#I may have gone too self indulgent and put one too many feelings in it but I did have a fun time writing it

[racingliners]

So, in my many emotions at seeing these beautiful pieces by @aphrostiel, I ended up writing a ficlet about it (because how could I not indulge myself in writing the Seb and Schumi podium we deserved).

I may polish it up further and put it on ao3 for prosperity but I really wanted to just get it out there, I hope you like it!!

(Thank you so much to Jules for both their blessing to post this for for sharing such incredibly beautiful art!!)

Golden

The sun cast warm, golden rays in the widening breaks though the pale clouds as they walked out onto the podium together. Seb, being the young gentleman in training, suggested that Michael have his day and walk out alone. Michael, almost too overwhelmed to speak, insisted they walk out together.

They would both argue that Hockenheim looked beautiful no matter the weather, but today after a race that went from dry to pouring rain to dry again, it felt like no sight would ever come close to how the track looked right then in that moment.

Ross Brawn stood proudly on the constructors step of the podium, and was barely containing his tears as the German anthem was introduced over the tannoy. Seb couldn’t help it as he looked up at Michael, his mentor, his friend, and today probably the most fierce driver he had ever raced against, and watched as tears streaked down his face after the first few notes.

The Mercedes mechanics and engineers gathered below let out al almighty roar as Michael raised both fists triumphantly in the air at the end. There was something awfully poetic about him netting his ninety second win at Germany in a Mercedes, and the worlds press were already hard at work at their keyboards and notepads trying to figure out just how they could talk about the Red Baron’s triumphant return when no suitable adjectives really seemed to exist.

Right as the trophies were about to be presented, Michael clapped a heavy hand on Sebastian’s shoulder and beamed at him with a proud smile before fixing his winner’s cap back onto his head.

The crowd were beside themselves even before Michael was presented with the winner’s trophy – a 3D Santander logo that was painted with the colours of the German flag on in the inside but chrome silver on the outside. A fitting prize for a silver arrow. The sun glinted off the surface as the crowd and Mercedes team roared so loud it was a wonder they weren’t heard cheering for miles.

Sebastian, who still couldn’t quite believe that his childhood dream of sharing a podium with Michael had finally come true, accepted his second place trophy with a wide schoolboy grin. All he could think about was that day in Kerpen when he’d met Michael for the first time with wide eyes and a stunned smile. Seb was pretty sure that he was wearing the exact same expression on his face, and for once he didn’t care.

With the trophies presented, the dignitaries were quickly escorted off the podium and Seb let out a shaky sigh as he leaned down to grab the neck of his champagne bottle.

“Shall we get Ross first?” He asked with a cheeky smile. Michael looked at him with a familiar glint in his eye as he picked up his bottle with ease, and really he certainly was a professional in the art of spraying champagne as he popped the cork, jumped down from the top step, and ran over to Ross before the long-suffering Team principle had a chance to run away. The two men laughed as Ross was soaked through, and only when Michael was happy did he go over to the very edge of the podium platform in the hope some of the droplets of spray would reach his beloved colleagues.

Sebastian grinned as he sprayed champagne over Michael’s right side. Fernando, who had finished in third place eventually joined in and deposited the bulk of his bottle’s contents over Michael’s head.

When they piled onto the top step of the podium Seb gestured for Ross to stand between himself and Michael for the official photograph. Before he had a chance to respond Michael hooked an arm round his shoulder and pulled him in so they were stood side by side, brothers in arms complete with matching grins even if Ross still looked quite astounded with the events of the past two hours. Seb was still smiling brightly as the picture was taken, and when he took off his Pirelli cap to swap it for his Red Bull one, Michael reached over to ruffle his hair with a hearty laugh.

The crowd hadn’t relented in their cheers once, and they only hushed when Michael spoke during the podium interview. He tearfully thanked the crowd in German for all their support throughout the years – and especially since his comeback two years ago, before expressing gratitude just as heartfelt to his race engineer Bono for getting him to the end, and Mercedes head of strategy James for his cool-headed decisions that led him back to the top step of the podium once more.

He then turned to Sebastian, and looked at him with a proud smile.

“You know, I remember meeting a young kid in Kerpen many years ago, I never in my life thought I would get to race against him let alone for a race win. But we had a good fight, I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed racing against someone. I hope that we can do it again sometime.” There was a warm ferocity to Michael’s smile, not in the malicious sense but the kind of a true competitor. One that would never, ever give up without leaving anything on the table.

Seb said as such when the interviewer turned to him, adding that he knew going against Michael he would have to give everything, and while he was disappointed to lose the race he would always be honoured to say that he got to battle it out on track against his hero.

“Don’t worry Seb,” Michael said with a warm pat on the shoulder when they walked off the podium and back into the cool down room, arm in arm. “You’ll get your turn next year.”

Sure enough, almost exactly twelve months later, Sebastian took to the top step on the podium at the Nürburgring. Michael, now retired, apparently doubled up as a psychic. He sent Seb a text congratulating him on his first home race win, and in the week off between the races in Germany and Hungary he greeted Sebastian with a thumbs up and a bright grin when he and Hanna happily accepted an invitation to dinner at the Schumacher home.

Sat proudly in the living room, wrapped in thin white frames, hung two pictures from that day in Hockenheim. The first was of Michael with his trophy, the second of himself and Sebastian spraying champagne wearing the brightest of smiles. Mick couldn’t help himself when he asked his father and his friend just what it was like to race each other in such difficult conditions, and both Sebastian and Michael reeled off in great technical detail exactly how everything unfolded.

Seb couldn’t help himself as he glanced at the pictures as he left, the sun now set and the sky filled with twinkling silver stars, and he felt nothing but pride as he knew he would carry that day in his heart for the rest of his life.

#my writing #f1 fanfic #I am feeling many many emotions in the chillis tonight #I may have gone too self indulgent and put one too many feelings in it but I did have a fun time writing it #sorry for any grammar and spelling errors writing this made me a bit weepy

[vampiricgf]

☆ BEDROOM HYMNS

ᝰ Astarion comes home from a night of hunting to find his darling lover needy and perfectly pliant to hear his idea of having another child together (repost from my old account)

f!reader, breeding, pregnancy, blood drinking, masturbation, fingering, teasing

Rain patters the roof, each droplet striking like a drop of metal against the terracotta though it’s not the only thing that robs you of sleep.

It’s been two years since the birth of your child. Two years of milestones, two years of putting all else on hold for the wonderful little girl that slep soundly just one room over. You may be horrifically biased but the two of you were lucky enough to have created what was possibly the most charming babe in all the realms. For Astarion you knew it was love at first sight.

The adoration he held for that child was next to nothing, it’s own category of madness and love. Recalling it brough the faintest whisper of a smile to your face as you turn over, groggily eyeing the glaringly vacant spot beside you in bed.

He’d gone hunting, as you both kept calling it long after no longer being in the wilds. It was just… familiar. And it kept curious little ears from asking too many questions that required as yet too complex answers. Hunting was easy to grasp and kept their shared befanged appearance from being something other than a simple trait of her fathers she was overjoyed to have. On days that ended with you feeling haggard and worse for wear he would ardently refuse to feed from you. This had been one such day.

One of many. How long had it been since you had more than a brief window to take advantage of if you wanted to indulge in each other? How long had it been since you felt your lovers teeth scrape the tender flesh of your neck, since the shivers of anticipation crawled down your spine?

Too long.

Familiar longing makes you squeeze your thighs together beneath the duvet, biting your fingers recalling previous trysts that had left you all but a puddle of water in his hands.

Gods only know how long he’ll be gone, and you know self pleasure is a quick path towards sleep.

As your mind drifts to vivid images of him your hand slips between your legs: the feel of his hair when you give it faint tugs while he languishes between your legs, the way his gaze becomes something predatory when he looks at you in a certain light and how it makes your heartbeat speed into a reckless gallop, the way his tongue feels against your skin-

Before the coil in your abdomen begins to tighten you hear it, the tell tale graon of the windowsill supporting his weight. In some faraway annoyance you remind yourself to tell him again that you have a perfectly functional front door.

For some reason you remain frozen beneath the covers, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end as you hold your breath. Even with your eyes closed you know hes there, even with lesser senses you can hear his snow soft footfalls, but even so his speed still catches you off guard. Gasping as he manuvers you onto your back, crouched over you with pupils blown so wide the crimson of his irises is barely visible.

“I take it you’ve had a good night?” you smirk, nearly preening against the feeling of his hands gripping your wrists gingerly to hold them on either side of your head.

“Hm it smells like you were having an even better one,” his voice comes out a playful whisper. Before you can react he brings one of your hands to his face, making heat blaze beneath your skin.

Your mouth falls open watching his tongue slide against the fingers that had been sliding through your own arousal not seconds before.The feeling of him taking your finger into his mouth, licking around the appendage in the most obscene way, makes your thoughts cloud and your heart pick up into it’s familiar racing tempo he conducts so effortlessly.

Your eyes follow a strand of glittering spit connecting your finger to his lips, so focused you nearly miss him speak.

“Won’t you tell your lover what was on your mind while you were touching yourself?”

Your voice cracks. “You.”

He gives a playful hmph before letting go of you, leaving your hand to fall dumbly against your sternum.

“Well, that was a given.” He leans down to press his face against the side of your neck, inhaling before pressing his lips to your feverish skin. “Any specific debauchery, though?”

You struggle for words, mentally grasping at air mid free fall as his hips press down to grind himself against you.

“Since the cats got your tongue I have proposition for you,” He breaths against your cleavage as he nuzzles his face over your heartbeat. As your breathing grows heavier he continues, making your own eyes widen as each word goes straight to your cunt.

“I think we should have another little vampling.”

It’s as if he yanks all the oxygen from the room, leaving you starved and struggling even harder, dizzy against the feeling of his erection pressing against you and the wave of emotion that threatens to overwhelm.

“Another?

“Mhm,” his tongue licks a fat stripe from between your breasts up the side of your neck.

All coherent thought has faltered for you, replaced by fractured urges as your hips buck up against him in response. You aren’t thinking about the practicality of another child, theres simply no room for it when your every sense is being crowded by each aspect of his presence above you.

Quickly the duvet is discarded, flung off your body and your nightdress hiked up to give him access to your now damp underwear. He takes full advantage, rubbing his tumb over your clothed clit and clearly enjoying the way it makes you give a little yelp, the way your legs jerk as if touched by live electricity.

“Can’t you just picture it? I know I can,” his fingers pull the thin fabric to the side, sliding easily through the mess of arousal between your folds as he whispers against your panting lips. “You looked so beautiful before, all swollen with child and milk. Radiant. Decadent.”

You’re reduced to primitive noises, speech completely failing now as he slides two fingers inside you, knuckles easily sliding past the relaxed muscles before he starts lightly scissoring them against the slick velvet of your walls. Your fingers twist against the fabric of his shirt at his back, teeth catching your bottom lip as you moan his name in choppy syllables.

Smugness and desire mingle in his expression as his lips devour yours, drinking down your noises and gasps as if you’re a fountain of the finest wine. Your hips move to grind against his hand as his thumb presses against your throbbing clit once more, keeping light, consistent pressure but no movement.

His habit of teasing always shone through.

But your impatience is infectious, and once he deems you sufficiently ready as quickly as possible his fingers withdraw and he leans back on his knees, undoing his trousers with fumbling fingers before mauvering to shimmy them off. The garment is flung into the murky depths of your bedroom floor as he cages you with one forearm, the other hand busy guiding the head of his cock through the mess between your legs before lining the head up and beginning the slow push inside.

It never fails to leave you lightheaded, no matter how many times you’ve taken him before. The way your body accommodates him so eagerly, the way he sits heavy inside you as inch by inch slots perfectly against your walls, the head of his cock brushing against the spot that turns your viscion to static the more stimulation he gives.

As if you were made for one another. You wholeheartedly believe it.

He gives you little time to adjust, rather immediately setting a deep, steady pace. His rhythm isn’t harsh or bruising, not even as he cages you with both arms now and as your uneven breathing mingles in the milimeter of space between your faces. Each pull out is deliciously slow, allowing you to feel every vein and curve before the push back has your fingers digging into his shoulder blades.

As the slick squealching fills the room, the sound of skin sticking to skin joining in some pornographic symphony, your legs come to wrap around his hips and your ankles lock behind him. Pressing lightly with your heels your urge him on, urge him to make good on his word and give you more.

He answers in kind, teeth nipping against your bottom lip as his pace picks up speed and he presses forward just enough to shift your legs even higher and give himself better access to hit deeper inside you. It makes you nearly wail, broken sounds now joining in the bedroom hymn and a particular urgency grips your body like a coil winding tight. Your breathing comes in wheezes as he presses even harder against you, cock hitting that spot that makes your toes curl and your mouth drop open in a silent wail, fingernails scraping against his back and your thigh muscles scream from the exertion of tensing so harshly.

The pressure of your cunt clenching around him in a vise grip makes choppy groans fall from his lips but his rhythm never falters as you crest the high of your orgasm, your moans taking on a higher pitch and your hips wriggling beneath his as his own keep their course driving into you again and again.

However, the barrage of mental images of you carrying yet another babe makes him devolve into a sloppy, broken pace rather quickly. It’s an urge, an ache he carries so deeply inside himself and he has to give this to you. Like a man posessed, acting on base desire his hand comes to cradle the back of your head and keep your steady as his fangs create their usual pinpricks against your neck before widening them as they find a home against your vein.

The taste of liquid metal explodes against his tongue at the same time his hips hit one final time against you before he can’t resist any longer, spilling ropes of thick, hot cum inside your greedy cunt. He can feel your equally warm blood smearing against his lips and chin as he messily laps at the side of your neck, keening like some pathetic animal as your walls massage his cock as if to take every last drop he has to give.

Wet sucking sounds and animalistic grunts replace the previous bodily meoldy, as the final, haunting notes on the decresendo of some sweeping piece. Your fingers move to tangle in the sweat damp hair at the nape of his neck, lightly caressing and encouraging him to have his fill.

You’ve always been so sweetly accommodating, it makes his fangs ache.

With a few more licks to help somewhat clean up the mess hes made of your throat, he lends back, pulling out of you with a gravelly sigh but keeping ahold of your thighs and maintaining the pushed up position of your legs.

Even with your eyes closed, impossibly heavy now from the exhaustion and afterglow, you can feel his eyes zeroed in on the sight of his cum dripping from you and you already know you’ll be left in a state beyond exhaustion by the time the early morning hours roll around.

But that was a problem for the near future version of yourself. Your lovers primal tendancies become your own, making your eyes crack open hungrily and hold him steady in your gaze.

The sight of him, still panting, lips slightly parted and your lifeblood smeared in wild tracks across the lower half of his face makes something click into place inside your head and your arms reach out for him once more.

As he wastes no time in pressing himself against you anew you can’t help the satisfied smile that lazily works across your features and bleeds into your kiss.

The strange symphony of your bedroom resumes anew, enveloping you both tightly as the rest of the world continues it’s unaware slumber.

#astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion bg3 #astarion #astarion x female reader #astarion x tav #bg3 smut #dadstarion

[the-house-of-auditore-frye]

Mk1 intros with exotic dancer!reader

While reader has no bodily description, the vibe I'm going for is

Please enjoy these self indulgent intros! I have put more details about the reader insert under the intros but see how much you can piece together from the dialogue 😂 Also black text is the reader

Johnny * "How much for a dance, beautiful?" "For you and Kenshi? Always on the house..." * "Think about it, gorgeous! You and I? On the red carpet?! IN THAT RED OUTFIT OF YOURS!!" "I'm not sure I'd enjoy the public scrutiny..." * "You are an entertainer like me in Earthrealm?" "An entertainer of sorts... remind me to show you Ninja Mine when we get back home!" * "Many of your earthrealm friends seemed confused that I am bound to both you and Kenshi?" "Yeah... explaining polyrelationships on earth is a bit harder than Outworld..."

