#also yes i started this series 10 years ago

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (1)

Reader never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Reader and Spencer face the aftermath of their tryst. wc: 2,8k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

"YOU NEED TO LEAVE."

Since when did her life come to this?

She wasn't sure what to make of when the words softly left his lips. The words weren't exactly pronounced in a way that the urgency was prominent, but she could still sense the weight of them as she stared into the dark walls of his bedroom, sprawled out across the bed of this foreign man she had spent the past two hours with.

What was his name again? Stephen? Sean? Or was it Sebastian?

It definitely started with an S.

Her eyes slowly made their way toward him, eying his tall figure as he carefully walked over to his drawers. He awkwardly tripped over a piece of her clothing which lay on the floor before mumbling some incoherent words. He shot her a dubious look past his shoulder and turned his body away, quickly grabbing the first thing he saw on top of his pile of clothes.

His sudden modesty seemed amusing to her when it was barely minutes ago they had shared the sex-induced fantasy of sharing body heat between complete strangers. It was as if he wasn't the one thrusting above her, eyes glazed in desire and mouth open in ecstasy, reaching the peak of his high with her legs wrapped around his narrowed waist.

Surely he hadn't forgotten all of that?

She prompted herself on her elbows and found the piece of clothing he had grabbed in his haste was a pair of brown pants and a nice clean dark shirt. She watched him again and under her scrutinizing gaze, he backed away even further.

His sudden discomfort should've offended her, but it didn't. Somehow it intrigued her how much he was trying to be oblivious of everything around him—the lustful tryst that took place moments ago. The naked woman under his covers. The sudden shrill of his phone ringing on the bedside table.

The latter seemed to catch his attention as he glanced at the source of sound with an alert expression. He crossed the room and quickly answered the call.

"Yes?" There was a muffled reply from the other end before he glanced at the still-naked woman staring at him with curiosity. He cleared his throat again and gave her a look. "I need to take this."

She shrugged. "Sure."

She saw him hesitate for a split second before slipping out of his room, throwing a short reply to the receiving end of his call that didn't go unheard. "Yes, Garcia, I have company." More mumbling. "What? I'm not answering that..."

His words were cut off as he closed the door behind him, leaving her to grasp the situation she had put herself in.

Having a one-night stand wasn't something she often did. She wasn't sure it ever happened again since her freshman year of college when sleeping with a senior at a raging party would solidify her college experience. It seemed right at that time. It was what everybody was doing and her innocent mind believed it was a good idea to expand her nonexistent romantic life.

New place, new experience, new beginnings.

The experience wasn't so bad. Brandon Wallace—who was now happily married according to his recent social media post—wasn't exactly the best lover she ever had, but he also wasn't that bad. It was the awkward moment after the endeavor that made her avoid any repeated situations with somebody she barely knew.

Which was why she was questioning why she let that exact avoidance happen tonight. Why she had stepped into her favorite bar on a random Wednesday night and laid her eyes onto the awkward man sitting a few stools away from her.

Maybe it was the way he seemed out of place. Wearing a crisp blue shirt and a vest over it, he sat in a poised manner while constantly wiping down the bar counter with the napkin he seemed to keep requesting the bartender for.

She was there because she needed the kick of alcohol to calm down the stress from her current work assignment. Jamison, her strict boss who didn't take no for an answer, was starting to make her consider the act of murder. But committing such a heinous crime wasn't exactly nifty, so alcohol was the safe bet.

And thus, what was he here for? The cold beer sitting in front of him was barely touched as he looked around the room in a very uncomfortable manner.

Maybe the fact that she was sitting in an almost empty bar had loneliness wash over her, or maybe it was the alcohol finally kicking in, that she found herself making her way over to him. She was only going to greet him, introduce herself, and remark on how he stuck out like a sore thumb when he clearly was trying to keep to himself.

The hue of the bar lights reflected into a golden halo around his head. She slid beside him, tipped her drink towards his way, and gave him a simple smile.

He shifted in his seat and turned sideways, throwing her a questioning look. Up close, she could see his features clearly. The sharpness of his jaw, his hooded eyes, the unruly mess of brown hair on top of his head. She could tell he wasn't sure how to react to her sudden appearance, but he didn't seem to mind.

She sat there, her lips inching wider at the frown forming on his brows. How could someone be awkward yet adorable at the same time? Y/n was about to introduce herself when he suddenly sat forward, threw her a hesitant smile, and slowly asked, "Do you have any change?"

The random question startled her. "Excuse me?"

"I... I need to pay for my drink."

She shot him a ludicrous look, not sure she was hearing him right. Was he really trying to ask a stranger to pay for his drink? So much for spending the night with what looked like good company. But before she could counter her disappointment, he reached out his hand and in a swift motion revealed a ten-dollar bill from the back of her ear.

"Never mind.” He waved the money in front of her face and cleared his throat. “Found it.”

She blinked, once, twice, trying to comprehend the past few seconds. Then her lips twisted into a wide grin, his own lips twitching into a shy smile.

His attempt at an introduction based on a silly magic trick tugged her heart in a way that had her leaning closer, fingers tracing across his other hand that rested on the table. She didn't know what had impulsed her to be so brazen. It was very unlike her to show interest in the opposite sex, but here she was, touching the warmth of his skin.

But then his breath hitched and her stomach dropped. What the hell was she thinking? Touching a complete stranger without consent as if she was trying to maul him in public.

She shook her head and backed away, an apology already hanging at the tip of her tongue when he suddenly leaned in and wrapped a hand around her wrist. The gesture was very innocent, but somehow his fingers manage to burn her skin. She looked up and held his gaze, found the same bashful smile still playing on his lips, and relaxed at the warmth radiating from his body.

And then the rest was history, to say the least.

Yet even after the travel from the bar to his place, after the haste of removing each other's clothes, and after the post-orgasm that left them both satisfied—although to be completely honest, she would've been more satisfied if he'd let her have her second orgasm—she was starting to question her decision.

She finally threw his covers away and slipped out of his bed. She picked up all her clothing scattered around the room and slowly dressed herself as she carefully tried to listen to the conversation in the other room. But all she heard was muffled voices, and deciding that she couldn't pick out his exact words, she tuned out his voice and smoothed down her hair with her fingers.

Feeling more presentable, she stepped out of his room and finally took in the personal space he lived in. Now that she wasn't preoccupied with unbuckling his belt, she realized how dark his apartment actually was.

There were stacks of books lined up on the walls and scattered papers laying around every corner. He clearly wasn't a clean freak. Although he did seem to dislike public spaces, and honestly she couldn't argue on that when her mind considered the sticky, sugary residue that coated the floorboards and every other surface of the bar.

His hushed voice sounded aggravating and she turned to find him standing in what looked like his kitchen, his back facing her. Not wanting to interrupt him, she decided to look around her surroundings, eying the few framed certificates hanging on one side of his walls. There were a lot of certified achievements he was definitely very proud of with his name glorified on each frame.

Dr. Spencer Reid.

His name was Spencer!

She let out a chuckle. She wasn't exactly good at remembering names. Hold on—doctor Spencer Reid?

Her eyes went wide. But before she could feed her curiosity, she heard footsteps coming closer behind. She quickly turned away and found him glaring at his phone as he strode into the room.

"Bad call?"

Spencer—it was nice to finally put a name on him—abruptly looked up. His eyes studied her in bewilderment as if realizing she was still there. Then his expression slightly softened as he threw his phone away on his couch. "Not really, it was a work thing."

She raised her eyebrows. "You still work this late?"

"I don't exactly have a scheduled working hour."

There were a lot of questions she wanted to ask. What kind of work did he have to be getting calls this late? Why was he inside that bar when he clearly looked like he didn't want to be there? Was he really a doctor? And why did he look so adorable with that frown across his face?

There was something strange and hollow in his eyes that she couldn't quite put on as his hand rubbed over the back of his neck. She could sense the awkwardness stretching between them and needed to fill in the silence.

"So..."

"So..."

She let out an awkward laugh. He, on the other hand, started to fumble with his words as he suddenly spoke, "Did you know that awkward silence is the result of a disconnect between people?" She peered up at him with raised eyebrows. "When there is nothing to say, or maybe one person feels uncomfortable in a situation and doesn't know how to respond."

She blinked in confusion. But he wasn't finished.

"Statistically speaking, 80% of communication is nonverbal, whereas 20% is verbal. So in a way, silence can also communicate just as much information as speaking does. It is used to express anger, sadness, excitement, and other emotion. It can also create tension in a conversation or release it..." He trailed off before letting out a sigh. "I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"You most definitely are," she confirmed. "Where did that suddenly come from?"

He looked away as a blush crept on his cheeks. "I have an incredibly active imagination. It—uh, it leads to a tendency for me to ramble as my thoughts are constantly flowing."

"And you just know all these random facts?"

"I have an eidetic memory."

"You don’t say?" Her sarcasm was followed by eying the framed achievements plastered on his wall before glancing back at his confused face. She sighed. "Look, I'm not better at this than you are. Let's just... I don't know, thank each other? Say goodbye? Shake our hands?"

His eyes lit up as another piece of information filled his brain. "You know, the number of pathogens shared during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to..." He trailed off again and suddenly gulped, mentally kicking himself when he realized the fact he was about share. "...kiss."

She couldn't help the smirk twitching on her lips. "Is that so?"

He absentmindedly nodded as his eyes glanced toward her mouth. She instinctively took a step closer, noticing the tension in his body as he quickly looked away. This man had just flirted with her using an adorable magic trick, had his head between her thighs minutes ago, and reached an earth-shattering orgasm... yet he had the audacity to act all flustered.

She should probably leave. That was what he wanted moments ago, wasn't it? The words came out of his mouth the moment he checked his phone before jumping out of bed at lightning speed to dress his naked body. He needed to be somewhere. He had this somewhat confidential work he had to do.

Yet somehow he was warm and her hands were surprisingly very cold. The heat radiating from his body called out to her and without registering what she was about to do, she softly placed the palm of her hands on his chest.

She was internally screaming when she inhaled a sharp breath, his scent suddenly engulfing her senses. He smelled slightly sweet with a hint of spice; a woody, earthy musk that was mixed with his natural scent of sweat and hormones. She peered up into his eyes, traveling down to his cheekbones before they rested on his lips.

A riot of emotion burst inside her as she saw his tongue flicking out and holy shit—she just stared at him, completely, utterly enraptured.

Her focus was on his hot breath against her mouth, his lips a mere inches away from hers. He was so close she could practically hear the fast pace of his heartbeat. She could feel him everywhere, his hard body flushed against hers, his head moving closer to her and—

Then his damn phone started to ring again and all her senses went to alert. She quickly took a step back.

Now that was her cue to leave.

And it was a pity because whether she liked it or not, a part of her wanted to stay. But that was not an option. He wanted her to leave and she needed to do just that. She needed this to be a one-time thing.

Because there was never going to be another time. The moment she walked out the front door, they were back to being strangers. She would go back to her life and he would go back to his, probably back to his seemingly not-so-normal job with the way he described his working hours. Or the lack of it, anyway.

His phone stopped its ring and he shifted his weight from one foot to another. He was back to being awkward and she was back to being rational. Although her heart was beating fast and she was as flustered as he was, she didn't him to know what, especially when it seemed like he was about to kick her out again for the second time.

She was too busy oscillating between stunned, mortified, and turned on. She refused to blush. She refused to appear even an ounce embarrassed.

His phone rang again and he looked flustered about what to do. She helped him decide by grabbing her bag that was conveniently hanging by the door. "I should probably go."

She knew she was slightly disappointed, but she'd be damned if he knew the truth. Her mother used to describe her as a spiteful person ever since she was young. But then again, was it so wrong to feel that way? She figured she was just evening the misery out. If something was making her unhappy she felt it was her right to bring at least equal measures of unhappiness.

It seemed relatively immature, but she didn't feel like caring especially how her night had turned out. She took a deep breath and worked out her pettiness.

"Thank you for tonight... Stephen."

He suddenly tensed. "It's Spencer."

She studied the frown on his face. God, she was evil. She would probably regret this childish behavior of hers, although that was something she could deal with later. The very least she could do now was to give him a proper goodbye before she turned her back towards him for good.

"Well, good night, Spencer."

She wasn't sure he even remembered her name or whether he was just as petty as she was. It was more likely the latter considering he had an eidetic memory. "Good night."

She gave him a final nod. He answered by throwing her an awkward wave, a tight-lipped smile, and an even deeper frown as she slipped into the cold air.

>> NEXT PART

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencerreid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #fanfic #fanfic series #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x female reader #Right Kind of Wrong

[nataliesfirefly]

You and I Walk a Fragile Line - Farleigh Start x F!Reader - Part 6

a/n: hey guys!! im so sorry this part has taken me so long! im currently on a trip so i havent had much time to write! but i hope this makes up for it, im super excited for yall to read this!!! also i think im going to plan for this series to have a few more chapters, probably max 9 or 10! i love it sm i really dont want it to end 😭 but anyways enjoyyy and comment what you think! and again i apologize if the smut is mid.. btw this is not proofread LMAO

series masterlist

playlist

word count: 4.9k words

warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, fingering, oral (f!receiving), p in v, angst, language, smoking, afab reader

You’re sitting in your bed, reading a magazine, when your flip phone rings. You lean forward to pick it up from the corner of the bed, wondering who could be calling you this late. You raise your eyebrows when you see that it’s Lola. You haven’t spoken to her since school got out. Nevertheless, you answer it and put the phone up to your ear.

“Lola! Hey,” You grin. “Oh my God, I’m so glad you picked up. I’m so bored around here,” She groans, and you smile even bigger at the sound of her voice on the other end. “Around where?” You ask curiously.

“My parents’. I have to babysit my younger sister all the time. It’s exhausting, really,” She moans. “I just want to like, go to a party or something. Honestly, I would even prefer to be going to classes right now instead of this.”

“Wow. That must mean it’s really bad then, huh?” You continue flipping through the magazine, your eyes scanning through the apparently trending fashion and makeup choices at the moment.

“Yes. Ugh. You’re at Saltburn, right?” She asks. “Yeah.” You reply.

“How’s that going?” Lola questions, and you hear another voice in the background that sounds like her, only higher-pitched. “No, I’m on the phone. Go away. Shoo,”

You try not to snicker at her shooing away her little sister. “It’s…” You trail off, trying to decide the right way to describe how the summer is going so far for you. “I don’t know. Different.”

“How so?” You pause and wonder if you should tell her what’s been going on. You decide it’s probably better not to and keep some things to yourself.

“I think it’s just cause we’re growing up. I mean, we graduate in less than two years.” You shrug and reach over to grab your glass of wine. “Oh God, don’t remind me. My parents are still asking me what my plans are,” She sighs loudly.

“I can’t believe it.” You shake your head and close the magazine, uninterested in the latest celebrity drama. An idea suddenly forms in your mind.

“Hey, the Cattons are throwing one of their big summer parties in a few days. I could invite you?” You suggest. You hear Lola gasp. “Really?! I’d love to go. I’ve heard so many stories about the Saltburn parties.” She makes it sound so dramatic, and you giggle.

“And you’d get a chance to see Felix,” You grin as you hear her jumping around. “Yeah, I would! You don’t need to convince me any further. I’ll be there,” She pauses. “Wait, but they’ll let me come, right?”

“Oh, of course. They like me a lot, so I’m sure they won’t mind.” You assure her. “Okay, perfect. Thank you so much, my love. I’ll let you get some sleep. See you soon!” She squeals excitedly and you roll your eyes with a smile as she hangs up.

You set down your phone and sigh, looking around your dim room.

You haven’t been able to get Farleigh out of your mind since your little… moment two nights ago. He’s not avoiding you, but he’s not being nice either. He’s gone back to teasing you and embarrassing you in front of the Cattons. You should’ve known that if you got too close, he’d pull away and return to his old ways.

But every little glance you two share has your stomach fluttering and your heart pounding. Every insult meant to hurt or offend you has the opposite effect. In some depraved way, you like when he degrades you. The past two nights, you’ve laid awake and stared up at the ceiling, trying to relive that night when he made you feel so good. Just the thought of him had your mind reeling. You would do anything just to feel that way again. You’re hooked.

You can’t just keep wallowing in these feelings. You want to talk to him, work things out, and go back to how they used to be a week ago. More importantly, you just want to be in his presence. It gives you some kind of thrill to be around him. It’s like a game of roulette to see which version of him you’ll get each time, and you love it. You crave his attention.

