, I just...” He didn’t know what to say.

“You didn’t offend me, Stanley,” Ford assured, even though he was now rolling his eyes. “I was angry at him, not at you. I am just surprised with how forgiving you are.”

“Forgiving? Me? Oh, that triangle can fucking rot, I—”

“Not towards Bill. Towards yours truly! See, only a few months have passed since we decided to sail away together and you’re already forgetting the forty years I spent holding a grudge against my own twin brother for two mistakes he never even meant to make? Have you forgotten, perchance, the kind of unforgiving bastard I am?” The grin on Ford’s face was genuine, now, and Stan had to smile at that. “Mabel hasn’t forgiven him. Mabel. You saw her drawing about what she would do to him if she ever saw him again. And you think I would? Me, of all people?”

The unbidden image of Mabel eating the demon like a crunchy nacho came to Stan’s mind, and yeah, he was fully laughing now.

“Frankly, it sounds like you don’t know me at all,” added Ford in a mock-hurt tone.

“Oh, you shut your yap! I do know you, okay! It’s just that... those people on the internet...”

“I haven’t observed a lot of insightful, sensible discussion on this inter-net.”

“Internet,” he corrected, just for the petty satisfaction of being the one to point out his brother’s mistakes for once.

“Yes, yes. An impressive pool of human brilliance.”

Stan really could do without the sarcasm.

“As I was saying,” he continued, perhaps a little too defensive, “those people on the internet... they seemed to think you would feel...” He swallowed. “Incomplete. Without the... dorito.”

And just like that, any remaining anger vanished from Ford’s face.

“Oh, Stan.” His brother’s tone was very, very familiar, now. Guilt. Ford’s best buddy since Weirdmaggedon and the bane of Stan’s life. “I’m—I didn’t—” He seemed to fumble with his words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were feeling neglected.”

“That I—what?”

“Stan. You’re one of three people I love the most. The most important person in my life. You know that, or at least I hope you know that. I’m sorry I haven’t demonstrated that in forty years, I’m sorry I’m not being as loving as you perhaps thought you would be, but I promise you, I’ll do better. You’ll never again think Bill was more important than you, because he never, ever was, and I’ll make sure that we learn how to—”

“Ford, what the fuck! I’m not feeling neglected!”

Ford’s eyes widened at that. Mabel was right. He did indeed look like a startled owl.

“No? I thought that perhaps this whole conversation stemmed from your low self-esteem. It was the only explanation why you would think I was feeling incomplete when my real soulmate and adventure partner is right in front of me. Bill couldn’t ever compete against you.”

Paul fucking Bunyan.

“Stanford, I’m not having a self-esteem crisis.” He sighed. “I am worried about you, because I happen to know that many... abuse victims... have mixed feelings about their abusers, and... um. that’s, uh... that’s valid, you know. Totally valid.”

“Do you? How do you know that, Stanley?” He raised an eyebrow. “Who ‘abused’ you?”

“Stanford, again, I don’t—”

“Pa... Of course!” Ford spat, brows furrowed, protective rage all over his features. “Pa was your abuser. I’ve never associated this particular word with him before, but now I see it. I really do. I’m so sorry, Stan... I’m sorry I took me so long to see it...”

“Pa wasn’t an... an abuser! He just didn’t—”

“See! Defending him even now!” Ford ran a hand through his face. “Stanley, I know that this happens. You are the living proof of that. Dipper told me about how you talked about Pa’s ‘tough love’ approach, as if it was something you were grateful for.”

“We are talking about you, Ford!”

“Are we? Because I think we’re talking about you. I think you’re projecting your own experiences with abuse onto me and expecting me to feel as you do.”

Wow. Candid as ever. Some of his hurt must have shown on his face, because Ford’s face softened.

“I’m sorry, Stan. That was mean. But what’s up with that kind of talk? It almost seems like you’re the one going to therapy, with that... uncharacteristic wording.”

“Alright, alright, you got me!”

Slight surprise flashed across Ford’s face. An arched brow was quick to follow, a knowing ‘caught you with your hand in the cookie jar’ glint in his eyes.

The pomposity. The audacity. Stan would bet his ass Ford couldn’t guess the truth in a million years.

And that was why, obviously, he crossed his arms. Exactly like the petulant, immature child Ford thought him to be. Because he wasn’t that.

“Well?”

Oh, to hell with it.

“You know I like writing my own Duchess Approves stories, right? And I might or not have mentioned it to Soos and he might or not have told me it’s apparently called ‘fanfiction’ and that there’s a big public on the internet for that, so I asked him to teach me the basics. Turns out there was a fandom of Duchess Approves—if you don’t know what a fandom is—”

“Stan. To the point.”

“Well. People were saying that the Duchess’ mother was a ‘narcissistic mother’ and an ‘abuser’ or something and using all kinds of shrink talk and that got me feeling weird because her mother was just... she was just like Pa.”

“And?”

“And I may or not have created a self-insert fanfiction with characters based off all the people I knew and written about our whole love story in the guise of an AU. Alternative Universe, you know. Like a different story from the original.”

“And?”

“And the fans are getting weird about you and the triangle.”

Ford laughed, looking tired but genuinely amused.

“Oh, only you, Stan...”

“No, really! They loved the plot and that made me over the moon! Like wow, people really like what I write? Soos was right! They made fanart and everything!”

“Congrats!” Pride was added to Ford’s amusement. Stan felt like a petted dog.

“They adored your relationship with that godsforsaken demon and kept drawing you two smooching and at first I was like ‘ugh’ and ‘yikes’ but then I was like ‘alright,’ you know, ‘cause that had been my own fucking fault for writing it based on my stupid fucking life. I was not going to take it personally, I decided after the third our fourth fanart. They all thought it was fictional, and... and I suppose you did have a relationship with Bill, right? So to each their own.”

Ford didn’t seem very surprised. Nor impressed. Nor offended. Stan supposed that the Thirst Comments Incident had left him thoroughly desensitized.

“But?”

“But then it started getting out of control! Now some of them are pretending Bill was just a silly little clown or a poor lonely misunderstood soul who just wanted some lovin’—”

“Classic case of delusion—”

“—shoving even his most horrifying actions under the rug—”

“People do the same for corrupt politicians, don’t they? One just needs enough charisma and lying skills, so I doubt—”

“—and twisting everything I write for their own sick purposes and—and they’re saying that I meant things that I most definitely didn’t mean! They’re seeing clues and parallels where I didn’t intent them to be at all and now... now everything is fucking fuel!” Stan was aware his desperation was seeping into his voice, but he didn’t care. Ford had to know. “No matter how much I try to make it obvious that you are totally over Bill! For real, Poindexter, I tried, I swear I did! I tried answering their comments, I tried making a disclaimer, I tried—”

Ford started laughing again, now, which was more annoying than endearing.

“I take fandom very seriously, okay?”

“I can see that.”

“Their arguments started getting to me! Some of them were really well-worded and smart-sounding! Like as if it was you talking to me, with ‘evidence’ and stuff! So I thought that maybe, just maybe, they knew what they were talking about, perhaps...” perhaps more than me, he didn’t say, because that would be ridiculous. They couldn’t know Ford more than his own twin brother and lover, right? Even though Stan hadn’t lived with Ford for four entire decades...

“Hm-hmm.”

“And I answered your questions, so now get back on track, nerd.”

“Are you sure I am the nerd here?”

“Stanford.”

“Alright, alright. Just looks like you’re stressed over nothing, that’s all.”

“Stanford, you don’t understand! They seemed to consider your relationship with Bill more important than your relationship with... with your family!”

Ford raised an eyebrow. Ugh, his brother knew him too well.

“... Than your relationship with me,” Stan admitted through gritted teeth. “Yes! You were right! I was feeling insecure all along and Stanford Pines is always fucking right! Satisfied?”

“Not if it makes you suffer, no. You do know they are wrong, certainly...?”

“Well, y-yes, but...”

“In my own experience, it really is like you said—some abuse victims do feel like that, and it’s... it’s ‘valid,’ or whatever the kids are saying. It’s valid if you feel this way about Pa! But the contrary is also true and also valid. I am being completely honest with you when I say I do hate Bill.”

“You know what they say, though, right? People in general, I mean, not just on the internet. Hatred is close to love and all that. The contrary of love is not hatred, but indifference.”

“Oh, yes, and what an indubitably sensible perspective that one is. I was feeling very loving towards Bill when I was fantasizing about and orchestrating his death and humiliating downfall at my hands, and similarly, naturally, feeling very hateful towards the you and the children when I was willing to give up the entire universe for a slim possibility to save you.”

“You... you did hate me, once!”

Ford sputtered.

“Hate you? Hate you? Are you insane? I have never hated you, nor Fiddleford, for even a second! Nor did I ever thought I did!”

Oh.

Those were news. Stan could address them later, though.

“I’m not that emotionally unintelligent, Stan.”

“Ford—Sixer—can I call you Sixer?”

“Of course you can. And Fordsy, too, even though it annoys me. I’ll be damned if I let Bill ruin anything else for us. I don’t want nothing related to him ever remaining a taboo.”

“Sixer. Can you, uh, explain exactly how you feel about him as if I’m dumb? ‘Cause I kind of am.” Ford opened his mouth, probably to reassure Stan of his nonexistent intelligence, but he continued. “Just... be clear. No sarcasm, okay? It would put an old man’s mind at ease. You know what Mabel would say to that, too.”

His brother didn’t miss a beat.

“Stanley. Stanley, I loathe him. I fucking despise him. I’m over him, but I’m not indifferent. You saw, with my initial reaction to his book, that I’m not indifferent. I can’t bring myself to be indifferent, even if indifference is the commonly accepted ‘opposite of love,’” he included air quotes, then, also rolling his eyes to make sure Stan knew how stupid he thought that was, “because he utterly and thoroughly ruined my life and traumatized me. I’m but human. He made me afraid of my own shadow for decades. He will always remain my enemy, it would be foolish to pretend otherwise. It’s really that simple.”

“And... and before the betrayal?”

“It’s complicated. Have you ever had a religious experience?”

Stan shook his head no.

“Do you even have to ask?”

Unless the whole thing with Paul Bunyan counted, that is...

“He was like a god to me, and not only in the ‘powerful’ sense. He was my Muse. I worshipped him. I was obsessed. I don’t know if that counted as love, Stan, but let’s say it did, for the sake of simplifying things. Let’s make it easier for you to follow, let’s say I ‘loved’ him.” He sighed. “I thought I loved him religiously at least, and... after reading his book, looking back...” His voice grew quieter.

Stan understood. The romantic “rejected ex” undertones of that book were very hard to miss. Bill was about as subtle as a bull in a china shop.

“I might indeed have loved the person—sorry, the triangle—I thought he was, once, and he was the center of my stupid galaxy, and that—that was a beautiful but cheap illusion. An illusion that was very, very painfully shattered and cost me very, very dearly.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Any love that I could have retained for him in spite his initial deception—any sympathy in spite of his gut-punching betrayal—was gradually but completely destroyed by Bill himself, poisoned by my own hatred and resentment, and eroded until nothing was left. I have loved him for two years, and hated him for thirty. Now I look back and only feel pity for the wide-eyed, dreamer boy that I was. I mourn what could have been, had Bill not been... well, had Bill not been himself.”

“He didn’t get over you, y’know. Bill, I mean. His pathetic little book left that very clear.”

“Oh, yes. I do know. Thanks to you, I now see that it was pathetic. And desperate. And deluded. Guess he finally realized what he lost.” He smiled again, although it looked more like baring his teeth, and something cold flashed in his eyes. “Good. I want him to suffer.”

Perhaps Stan should be alarmed, but he wasn’t. He felt like he was truly relaxing after a good while, a knot undone in his stomach.

“I did wonder, you know. While in the multiverse, I hated him so much, and I often wondered if I hated him only because I didn’t allow myself to feel nothing else. I am very, very good at ignoring and repressing my feelings, Stan.” His brother chuckled, as if he and Stan were sharing an internal joke. His feelings for Stan, he realized. Those were the ones Ford repressed. “So, deep down, I wondered and wondered and wondered. I wasn’t sure I didn’t love him at all anymore until the moment I had to kill him. I was shocked to look inside and find no regret, no fear, no remnants of love. All that was gone, lost forever in a distant past. There was only the bleak determination to rid the world of his evil. You weren’t there, of course, but Dipper was. You can ask him. My hand didn’t tremble. I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t flinch. I was proud of myself for that.”

“I just—Dipper mentioned once as we were having breakfast that... that you cried after his defeat, and I thought... maybe... I didn’t know what to think, really, but after all I saw and read in the Duchess fandom... I was feeling unsure.” It was still hard to talk about his feelings. “That’s why I came to ask you.”

“I did, Stanley. I cried for you. It was a bitter victory, because I loved—I love you—way more than I have ever hated him.”

Woah. Stan could feel the glitter of those damned scales getting to his eyes. They were watering.

“I supposed I shouldn’t have given him the honor of a funeral, even a mock one with dear Mabel’s witty disrespect, but... I wanted to. I wanted closure. To revolve my life around my loathing towards him was to revolve it around him all the same, but I wanted visual proof that this chapter of my life was over—dead along with him. It might not be over for him, but hah! That’s not my business. Not anymore.”

Stan didn’t think it was possible for him to relax more, but it was. Oh, thank Paul Bunyan.

“And Stanley... promise me you won’t give those people on the internet the time of day, alright? If there’s one thing I learned the hard way, it’s that human beings, smart or not, always see what they want to see. I have been exactly like this once, remember? Twisting everything in my reality to fit my worldview. You could make my post-Weirdmaggedon character—”

“The term is ‘post-canon’... by the way.” Stan supplied, trying to sound casual and non-nerdy. “And his name’s Duke Oglebottom.”

“Alright. You could make my... ‘post-canon’ character... Duke Oglebottom... hunt down and viciously stab Bill’s character—”

“Count Billiam—”

“Count Billiam? Seriously, Stan? Anyway, you could make post-canon Duke Oglebottom hunt down and viciously stab Count Billiam twenty-three times and they would still—”

“—ship them, yeah. And think they’re meant to be.” Stan sighed. “They would.”

“Ship them? Ship them to where?”

“It’s, like, wanting them to be together. People just really, really like yaoi.”

He didn’t tell Ford, but there were definitely people shipping Duke Oglebottom with his long lost twin brother, the humble but dashing stable boy, too. Those freaks. He was proud of them.

“Yatch? Like a boat? Are they that interested in sea adventures?”

Stan sighed.

“Forget it.”

“Well. No matter. My point is that people would still see what they want to see.”

Ford get up from his chair, then, holding Stan’s face with both of his wide hands.

“Stanley, you might not believe this, but the void left in my heart by Bill, if there ever was any, has long been filled. By the children. By you.” He pressed a chaste kiss to Stan’s forehead, then to both his eyes, then his nose, and finally, his lips. “And if you can’t believe that, believe this, at least: even if I ever forgave him for the innumerous, terrible things he did to me—which, rest assured, I sure as all hell won’t—I’ll never forgive what he did to whom I love. If he ever attempts to hurt you, Mabel, Dipper, or Fiddleford, any more than he already has, I’ll rip him apart.”