Kenshi * "It pains me terribly to know that you can't see me dance anymore..." "I can still see you in a sense. Besides love, I can feel your dancing much more acutely now." * "How many lucky men have seen the red outfit?" "Just you and Johnny..." * "We have already been threatened by the Empress and Princesses to not hurt you love..." "The bite marks you both left probably didn't help your case!" * "Does everyone in Outworld know about your relationship with me and Johnny?" "Unfortunately, court gossip spreads fast, more so regarding me or Mileena..."

Sindel * "Remember my dear, there will always be a place at court for you, should you want it." "Thank you Aunt Sindel!" * "All those times you took the blame for Mileena, I did know about it - thank you." "It helped Mileena's reputation in court to not always the troublemaker, it was necessary." * "Please do not blame Mileena so much for that one night: Tarkat is very easy to contract." "And yet dear, you lived your entire life on the streets and never contracted it?"

Mileena * "Based on the noises I heard from your bedchamber last night, I assume the earthrealmers are good at pleasuring?" "Mil, pleasure doesn't even BEGIN to describe the feeling..." * "Do you remember that celebration by the sea front when you thr-" "SHUSH - Mother does not know about that night..." * "How can you forgive me for blinding your lover?! I wouldn't blame you for hating me-" "You didn't have control! Kenshi knows that and I do too. Besides, how can you forgive me for letting you contract Tarkat?"

Kitana * "A little birdie told me that Raiden likes you..." "I believe that may have been exaggerated..." * "Do you promise you will come back to visit?" "Of course Kit, I'll be back before you know it!" * "Li Mei still does not approve of your choices-" "Believe me, that will not change any time soon."

Li Mei * "I am only looking out for the Princesses' well-being!" "By isolating them from their only friend outside the palace?" * "With your talent, you could have been a better umgadi than Tanya and yet you choose to be an entertainer?!" "I choose to live and enjoy life: not just survive it!" * "Despite what you believe, I am proud of your skill-" "Then maybe show it once in a while!"

Tanya * "Does anyone know about our training?" "No, and I'd prefer it to stay that way." * "Look after Mileena AND Kitana while I am gone - they are like sisters to me." "Of course - it is my honour and duty" * "Thank you for supporting me and Mileena." "I was allowed to be with who I love; Mileena deserves the same."

Raiden * "Do I make you uncomfortable Raiden?" "Uh... uncomfortable is not the word I would use..." * "I can put in a good word to Kitana for you~" "Thank you - that is very kind!" * "Did Johnny explain the relationship to you?" "I... understand the basic principle..."

Kung Lao * "What does Johnny have that I don't?!" "Better table manners for one." * "How much for a dance?" "I doubt you could afford it!" * "Is it true you were engaged to Reiko?!" "He and I grew up together, nothing more."

Bihan * "I will not associate with an outworld whore!" "You do understand that I am a dancer and not a prostitute? Right?" * "I will not be bewitched Sorceress!" "So you DO find me attractive!" * "I heard about the offer you made to Kuai Liang..." "Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?"

Kuai Liang * "I am here to offer you my services... in ANY capacity... or position... you wish..." "Are you still speaking of kombat?" * "I hear you have a red outfit-" "Unfortunately handsome, that is just for Johnny and Kenshi." * "Kombatant or dancer, if I wanted your services, how much-" "For you? On the house..."

Tomas * "Did you ever feel that you did not belong when you lived with the princesses?" "I was fortunate enough to have been friends with both Mileena and Kitana before Aunt Sindel took me in." * "If it puts you at ease, Madam Bo told me of Raiden's how-you-say 'crush' as well, not just yours..." "I can't believe she told you!" * "Kenshi? I am confused, Johnny said-" "This really is a bizarre concept to earthrealmers, isn't it?"

Ashrah * "I heard what your Kriss said about Mileena and Kitana - what does it say about me?" "It says that you are a better person than you let on and that you keep your kindness guarded?" * "You know, I could show you a few moves to impress Syzoth?..." "Oh... thank you?" * "Perhaps you could do me a favour and not tell anyone about the having-a-good-heart revelation from your sword - I have a reputation to keep up." "If that is what you wish."

Syzoth * "Ashrah is a lucky girl... that being said, my offer for a dance is still on the table..." "Oh... umm I appreciate the offer?" * "Ashrah says you are a better person than most people think." "I TOLD HER TO KEEP THAT A SECRET!" * "If it is any consolation, the people of Outworld considered me a freak as well." "It is comforting to know that someone so beautiful has shared my struggles."

General Shao * "I heard about your relationship with the earthrealmers!" "UGH who told you?!" * "You only survived through Royal nepotism!" "Are you still upset about me defeating you at the banquet?! * "Your attractiveness is ruined by your demeanour and personality." "Is this the great general finally admitting his attraction towards me?"

Reiko * "I heard the rumours, your relationship with the earthrealmers-" "Is none of your concern!" * "Had you not left the palace, we would have been engaged!" "There are plenty of reasons we would NOT have been engaged, Reiko." * "You were practically handed a position at court?!" "I chose my freedom Reiko - I did not want to spend the rest of my life as Li Mei's shadow the way you are with the general!"

Shang Tsung * "I want a dance - name your price..." "Easy - YOUR HEAD!" * "I hear you do more than dance for the earthrealmers..." "DOES EVERYONE KNOW ABOUT MY RELATIONSHIP?" * "Not so innocent, are you?" "Like you have any right to judge me!"

For this backstory description to make sense age wise, I'm going to use human years on the scale that Mileena and Kitana are in their 20s with the reader being the same age as Mileena. Backstory: reader is an orphan who grew up with Reiko - the two were just your average street urchins. At around age 7 when they were stealing from the market, reader saw two girls who were very lost and distraught. They asked her if she could show them the way back to the palace. Assuming they were joking, she ignored the request but asked them to hang out with her until their parents arrived. So the three girls and Reiko spent the rest of the day having fun. The next day, Li Mei found the four children and brought them back to the palace saying to Sindel that the reader and Reiko should receive punishment. However, Mileena and Kitana both vouched for them and their abilities in kombat. Shao, upon hearing this, decided to take Reiko under his wing. Meanwhile, Sindel was overjoyed to see that Mileena and Kitana made their first and only friend outside of the palace and decided to take reader in to be trained as an umgadi. So for the next few years, Li Mei trained reader in kombat and the ways of palace life but this did not stop reader and Mileena to sneak out of the palace at any given chance. By the time reader was 16, it was time for her to take the umgadi vows but reader shocked everyone by saying she wants to be a street performer instead of an umgadi. Sindel agreed with the condition that whenever reader is in Sun Do, she will stay at the palace with them. So the reader split her time between staying in Sun Do and travelling.

In terms of trying to match this up with MK1, following Reiko's defeat, Sindel is ready to yell at Li Mei for failing to secure the entertainment when Reader walks through the door offering to do so. The royal family immediately go to hug her leaving the earthrealmer gang confused. Liu Kang then explains the story to Raiden, Kung Lao and a smitten Johnny and Kenshi. The banquet takes place with the reader as the entertainer. When Raiden's toast is interrupted by Shao, reader tells him to back down with a fight ensuing with reader as the victor. She ends up becoming very fond of the earthrealmers and decides to spend time with them. The game then unfolds as usual and after the festival when the earthrealm players return, reader goes with them alongside Ashrah and Syzoth. By the end of the game, reader returns to earth with Johnny and Kenshi with the promise to return Outworld soon. (Also let's say everyone survives in this scenario because I love writing intros for Sindel).

@redlotus98 maybe it's time to make an MK branch of the red house universe...👀

Let me know if you want to see intros for characters talking about the reader

#mortal kombat #mk1 x reader #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #kenshi takahashi #kenshi takahashi x reader #sindel #mileena #kitana #li mei #tanya #raiden #kung lao #bi han #Kuai Liang #Tomas #tomas vrbada #ashrah #syzoth #general shao #reiko #shang tsung #mortal kombat x reader #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mk1 spoilers #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat 1 2023 #mortal kombat intros #mk 1

[plutolovesyou]

going to the library with girlfriend ellie.

☆: another random, self indulgent af blurb. i love libraries, and ellie, and drabbles, and writing fluffy things for y'all. this one's definitely not my best work, but i really wanted to put a little something out anyway. there's something so healing about writing fluff.

trek, trek, you hear behind you, as you race through the endless sea of tall shelves, the musty scent of old paper filling your nose. like a machine you scan the aisles, picking up book after book excitedly. you open it, read and decide, yes, this one too! the peace of libraries has always brought you comfort, and hallucinating whilst staring at a dead tree reading has always been your favorite activity. but you’ve run out of things to read which warranted yet another trip to the greatest place on earth. unfortunately for her, you've tasked ellie to be the carrier of all the novels.

"baaaaabe, do you really need this many??" she whines and pouts, as she trails behind you and struggles to keep up.

you turn back to look at her, almost stumbling with a huge stack in her arms which is almost taller than her, it's honestly unbelievable how she hasn't toppled over yet. she frowns at you, earning a chuckle on your part. she's so cute.

"just a little more! you agreed to come with me, els, you knew what you were signing up for. and yes i do need that many, books are my life. books and you, of course."

"but my arms are gonna fall off..." she steadies herself and huffs. "fine, but let's sit down in a few minutes, 'kay?"

grinning widely and and nodding, you take a few of the books from the top to ease the weight, then you skip off happily once more to peruse the shelves, searching for something to grasp your attention, and vaguely convinced you heard ellie tsk-ing behind you. after a bit she goes to sit down on the armchairs in a little corner with a cozy lamp, slumps into the cushions with a grunt, and is relieved she can finally set down the stack she was carrying. you're too absorbed in walking around to notice, but ellie is watching you with a smile from her seat, wondering how in the world she got lucky to have such a curious minded, smart, and loving girlfriend. you meant the world to her. as you scampered around, collecting more and more books, you catch her eye and wave, and her heart just about jumps out of her chest then and there.

when returning to your tired girlfriend, she's keeping herself occupied by checking out the synopses on all the books, with genuine interest.

"i'm back!" you say in a cheery tone, cheeks warming as you add, "may have gone a bit overboard this time, sorry for making you carry it all."

"hey! no, no, i love doing this with you. honest." she smiles warmly back at you, taking half the stack you're carrying in her arms, dividing the entire haul between the two of you. the two of you begin to walk to the desk to check out, until her emerald eyes light up and she remembers, "do they carry comics here?"

"uh, i think so.."

"BE RIGHT BACK-"

she suddenly dashes off with no warning, leaving you with the sighing librarian as she has to take a look to see what they've got.

this little outing turned out better than you had expected. next stop, a hole in the wall cafe for some lunch.

☆: not sure how i feel about this one honestly, but wanted to write a little something. hope y'all still like it! oh also, does the tiny text bother y'all? lemme know and i'll use the regular one, this one's aesthetically pleasing to me, but could be annoying. ellie n her comics own my heart.

#ellie williams #ellie tlou #the last of us 2 #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie the last of us 2 #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #lesbian #sapphic #girlfriend!ellie #tlou fanfiction #ellie fluff #ellie williams fluff #modern!ellie williams #modern!ellie #fluff #tlou fluff #ellie tlou2

[e-dubbc11]

The Sweetest Pain

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Billy Russo AU x F! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, couple of swear words, mentions of oral sex F! Receiving, mention of fingering (18+ please, no minors or I’m telling)

Word Count: 4.7k-ish

Summary: You have a crush on your tattoo artist. As it turns out, he may have a crush on you too.

A/N: Part One of I’m not sure how many yet. This one is all the way self indulgent right down to some of the tattoo photos in the moodboard. Bottom center are all mine and the octopus is the reference photo my tattoo artist is working from for my latest one which isn’t finished yet. Based off of the lovely conversation my lovely Lily @munsonownsmyass and I had while I was being tattooed this last time. I hope you like it! ❤️

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

Casually thumbing through all the receipts in your wallet, you were looking for a specific one. You knew the appointment was coming up soon and you just wanted to make sure you had the right date…actually that was a lie, you knew exactly what day your appointment was on but you wanted to look at it again. Just looking at the receipt caused a smile to stretch across your face…every time.

At the top of the receipt had the date of your appointment, April 21, the line underneath the date had your name and phone number, the time of your appointment, and the name of your tattoo artist, Billy Russo.

Billy Russo. Just his name prompted the butterflies in your stomach and sent shivers down your spine. He was handsome, sweet, and had a very gentle touch when it came to tattooing whereas some artists you had previously gone to, did not. Looking at him, you swear he could have been a model with his good looks and perfect smile but he was an amazing artist and the perfect artist for what you wanted permanently inked on your body.

Some people preferred colored tattoos but you were in love with black and gray and they loved you. Billy always loved to tell you how well your skin took black ink and how anytime he tattooed you, your skin healed to perfection.

“Look at that. That healed up nicely, your skin really loves black ink doesn’t it.” He’d say with a warm smile.

Not only was Billy your tattoo artist, he was also your friend, texting back and forth, sending each other funny videos or memes, talking shit about some of his clients that didn’t sit well or that they were “flinchers.” It was just easy with him, you laughed a lot, shared stories, and Billy had many stories being a combat veteran. You felt like you could share anything with him and he was surprisingly comfortable with you, because he didn’t just openly share his life stories with a lot of people.

Billy was a very popular artist, everyone wanted an appointment with him so sometimes it was difficult to get into the shop. It took longer to do the sleeve you had been wanting than it should have because he was busy. Last time you had been at the studio, Billy put the finishing touches on it so this appointment coming up he would be tattooing your thigh, although he didn’t know it yet.

It was a sunny early spring afternoon walking to the studio in downtown Brooklyn. The breeze coming off of the water was cool but the sunlight directly hitting your skin felt exceedingly warm.

Billy had tattooed you countless times, but this would be the first time he’ll be tattooing you in a relatively intimate place, it was all you could think about, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Better to get it out of your system now than start to blush while you’re in the chair.

You were close and could see the shop window up ahead: Anvil Tattoo Studio. Goosebumps peppered across your skin as you fumbled for the door handle, you swallowed hard, and the butterflies in your stomach began to stir. You took a deep breath before walking through the door.

It was just another appointment, relax.

The scents of green soap, shaving cream, and something else that you never could quite put your finger on but the only way to describe it was…sterile, wafted through the air as you walked inside. The buzzing of the tattoo machines altogether sounded like a cluster of cicadas as they scratched and scraped across the skin. Closing the door behind you, Billy looked up from the client he was working on and smiled his perfect smile at you, and your stomach dropped.

So much for not blushing.

Billy’s best friend Frank sat in the chair across from him, watching closely as Billy placed red ink into a woman’s arm.

“I’m just finishing up, y/n. I’m so sorry I’m running late.” He said apologetically.

As you took a seat on the couch, Frank whispered something to Billy that made him look in your direction and smile. All of a sudden Frank was sitting next to you on the couch.

“How ya doin’, kid? What are ya gettin’ today?” Frank asked with a smirk on his face.

You smiled back. “I’m good, Frank! And today I’m getting an octopus.”

He looked at your arm with the sleeve, pointed and said “Well, I know you’re not putting it on that arm. You gonna start work on your other arm?”

You bit down on your lower lip, shook your head and gently touched your leg. “Actually, I want this one…on my thigh.”

Frank raised his eyebrows and sounded surprised when he replied “Really?” A sly smile spread across his face.

“What’s that look for?” You asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

Frank glanced at Billy, then back at you. “Bill know that you want your tattoo there?”