You climb off of your large bed and walk determinedly to your door, opening it quietly and sneaking down the hallway. It’s quite a long walk to Farleigh’s room, but you don’t care. You pass Felix’s room, then Venetia’s. Both of their lights are out, telling you that everyone in the house is probably asleep by now. You can only hope and pray that Farleigh isn’t.

You eventually find yourself standing in front of his room. Dim light peeks through from under his door, and you sigh with relief. He’s still awake. Your decision catches up to you and you realize how stupid it is that you’re about to knock on his door. You shake your head to clear your doubt, raising your hand and gently knocking.

You hear his bed shifting and footsteps following close after. You swallow nervously, your throat suddenly feeling dry. Your heart races with anticipation as he finally opens the door.

Fuck. He’s shirtless with only a pair of sweatpants on. Your eyes trail down subconsciously before you blink and look back up to his face. Is he wearing underwear?

“Hello,” He says, his grin foxlike. “I can’t sleep. Can we talk?” You ask, your voice shaky. You curse yourself for sounding nervous. He crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. “Talk about what?” He questions.

You pause, unsure of what to say next. What were you going to talk about? He would deny any feelings towards you, so what was the point of even coming here?

“Just let me in, please.” You step forward and avoid his gaze. He steps to the side wordlessly, opening the door further to let you into his room.

You breathe in the familiar scent of that candle he’s always burning, and the scent of his cologne. It’s musky and spicy, with notes of vanilla. You tried to memorize it everytime you were close to him. You walk over to his bed and sit down on the edge, looking up at him as he closes the door behind him.

“Can I have a cigarette?” You ask, pointing to the pack sitting on his bedside table. He nods, and you carefully take one. He hands you the lighter.

He stares down at you as you light the cigarette, taking a drag from it. He chuckles to himself and you exhale, furrowing your eyebrows. “What’s funny?”

“You always said you hated the smell. Yet here you are, asking me for a cigarette,” He replies with a scoff. “Maybe you’re just a bad influence,” You shoot back, and his smile slightly fades.

You can see his eyes traveling down your body, lingering on your thighs and your bare legs. You had outgrown these sleep shorts, but you never cared because you figured no one would see you in them. Well, there goes that.

“Are we not going to talk about the other night?” You mutter. “What’s there to talk about?” He replies, and you roll your eyes. “Are you-” You pause and let out a frustrated breath. “Are you serious?” You exclaim angrily.

“You can’t blame it on being drunk this time, Farleigh.” You tell him, and he freezes, his gaze faltering downwards.

“Can we not talk about that? Let’s just…” He sighs with exasperation and sits next to you. You turn away from him, looking out the window. You decide not to press the issue, since it’s apparently too much for him to think about right now. Honestly, you aren’t even able to fully process what’s been going on between you two.

“Let’s just… talk,” He says finally, and you face him again, exhaling a small cloud of smoke. “Okay.” You shrug. It’s what you both do best: Talking. About anything and everything, despite the strange history of your relationship. You guessed that it was because you had known each other for so long, that it just came naturally. He’s just… real. He’s never pretending or putting on a façade, at least around you he’s not. Around the Cattons, he has to, because to them he’s just the wild child, the comedic relief, the American. You feel like you are the only one that gets to see the real Farleigh, and it feels like a privilege. But you know that’s not true, and you choose to believe it anyway.

“So… Our third year at Oxford,” Farleigh says. You let out a breath and raise your eyebrows. “Can’t believe it’s already been two years,” You both smile, thinking of all the good and bad memories you’ve made so far during your years at university.

“Can I be honest?” You ask, and he nods. “I’m scared.” You say simply. His eyebrows knit together. “Of what?” He replies. “Graduating. You know, I’ll probably go to graduate school or something, but I need to start making my own money. Get a job. Do adult things,” You sigh just at the thought of all the responsibilities. “I can’t be on a scholarship forever. Or have my parents pay forever,” You continue, shaking your head. “I’m putting them through enough as it is.”

Farleigh nods again with a look of understanding. “I might go back to the states. See my mom, maybe stay there for a while.” He says. You can’t help but feel a little sad at the thought of him being away for so long. You hate to admit it, but you would miss him.

“But we don’t have to worry about that right now. You’re too uptight. Let yourself have fun,” He nudges you softly. “I’m trying,” You mutter. “Well, you’re smoking. That’s one step closer,” He laughs a bit and you roll your eyes.

It goes quiet and you stare down into your lap. You can feel his eyes on you, and your heart begins to race with anticipation. That familiar tension returns in the air between you and Farleigh.

You look up slightly, his eyes meeting with yours. Your stomach churns as you look down to see his hand inching towards your thigh, eventually resting on top of it. “I know why you came here,” He says, his voice lowered.

You look back up to him. “What?” You whisper. “Don’t play dumb,” He shakes his head. “I’m not.” You reply, trying hard not to break the intense eye contact.

You gulp nervously and finally look away, your face giving you away and burning red. “Hmm,” He hums, his thumb brushing across your thigh. You try to distract yourself by pressing the cigarette out on the ashtray on his bedside table, watching the little flame burn out.

He gently reaches up and grabs your chin, tilting your head back towards him. He drags his thumb down your bottom lip as you stare into his eyes. He grins slightly before moving his hand to cup your cheek, leaning in closer until your noses brush together. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. You know Farleigh is emotionally unavailable and toxic, and he won’t ever discuss his feelings or yours. But you can’t help but melt into the kiss, his touch, his aura. It’s like he’s magnetic, pulling you in everytime you try to pull away.

Somehow, every single time he kisses you, it’s better than the first time. Your tongues intertwine as your lips move in a perfect rhythm while both of you fall back onto his bed clumsily. One of his hands tangles in your hair, and the one that was resting on your leg moves up to rest on your waist, his fingers caressing your bare skin due to your tank top riding up. He eventually shifts his position so that he’s on top of you, and you turn to lay on your back underneath him.

His kisses begin to move down to your jawline, then your neck. He sucks and licks your skin so cruelly, but you don’t want him to stop. You breathe in the scent of his hair, his curls tickling your face, and you can already feel yourself becoming weak again.

You feel his hands start to trail down your body, resting on your hips, as he moves down the bed and you peer down to see him looking up at you from between your legs. Feverish heat burns across your skin just at the sight of it.

“Wait, wait. I’ve never-“ You start, suddenly feeling nervous. “It’s okay,” Farleigh replies, his eyes soft and warm as he gazes up at you. “Just relax,” He murmurs, gently pulling down your shorts and panties at the same time, shuffling them off your legs.

Just relax, you think. Easier said than done. You’ve pictured this moment so many times in the past few days, and you can’t believe it’s becoming reality.

And of all the times you’ve fantasized about this, none of them could ever do Farleigh’s beauty justice. His dark eyes are shining with something of lust and hunger, his plush lips slightly parted and his shoulders broad and golden. His curly hair is only slightly wet from his shower earlier, yet still perfectly coiled.

He looks up at you, trying to convey something through his gaze. “So pretty,” He mutters, tracing a finger along your thigh. Your breath catches in your throat and you feel your stomach fluttering already.

He lifts your legs up and places them over his shoulders. Your heart pounds in anticipation and you can hear yourself breathing among the silence.

Farleigh leans down and presses a few kisses along your inner thigh, and you don’t know how much longer you can stand his teasing. You watch him gaze up at you through his lashes as he dips a finger into your wetness and you see the smirk that tugs at his lips. He raises his eyebrows at you and your face turns red. “Stop,” You cover your face with both hands, your stomach doing flips. You can’t handle how perfect he looks right now, even as he teases you for how soaked you are already.

“Hey, look at me,” He says, his deep voice vibrating against your skin. You let your hands fall back to your sides, smiling shyly. His expression turns more serious as he furrows his brows, slipping his finger inside of you. He moans before you even can, his head falling against your thigh.

That familiar stretch around his finger has your mind reeling as you throw your head back. He pulls it out and you whimper at the loss, until you feel his middle and ring finger on your clit. Your hands instinctively move to grasp the sheets as he strokes your bundle of nerves perfectly, letting your head fall back down to watch him. He continues to maintain eye contact and it makes you so weak.

Your brain almost turns to mush as you see him leaning down, his head buried between your legs. A moan louder than you intended leaves your mouth as you feel his tongue greedily licking a stripe up your pussy.

“Shit,” You huff, your chest heaving up and down. No one had ever given you head before, until now, so you didn’t really understand your girlfriends when they would tell you how amazing it felt. But now, you completely get it. His tongue moves in long, slow strokes and his pretty nose nudges perfectly against your clit.

He barely lifts his head so he can stare up at you to watch your reaction. You grind up against his face, your hand reaching down to grab a handful of his curls. He groans at the feeling before inserting a finger again, moving at the perfect pace along with his tongue. The combination is enough to make your legs shake. The lewd sounds of him lapping up your cum and both of your wanton moans echo throughout his room.

“Farleigh!” You almost scream his name before letting out a long, drawn out moan. He glances up at you once more, his pupils huge with lust. He moans against you as he absolutely devours you, adding a second finger in. His long fingers brush against that divine spot inside of you and you whimper helplessly, your other hand gripping his sheets as if it could help ground you somehow. That delicious heat builds in the base of your stomach, spreading like a fire.

“I’m gonna-“ You gasp for air, your chest heaving up and down. His eyes are half-lidded and he seems completely lost in the moment, just absolutely pussy drunk. “Let go,” He says, his voice deep and raspy.

And you do exactly that. The pleasure shoots through your veins like a drug, your grasp in his hair tightening and your hips rolling as you ride it out. You eventually come down from your high, letting your legs drop from his shoulders as you let out a shaky sigh, your heart still pounding against your ribs.

“Fuckk,” You breathe out, resting your head against the pillow. Farleigh crawls over you, leaning down to kiss you. The lower half of his face is covered in your slick, but you couldn’t care less. He kisses you passionately, desperately, groaning into your mouth. You can taste yourself on his lips and his tongue, and it just turns you on even more.

He pulls away, his lips hovering over yours. You look up at him and suddenly feel an indescribable desire wash over you as you stare into his deep brown eyes. It’s like you can’t get close enough to him, like you need more than everything he’s already given you. You want him inside of you. You want to feel every part of him. You want him to feel every part of you.

“Farleigh,” You whisper, reaching up to touch his face. “What is it?” He whispers back, lightly touching your own face.

“I want you,” You say. You don’t care how stupid you sound right now. This carnal desire has completely taken over you.

“In what way?” He replies, smirking smugly. “I think you know which way I mean,” You mutter. You don’t have time for his teasing, although you love it.

His expression softens and he seems to understand what you mean. “Please, I need you,” You can’t believe you’re begging for Farleigh of all people right now. You know you’ll be regretting it later. His eyes widen and he seems shocked by your confession.

“Far…” You whisper, tracing your finger along his lips. He opens his mouth to speak, hesitating slightly.

“Do you know what you do to me?” He asks, his voice soft. You look up at him and tilt your head. He takes your hand and guides it down below his waist while still looking down at you. You gasp softly when you feel that his dick is so hard underneath his sweatpants. It has to be painful. You slowly rub your hand against him and his eyebrows draw together as he stutters slightly, and it almost looks like he’s in pain.

“Baby-“ Farleigh whimpers. “Please,” You beg once again, and he nods, quickly taking his pants off and throwing them somewhere on the floor of his bedroom. You look down at his dick, and you have to keep your jaw from dropping.

It’s definitely the biggest you’ve seen, and although you haven’t seen many in your lifetime, you know he would be considered above average. It’s long, with a bit of girth to it, veiny and already leaking precum from the tip. You feel yourself starting to get nervous. You aren’t sure if you could even take all of it, but hell, you’re going to try. You hope he didn’t pick up on your reaction, because you know he would tease you over it.

He places his hands on either side of your head and leans down onto his elbows. He never takes his eyes off yours as he positions himself. You wrap your legs around his waist, letting your ankles rest on his back.

He slowly begins to slide in, and you grunt quietly at the pain. He goes a bit deeper before you panic and place a hand on his lower stomach, stopping him. “I can’t-“ You wince in pain.

“Yes, you can. You can take it,” He nods and brushes the side of your face with his fingers. He takes your hand off of his stomach gently and places your arm back onto the bed. You nod in an attempt to encourage yourself, gritting your teeth to withstand the pain. You reach up to his shoulders, resting your hands on his shoulder blades, trying to keep your nails from digging into his skin as you hold onto him.

“Fuck,” Farleigh grunts as your walls grip him tightly, sucking him in. Eventually he’s buried inside of you to the hilt, and you can feel every inch of him. You’re still trying to adjust to his size, and the pain is slowly subsiding as he groans and drops his head and closes his eyes. You press your hips up against his, trying to get him to start moving. “Far,” You mutter. You can tell he’s trying to hold back. He breathes heavily and opens his eyes again, gazing into yours.

“I’m ready,” You whisper. His eyebrows knit together as he rolls his hips slowly, causing your eyes to roll back and drawing a short moan out of you. He shudders, slightly pulling out of you before thrusting back in. You wonder how he’s so good at this as your nails dig crescent moons into his back with each slow thrust and roll of his hips. Your mouth falls open and you try to be quieter but it’s no use.

He buries his head into the crook of your neck, his curls tickling your face. He’s whimpering and moaning your name and other incoherent nonsense right into your ear. He sets a beautiful rhythm, his bed creaking underneath you as you sink into the plush of the mattress. You think you hear the headboard hitting the wall but you don’t care about the loud sounds you two are creating. You just don’t want this moment to end.

He looks back up to you and you can see he’s already fucked out. His eyes are even more glazed over than before and sex sweat forms on his brow. He whimpers helplessly and pants heavily. “You’re so good,” He breathes. “So, so good,” You could probably cum just from his words alone.

You let out a wanton moan as he hits that spot again, deep inside of you. “Oh, fuck!” You gasp and claw at his shoulders. He drops his head again, kissing your neck as he thrusts into you faster and deeper each time, hitting your spot over and over once he’s found it.

“Yeah, that’s it,” He groans against your neck and you feel tears brimming in your eyes. “Farleigh- It’s-“ You can’t seem to form words, your brain turned to sizzling hot liquid. “I know, I know,” He whimpers, his voice slightly higher pitched and breathless. You try to hold on longer, but you’re already coming undone as your orgasm hits you sooner than you expected. Your body stills and you clench even harder around him. He moans, that pained expression crossing his face once again. “Oh God,” He chokes out, his thrusts beginning to become less steady.

“Where should I-“ Farleigh pants. “Inside,” You tell him. You’re on birth control, but you don’t have the mental capacity to explain that to him or explain why. His hips stutter and he stiffens, finishing inside of you, the warm feeling spreading throughout your lower stomach. He collapses on top of you, his head on your chest, resting on the soft fabric of your shirt.

You’re already sleepy and physically exhausted from what just took place. You breathe in his scent one more time and let out a sigh, staring up at the ceiling and trying to process what you just did. Then he’s wrapping his arms around you gently before pulling out of you slowly. You grunt a bit, feeling a dull ache between your legs, but you can’t help but miss the feeling of him inside of you.

He adjusts the both of you so that you’re both laying on your side, allowing you to stretch out a bit and cuddle up to him, tucking your head in the crook of his neck. He holds you, and for a moment, it feels like a real relationship. Something you had never experienced. Something deep. Something real. And then you remember that it’s not. After this, he will go back to avoiding you and acting like he can’t stand you. You just wish that he would put his pride away and admit to you what he really feels. But what does he really feel? Are you stupid for thinking that there’s something here?

Farleigh strokes his fingers through your hair, brushing away some of the strands plastered onto your forehead by your sweat. He seems to notice your silence.

“You’re thinking too much,” He says, his voice beautifully hoarse. You sigh, relaxing your shoulders. “Am I?” You reply, your voice weaker than you thought it would be.

“Just sleep here tonight,” He mutters, resting his chin on top of your head. You so badly want to ask him to be serious and have an actual conversation with you about your… relationship.

“Okay… but we need to talk about this,” You respond quietly. He sighs and shifts a bit, careful not to move you too much. “We can in the morning,” He says, but you know that won’t happen. You’ll just have to settle for no answers to your questions for the time being.

You curl up closer to him and let your eyes close, breathing slowly and peacefully. “Goodnight,” You murmur. “Night,” He replies, sounding just as tired as you are. You drift off to sleep in Farleigh Start’s arms.

