#basically long story short: BLOCKED

[terriblygrimm]

imagine being so boring that you hate obikin enough to make an anti post about it. like imagine not recognizing that obiwan was literally also so young when he was thrust into becoming a master? a kid himself? imagine thinking that he and anakin didnt grow up TOGETHER at the same time, with each other’s influence? imagine not realizing that their magical space wizard force brain and soul bond doesn’t transcend our pathetic human concepts of “roles”? imagine not drowning in the glory of them having an indescribable and tragic gladiator grecian intimate connection? imagine not realizing that they CAN and ARE all types of bonds, and continuously weave through them? imagine not thinking that obiwan and anakin grew well past and beyond their “master/padawan” dynamic when anakin grew up and became a fucking man. imagine not internalizing the clone wars era and how they relied on each other, were best friends and literally raised ahsoka together? imagine not realizing the deeply beloved, canon things theyve thought/said about each other in the novels? like not shipping it is one thing, but being a clown is another

#obikin #star wars #like #grow up lol #nobodys out here shipping kids #or a father/son lmaoooo #interpret it however you want but shut up about it pls #we ship grown ass men with one of the most intimate and undefinable relationships put to film #who literally feel each other in the force and live each others hells and understand each other better than anyone #ANYWAY #basically long story short: BLOCKED #go be boring somewhere else while us intellectuals cry over space ex husbands causing a galatic war

[ghostcrows]

I say I'm passionate about art but I don't even know anymore I think I just have to do it at least every once in a while or I'll shrivel up and die. but that doesn't translate directly into like a sense of direction or creativity or drive. I've never had like, some amazing story in my head I wanted to tell. I never had ocs that feel like real people who I know everything about. I feel like the pieces are there for me to be someone who works on amazing projects but the muscles have atrophied and they weren't that strong to begin with. It's really just compulsive to me and the only thing left I can call a hobby an interest a "talent"

But whatever part of me used to say I wanted to animate or have my own cartoon or work on a show like. Totally and completely died and it's sort of depressing. I have that little faith in myself to deliver I never even practiced like...idk I feel so separate from it now. If I was really passionate I would have tried way harder and I just didn't. I feel like I deluded myself into thinking someone with no imagination would just come up with an awesome story to tell some day. But I got nothing cause there's nothing in my brain that's good.

But also maybe none of this is even that true and I just have mega depression hardcore and she's making me say that . Well I'll keep you updated I guess

#not like i have to be a story artist theres a million kinds of artist #for me i guess im into concepts. yannow concept art and shit #i like coming up with the idea but i dont really have it in me to push forward with that idea often #i like exploring A Theme in a one shot sort of way. like i could maybe make a short film but not a long film #but the only Fundamentals of anything i have is basic high school shit like color wheels. like. i dont actually know char design #cause i dont study cause im lazy or i have uh disorders or whatever the case #like. i dobt know im just bummed at hoe long ive sat on my ass and not even tried to improve #but i also got so sick of the artist communityspeak ywim #i get sick of hearing about art block motivation improvement like everything always has to be in motion or else #but theyre also not even like wrong about it? its just like tiring #i dont know how to explain that

[boxwinebaddie]

me giggling and kicking my feet whenever i see the "(THIS IS A VERY LONG ASK)" message right before the read more 😍

AAAAAAAA!! PLEASE!!! literally I!!! was giggling and kickin my feet when I!!! got This ask message!!!! you are so sugar sweet, my darling!

( also, i really needed this today; the other guy who does my job is out today [ smh ] so it's only 9am where i am but i'm on my Second Cup of coffee because i have to cover a BAJILLION classes today...cryin )

no, this is seriously made me soooooo happy!!! bc i get worried that the messages are too overwhelming & i'm throwing way too much at you at once, so its very validating to know you like them so much!!! c:

i literally LOVE LOVE LOVE writing them -- i'm sure u can feel the passion which tbh is more like criminal insanity oof -- i think they're so fun and its nice to share something i love with people i love!!!

AKA all of you :)))) <3333

rlly the reason they're so long is bc i have mental problems, ofc, we already kno this, but also i feel like its important that, if you guys take the time to ask me stuff, that you get all the information i can give ya!

because you deserve it and i don't want you to feel confused ever. xx

( my storylore gets rlly complex/weird...so it can def be Perplexin rip )

i actually only like answering questions when i feel Strongly abt the answers ( which is why i held off on answering all the tkak/tsot questions until right now which...thank god bc theyre Girls now, lol!!! )

i also put a lot of love and my heart into those answers, honestly, its kind of a vulnerable thing to put urself out there like that: so it makes me feel really seen and treasured when you guys send me excited anons about receiving all my insane feelings and thots abt my fics!

which needless to say my angel, and all my angels, thank you for being fans of my fictions, interested in my crazy lore, waiting for my stuff and cherishing my cracked out ask answers. everything i do, i do for you my loves! and i am glad that my answers aren't Too Much.