“Well, no…not yet. You saw me, I just got here.” You said nervously.

Frank continued to smirk at you.

“Ok, well I gotta get goin’. You have fun, kid. I wanna see a picture when it’s done and if know Bill like I think I do, it’s not getting finished tonight.” He said.

Looking a little confused, you replied. “I dunno, Frank. Billy works pretty fast.”

Frank reached out and grabbed the door handle. And only loud enough for you to hear, he whispered “When he wants to. Why do you think it took him so long to do that sleeve of yours?” He gave you a wink and walked out.

You sat back against the couch with Frank’s words played again in your head. “When he wants to.” What was that supposed to mean? Did Billy purposely work slower on your sleeve so he could see you more often?

Billy could have any woman he wanted. Sometimes they would come into the studio in droves wanting to make an appointment with him. He’d always tell them he’s booked solid for the next six months, which wasn’t a lie. You witnessed it firsthand one night while you were in the chair.

They all came in batting their eyelashes and twirling their hair asking for something small that ANY tattoo artist could do. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at every sound that came out of their mouths because you had to admit, it did make you a little jealous even though you had no right to be.

Billy tattooed a lot of people, it was how he made his living. He wasn’t just yours, but maybe you wanted him to be. Maybe you wanted him to tenderly touch your skin in other ways, not just in a professional setting, and because he wants to and not because you’re paying him to.

As he finished up with his client, it was hard not to steal glances at him. He really was the most handsome man you had ever seen but you knew he couldn’t have the same feelings for you that you had for him. Yes, you were friends, but that’s it.

But what if Frank was right? What if he wasn’t joking around and Billy did work slower on purpose so he could see you more often. Could Billy Russo have on crush on you too?

This could turn out to be a long night.

After Billy’s client paid for her tattoo, she said goodbye and walked toward the entrance of the shop. On her way out the door, she glared at you and walked out. What possesses people to be nasty to someone they don’t even know?

Maybe she, like all the women that stop into the shop, had a crush on Billy too. Still, there was no excuse for behavior like that so you returned the gesture and narrowed your eyes back at her before she walked out of the shop.

Walking out from behind the front desk, you finally got a good look at Billy today. He was wearing a green waffle knit shirt, black jeans, and black boots whereas most of the time he would be wearing a shirt with his shop logo on it.

With his arms stretched out, you moved in close for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. It was the standard greeting you usually got from Billy with an extra squeeze at the end of the hug followed by the biggest smile. This really was one of your favorite places to be.

“Come on over, have a seat at the desk while I clean up and then we can get started.” He said.

Billy only had one other artist working today and he was just about done with his client.

“I’m almost done for the day, Bill. I’ll clean up and take off in a few.” He said.

Warmth spread to your chest as you asked Billy. “Is anyone else working today, Billy?”

The scent of 409 cleaner hung in the air while he was wiping down his tattoo chair. He smiled again and answered. “Nope, it’s just you and me tonight y/n.”

Oh no.

You quickly changed the subject. “Frank didn’t want to stick around tonight?” Frank always liked visiting with Billy while he worked, they were best friends and he always seemed to like visiting with you too when you came in.

“Ah Frankie said he had to get the kids off the school bus and make dinner tonight so he couldn’t hang out. He always likes it when you come in though.” Said Billy.

Was he the only one that likes it when you come into the shop?

“Why do you think it took him so long to do that sleeve of yours?”

Those words sounded like a broken record playing over and over in your mind and you remembered the first time he touched that tattoo needle to your skin. You placed your arm on the stand alone armrest and he started in on the outline but quickly paused.

“You’re gonna have to move a little closer to me, darlin’. It’s ok, I don’t bite.” He had said with a wink and a slightly wicked smile, as he pulled you closer to him.

The little flirtations progressed from there.

Starting out with a ¼ sleeve, he tattooed from your collar bone to just past your shoulder. You had to move your tank top and bra strap out of the way so he could work on that area, resting his hands on your chest, his long agile fingers wrapped tightly around the pen as he meticulously shaded the poppy flowers and lace. Every time he exhaled, his breath came in contact with you, goosebumps would scatter across your skin and he’d always ask if you were cold.

“Oh! No, no…Billy I’m fine.” You said.

When he tattooed the skull on your triceps, you had to lay face down on the tattoo chair, fingers grazing his pant leg, rubbing the fabric in between your fingertips took your mind off of the pain from the shading, that spot is surprisingly tender.

He pulled you out of your daydream.

“Huh?” You asked.

He smirked. “I said what are we doing today?”

“Oh! Right! I’d like an octopus.” You answered.

His deep brown eyes lit up as he asked excitedly. “Oh are we starting in on your other arm?” He took a sip of his water.

He wasn’t prepared for your answer.

“I’d actually like it on my thigh.” You said.

Billy coughed up a little water and swallowed hard as he finished cleaning up from his previous client and he seemed a little nervous. But he usually doesn’t get nervous and seeing him this way made you feel like maybe he DOES have a little crush on you.

He cleared his throat. “Oh! On your thigh? Ok, well do you have any, um, reference pictures for me?”

You pulled out your phone and navigated to the photo gallery, where you had a whole folder full of tattoo ideas and opened the photo of the one you liked. “I really like this little guy.” You said.

“Oh yeah, he’s great…this one is gonna be fun. Text that to me and I’ll start work on the stencil. You want this big, right? Take up most of the top of your thigh, right here?” He said as he placed both hands on your jeans, showing you the size he was thinking of.

“Yes, that’s a good size.” You answered.

“Come back and sit with me while I draw this up. You can tell me what’s new with you.” He said, rolling up his sleeves, revealing his patriotic tattoo sleeve underneath which you found incredibly sexy.

Billy asked about how work was going and life in general. You, in turn, asked how the business was doing, how his mom was even though he hated to talk about it. He had told you awhile ago he visits his dying mother once a week.

You think he mentioned that to you because subconsciously he wanted someone else to know, he didn’t want to keep that so close to the chest. It was a deep dark secret that hardly anyone knew about but you were privy to because he felt like he could trust you.

“She didn’t want me, she never wanted me.” He had said in a low voice, barely audible. “Shit, I really can’t believe I’m telling you all this.”

“You were a child, Billy. It’s ok to be angry.” You told him. “It’s just not good to keep that stuff inside, I’m glad you told me.”

Hovering over the light board, Billy continued to trace the outline of the octopus. “I’m almost done if you wanna change into your shorts.”

As you were changing in the restroom, you violently shook your hands and kicked your legs around to try and get out all of your nerves. The energy inside your body was shooting around like a pinball in a pinball machine, bouncing from one corner to the other and the butterflies in your stomach were turning in circles.

Stepping out from the restroom, suddenly you were a little self-conscious and felt exposed. Billy had never seen your bare legs before and the bike shorts you had on didn’t leave much to the imagination.

“All set?” He asked, his stare lingering longer than maybe he wanted it to.

You nodded and walked over toward his chair where he knelt down in front of you to shave the top of your thigh and just like that, your nerves were back with reinforcements. He was eye level with your core and your mind started to wander. You wondered what it would be like to have Billy’s face in between your legs, to have his beard tickle the inside of your thighs, placing kisses on the inside of your knees, and leaving love bites all over your stomach before devouring you.

It made you wet just thinking about it.

You pictured him pulling sinful sounds of pleasure from you using just his fingers. The same talented fingers he used to create beautiful works of art, now being used to draw circles on your clit. Parting your folds with one finger, then stretching you further with another, hitting that spot that makes your vision go white and your head spin.

“What do you think of the placement?” Billy asked, snapping you back to reality. “Go check it out in the mirror.”

You tried not to fall flat on your face as you slowly walked over to the full length mirror to look at the stencil, it took up most of the space on the top of your thigh and some of the tentacles wrapped slightly onto the side of your leg. He hadn’t even started yet and it already looked awesome.

“I love it!” You exclaimed.

Billy told you to stand around and wait for it to dry while he set up his machine, ink wells and other supplies. It was going to be mostly black and gray but the suction cups, you wanted them to be blue.

While you were waiting for the stencil to dry, you passed the time by checking out the other artist’s portfolios when Billy’s voice boomed from across the room. “ANDY! Stop checkin’ out y/n’s ass or you’re fired!”

No one could see, but you cracked a smile before you turned around to look at Andy who looked like a deer in headlights. He apologized profusely and you continued to look at everyone’s artwork while the stencil finished drying.

“Should be dry, y/n. Come have a seat.” He said.

The stack of paper towels was piled high on his side table, along with the box of black nitrile gloves. Everything was ready to go.

As you tried to get comfortable, Billy was figuring out how he wanted your leg to rest. You told him just to manipulate your leg to how he wanted it and because you have a dirty mind, you bit down on your lower lip to keep from laughing, realizing how that sounded when it came out. A slight smile spread across his face too.

He placed the copied photo you sent in front of him so he had a reference to work off of and got to work. The pen moved smoothly across your skin, drawing a solid black line for the outline of the head. The black ink pooling at the starting point as he wiped the excess away, concentrating on drawing a perfect line.

His gentle exhale grazed your thigh and left you wanting to clench but you couldn’t do that without risking him messing up, so you just held your breath in silence.

“Relax, darlin’. Ya know I tell you that every time you’re here. Relax your leg and turn it toward me…that’s it.” He whispered.

He had no idea what this was doing to you.

With both of his hands resting on your thigh, you closed your eyes and began to daydream again. You wondered if Billy had ever used his tattoo chair for play, thinking about his hands on the tops of your thighs and your hands making a mess of his ink like hair, as his tongue explores the part of your body emanating the most heat. The low moans he pulls from your lips fetch a wicked smile from him against your entrance that leaves your release glistening in his beard.

The long drag of the single needle against your leg jerked you out of your dream.

As he moved closer toward your inner thigh to draw one of the tentacles, the vibration of the needle hit a special spot that had you clenching your teeth. He stopped and looked at you, his eyes as black as the ink he was using, and the concern in his voice made you smile. “Are you ok? Did I hurt you?”

“No, Billy I’m fine…really.” You whispered which was followed by a slight chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” He asked. His tone was silvery and sweet like candy.

“Oh it’s nothing.” You said.

“Come on, y/n. Tell me.” He begged.

You paused for a second and finally got the courage to say it out loud.

“I was just thinking that after all these years of you tattooing me, you finally got my pants off.” And you burst out laughing.

Billy’s smile extended from ear to ear. He placed his pen on the table, took off his gloves, and said he had to go outside for a minute.

He stepped out onto the back deck, and left you inside alone. Andy took off a little while ago so it was just you and Billy at the shop.

A few minutes had passed when he came back inside, you were sitting sideways on the chair with your legs dangling off of the side. He walked right to you and stopped, the gap between your bodies was small and he gazed down at you. His onyx colored eyes had you frozen in place, almost forgetting to even breathe.

He had never looked more gorgeous.

As he bent at the waist, still staring at you, he raised one finger and said. “No one…has ever made me blush like that, y/n.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” You asked, looking up at him through your dark lashes.

Billy started to close the gap between your bodies even more like he was going to kiss you but pulled away just as fast.

“Lemme ask you something, y/n. Why do you think I took so long to finish your sleeve?” He asked.

Oh shit…Frank was right. But you decided to play dumb.

“Well, I don’t know Billy…I just figured since we spend a lot of time just talking before we actually start tattooing, we run out of time and you just book me another session. No big deal.” You said.

He starting shaking his head and put his hands on his hips. “No, that’s bullshit. You’ve seen how fast I can work, I coulda had that sleeve done in half the sessions it actually took.”

“Then tell me, Billy. Tell me why it took you so long.” You said with your voice slightly raised.

He ran his fingers through his raven colored hair and brushed his beard with his fingers. His slightly agitated state told you that he wasn’t used to saying how he felt.

“I did it on purpose so I could see you more often, ok?!”

You thought your heart was going to burst out of your chest. The feeling WAS mutual.

“And look, I know you’re probably mad that I made you come in—“

You interrupted him.

“I like you too, Billy.” You weren’t sure that he heard you over his ranting.

“What?” He asked and took a few steps closer again.

“I.Like.You.Too.”

You barely got that last word out before his lips crashed onto yours, his hands tangled in your hair and his tongue touched your teeth begging to twist and knot with yours. His kisses were hungry, all tongue and teeth as his nipped up and down your neck. Your body felt like it was on fire and you didn’t want him to stop but you were in the middle of getting a tattoo, so you pulled away.

“Billy? My leg.” You said, shyly.

“Fuck…I forgot.” He said as the two of you started to chuckle as he cupped your cheeks and leaned in to kiss you one more time.

After you cooled down at little, you and Billy resumed your session. He finished the outline and did a little shading before calling it a night, although it was difficult to concentrate on anything except remembering Billy’s lips all over you.

“I don’t wanna keep you here too late, beautiful.” Billy said with a warm smile as he started to clean off your skin, prepping it for the tegaderm dressing he was going to put on. The clear plastic film was thin, sterile and it kept out water and germs but it was also breathable which made the healing process a lot faster.

On his knees in front of you, he carefully placed large strips of the flexible plastic on your leg, making sure to cover the entire tattoo. Every time his calloused fingers grazed your leg, he felt the goosebumps rise up to touch his fingertips. You couldn’t help it.

“Is it cold in here, y/n?” Billy’s voice sounded very concerned.

You shook your head slowly back and forth, biting down on your lower lip and gazed down into his intense brown eyes. The skin on the top of your thigh was red and hot to the touch. It matched the skin on your cheeks. Billy inched closer to you, his warm exhale brushed against the inner part of your knee which made your vision hazy.

You could tell he was having a hard time concentrating too.

“Ok, you’re all set.” Billy said taking off his gloves. “That’s gonna look badass when it’s all done. When do you wanna come back?”

He asked nervously.

“Billy?” You asked.

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t make me wait.” You said with a slight hitch in your voice.

Throwing his gloves away, he started to walk over to his desk calendar.

“I don’t want you to wait, so just tell me when you want—“

You cut him off.

“I’m not talking about that, Billy.” You said.

He narrowed his eyes. “Then what—“

You interrupted him again.

“I want you to kiss me again, Billy. Don’t make me wait.”

He delicately moved a stray hair away from your eyes as you clasped your hands around his neck and pushed yourself up onto your toes to kiss him again. The taste of peppermint on his soft lips still lingered from the gum he was chewing earlier as you allowed his tongue access to your mouth.

You clung to him almost desperately, not wanting to let him go but he was like a magnet that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pull away from him.

“I want you back here in two weeks.” He said.

With your eyes wide, he kind of caught you off guard. “Oh…well ok. Just let me know which—“

It was his turn to interrupt you.

“But I wanna see you tomorrow…for dinner.”

A shy smile played across your face.

“Really?” You asked.

Billy’s entire body smiled at you.

“Y/n, I’ve wanted this since the very first day you walked into my shop. I feel…” He paused, grazed his beard with his thumb and forefinger, and sat down on his tattoo chair.

“Billy?”

“Every time I tattoo you, I always end up telling you something about myself that I thought I would end up taking to the grave whether it’s about my shitty childhood or how I listen to 80’s hair metal when no one’s around. Remember what I told you, don’t you DARE repeat that!” He cracked a smile.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his idle threat but you were just as comfortable around Billy as he was with you.

“The point is, I like this…being comfortable enough where it’s easy for me to share this stuff and it’s easy with you.”

“That’s what friends are for, Billy.” You said.

“Well, what if I wanna be more than friends?” He asked.

Billy looked nervous after saying that, almost scared as to how you would reply.

“Like friends that see each other naked?” You said with a little laugh.

“How many times are you gonna make me blush today?” He asked trying to hold in his laughter.

Walking over to where he was seated, you straddled him so your knees were on either side of his hips and adjusted yourself so you were firmly pressing down on his crotch.