Stan shuddered. His nerdy brother really could be scary when he wanted to, not that he would ever admit it. Again, privacy of his thoughts and whatnot.

“Is that good enough for you, my love?”

“Y-Yeah.”

[identityarchitect]

because im a nosy bitch who has distaste for current plural culture I'd love to hear your thoughts on current plural culture

(for me. the amount of information thats acceptable and expected to be shared will be the DEATH of my sanity)

Oh, jesus, where do I even begin. This got unexpectedly long so I'm going to put it under a cut.

Like you said, the amount of information shared is scary. Both because there are like 13yo recently discovered plurals who get this idea that it's a good or necessary thing to share as much information as possible about ones system, and nobody ever uses the privacy features on PK. It's one thing to keep track of info about headmates and another thing entirely to be posting a whole list of front triggers in a headmate-intros discord channel.

Speaking of headmate intros, I kind of have a love/hate relationship with the complicated description templates. On the one hand, I do like it when stuff is pretty. But on the other hand, there's a lot of kind of casual ableism/sanism in the plural community, as much as we'd want to pride ourselves on being relatively free of it. Fancy description templates, typing quirks, special characters in headmate displaynames, are all inaccessible to people using screenreaders or anyone with issues reading. And I try to be understanding to people with typing quirks because we have a few headmates with interesting ways of communicating and I get it, but like, you've really gotta provide a translation.

There's also just the way people interact with each other? Consistently using tons of tone tags, not asking about you& preferences (which tbf, in an ideal world preferences on you& are part of a generic introduction like preferences on headmates/alters/sysmates/parts and system/plural/etc). Trying to tag for every single possible trigger.

A lot of very large plural spaces (and frankly any large space that tries to account for triggers) end up with this issue where at some point, the trigger list is just too long. People aren't going to remember it, so anyone who is anxious about censoring correctly (which is everyone, because current plural culture has this way of making anxiety significantly worse) is going to be double-checking the list every five seconds, or just decide participating in conversation outside of more lax areas, like tw- channels, isn't worth it.

So they have to make a choice between cutting down the existing list, examining things and deciding if they're a common enough trigger (or bad enough, or if the user is in the server enough, or whatever the metric is) to remain on the list: or, they simply continue expanding the list and try to make it easier for people to censor or reference the list. But if they cut down on the list you inevitably have people who are like "wait, why is fires on there but not birthday parties? there's only one person in the server who's triggered by fires but five who are triggered by birthday parties", or "why did [obscure, situation-specific trigger] get removed? isn't it just as serious?" and etc.

And then there's moderation teams, which are... ok, let me make a venn diagram.

(No shade to teenagers. There are probably good teenage mods out there. I just haven't met them.)

Speaking from personal experience here, a lot of plural discord moderation relies on the current plural culture, which skews itself towards being extremely polite and nice and understanding so as to avoid unintentionally upsetting other people. (This is another one of the ways in which plural culture can and often does end up exacerbating anxiety & anxiety-adjacent behaviours/disorders like OCD.) So you have this discord server that doesn't really need moderation aside from admin stuff like adding channels or bots and pinning messages that regular users don't have the permissions to do. Then some person comes in and they're regularly talking about triggers out of the blue, acting aggressive towards other users, and because everyone wants to be polite and accepting, this user doesn't get dealt with for a very long time, especially because the mods just have no idea how to actually moderate. They don't have the confidence to make verdicts and use the power they have, and kick/ban users when necessary.

In essence, current plural culture wants to treat and trust every stranger like a close friend. You can run a discord server with little to no rules and give everyone admin permissions and whatever the hell: it's just got to be a closed friend discord server full of people that you know well enough to trust. And not only does this make plural spaces vulnerable to bad actors, it also makes them very uncomfortable to be in, as an aplatonic person who really doesn't want randos on the internet acting like we're childhood besties.

In that same vein, is it just me or does everyone and their mother seem to want a partner system? It's been actual years atp since I've been in a plural server that's actually active but there's this weird romantic overtone where any other system could be a potential partner system if you become emotionally close enough to them. Then if you're aro, or romance repulsed, or just not looking to date, or in a relationship already and not poly (which also, I get that dating as a system is a vastly different experience from dating as a singlet, but not everyone is poly), it feels like they just switch to a QPR instead of a romantic relationship? IDK, maybe that's me projecting since I'm QPR-repulsed. But it feels like the primary assumption for 'emotionally close' is 'romance or QPR' in plural spaces, in a way that feels different from regular amatonormativity. IDK it probably is just regular amatonormativity. But you'd think plurals would have deconstructed it even a little bit, right, since dating as a plural is such a vastly different experience. Whatever.

And canonmates. God. Ugh. Ughghhghj,. Look I get the inherent loneliness that comes with being an introject that has strong exomemories, but the resolution to this is not "try and start a relationship with a stranger who you only share one quality with (i.e remembering the same things from source)". Dear god. I have a not very good relationship with canonmates, since an ex of ours would in essence use them against us, but like. Augh.

And spiritual systems. The other day I saw a post on the plural subreddit that was like "Does anyone else live a double life?" and it was this introject describing the disparity between their IRL life and their in-headspace life. But they didn't clarify that it was in headspace and not like, an alternate world or something, so there was a comment being like "Uh, this is a dangerous lack of source separation." FUCKING source separation. I always get so mad at source separation.

I hate to label ourselves but our experiences most closely align with the general idea behind spiritual systems (this is as close as we will get to a concrete label). And it really seems to me that people will bring up spiritual systems as a gotcha against sysmeds and anti-endos, since the DSM technically validates spiritual systems by explicitly excluding them from the diagnostic criteria, and then turn around and act like spiritual systems either don't exist, or are delusional. (This is what I was thinking about earlier when I said the plural community has something of a sanism problem.)

Everyone assumes that in order for an introject to be healthy, they must have a degree of source separation, must be able to go "Yes, I know I am not my source, I recognise I will never be my source, etc". And if an introject can't, it's inherently dangerous and bad for them and the system must (even potentially against the introjects' will) make efforts to separate them from their source.

But even aside from all the sanist implications there, this completely falls apart when you think about spiritual systems. What about gateway systems, who do have headmates come from outside of the body? What about soulbonds, who are that character in their own universe? What about systems who don't want to prove that they're spiritual enough to be exempt from this 'if you think of yourself as your source in any way you are delusional and must be treated' BS?

Our V1 is literally V1 the robot from Ultrakill. This has never caused issues for it, or for us. I don't predict that it's going to.

Like, wasn't the general narrative around introjects "they have differing amounts of separation, differing opinions, and differing connections to their source. above all else, you should treat introjects like people, and ask them if you have questions about how they want to be treated!"? For ages it feels like that was the narrative, and now it's "introjects should be separated from their source, although they're allowed to have whatever opinion on it. in order to treat an introject like a person, you must acknowledge they're not literally a fictional character every fucking pictosecond".

There is definitely a lot more that I probably have to say on the topic but that's all I can think of right now.

Oh wait ok hold on I'm back because I remembered roles and origins and got mad again. Origins my most beloathed.

I could talk about the traumagenic/endogenic binary and how it's complete BS and even when we could be considered traumagenic we still had headmates that weren't traumagenic in origin, and how endogenic systems of all kinds can and often do have trauma that does and doesn't impact their system functioning, and trauma impacts systems in so many more ways than just if Sonic the Hedgehog showed up because you were being abused or just for the sake of being there, and 90% of the apparently well-meaning endo-ok sysmeds that talk about the necessecity of separate traumagenic and endogenic spaces are actually talking about disordered and nondisordered systems and EVEN THEN it's STILL a fake binary, but people more eloquent than me have probably gone over that.

I hate the assumption that every system has origins. We don't, and we're never going to. Even with the general idea being "nobody needs to tell you their origins and if you pressure them you're a dick" there's this expectation of knowing or labelling your origins. If you know your origins, you should be able to label them. If you don't know your origins, there are labels for that. What if someone doesn't give a shit? And again, what about spiritual systems, who don't have origins for other reasons?

Ok, I also just went and found some DMs with a friend so here's me quoting myself:

"it feels to us like the plural community doesnt strictly expect or want noncomplex plurality or a noncomplex relationship to ones plurality, but that these are sort of entry requirements to plural discord servers and other similar spaces"

"it feels like theres a collection of behaviours that you havr to perform like being in plural discord servers has always felt close to masking for us"

AGH AND PROBLEMATIC INTROJECTS. FUCK I HAVE SO MUCH MORE TO COMPLAIN ABOUT.

Roles are kind of similar to origins, imo, where it's this very simplistic and false structure and there's a pressure to box oneself and ones headmates into it. Like even when people acknowledge roleless systems, it feels like that's all they acknowledge, y'know? Like in their head there's systems where every headmate has a specific purpose and performs it to a T, and there's systems where this isn't the case. When it's so much more complex than that. For example: us! We're primarily roleless, and the things each headmate does is more like a volunteer job than a role, y'know. Except for this one headmate who found a role on Pluralpedia and went "that's me" and now it has a role.

It also feels like there's a specific set of roles each system should have, right? Like there's this idea that even if a system doesn't label or have roles, they still have the protective headmate who gets righteously angry on others' behalf, and the stressed and overworked caretaker, and the littles who use uwu-speak, and the serious and scary gatekeeper, and it's the nuclear family isn't it. They've recreated the nuclear family. One father and one mother and two and a half kids and the 'friendly' neighbourhood cop. Jesus. (The host can be the grandparents.)

And more than that there's... okay, right, how do I word this one.

Let's think about layers. Layers are distinct areas in headspace where different groups of headmates tend to reside. Beyond the base assumption that everyone has a consistent, laid-out, easily accessible headspace, there's this weird overtone that a system without layers is like, a system without layers yet, right? Like the two types of system are "systems that have layers" and "systems that don't have layers, but could" and there's no space for "systems that can't have layers". I think that's kind of what I'm getting at with the origins and roles bit, right? People nominally accept systems that don't have origins or roles, but there's this sense that what they're actually accepting is "systems that have origins" and "systems that have origins, just not public ones" or "systems that have roles" and "systems that have roles, and just don't label them".

This ties into the spiritual system bit, I think. It's not "psychological systems" and "spiritual systems" (which is still a false binary), it's "psychological systems" and "systems that believe they're spiritual systems" or "psychological systems whose spiritual beliefs impact their systemhood". Even when mentioning and talking about gateway systems and soulbonders people don't seem to be able to take those people at face value, regardless of their own personal beliefs on the matter. Maybe we're just hanging out in the wrong places.

The true originless roleless headspaceless spiritual system (i.e, US AGAIN) is a nonentity. There is no space for us to exist in the plural community because the predominant plural culture simply cannot comprehend that we exist.

Problematic introjects ... Like, how can you insist introjects must be treated like people, and must feel and consider themselves to be a distinct, separate entity from their source, and then also call them problematic? I hate the word problematic anyway but even moreso when the label is applied to every introject of whichever fucking minecraft youtuber turned out to be an abuser this time. Can't we just leave introjects alone? Fucking hell.

Anyway yeah. It sucks here.

[davidmariottecomics]

The Perfect (Editorial or Agent) Match

Hey there, Yogi Bear! 

To start out today's blog, I wanna talk about a kinda fun recent thing. Steve Lieber, who I've mentioned before for having his 12 point portfolio review critique without even looking, asked about the writing review equivalent. Jim Zub took a stab at it and his list is pretty good. And Chip Zdarsky's were also recommendations! And all of these are from Bluesky, so hope you can read 'em all! But, while I liked the other lists, I also had some thoughts. So my 12 critiques are here, which I consider pretty supplemental to Jim's! 

And now that you've taken all this advice and are feeling really comfortable with your script, writer-type, what're you gonna do with it?! 

What Does an Agent do? 

Before I get too far, let me make explicitly clear--I do not have an agent. I've worked with a number of agents. I know lots of creators who have them. But I don't have one myself, so I can only provide so much guidance. Okay, that disclaimer out of the way, what is a literary agent and what do they do? 

It's a lot like other forms of agents you might've heard of. Your agent is a person who supports you and represents your interests in business. They are an advocate on your behalf. This means everything from reading your manuscripts to help refine/sell them to reviewing paperwork for you to making sure you're getting paid what you're worth and more. In the book market, there are certain publishers that will almost exclusively review agented submissions--you need to have someone who has been trained to know what the publisher might want and who has access to contacts there to advocate for your work. The reason for this is often to cut down on submissions that otherwise just have to go unanswered and to preserve some level of privacy for editors. Having an agent might not work for everyone, but if you can find someone who you like working with and can afford, they're going to be a lot of help. Agents can get your work to more potential buyers, help identify where your work will best fit in the marketplace, and, again, generally advocate for you.

But just like publishers and editors, not every agent is looking for every type of story. Specific agents, and even whole agencies, can have niches that they are interested in working in and representing. This is really important when we're talking comics. There are some agents that don't really represent cartoonists because they don't do art representation. There are some agents who only do art representation and might not be the right fit if you also wanna write. There are agents who primarily focus on books for middle grade or young adult readers. There are agents who just plain don't do comics. So how do you find an agent who might be a good fit?

Manuscript Wishlist

Manuscript Wishlist (or MS Wishlist) is *an* option for finding your agent, but it's one that I think can be really helpful. The basic idea of MSWL is that the website version has vetted agents and editors who have submitted profiles explaining what they are looking for in submissions. It's built off of a Twitter system where agents and editors tag posts #MSWL to flag the sort of work they're looking for from writers. One of the things I really like about the site is that in addition to details on what the agents and editors are looking for, and how to go about querying them, a lot of folks also take advantage of the sidebars that include things like lists of "what I like" so you can get an even clearer idea of if your work will mesh well with their interests and if your personalities will mesh well while looking to work together. 

There are a ton of other resources out there for how to write good queries and each agency/agent/publisher/editor is going to have their own submission guidelines that you'll have to look up and follow--so I won't get into those--but this is a way to start seeing who might be interested in building a relationship with you. 

Also, keep an eye on Publishers Marketplace. This is a primary source for what publishing deals are happening. Maybe you want to submit a query to an agent about a talking dog. Might be good to check publishers marketplace to make sure that agent didn't just sell a book about a talking dog. 

MSWL Editors

MSWL also includes editors and for similar reasons. Editors have things they're interested in working on and it helps clarify to agents and to unagented folks what sort of titles they might be interested in acquiring. I *do not* currently have a MSWL set up on my own because I am not currently seeking submissions (sorry), but next time I think I might be, I'm going to be looking into it because I know what sort of stories I like to tell and what I would like to see from other folks. 