-uncle nina, who again, really did need this today <3

#this made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside #thank you baby #i am literally dying today the children of the corn are being so loud like brother i have a MIGRAINE CHILL OUT #anyays love them but oh my god i was going to bash my head in with a rock when i got this lmao #IM GLAD YOU LIKE THE LONG MESSAGES I LITERALLY GOT NERVOUS THAT THEY WERE TOO INTENSE #but like if u ask me specific qs i want to make sure u get detailed and specific answers bc i want u to have Content!!! #idk u deserve everything i can give u and i really like detail so im glad u guys also really like detail!!! i am Passionate okay #esp now that im writing a lot less my ask memes are my way of giving yall little stories/info abt my fics even when im not upHating #but yeah i like to be thorough and im glad you like that bc its hard for me to write short answers...i am a kp girl sometimes and like INFO #thank u for being excited abt my stuff that makes me excited abt writing my answers i feel so validated #idk i often get worried that the stuff im writing is weird or im spamming the dashboard so the fact that u Want them is cool to me #basically i love u i love u i love you THAAAAANK YOU BABES #ALSO IF YOU SENT ME A MESSAGE ASKING ME TO UNDIVORCE RAVESEY HAHA NEVER!!! #just kidding lmaooooooo!!! i will do it and i see them its gonna take a second to block out all that dialogue #hang tight besties #BUT LEGIT WHEN I TYPED THAT BEING TKAK MESSAGE I WAS LIKE THIS IS CRAZY I GOTTA DELETE THIS but just for u it can stay #side note sorry i'm being insane on pinterest i'm having a lot of feelings abt the tsot toxic yuri smh

[imsorryithurts]

My character almost died last TTRPG session. Real tense, but I have to admit, real fun.

#ok so long story short I am a psionic healer in stars without number #using my power usually costs effort which is kinda like spell slots #but I also have a power that allows me to 'borrow' the powers of another character at higher effort #so I was borrowing from the warrior to be more on the offensive because we were getting fucking crowded by jacked up cyborgs #and more keep showing up #but at half health I stopped because if I needed to heal my colleagues at a distance I would need the effort I have left #tense battle even tough we never went lower than half health. also I hadnt slept the night before so it was hard to keep track of the stuff #so maybe it wasnt even that tense it just felt that way because I was so so sleepy #but ok. we manage to escape. I get my effort back and heal all of us to full health. great! #but then I felt a powerful psionic power coming from where we were before #and I try to track it. #long story short. I basically saw god and failed my saving throws so I immediatelly dropped to 0 hp. #from and outside perspectice I just stopped #grabbed my head. bled from my eyes. and dropped dead. #one of my friends had a healing item so I wake up with 2 ho #*hp #great that I'm awake now but I'm at 2hp! not great! so I say ok I'm rolling to heal myself and my DM just says 'nope'. #something blocked our psionic powers. #so now I'm just an extremely hurt guy who might have just seen the thruth of the universe and is used to being able to heal right away #let's hope next session we find out our healing machine back at the ship can revert 'saw what the universe is made of' damage. #but also lets hope it can't because that way I'm just a guy who forgot what long term pain was. and is in so much pain.

[ichimerapunk]

Scene/ part of a story idea I want to put into a fanfic somewhere at some point

So, Danny had been staying with the Waynes. One evening without warning the GIW show up and managed to brute force their way into the manor and past Alfred just long enough to take down Danny and take off with him into one of several white vans of theirs.

The Bats, who had just left for their nightly patrol, give chase. However right before they catch up to the vans booking it out of Gotham, an 18 wheeler pulls out in front of the vans blocking their way. As several of agents pile out to confront the driver (and then pull out their guns when the truck is empty), they don’t automatically notice as the agents that were in the van containing Danny are yeeted out of the vehicle, unconscious.

The remaining agents turn in time to see what appears to be Danny being carried off by another ghost. The remaining agents pile into the remaining vans and take off down a side road to follow them. Jason and Dick are ordered to follow them. At the same time the doors of the remaining van close and Dan behind the wheel takes off.

With Sam giving directions over comms and Tucker manipulating traffic lights Dan intentionally gets as many cops as possible on his tail, driving the van just how his dad taught him in the GAV. The cops are quickly joined by Tim on his bike. During the chase Barbara manages to hack into the signals of whoever had been changing the lights and, through abnormal static, heard several voices coordinating their every move. After catching the attention of enough cops, Dan, while evading but not losing them, books it towards where the remaining vans are still chasing who they think is Danny. Dan catches up to them under an underpass/ short tunnel and uses a brief moment of being obscured by the police to wedge himself in amongst them. [Basically, take the opening chase scene from Baby Driver for the most part; I’m unashamedly taking inspiration from that.]