“At least one more time, handsome.” You whispered against his mouth before your lips collided with his. “I like making you blush.”

As you gently nibbled on his ear lobe, he let out a low moan before saying “Oh I’m gonna have my hands full with you, huh sweet girl.”

Unexpectedly, he thrusted his hips up against your core and you expressed a tremor of pleasure. The thin fabric of the bike shorts didn’t shield you from feeling the outline of his hard cock against you, teasing you, and you wanting nothing more than to feel him inside you, soaking him and the chair underneath him so much that he would need more than just a paper towel to clean it up.

You’d save that for another night though.

“Mmmm hmmmm...but I’ll let you take me out to dinner first, baby.” You said.

Billy leaned forward to kiss you again as you raked your fingers through his hair, gently scraping your nails against his scalp. He kissed you with a passion like his kiss was always meant to be yours, tasting you, and binding his body to yours so he would never forget all of the curves and hollows of you that haven’t yet been touched with his tattoo pen.

“Ok, well let me finish cleaning up and I’ll take you home.” Billy said.

A mischievous grin stretched across your lips.

“Take your time, handsome because god damn, I love to watch you work.”

Tag List: @mindidjarin @saintmurd0ck @wheresthesunshinesblog @rafaelakelley @idaoftheburningmind @snowkestrel @xdervyxccgh @mattmurdocksscars @fakehappy27 @music-indie-tv @fictional-hooman @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @celestialams @idek-what-to-put @anastasianeedstoread @ratsys @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @rosaleenablack

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @simple-lovebot @russosafehaven @mrsbillyrusso

If you’d like to be added to (or removed from) my tag list for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again

#billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfic #billy russo imagine #billy russo au #billy russo fluff #billy russo smut

[morallyinept]

Hey D! How you feeling today?

Oh, my dude. 😦 You're feeling guilty for missing last week's Self-Care with Dieter & Jett? Aww, buddy. That's okay. You don't need to feel guilty - I missed it too. 😬

It was a heck of a week, wasn't it?

But that does lead us nicely into this weeks topic. I think you'll like this one, D.

But first, I have something that I really want to do with you... I can't stop thinking about it. And I know it's something that we just really need to tackle head on, you know?

No more putting it off!

Oh, it's going to be so satisfying. And really messy, knowing you...

So, you wanna do it with me, handsome?

Excellent! Come on D, get your paint pots out! This room could do with a new lick of paint.

What? What did you think I meant? 😏

Happy Friday. It's time for some Self-Care With Dieter & Jett. 🖤

So, Dieter and I dropped the ball last week and we missed posting for Self-Care, didn't we bud?

I know, D. I know. 😒

☝🏻But it's okay. Sometimes, things don't always go according to plan and life can get in the way. Distractions, lack of time or just general forgetfulness.

And sometimes, when things happen that are beyond our control, we can start to feel a bit guilty.

This week we're going to look at ditching the guilt.

But what is guilt, exactly?

Guilt is a sense of regret or responsibility for thoughts, words, or actions. It can happen when you perceive you’ve harmed someone, think you’ve made a mistake, or have gone against your own personal moral code of conduct.

Feeling guilty can be a positive emotion in some cases, and may even help you learn from your mistakes.

But you can also feel guilty for situations that you believe were your fault or even incidents that were not your fault at all. People can also use guilt-provoking tactics to manipulate someone into doing things they’d rather not do.

So what can we do to ditch the guilt? Any thoughts, D?

Mmmyeah... Okay, I'll give you some pointers, bud. Jett'll do the hard work, like always... 🙄

Acknowledge it exists

First of all, understand that at some point you will feel guilty about something. Whether that's over indulging whilst dieting or not going to the gym, or arguing with a loved one and saying something in the heat of the moment you might later regret.

There are so many root causes in our lives that guilt can stem from, and everyone's perception of guilt and what can cause it is different.

You may think that overindulging when dieting, for example, seems trivial to you, but for another person feelings of guilt over-indulgence can seem a little overwhelming.

Understanding exactly why it is that you feel guilty will be easier to begin to rationalise it.

Yeah, that's a face of a man with no remorse about over-indulging, right, bud?

Eliminate the negative

Though guilt can initiate a positive action as you tackle and work through it, it can also cause you to associate your behavior with who you are as a person. This can lead to some negative self-portrayal such as thinking or assuming “I’m a bad person.”

You're not a bad person.

Try to remember that, although the behavior or consequence may have been less than ideal, it doesn’t define who you are.

That's right, D, you're not a bad person either. You're a superstar. Sometimes...

Is there a reason to feel guilty?

Perhaps you've had an argument with a loved one and you're still harbouring negative feelings and guilt about it.

Find out if they've already moved on and forgiven you by communicating with them.

You might discover that there's no need to feel guilty, and you could be wasting time living in guilt when it's not actually necessary.

So reach out...

Do you deserve it?

Some people associate feeling guilty as though they deserve it. They feel that because they did something deemed as incorrect or wrong, they should feel guilty.

This also works on the opposite side of the scale when a person performs an action and doesn't feel guilt as a consequence.

Whether you feel you deserve to feel some guilt or not, it's important to understand that guilt is an emotion, and it's one you can work through, just like any other emotions you may feel.

Even if you don't feel guilt, that's okay too. Sometimes not feeling guilt is a way of telling you it was the right outcome to the scenario, but that, of course, depends on the situation or scenario.

☝🏻It's important to note however, that if you regularly perform or act upon negative outcomes/situations, and don't feel any remorse or guilt, then this could be perceived as being narcissistic or even sociopathic by others.

In these instances it's important to seek help or guidance to understand these feelings and why you may feel that way, if you or someone close to you notices a pattern in your behaviour.

Look for the positives

When feeling guilty about something, it's easy to look at all the negatives that circle around it.

But look for the positive. You can learn something, you can grow. You can move forward if you forgive yourself. You can make a list of all the positive things that you do.

When you understand the positive and seek it out, it's a good step in learning to forgive yourself.

It's okay to prioritise YOU

Some people feel guilty if they don't devote their time to others, such as family obligations, friends or even maintaining an online presence.

But it's okay to take time for yourself. You're only human and your mental health needs a break now and again. Or as much as you personally want to devote to a having a break and indulging in you.

You should never feel guilty for putting you first.

And if anyone tries to make you feel guilty for that, then you may need to re-evaluate their position in contributing positively to your mental wellbeing.

It's okay to walk away if you need to...

Complete any actions

Sometimes, moving on from guilt needs an action for closure.

For example, you may need to apologise. Admit that you made a mistake or own up to it...

It is hard to summon up the courage to apologise, D, you're right.

But it's the most important step for eliminating the guilt and re-setting the balance in your mental health when it comes to feeling guilt, remorse or even shame.

Once you've performed your appeasing action, you can then move forward in putting any guilt behind you and learning from it to move forward.

Understand what you can control

You are not responsible for anyone else's actions

For example, suppose you still feel responsible for something that happened years ago. It might be more helpful at this point to focus on determining what you can do now to help the situation.

If nothing can change the situation, bear in mind that holding onto guilt won’t likely deliver the change you’re looking for. Try to have some compassion for yourself.

Remember that some things are unchangeable, and that’s okay!

You should never feel guilty for someone else's actions, especially if it's in a situation that you cannot, or do not have, any control over.

So Dieter, are you feeling a little less guilty about skipping out on last week's Self-Care post now?

That's great, bud. Sometimes, things happen beyond our control and that's alright.

Now what say we indulge for a bit and not feel guilty about it, that sound good? 😀

Thought it might...

Dieter and I hope we have helped you to understand that guilt is an emotion that we'll experience at some point and when we do, it's okay to forgive yourself and give yourself permission to move forward in ditching the guilt.

Until next time, stay kind & stay creamy! 🖤

YOU. ARE. STRONGER. THAN. YOU. THINK. 🖤

Do you. Then do Dieter.

More Dieter & Jett love here

ℹ️ Dieter and I always strive to bring you unbiased, fact-checked advice. We're not licensed therapists, so we do a lot of research to ensure we can provide helpful and informative posts. Well, I do. Dieter mostly sits around eating KitKats.

#pedro pascal #self care with dieter and jett #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo #dieter bravo the bubble #self care #you are stronger than you think #do you #then do dieter

[youthereader]

Near Zero part 2.

PAIRING: cillian murphy as j. robert oppenheimer x fem!reader

SUMMARY: 2.1 words. Brought on as part of the Manhattan Project, your old physics professor sees you in a new light.

RATING: eventually E (no smut in this part); age gap (10+ years), infidelity, period-typical sexism

A/N: Though based on real life characters, this is J. Robert Oppenheimer as played by Cillian Murphy, a fictional character. This is not intended to be historically accurate, merely written as entertainment. Many thanks to @indulgence-be-thy-name for helping me figure out how to bridge scenes and for being my soundboard. Thanks for the love for the first part, and I hope you like this one, too! 🖤

masterlist.

A week goes by, and you rarely see one another.

You search for him sometimes on your walks home, but never see him. One evening, when you’re swinging your pocketbook with a cigarette in your other hand, practically dragging your feet from exhaustion, one of your next-door neighbors comes out their front door, beaming at you.

You’ve managed to avoid them until now. She may have been waiting for you by the timing of it all, calling out:

“We always seem to miss each other!”

You pause, smiling automatically, watching her march over to you. You admire the effort she’s put into her appearance; her blonde hair is perfectly coiffed, her nails are long and glossy to match her lipstick. Your attire feels dishevelled by comparison, and you haven’t seen your reflection in a few hours. Undoubtedly, you don’t look as put together as you did when you left that morning.

Her scent hits you – rosewater and gin – and you awkwardly rearrange your things to quickly shake her hand, inhaling the last of your cigarette.

“I’m sorry I haven’t made the effort already to say hello.”

You’re not being entirely honest. You could have gone months without ever having met her. She gives a dismissive wave.

“You’re obviously extremely busy. Do you work with Dr. Oppenheimer?”

You nod, feeling your smile begin to slacken. You wish someone would ask about you, not one of the men you work with.

“Yes, I’m part of the theoretical physics branch.”

“That must be very interesting.”

She says it in such a way that gives you pause. She glances behind her and calls out:

“Barb! Come meet our lovely neighbor!”

She turns back to you again, murmuring:

“I’m Mary, by the way.”

You offer your name, and she gives another smile, as you wait for Barb to appear. She’s taller, with auburn hair, but a similar breed of woman to Mary. Sophisticated and not at all like you. You feel self-conscious, clearing your throat.

“She works with Oppie,” Mary says to Barb, and the women exchange a glance.

Barb smiles like a cat. “Do tell.”

“I haven’t seen him lately,” you admit. “We’re not in close proximity most of the time.”

“Shame,” Barb says. She surveys you. “He can be very… friendly. At least, it’s what I heard.”

Mary gives her a little smack on the arm and they both smirk. They seem to wait for you to add something, but you don’t indulge them, glancing down at your burnt-out cigarette butt, considering another.

“Where do you work?” you ask, and Mary sighs a little.

“Oh, we’re both secretaries,” she says. “Nothing as complicated as what you do, I’m sure.”

“We all need typists,” you offer, thinking of a recent incident in the laboratory.

One of the men attempted to hand you their notes, asking you type them up. He considered it women’s work, but all you did was stare him down, cigarette dangling from your lips. After a long minute, several others began to laugh and he folded, stalking off to find a typewriter to do it himself. You returned to your paper and were left in peace for the rest of the day. He hadn’t spoken to you since. He hadn’t even glanced in your direction.

“Say, you ought to come to the mixer we’re having this Friday. I mean, for God’s sake, we’re going nuts in here,” Mary says, leaning over, dropping her voice. “We need something to do around here.”

“She’s probably too busy,” Barb drawls, and you look at her, blinking.

“No, I’m… I’d love to,” you lie.

You like to put your feet up on Fridays with a drink and a big book. You’re lucky if you leave your place at all when you have time to yourself. But the more you think about it, the more likely you are to see Oppenheimer again if you tag along.

“I’ll see you two there. When is it?”

-

There is instant regret the second you walk into the hall teeming with drunken, loud people. It’s like all the faculty parties you skipped when you were at college. The music and voices overlap, smoke hangs in the air, and crowds of strangers squeeze past you to get in and out the door.

You walk inside with your breath held, hating that you came alone. Some people glance your way, but none are familiar faces. You keep moving regardless, until you spot Barb and Mary by the wall with a group of several couples, all holding their own drinks.

“You actually came,” Barb says, and Mary’s eyes widen, impressed.

“Anyone need a top-up?” you offer, but no-one takes you up on it.

You don’t want there to be a whole production when it comes to introducing yourself. You hope the girls give a short explanation when you walk away, heading towards the bar at the very back of the hall. You have to weave through more groups, and finally more recognisable people appear.

“Holy shit,” Feynman says, and you stop, feeling your face flush at the sudden attention. “Since when do you leave the labs for some fun?”

“Give it a rest, Richard,” a man says nearby, one of the human computers.

“I think we should document it,” Feynman goes on, and you try to smile in good humor. “The first instance of fun for the woman!”

“Not quite,” you retort. “I’m parched. Excuse me.”

You just want to work. You just want to be alone, so you don’t have to feel like you’re under scrutiny. You just want to do something meaningful, and it feels like that can only happen at Los Alamos. You feel silly, reminded of high school when your teacher on the last day of your senior year told you to ‘lighten up’. The man had no idea the damage he’d done with that advice, how small and silly he’d made you feel.

You reach the bar and order a daiquiri. You may have a few before facing anyone else, you haven’t decided yet. When you’re handed the drink, a low, smooth voice to your right makes you freeze:

“You do know we have things other than rum to drink here?”

You twist around, drink aloft, and see Oppenheimer beside you, your stomach giving a little flip at the sight of him. You missed him. God, you really, really missed him.

“It’s out of habit,” you reply, taking a sip for courage. “Is the government sending all their scotch our way?”

He gives a smile, and you return it. “I could have that arranged if that isn’t the case already.”

There’s a raucous call of ‘Oppie!’ and one of the experimental physicists slaps him on the shoulder. You’re forgotten, turning back to the bar as the men chat, the stranger more than Oppenheimer.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“Classified, Lewis. You know that” Oppenheimer replies. “How’s the wife?”

He slips into another character, someone friendlier but in a superficial way. He becomes Oppie the leader, and yet it doesn’t seem to come naturally to him. He doesn’t light up all the way, and his smile doesn’t reach his piercing eyes.

You don’t expect him to pay any more attention to you, so you take a few steady gulps as you eavesdrop and then tune everything out…

And then it’s as if you’ve left the hall, when you feel a hand brush yours, fingertips meeting your own as Oppenheimer listens, his colleague talking his ear off. The vacuum you suddenly occupy makes your skin tingle, because it’s unmistakable – he’s stroking your fingers teasingly out of sight of everyone around you.

The moment stretches on and on, and you could live there, with all that potential. All that secrecy. He slips away, stepping aside to shake his colleague’s hand. He turns back to you when he’s gone once more.

“I should try one of those,” he says, nodding to your drink.

Your heart races when your eyes meet again. The warmth there, the intensity of it, turns your insides molten. What you suspected was an attraction is full-blown desire, and you can only stare back at him, hoping – hoping for what?

“Do you have a cigarette?” he asks, when you say nothing, and you nod.

You drain your glass, placing it on the bar, then take out your pack of cigarettes from your pocketbook. He takes them, putting one to his lips, and you step forward to light it for him. Perhaps you can have these little moments, and that will be all. And that will have to be enough.

“Thank you, darling,” he whispers, and you blush. “Can I walk you home, after?”

You nod, desperately wanting more. More pet names, more touches, more stares. Instead, you’re interrupted by Feynman.