Obviously, if you don't have an agent, double-check that the editor you're submitting to accepts unagented submissions. That's hugely important. But especially in comics, only taking agented submissions is uncommon. And if an editor is making clear what they'd like to acquire, you wanna get it in front of them because that is the most direct pipeline to traditional comics publishing. But it's also worthwhile to remember that because of how agents and editors work together, there's a lot of outreach between the two where editors are searching for talent, but only want to reach out, not be reached out to--especially if you're looking to do work on an existing property, rather than an original. 

Now I'm gonna go batten down the hatches and prepare to ride out the rest of the coming storm! 

See ya next time! 

What I enjoyed this week: Blank Check (Podcast), Dungeons & Daddies (Podcast), Craig of the Creek (Cartoon), Honkai Star Rail (Video game), My Adventures with Superman (Cartoon), The Broken Room by Peter Clines (Book), Crime Scene Kitchen (TV show), Dumbing of Age (Webcomic), Shortpacked (Webcomic--though some of these pop culture strips sure are dated and/or in poor taste!), Solve This Murder (Podcast), Praise Petey (Cartoon), the acoustic Sonic Symphony performance at the Speed Cafe (see below), at time of posting having power and not a lot of rain/hurricane weather, owning (but not having watched yet) the Venture Bros finale movie, getting 3 5-star (the best possible) character pulls in a row in Honkai (but not the character I really wanted, who I only have like 9 days to get now if I can...). 

New Releases this week (8/16/2023): Brynmore #2 (Editor) Godzilla: The War for Humanity #1 (Editor) Sonic the Hedgehog #63 (Editor)

Final Order Cut-Off next week (8/21/2023--last day to get your preorders in): Brynmore #3 (Editor) Godzilla: The War for Humanity #2 (Editor) Sonic the Hedgehog: Amy's 30th Anniversary Special (Editor)

New Releases next week (8/23/2023): Godzilla Monsters & Protectors: All Hail the King TPB (Editor--on the latter half)

Announcements: Becca is at Cartoon-a Palooza in Temecula on 9/15 & 9/16. It's a cool free all-ages little con, so come on out and see them! 

Wanna support me? Consider joining my Patreon! This week, in addition to this blog (but without the Patreon plugs!) and one of my legacy blogs, I shared for the $10 and up members the script (and some extras) for my Beast Wars 2022 Annual story, "Rhinox's A-Maze-ing Adventure". You can only see it there! And I'll have more scripts, pitches, comics, etc going up in the weeks and months to come! Also coming soon, just coordinating with Becca, we'll be releasing a tease of a new comic we're working on together. It'll be on both our Patreons, but if you like art and adult art in particular, definitely don't miss Becca's either! 

Or, you can buy something from my webstore! A lot of what is there is no longer in print and won't be going back to print anytime soon to my knowledge. The stock I have up is pretty much the stock I have. And you can get it signed and personalized and sent to you for a pretty reasonable price which includes shipping.  Alternatively, I still have a few things up on eBay and I'm going to be adding a few more! 

Sorry to be hyping ways to send me money so much recently, but between rising rent and utility and gas costs, not so rising work hours/pay for Becca and I, and us also trying to plan a wedding for a year from now, money's been tight a lot! I know that's the case all around, and if you have been supporting me in any way, it has not gone unnoticed at all! This week, Becca and I checked out a venue that we really like for the ceremony and reception. So, hoping we can make that happen! 

Pic of the Week: I referenced it earlier, but the Sonic Speed Cafe pop-up here in San Diego did a special mini acoustic performance of the Sonic Symphony that's about to be touring the whole world! So we had three musicians in the restaurant playing some Sonic hits! It was a lot of fun! 

[iamafanofcartoons]

The Positive Feedback Loop, and why it is the Bane of Youtube Users dealing with unnecessary Recommendations

The reason Youtube is bad: positive feedback loops. not positive as in good, but positive as in they grow larger over time. Youtube's recommendation algorithm is partially based off of what it learns from users.

It takes in all kinds of data on what users watch--the uploader, the title, the tags, the thumbnail, the description, anything it can glean from the audio and visuals, whatever. you name it, google's probably holding it. They dont have yottabytes upon yottabytes of data for nothing. Importantly, though, is that they also keep track of what the user watches Next. 

See, google (as with most social media that uses an ad revenue model) will run studies, where they try out different experimental algorithms created from viewership data on different users and see what is more likely to get users to click through. How they create these experiments is pretty complicated, and i'll save you the technogore. Think of it as making tons of algorithms that each think different combinations of aforementioned viewership data at different amounts are the reason why that viewer made their choice, then projecting that onto all users to inform future suggestions. 

Trust me, that's the easy way to think about it. What makes it a positive feedback loop? Well, recall that i said the algorithms are created on viewership data. The successful one(s) is/are then used to inform future recommendations. That data is then used to further experimentally tweak the algorithm. The choices user make influence the algorithm. What influences the choices users make? The algorithm. As time moves on, the algorithm becomes more and more biased until youtube decides to make more dramatic changes to influence things in a different direction (remember the change to favor runtime? Then to favor watch-through?) And here lies the biggest problem. Youtube isn't fixing shit about this system.  Why would they? People are clicking through recommendations at insane rates! They're watching more videos! And sure, a general societal right-wing bias might have positive feedback looped into turning the website into a facism pipeline, but google is making so much fucking money from gathering an insane amount of information from users that can be used in ad targeting the whole time. Even if youtube itself struggles with profitability, even if people like. kind of say stuff about the problem but never really do anything about it at a large scale, even if people are being red-pilled, Why should google care when they make more money than anyone could even comprehend? Until capitalism is overthrown, there will be a shit algorithm. Blocking channels is a start, but there will always be more shitty things to block Apps that bypass youtube accounts and privacy loss (youtube vanced and newpipe and blocktube and channel blocker) Are privacy tools first, kind of hit or miss when it comes to the algorithm.

Never looked into the source code of them, but, if you ask me, it's either some amalgamation of everyone's recommendations who use those apps, a "default" algorithm, or one that's kind of tailored to you as youtube slowly worms its way into identifying you by your device and ip address. Point is, dont hold your breath waiting. Keep looking for tools, keep spreading the word, keep finding ways to support content you like so the artist isnt reliant on ad revenue.

[merryfortune]

Selfish Sleepers

Written for FE Flash Fic Friday on Dreamwidth

Prompt: WLW Rare Pairs

Title: Selfish Sleepers

Ship: Nerþuz/Sharena

Fandom: Fire Emblem Heroes

Word Count: 1,381

Rating: T

Tags: Fluff, Literal Sleeping Together, Cuddling & Snuggling, Humour, Sexual References

   The Inn’s dormitories were filled to the brim with every amenity a hero could need but there was always someone who was needier than most, believe me, Sharena could tell you a thing or two about that.

   Just like the family of three bears from that one fairy tale, everyone had different needs that needed to be accounted for and catered to. Soft pillows, hard pillows, fluffy beds, firm beds. Some liked privacy, some liked total darkness. Others needed a little bit of background noise and others liked some company. Variety was the spice of life and to keep Heroes in tip-top shape, the Order of Heroes did their best to provide so that the Heroes would be regularly well-rested and happy to provide their services.

   But some… some Heroes like to push the envelope. 

   Charlotte, hailing from Nohr, came to mind. She needed her beauty sleep, after all. She was very stringent about her routine of facial masks and other implements of skincare. She had big dreams and she was not content to let them be figments of her sleep.

   Hilda from the Officer’s Academy in Fódland was another example, too. She was very much the five more minutes type in the morning, very slow to start anything. Getting her up and dressed could be quite time consuming, no wonder Professor Byleth had whole systems of getting her ready for school.

   Then there was Nephenee, who belonged to the Greil Mercenaries, was the complete opposite. Too often she could be found asleep in a haystack or anywhere else, trying not to infringe on anyone or cause inconvenience by being selfish. Telling her she deserved just as much luxury as anyone else was like trying to convince a brick wall of a cause! 

   But none of those aforementioned Heroes had anything on Nerþuz!

   Oh gee…

   If it wasn’t one thing with her, it was another. She was a Goddess, after all. She wasn’t used to hearing the word no… But Sharena really wished that she was. She also seemed to operate in a completely different reality to most other folk which otherwise would have been chalked up to her holy origins but there were plenty of other divine and ethereal Heroes who were not as needy as her.

   “My pillows need fluffing!”

   That was a common complaint and with horns like hers, Sharena was sympathetic. It must be hard having to lug around such equipment, they were always ruining pillows, too. 

   “I can’t sleep without a lullaby…”

   That wasn’t too uncommon of Nerþuz to demand. She and her silly shows and whimsical skits, Nerþuz adored to have some entertainment. Sharena cringed in embarrassment to remember how she had to ask the Land Mother of her aid. At least she was easily amused and it seemed like it came from a good place…? Honestly Sharena had no idea but a few bars of a nursery rhyme and Nerþuz would typically plonk out asleep.

   But now Nerþuz had a new one… Something she hadn’t asked for before…

   “Sharena, my dear, I need a friend to sleep with.” Nerþuz pined. “I need something small and soft to cuddle and share in my dreams with…” Her tone of voice was sing-song.

   “Well, we have a fine selection of stuffed toys, you know.” Sharena chirped. “There’s Mr. Bear the Teddy Bear, or Henry the Horse or-”

   “Oh, sweetie, I don’t want a play-pretend friend,” Nerþuz batted her eyelashes at her, “I want you.” Her expression was all too come hither in the dim.

   “Wh-Huh?” Sharena blushed.

   Nerþuz swept her up into an embrace and Sharena’s face was forcibly nuzzled against Nerþuz’s velvet soft chest. Nerþuz hugged her tightly, much the same way as a child would hug her favourite stuffed toy, all but smothering Sharena with affection as she was stunned by it all. 

   “Pwease…” Nerþuz begged. 

   Nerþuz towered over Sharena and held her in a deep embrace, forcing her as close as close could be and Sharena was too useless to struggle as she was drawn into Nerþuz’s atmosphere. She inhaled deep Nerþuz’s unearthly scent and her mind began to whirl. Her perfume was sweet and heavenly, it made Sharena’s mouth water as it warmed her with… all sorts of lewd and lurid thoughts as Nerþuz waited on Sharena’s answer.

   One she wasn’t going to get any time soon the more Sharena dithered with her reveries quickly unravelling. Don’t have dirty thoughts about a Goddess, don’t have dirty thoughts about a Goddess! Sharena begged herself but she found the contact of her face to Nerþuz’s breast all too intoxicating. Focus on her negatives, Sharena told herself.

   Nerþuz was so childish and immature! She was as old as time and this was how she behaved?! Sharena, a mere nineteen year-old mortal, could hardly believe it but her lips went fuzzy. She could feel the blooms of red pulsate in her cheeks. Sharena was unable to deny Nerþuz this request, too. Just like all her previous ones. 

   Oh, curse her hospitable and generous nature! Sharena swallowed her pride once more.

   “O-Of course, anything for you, Lady Nerþuz.” Sharena replied, stilted and saccharine.

   “Aww, and that’s why you're my favourite child of Midgard.” Nerþuz celebrated.

   She dragged Sharena to bed and that was that - and made the middle spoon, no less. Nerþuz fell asleep as soon as her head hit her pillow which yes, was sufficiently fluffed by Sharena beforehand and made from goose feather down. Nerþuz’s breath whistled as she curled around Sharena and Sharena was held tight under Nerþuz’s elegant arms and the doona covers of the bed. 

   (Sharena could only hope that they got plenty of R&R Affinity from this, gee whiz.)

   But it wasn’t… uncomfortable to be Nerþuz’s living plushie, Sharena found as she fell asleep. If a little uneasily. Nerþuz was actually quite cute when she slept, from what Sharena could gather whenever she glanced over her shoulder. And thanks to all the - often thankless - prep that she did for the dormitories, with the help of the maids, the bed was pretty comfortable, too. 

  It was nice and warm. Or, more accurately, Nerþuz made it nice and warm. Her voluptuous figure generated a lot of heat which she was more than happy to share. So, Sharena drifted off herself and had a pretty good dream about warm, spring skies and gardens filled with endless flowers explored by bunny rabbits. 

   If only it could have lasted forever but all good things must end. Especially when out in the real world, it was just as lovely. The sunshine which came through the curtained window was yellow and charming, a whole day of training and studying was ahead of them and sounded quite energising to Sharena.

    Nerþuz still held onto her, her face buried into her back. Her hands were knotted in front of Sharena’s belly, keeping her close but Sharena began to wriggle about.

   “C’mon Lady Nerþuz,” Sharena whispered, “wake up…” 

   “Nooo… five more minutes.” Nerþuz pouted. “You're my toy, I decide when we get up.”

   “Aww but we need to get the day started.” Sharena insisted, still squirming despite how Nerþuz snuggled into her in protest.

   “Noooooo.” Nerþuz continued to whine.

   Nerþuz pulled herself up and on top of Sharena. She was… very heavy, Sharena realised. Of course she was, she was a deity with another form as an enormous and domineering goat but even still. This was a shocking realisation to Sharena as she was pressed into the bed.

   “Let’s stay in bed a little longer, please, my darling…?” Nerþuz implored Sharena.

   Her voice had dropped several octaves and had taken on a much sharper quality. There was practically a smirk in her voice, Sharena was too submissive to check as Nerþuz toyed with her. Their lower bodies were hidden by the covers of their bedding and for that, Sharena was glad as they were also aligned underneath the soft concealment of the doona. 

   “S-Sounds good, my lady.” Sharena’s voice cracked as she blushed.

   Nerþuz leaned in and slotted her head between Sharena’s neck and shoulders. The closeness made the light peach fuzz on the sides of Sharena’s face stand on end. Nerþuz nuzzled her and kissed her cheek sleepily, her intentions still obscured by her selfish eccentricity - to Sharena at least.

[jellydishes]

i was tagged by @transprincecaspian, @badartxd, @demandthedoodles for wip wednesday, which i'm answering a bit late cause i'm going through a rebellious phase i guess lol. tagging @flashhwing, @kagetsukai, @heniareth, and @siriskulk:

Ten minutes into his hike, Varric was experiencing so many regrets he decided to make a classification system for them based on levels of loathing versus practicality of the solutions. The level of one was much, much higher than the second. Almost in echo of the hike itself.

Twenty minutes later, his phone started to sing a popular cat food commercial jingle. He silenced it. His phone proceeded to buzz, instead, which he ignored with a level of self destructive, obstinate anger that he only achieved when doing exercise.

Fifteen minutes or so after that, he heard a car approaching from behind him and moved over to give it room. Instead of moving past him, however, the car slowed to a crawl and he heard the automatic window roll down. "Hey, good looking!" A familiar voice called out to him cheerfully. "What's a man like you doing in the middle of a temper tantrum like this?"

"How did you find me?" Varric asked without looking away from the path ahead. He was followed in the car at a leisurely pace, engine quietly rumbling as Anders bent one arm to hang out over the open window.

"Really? You're you, and on foot. There's only so many places you'd want to go, and all of them are Hawke's."