The vans are all unmarked and have tinted windows. The police have no way of quickly discerning which van they had been chasing down and so the now large number of police surround and forcibly stop all them. (Enjoy getting tied up with that mess for a while, agents.) As they are being stopped, Tim jumps off his bike and runs to the one he knows Danny was in only to just in time see someone that looked like Danny, but had long hair and eyes that turned from blue to red, disappear without a trace.

Above them, the two fleeing figures also disappear. Dani/Ellie* had been dressed as Danny and had been carried by a Dan duplicate. Back near where the chaos happened, Jazz slips out of her hiding spot in the shadows struggling with an unconscious and injured Danny. As soon as she slips out of her hiding spot, Batman appears having not been fooled by the distractions.  

…

That’s the basic rough idea of it. I don’t know if this scene sounds at all as epic and cool as I imagine it to be. I think hope it could actually be pretty cool if I can manage to write an action scene.

*Not sure which I would go with in the story

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover #danny phantom crossover #dp x dc fanfic #well part of one anyway #dan phantom #dani phantom

[dduane]

Of parsnips and parsnip soup

So the question of parsnips, and particularly parsnip soup, came up secondary to this quote from an interview with Terry Pratchett. (Thanks to @captainfantasticalright for the transcription.)

Terry: “You can usually bet, and I’m sure Neil Gaiman would say the same thing, that, uh, if I go into a bookstore to do a signing and someone presents me with three books, the chances are that one of them is going to be a very battered copy of Good Omens; and it will smell as if it’s been dropped in parsnip soup or something in and it’s gone fluffy and crinkly around the edges and they’ll admit that it’s the fourth copy they’ve bought”.

And when @petermorwood saw this, he immediately reblogged it and added four recipes for parsnip soup.

These kind of surprised some folks, as not everybody knew that parsnips were an actual thing: or if they were, what they looked like or were useful for.

The vegetable may well be better known on this side of the Atlantic. (And I have to confess that as a New Yorker and Manhattanite, with access to both great outdoor food markets and some of the best grocery stores in the world, I don't think that parsnips ever came up on my personal radar while I was living there.) So I thought I'd take a moment to lay out some basics for those who'd like to get to know the vegetable better.

The parsnip's Linnaean/botanical name is Pastinaca sativa, and in the culinary mode it's been around for a long time. It's native to Eurasia, and is a relative to parsley and carrots (with which it's frequently paired in the UK and Ireland). The Romans cultivated it, and it spread all over the place from there. Travelers who passed through our own neck of the woods before the introduction of the potato noted that "the Irish do feed much upon parsnips", and in the local diet it filled a lot of the niches that the potato now occupies.

You can do all kinds of things with parsnips. The Wikipedia article says, correctly, that they can be "baked, boiled, pureed, roasted, fried, grilled, or steamed". But probably the commonest food form in which parsnips turn up around here is steamed or simmered with carrots and then mashed with them: so that you can buy carrot-and-parsnip mash, ready-made, in most of our local grocery chains.

It also has to be mentioned that most Irish kids have had this stuff foisted on them at one point or another, and a lot of them hate it. (@petermorwood would be one.) I find it hard to blame anybody for this opinion, as one of the parsnip's great selling points—its spicy, almost peppery quality—gets almost completely wiped out by the carrot's more dominant flavor and sweetness.

Roasting parsnips, though, is another matter entirely. They roast really well. And parsnip soups are another story entirely, as it's possible to build a soup that will emphasize the parsnip's virtues.

So, to add to Peter's collection, here's one I made earlier—like yesterday afternoon, stopping the cooking sort of halfway and finishing it up today.

I was thinking in a vague medioregnic-food way about a soup with roasted bacon in it, but not with potatoes (as those have been disallowed from the Middle Kingdoms for reasons discussed elsewhere. Tl;dr: it's Sean Astin's fault). And finally I thought, "Okay, if we're going to roast some pork belly or back bacon, then why not save some energy and roast some parsnips too? The browned skins'll help keep them from going to mush in the soup."

So: first find your parsnips. I used four of them. You peel them with a potato peeler...

...sort of roughly quarter them, the long way...

...then chop them in half the short way, toss them in a bowl with some oil—olive oil, in this case—spread them on a baking sheet, and season them with pepper, coarse salt, and some chile flakes. (I used ancho and bird's-eye chile flakes here.)

These then went into the oven for about half an hour, and came out like this.

While that was going on, I got a block of ready-cooked Polish snack bacon out of the freezer.