ONE YEAR EARLIER

You were usually on okay terms with Farleigh. But you remember exactly when the dislike turned into hatred.

It was right before end of term exams and Felix convinced you to go to the pub to blow off some steam and relax after all your revising. You reluctantly agreed, then regret your decision when you saw Farleigh and Sasha there.

It was pretty far into the evening and you were beginning to get sleepy. You had spaced out for a moment, staring out the window and watching the snow fall before you heard something that peaked your interest.

“I mean, Felix, you have got to settle down,” Farleigh chuckled and nudged Sasha, pointing his cigarette at Felix.

Felix grinned stupidly and shrugged. “Listen, mate. I’ve tried.” Some other friends of his joined in with the laughter.

You sat up and leaned forward, facing Farleigh. “You’re one to comment on relationships,” You said, raising an eyebrow. Everyone else sort of quieted down after hearing your words.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Farleigh rolled his eyes at you and Sasha just glared. “You and Sasha. You’re dysfunctional.” You responded, unafraid to challenge him.

“Excuse me?” Sasha looked at you like you just committed a hate crime. “Yeah. He cheats on you, you cheat on him, you get back together, blah blah blah.” You took a sip of your beer and shrugged. “It’s gone on for almost a year now. It’s exhausting,”

Farleigh chuckled. “Ohh, you want to come after my relationship?” He smirked as if he was cooking up a plan in his mind of how to humiliate you best.

“Well, I bet you would like everyone to know that you lost your virginity to Joshua Brown,” Farleigh said, loud enough for even people from other tables to hear. A small chorus of gasps echoed across the room.

“You’re desperate, easy, and sloppy. You take anyone who wants you. I guess that’s what happens when you get no attention before you go to college, hm?” He just kept going, and the whole room went silent

“I’ve seen you walk out of so many dorms at six in the morning, it’s insane. You can’t even keep a fucking man,” Farleigh’s tone was harsher and colder than you’d ever heard before. Felix was staring at you in shock and Sasha was giving you that judgemental look.

You looked around to see all the pairs of eyes on you. “Fucking hell, Farleigh,” Felix muttered, shaking his head at him.

You stood up and grabbed your bag hastily, storming out of the pub with tears in your eyes. Why was he such a bitch? Why did he hate you?

Your reputation was officially ruined. All that time, he never told anyone about your situation with Joshua. Until now. He was doing so well. The whole class thought you were an innocent and pure, high achieving student, and now what would they think? You wish you didn’t care so much about how others perceive you, but you do.

You hated Farleigh. You hated him for ruining your reputation and your image. It was impossible to get him back or do something worse, since basically everyone knew he was a slut. But he got praised for it.

Ever since that night at the pub, other students would look at you sideways and whisper things about you as if you couldn’t hear them.

Fuck you, Farleigh. You decided you were officially done with him and your weird friendship. Even if that meant having to avoid him at every cost.

taglist: @isla-finke-blog @ibimbogrl @drunkmysticsquirrel @alonia-olivia @novemilady @saltburnsworld @florkt @i-love-ptv

#farleigh start #saltburn #farleigh start x reader #farleigh x reader #farleigh x you #farleigh saltburn #farleigh smut

[leidensygdom]

AI bros from hell

Hello! Do you have a bit of your time for a story on AI bros and clients from hell? I bring a really fun one!

I met this guy at a con I was tabling at over a year ago, before AI was a thing. He said he enjoyed my art, and inquired me about whether I did book illustrations. I said yes- He was specifically interested in my bigger pieces, the fully rendered and detailed ones. He agreed to send me later a DM to discuss specifics.

For two weeks, he kept DMing me on details about his book, what he wanted, etc. He wanted full illustrations for inside the book as well as a cover, all of them fully colored, painted and rendered. He also wanted illustrations in this style to post on social media to promote the book. I had warned him that something like that would be costly, but he insisted that he needed this to be the best of the best.

Now, I was getting bad vibes from the guy. I shit y'all not, his instagram handle was "The next tolkien". I wasn't however gonna refuse a job opportunity. Now, he finally asked for prices: He had reassured me he was willing to pay fairly for this. Since he's a starting author, I gave him my non-commercial quotes, which are much, much, much lower than the standard for book illustrations. I mean "if you search for how much this costs on google, the lower prices are x5 times more expensive than what I offered".

The guy, upon receiving that, just ghosted me. Immediately unfollowed, didn't reply me with a "sorry, I can't afford it" or "sorry, i was expecting to pay $10 for a full rendered full background several-characters-picture". Nothing.

The other day I decided to search what he was up to. He's now released... THREE books for this series. There's a single review in the first one. Not even written, just a stars one. Also, notably, he had a webpage put together promoting the book, and. Yeah.

All the art is AI crap.

Which makes sense. My guy was very on his high horse about how fantastic of a writer he is, but I guess art isn't really to be compensated fairly. When he saw the "art stealing machine you just pay a subscription for", I'm guessing he was very excited.

So, uh, here's some of the marvelous pictures he generated of the characters, which surely tell you about how great the book is. AI is theft, so I don't give a f*** about reposting it.

I have a lot of opinions about creators who write, draw or make music, who are more than happy to use AI for other stuff- Album covers made with AI, writers using AI crap for book illustrations, artists using AI-made music. It feels like you're sh*tting in any other artistic field and showing how little you respect anyone but yourself. Like, I'll be honest, I don't have interest reading a book from someone who considers that other forms of art aren't real or worth any money. It just tells me you're devoid of any interest for art or humanity.

As an ending note, his instagram description is "More closer to god than to human", which does add to the clownery.

#anti ai #clients from hell #long story #long post #ai bros

[still-a-morosexual-help]

Another realisation about Solomon post? Yes.

But First!

Let's talk about MC and Mammon's friendship (like I haven't spoken about it enough)

(platonically) general MC is probably the closest with Mammon:

• Beel mentions this in early S1 - saying that MC frequently seeks Mammon out to talk with him

• Levi mentions this in both S2 and Nightbringer

• Belphie briefly implies it in a chat

• Mammon has spoken about it multiple times

• Mammon & MC have been sharing a room frequently enough for him to leave his toothbrush and phone charger in their room from early S1 all the way up to S4

• His birthday is the only one they took charge and planned on their own, starting the gift giving a whole week before the actual date

• He's the only person in the circus event that they instantly remembered without having to talk with him first

• He's the first one in Nightbringer to fully accept them and start bringing them into the family shenanigans

• There are dialogue options like this, that aren't really options at all

• He's always their first - their first friend in every timeline and alternate universe

Okay so, now to the actual point of the post:

Solomon (in Nightbringer) asks MC if they've made any progress towards making the new pacts and MC says they're working on Mammon.

We know, obviously, why MC picks Mammon:

• He's their first. Not only does it seem like the right thing, they know him enough to know he'll throw a huge tantrum if he wasn't their first

• He's the safest and easiest option (I speak about this in more detail here) but basically he's the most settled after the Fall, the least likely to react badly or in anger, the least likely to accidentally hurt them and an extremely loyal ally (post here)

• Most importantly, he's their friend and they genuinely just like spending time with him

Solomon however, says something along the lines of picking Mammon being a smart choice because Mammon seems lonely.

Solomon's first thought was to see MC and Mammon's relationship from a strategic point of view. He saw a weakness (a true weakness btw, I actually have half a fic written from a year ago about Mammon being lonely in the Celestial Realm and I really need to complete it) and he exploited it to get what he wanted - similar to how he made a pact with Asmo in the present day timeline.

Solomon saying/doing this isn't really a bad thing, but I think it really adds to his character and shows his differences when compared to MC. It also really adds weight to the whole:

• locked away in a basement and hidden from the world during his childhood

• had one childhood friendship which is implied to have ended badly

• spent thousands of years without any real friends despite the fact that he had at least three people (Asmo, Barbatos and Thirteen) who genuinely cared for him

• admitted to not seeing the demons he made pacts with as friends until either s3 or 4, despite the fact that, even pre-series, Solomon is one of the people Asmo genuinely likes, cares about, values the opinion of, wants to impress and initially feels nervous around because of this

I just...

I love it when they give you a smiley and chill, kinda goofy, character whose past is a little mysterious and then you figure out oh he's got a tragic past and also his world view and thought processes are very messed up but also a product of his past

10/10 character actually

Relevant Posts:

• Solomon's World View and Thought Processes

• How Solomon's Past Shaped Him

#obey me spoilers #nightbringer spoilers #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me! #shall we date? obey me! #swd obey me #swd obey me! #shall we date obey me #obey me! shall we date? #nightbringer obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me! nightbringer #obey me solomon #om solomon #obey me! solomon #om! solomon #swd solomon #shall we date solomon #obey me main character #obey me mc #om mc #obey me! mc #om! mc #mammon x mc #mc x mammon #obey me mammon #om! mammon #obey me! mammon #swd mammon

[tennessoui]

18) waking up with amnesia au pretty please! I was delighted with how many of the prompts you've already done, it was a really fun bingo!

Best friends sibling = band au

knocking on the wrong door = actually name of the fic

Nanny/single parent au = Nannykin

Etc etc etc!

hello hello this was sent january 10!! hope you still want some waking up with amnesia au! this just demonstrates how long i can hold onto a prompt i have every intention of completing

(from this prompt list) (& this is the waking up with amnesia au prompt fill i did a few years ago when i first reblogged that prompt list!)

(3.5k)

(warnings: angst but not incredibly sad. more like. here there lies some future manipulation/mind fuckery because of angst established in this ficlet but not resolved in this ficlet but would be in the future)

(also warning: vader)

It is somehow both the hardest and easiest part of the day, every time. 

It is easy to let his feet turn in the direction they beg to go during all his waking seconds. It is easy to allow them to lead the way. It feels as if a great and crushing weight has been lifted from his shoulders the moment that he sees the pillars standing sentry at the entrance of the Halls of Healing. It is so easy to give into his body’s desire to allow it to find its other half.

It is almost harder to stay away, to pretend to be the respectful and poised Jedi master he masquerades as during those long moments of the day that he is not by Anakin’s side.

But what is infinitely harder than journeying there or keeping his distance is arriving. Is what waits for him within the Halls.

“How is he today?” he asks the moment he sees a healer—it does not matter which one these days. They must all know him by now, know the series of questions he demands answers to.

This time, the man he finds is healer Ramak, at least, one of the primary specialists on Anakin’s case. Rarely can Obi-Wan corner him. Ramak is incredibly busy both within the Temple and outside of it. He has numerous priorities. 

Obi-Wan really only has one priority. Often this puts them at odds. 

“Ah,” Ramak says, adjusting his robes. “Master Kenobi, hello.”

“Yes, hello,” Obi-Wan says. And then, “How is he today?” In case Ramak has missed his question.

“He is much the same, Master Kenobi,” Ramak replies. “As he was yesterday.”

Obi-Wan swallows. The words get stuck in his throat for a moment and he has to force them up past his teeth. “What does…what has he remembered?”

Healer Ramak’s face slides from reluctantly indulgent to pitying. It would grate against Obi-Wan’s rather impressive sense of pride if he did not already know exactly how pitiful he is. 

“Memories are not stored within the mind chronologically, Master Kenobi,” Ramak says carefully. Obi-Wan has heard this before. Obi-Wan could recite this speech. 

Obi-Wan listens to it silently anyway. Perhaps this time, Ramak will find the correct combination of words to explain his loss to him in terms he can understand. “Uncovering them again is not simply a matter of starting from the beginning of his life and moving forwards. We cannot simply recover and present him with all of his memories from age nine, from age thirteen, to now.”

Obi-Wan can feel a muscle tick in his jaw and he crosses his arms. Another healer crosses behind him, jostles him in their hurry to get to another patient. Differing priorities. 

But Obi-Wan only has one.

“It is like…” Ramak trails off, thinking. “Picture the rain. What do you think of?” It is much too transparent, what Obi-Wan thinks of when he thinks of the rain. He thinks of Anakin as a youngling. The ashes of Qui-Gon’s body had not fully cooled before the skies of Naboo had broken open in a torrential downpour, and the boy, padawan braid that was both his and Obi-Wan’s newly weighing on his shoulder, had escaped from the palace in Theed, ran outside with arms raised up in wonder.

“When you think of rain, you do not recall your memories chronologically,” Ramak says kindly, as if he understands where Obi-Wan’s mind has gone. “That is to say, you do not immediately think of the first time you experienced it. Our minds store memories based on their significance to us, the meanings they hold for us, which makes mind-healing to this degree incredibly difficult. Not to mention, not only was Knight Skywalker stripped of his memories, tortured, and indoctrinated, he was held for several months. Long enough for new neural pathways to form, new connotations and memories to take the place of the ones he lost.”

“Master, please,” Obi-Wan says. When he holds up his hand to forestall the other man’s words, it is shaking slightly. “Please just tell me.”

Will he recognize me? 

Will he hate me?

Will another day go by where he does not know me?

“He has a long way to go yet,” Ramak says finally, lifting his hand to stroke over his beard. “His time as Vader left scars—”

“His time captured,” Obi-Wan interrupts. “He was a hostage.” Ramak looks at him. Anakin, kidnapped by the sith, without his memories, trained to be deadly and taught to Fall, was more than a hostage. They both know that. Everyone in the galaxy knows the dangers that Darth Vader represented to the Republic.

Very few know that Darth Vader was Anakin Skywalker. It had been a terrible surprise. It had been the sweetest sort of relief too, to find him at all.

“Yes,” Ramak finally allows. “His time as a hostage left innumerable scars, Obi-Wan. Even after he regains all his memories, he will have a long journey ahead of him.”

“How is he?” Obi-Wan repeats, even though it is rather rude to cut the healer off. “How is he today?”

Ramak hesitates for a moment and then another, and his Force signature tenses as if at war with itself. “He requested to see you,” he finally says. “We’re not sure that’s a good idea.”

Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. The Jedi saved Anakin Skywalker from the Sith five weeks ago, and though Obi-Wan has spent each of those days trekking from his quarters to the Halls of Healing and back, accousting various healers and Council members alike, desperate for any information they can give him…he has not yet been able to sit beside Anakin. He has not been allowed to talk with him at all.

It is for the best. That is what he’s been told and that is what he must believe. It is for the best. Anakin does not remember him. He remembers the word master—he does not remember that he used to say the same word with respect. With affection. He does not remember Obi-Wan at all.

He remembers his master, Sidious. He remembers his master on Tatooine. He does not—Obi-Wan doesn’t understand why he cannot remember him. 

Anakin has never once asked to see him. 

“I want to see him,” Obi-Wan says immediately, turning towards the wing where they are keeping Anakin. 

“Master Kenobi, it is not a good idea,” Ramak says, but it does not matter what they think is a good idea. It is what Anakin wants and it has been so long since Obi-Wan has been something Anakin wants.

Something of what he’s feeling must flash across his face, because the healer sighs and rubs at his forehead as if he finds the whole ordeal incredibly trying. 

“I will not hurt him,” Obi-Wan says quickly, and Ramak shakes his head, dropping his arms to his sides. 

“That is not the concern, Master,” he replies, but his shoulders have slumped. His forehead is wrinkled, but his Force signature has relaxed. He has given in. Obi-Wan has won. “I—”

But Obi-Wan has won. And so he has already stepped away, intent now on seeing his padawan. He leaves the healer behind where he stands, pushing through the doors of the wing and finally—finally to Anakin’s room.

He’d been so volatile at first, when he was still Vader. The Jedi rescuing him probably felt more like being captured. Without his memories of the Order, of the Temple, of Obi-Wan, he’d Fallen so quickly as far as anyone knows. Sidious had taken him and twisted him and when he was found again, he’d fully believed in the Sith doctrine. He’d killed two Jedi before he was subdued.

So when he’d been brought into the Temple, into the Halls of Healing, they’d outfitted him with Force suppression cuffs. Given him his own room in order to protect the other patients.

Obi-Wan knows he still wears the Force bracelets and collar, but there’s knowing and then there’s seeing.

The seeing part takes his breath away. It looks so wrong, Anakin, his Anakin, wearing the cuffs and the collar. 

Anakin, his Anakin, with yellow eyes watching him intently from the moment he enters the room.

“Anakin,” he murmurs, a reflex. The sounds are punched out of him.

He is thinner. His hair is greasy. There are dark shadows under his eyes. The skin around the collar is red, rubbed raw. He looks a thousand times older. Guant and hollowed out as if the captivity and the Darkness has leached away all of his youthful energy.