Varric started to answer, only to stop, and then stopped walking entirely. "Maker's ballsack!" He cried out, throwing up his hands. "What does a reasonably attractive man have to do to get a little time to himself around here?"

Anders put the car in park and leaned against the car door, saying mildly, "I would argue about all of that first part, but, uh. I would say getting privacy would involve first answering your texts so people know you didn't get axe murdered or dragged off to be feasted upon by pine martins."

[bogirltalk]

Hi! thank you for creating this blog. This is my input in it and what has been asked related to the blog already:

Whatever the topic is about, either just silly girl talk or NSFW; should be posted at different times of day and throughout the week, since not everyone is active at all the times or want to jump in at a schedule. It would also put some pressure on you to follow a schedule when let's be honest, can be a little stressful.

Either if we talk about band members or not, that's really up to where you wanna take the blog. If the blog name already implies it is a Bad Omens girl talk/space and we take away the "Bad Omens" part of it by not talking about the band, then it doesn't make much sense to me to name it that way. If we wanna talk solely about unhinged thoughts, spicy stuff (without saying names), telling stories, asking for advice of any kind, then the name should be different so people wouldn't expect to come here to talk or read about the band and not finding any.

Maybe you could run a poll asking what people want to talk about here, if conversations should include BO, other bands as well, or keep it band-less.

I can also suggest not posting certain messages that include private information that could be traced to the people involved. I'm not even saying some anons might do it with malice in mind, but sometimes you don't measure yourself and type out of excitement and don't think throughly before hitting send, and then cause a little mess unintentionally.

In that same note I don't think anyone did anything wrong over the other blog. It's just taking some steps to prevent future drama to an extend. At the end of the day I feel we all were involved in some unnecessary drama caused by someone who decided to act out of jealousy, rage, indignation, whatever you wanna call it. And we can't really control who reads what, so that's always there.

If you decide to take the route of talking about bands I also strongly suggest you don't use their names for the tags, use instead shortcuts like: "ns: bo" "nf: bo" "jk: bo" "nr: bo"

ALSO: Make the blog un-searchable. Go to the privacy settings and set the blog to not be found through searching engines and not even inside Tumblr. Everyone that has a link still can see the blog but at least it protects you a tiny bit from being searched easily and would keep it more as a closed circle type of thing.

Hope this helps and I'd also like to read what everyone else thinks about it.

If the blog name already implies it is a Bad Omens girl talk/space and we take away the "Bad Omens" part of it by not talking about the band, then it doesn't make much sense to me to name it that way.

That's a good point! I'm not opposed to allowing "spicy" talk about band members (since fics already exist anyway - what's the difference between a fic and someone writing an anonymous thought?). I'm just trying to figure out what our boundary should be to make sure it doesn't get too out of control, you know?

I can also suggest not posting certain messages that include private information that could be traced to the people involved.

Absolutely agree! I will not be allowing that. That means, no mentioning of blog names or usernames on other social media, no linking to people's accounts, etc.

And regarding the tagging system and searchability of the blog, thank you! That's all good advice that I will implement.

I appreciate your feedback! ♥︎

[bread-squid-uwu]

So, as a collective we have decided that since aphblr had lead to a small crisis with safety and mental health in relation to our host, and three introject alters, we're going to be temporarily removing the anon feature from our inbox alongside simply clearing or ignoring the current asks in there as there are forty-two asks, which having a ton of asks is actually a very large paranoia trigger for us.

[ screenshot showing our inbox currently. ]

On top of this, we will not be going through tags or blogs for a while, just until we feel less uneasy about it. So, we'll most likely only interact with mutuals and make our own posts for a while, which isn't much different than our original routine.

As another change, we're going to be more transparent with who exactly is running this blog. This blog is shared between our host, and aphverse introjects - mostly Dante and Travis. Which is the reason for our DNI and boundaries being what they are, and the reason this blog is mostly centered around content of the boys and especially those two. The characters are very, very important to us, obviously - and yes, an introject can enjoy their source and source character outside of themself, we personally don't identify with sources much.

So, this means we'll be adding alter sign off / credit to any future posts, and we'll probably add a tagging system explanation to our pinned post as well eventually.

Anyways, we're still taking time away from this fandom, so this might be the only post for a little bit. You can still find us active on other blogs, and if you're a mutual then you'll know we're gonna be on discord more lol (feel free to ask for our account, btw!! It's very fun talking to friends!)

Anyways Anyways, more things under the cut, but until next time - wishing everyone good vibes :]

[ - Garroth 🌊 ]

Putting these pictures here temporarily, as an extra way to further explain our account and stances. We have a DNI and boundaries for a reason, and we talk about specific things more than others for a reason. The entire travlyn situation really shouldn't have happened, on all ends actually, but it did stem from a very specific place on our end.

Pointing out one thing about one character, never downplayed or supported the actions of another, two things can be true at once, but I'm tired of repeating that. We typically avoid the talk of travlyn, of Katelyn, of any character negativity, but we popped in this one time from a place of discomfort.

Again, I'm tired of repeating the explanations.

Anyways,

Here is a list of everyone that uses this blog, used it in the past, may use it in the future, etcetera etcetera. We feel perfectly fine and safe sharing this information, we've always been open about our system, and have a blog dedicated to it. Visit our system blog if you have questions, @aquaticfreakshow-sys

Certain things are blocked out to respect our privacy, and some things are blocked out to respect others.

We have twenty (20) introjects from this source, and only around five are frequent front. Dante is a co-host, Travis fronts very often, the two Zane alters are often out as well, Aaron is frequently front (though he usually only listens to music and stays offline now because of past things in aphblr).

Again, this blog is mostly Sean(Squid), Dante, and Travis.

I think I'll be ending this here, I'm not sure what else to say about anything and sitting here thinking about it all, I'm just starting to get upset that this all happened. The amount of harassment was ridiculous, and honestly frightening. But, we're confident moving forward and past this. Especially with turning off anon for a long while.

Again, if you have questions about our system then please direct them to our system blog.

Have a wonderful day, our dear 30-something followers, does anyone remember how our old blog had 400?? Wild

[ - again, post made by Garroth ]

Heyy uhm!! On a serious note,

Probably not gonna be posting for a while because this entire situation has actually pushed our system into a health and safety crisis regarding our mental health (read pinned post for limited context)

[bitchyfoxymama]

Dirty Little Secret - Moon Knight System x F!Reader

Warning: smut, sex work, fingering(F receiving) pinning, very fluffy.

A/n: sex work is work, also I hope I did good describing camming I've never done it nor have I watched it so I hope I did ok. This was inspired by @valeskafics camgirl series

Tags: @juneknight @romanarose

...

It was a late friday night in London, the boys had no plans and it was Steven’s day. Steven had been bored and curious, sometimes a disastrous combo but today it probably worked in his favor. 

He was horny, and he didn't want to watch the same old scripted porn on pornhub, no he wanted something intimate. So he opened a website he saw Jake had used once when he hadn't realized Steven was confronting. He noticed you never showed your face but he assumed that was because of safety or for privacy. 

So Steven typed in your name and sure enough there you were, streaming and in the middle of presumably fulfilling a request as you spoke out the word ‘Mommy’ in a breathy moan that went right to his already half hard cock. 

‘Mommy, can I please cum on your strap. Its s’good, mommy, i'm so close’

“Bloody hell, I’m about to cum in my trousers like a bloody teenager.” he mumbles to himself as he guides his hand down his sweats to release his cock and begins to mimic the speed you are using the dildo on yourself. 

When you both finish, Steven tips you 50£ and writes ‘You looked absolutely like an angel in the stream darling, make sure to drink some water’ he smiles as you read his comment out loud. 

…

Jake was really horny and he knew exactly how to help relieve his dilemma, he was going to watch his favorite camgirl. He pulls out Steven’s laptop, logging into the website and searches for her name. 

He discovered you not too long ago, on a night quite like this one, he enjoyed the way you were so sweet with the audience, you started every steam by asking if everyone has had their water today, he loved your personality as much as he loved your body.  He liked to watch you stretch yourself on the dildos you used.  The little moans you let out when you were close to orgasm. 

He loved your streams. They always felt so homey and intimate, plus you sometimes wore the lingerie he would gifted you and watch you play with yourself in it. He would like to imagine you being his girlfriend, as he watched your face as you came on your fingers. 

…

Marc loves watching you, he loves being able to match the speed of you fucking yourself on your fingers to his fist running up and down on his cock. He likes to imagine it's your hand jerking him off. He adds more lube to his palm as he watches you squirt for the camera. 

As bad as it probably is, Marc wishes he could be the one to make you do it. He wants to be the one to make your cunt glisten with cum and pound into you. He wants to replace your fingers with his, make your viewers guess whose fingers are knuckle deep in your pussy as you moan out and quiver in ecstasy as you orgasm under his touch. 

“Oh! Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh! Fuck!” you moan out as you squirt on the purple dildo that you pull out of your quivering cunt. Marc comes soon after, getting off on your moans and heavy breathing.  

…

The boys had agreed to spend the 200£ for a private video chat with you and so the day had come when that was finally happening.  

“Hello!” you say excitedly. People never splurge for the private video chat so this was gonna be fun seeing as how it's the user celestiallover87. He is always so sweet when they give you tips, compliments and gifts. 

“Hello love, bit of a beautiful night innit?” Steven says with his camera off. 

His voice sounds so familiar, you can almost place it, if he put on his camera you’d be sure to place where you've seen him from. 

“It is very beautiful especially since i get to speak to you, my handsome gifter,” you flirt, biting your lip even though you knew he couldn't see it. 

“Flirt back, Steven” Marc says in the head space, since they all pitched in to pay for this they all decided to be present when it came time for the private chat. 

"Yes! Tell her how much we enjoy her content, and turn on the damn camera hermano!" Jake also butts in.

"Bloody hell," he mumbles before turning on the camera. 

There in front of you is the cute gift shoppist you always visit. 

“St-Steven?” you let out and before you can even stop yourself you raise your camera to show off your face. 

“Y/n!” a blush begins to make its way up his neck, “Um fancy meeting you here,” he says with a lopsided smile. 

“Mierda, it's that cute little bakery owner who has a crush on steven!” Jake looks shocked from the headspace, “I bet her pussy tastes just as sweet as the pastries she makes.”

Steven’s cock swells at the words. 

“I-I this is a little awkward,” you chuckle, “Um you won't reveal my secret will you?” you bite your finger nail, it was newly painted, with little stars and a moon painted on it. 

“I wouldn't dream of it, love! But um why camming?” He asks while rubbing his clothed thighs trying to focus on anything but the way your breasts bounce slightly when you laugh at his question. 

“I love getting off and I love being in control. I control my environment, how and when I come and sometimes I get to be in control of others' orgasms and that is just so thrilling,” you begin to explain, getting into a much more comfortable position on your chair, “The bakery is my passion and this is my stress relief,” 

“Steven, you gotta ask her out now. Come on for us.” Marc says. 

“I-I wanted to ask this the next time i saw you but no time like the present right?” he swallows thickly, he can't focus. Between his cock hardening and you looking so god damn cute in your baby pink lingire, “But would you like to-to go out with me?”

“Are you sure you still wanna go out with me? Now that you know what I do?” You ask blushing. This was the best day ever for you! Your long time crush whom you have liked for a few months now, and may now possibly love feels the same for you. It makes you wanna kick your feet and twirl your hair. 

“Of course I still want to go out with you love, just because you do this doesn't make you any different than the sweet woman you are that brings me treats every friday. You're still Y/n”

“Pick me up at my place this friday at 8! There's this great vegan place that just opened up, but for now I've got to go!” you both quickly say your goodbyes. 

“Holy shit,” Marc lets out. 

“Hombre got a date with Y/n and she's the sexy little cam girl too. Fuck” Jake adds biting his lip staring at the black screen in front of them.  

“Bloody hell I've comed in my trousers,” steven mutters to himself. 

…

“Oh, fuck yes, please daddy deeper,” you moan out. Splayed in Jake's lap, his hardened cock rubbing against your ass. You will definitely be helping out with that the moment your stream is over. You are both in your streaming room with Jake knuckle deep in your cunt, while his thumb is rubbing slow circles on your clit.

“Yeah you like when Daddy makes you come on his fingers don't you, mi vida?” Jake whispered in your ear. He runs his unoccupied hand towards your throat and gently squeezes. You're so close to your orgasm but know you can only achieve it when Jake feels like letting you come. 

   The boys didn't like to have their voices on camera and it also helped the viewers imagine it was them with their fingers inside you. Each of the boys had their own ways of being with you. With Steven it was sweet, soft and caring. He will coax so many orgasms out of you with his sweet words.  Jake was rough, he liked to deny your orgasms as long as he could. He also liked to choke you which you found you enjoyed. Marc was a mix of both, depending on how he was feeling and the requests you would get would determine which mood he was in. 

“Come on my fingers mi vida, i know you want too,” he puts pressure on your throat once more as he feels your walls tighten around his fingers. He curls his fingers inside of your warm cavern and runs them against the spongy spot inside. 

You moan out, squirting over his fingers. You lean your head back on Jake's shoulder, still out of sight of the camera. You moan as he removes his fingers from inside you. 

“Thank you daddy,” you sigh out. Soon after youve come down from your high, you thank your viewers and tell them to drink their water because if they are just as thirsty as you are they need their water. 

When you know for a fact the stream is off you slide off Jake’s lap and turn towards him smiling. 

“Thank you for helping me with this stream baby,” you say while leaning forward and kissing him sweetly. 

“Anything for you mi cariño,” he responds once you pull away, he places the fingers that were once deep inside you into his mouth, “As sweet as always.  

[seidenbros]

There's No One Like You

Requests are open | prompt lists for inspiration | Stranger Things Masterlist

People were asking about a part 2 to Hello Neighbour, so... here we are, here it is, you do not need to have read the first part (though it's just 1k words) to understand this here, cause it's just utter smut

Pairing: Eddie Munson x (perv) Female!Reader

Word count: 3159

Summary: After you watched Eddie the previous night, you can't stop thinking about his offer to come over the next time, and it keeps you distracted at work. You plan on doing it, going over to your neighbour, but he seems to be one step ahead of you.

Warning/Tags: shameless smut, dirty talk, masturbation (m + f), voyeurism, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), utter filth I guess, multiple orgasms (let me know if I missed anything) | 18+ MINORS DNI

Naughty Neighbours Series: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Read on AO3

Smut under the cut

All day at work, you hadn’t been able to concentrate, your mind pedalling back to the previous evening, to what you’d seen and heard. All that already drove you up the wall, made you clench your thighs together whenever you caught yourself thinking back to the sinful moans you’d heard from your neighbour. God, you felt like a pervert thinking about this, about him, but in the end, that was all his fault. He had been the one to tell you after this whole thing that you should come over the next time, and you hadn’t stopped thinking about what could happen then. What he could do with you and vice versa. All the sounds that had echoed through the night mixed with your own…

You’d nearly walked over to his door the moment you’d closed your own balcony door for some much needed privacy. Your whole body had been on fire after he’d said that because he’d caught you staring and masturbating to him. Oh, you’d seen in the look on his face how much he’d enjoyed it, but it hadn’t taken the embarrassment away that you’d felt at that moment. Only later, when you’d been in your bed, reaching for the vibrator in your nightstand did you realise that you really had to follow his invitation, because otherwise you wouldn’t be able to get him out of your head, out of your system, because you kept thinking about how his dick would feel inside of you, how good he would taste, all the things he’d say to you - because he was a talker, he’d proven that that night when it had only been him and his hand.