On its home turf, this is the kind of thing that turns up (among other ways) sliced very thin on afternoon-snack plates, with cheeses and breads. But we like to score it and roast it to sweat some of the fat out, and then use it in soups and stews and so forth.

So I scored this chunk on most of its sides, browned it in a skillet, then shoved the skillet into the oven for twenty minutes or so. Here's the bacon after it was done.

While it was cooking, I made about a liter of soup stock from a couple of stock cubes. If you can get pork stock cubes, they'd be best for this, but beef works fine.

This then went into the pot and was brought up to just-boiling while the bacon and the parsnips were chopped into more or less bite-sized chunks. After that, the meat and veg were added to the pot and the whole business was left to simmer for a couple of hours while I went off to do some line editing.

Finally I turned it off and left it on the stove overnight (our kitchen is quite cool, it was in no bacteriological danger from being left out this way) and then finished its simmering time around lunchtime today.

And here it is. (...Or was. It was very nice.)

...Anyway, this is only one of potentially thousands of takes on parsnip soup. Recipes for more robust versions—based on mashed parsnips and more vegetables, or different meats—are all over the place.

Meanwhile, as regards how much damage this soup could do to your copy of Good Omens if you dropped yours in it, I'd rate this at about 5 damage points out of 10. ...Call it 5.5 if you factor in the chiles. Soups along the boiled-and-mashed-parsnip spectrum would probably inflict damage more in the 7.50-8.0 range. But your results may vary: so I'll leave you all to your own experimentation.

#parsnips #parsnip soup #Good Omens #Terry Pratchett #Neil Gaiman #recipes

[infamous-if]

Dec ✮ 12 ✮ 2024 – update

Part of me hates doing these mostly because it's a whole lotta nothing and me just repeating everything I said the last update (lol) but I do like doing it because I like keeping people updated, even if it's a non-update. I may sound like a broken record (pun not intended) but I know a lot of people don't catch my updates every time so it's nice to just keep people informed yk yk

✮ — Part 2 + rewrite

Fun fact: I had written an entire essay about my excitement for the rewrite and chapter 3 and beyond but it got too long!

It boiled down to me wondering why I'm so excited for this rewrite and realizing it's because I feel comfortable enough to approach it with complete creative freedom. I wrote the first iteration of the demo with the constant worries swimming in my head like "I hope people understand what I'm trying to say here" and "I hope this situation is being read the way I intended for it to be read." And I think I sort of had those thoughts tenfold while writing Part 2. If you paid attention, you can probably see where I was trying to shut down certain discussions in the narrative lmao

Recently I had a tiny epiphany and reminded myself that it's not always about what I intend to write, but what is being understood by each reader. And yes this is basic writing 101 but let me have this moment of clarity okay. Embracing that means I can proceed with Infamous without holding back and sticking to my guns in regards to what I want for this story aka I'm just going to write what I write and like....not worry about the rest you feel (while of course integrating the common critiques and suggestions and improving on the things Infamous falls short in—I am not Shakespeare lmao)

ANYWAY my point is that I'm excited to fix up the demo !!! and just go back to it with complete confidence in myself and write whatever the heck feels right to me (and write the rest of the story lolol) and return with a better story than I have now for everyone!!

✮ — December will be for

planning what I'm going to improve and squeezing that in a reworked outline so it can flow much better narratively.

Outlining Chapter 3 and hopefully have the bare bones first draft drafted up which is mostly just be writing blocks of descriptions

I'm not sure I'll have anything substantial to justify looking for beta testers so soon yet but maybe!

work on my spice writing babey writing/reading spice makes me actually physically recoil but im determined to get better! which reminds me to finish the 6k follower gifts!

And also take a small breather because I am moving!

✮ — Patreon

I've already mentioned this on Patreon and a few times on here, but I do want to reiterate that Patreon content is coming out in bulk this month, in case anyone was wondering why I'm not posting as frequently. The content is still the same in terms of the quantity, it just won't be released every few days! thank you guys for being understanding of that <3

✮ —

My activity has is decreasing little by little due to my move but I do read every question and try to at least answer one question a day. I get quite a few mentions lately so I have to sort through those since I do get tagged in things, but I miss them due to my notifications. Usually I hope for the best and hope tracking the tag puts it on my dashboard <3 im not ignoring anyone!

That's all for now! Hope everyone has a happy December and Happy Holidays!

#update #December update #Amy the chatterbox

[art]

Creator Spotlight: @velinxi​

Hello! I’m Xiao Tong Kong, better known as “Velinxi.” I’m the creator of the webcomic Countdown to Countdown and have been doing freelance artwork since I was a teenager. I love telling stories with my illustrations! Tumblr was where I first got my start as an artist, specifically a small fandom artist as a hobby… and now I’m somehow here! When I’m not trying my best to stay awake in front of my tablets, I’m usually cooking, gaming, or sleeping. Sometimes all three, in my dreams.