“Master,” Anakin says reproachfully. And it sounds—it sounds so much like him, like Obi-Wan’s Anakin, that he has the rather ridiculous urge to cry. Master, master.

“How are you feeling?” Obi-Wan asks, though it is a useless sort of question. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands. What to do with his tongue. He suddenly cannot remember the last time he asked Anakin how he was feeling. It was never a phrase that was part of their lexicon—for so many years, they shared a training bond. Obi-Wan was able to ascertain his padawan’s emotions with a gentle Force touch across the planes of his mind. More often than not, he was telling Anakin to search his own feelings. He was not asking him to interpret them for Obi-Wan’s sake.

Now though, their bond is severed and Anakin does not recognize him as anything more than another Jedi, another man who he once called master, and Obi-Wan stands across the room from him and does not recognize him either, save for all the ways that he does.

“Surely they have been giving you updates,” Anakin murmurs. “I know you have visited every day.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says because he will not lie to Anakin. He doesn’t think he remembers how. It has been—so long. Since he has last seen him. It is all he can do to stay standing now. To keep a respectable distance between them. To not fall to his knees. To not stumble forward and take Anakin’s hand in his own.

“What have they told you?” Anakin asks, and he tilts his head slightly. His golden eyes are as disconcerting as they are beautiful. They’re his. They’re his eyes, set in his face, and Obi-Wan has missed that face for so long. For months. He’d thought he’d never see it again, and he is just now realizing that he has no defenses left against Anakin. None at all. The boy could ask him for anything and he would fight to the death to give it to him.

The Force is in flux in the air around them, bucking up, riled, in a way Obi-Wan usually interprets as danger. But the Force could be screaming a death knell and Obi-Wan, in this moment, would only be able to hear a sweet cry of wild joy.

Anakin, this is Anakin. This is his Anakin and he is here. Back—partially. Back, incompletely. But back. Obi-Wan…he’d stopped hoping he’d ever get him back.

Instead of answering his question, he presses the backs of his fingers against his mouth to try and stop their shaking. Every day he has walked here, accosted the healers, demanded to know the latest. And he has never once realized how incredibly difficult it would be to lay eyes on Anakin. How incredibly difficult it would be to maintain his composure, to hold himself in. 

Anakin’s eyes glow gold, but Obi-Wan’s eyes are that of a starving man. All he can see is honey.

“Come here, master,” Anakin says, reproachful. “Did you not miss me?”

The words move him forward where his own feet could not. “Of course I did, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers. Hoarse, too hoarse. Too trembling and old, but it has been so many months. He had thought him lost forever. Dead and gone and one with the Force, and for the first time in his life, that had given him no comfort.

Anakin holds out his mechno hand, palm up, fingers slightly crooked. He’d built them that way on purpose, Obi-Wan remembers. At fourteen, he’d broken his index and middle finger in a duel, bones shattering under the blow of another padawan’s sabor. A lucky hit, an unlucky outcome. Though they’d healed near perfect due to bacta, they’d always remained slightly bent out of place. When he lost his arm to Dooku five years later, he’d fiddled with the replacement until the mech digits tilted the same familiar direction.

Obi-Wan stares at them, caught up in the tide of the memory.

Had Vader ever looked down at his mechno hand and wondered about the imperfection? Had he thought to fix it once he had the time? Had he spared a thought for the black spots in his memory, the cavernous gaps in his past?

His fingers fall to rest against the sensors of the mech tips. They’re sensitive enough that he can see Anakin shiver at the touch. 

“Did you not miss me, master?” Anakin asks again, and his hand closes around Obi-Wan’s tightly, pulling him forward another few steps.

Obi-Wan nods, then shakes his head. Yes, he missed him. No, missing—missing is not a vast enough word. 

“You asked for me,” he hears himself say. “Do you—what do you….”

Do you remember me?

You must. You call me master. And you want me close.

But they pulled the memories of the word master from your mind days ago, and you hated me then. You did not want me near you. What has changed? What have you remembered?

“I wonder if they would treat any patient like this,” Anakin says. He uses his hold on Obi-Wan to pull him even closer, til his thighs brush the edge of the bed. “If it is the war that makes me special, if it’s my own power. Or if it’s you.”

Obi-Wan tenses. Him? He doesn’t—

“They’ve tried everything they can think of to trigger my memories of you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Anakin says. When Obi-Wan tries to move back, take a step away, find the air in the room to breathe, Anakin tightens his hold and pulls him forward until the only option is to either topple over onto his padawan’s chest or sit on the bed at his hip.

He sits.

“They debated for many days, you know,” Anakin says. His mech thumb begins to sweep over the inside of Obi-Wan’s wrist. “If they should trigger the connections my mind has made to the word master. It’s a weighted word for Anakin Skywalker. Surely you know that.”

“I do,” Obi-Wan says carefully. When he tries to breathe, he can only do so shallowly as if his entire chest has shrunk to half its capacity.

“He was enslaved before he was a padawan,” Anakin explains as though Obi-Wan has not spoken at all. Maybe he hasn’t. For the past several months he has not been able to speak to Anakin aloud, could only talk with him in his mind—could never hear a reply. Perhaps he has forgotten how. “They were worried that after ten years studying under you, after two years fighting side by side with you, my strongest connotations to the word master would still be to slavery.”

Anakin ducks his head slightly, tilts it to the side to give Obi-Wan a small, private grin, as if the healers’ concerns are so unfounded that they are amusing. As if the concept that something could outweigh Obi-Wan’s importance to Anakin is so foreign and preposterous that it’s funny.

His smile knocks into Obi-Wan’s chest like a punch to the solar plexus.

“But they decided to risk it,” Anakin says. His voice is light as a feather. Airy and unconcerned. “Perhaps they should have started with smaller things. A light saber. A braid. A pear. A planet. But they wanted to re-establish my firmest conneciton to the Light as quickly as possible. And they thought that was you.”

Obi-Wan holds his breath, eyes leaping from their connected hands to the yellow of Anakin’s eyes. He has still fallen. He has not been healed. He is still—he is still—

“So they gave me back my masters,” Anakin pitches his voice low. “All of them, though I suppose I remember Sidious well enough. But they gave me back the Toydarian. And they gave me you.”

“They said you did not want to see me,” Obi-Wan whispers. “Why, Anakin, if you remember, why would you—”

“Because I hate you,” his padawan says as if it’s the easiest thing in the galaxy. “Because they could give me back Master Kenobi, but wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, it was not in your title. He hated your title.”

Obi-Wan flinches back so violently that his forearm slips from Anakin’s grasp. Before he can move from the bed completely though, his padawan’s hand lashes out and curls around the fabric of his tunics. 

“No,” Obi-Wan says because he must deny this—he cannot stand to hear it and not deny it. No, Anakin—there was love there, in the way he pronounced the word master. The way he looked at Obi-Wan: admiration shining in his eyes when he was younger, cooling off over the years into acceptance and affection. They had their arguments. They had their—misunderstandings, but Anakin did not resent him for his role in his life as his old teacher. His master. “You’re wrong.”

“He hated it more than he hated his actual slave master,” Anakin murmurs. Lightly, airily. As if his words are not landing devastating blows on all of Obi-Wan’s softest spots. “Do you know why?” “I don’t believe you,” Obi-Wan whispers because he doesn’t because he can’t. Because he’d have known. Because this is Anakin, this is his Anakin, but there are still cavernous dark spots and gaps in his mind. This is not entirely his Anakin. He is still missing things. Thousands upon thousands of memories and moments and learned contexts and—

“I think you know why,” Anakin says as if he has not spoken. Funny, as Obi-Wan had thought he was screaming.

“I assure you I do not,” he snaps, spitting the words out as quickly as he can so that his voice cannot break between the syllables.

“Because Anakin Skywalker believed til the day he died that if you had not been his master, you would have allowed him to kiss you. To take you. To be taken by you. Don’t you remember, Master Kenobi?” Obi-Wan tears himself away from the bed, from the boy in it. Just a boy. Not a man. Not when he was seventeen and drunk for the first time, slinging his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck and pressing his face into his chest, whining and begging and pleading—and not when he was eighteen either, bold and staring at Obi-Wan's lips, not when he was nineteen, on the verge of his Knighting ceremony and demanding to be given into.

Just a boy, just his boy. But never—never anything else. 

“Like I said,” Anakin but not Anakin murmurs. Anakin, but Vader too. “Wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, they have not yet been able to find it in my mind. I can only assume he loved you at all.”

Obi-Wan flicks his eyes over the familiar face, the beloved face. The stranger’s face. If it were anyone else sitting before him, he’d have a retort already on his tongue. He’d have raised his shields, gone on the offensive. There are few people left in the galaxy that can land a blow on him, and many have tried.

But this is not anyone. This is Anakin. This is his Anakin and this is something for which he has no defenses prepared.

“How ashamed did you make him feel for loving you, master?” Vader asks, tilting his head in cruel curiosity. “That he compressed all of it into something so small that a whole Temple of healers have been unable to find it?”

“Don’t call me that,” Obi-Wan snaps and this time he does not get the words off his tongue quick enough. His voice breaks in the middle of the demand, ribs cracking and parting to reveal the heart of him. “Not if—” not if you do not know what it means for him. For me. For us.

“Why not?” Vader says, and he raises his flesh hand to tuck a piece of greasy hair behind his head before allowing his fingers to fall to rest against his collarbone, ghosting against the Force suppression collar around his neck as if it’s a diamond encrusted necklace. “After all, am I not wearing your chains, master?”

#asks #prompt fill #obikin #vaderwan #so you know vader's number one priority is going to be to manipulate obi-wan into freeing him #because he can probably remember a little bit of anakin's love for obi-wan #it's not as gone as he says #but he also probably remembers the obsession with his master first #and that's tinted even darker by being a sith now #so within the next few weeks his priorities shift from torturing obi-wan for sport #to wanting him to free him so that he can kidnap him and keep him #and get away from the temple and all the memories the jedi are trying to give back to him #he doesn't want those #he wants obi-wan kenobi #hate and love and all

[dellalyra]

Family Formation Part Three

Summary: The Gojo's share a soft, warm moment with Yuuji after an unexpected midnight run in.

SERIES MASTERLIST requests currently open :)<3

CW: fluff, pregnancy, mild threat, sukuna being sukuna, this is almost more of a crack fic but like it's really soft bc so many people wanted Y/N and Gojo to adopt Yuuji after part two but part four... is going to be heartbreaking I'm sorry

11.43pm - Tokyo Prefectural High School, Dorm Building Kitchen

You’re in the common room, waiting for your husband to finish up a mission - looking at your phone you see him say he’ll be about 10 minutes, so you go to make yourself a quick cup of tea before he gets here and goes home. You could hear the kids up in their dorms until about 30 minutes ago after you had made dinner for you all this evening.

As you boil the kettle, you feel a silent presence lurking behind you, just at the entrance to the kitchen- a drastic shift in cursed energy, one you’d rather not be familiar with but sadly have come to know all too well. You continue to prepare your tea in peace. “Evening, Sukuna.” You say, with an exasperated sigh. A kitchen conversation with the King of Curses wasn’t quite how you imagined this evening to go but you’ll make do. It feels like your baby starts to sense the cursed energy too, with them kicking a little more since Sukuna’s arrival - Gojo genes are strong in this one you see.

A growl emanates through the room, “You dare address me so casually, wench?” “I do, Sukuna, you’re far too smart to start shit in here and with me right now, so do shut up and let me enjoy my tea.” “Oh, what a brave little girl you are - are you in any position to do anything but beg for me to spare the life of you and your child?” His eyes seem to flow red through the dimly lit room.

“I would say I’m rather well safeguarded yes, I’m a special grade sorcerer, and even 7 months pregnant I could inflict decent damage on you, my husband is Gojo Satoru, and my son who possesses the Ten Shadow technique is down the hall AND is overprotective and down the hall, a girl who may as well be my daughter, doing the same and another Grade 1, but most of all - the body you are housed in is that of a boy who is also as good as a son to me, and the minute you start to show me any real threat I know he will make up and squash your nighttime wandering hopes. So, tell me, what can I help you with, Sukuna?” You roll your eyes, knowing full well he’s trying to grandstand and intimidate you, but you just do not have the patience to deal with it right now. As you speak you pour the water into your mug and sit yourself down with a groan at your tired feet. The glare you were given along with the smirk and what you could only assume to be a laugh may scare some, but not you, you’ve seen and exorcised far worse than Sukuna in a 15-year-old boy's body in the kitchen. “Hm, I like you - you’ve got balls. As for what I wanted, well, I suppose I wanted to see for myself the woman carrying the future of jujutsu sorcery - hardly any fun going through all this trouble to regain my power if there will be nothing interesting to use it on.” He stalls towards you, eyeing you and your growing stomach like a trophy. “The child - it is strong, not even taken a breath and the cursed energy outweighs your own. Possibly it’s fathers too. And you’ve raised the Ten Shadows boy, for a human I almost respect you, there’s nothing quite as entertaining as a fierce woman.”

The flare in your cursed energy at the thought of Sukuna even discussing your children would have blown lesser beings to ash but luckily, years of control and practice have kept you from unleashing the rage of a protective mother - this is not even the first time. The very night Sukuna was reborn inside Yuuji, you stood in front of your injured son Megumi which fire burning inside you as Gojo watched the love and care you had for him and that boy behind you turn into a blast slamming the curse into the building. (Your initial concern for hurting the as-yet-unknown rosey-haired child diminished after having seen how Sukuna reinforced his body during a brief scuffle with your husband).

“Sukuna, you have seen that I am quite clearly pregnant, you’ve done what you came to do - off you go, unless you’re going to say you want tea -” with a snarl and muttering about the insolence of humans and the arrogance of every Gojo he retreats as a waking Yuuji looks around, clearly confused.

“Y/N? Why am I in the kitchen? I was asleep? Wait, why are you here, where’s Gojo-Sensei?” The words all tumble out mingled with a yawn from him. Seeing no reason to hide the truth, you continued. “You’re okay Yuuji, Satoru will be here in a minute, I’m just waiting here for him to finish up a quick mission, didn’t want to drive so I’ll go home with him. And as for why you’re in the kitchen, it seemed your body roommate wanted a midnight stroll.” You put your mug onto the counter as you reboil the water to make some tea for Yuuji, hoping it would coax him back to sleep. “Wait, Sukuna? Are you okay? Oh god, I’m so sorry, what did he want?” He flustered about.

“Yuuji honey, I’m absolutely fine, and you have nothing to be sorry for. He just wanted to see if the rumors of a new Six Eyes could be true. We were all completely safe sweetheart, I sent him packing and pretty much told him if he didn’t want tea he could piss off, he’s too smart to ever try anything that could put himself in danger - so don’t worry, you’re safe with Satoru and me around. Plus, I think this one is going to have both my temper and Satoru’s lack of sanity so, you’re surrounded by Gojo’s who love you.” You pat your belly and then his head and push the chamomile tea mug into his hands. He scratches the back of his neck and thanks you, muttering about how much of a dick Sukuna is. You giggle at him and sit down.

“Wait, did you really ask the king of curses if he wanted tea?” Yuuji asked as if that part of the story had just clicked in his head. “Well, Shoko always said I was too ballsy for someone my size.” You giggle and he laughs too, but nods, knowing you are one of the bravest (and kinda scary in a fight) people he’s met since joining the sorcery world.

“He didn’t want any tea though. Maybe he’s a hot chocolate kinda guy.” You say, with a straight face, Yuuji looks at you for a moment and then bursts into hysterical laughter as you giggle about wrapping Sukuna in a blanket and giving him cocoa with tiny marshmallows. As you’re finishing your tea, Satoru walks (flounces) through the door and leans down to pepper your face with kisses. “Well if it isn’t my dearest, darling, sweetheart, angel wife. Are you ready to go home? I have some snacks for us before bed.” He says as you notice the bags behind his back. He then turns to Yuuji, “Huh, you have Sukuna cooties tonight. What did I miss?” Itadori turns his nose up at the residuals being called cooties. “It’s alright, ‘Toru. Sukuna decided to check out whether the rumor of more Gojo spawn was true. Got poor Yuuji out of bed for it and all.” You reassured him.

“Huh, well, you okay, baby? He didn’t upset you did he?” You loved that Satoru had so much faith in your abilities and strength that he knew he needed to be nothing but support for you, and you’d spoken before about his being surrounded by sorcerers was the safest place for Yuuji to be so you both knew Sukuna wouldn’t risk his chance. You weren’t dumb enough to think you could take down Sukuna alone - only Satoru could have a chance, but you could definitely hold him off with your powerful cursed technique long enough for Satoru to arrive. You kissed his cheek and nodded that you were absolutely fine.