“Y/N? Maybe you should go home,” your boss called over, pulling you back from your thoughts. You felt caught, front teeth boring into your bottom lip, hands wringing the towel you were holding. You’d screwed up a few times today, mixing up orders, shattering glasses, and you knew it. You knew why, but there was nothing you could do about it right now. Your thoughts were occupied with Eddie, and your body aching to be touched by him. You just hoped that he had meant what he’d said that previous night, that he hadn’t changed his mind. Otherwise, you would look like a real fool when you knocked on his door later on.

“I’m sorry… I just can’t seem to concentrate today.”

“It’s alright, happens to all of us. It’s not a busy night anyway, so go home. We’ve got the rest covered.”

“Thanks, Ralph.” You gave him a smile before you clocked out for the day, breathing a sigh of relief once you were out of the building. You took the time to buy a bottle of whiskey that you could give Eddie, using it as a reason to knock on his door because you wanted to apologise for your indecent behaviour - in case he hadn’t meant what he’d said last night or it had really just been your imagination.

Eddie was already home when you got there, you could tell by the music that was wafting out of his apartment, that you could hear quietly through the door and then on the balcony once you’d opened the door to your balcony to let some fresh air inside. The sky was already turning pink and purple from the setting sun, and you knew that it would be dark by the time you finished your shower. You’d turned on some music, started singing along while you were showering.

Once out of the shower, your towel dried your hair and wrapped another towel around your body. You didn’t have to cook anything tonight, because you still had leftovers, but you wanted to heat them up while you got dressed, because you could certainly use some food before you gathered your courage to knock on your neighbours door - only to find him sitting on your sofa when you walked into the open kitchen that was adjoined to the living room.

“JESUS CHRIST!” you yelped, grabbing a hold of the counter of your kitchen island, heart racing so fast in your chest that you thought it would give in at any moment. “What the everloving fuck?”

“Sorry,” Eddie chuckled, craning his neck to get a better look at you without getting up from the sofa. He looked way too good with his slightly dishevelled hair, the faded sweatpants that ended in bare feet and the muscle tee that accentuated the tattoos on his arms. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“How could I not get scared with someone just sitting in my apartment?” Your heart was slowly calming down, giving way to the arousal that was now coursing through your body, settling between your thighs, because you knew why he was here. He’d just beaten you to it, and you knew that you would have doubted yourself, stalled and maybe not even knocked at his door in the end.

“I normally don’t do this either and if you tell me to go, I’ll do that straight away.” Eddie slowly got up from the sofa and walked over to you. His eyes were locked with yours, never wavering while he got closer and closer. “But I thought that you might not come by tonight like I said you could, so… I wanted to take my chance when I saw your balcony door open.” He stopped right in front of you, his toes nearly touching yours.

“I…” you started, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, because they felt too dry all of a sudden. “I wanted to. I even got this as an apology for my behaviour yesterday.” You pointed towards the bottle of whiskey on the counter. Eddie risked a quick glance, before his eyes were back on you.

“Good choice… But you don’t need to apologise.” He raised his hand to the knot in your towel, toying with it a little. “It was actually fucking hot to know that you were watching. It spurred me on.” You gave him your approval with a barely discernible nod of your head, and he opened the knot, letting your towel drop to the floor, pooling around your ankles.

“Really?” You hated how breathless you sounded, but there was no denying how turned on you already were, and you were pretty sure that Eddie had known that even before.

“Mhm… Never thought I’d enjoy having an audience, but I came so hard I surprised myself.” Eddie chuckled, the sound making you shiver involuntarily. His eyes wandered over your body for a moment, but then his head snapped back up. “So…” He placed his hands on your hips, slowly moved them up your sides, fingertips grazing your skin. His thumbs brushed the sides of your breasts, before he dropped his hands again. “Was that the first time you were watching me? Be honest!”

“Yes,” you answered in a whisper, swallowing hard, because you wanted for him to touch you. Really touch you and not just these featherlight touches that already set you on edge. And you wanted to touch him as well, but you felt frozen in place. “Listened to your music before but not…”

“Me jerking off.”

“Yes. That was the first time.”

Eddie lifted you onto the kitchen island, immediately stepping between your legs. His hands on your thighs were hot, almost felt like they were burning into your skin as he moved them up.

“Good.” He pulled you against him, your exposed pussy making contact with the front of his sweatpants, and you could feel  the outline of his hard cock against it, pressing against you. The moan that escaped your lips made him tighten the hold he had on your thighs. You were so wet that it didn’t take long for him to feel it through the material of his pants. “So wet already, hm? And I haven’t even really touched you.” he rubbed himself against you, making you shiver and moan again.

“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked, wrapping one arm around you, lifting you up again. While he was ready to take you right here, right now, he had something else in mind first.

“Second door to the right,” you managed to say, your arms wrapped around his neck to hold onto him. He moved swiftly with you in his arms, turned on the lights in your bedroom and dropped you down on the bed, before he stepped back. The confused look on your face made him chuckle.

“I wanna watch,” he said, reaching for the hem of his muscle tee to pull it over his head, taking another step away from the bed.

“What?” Your head cleared slightly, but your heart started racing again.

“You heard me. You watched me yesterday, and I didn’t really see anything, ‘cause you were out in the dark. I wanna watch how you touch yourself. Couldn’t stop thinking about this.” His eyes roam your body, taking in every inch, and if it weren’t for the hunger burning in his eyes, you’d try to cover up, but in fact, it was arousing you even more, the way he looked at you. “And after that, I’m gonna fuck that perfect little pussy of yours.” His eyes dropped down to your core, making you clench around nothing. “Look at you… so wet you’re dripping onto the bed.”

Another moan left your lips and your hands started moving on their own accord. While your left hand grabbed your tit, your thumb rubbing over the stiff peak, your right hand moved down your stomach until you reached your mound. Your legs fell open wider, giving him a better view as you ran two fingers along your cunt, spread your lips for him to see. You could see his nostrils flare as he was watching you, eyes darting from your cunt to your tits and back.

You understood what he’d been talking about, because him watching you now spurred you on as well. You dipped your fingers in your own juices and bit down on your bottom lip to keep from moaning out loud.

“Don’t,” Eddie admonished, palming himself through his sweatpants. “I wanna hear you!”

And so you opened your lips, a gasp leaving your lips as you circled your clit with your fingers. You pinched your own nipple, rolled it between your finger, another moan escaping you, this time louder. You could hear him groan deep within his chest upon that, making you smile. Your eyes were fixed on him as you pushed two fingers inside you, hips bucking up to meet your own movements, to take your fingers deeper.

Eddie watched you intently, his breathing getting faster as he finally pulled down his sweatpants, breathing a sigh of relief upon being freed from the bothersome material. Your eyes dropped down and the sight made your mouth water and your cunt clench around your fingers. God, you wanted him, but you enjoyed seeing him like this even more right now, knowing that you were responsible for him wrapping his own hand around his cock, stroking along his length lazily while his eyes were fixed on your hand, on the pleasure you were giving yourself.

Your own fingers got faster, meeting the movement of your hips, driving you closer and closer to your orgasm. You let go of your nipple, let your left hand join the right between your legs to rub your clit.

“Fuck… I’m so close!” you moaned, head going back up to look at Eddie, who was still stroking himself, but was now standing right at the foot of the bed to watch you.

“Go ahead… Make yourself come! And let me hear you!”

That was all it took for you to let go, your own fingers pumping in and out, while your orgasm rolled through your body, legs shaking, back arching of the bed while a string of moans left your lips, and you really didn’t hold back, because he liked it, liked hearing you.

“Shit…” you heard him moan and you looked back at him just in time to see him come all over his hand, head thrown back in ecstasy as he pumped hs cock a few more times. He hadn’t planned on coming like this, but the sight before him had been way too hot that he hadn’t been able to hold back.

You slowly pulled your hands back, trying to catch your breath. Yeah, you really understood what he’d been talking about, and it was even better when you were closer and both got to watch.

Before you were able to sit up, Eddie was on your bed, pulling your hand towards his lips to clean it, lick up your juices, and he moaned around your fingers.

“Fuck, you taste even sweeter than I thought.” You had no idea where he’d cleaned his own hand, and you really didn’t care, when he leaned over you to finally, finally kiss you. You could taste yourself on his tongue as he pushed it past your lips. Your hands landed on his chest, slowly making their way down, because he’d promised you something, and you wanted that, wanted to feel him fill you up. When your fingers reached their target, you were surprised to find him still hard. Pleasantly surprised. He groaned into your mouth when your fingers wrapped around his hard cock.

“I’ve been thinking about this.” Eddie peppered kisses along your jaw, down your neck, spending some time at the hollow right above your clavicle, before he moved further down. “About your tits that fill out your work uniform so perfectly. Thought about fucking them…. Bet that’d feel heavenly.” When he bit down on your nipple, you couldn’t help but moan his name loudly.

“We can do that next time…” You felt his cock twitch at your words and you smirked to yourself. You couldn’t fool yourself into thinking that you’d be satisfied after just one night, and you were willing to experiment with him. “But right now, I just want you to fuck me like you said you would.” Your fingers carded through his hair, scratched his scalp before you pulled him up to meet your lips again. “Cause I’ve been thinking about this as well!”

“Fucking hell,” Eddie grunted against your lips, his grip on your waist tightening upon realising that you two had been tiptoeing around each other until now. But now that that barrier was broken, there was no need to hold back anymore.

He wanted to remove your hand from his cock, but you pulled it back yourself. He gripped himself at the base, rubbed the tip of his cock through your wetness, making you bite your lip in the process. Eddie watched you intently, as he pushed his tip inside you, slowly easing himself in, inch by inch until he was buried deep inside you. A long, drawn-out moan left your lips, nails digging into his shoulders. Eddie stayed like this for a moment, giving you time to adjust to his size, but you were the one to push against him, giving him the go to move, because you needed this, needed him, and the took the hint.

He pulled out nearly all the way, before he slammed back inside you, making you arch your back.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he grunts, his lips wandering over your shoulder. “You feel amazing around my cock… gripping me so tight.” His thrusts became faster, harder, the sound of skin slapping on skin filling the room, drowning out the music that was still playing.

You both knew that you wouldn’t last long, still sensitive from your previous orgasms, but it was still perfect.

“Fuck Eddie!” You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him even closer, as you felt that coil inside you grow tighter and tighter. “You feel so good…” The moans and whimpers that left your lips only spurred him on. He reached for your hands, put them both above your head and pinned them there with one hand. Your eyes widened in surprise before another lewd moan left your lips as he hit just the right spot. “Right there… fuuuuck!”

“So good for me… you greedy little thing.” He kissed your shoulder again before he lifted his head again to look at you. “Gonna let me fill you with my come? Fill that needy pussy?”

“Yes! Yes Eddie! Please!” You tried to free your hands, but his grip was too tight, adding only to the sensation, and when you felt his hand move down your body, to rub your clit, you were gone. The coil inside you suddenly snapping, making your hips pussy clench around him, your legs shake as you came, chanting his name over and over again.

“That’s a good girl! Ride it out!” He pressed his teeth against your shoulder as he fucked you through your orgasm, chasing his own high, and when he came, he threw his head back, moaning an grunting, mixed with your name. You felt him pulsing inside you, coating your walls with his seed. It felt amazing, this whole experience with him. When he collapsed on top of you, you felt the air leave your lungs, but you still wrapped your arms around him, now that he’d let go of your hands again to keep him there, still joined with your, still on top of you.

Your heavy breathing filled the room, and when the ringing in your ears stopped, you could make out the music that was still playing, Klaus Meine’s voice ringing through the room as the Scorpions’ No One Like You played on your tape. Gently, you pushed Eddie’s sweat-soaked hair from his face, a smile on your lips.

“I hope I’m not crushing you,” he mumbled against your chest, opening his eyes to look at you.

“No, it’s actually a nice feeling.”

“Mhm… it is.” He had to agree, but then he lifted his head off you, inched upwards to kiss your lips. “Could get used to that.”

“Me too… just maybe without sneaking into my apartment.” You both chuckled. “I do have a door, you know?”

“Aww, where’s the fun in that?” He tilted his head to the side, while he slowly pulled out of you, making you whimper because you were so sensitive by now. He pushed himself up on his forearm, sneaking his other hand between your bodies down to your cunt to press his fingers against your hole to keep his seed inside you. A mewl came over your lips upon the touch. “How about a shower, hm? Pretty much ruined your efforts of getting clean after work.”

“I don’t think I can keep on my legs to be honest.”