Check out our interview with Velinxi below!

Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?

Yeah! I’ve basically been on track to become an artist since I was a child. I went to a middle school with an emphasis on arts and a high school specializing in it. I went to SVA briefly for computer arts but dropped out to pursue freelance and webcomics after my first year.

Over the years as an artist, what or who were your biggest inspirations behind your creativity?

My biggest inspirations growing up were Yuumei and Shilin Huang, two titans on DeviantArt back in the day. They still inspire me today, but the list of inspirations has grown exponentially over the years, including artists, movies, entire art movements, etc.

What was your thought process behind the creation of your webcomic, Countdown to Countdown?

Well, Countdown to Countdown started as a passion project back when I was 15, in high school, and pretty depressed. I just wanted to draw whatever story I thought was cool, inspired by my favorite media at the time. There was a very loose beginning and outline, but I was truly just writing as I drew the story. That’s why I had to stop the comic in 2018 and restart from scratch the year after. Now, the story has a set story and a clear outline. It still has similar roots, characters, and themes of neglect, abuse, and escape—but I think the story is a lot easier to follow now. It’s got an artstyle I can actually keep up with in the long run. The origin of why CTC exists also remains the same: I simply wanted to make a story I wanted to read for myself. Which happens to be about two dumb boys with superpowers navigating a hostile world that wants them dead or caged—together.

Have you ever had an art block? If so, how did you overcome it?

Oh, all the time. It’s part of the process. Personally, though—I just have to draw through it. Every month on my Patreon, I have my patrons vote on a theme I have to draw by the end of the month, and I try my best to make it as interesting as possible. I draw quite a few—tens even, of doodles or compositions for each of these themes to try to make something that tells a story while still being aesthetically pleasing and clear. I think pushing myself like this helps with art block, really. I also do remember to take breaks and simply consume other media I like! It gets the inspiration juices flowing.

Advice you would give to an aspiring creator?

If you do one—your first webcomic should be a short, fun, messy thing. It’s not often you can get it right the first time, but you’ll certainly learn a lot through sheer experience. This goes for a lot of things in art, to be honest.

What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?

3D Animation. I briefly learned it at SVA, and I think that’s enough of that tech for me. I accept that there are some things that are truly beautiful if done right, and I am too simple and lazy for it.

What is your goal for the rest of this year?

Get Countdown to Countdown book 2 finished! And live HAHA

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

@yuumei-art on Tumblr, still! They’ve been a huge inspiration for digital artists and storytellers online for years. I have no doubt that many digital artists of my generation have been influenced by them, and they’re still here, making beautiful art and stories. It’s a thing to behold.

Thanks for stopping by, Velinxi! If you haven’t seen her Meet the Artist piece, be sure to check it out here. You can also follow her for more amazing art over at her Tumblr, @velinxi!

#creator spotlight #artists on tumblr #velinxi #xiao tong kong #countdown to countdown

[secretmelanie]

Desire For The Forbidden - Negan Smith

dbsf!negan x reader

word count: 3,3k

A/N: First of all, I have to apologize for accidentally posting this before, because I'm fucking stupid and I don't know how to use tumblr properly (yeah, I didn't go through that phase when I was a teen...)

But well... Shit happens to everyone 🤷🏻

This is the first time I've written a TWD fic and the first time I've published a fanfic... I have no idea how this is going to turn out. This story is just something that was in my crazy little head.

Warnings: Teasing, age gap (reader is 23, negan is mid 40s), fingering, face fucking, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, cum play, p in v, dirty talk, praise, rough negan

━━⊱✿⊰━━

Your father and Negan have been friends for as long as they can remember, Negan held you when you were a baby, took care of you when your parents were busy and he was your gym teacher throughout high school.

When the outbreak began and you lost your mother to the rotters, or "walkers" as you call them nowadays, You and your father fled their city, ending up moving away Negan, not hearing from him for a long time, thinking he had died.

Almost a year after it all started, you came across a group called The Saviors, and your reunion with Negan came to light. You and your father didn't expect to see Negan in this situation, a powerful and dangerous leader, who had communities in his hands.

Now, you guys live in the Sanctuary, your dad is one of Negan's "henchmen," and you're, well, you. Negan hasn't given you any trouble since you arrived, you basically help the weakest people in the Sanctuary to protect themselves and slash walkers when the Saviors let you out. It's quite boring to be honest.

Well, it WAS quite boring.

Your room and your father's room were on the same block as Negan's, since you are very close. This can be counted as both an advantage and a disadvantage. An advantage because it is an extremely protected and safe place, and a disadvantage because you had to deal with the noise that came from his room when he was with his wives.