“I’m sorry,” he says to you, while gripping Oppenheimer’s arm. “Lemme make it up to you. Let’s have a dance.”

“Oh, I don’t—”

“Come on, we’re all dancing,” he cuts in. “You don’t have to be good.”

You see Oppenheimer is occupied with his own thoughts, smoking in silence. As mortifying as it is to dance, Feynman has a point. No-one at Los Alamos is here because they’re good at dancing.

You try to remember the last time you danced, as you’re dragged along by hand. It must have been before the war when your friends bullied you into a group date.

You endure it, not minding the music. It’s fast and a little chaotic but everyone is laughing, and you find yourself smiling, if a little awkward on your feet. Feynman is a good sport and bows extravagantly when it’s over.

“I forgive you,” you say, chuckling.

He dips to kiss your knuckles and you swat him playfully.

-

You feel drunk, and it’s because of Dr. Oppenheimer. That’s what you tell yourself when you manage to mingle with everyone for the rest of the night without wanting to run away. It’s a miracle.

Feynman was right – you having fun is a first. Not that you tell him that, but you still talk a lot, and laugh genuinely. You haven’t given anyone a proper chance, and it’s kind of a relief, having this turn out better than expected when you first walked in.

Oppenheimer is missing at the end when everyone starts peeling off in groups for home. It’s after midnight, and you search for him, trying not to seem eager. No-one needs to know that you’re looking for him, or if he’s waiting for you.

Barb and Mary beckon you, holding their coats and bags as you dawdle. You give a short sigh to yourself and follow them out, wondering how you missed Oppenheimer again. You hope he’s waiting outside somewhere, but there are only other tipsy patrons, bidding one another farewell.

The three of you walk the short distance back to your street, and you keep your eyes peeled for any sign of the director, heart hammering when you think of his fingers touching you before.

Darling. The word curls in your stomach and makes you daydream, your attentiveness to your neighbors coming and going as they chat next to you. You make it to your corner before your disappointment sinks in and you’re alone again at your front door, Mary and Barb disappearing into their place.

-

All the good feelings from the mixer don’t remain. The laboratory is a much harsher world when you expected the opposite. Egos clash, men storm out when arguments arise, and you receive a letter from your parents citing their concern for you, since you’re unable to tell them anything about your position at Los Alamos.

You crave the attention you had, though fleeting, from Oppenheimer. He’s nowhere to be found for a few days. What was once a usual thing has become intolerable, you have no idea how long it will be until you see him again.

He walks into the laboratory one afternoon when you’re midway through your sandwich, deciding to not leave for lunch as some of the others have. He moves right past you, and for a moment it’s as if you’ve imagined him or wished him into view. He greets Bethe and Teller but doesn’t look at you.

You stand, sandwich forgotten, wiping your face of any stray crumbs. You wait, but he still doesn’t give you an acknowledgement. That’s fine. You’re used to waiting. You’re used to being in the background, ignored for the most part.

And then he leaves, after less than five minutes talking about the progress of the group. He walks right by you, and it’s as if you’re invisible. He can’t have missed you, and yet it’s as if you’re less than the dirt on his shoes, or the ash that falls from his cigarette as he moves past you.

You stare at the space he occupied once he’s gone, feeling hot with shame.

Oof, yes. That was a little cruel. I promise it picks up in the next part! Finally, there'll be some smut. 😈💕 Likes and replies are appreciated and reblogs make me swoon. Thanks for reading!

#oppenheimer x y/n #oppenheimer x reader #j robert oppenheimer #fem reader #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy x reader #near zero

[ohtobeleah]

Roll Of The Dice // Jake Seresin

Chapter Three: “100 Tales”

Summary: There’s a book that haunts Jake Seresin everywhere he goes. But is it the book doing the haunting or the person who had last been reading it that’s doing haunting?

Warnings: Jake Seresin x dead!almostwife reader. Jake Seresin Angst. Grief and loss of life. Haunted memories—paranormal activity? Slow decent into madness?

Word Count: 3.9k

Author Note: This series is totally 100% a self indulgent one but thank-you for reading along. I dunno how many parts I’ll end up writing but for now? Here’s another chapter.

Series Masterlist

Jake thought he’d feel better after a shower. He was wrong. 

There’s a book that sits untouched on the desk in his dorm room. He never did bother to finish reading it. Too afraid of what he may become inclined to believe. It was the last book you had been reading before you left him so unexpectedly. To Jake Seresin there had been no greater definition of an unexpected demise than the fact you hadn’t even used your beloved bookmark to mark your chapter with—you’d been so busy that you just ear tagged the page, stopping in the middle of your sentence with a huff. Not bothering to continue reading on because you’d come back to it soon.

But you never got the chance to. 

Jake remembers it like it had been just yesterday because he was the one who’d interrupted you. He’d been the one to draw you out of the compelling world of all things paranormal so that you could help him with the guttering that had become clogged with decaying leaves. 

That was the last time he can remember seeing you pick up that damn book in his memories. Now he took it wherever he went, determined to finish it for you, in honour of you. But he was too afraid of what he may find on every page he turned. Too afraid that if he started to believe for just a second, he’d see you watching over him—but you wouldn’t be looking at him like he was the love of your life. No. Jake was terrified that if for a moment he faltered in his belief systems that ghosts aren't real and there was no life after death that he’d see you looking at him like he let you down. Like he was the reason you were gone, looking at him like he could have done something, fucking anything to save you. 

Jake Seresin would boast he wasn’t afraid of anything, that nothing could scare him. That there was nothing on this earth that could confront him. But that was a blatant lie—Jake was afraid of something. He was afraid of what lurked in the dark. He was terrified of the shadows that followed him aimlessly, the noises that haunted him. The sounds that went bump in the night. 

He was afraid of whatever was following him, a vengeful presence that lurked from the shadows. He was afraid of you. The version of you that you’d become, grown out of guilt and regret. But the thing was? Jake had made that version of you up in his own head. For you weren’t vengeful nor spiteful. You were simply stuck because Jake Seresin couldn’t let you go. 

As you watched from the edge of the bed you’d decided to perch on, crossing your legs and letting your elbow fall against your knee. Your hand holding your head up tiredly—Jake paused in his tracks as he held the damp towel around his waist. Fresh out the shower that didn't help. You watched as his eyes lingered on the book he took everywhere he went. Deployment to detachment, it went with him everywhere. 

“If you’d just read the damn thing you could just put it back on the bookshelf and save space in your duffel.” You sighed knowing that your pleas fell on deaf ears. Jake couldn’t hear you, he couldn’t see you, but you knew deep down he could feel you. He balled his first around the engagement ring that hung from his dog tags as he thought for a second if he should skip out on beers and burgers and stay in for the night. Finish the book. 

Looking down at the book, Jake remembered the first time you’d read the introduction to him. Catching himself smirking at the moment, Jake allowed himself a small hit of serotonin as he took a walk down memory lane. Closing his eyes as he let out a deep sigh of heartbreak. Remembering the moment he really did think he had it all. 

***~***~***~***~

(Austin Texas—The Seresin Household , April 24th 2019) 

The water was far too soothing on Jake's aching muscles to protest against your actions. He’d had a long day and coming home to you running him a hot bath was just the cherry on top of a pretty exhausting but pretty good day. What he didn’t expect though was that you’d join him in the warm bath. Watching as you sunk into the water between his legs and let your back fall against his chest. 

“I don’t remember sending out an open invitation, Dice.” Jake chuckled as you made yourself comfortable against his chest. Water lapping at the edge of the bath as you settled in. 

“You don’t want me to sit here and read to you while you soak up half a box of epsom salt I know you poured into this bath when I turned my back?” Jake simply wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you flush to him as he kissed your shoulder tenderly. “Hmm.” You sighed softly at the feeling, accepting that the gentle act of affection had been Jake's white flag. “That's what I thought, Hangman–” It wasn't all that often the two of you used your call signs as terms of endearment outside of work hours. But still–sometimes, they crept in. “I got a new book at the store I really like in the mall today.” 

“Bookface?” Jake mumbled against your shoulder as he watched you reach up to where you placed the book on the vanity. Nodding in response, you sunk back against your soon to be husband. 

“That's the one.” Jake was attentive to detail. He knew everything there was to know about you and then some. He was your best friend, your wingman, your love, your soulmate. He knew what time you set your alarm for every morning but knew the actual time you'd get up. About half an hour before you had to be out the door. 

He knew that whenever you poured yourself a drink you'd never finish it. He’d always finish it. He knew all your favourite foods, all specifically from the same carbohydrate family. From pasta to pizza to pastries and more. Jake even knew that some fabric on the duvet covers you both had were better than others. He noticed that the silk set his mother had gifted you both had barely been used and sat at the back of the linen cupboard more often than not. You said the fabric was hard to twirl in your fingers and even if he didn't necessarily know what you meant by that, he understood why you rotated between three specific sets. They were all made of the same material. “So why don't you just lay back and relax and I'll read to you.”

“I feel like this is entrapment.” Jake tried to protest purely out of need to argue with you. He knew he could get a rise out of you quicker than anyone else could. That was simply because for two people who were madly in love you couldn't have been more opposite. The only things you shared in common with your finance’ was the fact you were both Naval Aviators, and you both knew how to Roll The Dice when it came to risk taking behaviours. “What's the book about?” 

Your silence gave everything away. Jake knew when you hid the cover from him that it was going to be something he would usually hate. But now that you had him trapped in the bath with his legs either side of yours? He had nowhere to go. Clearing your throat, you began to read to your soon to be husband as the candle in the corner omitted a lavender aroma into the air around you. The beer Jake had brought with him collecting condensation against the class as it sat next to the bath on the little stand. 

“For a long as human beings have been dying, they have been turning into ghosts.” You started with the introduction page as you settled into Jake. He pressed his lips together as if to stop himself from accidentally insulting your intelligence for believing in this kind of crap. “Or maybe they haven't. That’s the great thing about ghosts: Nobody knows if they're real, so they are endlessly entertaining like Bigfoot or Elon Musk.” Jake let out a short chuckle, the ruble radiating against your back from his chest. “Ha! You laughed, I'm off the hook.” 

“It's good writing, doesn’t mean it's facts are substantial.” You let that comment slide as Jake's hands roamed your body under the water, settling once again on your stomach. “Keep going.” Even if the paranormal realm of possibility wasnt Jake Seresins favourite subgenre, he did enjoy it when you took the time out of your day to sit and read to him. It was a favourite pastime of his, his little bookworm. “Like your voice too much, could listen to you all day.” That just made your heart swoon. Cleaning your throat as you turned your attention back to the book in your hands, you continued on.

“Australian history is riddled with ghosts, which is unsurprising given that our nation's past is filled with violence and sadness and people dying in entertaining ways.” 

“Hold up–” You sighed when Jake interrupted you so soon after he’d asked you to keep reading. At this rate you were never going to make it off the first page. “Its an Australian book?” 

“Ben Pobjie is an Australian author.” Explaining softly as you wiggled against Jake's crotch, forcing a groan from the depths of his soul to escape past slightly parted lips. “Now would you just be quiet and let me read? Or else i'll get out and go read in my nook.'' Jake had built you a little reading nook a few months ago. Complete with a massive bookshelf that he took the time to help you organise all your books in colour and alphabetical order. 

“Alright, alright, I'll shut up.” Jake chuckled before kissing your head, taking in the smell of your hair as he did so. Sinking lower into the warm bubbly water, you continued on. 

“Seemingly every country town has at least one ghost knocking about the place, laminating his or her unfortunate demise and whipping up that peculiar mixture of terror and civic pride that only a local phantasm can produce.” Jake Loved you–oh so much. He couldn't wait to marry you soon. The two of you still hadn’t broken the news yet that you were even engaged let alone dating let alone planning a wedding! The plan was to invite everyone to the ‘engagement party’ then spring it on them that it was your actual wedding. 

“Of course, some towns are more haunted than others, as this book will demonstrate. Kapunda in South Australia and Picton in New South Wales are great examples of hamlets with especially strong paranormal resonances, where the ectoplasm is particularly sticky and around every corner is another spook ready to startle you.” Jake never really understood how he got so lucky with you. You tolerated all his bullshit and never let his ego get too big. You were his anchor in life. His rock, his entire world ever since he’d first met you. He thought you were the most beautiful women he’d ever had the pleasure of getting to know. Inside and out. 

“Not that every ghost is an unfriendly one. In these pages you will find ghosts of both the menacing and the kindly types, as well as plenty who have no real agenda beyond wandering in the hinterlands between life and death, and making funny noises or giving off odd light.” As you continued on reading, Jake thought about what it would be like to listen to you reading to your children. The two you planned on having. Running his hands across your stomach thinking about what you would look like pregnant with his child. Letting his head rest against the back of the bath as he got lost in the thought of you carrying his children. 

“Why do we love ghosts so much? Why do they fascinate us, obsess us, cause us to write books and songs and movies about them? Why, although we may be scared of them, do we simultaneously find ourselves so attached to stories about them and–let's be honest–hope that those stories are true?” You were the strongest woman Jake knew, you could kick his ass halfway to Sunday in a dog fight. The better half of him. Everyone knew you were the reason Jake hadn’t gotten lost in his own ego. Behind every great man was an even greater woman and that was the truth when it came to you and Jake. He’d be lost without you, he couldn't imagine a world without you in it. You'd take the colour and the stars and everything good with you. 

“Part of the answer is obvious: ghosts are evidence of life after death. Even the most ghastly ghost story carries within it a seed of hope that when our body dies, perhaps our soul will carry on existing in some form.” As the water soothed his aching muscles, your gentle voice soothed Jake's soul, exhaling a sigh as he sank lower behind you until the water was lapping just above his nipples. 

“That form might be a blood-soaked nightmare stomping around the upper floor of an old pub and banging on innocent peoples doors but it's better than nothing.” Being with you, his best friend, the better half of him, felt like a dream come true. Jake only ever thought people like you lived in the fairytales his mum would read to his sisters at bedtime when they were kids. He loved seeing you come home after a long day in your flight suit–he’d watch with a mischievous smirk as you strip down as you walked towards the bathroom, leaving a trail of discarded articles of clothing in the hall. Stepping straight into the shower before doing anything else. Much like Jake needed at least two coffees to get going in the morning. 

“But besides hope for ourselves, it's just plain exciting to imagine there is something beyond this world. That material realm is full of interesting stuff, but it becomes even more thrilling if there's a whole other universe going on behind the scenes. To think that there could be an invisible presence brushing past you in a corridor: to believe that on a still, moonlight night you could catch a sight of a mournful rider galloping through your town: to hope that the shadowy figure on the far side of the cemetery is a lost child from the 19th century and not just a bush…. Our everyday experiences only ever hints at?” Jake could do this all day, listen to you read as you shared a warm, relaxing bath together. It may have actually been in his top five things to do, right alongside doing you. Kissing your shoulder as he knew you were nearing the end of your chapter. 

“In these pages you will come across a dizzying array of ghosts, spooks, phantoms, apparitions, unearthly presences and inexplicable encounters. You will meet tragic lovers, brutalised convicts, gruesome murder victims, unhappy children, miserable asylum inmates and their callous overseas and even the old esteemed politician.”  Leaving soft, butterfly-like kisses up and down the juncture of your neck, Jake grew underneath your ass as you wiggled around against his crotch. He couldn't help but to physically react to the sensation. Watching as the water lapped over the edge of the bath as you turned around to straddle his lap, still holding your book up protecting it from the water. Eyes trained on the pages in your hand as Jake's hands guided your hips. Steadinging you above him as his length rested hard between your folds. 