“Oh, leave that up to me.” The twinkle in his eyes promised something that made you swallow another moan that dared to bubble up. Needless to say, you were all for it, and Eddie ended up staying the whole night.

~~~

Tag-list: @violetpenguinkris @tellhound @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @spideyanakin-interacts @bellamy-barnes @beepisbeep @snapefiction @hardysbitch @give-em-hellfire @sadbitchfangirl @ravenclawkimmi @lacrymosa-24 @ruinedbythehobbit @samlealea @hacker-ghost @kirsteng42 @princesseddie @anaisweird 

Let me know (send me a message) if you want to be on one of my tag-lists. I have one for the Promises Series, Eddie x Reader, Steddie and Steve x Reader 💚

[erodasfishtacos]

Not Your Charity Case

prompt: Harry is a frat boy - who doesn’t need sympathy from anyone. He makes Y/N feel a sense of home when they’re together. But is Harry just like every stereotypical frat boy?

word count: 6.2k 

warnings: minor violence, language, deaf!harry, smutttt

other: when Harry is talking to Y/N or any other characters - it is to be noted that he is signing. When Y/N talks to Harry - she is also always signing

Let me know if you’d want to see anything else from this verse:)

+++

You were rushed - you really shouldn’t stop at the local coffee shop for a sugary, delicious mocha chip frappuccino.

Despite what people say, professors are much more lax and carefree in college.

It was about two weeks into the new semester, - your third here- and the seasons were changing - becoming autumn.

Chilled breezes, falling leaves, and vivid colors of nature made you happy.

When you arrive in line, there are two people ahead of you. A girl currently in front of the cashier and a tall male with a red and black flannel on behind her- typing away on his phone.

When she moves to the left, the broad man steps forward. His snapback facing backwards, brown curls dancing around his neck. You can’t help but notice how tall and lean he is, shoulders broad and straight.

You definitely haven’t seen him before on campus. You’d remember.

From what you can see, he shows the young girl behind the counter the screen of his phone without saying anything at all.

The raven-haired girl’s face pinches in annoyance. “We don’t accept orders like that. You need to tell me what you want.”

You’re a little surprised by both the rude cashier but also the man who doesn’t respond right away.

He attempts to show her his phone again but she shakes her head - annoyed.

You become interested in the situation when I watch him sign, a few gestures before pointing to his ears. In the most obvious form of saying “I can’t hear.”

The clueless girl gives him a blank look, “Listen, there’s a line. I don’t have time for this.”

You hoped you weren’t overstepping your boundaries when you slide up next to him, tapping him on his shoulder to get his attention.

It is a bit startling how gorgeous the boy is. He was tanned with bright green-eyes and a defined jawline that was currently clenched in frustration.

You sign, “What are you trying to order?”

He studies you for a second with hesitance before his long slim fingers begin to move, slowly as if he thinks you may be inexperienced in the form of language.

He replies, “Large coffee with a little cream and two sugars.”

You squeeze in front of him, “It is not only rude but illegal to not serve based on disabilities. Refusing an order from a deaf person isn’t moral or acceptable.”

The girl has enough decency to mumble an apology and turned bright pink, “Sorry, he doesn’t look deaf. “You roll your eyes - how can you tell that someone is deaf based on solely appearance? This girls a fucking idiot, you think.

You repeat his order to her, along with yours - sliding your debit card towards her and give her your name for the order.

The man trails behind you to the small waiting area. “Thank you,” he signs simply. You nod and return the pleasantry. The. hand him his steaming hot coffee.

“Thank you again. I’m going to be late to class, so I have to go,” he tells me, seeming a little out of place signing with a stranger.

“Go ahead, I’ll see you around.” It was the first time in a long time you’ve signed to anyone outside your family.

+++

Sipping your drink as you are only five minutes late and the class hasn’t even started yet. The man you just helped was sat in the back of the classroom, unloading his laptop.

With a little bravery, you wriggle your way through and plop into the wooden chair easily. Letting your backpack fall to the ground. Curly looks over at you with a frown, he signs, “Why are you sitting next to me?”

You blush, “I don’t know? Thought it’d be good to have someone to talk to.”

His hands are tense as he replies, “I’m not a charity case, so you can leave me alone.”

“Never said you were,” you huff when you tell him. Not appreciating how rude he was being. Signing had its own tones and expressions so to speak. For example, when someone is happy their signs and movements are different than when they’re sad or frustrated.

Harry seems to be the latter. You wrestle out your laptop to the PowerPoint that was going to be discussed today in class. You noticed Harry stared very intently at the professor to read his lips and expression.

You was surprised he didn’t have an interpreter with him but you’re sure he got special accommodations elsewhere. Even though that was absolutely none of your business.

His shoulders are tensed and he makes sure your arms don’t brush like you have cooties for the entire two hours. The nameless boy is up and out of his seat as soon as the professor shuts off the projector and turns on the lights - signaling class to be over.

Well fuck him then.

***

You don’t make the mistake to sit next him again. But that doesn’t mean you could ogle his strong muscular back and big hands.

It wasn’t your place to care but you felt twinges in your tummy when you noticed him struggling to keep up with the fast-speed class on certain days.

You were in the large, rustic library that smelled of old books and damp wallpaper. It was dead silent as people furiously studied or worked on papers due.

As you paced the shelves, you could not find the book you needed for your American Literature class. Fuck the Dewey Decimal System.

Part-time uni students probably just stuffed returned books in any open space they saw fit. But you need this book in particular, a discussion board post due by midnight and it was currently eight-thirty. They had ran out of copies at the on-campus bookstore.

After a valiant effort, you trudge up to the checkout counter. A little sign reads, “ring me if no ones here!”

You impatiently ring the silver bell. But no one comes. You give whoever is working a minute or two but nothing. Another ring it is.

Silence. No one. Of fucking course, luck is not on your side tonight.

You dramatically clunk your head onto the high counter top in front of you - groaning at the fact you may fail the assignment.

A tentative pat on your shoulder makes you snap your head up. To see the boy you’ve been constantly avoiding standing behind the checkout desk.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He had a name-tag on - Harry. He honestly looked a bit out of place. Harry appeared to be a frat boy. He was still had a boyish air about him but an intensity that was unmatchable.

He didn’t look like he would work in the library. He looked like...well he looked like he would be a beer pong referee or something.

You couldn’t see below his torso but he had a plain black snapback on and a vintage Elton John concert tee. A cross necklace dangling over the worn shirt.

You smile, embarrassed, but reply, “Just being dramatic. I can’t find a book and I was waiting here.”

There’s mirth in his eyes when he points to the bell,”Did you ring the bell?”

Your brows furrow, “I did.”

“Well I can’t hear it, I’m deaf,” he deadpans with a straight face and a dry sense of humor.

You roll your eyes, laughing nervously, “I didn’t know you were working!”

“What do you need?”

He helps you locate the book in two minutes flat before checking you out and you rushing home to finish the homework.

You felt bad ignoring your little sister’s FaceTime calls but you promised to call her back tomorrow. 

***

Though once again, you hadn’t interacted with Harry since last week - you constantly found yourself studying his stoic profile or fast moving fingers.

You would never befriend Harry because you feel bad for him - like he presumed. You enjoyed American Sign Language and it actually made you feel back at home.

You’re little sister was born completely deaf. She was much younger than you - eight years old. Fifteen years apart to be exact. You learned the language along with her and your parents.

When you were at home and your sister was there - you guys tried to only sign so she didn’t feel left out. So Harry felt like home - a little despite his completely off-putting demeanor. It made you a little bit more persistent than with any other frat boy.

***

The bulletin board in your advisor’s office caught your eyes. None of the little tabs ripped off in interest.

‘Student with ASL experience and above a 3.5 GPA needed for tutoring sessions - twice weekly. $16 dollars an hour.’

After your meeting, you tugged the little scrap of paper off and tuck it into your pocket. You couldn’t know for sure if it was Harry but you didn’t know of any other deaf students in the program.

You say ‘fuck it’ and type out an email to the advisor of academic affairs and accommodations to throw your hat in the ring.

***

You don’t hear back for three days - nearly forgetting about it in the mean time. Your eyes scan quickly over the email to grant you the position. They include contact information for no other than Harry Styles.

After psyching yourself out a little and a few paces across your kitchen tiles - you text him.

Hey! I’m your new assigned tutor. Would you like to set up a time and place? As well as what kind of help you’re looking for.

The reply text comes shortly after

Hello, thank you very much. I am just in need of hearing ears. I am deaf and have a hard time keeping up with the my professor. I have begun recording the lectures in hope that you can sign then to me.

Sure thing. That won’t be a problem!

I live in Alpha Sigma on 3rd street. I have my own room. I’d rather not have the tutoring session in public. However, if that makes you uncomfortable - we can figure something out.

You take a minute to debate. You understand why this would be a task too loud for the library and why he’d want privacy. You didn’t feel like I’d be uncomfortable with him.

I saw twice a week so does Tuesday and Thursday at seven work?

Sounds great. Thank you again x

Did he know it was me? Was he expecting it to me?

***

He was definitely not expecting you. You automatically knew that by the way his friendly smile dissipated into a frown when he opened the door for you.

You attempted to look nice today without trying too hard. A loose crop top with the university’s name, a pair of tight black leggings, bulky white socks bunched at your ankles, and white sneakers. Very 80’s.

You try to keep your composure, “Hi Harry, I’m going to be your tutor.”

He slowly nods at you, huffing out a breathe of irritation before inviting you into the frat house.

You’d only been here once or twice for a party so you had no idea what the house actually looked like when there weren’t bodies and booze everywhere.

He’s walking you past a group of boys playing FIFA on the flatscreen in the living room, white claws open everywhere.

“Y/N! Hey babe!” You look over to see Niall - one of your good friends from your part-time job at the bookstore - trotting over to you guys.

The blonde pulls you into an overexcited hug. He reminded you of a cuddly, soft puppy dog most of the time.

“Are you Harry’s little tutor?” Niall coos, leaning over to pinch Harry’s cheek. 

Harry- who was observing the conversation, focusing in on our lips, immediately bats his friend away. A small scowl forming on his face.

It automatically turns into a playful brawl where Niall tugs Harry into headlock. But he has no strength on the brunette.

Harry turns out of it quickly and pushes Niall to the ground. He straddles his stomach and begins to jokingly pinch and slap at him.

Niall hisses, “Ouch! You motherfucker! Big oaf!”

Then you don’t know why you find this endearing but Niall signs the word, “uncle” a few times to signal he’s accepted his lost.

The fact that they wrestle so much that Niall learned to sign how to give up made you giggle more than it should.

Harry crawls off of him, running a hand through his messy curls, his face a little flushed.

“I’ll talk to you later!” You tell Niall as your trailing behind Harry up a flight of stairs.

His room is extremely neat. A fluffy navy comfort decorated his bed with a few photos of flowers and nature on his wall. A tidy desk tucked away in the corner that had all of his school work loaded on top of it.

He chooses to sit in his desk chair, motioning for you to perch on his bed. You look at him expectantly when he pulls out the tape recorder and sets it on the surface.

He pulls his laptop into his lap and begins signing, “I need you to transcribe the lecture for me so I can follow it. We can skip through the bits where he is rambling or off topic.”

You nod, letting him know to begin whenever he’s ready. He presses the side button and the recording starts but it super unclear and garbled.

“Did you record this from your seat?” You ask, the professors words nearly inaudible and fuzzy.

“Yes.”

“You need to bring it to the front of the room. Ask Dr. Morrison  to lay it on his desk before class. I can’t hear anything but static and mumbles,” You tell him.

He laughs and shakes his head. His movements rough and angry, “Of course its fucked up. I get you as my tutor and then the recorder is shit.”

You glare at him, offended as you haven’t done anything to this boy. “Excuse me? I’ve literally been trying to help since I’ve meet you. What is your fucking issue?”

“I’m not a charity case! I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m not helpless! You’re probably just a silly little girl who took ASL in high school because it was cool and trendy. Go back to focusing on psych.”

“Fuck you, Harry,” Your gestures getting sharper and your face sour, “You know nothing about me so don’t act like you do. I don’t feel bad for you or think that you’re helpless.” You put up a hand and tell him to not talk.

“I was just being nice because I thought you were handsome and at first, seemed friendly. It turns out you’re just like every douchebag frat boy I’ve met. What a disappointment,” You chuckle, swinging your bag on your shoulder and storm out of the room without another look.

***

The cafe was jammed packed - it was Waffle Wednesday. You had said waffles in your tray and were about to plop down on a stool when you hear your name being called.

“C’mere, come sit with us!” He hollers over the commotion of the crowd. Niall.

You’re about to decline when some dude slips behind you and snags the stool. Shit.

A bit unwillingly you slide into the booth next to Niall, cracking open your sparkling water. “Mates, this is Y/N, we work at the store together and she’s Harry’s tutor,” he tells them. “Y/N, this is Liam and Louis.”

“Hello,” you try your best to come off as friendly even though you can feel Harry’s glare on the side of your face. You ended up falling to easy conversation with the boys. Niall has a very limited ASL vocabulary but tries.

The boys are also trying to talk slower and more pronounced so Harry can watch and understand. A couple of times he taps Niall on the wrist to repeat what was going on.

Your phone begins buzzing and you apologize for the interruption. It’s your little sister, Mazie, FaceTiming.

You answer the phone with a frown, signing “Aren’t you suppose to be in school?”

Mazie looks upset, eyes a little watery. She gestures back, “I left early. I’m sick.”

“Are you really sick or where you getting bullied again?” You asks her.

Your sister hesitates before sniffling, “You already know. I hate my school.” 

Mazie has had other children bully her for her disability since she started preschool and it as still happening in fourth grade.

“What can I do to help?” You frown, never wanting to see your baby sister cry.

You chat for a few minutes to help her calm down. When the phone call ends, you don’t realize that all the boys were watching you in interest. Harry in particular, keeps his focus on you with a wrinkled forehead.

“My sister’s deaf,” You tell them. The whole time you’ve been sitting with them you’ve been signing and verbally speaking to help everyone be able to be included in the conversation.

“That’s sick!” Louis says, smacking Harry’s arm. “Just like our lad Harry.” 

Harry grumbles when Louis shakes him a little. It seems like the boys loved to physically interact with Harry which was endearing.

Harry allows him to for a moment before he flicks his cheek hard and laughs when Louis flinches. The conversation goes back to normal.

***

Harry jogs up to you after your group shares farewells and a few punches. You pointedly ignore him as you trek to the class you two have together so it’s not like he can’t walk this way too.

“Please, wait,” Harry asks. He walks in front of you.

“What do you want?” You huff, keeping my glare firm and directed alley at him.

“I’m sorry. I made the wrong assumption.”

“You made a lot of wrong assumptions. The fact that you think of me so lowly is sad. I’ve been nothing but nice,” You try not to focus on his large palms that curve over the caps of your shoulders.

“I’m not very trusting of people.”

You snort rather unattractively, “No kidding”

“Can we please start over?” He asks, stepping back to give you space. He didn’t realize how close he’d been standing to you until your hair wisps across his nose.

“One more chance, Styles.”

Harry lays a hand on your upper arm and squeeze lightly before signing the simple gesture of ‘thank you.’

***

It turns out Harry is very handsy and physically affectionate. It wasn’t creepy though or something that ever made you feel uncomfortable.

You were still tutoring him but you hung around the frat with Harry nearly everyday. The days you just wanted to lay in bed resulted in a grumpy FaceTime from Harry.

Harry once stated during a tutoring session, “It is easier for me to show how I’m feeling with touch than words. If I ever make you uncomfortable - please tell me and I will stop.”

You smile slyly at his words that sounded more like a question, asking if he can touch you. “I guess I’ll let you feel me up every now in again.”

He giggles and looks down wolfishly - like an entertaining thought is dancing around in his mind.

You tuck your finger under his chin to gaze at you. “In all seriousness, I give you my consent to show your feelings with physical touch. I trust you and know you won’t do anything to make me uncomfortable.”

The curly-haired brunette smiles happily, his hand cupping the side of your neck and brushing over your pulse point.