One day, it was pretty late and the top of the Sanctuary was practically empty, your father and Negan were celebrating with a bottle of whiskey the acquisition of another community. You were with them, just watching them and listening to their conversations, with a glass of wine in your hand, practically the only thing you drink, as it was the only thing your mother drank. You can't help but notice the way Negan's throat moves as he swallows the drink, how the liquid sometimes runs down the corner of his lips and onto his neck and how he licked his lips after. "He had no right to be so hot." you thought, as you took a sip of your wine.

A few hours passed and your father crawled into bed, and Negan went to a small room that contained a TV and a couch, a room that only the three of you had access to.

You saw him heading there, and decided it would be a good idea to go with him, but first, you needed to get comfortable.

You put on your pajamas, a tight white shorts and a tight white tank top, the print on them is some black kittens. These pajamas highlight your curves and breasts, and it's pretty clear that you're not wearing panties or bra. You know damn well how wrong what you're going to do is, but hey, is it your fault that Negan is so fucking hot? No, it isn't.

After changing, you go to the small room where Negan is, he's sprawled out on the couch, legs spread, and a glass of whiskey in his hand. You look at the TV, but completely ignore the movie that was playing. Some VHS tapes are scattered near the TV.

Negan looks at you, you notice his eyes roam your body and he takes a sip of the drink in his hand.

"Hey, kiddo... It's pretty late, I thought you were already asleep." he says, his voice a little hoarse from drinking. Unlike what he does with his wives, blatantly looking at their bodies, he avoids checking out your body, focusing on your face.

You shrug, sitting next to him, and he closes his legs, looking at you. "I'm not sleepy." You respond, resting your head on his shoulder.

"What film is that?" you almost whisper, looking up at him and meeting his eyes, You notice that he is avoiding touching you as much as possible, something that is definitely not normal for Negan when it comes to a woman desiring him, but you completely understand him, after all, you are his best friend's daughter.

"Just a stupid western movie, we don't have much choice here." you nod to his anwser, your eyes focusing on the TV.

You notice that his eyes are now focused on your body, roaming over your curves and your breasts, focusing on your cleavage, but you ignore it completely, pretending to be focused on the movie. He keeps checking you out, and you smile inside, everything is going according to how you planned.

After a few minutes, you stretch and spread your legs a little, getting more comfortable next to him. Negan obviously notices this, and he holds his breath, biting his lip. He takes his free hand to your thigh, as if he didn't want anything, and you ignore it too, as if just one touch from him wouldn't make you melt inside and your intimacy get soaked. You hug his chest, your hand passing teasingly across his stomach until it reaches the other side of his body, moving closer to him.

"Why don't we find something else to do, sweetie?" he clears his throat before saying it with a little mischief in his voice. "Oh, sure..." you get up from the couch, crossing your arms, highlighting your breasts even more. "I'm going to sleep." a smile spreads in your face as you say this and he frowns.

Your body moves closer to his again, and you lean down, kissing his forehead, your cleavage right in front of his face.

He looks a little shocked when you pull away, and you smile at him, saying goodnight and leaving the room, closing the door. Negan couldn't help but look at your ass when you left, your shorts barely covering that area of ​​your body.

When you closed the door, you stood there, and you could hear Negan saying "Damn, she's going to drive me crazy someday." and the sound of his pants zipper opening, followed by the noise of his pants being removed, and a sigh of relief, which you deduced was when he touched himself. You stayed there for a while, listening to Negan's low moans, and smiled when you heard your name escape those lips.

You walked to your room smiling, your intimacy wet from hearing him moan your name, which made you satisfy yourself before going to sleep. Your plan is working.

You woke up the next morning, and headed to the meeting room, which was where you, your father, and Negan usually had breakfast together. You were no longer wearing your pajamas from the night before, but a pair of sweatpants and a loose blouse, which you stole from your father when the outbreak began and you barely had any clothes to change.

Negan and your father were talking about the group's achievements, and you sat next to Negan, greeting them.

They both said good morning to you, and continued talking. You pick up an apple and bite into it, the fruit probably came from some group, you feel a little bad about consuming products taken from other communities, but you couldn't do anything about it.

You listened to their conversation for a long time, until you felt Negan's hand on your thigh, smoothing it and squeezing it lightly. You ignored it, once again pretending that it didn't make your whole body shiver. Everything was going well, until Negan looked at you for half a second, and his hand touched your intimate area, still covered by your pants, caressing it gently, you didn't know how to react, you thought it would take him a while to create the courage to do that out of respect for your father, especially since you two were in front of him, you just opened your legs a bit, giving him permission to continue. He smirked, and quickly got his hand into your pants and panties.

His fingers began to explore your pussy, gently passing through your folds, and his thumb caressed your clit, as he teased your entrance with his index and middle finger. You had to control yourself, because your father is on the other side of the table, but this is so difficult, since now Negan's fingers are slowly entering you.