“Gojo-sensei, she offered him tea. Sukuna.” Yuuji said, still in disbelief. “That’s my girl!” Hearing this, Satoru laughed and pulled you into his chest, beaming at his beautifully snarky, witty wife.

“Now, Satoru, let’s get home - it’s late. I can see you yawning, Yuuji, back to bed.” You usher him down the hall to his dorm and make sure he gets into bed, as he sleepily tumbles into his Spider-Man sheets you’d gotten a few months back, you whisper goodnight to him. As you were about to close the door, you hear a very sleepy, barely awake ‘gnight mom, night dad.’ You squeeze Satoru’s hand as you smile at each other, wordless but endless appreciation for what you just heard and have only ever heard from Megumi (rarely) and Tsumiki (you missed hearing it from her). You knew Yuuji would be back to Y/N and Gojo-Sensei tomorrow but now in a sleepy vulnerable moment that’s how he saw and felt about you both was enough to know you guys must be doing something right.

“Satoru, we should really stop picking up stray kids on the street and keeping them.” You giggle thinking of the siblings, Yuuji and the sweet boy you cared for currently in Africa with Miguel. “Hm, nah, we need a whole collection, our own army - now c’mon, the baby just said ‘Hey dad get mom home I want to have cuddles and mochi with you’” in the worst baby impression ever he squeaked at you and he picked you up bridal style to warp you home, but not before you get in a quiet “oh really, when did you become the womb whisperer? That sounds like you want that to me.”

TAGLIST:

@vesta-ro *

@sassy-cat-in-town

@lilithlunas

@madam-ri

#jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fluff #itadori yuuji #megumi fushiguro #nobara kugisaki #ryomen sukuna #sukuna

[shepscapades]

I have two minds to answer this, because part of me is going 'WE GOT EM!!! WE GOT EM!!' While the other part of me is like 'oh god how do I tell them. Who’s going to tell them.' The easiest way I can explain: Tom, Ben, and Harry are not in a minecraft series together, and the lore that I have for them is not based in any actual series. HOWEVER. DON’T LET THE TRAGIC TRUTH MAKE YOU CLICK AWAY /silly so I can explain properly LMAO

Here’s a TLDR for anyone who likes these guys and is a lil interested in them!!

Most of the lore for these three is based on an amalgamation of inside jokes, non-minecraft character trends, and general yogs minecraft world lore!

Tom was an editor (now has a YouTube channel, AngoryTom) and did behind-the-scenes minecraft prep for the Yogscast for so long that he was never really interested in any actual "main channel" series besides [Dig Site - 10 episodes] with Simon, Lewis, and Ben, and [Skyblock - 2 episodes] with Ben! Although he’s also played several npcs throughout various main channel series since he was helping run the show lol. My take on his character is that he’s a former yoglabs employee due to [YOGLABS CLASSIFIED INFORMATION] and now lives his laziest life ever in an undisclosed remote location. He’s also the demigod of death but he’ll never tell

Ben started doing main series mc content a few years ago, but hasn’t done anything mc with Tom and Harry until recently (see below)! His character is a Shark Hybrid due to [YOGLABS CLASSIFIED INFORMATION] who now lives with Tom at the same undisclosed remote location.

Harry has been an insane speedrunning minecraft legend for ages, but was never in any main series content bc he’s actually a graphic designer for the yogs. But he was part of Iskall’s twitch vault hunter event back in November, and he’s now in the [Vault Hunter Series - Ongoing] with Ben and Duncan on YouTube! <3 so there’s plenty of mc content of Harry and Ben, but not so much Tom. c!Harry has lived remote for as long as he can remember, locked in Hardcore, until…?

But again, I base their backstories on a bunch of kinda loosely connected lore dots that are half based on jokes <3

Below the read more includes: links to clips, compilations, and very brief lore explanations (though you can check my other lore drawings in Tom’s tag (#Angory Tom), Ben’s tag (#bedgar), Harry’s tag (#brryhrry) or posts that have any of them, which should be under the (#the outcast trio) tag)!

BEN AND TOM

I’ve been in love with Ben and Tom as a duo forever, since the TTT (modded Trouble in Terrorist Town) days, where Ben’s player model was Left Shark, and Tom’s model was Emperor Palpatine (yes from Star Wars. I can’t stand them). But Ben and Tom have been yogs editors and Behind The Scenes guys forever, so it wasn’t until more recently that they became known personalities in the main yogscast circle (4-5 years is pretty recent in the 10+ years of yogs content timeline LMAO).

Through Warhammer streams and behind the scenes stuff, I kinda fell in love with their chemistry and idiocy, and they worked so well with the “main cast” that I just had to put them in the yogs minecraft universe, somewhere. Turns out, Tom had actually done a majority of the "behind the scenes" work for the Yoglabs series (he built a majority of the main building, did mod research and testing, was present during recordings to make sure things went well, stuff like that) so it only made sense to have his character be the Right Hand Man/ Behind The Scenes Assistant to Xephos (Lewis), the Morally Questionable Head of Yoglabs.

For anyone who’s unfamiliar with Yoglabs, it’s one of the yogs’ more famous series featuring Simon (Honeydew) and Lewis (Xephos) where they tested mods! more info can be found here!

c!Tom also ended up as a Lumian (the fanon alien space species for the yogs fandom, vaguely inspired by Star Trek Vulcans) because of a one-off joke where one of the Yogs artists drew him as a star trek commander, and I really didn’t need any further reason to make him a weird little guy LDKFJG

As far as the “demigod of death” thing goes, it felt right to give him a lore thing that vaguely coordinated with the whole “Emporer Palpatine” vibe, since that’s kinda the mc skin he’s used most recently. There’s another reason there that I don’t think I’ve properly explained, so I’ll leave the rest of that be for now ;]

Ben, on the other hand, plays a shark character in pretty much every video game he ever participates in, so shark hybrid was a pretty obvious way to go. And of course, since the duo had to be in the same place… involving Ben’s shark Hybrid-ness with yoglabs experimentation made good sense and good angst. What can I say :]

Here are the bigger lore posts I’ve made so far (in the order i posted them i believe!), explaining in a little more detail plus art to go with! :] [x] [x] [x]

HARRY

Harry is kinda known as the yogscast’s token memelord? But in the ironic way. He somehow makes it genuinely hilarious idk man. His humor is very dry, witty, and sarcastic, but he’s a sweetheart and kind of a god at minecraft. I’ve been arguing since day one that this man should be in mcc but we won’t go there

There aren't many solo harry compilations, so here's a link to a Harry and Ben compilation hehe

Regarding his minecraft lore, pretty much all of it is based around the idea that he’s a god at speedrunning and hardcore Minecraft. A common consensus in yogscast minecraft lore is that respawning is actually a Yoglabs-based mechanic tied to clones and clone making. I thought it would be interesting if Harry could be tied to a hardcore element in the yogs lore purely by having Somehow slid under yoglabs’ radar. And since he was never in any main channel (aka modded) series, i usually associate him with Vanilla mechanics, and since i also view mods as a Yoglabs-related lore element, it made sense! So basically— no clones, no respawns, no mods!

except that he’s in a main channel series now. So I’ll need to find a new lore reason around that DTBJDFGHK

And his design, well… this man’s skin is straight up Mr Mime, and there’s only so much I can do with that /silly But he’s a HUGE Pokémon fan! He’s played a couple of Disaster Nuzlockes with Lydia from the yogs a year or so ago, if that’s something you’re interested in! Was a huge comfort series for me for the longest time and rly good background noise, theyre soooo good at Pokémon I promise <3

Harry does more twitch stuff (hrry on twitch) than youtube stuff, so twitch is the best place to check him out if you're interested in his solo content!

Last thing I'll say about him is that he designed and ran an original minecraft minigame called "Capture the Wool" and he and Martyn are the hosts for a few episodes i think! i dont think there's any way to explain how entertaining it is to listen to him announce the chaos of yogs members trying to play competitive minecraft LOL

Um, so. TLDR…2, These guys are basically my ocs and now I get Actual minecraft content from them which is crazy. I love them as content creators and cool guys so so much though, so! Definitely recommend listening to these idiots (affectionate) babble and ramble to each other, mc or not <3

#yogscast #bedgar #angory tom #BrryHrry #hrry #ben #tom #the outcast trio #art escapades #sorry that's so long but my love for them is showing hehe #i haven't completed decided if i want the “the outcast trio” tag to be for posts with ANY of them or just ALL of them so -- #if you have a preference feel free to lmk <3 #also feel free to lmk if you check them out :3 they are everything to the me!

[ruinedbylanadelrey]

King of Your Heart

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 1 "Just Friends"

summary: All that Frankie has ever wanted to be was your everything. After years of being best friends one phone call changes everything between the two of you.

inspired by The King by Sarah Kinsley

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI,age gap (reader is 28-29, Frankie 38-39) friends with benefits -> situationship, Frankie isn't a dad, jealously, best friends with benefits, reader is lowkey toxic, reader wears makeup, reader has long hair, self-hate (both characters), drugs, alcohol consumption, smut, unprotected sex, yearning, secrets, no y/n, pet names, frankie "pussy eating king" morales, switch!Frankie, switch!Reader, blind dates, possessiveness, triple frontier boys, Tom is dead, reader is a flirt, Frankie getting cucked, praise kink, reader has complicated relationship with her body, Frankie is a dick (later)

AN: i know it's a lot but here you go. i'm so excited to start this series and having it as my first non-Joel Miller series, I would to like to say that this is love letter to my first situationship.

inside the world of king of your heart

playlist

series mainlist | main masterlist

"Hey princess, what's up?" Frankie answered your phone call at 10 pm and Frankie was late-night grocery shopping. "Do you want to come over tonight-" "Yes-" "and have sex?" Frankie crashes his basket into a support beam for the high ceilings.

You held the phone between your shoulder and ear as you looked into the mirror checking out the black satin bra and matching black thong with rhinestones on the hips. You smirked when you heard Frankie curse.

He was your best friend and you guys always made the joke about you two hooking up. Everyone else in the friend group already thinks the two of you have sex anyway. You are horny and you know Frankie is too. He hasn't had sex in a year and you are also in the same boat.

"Yes or no to sex? I still want to hang out if you don't want to fuck. " You chuckled and sat on your bed listening to Frankie breathing hard and clearing his throat.

"I'm down for whatever-" "Okay, Frankie be here in 30 minutes" You hung up the phone and smirked at yourself. You love the feeling of anticipation before you get fucked. It aroused you more than foreplay and sex itself. 30 minutes on the dot Frankie is letting himself into your apartment with the spare key you gave him a few months ago.

Frankie's boots make a thud when he takes them off and throws them near your shoes at the door, the sound had you throwing on his gray 'ARMY' shirt that you stole when you slept over at his place a couple of weeks back.

"Hey," You smile and walk up to him, he turns around and smiles takes you into his arms, and gives you the warm bear hug that you like most about him.

"Hey," Frankie says into your hair and lets you go. You look up at him and could see the nervousness and indecisiveness in his eyes. "Frankie we don't have to do anything, we can just hang out." You cup his face in your hands, your thumbs brush over the patch of skin that refuses to let any facial hair grow.

Frankie covers your delicate hands with his rough hands and closed his eyes taking in how your skin feels against him and how the rest of your body would feel. "Iwanttoifyouwantto." Frankie said so fast you took a second to comprehend what he said.

You giggle at how sweet he was being like he wanted to be assertive and take you there right up against the front door. "C'mon let's go to my room." You walked backward and pulled Frankie along with you, he stopped you and tugged you to him, and smashes his lips onto yours. One arm around your waist and the other one snaking its way up your back. You found yourself kissing him back without a chance to process that now a line is being crossed and there's no going back. 

"You're a good kisser," You say pulling away and looking at your best friend. Frankie laughs and leads the way to your bedroom. "I'm good at a lot of things, princess" Frankie opens the door and the room smells like your perfume and whatever candle you had burning and a mix of weed in the air. You roll your eyes at his arrogant comment. 

Frankie shrugs over his tan jacket and takes off his cap setting them on the chair at your vanity. Frankie looks at the various makeup products left out, your signature lip gloss, concealer, blush, and highlighter; he only knows anything about what's your vanity because you decided to crash course him on your beauty routine one day. 

He looks at you and sees that you put some on lightly to bring out your natural beauty. You get on the bed and kneel waiting for him to join. The gray shirt rides up your thighs and the black satin thong peeking between your legs.

He's seen you in just your bra and underwear and he would only allow himself to look when you turned around. But now he is taking everything, the way your hair is in a ponytail, the girlish glint in your eyes, your thighs looking so plush, and your lips glossy and tinted a delicious pink. "We should set some rules," you say before letting Frankie undress you, he's between your legs and touching your aching core through the thong.

The rules were simple:

1. Just sex with aftercare

2. NO ONE KNOWS

and the secret rule #3 Don't catch feelings. 

It seemed simple and easy. It was supposed that way for Frankie but then you walk in the room, your perfume wafts and hits his nostrils. You smile and wave at the table of ex-military that you adopted as your close friends. Frankie feels his knees grow weak, 'how is that even possible? I'm sitting down' Frankie's mind wonders. You have always been off limits to him, just because of the fact you were his best friend and also everyone else's friend. But does this mean he was never off-limits to you? Has anyone ever been off-limits too? 

"Are those good for you?" You whimpered, basking in the heat of Frankie's finger teasing you through the fabric. "Yes," Frankie practically pants as he pulls the thong, you sigh and let Frankie look at you, for what seemed like a lifetime Frankie gets his fix on your body and throws your legs over his shoulders. He kisses down your thighs and spreads your lips open and diving his tongue into your slicked hole. 

The feeling of his hot wet tongue dipping inside you had you arching your back and gripping his hair holding him in place, you fuck his tongue inside of you. "Fuck, Frankie you're such a good boy," You moan, and Frankie whimpers at the praise. You smirked when he squeezed his eye shut when the moan left his mouth. He slips his fingers into you, fucking them into you and curled them hitting the sweet spot, having you fall over the edge. You were taken by surprise at how you quickly came and Frankie lapping your slick. 

It's been a year since you had sex and you had enough of just you and the vibrator. "You taste so good, princess," Frankie rests his head on the inside of your thigh, lightly kissing it and his fingers still fucking you, Frankie loved how your eyes were glossy and the lust growing in them. He finally felt how hard he was, it wasn't like anything he felt before. Your moans and whimpers made his heart skip a beat. He lies to himself thinking that he is in a moment and that he hasn't been with a woman in a long time. What person wouldn't ache for a woman in pleasure?

"Fuck me," You opened your legs wider, Frankie quickly undresses and a blush crept on his face when he realized that he was now naked in front of his best friend. His gaze was fixed on your body with a sheen of sweat. You looked so beautiful and it was comfortable.

'Why is this so easy?' you both thought when Frankie wraps your legs around his torso. "Condom?" Frankie interrupts his next move, and you giggled and smiled at him. "I'm clean and have an IUD, so if you want one I have some," You said as your hand finds the drawer on the bedside table. Frankie grabs your hand and holds it. "I'm clean too," Frankie says while leaning down and locking your lips with his. 

Frankie slowly sinks into your warmth. You whined at the stretch of your walls, parts of you that couldn't be reached by your fingers were being hit for the time as he slams himself inside you. Frankie looks down at how your jaw falls slack from his cock deep inside you. The moans and whimpers leaving your mouth were adding the fire in the pit of your stomach, you looked like an angel, he almost feels like he is defiling a beautiful goddess. What is a goddess if she isn't worshipped? 

"You are too pretty for your own good, princess," Frankie grunts with each thrust, being so hard and rough.  "Harder, baby," you cry out and your pussy clenches around him, Frankie moans when he looked down at how his cock is coated in a white cream. His pace picks up and starts pounding into your cunt.

Frankie grabs your waist and flips you onto your stomach. The new position is so primal, you were flat against the bed as he drills himself into your aching core, your juices dripping down your thighs and onto the bed. The coil in your stomach winds up tighter, and your walls flutter around his thick cock. "I'm coming," you scream into the pillow, your bliss being muffled by the plush fabric. 