“You will be taken all over Australia, from Queensland's blazing heat to the chilly greenery of Tasmania, from Western Australia's splendid isolation to the stories contained herein, or you may not. But beyond a doubt, you will come away knowing that whatever the truth lies, there is indeed a hell of a lot of creep stuff going on out there. Dim the lights, hold tight to the hand of a loved one and make your way inside.” 

“What a bunch of baloney Bubba.” Jake grinned as you placed your bookmark in and reached over to put your book on the vanity. “But hey, if that's what you believe, I'll entertain it.” 

“You're just afraid of the things that lurk in the dark Seresin, it's always easier to deny the unexplainable than to face them head on.” You chuckled as you leaned in to kiss your soon to be husband as Jake's hand roamed your exposed back. It wasn’t long before he was ducking to pay some attention to your nipples, sucking softly in the buds as you let graceful moans echo throughout the bathroom. “Jake–baby.” 

“I think we should take this to the bedroom.” Jake wiggled his eyebrows as he came back up to kiss your jaw. Nodding desperately, you agreed, both racing to grab towels and book it to the bed.

***~***~***~***~***~

(North Island—Hard Deck Bar, October 17th 2019)

The Hard Deck Bar hadn’t changed a bit since the last time Jake Seresin was in North Island. The only thing he could really notice that had changed was the owner. Penny Benjamin. All the fixtures were still the same. The artwork, the ambiance, the smells were all the same–nostalgia oozed from the cracks in the stained wood flooring. There wasn't a part of the pub that didn't just bleed Navy propaganda. But for a Navy bar you had to at least expect that. 

Jake Seresin however, well–he had changed immensely. 

“Penny my dear–” Jake sent Penny one of his thousand-watt smiles as he leant on the bar, tapping the side of his debit card a few times softly against the glossed bartop. “Can I please get another round?” 

“Sure thing Hangman.” Penny acknowledged the aviator she’d seen space out a little the other night. She wasn't one to pry into people's personal lives or coax out their problems–being a bartender by trade however? People seem to want to spill their deepest darkest secrets regardless. “Saw things get a little heated between you and Bradshaw the other night.” Penny mumbled as she worked to pop the tops off the four beers Jake had ordered. One for him, one for Coyote, one for Payback and one for Fanboy. “You wanna talk about it?” 

“Not particularly, no.” Jake huffed as he rolled his neck, his shoulders were a little stiff from flying earlier that same day. His chest and triceps didn't enjoy the two hundred push-ups either. He stopped enjoying the exercise around eighty seven if he was being completely honest with himself. “He just likes to run his mouth.” 

“Mmm–” Penny pressed her lips together as she sat the bottles on top of the bar. “Wouldn't have anything to do with Dice Dixon would it?” Jake squinted his eyes at the barkeep he had a soft spot for, tilting his chin up slightly as if to ask how she knew. Penny knew everything. “Phoenix was kind enough to fill me in.” Penny explained softly as she leaned on the bar, crossing her forearms over each other. “It was before my time, and I'm not prying–” Penny made sure to remind Jake she wasn't trying to insert herself into issues that weren’t her own.  “I'm just making sure you and Rooster aren't gonna throw hands in my pub.” 

“Bradshaw ain't worth it.” Jake took a sip of the closet beer to him. Rolling his eyes as he did so. But as the golden amber liquid hit the back of Jake's throat, he felt tears welling in his eyes as the thought of you crept up on him. He just couldn't shake the thought of you, especially while back at Miramar. “Dice and I were close friends, that's all.” Jake lied through his fucking teeth as he placed his beer down, licking his lips to taste the fabrication he’d just told Penny. Friends you were not. Almost married, now that you were. “Can't shake her Pen, she’s just everywhere.” 

“You believe in life after death?” Penny asked as Jake handed her his card, she took it gracefully. Walking over to where the till was to ring up his total. “Because if you can't shake the thought of her maybe it's because she's still hanging around?” Penny was a firm believer in the afterlife but not in some heaven or hell kinda way. She believed though that the soul remained. 

“Not really.” It wasn't that Jake was a firm no-believer, he just didn't really have any substantial evidence to change his mind to that of someone who believed wholeheartedly that there was something to look forward to after your time here on earth. “But if you had asked Y/n that then she would have said yes.” From the very first date Jake knew you were the one for him. His soulmate if you believed in all that soulbonding crap. He didn't. You did. He knew that from the first beer you sat and talked over that he was gonna spend the rest of his life with you.

Turns out though he spent the rest of your life with you. 

Jake knew that from the first date alone you were something special, hell–he knew that from the first time he laid eyes on you in the locker room. But it was that first date, that casual conversation over a few beers at the Hard Deck that you had single handedly stolen his heart and never given it back. Jake just hoped if there was a life after death that you were somewhere keeping his heart saved for the day he got to see you again. 

“Thanks for that chat Penny, put a ten dollar tip on my tab.” Penny just nodded silently in response. Watching as Hangman collected the beers he had ordered before turning on his heels. 

As he made his way over to where he’s been hanging with his colleagues, Jake stopped in his tracks as he swore he caught a glimpse of you sitting by the table you used to frequent with him. The very table you had your first date at. Jake swore he saw you, smiling at him, waving him down as he paused in his tracks and turned the colour of china white heroin. He swore he saw the love of his life, reading that same book that sat on his stupid desk in his stupid dorm. 

But it wasn't you, it was just some girl who looked an awful lot like you, waving to her friend who had just walked in behind him. Jake watched as she pocketed the book into her handbag, catching the title and he swore his heart stopped beating for a moment. It was the same damn book that sat unread back at his dorm, the same book you had read to him in the bath that one time. It wasn't you, but Jake surely knew that you were fucking with him now. The title sending a shiver down his spine as he swallowed to get rid of the cotton mouth he suddenly had. 

“100 Tales.” Jake mumbled. 

“By Ben Pobjie.” He heard you whisper into his ear. Scaring the ever living shit out of him. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Tags: @potato-girl99981 @averyhotchner @dempy @abaker74 @a-serene-place-to-be @starkleila @some-lovely-day @phoenix1388 @auroraboreallisfine @avaleineandafryingpan @kikaninchen-2 @kikaninchen-2 @xoxabs88xox

#jake seresin x you #jake seresin x f!reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman x y/n #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman fanfiction #hangman edit #hangman fic #hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin #top gun hangman #hangman x reader #hangman imagine

[13tinysocks]

hey dude! What's up :)) been just a little since l've said something

Initially, this is me saying thank you and goodbye

This isn't supposed to be a weird pity story, so l'm so unbelievably sorry if it comes off that way, lol.

When I began reading your work, I was enamoured with fiction because of personal issues (as many usually are, honestly, I know I'm one of god knows how many people trying to run away from life for just a second with fanfics or media in general). I don't know if I will ever be able to communicate this properly, hell, this will even be unbelievable funny or dramatic but I need to get this across because it's coming from a genuine place. Your stories and work thus far has brought me comfort, immense heaps of it, and even still when I deal with things that feel out of reach or too much to actually face head on I find myself wandering back to syg or just your blog in general

I mean this, from my entire heart, thank you and thank Bee. A million times thank you, for making that one silly silly stupid piece of fanfiction, because oh my god it got me through some major stressful hardships within my life for the past 3 years.

I am leaving tumblr, however I’m aware I have submitted asks with my actual accounts before, so you'll likely be able to see they're still gonna be up. I'm just deleting tumblr the app instead of my account, but for other social platforms they will be deleted properly (such as quotev) so I won’t be indulging in much reading anymore when it comes to fanfics and such lol

I don't know if I'll come back, if I do I likely will not be back for long or to be as active as l've been because of the toll social media’s taken. So even as ridiculous as this feels, to tell someone I’m simply a fan of and barely truly know, that their fanfic of murderers and their love story with my self insert kept me pushing through a lot of tough days, I genuinely just had to.

I needed to thank both you and your partner for the work you've both put out. I still have that smiley pin I’d made, and I will cherish what you made quotev have been for me ( I literally found out about the website during early or late 2020 I can barely remember, then later found your fic, I was DEEP DIVING into that shit LMAO )

I hope whatever happens for you and bee in the future is only good, and I only will wish nothing but the best of luck with everything man.

feel free to post this (idk what it’s called but when you publicly reply lol) or not, as long as you read this it’ll mean lots to me !! >:))

your coolest weirdest ticci toby fan whose also named toby, 🐚 annon

I always struggle to convey gratefulness for messages like this and readership- especially repeated readership. My life would be different if it were not for comments and messages egging us on to keep writing from syg to ho1c. While it's easy to say that writing is solely out of passion for the craft there is also the drive to share something with others. Hearing those others loud or quiet as a favorite- does push us forward when we have no motivation or desire to work. That drive has made us closer as a couple, better thinkers, and a halfway decent writing team. I thank you and all the others who send us stuff even if it's shit post asks I never answer because I like having them in my inbox like a personal horde of platonic Valentine's. I like keeping the pieces you give me to myself sometimes. I know it may seem like I'm ignoring you but I find genuine comfort in these messages. That there are so many. That they are so varied. That we have reached beyond our shut-in existence to touch the lives of others.

I find myself wondering where an anon has gone when I do not hear from them in awhile. I wish them well. I wish them better standards than us.

Maybe we'll meet again someday space cowboy. If you're ever back in town feel free to shoot me (a message).

Thank you for reaching out. Thank you for reading. I wish you peace and love and good books.

#though i may be inactive as of lates my thoughts have not been #abby and i talk about you #abby and i talk about a lot of you #we are happy to be present day comforts or 2020 nostalgia #🐚 #anon #reply #long post

[blackjackkent]

Oop, just remembered there's another encounter left before we leave the mountain pass area.

"Ho there, wanderer. Stay thy course a moment to indulge an old man. May I inquire if perchance you retain among your traveling companions a man who adheres to the given name of Gale?"

Rakha could have guessed this man knew Gale even if the name wasn't dropped - they have the same speech pattern. Too many words where one would do.

Knowing Gale, however, does not make this man a friend. They still have the dust of the creche on their boots, after all - a place where Lae'zel's people turned on her.

"May I inquire who is inquiring?" she asks warily.

The strange man nods cheerfully. "Should it be the nature of our acquaintance that interests you, you may safely classify Gale and I as friends. Should it be the nature of your present interlocutor that you desire to drag from the darkened unknown, I shall be glad to aid in your quest for illumination and identify myself as Elminster. Elminster Aumar."

Rakha feels a dull, pulsing ache start to thump in her temple, and it has nothing to do with the tadpole. The beast urge starts to idly contemplate the sound the man's head would make if ripped from his body and hurled into the nearby gorge.

"Now," Elminster goes on, blissfully ignorant of the agitation he is inspiring. "If this answer satisfies you, let us linger no longer in this limbo of indecision, but settle on your knowledge of the individual I seek."

(A/N: Because Rakha has a level in wizard, we get a wizard-specific dialogue option here. Sadly - this is also the ONLY option that we are given to say yes; the other option is to pretend we don't know Gale at all. Neither of these options are Rakha-ish:

Nor, really, is the followup dialogue to say that it would be "my pleasure" to assist Elminster in getting to camp.

So we will skip this whole dialogue and substitute our own...)

Rakha squints narrowly at the wizard for a long moment. His name means nothing to her - although he enunciates it as if it should. So she just shrugs. "Yes," she says curtly.

"Excellent!" Elminster crows. "Might I inquire whether you would suffer an old man's company in the return to your camp, that Gale and I might discuss some matters of great and - dare I say - world-altering importance?"

Rakha looks at him steadily, then jerks her head and turns away without another word.

"That was a yes," Wyll says with a slight smile. "We're very honored to make your acquaintance, Elminster. Rakha isn't one for pleasantries."

-----

"My thanks for your excellent guidance," Elminster says cheerily as they reach the edge of the camp. Astarion and Karlach look up with mild curiosity at the new arrival - but Gale emerges from his tent with wide eyes at the sound of the older man's voice and immediately crosses towards them with a troubled expression.

"Ah," Elminster adds, fixing his eyes on Gale as he approaches. "And yonder I spy the object of my pursuit."

"Elminster?" Gale says cautiously.

There is a lot of weight in the word, weight Rakha can't quite parse. Elminster called them friends, but Gale looks distinctly uneasy. Worried, even.

"The very same, Gale!" Elminster answers. "And a fair bit miffed he is, too, finding himself forced to expose his best pair of boots to so many miles of country road on your behalf."

Gale's eyes narrow. "I don't understand. How so on my behalf?"

Elminster shrugs dramatically. "I was bid to spare neither time nor my own self to find you. *She* sent me, Gale. You know of whom I speak."

Rakha's eyebrows lift. There can only be one she that Elminster is referring to. Mystra. She remembers Gale's mentions of the goddess of magic in the past. His teacher, his 'muse.' His former lover, their relationship shattered by his hubris in pursuit of the Netherese magic that put the orb in his chest.

She sent Elminster. But for reconciliation? Or further punishment?

Gale, too, has gone very still and attentive at this revelation. "But why?" he asks. "Out with it, Elminster. Please!"

Something twists in the old man's expression - regret - and he hesitates, then says airily, "Young man, has your sojourn away from Waterdeep washed away your decorum as well as your patience? Nigh a tenday I've gone without honest fare worthy of the name. Drank naught but what the sky entitled my thirst. Why, some bread, cheese, and a cup of wine would appear unto me a feast! Surely you won't begrudge me a mite of rest and repast before I get 'out with it'?"

He's evading the question. For some reason, he doesn't want to say whatever he came all this way for. Rakha's eyes narrow to slits.

[WIZARD] "Surely you could have conjured any feast you liked," she says tightly. She has little concern for the man's hunger; she wants answers.

Elminster gives an exaggerated sigh. "Alas, such luxuries require the beneficence of time. And time, as I'm sure our friend here will attest, is the very luxury of which we're all too bereft."

"Oh, for the love of..." Gale groans.

Elminster raises his hands. "Fine, fine. I'll turn a deaf hear to the clarion calls with which my scorned stomach beseeches me," he says plaintively. "Graver matters are at hand. Plenty to digest, after all. A good deal to stew over, if you will. Words ladled with import should be savored so as to better absorb their meaning, wouldn't you agree?"

We could push his staff directly through his 'scorned stomach' until it came out the other side... the beast growls in Rakha's head.

Gale, too, seems to be losing his patience. "Elminster!" he snaps.

Elminster flinches and his eyes flick away from Gale to examine the ground intently. "Right. Ahem. You see..." he mumbles. "I, er... that is to say..." His comfortable flow of words has stopped abruptly and he looks suddenly very weary. "Gale, m'boy, I've come to address a most pressing matter. I'll speak as plainly as I can, forswearing the accustomed frills that decorate my speech. I'm here on behalf of Mystra. The message and the charge I bring you are hers."

Rakha's jaw works thoughtfully. This is likely no business of hers, in truth - whatever message Gale's goddess might carry for him. But she feels a flash of curiosity, nevertheless, because she still remembers the strange peace of the moment she and Gale shared together in the Weave, the connection they both share with Mystra's magic.

"What message and what charge would that be?" she asks slowly.

"The long-awaited question," Gale says impatiently. "Now, if you please, Elminster, for the too-long-awaited answer."

Elminster sighs, a heavy, sad outward breath. "You know where you went wrong, Gale," he says quietly. "We needn't dwell on that here and now. But even so, you're to be given a chance of redemption."

Gale stiffens. He looks as if he's been struck. "Mystra would consider... forgiveness?" he whispers.

(A/N: Poor guy. Gale's sad-puppy eyes are almost on par with Karlach's when he really gets going.)

"She would consider what *she* considers to be forgiveness," Elminster says gravely. His eyes flick briefly to Rakha. "Mystra is aware of the misadventures that have befallen you both. She knows of your strife with the Absolute, that most insidious of evils."