Your eyes are focused on the wall in front of you as you try to control your breathing and eat your apple normally, but when his fingers get knuckles deep inside you and curl, you let out a gasp, having to pretend that you choke on the apple when your father asks what happened, earning a chuckle from Negan.

Your intimacy is increasingly wet, and this makes it easier for Negan, who fucks you with his fingers, going as deep as he can, reaching your g-spot, and increasing the speed of his thrusts. You do your best not to moan, your breathing is labored, and a drop of sweat runs down your forehead, you notice how slow your father is, because he didn't notice your strangeness, but you and Negan are obviously grateful for that. Your thoughts don't stay on that for long, as Negan's stimulation brings you closer and closer to your orgasm, making you bite your bottom lip hard, causing your lower lip to bleed a little.

Your orgasm hits hard, and you close your eyes tightly, your legs shaking and your body squirming surreptitiously, as you try as hard as you can to not moan, causing a small noise to come out of your throat. Negan gives a satisfied smile, and only now do you pay attention to what they were talking about again, your father is going out with some of the Saviors, to look for other communities, deep down you hope they don't find any, but you know that not everything goes as you expect.

You finished your breakfast feeling Negan's eyes on you, but every time you looked at him, he wasn't even looking at you. Your father got up after finishing his coffee, and kissed you on the forehead, leaving the place.

Negan looks at me as I take a sip of my orange juice. "Have you seen the time, sweetie? I can't believe you woke up so late..." he teases you, since you're always one of the first person to wake up in the Sanctuary.

"I don't believe you woke up early, Negan, since you stayed busy late." you say it back, and he understands right away that you know that he jerked off thinking about you, and it definitely doesn't bother him.

"Oh damn, you heard it, huh?" his tone of voice is provocative, and he has that fucking smirk on his face. "What did you think, did you like it, sweetie? I know you did..." you just roll your eyes when he says that. "If I say no, I'll be lying."

And that was it, that was the trigger for him to get up, pick you up and take you to his room.

"What the hell are you doing?" you ask, trying to get down, making him chuckle. "Shit, sweetie, you teased me like hell last night, and now you don't want me to fuck that delicious pussy of yours? You let me finger you and now you don't want me to feel your pussy contracting around my dick like I felt it around my fingers? Damn, you're selfish, huh?" he opens the door to his room, entering and closing it with his foot, placing you on his bed, looking down at you.

You feel your cheeks blush, and you avoid eye contact with him, he certainly notices this, and holds your chin, making you look at him. "Are you embarrassed now? It doesn't even look like you were almost naked in front of me, and rubbing your fucking tits in my face when you went to say goodnight." you bite your lip as he says this, and takes a deep breath, you really didn't expect Negan to react this way so soon, apparently he doesn't even care that you're his best friend's daughter.

"You were a bad girl, you know that? Teasing me like that... Damn, I never thought I'd want to fuck someone as much as I want to fuck you" you couldn't help but end up smirking, licking your lips as you looked at him. Negan pulled you close, kissing you with so much intensity that surprised you, but you quickly kissed him back, moaning into the kiss when his tongue touched yours. He makes you lie down on bed, and he climbed on top of you, kissing you violently, while his hands hungrily explored your body, making you moan and squirm when he gave your right breast a hard squeeze. The man pull away from the kiss by biting your bottom lip hard, and he starts to attack the skin of your neck, sucking it, leaving red marks all over your neck and throat. He quickly removes your shirt, biting his lip as he sees your bare torso.

"Fuck, sweetie, you're so fucking beautiful." he sighs, before sucking one of your breasts while his hand massaged the other, he did it in a delirious way, your pussy desperate for his touch once again, as it gets wetter and wetter with every little thing he does to you.

"Negan, please..." you whispered, and he looks at you.

"Please what, doll?"

"F-fuck me, please..."

Negan chuckles, shaking his head.

"Don't think I'm going to do it before I fuck that pretty little mouth of yours..."

You moan at his words, imagining what it would be like to suck his dick, and you smiled.

"Let me suck you then, please, I want to taste you."

He smiled, there's no way he could deny a request like that, especially since you look so pretty asking for it. Then, Negan gets up, and you quickly do the same, kneeling in front of him, "Goddamn baby, are you that desperate for me?" you nod quickly, clumsily opening the button on his pants as he took off his jacket and t-shirt, throwing them on the bed. He had to help you remove hid pants, as your hands were shaking, making him more turned on than ever to see you so desperate to suck him.

As you pull down his pants, you see his dick almost slipping out of his underwear, and you quickly take off that last piece of clothing, his dick almost hits your face, and your mouth waters when you see it, he really wasn't lying when he talked about how big his dick was, you didn't know if you'd be able to make it all fit in your mouth.