Frankie's hands slide up your back and fist your hair, pulling your head so he looks at you coming undone beneath him. Your eyes sparkled and your mouth open letting out the most beautiful sounds he has ever heard. "Cum inside me, Frankie...please," you pant, Frankie thrust into you deeply and he lets go and releases his pleasure inside of you, filling you up to where his cum spills out of your pussy.

He pulls out and lays a kiss on your back. Silence filled the air when he gets up and grabs a washcloth from your bathroom. Gently cleaning you up, you were in shock by him caring for you. It wasn't normal for you. "Thank you," You said hoarsely, "Anything for you, princess," Frankie smiles, he could feel a warmth bloom inside his chest and you had the same reaction inside you. 

The feeling made your stomach flip and made you realize that being 'just friends' is something you can't go back to. Why does 'When Harry Met Sally' have to be right? Right? Maybe you and Frankie are different from the rest of your gender's population. Frankie values friendship over anything and everyone knows that you will choose friendship over anything too. 

"We are just friends," You blurted causing Frankie to stop his trip back to the bathroom to clean himself up. His back is to you, so you can't see his face when he says "Just friends," Frankie felt exposed, not from being completely naked but it was like you could see his heart starting to glow and slowly dim. 

"Are you staying the night?" You get up and walk with Frankie to the shower, you both get in and start washing each other. "I can if you want me to," Frankie was short with response and you could feel the dynamic change. You look at him as he washes your body.

Is this crossing the line? Bathing the other person. "It's late and I want you here," You took the wash cloth and started to scrub his body, you watched his muscles tense and relax. "I'll stay, princess," Frankie sighs while you moved him to the stream of water. The air between you and Frankie has always been filled with tension but now it's about to snap.

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fluff #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x f!reader #pedro pascal

[posallys]

ok 1 ur desktop theme is GORG and 2 i need (if u wanna) ur thoughts about the show (or show sally in gen bc ur the only one i trust with her)

thank you!! i was actually thinking about updating it but maybe i wont 🤭🤭 and i have a lot of thoughts about the show except none only very few of them are good and i will be crucified by the 13-year-olds

im going to tell you anyway.

i will start with something i like....percy being angry. like yes give me the anger of a 12 year old who feels utterly alone in the world and doesn't understand (or does and it makes him more angry)

the fight scenes are dog shit. the only kind of cool one was in the arch but it was only cool because of percy doing the bait and switch and falling through the arch...the fights are bland boring sucky whatever other synonym you wanna use

uhhhhh sally jackson is not and would never be sitting in the rain pining of the god she told to leave....and especially not to teen pop...if she WERE going to act like a 16 year old and do the pining thing it would be to fucking like...billy joel and ricky martin and donny hathaway and stuff llike that okay...

i will preface this by saying that yes i understand that talking back to an abuser the way sally does in ep 1 doesn't make the abuse less abusive....however i DO not like the fact that that scene explicitly goes against sally characterization in the books....i am not digging my book out atm but the part where percy is like "my mother has never raised her voice or said an unkind word to anyone"....me thinks the writers all read the books 10 years ago and are going off of memory alone + or their brains are so clouded by the obsessive Big Screen Need to make women a badass girlboss slay queen i fucking hate it here

LET ANNABETH BE SILLY AND FUNNY AND CUTE AND CRY AND NOT BE AN ADULT THANK YOU....hated that they made annabeth the one to realize that it was medusa and not grover...give me back grover having to wrangle percy and annabeth into backpack leashes just to keep them on task/stop them from wandering off...book trio i miss you

i absolutely ADORE leah, walker, and aryan though the three of them are so so perfect, A+ casting no notes couldn't have done it better myself. if it weren't for the three of them i would have zero hope for the show i cannot lie...they're carrying. without them it's just..bad.

the pacing???? bad.

why did we waste half of the 4th ep on the train with echidna...stupid dumb pointless i hate it here

i do like the whole not all monsters are monsters and the gods aren't inherently good just because they're gods thing they've got going on though...very inch resting...silently hoping that they do a complete 180 and have percy side with luke and redo the series from there because that would be iconic as fuck <3 a girl can dream because at least then i could take the show at face value and not take 80 health damage every time they mess up a key part of the books...im at -29834 heath rn.

where was the time at chb before the quest??? the oh so important vital scene where luke teaches percy to sword fight???? like BRO that's soooooooooooo important to ME how could you get rid of that

not having annabeth show percy around camp

additionally, not having annabeth feed him the nectar and ambrosia, WHICH BY THE WAY they haven't even mentioned in the show yet...plot armor gone rip

not the fredrick chase sympathy while simultaniously blaming the woman...........rick when i get my hands on you...

annabeth having to EARN thalia's love??? absolutely not probably one of their biggest fuck ups fr.

the scene where sally is talking about Poseidon to percy...i do not like it sam i am. bad. not wistful enough not longing enough not sad enough not gut wrenching enough...also not completely here for sally telling percy that his dad was a god because....sallys whole thing was NOT telling him in order to keep him safe...i know they changed it in the show so sally knew he was going to camp immediately but that does not mean i have to like it

the scene with sally and percy in the pool. i hated everything about that. sally would never talk to percy like that never talk to him about money never make it seem embarassing NOT TO MENTION that percy simply wasn't scared of the water. that's stupid as fuck. theres a part in the book where percy literally says being by the water calms both him and his mom like...come the fuck on just admit you can't fucking read or at least didn't read the book.

sally annabeth get behind me so they cant hurt you anymore

i did loveeeee percy praying to sally though...absoutely insane and true of them. also the "I AM SALLY JACKSON'S SON" yesss baby you tell them about your mommy!!!!!!

them making athena moa level bad in tlt is quite interesting. setting up annabeth siding with percy pretty well.

also the whole impertinence thing over medusa's head was weird to me. when annabeth first said that i had immediately thought that annabeth's impertinence was telling percy to pray to poseidon IN ATHENA'S TEMPLE bc that made much more sense to me...but whatever

the annabeth/medusa parallel is intriguing at the very least

the underwater scene with the neraid was cool even though i hated the parallel to the pool scene w/ sally.

the dumbass pinecone fate line. 0/10 did you read the book? did you pay attention to how empathetic and reflective percy was when he found out about thalia?

honestly....i think disney was just the wrong place to go with this show because it's like what...pg? it should be pg 13 and should have more... sustenance.

this medusa was so cool though. which we could've seen a fight.

i need to know how many women are in the writer's room though...because It Does Not Look Good. funny how the characters that they're fucking up are all women....crazy. weird. totally coincidental.

are we just not going to talk about the vitality and pressure of getting the bolt back on time? where is the inherent inevitable danger, the suspense, the fear of not accomplishing a seemingly impossible talk looming over everything

this is 10000% not all of my thoughts but im not going to rewatch in order to collect them all so this is what you get xoxox

#taylor answers #ask tag #anon #pjo tv #pjo tv crit #pjo show #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson

[haejjoon]

Hiiii

First of all I want to say that I love your art and I really admire it. It has kind of make me want to go back to drawing again. I used to draw a lot a few years ago but I stopped because I became unhappy with my progress. Now I want to go back to making art but I'm insecure about it because I'm worried I'm too old to start again (I'm 19) and whether I'm capable of relearning it properly. Do you have any tips about where to begin to learn art basics (specifically anatomy)? I would appreciate any advice.

Hello!!! Firstly thank you so much for the compliments, it really does mean so much <333

I'm nineteen, too! Of course you can start art again. I've taken a lot of breaks in between my own art, too, and it's only very recently that I started enjoying making art again (after .... like.... a year or two. lord) so I really do understand how you feel. But we're nineteen years young, and have so much time ahead of us to get back on our feet.

In my experience, improving comes quickest when you focus on one very specific skill at a time—and I mean SPECIFIC. Practicing gestures with torsos only, the muscles of the upper arm, skeleton heads in different angles. I've been studying arm anatomy (and only arm anatomy) recently, and I'm already miles ahead of how I used to draw arms in the past.

If you want a specific step by step on how I personally draw anatomy, I don't mind sharing a quick tutorial! But for general advice—form follows gesture, and gesture follows movement. The biggest mistake someone can make while drawing a body is focusing on the accuracy of the muscles/bones before getting the flow of the gesture down.

Even if the anatomy looks a bit wonky with the gesture, it's important that you capture the movement of the pose first, and then build muscle on top of that. Proko on Youtube has a very good quick drawing series on this, and explains it way better than I do, but that's the gist of it.

Also, PLEASE always use references! I know that hearing that gets old, but it's really important. If you'd like, I can make a quick tutorial on how to use references properly, too. Reference everything—pose, lighting, even art style if you're looking to switch things up (i have about 10 different tabs open on my computer with different artists I admire so I can reference their art religiously).

Speaking of referencing art styles, it's important to gather a bunch of artists you like in terms of style, and not just one. The trick is to separate them by skill—"this artist is for lining refs", "this artist is for anatomy refs", "this artist is for face refs", etc, etc.

And to jump off of That: I find that with anatomy, looking at other peoples' anatomy studies on pinterest is also very helpful. Obviously you should be referencing from real life too, but with art, it can be difficult to pin down what to put on the page and what to leave to the imagination. You wouldn't want to actually draw every single muscle in the arm individually, right? So I go and look at other artists' anatomy studies to see what they keep and what they don't keep.

(usually i find them on pinterest, and they look smth like this. the color coded ones especially help me.)

I'd recommend learning gesture and anatomy first, then building off of that to learn how to draw faces, then lining/coloring, just so that you have a solid base to work off on when it is finally time to color. (also because coloring/lighting requires a fair bit of how body anatomy works as well!!)

But yes, that's all the advice I can give from laying in my bed. I hope it helped somewhat, and if you'd like tips on how to do something more specific, I'm always willing to draw it out or go more in depth ^^ Best of luck on your art journey!

#asks

[bookwyrminspiration]

KOTLC Graphic Novel: B&N Virtual Event Summary

There are no spoilers

Shannon Messenger was accompanied by Stuart Gibbs, author of Spy School and other series, who asked the questions

Enjoy!

Event's theme was Iggy Celebration--Shannon chose to wear dark blue, as it's secretly her favorite Iggy

It's officially called Dark Blue Iggy in the books, but the actual color nomination from fans was "tardis blue". She couldn't use that for potential legal issues, but she knows it's actually Tardis blue, making it her favorite

Shannon can't take credit for Iggy's changing color

She'd made him pink in book 2, and so a fan at an event asked her what color he'd be in the next book

Shannon asked her what color she wanted him to be. This fan, dressed in head to toe purple, leaned in and very seriously said "Orange." So Iggy was orange

Opened it to fans after that--but sadly never got the name of that one fan to thank her properly ("Whoever you are girl in purple, thank you!")

Book 10 doesn't have an official release date because Shannon's still writing it (as fast as she can!)

Iggy's color options for Book 10 are still undecided as well

Shannon thanks everyone immensely for their patience; "it's my focus! I want to get to them as fast as possible," but she also wants the book to be good and worth the wait

"Naive Shannon thought the later I got into the series the easier the books would be to write. WRONG!"

she has so many planted seeds to keep track of and constantly feels the pressure to one up her previous books

"I kinda wish I'd set the bar a little lower from the beginning"

She can't make a perfect book; there's always going to be someone who doesn't like something

She's reached the point of realizing her plans, and it's a delicate balance. You don't want reveals to feel like they came completely out of left field, but also don't want them to be like "I guessed that six books ago"

Finding the balance between feeling earned and still surprising is a daunting task ahead of her; it's more labor intensive than she thought it'd be

Stuart Gibbs points out that even if it takes a while, Shannon gives us a lot of book per book, so it's worth it

Shannon never intended to write such long books; she used to say every time that the next one she'd get the hang of being concise and it would be shorter, but everyone stopped believing her by book four

Was a graphic novel adaptation ever part of her plans? Secretly yes--she started as an art major and loves seeing illustrated versions of her characters. The highlight of her year is the cover art, and graphic novels are entire books!

It was on her author bucket-list, but she wasn't sure it'd would be possible; some books just don't work as graphic novels and they're expensive for publishers

When she found out she got the adaptation she "did a happy dance I was very grateful no one could see"

How involved were you in this process? Very involved, since her publishers know she has an art background

They let her pick from writers who auditioned--she wasn't sure that was a great idea because she didn't know if she could be objective; "no, I wrote it this way because it needs to be this way!"

Celina "knocked it out of the park" with her audition

For Gabriella, the artist, she was exactly what Shannon was looking for; she wanted a new style--Jason Chan (the cover artist) is incredible, but she wanted the GN to be distinct and more illustrated

She describes the GN as "like Disney meets manga," cartoonish but not

Shannon gave notes on rough drafts, inked pages, and colored versions--she's sure they got sick of her notes by the end of it

She remembers thinking "certain Keefe jokes MUST make it in," but then seeing them in the visual format they realized "huh, this joke isn't funny anymore"

Anything that surprised you about the process? Definitely some of those Keefe jokes not working, but also the fact they had to split it. At first she thought they could work it all into one, but emotion takes longer to convey visually, and they were "robbing the heart out of the book" by trying to fit it in one

Shannon jokes everything she writes ends up longer than they expect

Do you have any idea about part two? It's in the works, but it's a herculean task for the artists, so it all depends on them; "do not blame them at all! this is a daunting, daunting, massive work load"

Shannon owes Gabriella "all the cookies ever"

it's a very tight timeline, so they'll share the release date when they have it, but for now just let the artist do their thing

Was it weird to spend so much time with book 1 again? Forget anything? Want to change anything? There were some sentences she wanted to rewrite--"a book is never done, it's just due"

Thought about adding Gisela in book one, since she wishes she'd introduced her then; she always knew she'd play a huge role, but thought it'd be more clever to not introduce her until she was ready to bring her into play.

Now she disagrees with that decision and wishes she'd been there from book one, but decided that "it's not bad the way she did it, but it would've been more elegant" so she didn't change it

Does Gibbs have anything he would change about his book? He says you don't always know which characters will catch on, some some that become important he wishes he spent more time with in the beginning--"if I'd done this in book one, I couldn't done this in book 7!"

Any movie news? Hollywood is so much hurry up and wait, a ladder with thousands of rungs; they got caught at the script stage when the writer's strike happened, and even though the strike ended that doesn't mean the gears start turning again immediately.

the script is the most important thing, especially since KOTLC would be a very expensive movie, so the more solid the foundation the better the chance they have of getting greenlit

Her fingers are crossed; she wants a movie/show, but she wants it to be a good movie/show

Fans often don't realize how much work it is and how out of the author's hands it is

Reader questions! (name spellings are to the best of my ability)

Celiana: what advice do you have for young authors? Focus on writing and enjoying that part of the process before publishing! Publishing is stressful and complicated

Shannon throws the question to Gibbs. He says a lot of the times fans tell them they don't like their writing, it's their first draft. "Well that would be the problem."

Very few people hit it out of the park on their first try. Editing is a super important part of the process!

Shannon writers her books weird (editing intensely as she goes because she's always behind on deadlines, and hopes to go back to normal one day), but before that she'd have 2 or 3 drafts each. Book 1 was draft 20, Exile was draft 3, Everblaze was 2.

Gibbs does about 10 drafts each (though admits his outlines process isn't nearly as rigorous as Shannon's)

Shannon reached a point where she said "I don't think I'm smart enough to do this alone anymore!" Her books are like houses of cards, and she simply doesn't have time for the drafts to fall apart

She and her team frequently painstakingly plan things out--and even then sometimes have to scrap things. Remember that scene we rigorously went through last week? "it's not working! Now what?"

Mary Claire: Was it hard for you to find a publisher? Yes. First she got an agent, as that's important when traditionally publishing. She got her at draft 13--said that while she loved the book and its idea, you could tell this was Shannon's first book.

They went through a few edits and thought draft 15 was the one, but she got LOTS of rejections

her confidence was shaken, and draft 16 turned into a mess

At draft 18 it was sold, and then they went through 2 more versions with an actual editor; "so so much rewriting..."