And now, all of a sudden, Rakha is also paying close attention. Is that why Elminster has come? To help them? "If the goddess herself is aware," she says curtly, "I wouldn't say no to some divine intervention."

"The very purpose of my presence, in a roundabout sort of way," Elminster says, with a hint of dry humor, but it fades rapidly; his expression takes on a dark, serious aspect that seems incongruous after his jovial introduction. "You must know that the Absolute is more dangerous than you can possibly conceive. It threatens all who live - even those who are undying. It threatens the gods, the Weave, the very fabric of the universe itself."

Rakha can almost feel the magic of the Weave as it dances along her skin, seeming to shudder in answer to these words. She has to admit that Elminster's serious tone gives her pause. Up till now, the Absolute has seemed very much like a personal problem - a matter of survival, in removing the worms, and then of revenge, in destroying those who put it into her. But what Elminster is describing is something threatening everything far beyond her - a world she has no memory of, barely even any conception of.

For a moment she is struck to silence by the idea. And then fury pulses through her. I asked for none of this.

"That is why," Elminster goes on, "I have come here to charge you, Gale, with its destruction. It is Mystra's belief that only you can."

Rakha scowls. I will have vengeance on that cult and not even Mystra will keep me from it. [WIZARD] "She'd do well to place her trust in me in equal measure," she growls between her teeth.

Elminster looks at her uneasily, hearing the darkness in her tone but not understanding the cause of it. "I do not doubt your convictions," he says carefully. "But Gale has... an unnatural advantage."

Gale has gone very pale. Rakha can see his hands trembling. "The orb..." he murmurs haltingly.

"Precisely," Elminster says. "Mystra has granted me the power to stop the clock, as it were, on the orb's rush to overpower you. Instead, you will be able to unleash its lethal combustion at will."

Interesting... The Dream Guardian whispers the words within Rakha's mind. She sounds... detached, mildly curious, mildly surprised. This could be help or hindrance. We shall have to see.

Rakha, however, has gone deathly still, her jaw aching with tension. This is Mystra's forgiveness that Gale is so eager for? Forcing him to destroy himself?

Elminster offers Gale a way to stop the orb's progress towards destruction. This power is something Mystra gave him. Mystra has known about the orb the whole time. She could have offered Gale this power at any point. But instead she has ignored him, left him for a whole year to sit in his tower in Waterdeep and suck the Weave from broken artifacts.

Just like Vlaakith with Lae'zel - her power grants nothing to her follower until it benefits her as well. Just like Shar with Shadowheart, she allows her follower to suffer to prove some obscure point.

Perhaps it is a good thing, she thinks coldly, that I remember nothing of any god I ever followed.

Can you imagine, hisses the beast in her mind, how it would feel to kill a creature of such power?

For once she doesn't try to shake away the thought. Impossible though it is, it is satisfying to consider, for these gods that her companions follow seem to bring them nothing but pain.

"Say what you will," she says flatly, "but you can't force Gale to go through with this."

"No indeed," Gale says. She's surprised to hear the sudden echoing flatness in his voice as well. His loquacious nature has been completely squashed by this revelation. "But I think she trusts me to."

"It brings me no pleasure saying this, my friend," Elminster says sadly. "But such is Mystra's will. Yours must be the sacrifice that will undo the Absolute. And for your sacrifice, you will be redeemed. Such is Mystra's promise. With that, I've said my sorry piece, and need only bestow unto thee the charm I was bid."

He lifts a hand, and Rakha watches, fascinated, as the Weave swirls around his hand and outward into Gale in time with the syllables he intones.

"My'Nahastra Mystra'Ryl. E'Deelion Thras'Anas'Tthra."

Gale hisses out a sharp breath as the magic works through him. And Rakha can see that as it buries into his chest, the ripples of magic that always surround him seem to settle into a subtly calmer rhythm - rather like her own darkness soothed into slumber in her moments in the Astral Plane. And she can see the relief in Gale's eyes as the spell completes.

"It is done," Elminster says. "Both charge and charm have been committed into your care." He turns and meets Rakha's eyes, holding her gaze steadily. "To you," he adds after a moment, "I commit into care Gale himself. I count on you to shepherd him well on this strangest of journeys."

Rakha scowls. You pawn him off on me as you would a child. Deep down she suspects Elminster does not enjoy having had to bear this message, but that doesn't seem to matter much - he delivered it, nevertheless, and Rakha is in no way averse to shooting the messenger.

"I am not his keeper," she says harshly. "And I do not accept your charge."

Gale flinches, looks away. "Nor would I expect you to," he mutters. "It is too bleak a task to demand of anyone."

Elminster sighs. "Like moons make swell and wane the nescient seas, so too the sky-strewn gods ordain the tidal fates of mortal days," he says gravely. "And yet - a notion born in lonely hours - come ebb, come flow, come all that is beyond the breadth of our dominion: be a moon unto yourself. Even the waves of fate can break upon the shores of will."

Whatever that means, Rakha thinks sardonically.

Elminster reaches out and rests a hand gently on Gale's shoulder, just for a moment. "Farewell, my friend."

Gale nods, although Rakha can sense the effort of will behind his steady expression. "Farewell, Elminster," he says softly. "I"m glad she chose you."

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #GO AWAY MYSTRA NOBODY LIKES YOU #i think elminster probably has no idea how close he came to getting his ass beat here #also kind of enjoying the different ways the urge comes up with to kill people when it's sulking in the back of Rakha's head XD

[sazzujazzu]

Hello, as the days count down and the Bad Batch finale draws closer, may I show to the fine folks of tumblr my first Star Wars OC in 20 years, created thanks to this show? 😃

Too bad, I'm showing them anyway 😊 somberly chilling while listening to their bestie talk.

Please excuse the poor background (I got lazy) and half-finished Tech (I got sad)

there's, uh, a big mess of words under the image because I wanted to put into words the importance this show has for me, and I am bad at doing so.

I want to get some thoughts off my chest, because I have no one in my day-to-day life who cares about the animated Star Wars shows, and especially the Bad Batch. (well, other than my mom, but I don't want to bore her with my rambling too much. she already banned star wars from me once, i won't let that happen again lol)

I can't stop thinking how much I don't want Bad Batch to end.

This show has been so dear to me. I can't remember the last time I've loved something this much.

Before the second season started, I had an artistic block that had lasted way too long. Anything I drew or wrote, mostly turned out a horrible mess after staring at a blank page for hours and hours, if I ever managed to create anything at all. For someone who tends to draw whenever their hands aren't otherwise busy (aka all the damn time), such a block weighed down on my mental health.

Well, then season two happened, and full-on gave me back my love for Star Wars, a love that had somewhat gone out over the last few years. Then, Plan 99 happened, and broke me because again my favorite character "died" (I'm in team Tech lives until I draw my last breath or until proven correct. That chocolate-eyed cutie-pie is alive nothing will convince me otherwise). Pretty much after finishing the episode and staring at a wall for another 30 minutes, I said "nope" and began writing.

I wrote for hours. I believe it's been well over a decade since I last wrote fanfiction, but here I was, creating a Star Wars oc, something I'd last done as a ten-year-old. And now, roughly a year later, I think I've written over a hundred pages of (very self-indulgent) fanfiction with the Batch, and with my oc that I've come to love.

And drawing, oh boy, have I been drawing!

(... Sure, I've mostly been drawing Tech, over and over again, to a point I once actually considered lying and saying "yeah that's my boyfriend haha!" to a man at my job last summer, when asked who it was that I was drawing for maybe fifth day in a row 😂 likely would've been a more acceptable excuse for someone my age. But, I mean... I just really love drawing him, not only because he is my favorite character of maybe all time, but because he is just so fun to draw! And most of all, at least I draw again!)

And it is all thanks to this wonderful show about a bunch of defective and effective copy-paste boys and their sister.

It's probably something many say, but I've always felt like a bit of an outsider. I've felt like I have no place; when I was a kid, my interests were very different from the other kids of [gender assigned at birth], and trying to play with them while inserting my own interests into the games, often didn't go so well. I was... kind of an odd child (although now, older and questionably wiser, knowing that I might actually be autistic, many things make more sense now. me kind of discovering this about myself is also partially thanks to Bad Batch)

Also, growing up trans/non-binary, while not even knowing what that is or having a word for it, didn't really do much to help with the feeling of "I'm different and an outsider because of it". Perhaps it was one more reason I fell in love with Clone Force 99, because I could see some of myself in them. Being different from the "regs".

I love this show, and these fictional people have become my family, and I am not ready to say goodbye to them.

Alright, weird pile of thoughts over. In case someone read all this, uh... thanks 😊

#i'm nervously rambling into the void #the bad batch #the bad batch fanart #star wars oc #jedi oc

[carrotsnake]

dungeon meshi fandom rant

i usually stay away from fictional autism headcanons or indulging in them wholesale because i'm more on the 'characters are constructs' side of things. some may exhibit traits we relate to but placing real-world diagnostic labels on walking metaphors makes things too nebulous. however laios touden is an exception to me since autism allegories are pretty hard-wired into both his arc and dungeon meshi's core themes. so for once the fandom autism memes feel genuine to me lol. it doesn't feel as fanon-heavy or platitudinous, actually it's pretty uplifting. i appreciate the positivity.

that being said the most dogshit dunmesh take i've seen lately is the assertion that laios and falin show us autistic men are villified for things autistic women are accepted for. the fuck are you people smoking? some rebranded MRA-pilled bullshit? log off tumblr and go outside, then point and show me where this is the truth. i don't know if you guys are all living in a feminist utopia that i'm not privy too, but if so send me the address because things couldn't be less like that everywhere i've ever been.

countless times i've been told 'oh you're exactly like a female copy of [socially inept male friend/co-worker/family member who shares my personality] and then i gotta watch them get special treatment as i get left behind and scolded for not being normal enough. him being blunt is rebellious & brutally honest, me being blunt is just being a b*tch with no filter. how many times do you see autistic women reaching high positions of power and being revered as a misunderstood genius.

how about everyone reminding us to 'be nice' to the supposedly harmless awkward guy who keeps making sexual comments & invading our boundaries because he can't help it apparently. but strangely enough, i have gone my whole life without creeping on others. only to be called creepy and off-putting by these same social equality preachers for not applying makeup or styling my hair right. autistic women are more likely to be sexually harrassed and/or abused than neurotypical women and no one gaf (let's b real they don't care when it happens to neurotypical women either if the man has a good enough sob story.) shit like walking strangely, having a speech impediment and talking too much about esoteric topics was enough to be outcasted for us. once more, with feeling: what are you people smoking?

and critically, falin is pretty. she's conventionally pure, self-sacrificial, beautiful with hollywood curves, soft-spoken, and never questions anyone nor asserts herself over others when her needs aren't being met. her dislikes in the adventurer's bible are 'nothing in particular', she never spoke out against her village's bullying even when she had it worse than laios, quickly forgives her parents for exiling her, and never shows any opinion on marcille's use of dark magic. she's a paragon of femininity. anything less than that, and she would probably invoke similar if not more disgust from her peers than laios through the audacity of not conforming to gender expectations. but she likes holding bugs or whatever so...whoa! she's so feral and subversive amiright guys. but crucially she looks cute while doing it so we're not too uncomfortable to stan.

i love laios so much, he's in my newest blorbo collection for sure but calling the female characters who don't like him judgemental is not a good look. we as the readers who have been inside the main chara's head know he's a good guy - but in the context of dungeon meshi's world, where sexism is as prevalent as stranger danger, it's fair for them to assume bad intent and keep their distance. they're looking out for their own safety and you're mad about that because, what, it makes your 2D nigel sad? cry about it.

so quit using anime characters as fodder for your thinly-veiled 'everyday men milk themselves' preaches. the touden siblings are not a good example of this. if you unironically agree with that take: it's time to go talk to some real women broski.

#EVERYDAY MEN MILK THEMSELVES !!! laios wishes smh #i criticise falin's treatment because i think she has potential & deserves more autonomy beyond her chimera form #the hype cannot convince me she's much more than a lucy westerna archetype :( but that's a whole essay for another day #so it's unfair to use her as 'proof' the woman is treated better when she upholds high standards of what we should be to deserve acceptance #and from that meta lens the cast's love becomes conditional; it hinges on her continued passivity

[khaoticsincubus]

Ren x Reader x Strade

Warning: mentions of suicidal tendencies, self harm, kidnapping, murder, rape, trafficking, binge eating, manipulation

(I hope I managed to put it all in the warning. Feel free to let me know if I missed any warnings to add)

The Stockholm Project

You were recently brought in by Strade, spared by the feral within you refusing to die. The collar shocking you for every attempt to go out, it was fun, not trying to escape, but the thrill and burn left by the metal. Like a jumpscare within your grasp, in which you can activate whenever you desire.

You grew fond of it, before all of this nightmare you used to wear a scarf, your favorite one, when you wanted to sleep or just feel comfort. Imagining if you ever might choke one night in your sleep unaware of the ill fate.

Life had other plans.

A mistake at the bar, inconvenient, but may as well be worth it. School may not make you bleed as much as living in this house, but it was better. Parents think you've gone missing. Kidnapped, murdered, raped, trafficked... What else is considered a parent's worse nightmare?

You know the truth behind closed doors. Lies. Lies. IT IS ALL FUCKING LIES THEY INSTILLED UPON YOU.

They say they want the best for you.

But they're not being genuine. They just want an investment, a living trophy, a sentient dress-up doll to show off to whom they please. You know. You may not have recorded as many evidences to prove your words as one to be trusted but your sanity is unwell, it is unwell for a different reason.

Nobody has taken you seriously since then and left you to suffer in the shadows.

They have no regrets raising you as abusive as they can get, to tame the wildness inside you. Freedom. Such a funny concept.

You've wanted to drop out since like... 3rd grade? Wow, so fucking young and yet so fucking desperate to never step into school, yet you poor fucker, look at you now. Those shitty school bullies replaced by much bigger threats to your helpless self.

You got stronger.

Missing from the real world and your friends and family worried sick. You planned to run away some day, but this was not part of any plan you foresaw.

New scars, new trophies. They were YOUR trophies. Gifted by Strade, himself. Proof of something you are actually proud of, unlike them.

Sickening. You don't know what's appropriate or not anymore. But you like it here. You get to do whatever you want with your self, your body, do whatever unholiness you couldn't do before. But also still aware of the boundaries and your own morals.

Just more freedom. More cuts. More medals to reward yourself. You can punish yourself if you feel like it and you don't even need to hide it as much as you had when you were out there.

The cuts and burns making you limp and slow to move around, but you don't mind. You like it so much you're putting up with it. Another coping mechanism?

Ha.

You've been clean of some things, but developing newer, riskier habits to indulge in? You stopped keeping tabs of what was once there, what's still there is, and what's going to soon be there.

Alcohol, self inflicted wounds, human meat. You've always were curious of others' meat. Freshly slaughtered people lying on the basement floor every now and then. Soft, hard, fatty, and sometimes boney. Ren eats some of it too, but you? You can't control yourself, can you? Eating every last chunk you can stuff your already full stomach.

You're no stranger with the whole Stockholm syndrome. You grew up with it before going missing. That one was... Not one you welcomed. It's been almost 2 decades of suffering.

This one? You like it. Strade may think otherwise but you already permitted him and Ren to do as they wish unto you. Whether you're conscious or not you prefer to stay silent cuz you like keeping that as a secret.

You're sick. You're unwell. But here, you're no stranger, you're like them. It's a home you could get used to.

On some days when Strade is busy doing whatever else he is doing with his life you and Ren accompany each other watching the recordings of those unlucky victims. The screams, the harmonious screams of some lulls you to sleep and Ren sometimes hate it when you leave him to watch the rest of the recordings himself. You can't help yourself.