He hadn’t touched you here before and it seems like it was his first goal to do so once he got permission. You can’t help but take in a deep gasp of air. You prayed he didn’t notice but by the small lift of his lips he did.

The simple touch made a flame of arousal swirl in your lower stomach. You felt like you were about to start sweating.

“Anyways,” You clear your throat and snatch back up the recorder. It now had better quality after Harry listened to you about placement.

***

The frat house was ridiculously full of drunk college students. Everybody on the dance floor was sweaty and sticky with a variety of different substances.

Niall had invited you - so you were searching about for him. Pushing through the crowd and nobody was able to hear you say ‘excuse me.’

You finally found fresh air in the backyard where beer pong and cornhole were set up. Niall was tossing his ball across the table, trying to splash in Liam’s red solo cups.

Harry was sitting on a cushioned patio chair, watching the game commence. Maybe he was a beer pong referee after all. 

He looked so fucking good tonight. He had a yellow snapback taming his curls - backwards of course. A black Rage Against the Machine shirt and his signature black skinny jeans. **

You made eye contact and were about to wave when a girl plopped down in the seat across from him.

Awkwardly you turn away, greeting the other boys and taking a seat in a lawn chair to watch them start their third round of the game.

Your eyes keep darting over to Harry who is staring blankly at the girl. She starts stroking his biceps and tracing across the tattoos like they belong to her.

Harry is attempting to let her know he’s not interested. His signs uselessly as she’s staring at his lips and not hands.

You’re moving before you know it, without another thought, you squeeze in between the two - separating them. You dramatically slide into his lap, funnily enough one strong arm wrapping happily around your middle.

The pretty blonde pouts out her lips, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Before you’re able to reply, Harry signs the obvious signal for ‘yes’ to the girl. Then rudely makes the shooing gesture. She’s up with a huff and stomping back towards the house.

Harry turns you sideways on his lap so that you two can see each other’s hands, “You saved me.”

“You’re just such a stud, have to protect you,” You joke - but not really.

He raising his eyebrows and smiles, “You were jealous.” It was a statement not a question.

You blush wildly, avoiding eye contact which you know he hates. He hates anytime you cut off ways of communication.

Harry taps your lips until you look up at him, “it’s really fucking sexy when you are.” A perk of sign language. He could dirty talk just about anywhere and mostly no one would ever know.

His thumb drags on your full bottom lip, signing clumsily with one hand so you had to use context clues to piece it together “Don’t think I forgot when you called me handsome a few months ago.”

“I don’t remember, doesn’t sound like me,” You boldly lie, snickering and nipping at the top of his thumb

His eyes become a shade darker when your teeth meet his skin. He presses his thumb further in until it’s in-between your teeth. The moment is broken when Niall screams, “Styles! You’re up next!”

**

You and Harry become separated after you spent nearly two hours watching all these drunk boys play beer pong. Harry was ridiculously good at the game and only had to drink two cups from the table.

You had wandered back into the house where the party had died down. There were only a handful of stragglers left but mostly just the fraternity brothers and their close friends.

With a fresh alcoholic seltzer in your hand - you didn’t trust open bottles at parties like this - you gaze at Harry through the back window.

Harry was being jumped by Liam and Niall. He was snarling playfully as Liam toppled them all over into the grass. Niall tries to stand up but Harry’s hand wraps around his ankle and makes him fall right back on his bum with a girlish squeal.

Niall leans over to give Harry a wet-willy but Liam manages to throw a plastic cup directly at Niall’s forehead. Harry and the other boys dissolve in childish giggles. Faces red from laughter and liquor. You feel a smile painted fondly on your lips from watching them.

“Hey, Y/N right?” A voice interrupts from behind.

You spin to face a guy you barely recognize from a previous class you shared. You smile nonetheless, “Hi...”

“Jake, Jake from Social Constructs and Society last semester.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” You smile and allow him to talk your ear off because you struggle to say ‘no.’ He was fine, nothing special, typical business major who thought he was hot shit because his daddy owned a golf course he wanted to take you to.

It was a normal conversation until his voice gets lower as if he’s trying to be more seductive, “Want to head to a room with me?” He nods towards the staircase.

You chuckle in disbelief at his bold and forward question. “No thank you, I’m good.” You really had eyes for one person right now and he was currently cussing out Niall in sign language in the backyard before tackling him once again to the ground.

“C’mon, I can really show you a good time,” He persuades persistently, stepping into your space - causing your nervousness to spike.

“I said - no thank you,”You bite out, starting to feel scared when he blocks your way out of the kitchen and presses himself against you and the counter.

“You’re really something gorgeous, you know?” He asks, ignoring my struggles to get away from him.

“Stop touching me!” You scream, hoping Niall or one of the boys would hear your wail. He puts a hand up to your mouth to muffle you but that only results in you biting him.

“Fucking bitch!” He cries out, pulling his hand back and winding up to either punch or slap you right in the face. You prepare for the impact.

Then in a blink off an eye, it becomes a blur, a muscular figure is crashing into Jake with full force and knocking him straight into the linoleum floor with a loud crash.

It’s Harry. Broad shoulders and thick but lean tattooed biceps. He’s standing over the harasser and drops on top of him. It shouldn’t look as graceful and tactful as it does.

You’d never seen anything like this from Harry before. Once you really got to know him - he was a gentle giant who liked romantic comedies, soft blankets, and vanilla cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles.

Harry’s fist is repeatedly connecting with the dark-haired boy’s jaw with full force. The only noise is from Jake as Harry is dead silent but his eyes zeroed in on the target.

When blood begins gushing from the man’s nose - Niall and Liam decide it times to physically pull Harry up. Harry had a slight red mark on his jaw when Jake had managed one punch before being defeated quickly.

Harry signs to Niall, “Tell him.”

Niall places his foot on the dude’s chest to keep him down, “My mate wants to let you know if you touch her again we’re not going to pull him off and he’ll gladly beat you to a fucking pulp.”

Jake groans, clutching his nose to stop the bleeding, “Fuckin’ asshole.” 

You were still blown away as you watch Harry’s heaving chest as he glares down at the boy. His fist clenched and knuckle bloody and swollen. Harry’s attention turns towards you. His furious expression melts into worry. You can read his face so clearly. He’s afraid he’s scared you off.

It was hard to believe you had this drop dead gorgeous frat boy defending you past midnight on a Friday night. A boy who didn’t need to hear but just to see you needed help to step in.

All your desires and lusts after the man in front of you burst like a rubber-band and the urge to have him felt uncontrollable. “Take me upstairs,” you demand quickly, arousal creeping up your spine.

He doesn’t understand you’re extremely turned on. Instead he looks like a kicked dog who’s about to get in trouble again.

Nevertheless, he takes your hand and maneuvers out of the kitchen and up the stairs until his bedroom door is closed.

Harry lips are turned down unhappily as he begins, “I’m sorry, love. I...” he pauses a moment before continuing. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I hope you don’t think less of me.”

You look him dead in the eye and sign, “Kiss me.”

He blinks slowly at you like he just hallucinate the gestures.

So you repeat your motions, slow and with intent, “Kiss me, touch me, do something.” No more time is wasted as he is stepping in front of you and cupping your face in his hands.

Without any hesitation now, he pressing a bruising kiss to your lips - taking your bottom one between his and sucking.

Your hands are immediately tugging at the hem of his vintage shirt, pulling apart to bring it over his head. Dark ink decorates his torso, for some reason something you weren’t expecting. A butterfly on his abdomen, two fern branches, tattoos on his side.

Harry chuckles, “This is new to me.”

Your eyes go wide and you sign, “You’re a virgin?”

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes before telling you, “God no. I mean I’ve never been able to really communicate during sex.”

Then before You can speak, he cuts in a bit frantically, “I’ve always gotten consent - not like that. I mean-“ You cut him off with a kiss - knowing he would never do anything you didn’t want.

You wanted everything from him.

“If you’d believe it, I like a bit of dirty talk when I fuck - but no one understands what I’m saying,” He tries to crack a joke but for some reason seems insecure and nervous.

“Hey,” You take his chin so he shyly meets your eye, “I can’t wait to hear it - you’ve already made me so wet.” His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas.

“You’re such a good girl,” he signs before tugging off your shirt and instantly finding your lips again. His hands are skillful as they unclasp your bra without any struggle and tosses it.

You tugs a bit as his hair to show your enjoyment as his tongue finds your nipple - lapping before taking it between his teeth. As good as it feels, you want him to feel even better.

You push him back until he’s sitting in the edge of the bed, legs spread and hands behind him on either side holding him up. Jaw clenched with arousal and restraint.

He’s pressed against the zipper of his jeans. And all you wanted to do was see him in all of his glory. You’re quick to undo the button and determined to get the finicky zipper down as well.

His fingers come beneath your chin until you’re looking at his sparkling eyes, a look of lust made his lids a little droopier and his mouth slack from heavy-breathing.

“Are you sure you want to? You don’t have to - I want to eat your pussy either way, pet,” He signs, leaning in for a slow, wet kiss.

You sign back with a pout, “Shut the fuck up.” He huffs out a laugh, letting go of your chin and wrapping a hand in your hair to keep it out of your face.

As soon as he’s helping you wriggle his briefs and jeans down his narrow hips, you’re met with the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen.

When you make eye contact with Harry, he raises a eyebrow and grins cockily, “Is it nice enough for your liking, love?”

You nod breathlessly - wasting no more time before ducking down to take him to your mouth, a slight burning in your throat from how big he is.

His hands keep ahold of your hair, thumbs pressed against your temples as you bob down his length with sloppy, warm licks.

Harry’s moaning as you pop off to kiss and suck at the underside of him, hands coming to cup and roll his balls. It is a few moments later when he taps your cheek to get your attention, one hand leaving his hair to sign that he’s close.

Your mouth speeds up, wanting to give him all the pleasure you could. Your hand coming to stroke at what couldn’t fit in your mouth, pumping quickly.

Before you know it, Harry’s rutting his hips upwards and coming with a long, deep moan from the rumbles of his chest. He’s pulling you up into his lap, pressing appreciative kisses to your cheeks and jawline.

Big hands palming at your breasts before slipping down into your leggings, brushing softly over your mound. 

You whine and hitch forward to grind against his palm as soon as he cups you. He smiles widely at your desperation, pressing the heel of his palm harder against you to create more pressure.

You were already so wet and turned on that it wasn’t going to take much. The ball of your climax was burning low in your tummy. However, you wanted him to taste you like he said he would.

You sign, “I’m close. Please, I want your mouth on me.”

With that, he’s flipping you until you’re laid out on the bed. His hands tugging off your leggings and underwear with no further ado. “Holy shit,” He gestures, gazing all over your body and not stopping on one spot for too long.

“What?” You ask, fishing for the compliments you know he’s about to shower you in.

“You’ve got such a pretty pussy,” he signs, dimples popping in his cheeks and a curious finger traces your entrance before dipping in.

You lightly kick at his stomach, “Get on me.” He pouts, crooking his finger against your spot before pulling it out. Fucking tease.

Then his face is disappearing between your spread thighs and a strong lick is delivered from your clit all the way down to your bum.

Since he can’t hear you, you grabs handfuls off his hair. Tugging at the roots, scratching your nails into his scalp to let him know how good he is. So fucking good.

When you accidentally buck your hips hard against his mouth, you curse and run a apologetic hand through the locks. He doesn’t look up at you but lift a hand and signs, “Again.”

You absolutely whine, begging to ride him with determination - climax on the brink. He hums causing vibrations on the sensitive nerves. With that, your hips are meeting his tongue and you’re coming. His face dampening with your release - happy as a clam when he pops back up.

You can’t remember the sign for condom, so you sign, “Protection?” Harry understands right away, rustling through the drawer until he finds a stray packets, “It’s been awhile.”

“Same,” You gestures - watching as he slides it down his length and crawls overtop of you. He was pink and swollen - having to be a bit sensitive from just coming a little while ago.

“Ready, love?” He asks, pressing soft kisses to your jawline. You nod, reaching down to guide him in.

And you weren’t lying, it had been a while and he was big. The stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, just a lot. But his wet, open-mouth kisses made you stay grounded.

Harry’s moans were absolutely obscene as he slide all the way in before stopping to give you a moment. His arms strong, holding himself over you. The cold metal of his necklaces brushing against your tight nipples.

When you have him the okay, he begin giving you deep, hard strokes on each thrust. His noises so loud they had to be able to hear them downstairs. They were deep and low - rumbling in his chest with pleasure.

Then his hand is coming to your throat. For a wild moment you thought he was going to choke you but instead he rest it lightly, palm flat.

It takes you a moment - then it hits you.

Holy fuck. He is feeling the vibrations of your moans - erupting from your vocal cords. Feeling out the movement from your throat so he can feel how much you’re enjoying it.

You should be embarrassed but you can’t find it in you when you come again right on the spot. His fingertips nudging into the skin to feel the intensity as it wracks through you.

When you’re done riding out your orgasm, he reaches for the headboard behind you with his other hand, gripping it tightly as he begins to pound in with all his strength.

The bedframe is hitting the wall so loud that the whole house must be able to hear it. Hitting with every directed thrust until his mouth is dropping down into a long, timbred moan and he’s coming.

---

Later, when the two are you have settled for the night in the warmth of his bed. Harry seems a little nervous, once again. It takes him a moment to meet your eyes and brushes a strand of hair off your forehead.

“What is it?” You ask, tucked into his side. His body so solid and comforting.

“It’s corny,” Harry frowns, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes flash across your face.

“Tell me,” You insist, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss his fingertips.

“I feel like you were made for me. Like...we were meant to be together,” Harry signs, hesitant to share his thoughts. But it doesn’t scare you away. You can’t help but agree.

“I think so too,” You reply before pressing another kiss to his puffy pink lips.

[chaotic-archaeologist]

Hey Reid, I wonder if you'd mind giving your advice - not about careers, but about blogging yours! I specialise in African archaeology (based in southern Africa, born 'n' bred), and I have recently gotten a full scholarship to do my PhD at Cambridge! I am very excited about this, want to keep a visual journal and keep people in my life up-to-date with what I'm up to, and start to build a professional social media presence for myself.

As someone who has documented their studies online for years (big fan; been following a while!) what has your experience been like? How do you balance what to post and what not to? Obviously there is sensitive content you can't share (I'm thinking unpublished work and certain finds, etc.) but what about talks and conferences and digs and all the other cool stuff we do?

How much time does it take per week on average to curate your blog? How did you start out, vs. where you are now?

Are there any things you regret, or wish you'd known when you started blogging? I'd be so appreciative of any wisdom you'd be willing to share.

Okay, I'll try to scrape together all of my experience and condense it here.

My experience has been mainly positive. I've gotten a little hate here and there, but for the most part all of the interaction I get is very friendly. I'd like to think that's partly my doing, but a lot of it is a credit to the dirtlings as well. You get out what you put in though, and I think I've been able to avoid some of the nastier stuff because I try very hard to never post when I'm emotional.

Believe it or not, behind the chaos I've been very deliberate with establishing what I think of as my "brand" for this blog. Your quirky archaeologist internet brother who is here to answer your questions and encourage people to pursue archaeology.

One of the biggest things that I put effort into is maintaining a certain level of integrity. That means putting sources in my posts and admitting when I don't know something. If I get asks that are out of my expertise I'll do my best, but I also tag people who might know more than I do.

For my own sanity I've developed a consistent tagging system (he speaks, he answers, academic advice, etc.) so that I can find relevant answers to questions that come in. I've also put together an advice master list and a faq page so that it's easy for me to direct people to posts without having to hunt them down.