Gibbs tried to get published as a kid, but was rejected throughout all of his schooling, so "to heck with this! I'm going to Hollywood to write movies"...which was actually pretty similar

he came back to writing 15.5 years ago during the last writers strike--"hey maybe I should try this book thing again"

They don't share their experiences to scare you; it's worth it, but you have to love writing to be an author given how much work and rejection it is

That's why Shannon says to enjoy the writing stage as long as you can; you need to fall in love with writing and with your story and truly believe in it

Were you always reading as a kid? Writing stories? When did you decide to write a book? Shannon was very focused on art as a kid and wanted to be a Disney animator, but her art doesn't work for that; she can't draw what's in her head, she can only copy, which "makes me about as useful as a camera"

She thought she could learn the skill, but couldn't in art classes; she realized she was always going to be frustrated if she kept at it

She'd started college at 16 and now her life plan was falling to pieces, so her mom advised her to take a class for fun

it was a film class, since she thought she'd be able to watch TV for school

she was, but her teacher also encouraged her to go to film school since she could finally bring things out properly on the page how they were in her head

"You have a lot to learn, but I see something in you." "Cool, I'm a film major now. Answered!"

Turns out film is too collaborative for her and she wanted more control; "there's those book things, I guess I could try those."

She doesn't regret the journey

Addie: How do you et the ideas to write? Shannon wishes she had a tree that sprouted money and great ideas, but really ideas are everywhere and it's a matter of paying attention.

You don't need your whole idea all at once--can be small like "I wonder if that hat...wasn't a hat at all!"

She knew she wanted to work with elves, and she knew she wanted to strip the magic from the story in favor of sci-fi/superhero logistics. The rest came bit by bit

Some days she couldn't write fast enough, others it was "oo, what if they wore capes?"

Elizabeth: what do you do when you have writers' block? Shannon doesn't like to call it that because that makes it seem scarier than it is; to her it's just being stuck, and she plays the "what if?" game

What if I got rid of the previous scene? What if they went here instead? What if, what if, what if? Open yourself to new possibilities

Gibbs is a big going for a walk person for when you're stuck. We all get stuck, not just young writers. he also likes hiking--walking but not coming back for a while.

At this point a poll was sent to the audience asking them to choose between 5 pairs. Bolded won with percentage included afterwards

Teleporting or light leaping? (63%). Eternalia or Mysterium? (63%). Bathe a T-Rex or Pet a Verminion? (55%). Telepath or Empath? (62%). Cape or No Cape? (60%)

Shannon's surprised the Keefe fans didn't pull through with the Empath vote

No matter what Shannon writes, someone's going to be unhappy, so she started pulling back on appealing to fans and prioritizes what fits the story

Marissa: Will Iggy ever go back to grey? That's up to the readers! Shannon leaves it completely in our hands, so if we ever nominate and vote for grey, she'll write it.

Shannon thanks everyone for reading and being patient, as she's writing as fast as she can

When a book is released she usually celebrates with a dessert; she ordered a bunch of fall flavor donuts from Krispy Kreme today, so she's not sure if she'll save one for tomorrow or get something new

It's dangerous that she can just push a button and donuts will show up at her house (doordash)

Gibbs and Shannon hope everyone love the graphic novel as much as they do--and stay tuned for part 2!

#kotlc #kotlc graphic novel #i feel like there's less new knowledge than usual in an event but that makes sense #since a graphic novel adaptation is very different from a new book #anyway. hope you enjoyed and find some of this interesting or useful! #i've pared my notes down a little so there's a few things that didn't make the cut #but i think it's still pretty thorough :)

[autisticlancemcclain]

thank u @zenstrike for the tag <333333333 i see ur mic and i'm elated about it

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

185! but i haven't updated in like a week and a half so we're probably closer to 190

2. what’s your total ao3 word count?

556,104. i am very excited to watch it jump up when i finally finish my longfic teehee

3. what fandoms do you write for?

literally just voltron lol. well not counting baby me's wattpad lol. i started writing almost two years ago and just went ham basically. i've been intentionally avoiding things that i know i will get hyperfixated on bc i don't want to stop my writing obsession lol

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

ooooou i'm excited to check. i know it's changed quite a bit over time. i usually sort them by hits!

i will grind you to sand (beneath my louboutin heels) [voltron, 2573 words]: bamf lance fic where i give him a revolver and let him go ham basically

mr. snuggles [voltron, 1656 words]: one of my very earliest fics! lance, lover of weirdo animals, finds a demonic cat-sized spider and adopts it despite his friend's freakouts

he might not look like he gets bitches (but honey that dick was eleven inches) [voltron, 1136 words]: this one is so dorky lol but it's just secret relationship klance coming to light in the most embarrassing possible way

does anyone know where the love of god goes (when the waves turn the minutes to hours) [voltron, 4283]: a canon divergence au where lance is a seer and convinces the skeptics on his team of his abilities by ending the war

this is the part of me that you're never gonna ever get away) [voltron, 3262 words]: a lance & shiro hurt/comfort with a small autistic lance character study! i'm very proud of this one

5. do you respond to comments?

i definitely do on tumblr! it's one of the first things i do when i wake up actually. on ao3, though...i'm pretty sure i have about eight hundred unanswered comments sitting in my inbox 💀 it's an ongoing issue

6. what’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i'm almost sure it's this post-game show lance leaving fic, because i got comments and asks for weeks begging me to write a happy ending lol. but this fic from the hana universe, from when keith is little and shiro is fighting for custody and they haven't figured things out yet. that one is sad. this dream pov adashi fic is also sad and has no happy ending bc, you know. shiro is in space and adam thinks he's dead and everything. my loneliest series is also still in progress and as such there is no happy ending. and this is my earliest angsty-ending fic with MCD

7. what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

oh god pretty much everything i write has a happy ending?? if i’m being serious?? frankly i don’t do a lot of linear plot. i just write Scenes that are vaguely connected. BUT my h2o fic had a plot that ended happily, as did my cowboy fic, but truly i’m more of a slice of life kinda gal. all my active wips are plot-driven, though, and i plan for all of them to end happily.

8. do you get hate on fics?

oh god yeah. i get it on brown eyed lance, autistic lance, adhd keith, allura just in general (are you sensing a pattern), my refusal to use readmores, and lately just some demands for me to write differently/more?? most of it is just funny so i post it to goof on it lol, but some of it i just delete and pout about until i forget about it 💀

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

yes and it’s nasty and i will literally never ever post it. although i guess i’ve written some softer stuff that’s more allusion than anything, like in my loneliest series.

10. do you write crossovers? what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

not anymore, but i did when i was a kid?? i think i wrote a pjo/hoo/divergent/the mortal instruments/homestuck/a bunch of other shit fic when i was 13. i’ve successfully blocked that era out of my mind tho so i’m not sure. i do a lot of insane aus, tho. i wrote a fic based off a country song written in the sixties. so.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

i’ve had people write continuations of my wips?? which i didn’t rly like. i just ignored it.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

someone has asked me about translating a fic before! haven’t heard anything since tho.

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

i have tried. i’m not very good at it. i have very Specific ideas about things and can be very controlling, so it’s honestly better that i don’t lol.

14. what’s your all-time favorite ship?

klance, easy. been in the trenches of this goddamn fandom since i was 13 years of age. it’s been a Journey.

15. what’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

god, the butterfly effect. i get people asking me to update all the time and i genuinely feel bad, because i have absolutely no ideas or plans for it. i might try to come up with an ending of some kind?? but i wrote that like two years ago, so i have changed a LOT about my writing since then.

16. what are your writing strengths?

dialogue and humour, i think. and sometimes writing lack of emotional communication (if that makes sense — i like to try and write around an emotion).

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

i over explain a lot. and i overuse dialog ur tags sometimes. i have a Very Specific scene playing out in my head and i want everyone else to see it like i’m seeing it, which is my downfall a lot. i’ve been trying to work on implicit stage directions.

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

i think sometimes it’s necessary? it can be a good tool for humour, like with cussing that can’t be achieved in english. but while i understand and read several languages i have always always struggled to speak or write in them. it’s very frustrating so i often avoid the subject entirely lol.

19. first fandom you wrote for?

i’ve been writing fanfic in my head since before i knew what it was, but i started typing things at around 11 when i used to homestuck roleplay with my friends lol. messy messy times.

20. favorite fic you’ve ever written?

oh i am my own target audience. i have several.

i need a man (who’s patient and kind): keith-centric post canon (divergence) fic where lance takes him to his family and keith is good with kids and just keith being loved is the whole point. always.

what if i lose it all: an alternate universe where lance, as a baby, loses both his parents, and then is raised by his oldest siblings. in luis’ pov.

when does a ripple become a tidal wave (when does the reason become the flame): brogane fight & angst canon divergence post season 6; covering shiro’s guilt complex and keith’s unwavering loyalty

he’s into superstitions (black cats and voodoo dolls): halloween verse with witch lance and vampire keith! i have barely spoken about this au on here but rest assured i’m thinking about it all the fucking time

the applebee’s universe: modern au with young keith and lance learning how to love each other

ceilings (plaster): non-linear dream-like fic that’s just so trippy and strange i’m obsessed with it

if the sky comes falling down (for you) there’s nothing in this world i wouldn’t do: a keith character study about how the biggest bleeding heart in the universe loves

the hana universe: brogane-centric universe as their family starts rocky and grows

thank u again for the tag zen <33 open offer for anyone else who would like to hop on!!

#writer games #? #info #tag game #longpost

[invinciblerodent]

I'm sure someone smarter than me has said all this before, but 7000 vampire spawn, over roughly 200 years (let's just use that number y'know, why not), is just like. 35 per year. On average, give or take. With the Faerunian calendar of 36*10 days to a year, that's just about one person per tenday.

And going by the rules on "Handling Undead Hunger" outlined in Libris Mortis (yes it's 3.5E but the most complete guide on the undead in DnD that I know of), a vampire would need to feed roughly every 3 days in order to be comfortable.

30-some missing persons going unaccounted for over the course of a year in a city with as much crime as Baldur's Gate, is... probably reasonable, but there's likely at least some indication of an upper limit to how many mysterious disappearences the Flaming Fist will just not bother investigating. I don't recall there being mention of anything like willing blood donors or anything (if there were some and I just missed it this whole thing falls apart btw), but to go out and nab a new person each time ~~Master~~ is feeling peckish, that's just. That's just unsustainable. That'd be 120 people per year, or 2.5 per tenday. At that pace, not only would they have all gotten caught, they'd have completed the ritual in like under 60 years (which, from Sebastian just being alive, we know they got started at least 170 years ago).

So if we assume that the number of those brought in remained at least kinda consistent regardless of how many spawn were out actively hunting (20-50 per year sounds... kinda realistic), it could be reasonable to also assume that each victim was, on average, the "meal" for roughly ten days before ultimately being drained fully and turned. (Yes, I thought about draining them first and keeping bloodbanks, but... leaving them alive to keep them fresher for longer is more cruel, so lbr, it's more likely.)

It's... probably halfway reasonable then to assume then that Cazador fed off the average victim like 2-4 times, over the course of a number of days, no?

There's some room for variation in that number of course, like there were probably leaner years at the start, and later with 7 spawn all hunting consistently, the time between each was probably somewhat shorter, plus there were likely cases (like Astarion) when there was only one bite total. Maybe sometimes more were brought in at once for those parties that were mentioned, only to be..... stored, and uh..... enjoyed over the course of the next... however long time, during which the "favored" spawn maybe even got to "enjoy" some downtime.

so. that's a series of fun (not relly) thoughts.

I swear, every time I think about Cazador for whatever reason, that whole shitshow just gets worse.

[btw if we take Astarion's "I've bedded thousands" comment literally and assume he personally brought in around 2000 over ~170 years of being a spawn (there could be fewer and he could be rounding up like he consistently rounds 170 up to 200, but if it's significantly more, his siblings all must seriously suck at hunting), that's roughly an average of like... 12 people a year. Which is bad, of course, don't get me wrong, but I honestly halfway expected it to be a much less realistic-sounding number, I guess.]

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 cazador #cazador szarr #take this away from me please #i need this out of my brain #i need to stop thinking about this goddamn part of the game #it's just. so fascinatingly gross and cruel and evil #squirrel plays bg3 #i drop in at half past midnight with the numbers #im sleepy okay and i watched a “rare dialogue” video that was recommended to me on youtube #and it just. got me thinking

[wolfiemcwolferson]

Helllllooooo, I was tagged by @duquesademiel and also @vicsy and I feel a bit deranged but here we go.

1. How many works do you have on ao3

I have 73 fics up on my f1 ao3 account.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 

Please do not judge me for this, god, oh my god - 1,331,441

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I currently write for F1.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

well we can settle down (Maxiel)

I remember when I met you just before September (Carlando)

so take it from me (Carlando)

I will wait for you at the end love (Maxiel)

I feel your body call on me (Piarles)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do not respond to comments and it makes me feel really horribly guilty. To be honest, I did not do it when I first joined the fandom because I was overwhelmed and then I wanted to and it was too long and I think one of the things I want to do is start...responding to comments...I just never know what to say.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I think it's this Carlando. But you just have to read it. Trust me.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I don't think I can answer that because I am a certified happy ending writer. I have a few fics that I desperately want to write that I won't because they're not happy endings, but if I have to pick...it's got to be the Blue Neighbourhood series. That's a complete circle ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

no one has ever left me explicit hate on my fics. some of y'all get wild in my inbox which is why I don't have anon on

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes. Uh. I don't know how to answer that.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not a big fan of crossovers <- Vicsy is right

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No and I made a Wattpad account after Briony had one of her Maxiel fics posted to there for the second time and now I religiously check because I am deranged

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not to my knowledge - wait, once Sol said for exam practice she was translating bits of my fic and I had a little cry about it but it's not posted anywhere.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

HAVE I EVER. I genuinely have too many to individually tag, but I have written with @river-ocean in the past and I am currently posting the Alphabet Dating Season fic with @chaesonghwas and @duquesademiel - and we all know that Sol and I are always always always writing fic together. I have something in the works with someone else and I think it's a secret, so I won't say anything about that. And then @miamierre and I are literally putting the finishing touches on the promised insane fic we cooked up together and I cannot wait for you all to see it. This is the year of collabs for me and I'm loving it tbh

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Despite the stats on my fics

Piarles

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have a fic for an old fandom that is languishing away and I feel guilty about it because it was good

16. What are your writing strengths?

I write fast.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I suffer from "can't shut up" and sometimes my fics don't need to be a long fic.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I am so so so nervous about it. everything that I write I double and triple check and I still get it wrong a lot of the time. I think it's fine and people should do whatever the fuck they want.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter because of course

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

This answer literally changes every single day. Today it's the sugarbaby fic that I wrote for Phoebe because I am very very proud of that fic and I think if you hold it against the stuff I was writing two years ago, you really see how far I've come as a writer.

Everyone tagged in this that hasn't already done it should do it, but I'm also going to tag @gaynfl

#tag thingy

[justrainandcoffee]

Against all odds (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc) Part 2

Crossover Peaky Blinders - Hunger Games

Series Masterlist - Part 1

Summary: The 60th edition started and Philip and Reah are in the Arena. Alfie knows this will not be easy and his hopes aren't very high. But those being officially the first games for Rose, she has other expectations. She's has hopes. || Two years later, during the 62th edition, Alfie is facing the consequences of being close to Mrs. Evert.

Series warnings: Mentions of sex (consent and non-con). Murders. Blood. PTSD. Cheating. Prostitution. || This is set in Panem universe. Topics as minors being sexual corrupted are also mentioned because it's CANON.

Words: 3.6 k || Alfie x Rose masterlist || Here I mentioned the OCs Eva who belongs to @evita-shelby and Lucy who belongs to @emotionalcadaver.

Hearing Alfie's advice, both kids survived the bloodbath but they got separated. While Reah was inside a stone cave, Philip went downhill in search of water. Neither of them had weapons yet, but the cameras showed how Reah was sharpening a rock to make a knife.

Alfie was watching everything in silence. It was as good that they survived that damn bloodbath. The previous year, both of his tributes died there. But they were weaker than the Philip and Reah, despite they were older. At least now Alfie could focus on searching sponsors.

His own bloodbath. His mind went to six years ago. The first one was a boy from district 7. Alfie grabbed him by the neck and smashed his head against a frozen rock. Two times was enough to kill him. Then, against the probabilities, he murdered the girl from district 1 who attacked him by the back. She was a well toned girl, trained to kill people even stronger than Alfie himself. But he managed to grab her by her braid and pushed her down. When she screamed and let him go, Alfie threw her to the ground and mounted her. The boy stabbed her in the eye with her own knife, she died instantly. The girl's body remained there with the handle protruding from her blue eye, the blade was deep in her brain. He grabbed the sickles and ran away.

"How are they?"

Hearing Rose's voice helped him to clean his thoughts. She had a plate of pastries in her hand and offered him one, which he accepted.

"Alive."

"That's good. How many died?"