You've taken a special interest in him. You look down on him, despite the two of you being very much the same. Close age, close height, well what's with the hierarchy? Because he reminds you of your past. So weak, unable to stand up to the abuser. Practically a grown adult, stuck in the fear that haunts them since the start of the tragedy. time stops for no one, they say, but time stops to mock you, repeating the punishment as you age.

You like Strade, unafraid of him, you can't choose whether to die or stay alive. You just let him choose that path for you, and you savour every bit of it.

Disgusting. Filthy. Makes your insides leap in excitement.

"Hey, Ren. Ever thought about testing the waters with Strade?" You grin, eyes wide, soulless like the many times you present when you have an idea you can't wait to execute.

The two of you lying on the cool floor bored yet restless to not want sleep.

"Huh?" Ren looks at you confused, sheepishly. You gave him a grin, face so scrunched up from the devious thrill, one might mistake you have no whites in your eyes. Barely any light in them now.

"Oh you know... Defying him? Like... Exercising that Stockholm problem of yours, ya know".

That freaks him a bit, the foxy parts beginning to puff up. Your insides are now REALLY tossing and turning that you jumped at him and squish his cheeks cooing him with compliments of how much he's a cute fox. A good boy. The best, fluffy fox there is. And he took it.

Petting him was a favorite. To change the subject, to entice him with your plans. You can begin to smell the worry lace with the affection you're giving. You're human yet so... Inhuman. You know things that should be there. It may be your instincts, experiences over the years of repeated patterns, trials and errors of those who latch unto you for friendship, attention, or just validation.

You feel like a god everytime. Sometimes dreaming to one day start a cult and immediately leaving the idea once you are reminded of the huge responsibility. Oh well.

"I-I don't want to..." He trails off still uncertain and under the influence of what Strade could do to him, to you.

"Ah, shush! Try it when he's drunk as he can fucking be. He's not as dangerous then. Trust me, I've been playing around!" You let out laughter that can only come from a deranged clown.

You stare at Ren, intimidating him to follow your advice, still petting him.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

I might make another part soon =0w0=

#boyfriend to death #ren hana #btd oc #btd strade #strade btd #ren hana btd #btd x reader #strade x reader #stockholm syndrome #im down bad

[feralkwe]

1, 2, 3, and 4 for Elidibus, because I'm mean. And 13, because I'm hilarious.

oh you. OH YOU. if you weren't equal parts these things you wouldn't be my bestie, would you?

something this character is truly proud of.

i mean, this isn't headcanon, but truly his seat on the convocation of fourteen? and not just any seat, arguably the most important seat. i think that and everything that requires of him, is something he puts great pride in. i feel like, had events played out differently, he would have considered it his life's greatest work. in a more personal headcanon that again, isn't really strictly a headcanon, is the way he was able to help wol throughout the great arc of his life. elidibus appreciates and always strove toward balance, and he seems to genuinely believe he accomplished that at the end. or near enough to it that it all mattered.

2. who they want to please the most. 

i think at his core elidibus was a people pleaser. not in a pushover sort of way, but in a very driven to do as right by as many people as possible through his work. in a pre-sundered world i think the way he went about that is rather obvious, as emissary. but even in his life as an ascian, i think the driving force behind his madness was the belief that he was doing right by his people, reaching for what would amount to gratitude for recovering all those lost souls, even if that may not have been the name he put on it.

3. who depends on them. 

in the world unsundered, literally everyone. his was a heavy burden, especially for one as relatively young as he was, even if he carried it proudly and with joy. every act, every word, every choice was part of that grave responsibility. that only deepened post zodiark summoning, and it focused down to pinpoint obsession after the sundering, obviously. every act of evil he took was born of love for the world lost, and i truly believe he thought all of humanity was depending on him.

4. what they would do if they had one month to live.

oh, fuck off.

pre-sundering he strikes me as a very 'set his affairs in order' type. doing what he could to make sure that no one was burdened after he was gone. to make the transition to his absence as easy as possible on those who cared for him. meticulous notes and directions and thoughts stored in memory crystals so that anyone who came after him could pick up and carry on where he left off.

and then? take something for himself. his was literally the seat of sacrifice, and i think he held himself back from anything that could have been seen as too indulgent. find a way to find peace with his fate, and some way to enjoy love before his time was up.

as an ascian, he does not have the wherewithal to even consider that he might not survive. even after lahabrea and emet-selch perished, defeat was never a possibility in his mind. his plan was to succeed. i think at the point of shb patches that sort of foreknowledge would have destroyed what was left of him.

maybe, though, given some sort of clarity, he'd have spared a moment of thought for unukalhai, who we know cared for him and misses him after he is gone.

13. what kind of parent they would be.

i love the way you really had to stick the screws in here.

compassionate. some part of his ascian self saved a child from the annihilation of a whole world. whatever his plans were, he took responsibility for this life and saw to his care and survival. there was room within his madness to choose this child. so, perhaps his own flesh and blood in a different life would have enjoyed utter devotion, patience, and effusive love. it would have reinforced the belief in the work that he did for the star.

i don't think about this ever at all, you see. i don't think about what an ascian--crazed and driven and so lost in his own tunnel vision-- would do faced with a child he did not know existed. i don't ever get tempted to go absolutely unhinged and write an au where this happens. not ever. there is no elidibun in the oven and we're probably all grateful for that.

i hate love you.

#ask box memes #ask memes #fandom asks #from the annals of my askholebox #yamisnuffles #gonna tag this #kit hareington #so i can find it later without putting it in the main tags lmao #don't look at me

[bi-bats]

so intrigued by ALL of those titles 👀 tell me more about “the couch” please?

adkjfalksdf didn't expect that to be the one everyone wanted to know about so I'll tell you about the reason I started writing this fic since I just posted a snippet of it!! (and if you want to ask about one of the others feel free)

(...and I'm going to put it under a read more, because it got much longer and more personal than I expected it to be)

So, I used to have a couch that was... horrible. I bought it with my ex during covid with our unemployment money since we needed a new one, and it was a disaster start to finish. It was the wrong color, it was small and too low to the ground, and it was horribly made.

But also, he always sat down on it too hard. And I always told him he was sitting down on it too hard and that one day, it would break. And then the next day, he would sit down on it too hard, and I would tell him the same thing.

And one day, unsurprisingly, he sat down on it too hard and one of the center beams broke. He blamed it on the couch. Which was not necessarily false, it was not built to last, but it wasn't the whole truth. He also strained it until it broke by refusing to be aware of his own actions.

Obviously, this was also representative of our relationship as a whole. We had been together for 5 years, and in January of 2022, I broke. I finally managed to get out of that relationship (not for lack of trying, for the record). It was one of the best things I ever did for myself.

But I still had the couch.

It was ugly; it was obviously broken; it was uncomfortable to sit on. Friends would comment on it being uncomfortable, tell me I needed a new one (not unkindly, but still). And I knew I needed a new one. There were many factors in me not getting a new couch for a while, including plans to move in with a friend that fell through (we were going to pick one together) and plans for my own future that fell through (not getting into the phd programs I applied for, which was a gift in disguise) and generally recovering from being in an abusive relationship.

But every time someone pointed it out, I got mad about him all over again. I hated having the thing, and I hated that it was broken, and I hated that it reminded me of everything that had been broken in our relationship and how he essentially treated me as carelessly as the couch. And ALSO, I'd always hated it!! It was supposed to be RED!!!

So, in May of this year, I bought a new couch. The new one came before I could get rid of the old one, and for a week, I had both couches in my living room. My new couch is fucking gorgeous and I'm obsessed with it, by the way:

It felt so good to see my beautiful new couch, the one I got to pick for me, the one that I unpacked and assembled (okay, screwed the legs onto, but you get the gist) and moved myself, next to the ugly reminder of a shitty situation, and know that it was going to be gone in a week.

And in that week, I started writing The Couch. It's obviously very different from what I just wrote about if you saw the snippets, but the gist is that there's a busted, broken, fucked up couch in Jason's safehouse that he won't get rid of and Tim doesn't understand why, because he doesn't know about the memories attached to it.

It's sort of self-indulgent but it's cathartic and sweet and soft, and it was what I needed that week. Hopefully, it won't read like me pasting my feelings onto it, but I think it has a heart of its own.

Alright, sorry that got so long and personal!! Thank you for the ask and sorry that this DEFINITELY wasn't what you were looking for when you asked this, and feel free to ask about a different one if you want. Regardless, thank you for giving me a space to get this off my chest 💕💖💚

#bibatrambles #tag games

[outeremissary]

1, 9, and 11 for both balthazar and carmen for the oc ask game!!

It's like a mirror ask... exciting! From this list

Balthazar

1. are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?

In my mind, there's a strong association between Balthazar and blue. His eyes are an icy pale blue, and that's really the theme color in a lot of ways. Cold and distant no matter what else he may seem to be. Not someone easily moved by compassion or affection, but more readily motivated by cruelty or self-interest. The washed out color also feels like it speaks to a lack of richness or vibrancy in his life. In a broader sense, blue is a color that's often associated with intellect and coolheadedness. It's heroic as well, if not as bold as red. Clever and acting in guise of someone trustworthy- it fits him.

It's hard to pin down what color he wears the most. I would like to believe that my sadly unvaried art does not represent the limits of his wardrobe, and he's very fond of lively colors of all types. I'm certain it must be a cool color- he favors things which are mostly cool colors, reserving warm ones for accents.

9. favorite food? least favorite? are they a picky eater? do they have any dietary restrictions?

Balthazar's favorite food is portokalópita, a type of orange cake. He's not hugely fond of sweets, but he enjoys citrus and has fond memories of a favorite coffeehouse that served it with cinnamon. In general he prefers tart or spicy flavors. His new least favorite food is an absolutely wretched trout and hydra paté, which by virtue of containing eyes has displaced spider legs as the worst culinary nightmare of northern Avistan. He strongly dislikes the food in the Stolen Lands- so much of it is bland, and then the adventurous dishes seem adventurous in all the worst ways.

It was touched on in another ask once, but he can be a very picky eater (and was even before leaving Absalom) and has a tendency to eat less than he probably should. His appetite tends to be small as well. He doesn't have any dietary restrictions from allergies or religion or personal code, but it's hard to get him to take even a bite of something it he really hates it.

11. what do they have in common with you? how are they different? would you get along with them?

Hm, I feel like in many ways Balthazar and I aren't very similar. I suppose we have similar aesthetic taste. It's an excuse for me to be self indulgent with things, really... I need someone to love pointless frills and ribbons so I can draw them. Both have a tendency to sleep in? Similarly restless spirits? Hm, what else, what else... Both have gone through a few names, and both have complicated relationships with a well-meaning parental figure. A partially self-imposed exile from home as well. Those are backstory details that were set well before they happened to me in real life... so eerily predictive that sometimes I think "are other unpleasant things I put in that backstory going to happen to me too?" How ominous... Oh, and we both have pale blue eyes.

I really dislike lying and can't hold most things in for long. I've got no poker face at all either. Obviously that runs quite counter to the core of Balthazar's skillset (and his indulgent satisfaction with using it). He's all around much more socially savvy than I am, and more outgoing as well. I think he's just a more adventurous person, even if he's certainly a less pleasant one. In many ways he represents something of a fantasy of being cool, charismatic, and able to act without fear of consequence. He's also far more stylish (and invested in being stylish)- I feel woefully ill equipped to represent that aspect of him!

As much as I'm fond of Balthazar, I'm not really sure I'd get along with him. Fun to think about, maybe not so fun to be around (at least not for long). I feel like he wouldn't be very nice to me... Besides, our interests are pretty different. I feel very anxious trying to connect with people I don't have much in common with who find my nerd shit Not At All Charming.

Carmen

1. are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?

To me, Carmen is associated with the color red- I pretty much always depict her in red as well. There are a few reasons for this. The first is that red is a very classically heroic color, like primary colors tend to be. It conjures up the image of valiant knights in crimson cloaks and benevolent kings with ruby studded crowns, of Superman or Wonder Woman or Spiderman. Her image is supposed to be of a classic heroic knight. So she's in full armor, she's on horseback, she's clad in brilliant scarlet, and she bears a rose as her emblem- a romantic symbol if there ever was one. It fits that concept of a knight and flatters her heroic self-image as well. But there are other meanings red suggests as well. First of all, red is the primary color most often associated with villainy. If something is red vs. blue, you can be confident that red will be the less heroic of the two. Red also suggests blood: despite her chivalrous demeanor, Carmen is a very violent person and feels very little remorse for the blood she's spilled. Red also speaks to passion. On the surface her personality is quite cold and detached, but there's intense feeling bubbling beneath the surface, carefully contained. At times it leaks out in manic rage against favored foes or as violent fury leveled against her allies. She's lost touch with the better part of herself- and perhaps something or someone helped her along the way. And of course, the in-universe reason for the strong preference is that it's the color associated with a chivalric order she was (and in tabletop still is) a part of- the same order whose rose she bears.

As a side note aeon being blue is wreaking havoc on the aesthetic.

9. favorite food? least favorite? are they a picky eater? do they have any dietary restrictions?

Her favorite food is rabbit pottage. Rabbit is her favorite meat, and there's something very homey about a rabbit pottage. She can remember the childhood excitement of gathering around when hunters came home to see the catch or of going out and checking the traps herself, and she fondly remembers the stew that was made afterwards. It's a good thing to eat with friends and comrades, especially with a fresh rabbit you caught yourself. Her least favorite food is cabbage chowder. She doesn't like to admit this because she feels it's an immature thing to dislike, and indeed she's disliked it since childhood. She finds the texture of cabbage slimy and unpleasant and the aftertaste foul.

Carmen was the type of kid to fuss about things she didn't like (onions and cabbage high on the list), but she's long since grown out of that. She's a pragmatist about food. If it's the meal, it's the meal. She'll always try to finish her plate even if she dislikes something on it. She has a mild allergy to mustard

.11. what do they have in common with you? how are they different? would you get along with them?

Carmen and I have somewhat similar backgrounds. We both grew up in small farm communities which were largely conservative. I was much more adventurous as a child than I am now, a trajectory that also plays out over Carmen's life as she goes from a vibrant, irrepressible ringleader of village troublemakers as a kid to being a very reserved adult. We have the same fondness for nature and feel homesick in similar ways when separated from it.

Carmen's a very personally orderly person in a way I have never been and do not enjoy attempting to be; I can tolerate routine up to a point, but I chafe under monotony in a way she just doesn't. She's far less talkative than I am, and quiet for different reasons: while I'm very anxious around new people, she's simply uninterested in carrying on extended conversations. She's an early riser, I'm not. She's got a fairly spartan lifestyle, I have probably more silly little things in my room than I really should for how big it is. I graduated from my edgy teen atheism to a more chill and cool adult atheism, while Wrath Carmen seems like a champion of Not That. And of course I fear and dislike horses.

I would absolutely not get along with Carmen. I already don't get along with Carmen, and I'm the one who created her and played her in a tabletop campaign for like... two years? I find her black and white morality and unwillingness to interact with new ideas deeply disturbing. Among my evil RPG characters she is uniquely horrifying to me. Something about an evil driven not by selfish caprice or directed malice but cold, zealous ideology... She's the queen of bad vibes. Could I be in a room with her for an hour? Yes, the same way I could be in the room with a relative I really don't want to be around. Would I enjoy being in that room? Absolutely fucking not.

#I think I may be contradicting some previous ask on Balthazar favorite food but it's fiiiiiine #I think I uhhh spent longer than I should have on this one #and fell down a research hole with the food questions oops #time for sleep... #ask game #ask me emithing #balthazar lucienne #carmen regis #kuroimarzipan