As for what I do and don't post, I always clear artifact and site photos with a supervisor first. Additionally, I try to abide by medical privacy rules. For me, that means not posting anything that someone could stumble upon and recognize. No funny emails or class material, nothing that would put me in an awkward position if someone from real life found out about it. Conference research is a little different because it's being presented in public, but I would want the person's permission and to make sure the work is attributed.

I'm honestly not sure how much time I spend because it's all in fits and starts, but it's probably a pretty good chunk. I try to get back to asks promptly, and I check the notes of posts to see if there's anything I want to respond to. I also try to keep a list of drafts that I can publish (often just reblogs from other people) to make sure there's still content on a slow day.

If I have any regrets, it's that my internet hygiene hasn't been as good as it should be. As the blog got more popular I tried to get better, but at this point it wouldn't take much sleuthing to find out who I really am. Again, this is why I'm so careful with the content that I do post, because it's entirely possible that my schools and bosses could find out.

-Reid

[phdmama]

In a very intriguing reblog (ty for putting that on my dash) you put in the tags how you give your kids privacy on their phones and suggested people make you feel like a bad parent for doing so. As a 30 something who grew up in the dawning age of the internet, I just want to affirm that I think you’re doing the right thing! When I had a written diary as a v young 90s kid, my mom affirmed that she would respect my privacy with it and I always believed her (rightly so). She taught me to be wary on the internet and not give my info to strangers but never checked up on me (on our shared dialup desktop lol, tho I did check over my shoulder a lot as I discovered fanfic as a teenager…) I know todays concerns with the internet and phones also include checking up on what kids are doing with their friends but I have to say that again good parenting and respecting your kids to come to you can work! My mom was the one I trusted to help out when my friend needed a pregnancy test in high school (she would have been in physical danger from her parents had they known she was sexually active). Giving your kids skills and allowing them to exercise them on their own is indeed good! Fuck surveillance!

Oh my gosh, anon, thank you for taking the time to send me this!

I live somewhere where the conversations are much more "which is the best tracking system" and much less "what is an appropriate amount to be tracking my kids and looking at their phones."

I mean, I *do* track my kids via find my iPhone occasionally (usually because they don't know the address of where I'm picking them up haha). But I tend to really trust my kids, and I've worked hard to build a good relationship with them - I know they don't tell me everything but also? They're teenagers! That's developmentally appropriate (and they get SO MAD when I tell them that HAA). They also talk a LOT to each other, and I feel really glad about that.

But I have to say, they tell me a LOT OF STUFF about what they're seeing, reading, talking about with friends (and like, I know they're on Ao3, my daughter was giving me Wolfstar recs! Also, they know I'm on tumblr and they know I write, and we have a "don't ask don't tell" policy when it comes to my stuff - I have asked them not to read it and beyond that, I don't know or want to know).

I asked my daughter, should I be giving you closer oversight? Should I be checking your phone? and she was like "Mom, I'mma be honest with you, all that's going to teach me is how to lie and how to hide stuff." And I was like, yeah ok. That's valid. Honestly, both my boys are so introverted, I'm less worried about them, and my biggest is going to college anyway, so like - he's technically an adult! We've had the rule with my daughter that on social media, she needs to know the people she's connected with (snap and insta) and have her accounts private, and I believe she has done so. She does tell me what I'm allowed or not allowed to do on her insta - "you can like this one mom but DO NOT COMMENT" which I think is hilarious.

Anyway, I guess all this to say - there's certainly no one right way to parent and so much depends on the kids you have but I decided a long time ago to be really transparent with my kiddos about who I am (I mean, in an appropriate way - they know I have some Trauma but I haven't, for example, ever talked to them in any sort of detail about it), my thought processes about stuff, why I make the decisions I do, and I really work to own it when I screw up. I think they know me in a very real way and I think I know them well too.

Thank you so much for your thoughts, I really appreciate them!

[iamafanofcartoons]

i'll be real. you blazed a post onto my dash. i'm gonna block you. rules are rules. figured i'd help you out before i do.

you really want to know why the youtube algorithm is bad? positive feedback loops. not positive as in good, but positive as in they grow larger over time.

youtube's recommendation algorithm is partially based off of what it learns from users. it takes in all kinds of data on what users watch--the uploader, the title, the tags, the thumbnail, the description, anything it can glean from the audio and visuals, whatever. you name it, google's probably holding it. they dont have yottabytes upon yottabytes of data for nothing.

importantly, though, is that they also keep track of what the user watches Next. see, google (as with most social media that uses an ad revenue model) will run studies, where they try out different experimental algorithms created from viewership data on different users and see what is more likely to get users to click through. how they create these experiments is pretty complicated, and i'll save you the technogore. think of it as making tons of algorithms that each think different combinations of aforementioned viewership data at different amounts are the reason why that viewer made their choice, then projecting that onto all users to inform future suggestions. trust me, that's the easy way to think about it.

what makes it a positive feedback loop? well, recall that i said the algorithms are created on viewership data. the successful one(s) is/are then used to inform future recommendations. that data is then used to further experimentally tweak the algorithm. the choices user make influence the algorithm. what influences the choices users make? the algorithm. as time moves on, the algorithm becomes more and more biased until youtube decides to make more dramatic changes to influence things in a different direction (remember the change to favor runtime? then to favor watch-through?)

here's where i get all communist, and why i felt compelled to write all this. youtube isn't fixing shit about this system. why would they? people are clicking through recommendations at insane rates! they're watching more videos! and sure, a general societal right-wing bias might have positive feedback looped into turning the website into a facism pipeline, but google is making so much fucking money from gathering an insane amount of information from users that can be used in ad targeting the whole time. even if youtube itself struggles with profitability, even if people like. kind of say stuff about the problem but never really do anything about it at a large scale, even if people are being redpilled, why should google care when they make more money than anyone could even comprehend? until capitalism is overthrown, there will be a shit algorithm.

blocking channels is a start, but there will always be more shitty things to block (just like how there's always blazed posts for me to block the OPs of). apps that bypass youtube accounts and privacy loss (youtube vanced and newpipe) are privacy tools first, kind of hit or miss when it comes to the algorithm. never looked into the source code of them, but, if you ask me, it's either some amalgamation of everyone's recommendations who use those apps, a "default" algorithm, or one that's kind of tailored to you as youtube slowly worms its way into identifying you by your device and ip address.

point is, dont hold your breath waiting. keep looking for tools, keep spreading the word, keep finding ways to support content you like so the artist isnt reliant on ad revenue. dont keep throwing your money at tumblr, though, they really dont need it. they really never needed it. buy yourself a nice fuckin sandwich. everybody deserves a nice sandwich.

god, i'm going to look dumb if my ask gets deleted when i block you in five seconds. you have a good night.

Soo...yeah....this was based on this post

Basically I'm sick and tired of people like Manga_Kamen, Vexed Viewer, WatermelonCube, and other people raging about how they hate something that others like, and how people are supposed to hate what they hate.

I just wanted to give people the opportunity to remove those hate videos from their search results, so that they can at least find what they're looking for, using Youtube search.

[one-boring-person]

Hey!

I was wondering if I could request a Rambo x reader set in the first movie, if that’s alright, where the reader sees him walking through town and knows that Sheriff Teasle will try to bully him out of town so she pulls over and lies about them being old friends and then they go to eat or something? And the reader actually treats Rambo like a human being and thanks him for his service to his country when she finds out he is a veteran. Oh and could the reader be female please? Thank you very much! If not then that’s totally fine 😊

And I also wanted to say that your writing is amazing!!! And the reason I ended up watching Rambo in the first place 😆

Hope you have a great night/day!

Nfhfhhhf thank you so much! I'm so glad you like my stuff! And I got you into Rambo? Hell yeah!😂 I liked this request a lot, so I hope I've done it justice!

Respect Me.

John Rambo (First Blood) x reader

Warnings: mentions of war, mentions if death

Masterlist

For once, the truck sound system seems to be playing the tape flawlessly, lacking the usual stuttering and skipping it generally likes to include in the soft flow of music. Idly, I tap my fingers along with the gentle beat, the steering wheel moving easily in my grip as I guide the beaten pick-up truck out onto the main road, falling in line with the other traffic around me. The vehicle shudders a little as I change the gears, the old truck having never liked to do anything it should do, slowly moving into a more sustainable pace as I lean back in my seat, keeping my eyes trained on the road, with a half-eye kept on the sidewalk and nearby shops. A few Christmas decorations adorn the homely stores, though it's mostly left dull and bleak, as this town always has been. Once again, I find myself wishing I could just move away from here, start a new life somewhere else. 

Ahead of me, the traffic slows, allowing someone to turn into the main flow, giving me the time to glance out of the window, scanning the sidewalk a little way away. Oddly, a familiar police vehicle has pulled up just past a nearby junction, the driver leaning out of the window to talk to someone on the pavement, who I have yet to be able to see. The car is Sheriff Teasle's, the knowledge of which does not sit well with me - If he's pulled someone over, it's not for a good reason.

Checking my mirrors, I indicate off towards the sheriff, leaving the main flow as I follow the curb round, finally able to see who Teasle is talking to. Just as I feared, it looks as if he's pulled up a random person for yet another unfair interrogation. Frowning, I regard the solemn-looking man with interest, trying to ignore the part of me that finds his somewhat crooked features incredibly attractive, taking note of his obvious vagrancy: his hair is long and shaggy, clearly being left uncut for months on end, his dust-strewn parka and faded jeans showing signs of constant wear. From what I can see, Teasle is questioning him, most likely about the guy's purpose in Hope, though he doesn't seem particularly open to this encounter. Making up my mind, I cross my fingers and hope my plan now works.

Pulling up beside the two, I stop the car and climb out, plastering on a convincing grin as I go towards the dark-haired man, greeting him as I go.

"John! I didn't realise you were in town! You should've said something!" I exclaim, pleading the man with my eyes that he'll play along, though it's somewhat unlikely.

He gives me a shocked look, head snapping round at the sound of the name, hard eyes fixing on me with suspicion and hostility, the severity of the expression sending a shudder down my spine. Teasle also looks to me, frowning.

"And to think you were left to walk along here in the cold! Jeez, you really should have called or something, I could've picked you up!" I carry on, praying that he picks up the cue, "Oh, hello there, Sheriff, how are you?"

"Not bad, thanks." Teasle replies tightly, glancing between the man and I, "You know this guy?"

"Oh, yeah. John is a family friend." I lie, smiling brightly at the man in question.

"Yeah, it's been a long while, but I thought it was time to visit again." The man finally chips in, his husky voice stirring up butterflies in my stomach, "Wanted to keep my visit a surprise, though."

"Ah, well! You're here now, at least I can give you a lift back to mine." I offer him, ignoring Teasle's sceptical look.

Giving me a taut smile, which looks more like a grimace, the man steps towards me, shooting the Sheriff a glance as he goes. Doing the same, I smile pleasantly at Teasle, and say my goodbyes, climbing back into my car as my new passenger joins me, sliding cautiously into the seat beside me. Quickly, I pull back out into the traffic, heading away from Teasle as swiftly as possible. 

"Thank you for doing that." The dark-haired man murmurs after a moment, his hands clenching around his knees as he forces himself to look out of the windscreen. 

"No problem. Teasle's an ass at the best of times, best just to stay away from him." I muse, "Do you want something to eat? There's a good place just down the road from here." 

Turning to face me, the man frowns and watches my face, as if for signs of deceit, his quiet nature giving me the impression that he's probably quite acclimatised to being treated as such. 

"How do you know my name?" He eventually asks, voice quiet.

Now it's my turn to frown as I glance across at him.

"I don't." 

"You called me John earlier. How did you know that's my name?" 

Surprised, I double take, now realising how sketchy that must look.

"Your name is John? I had no idea! That's a lucky coincidence, clears up confusion later." I chuckle dryly, "Honestly, I picked the first name that came to mind. I had no idea that it's your actual name."

He watches me for a second longer, eventually appearing happy with my response, looking away again.

"What's your name?" He asks me after a further minute.

"Me? I'm (Y/n). (Y/n) (Y/l/n)."

"John Rambo." John nods, flicking some hair from his face, "And if you're still offering, I'd like to get something to eat, please."

"Of course." 

Pulling up to the diner, I park the car, climbing out as I check the cash I have on me, deeming it enough for two decent meals and some drinks, hoping that it won't be too busy at this time of the day. John follows me, leaving his bedroll in the car as we walk into the small restaurant, finding a seat at one of the window booths, sitting opposite each other. He's quiet, scanning the room as soon as he's sat down, body stiff as he unzips his parka, revealing a red woolen jumper underneath. What strikes me most, however, (apart from the obvious planes of rippling muscle) are the silver dog tags hanging around his neck, jingling every so often as he moves. 

A waiter comes over to us, handing us menus with a false smile, leaving us alone together again until we've ordered drinks, at which point he returns with the beverages. Stepping away again, John and I are left with some privacy. At this moment, I take a breath and ask him the one question on my mind.

"If you don't mind me asking, are you a soldier?" 

John visibly stiffens, eyes hardening a little.

"I was." Is all he says, tone flat.

"Did you serve in Vietnam?" I ask, unable to stop myself as my curiosity gets the better of me.

Once again, John seems reluctant to answer, and instantly starts to glance around, clearly watching for an escape route.

"Yeah." He affirms, gaze returning to me.

Shock fills me at this: I'd heard horrible things about the Vietnam War, about how the soldiers (on both sides) faced terrifying situations that I'd never dream of, my heart stuttering at this admonition. 

"Really? That's...wow, that's…" I go to say something, finding myself speechless as I stare at the man before me, admiring him now in a totally new light, "God, you must be a strong person."

He blinks.

"Huh?"

"Well, you've done what I'd never be able to do, you've faced deadly situations, you've probably been in harrowing conditions and fights, I'd never have the strength to do what you did. Very few people do, so you must be a very strong person, mentally." I tell him, still in shock, "You definitely did the country proud, and I respect you for everything you've done. Thank you for that."

He stares at me in shock, eyes wide, lips parted.

"You...What?" Is all he manages, voice hitching.

"I respect you, and admire your bravery. You're a better person than any of the rest of us ever could be." I repeat, smiling gently at him.

For a long moment, he doesn't say anything, his expression remaining as it is, his body tense as he processes what I've said, clearly not quite believing me.

"You...respect me?" He stammers, quietly.

"I do." I nod, taking a sip of my soda.

"Thank you." John murmurs, pulling a face as he looks away, "You wouldn't be saying that if you knew what kinda things I've done."

"What you did isn't relevant to me, only that you served the country, and you did it with bravery, so for that, you have my respect." I reassure him, telling him the truth. 

John stays silent this time, apparently too overcome for words.

"Do you...do you need somewhere to stay?" I finally break the silence that has descended on us, tapping a rhythm out onto the table.

"No, but I don't want to inconvenience you any more than I already have, so don't worry about it. I'll figure something out." The veteran shrugs, still a little taken aback.

"You're not inconveniencing me, I wouldn't ask if you were. I have space in my house if you want to take it." I offer him, once again smiling across at him. 

For the first time, John smiles at me, his features loosening as the expression crosses his face.

"I'll take it."