"Seven. But there's one, the girl from district 10 who's severed injured. She's not gonna make it, she can't. Even if the mentor sends her medicine… so, eight."

"Poor girl. Suffering it's the worst part."

"I guess."

The screen showed a pack of tributes chasing a younger boy. They were laughing and cheering as usual. It was the adrenaline speaking for them. At the end of the third or fourth day, neither of them will be laughing anymore and probably most of the pack will be dead. But now their brains were still under the influence of the adrenaline and they were not conscious at all what the games were really about.

Rose saw how the man was staring the screens and decided to leave him alone. She didn't know what to say, after all and Alfie needed to focus on the kids. Maybe, one of them could be lucky enough to win the games.

The third night since the beginning of the games, Alfie returned to their floor to sleep. He needed to go to his bedroom to rest. But he found Rose at the table, she was clearly crying but tried to hide it when she heard him. She closed her sketchbook.

Alfie sat next to her. He didn't need to ask what was wrong with her, the reason was that Reah was dead. No one but the gamemakers killed her. She was running when an avalanche of stones fell over her head. Other two tributes died with Reah.

"You get used to it," he said. "Sooner or later."

"She was sweet."

"She was, yes."

"You really get used to it? Seeing the same kids you laughed with, you ate with… die like animals?"

"You need to get used to it, Rosebeth, or your going crazy," Alfie picked up some grapes that were over the table.

She shook her head, "that's not my fucking name."

"It's not? Then what's your name?"

"Just Rose."

"I prefer that. Why do you call yourself Rosebeth, then?"

"Because I need to be a new person here. I can't be Rose. Rose can't smile and pretend that everything here is fucking fine, when it's not. But Rosebeth can. She can. When I cross that fucking door I need to pretend. I have to clap, I have to laugh. It was my secret, no one knew my real name until now. But it doesn't matter now."

Alfie studied her. She wasn't just sad. The woman next to him was angry. Alfie remembered her words from the past week when they argued on the balcony. The eyes of a person who knew what you felt when you're waiting for a death sentence when you're only 12. Even if she escaped from it.

"Did you lose someone on the games?"

"No. At least no one I knew. My mother lost her best friend and the sister of hers, before I was born. The three of them were friends, apparently and my middle brother lost an old buddy. He was 15. This girl, Reah, she was… she was the first one I was close to," she didn't realise she was crying again. She kept talking while sobbing. "I thought… that maybe… I-I- even was designing a dress for her in case, she was the winner. FUCK!"

He couldn't help but put an arm around her. He was sure she wasn't the frivolous and indifferent woman he thought she was at first. At least she cared for the kids and her sadness was real. Rose was crying against his shoulder.

"It's okay, Rose. Sometimes is better to die there than face the consequences of surviving the games. Believe me: You don't win the games. You survive them... Sometimes not even that."

It wasn't uncommon for some victors to commit suicide. Alfie himself thought about it, but he never did it.

Rose relaxed when his fingers started to stroke her hair.

"I'm sorry," she said still against him.

"For what?"

"For everything. I'm not part of this, but living here I feel I own you an apology. For having to kill to survive, for whatever people did to you after the Games, for Reah… the other kids…"

"You did nothing. You're not the enemy."

"I married the enemy."

"But you're not him."

Finally she pulled apart from his shoulder. There was a wet spot on his shirt where her face was, she tried in vain to dry it out with her hand. For a moment both of them stared at each other in the eyes. Alfie wiped away the last tears of her face and she closed her eyes. She didn't need to see to know that Alfie was leaning towards her. Rose first felt his breathing against her skin, then his beard and finally his lips on hers.

It wasn't love. It wasn't even a 'I like you', it was a 'this is the only way I know to find comfort.'

It wasn't passionate, hot, messy either. It was a calm, soft but firm. If usually sex calmed his thoughts, Alfie discovered that kissing her gave him peace. Something he forgot he could feel.

"Thanks," he said later nuzzling his nose against hers.

"For?"

"For understanding."

This time it was her who kissed him. It felt good, probably the only good thing she felt since she put a foot in the Capitol four years ago. Alfie's hand was on the back of her head pushing her against him. For a moment the kiss was hotter than before. But Alfie stopped himself.

"I can't."

"Don't worry. It's okay. It's already late… probably we should go to sleep. It's… don't worry." Rose smiled at him, even when her eyes are still puffy and red. "Philip still needs you."

Alfie stood up and kissed the crown of her head before leading to his own bedroom. He couldn't sleep until hours later.

The next morning to Alfie's relief he discovered that Philip was still alive unlike tributes from district 11 and 12. The girl from 12 died because of Philip. Alfie was still amazed that a boy with only one had could be so skilled and strong. But the kid was and after four days he was still alive.

"Any luck with the sponsors?" Rose asked him.

"Not really. I think he needs water, maybe. I haven't seen him drink since yesterday and the landscape is terrible."

"Mmm. Let me help."

Alfie saw her fix her dress and after looking around she went to talk with an old man. Alfie understood what she meant with Rose and Rosebeth. The latter was chirpy and flirty, was full of joy and was very persuasive. Not long after, the old man approached Alfie and with his help Philip received not just water but necessary food.

Minutes later when they watched the screens both of them saw the moment that Philip received his gifts. The boy was happy. Alone behind a big rock, Philip calmed his thirst. Rose was happy too. Before going with the rest of the staff, she smiled and winked at him. And Alfie couldn't help but smiled too… for the first since he visited that damn place for the first time.

But happiness isn't something you can feel during the Hunger Games.

Philip survived, against all odds, to the sixth day. Not only that, he was one of the two last survivors.

The tension was palpable. It was him, a boy from the third poorest district, or the boy from district 4, one of the richest. But when you're about to die, the fact that you're poor or rich doesn't matter. Alfie could see his boy was tired, sweating and sick. But the boy from district 4 wasn't doing well either. One of his eyes was closed and his right knee was bleeding. Both boys were staring at each other. Dmitri, the other boy, had a hatchet but Philip had his spear. If Philip threw his spear and failed it was over. But Philip never failed. So, he did it, he threw his spear which ended in Dmitri's liver. The boy from district 4 fell on his knees.

Alfie forgot to breathe. He never, never wished the dead of any boy or girl, but…

Philip never failed. But Dmitri either. Even when he was half dead, his hatchet ended on Philip's skull. And the games were about the last man standing. And that was Dmitri. Philip was dead.

Alfie walked blindly towards the elevator. He barely saw around him. He pushed away aggressively the male mentor from district 12 who was on his way but this one said nothing. He knew what Alfie was feeling. Whatever he wanted to say it wasn't the moment. A red haired girl at his side remained in silence as well.

Alfie broke two glasses against the wall. Rage, fury… there weren't words to describe his anger. The young, cheerful, sweet Philip was so, so close to win his games. How many more times he was going to tolerate that? How many boys and girls were going to die under his protection? No one, except him, knew about the hate he experienced every time he had to face the family of those who died. As it was his fault that the games exist. As he himself wasn't haunted by his own demons. The faces of those kids… 12 mentored, 12 dead.

Alissa was quiet, too. Every year she had to see too those kids dying over and over again. When Rose opened the door, saw the broken glasses on the floor and Alissa on the sofa. But Alfie wasn't there. Carefully entering his bedroom, she saw him sat on the mattress with his face in his hands. She wasn't next to him when happened but in her studio. She was devastated like happened with Reah, or even worse because Philip was about to win. Just seconds away from his victory and in a millisecond… he was dead.

Alfie didn't watch at Rose when he heard her. Nor didn't react when she caressed his back. His mind wasn't there. The hatchet. Alfie could see Philip's death in his mind in loop.

He didn't realise he was trembling. But Rose did. He forced him to look at her by putting one of her hands on his cheek. She stroked his beard with her thumb, slowly and kissed him. Same as happened when Reah died, it was more comfort than other feelings. Alfie reciprocated. This time she ended on the mattress with him on top of her.

If it wasn't because of the fucked up situation. If it wasn't because of two kids were dead, the whole scene could've been interpreted as the beginning of something especial. Alfie was caressing her abdomen and she had her arms around him. But it was just a kiss. It helped both of them to feel better, if that was possible, at least for a moment.

"Maybe next year," she whispered against his mouth.

"Maybe next year."

But it wasn't the previous year. The winner was a boy nicknamed Jack from district 2. Tall, handsome and lethal.

But destiny it's so cruel that this year it was his twin brother who was competing. If he was like his brother, then the poor children from district 9 competing this year didn't stand a chance. In Rose's mind still was alive the memory of Philip two years ago. Last year the girl died during the bloodbath and the boy after two days.

She saw the reaping celebration. This year district 9 was represented by Armand (17) and Theresa (14). Alfie was right, you get used to kids' death as cruel as it sounded. She felt the death of the previous kids but it wasn't like with Reah and especially Philip.

She didn't have much hopes. Probably the winner was going to be the boy from District 2 and could join his brother in the glory of being a champion. Unless someone could bet him against all odds.

.

Alfie was staring through the train window. Theresa and Armand were talking to each other and giggling. Alfie didn't know if they were pretending that the train trip was something enjoyable or they were just ignoring their probably fate. Seven consecutive years as mentor and not a single winner. Alfie was sure that he'll never going to return home with a victor.

"I saw her the other day" Alissa commented sitting down at his side. She had a glass of orange juice in her hand.

"Who?"

"You know who, Alfie…" Alissa smiled sideways.

"Mmh."

"Her hair is shorter now. You should compliment her. We women like that."

Alissa looked at him. She had been there when Alfie was reaped eight years ago and saw him became a mentor, too. He was always a grumpy young man. But if Alfie thought she was an idiot, he was wrong. She saw the changes two years ago. She saw the way his eyes softened when he looked at her after the girl's death. And the previous year Alissa saw the way he brushed her hand when he thought no one was watching. And even if Alfie was determined to remain in silence, that it was his right, he couldn't lie to her.

"Anyway," Alissa said "I'm going to prepare for our arrival. You should do the same, Alfie."

"Her hair is shorter now."

Alfie found himself imagining her new look.

The first year together they kissed because they found comfort with each other. The second year they kissed for the same reasons but also because they wanted to. And it was almost every night.

And now… honestly he didn't need reasons. He just wanted to feel her.

He missed her.

.

She missed him.

While she was changing her clothes Rose realised that part of her anxiety it was because of Alfie. It wasn't just for the beginning of games, the costumes, the Arena… but him.

Last year, the last night, they slept together. Nothing sexual, just sharing the bed. They had been kissing because they had nothing better to do. Because it felt good. She was tired, so she cuddled up with him and fall asleep. The next morning she woke up with his arms around her waist.

Rose was still thinking about him like a friend. A friend she kissed on the mouth, french style.

But just a friend.

She tried not to run when she heard the train. Her electric blue dress with golden decorations followed her movements when she walked quickly towards the door.

Rose found Tigris in the hall waiting for the old mentor from district 10, a morphling woman, and her two new tributes. Rose didn't remember the name of the boy but the girl's name was Eva.

While she was waiting she saw the kid from district 2 and indeed it felt like she was looking the same boy from the previous year. Same smile, eyes and probably height, too.

Tigris was already talking with the old woman and greeted Eva and her male counterpart. Even when Rose never talked to Tigris personally, she knew it was a talented designer. And probably this year both teens were going to shine.

"Hello, hello!" Alissa captured Rose's attention with her loud voice.

There they were. There he was.

"Good morning, Alissa… Alfie."

"Good morning, Rosebeth," he greeted her using her fake name.

She smiled at him and then introduced herself to Theresa and Armand and told them about the ideas she had for them. The usual.

Another year. The sames hopes and the same fate for them, too. Alissa leaded the way to the elevator. Both kids were at her side. The other two, slightly behind them.

"You got your hair cut," Alfie commented remembering Alissa's words.

"Yes! I did!" she replied surprised that he had noticed it.

"I like it."

"Thanks, Alfie."

Alissa heard it, but avoided smile.

.

The Arena that year it was a desert. Rose heard the conversations about it inside the control centre. The microphone this time was inside a flowerpot she gifted to one of the gamemakers. The woman put the plant next to her desk and that was exactly what Rose was expecting.

After three years knowing him, Rose trusted Alfie but she was still scared of telling him her real reasons of why she joined the Games. She knew him and his temperament. Alfie was pure fire and the last thing she needed was him, or anyone else, interfering with her work.

The notes were hidden inside a painting that represented the Capitol. No one touched ever and since the first day it was there. Although it was obvious she was going to need a new place to keep the rest of them.

For their costumes this year she had decided to simulate a wheat field. A really long golden cape for both of the tributes that could fly in the wind with a lot of little wheat ears vertically sewed on them.

Alone in her studio, Rose was lost in her thoughts and enjoying the summer wind that entered through the open window. The background music relaxed her.

The sound of the door made her lift up her head from the clothes. She smiled.

"You shouldn't be here. It's late. And you should be sleeping to accompany the kids tomorrow."

"And I will be," Alfie replied "I'm just checking you're doing your work."

"It's that, so?" she looked at him who was sitting next to her now.

"Yes."

"Well, I'm doing my job, Alfie. And pretty well."

Rose grabbed one of the golden wheat ears and sewed it on his shirt. She was close to him and Alfie kissed her forehead.

"Don't move or I can prick you." It took her just few seconds to add the ornament to his shirt. "Now you're part of the team, too."

"I thought I was part of it from the beginning."

"But now is official."

He chuckled and finally they kissed. One more year. And they didn't have any more excuses for their actions.

The last thing Alfie wanted was to fall in love with a girl from the Capitol. But as he kissed her, Alfie realised that he lacked of words to describe that feeling.

"I missed you," she admitted.

"I missed you, too."

.

That was the third day in the training centre after the official presentation. Theresa was talking with the girl from district 11 and it seemed that she was teaching her about different techniques to create a trap. Armand was practicing with knives.

Rose was outside that place that was exclusive for trainers, mentors and tributes but she could see them through the windows. Next to her were other people, including Alissa and Tigris.

"Take a picture, last longer."

Alfie turned around and saw a read haired girl that he knew from being one of the mentors from District 12. Another mentor with the same luck as him. She had won the 58th games.

"Lucy."

"Hello, Alfie. If you continue staring her, you'll cause her a headache."

"I wasn't staring."

"Yes, sure." Lucy whispered to him "She's a married woman, you naughty boy. And a hell of husband she has."

"Exactly. She's a married woman means I'm not interested. Besides, this not a fucking romantic place. It's the fucking Capitol and this is the butchering season. 99% of this kids are going to die, the last thing in my mind is a married woman."

"How often do you lie to yourself?" Alfie huffed at her words, but Lucy still had things to say "people are commenting, Alfie. You're too close to her."

Alfie gritted his teeth. He whispered to her, too "she's not her fucking husband. She's not like him or any of the Capitol. How dare you to judge me when I suffered the same as you?"

"I'm not judging you, Alfie. But other people…" Lucy pointed with her green eyes to Aveline Young "Volcano girl thinks you're a fucking traitor. Tommy… I'll talk to Tommy. I spoke with Rosebeth once, she seems nice. But a lot of them suffered because of her husband. And now you're after her like a little dog. Don't blame them either. They don't know her but they do know him. And in their eyes, they are the same."

Next part.

Taglist: @call-sign-shark @peakyswritings @hoodeddreams13 @leenieweenie12 @lunarubra

#alfie solomons #alfie x rose #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons x ofc #hunger games au #peaky blinders #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons fanfic

[our-transmasculine-experience]

i was at a support group a couple days ago and someone mentioned harry potter. everyone went silent and looked at them until they said “too bad about the author though..” and someone else responded to that and said something about jkr being a transphobe. it was so funny and honestly refreshing when usually people are allowed to just praise harry potter all the time without being expected to address the atrocities of the author. some not even educated on what rowling has done because transphobia is always dismissed.

i was actually going to post about something like this! but yes, it’s very refreshing to hear some criticism towards the author. i also like hearing criticism towards the series itself since it is quite flawed but that’s off topic.

i was working with a group of kids around 13 years old? large group of about 10. we were discussing books and harry potter came up. they asked me what i thought about it and i said i wasn’t a big fan of it personally. this one boy then started talking about how she’s a “stupid transphobe” and the rest of the kids agreed with him and made comments such as “dobby wrote the books” and “jkr ruined the series”.

so yeah, the kids are alright.

#transgender #lgbt #lgbtq #transmasc #queer #trans #ftm #trans guy