You licked the tip, staring into his eyes, which sparkled as he looked back at you. You licked his entire length, and sucked the pink tip gently, making him let out a sigh. You spat on his dick, letting your saliva run from the head to the base, and began to slowly masturbate him, sometimes licking the head, teasing him, but you saw that he was getting impatient with so much teasing and little real action, so you take as much of his cock as you could in your mouth, and he moaned softly, grabbing your hair. You knew he would want to control it, so you opened your lips in an O shape and now he could make you suck him the way he wanted.

The hold on your hair became tighter, and he began to move his hips back and forth slowly, fucking your mouth. You didn't take your eyes off his. Negan quickly increased his speed, but he wasn't going deep enough to choke you, well, not yet.

He stopped for a few seconds, letting you run your tongue all over his cock again, and then he started moving again. His tip started to hit the back of your throat, and he stopped, forcing his cock deep, making you choke and your eyes water, but he didn't take it off, you tried to make him move away, but you couldn't, he stayed like that for a few more seconds, and took his dick out of your mouth, making you take a deep breath, still looking at him.

You kissed the head of his cock, and once again he fucked your mouth, his balls hitting your chin, while his tip reached the back of your throat, until you got used to it and stopped gagging. The noises he made were like music to your ears, he moaned hoarsely and praised you, pulling your hair hard.

When his orgasm hit him, he left his dick buried in your throat, his cum filling your mouth and you swallowed it all. He took his dick from your lips, and lifted you up, holding your chin. "Open your mouth for me, sweetie." you obeyed, and he smiled proudly, "That's it, darling, you swallowed it all", he kissed you deeply, feeling his own taste in your mouth, but he broke the kiss too quickly, biting his lips as he looked at you.

"Lie face up on the bed." you obeyed again, he opened your legs and removed your sweatpants, looking at the puddle in your panties.

"Damn, sweetie... You're soaked. That's all for me, huh? How cute." you just nodded, and he teasingly brushed the tip of his dick against your pussy, which was unfortunately still covered by your panties.

"Negan..." you're almost begging.

"What, princess?"

"P-please..."

"Please what? Use your words."

"Fuck me, fuck me until I can't barely walk." you begged, and he ripped your panties, throwing them away, and penetrated you deep without warning, making you feel like you've been torn apart, and you moan with him.

"Damn baby, you're exactly how I though you would be, so fucking delicious..." he moans, starting to move, not caring if it was hurting you or not, because he knows that that annoying pain will soon become immense pleasure.

He picked up the pace quickly, thrusting into you deep and hard, almost drooling as he heard your moans and saw your breasts swaying in rhythm with his thrusts.

He leaned over you, getting into a position that made him hit your g-spot again and again, making you almost scream as he was going as fast as he could. You hugged him, and he began to leave marks on your neck as he fucked you violently, one hand on one of your breasts and the other holding your hip so hard that it would mark you.

You feel a delicious and somewhat desperate feeling in your stomach, your orgasm coming quickly, making you bite his shoulder hard while scratching his back, your liquids dripping down his cock, making him moan as your pussy got even wetter now.

Your breaths were labored, and just by the way he moaned and fucked you, not caring that you had just reached your peak, you realized he was close too.

He went to take his dick out of you when the time was coming, but you didn't let him, you want him to cum inside you.

"What a naughty girl, do you want me to fill you up?" you nodded desperately, looking deep into his eyes, and so he did, He continued fucking you until he came and filled you, making you throw your head back at the sensation.

He slowly came out of you, and took two of his fingers to your pussy, taking some of his cum that was mixed with your juices, and brought it to your lips, you opened them, and sucked his fingers, tasting your mixed fluids.

He smirked, and looked at your pussy, his cum dripping from it, and he pushed back inside.

"Keep my cum inside you, sweetie." you just nodded, looking at him, his hair is wet, and his breathing labored, just like yours.

He lay down next to you, and you quickly hugged him, resting your head on his chest, sighing.

"That was so fucking wrong" you muttered, and he nodded, shruging.

"It was, but I don't give a fuck."

"Yeah, me neither."

#the walking dead #twd #jeffrey dean morgan #jeffrey dean morgan smut #negan smith smut #twd smut #negan smith #smut #twd negan #twd x reader #negan x reader

[writingsfromhome]

Dos and Don’ts of H Styles

A/N: this story was literally born out of the wifi incident happening to me. It was a weird experience lol but of course it inspired me to write a story around it. Basically you used to work for Harry as a PA and your life was hell. You bump into him in the present but before it unfolds we need to know what happened in the past.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

——————————————

I watch as Winnie types into her phone the number of the guy who’d just hit on her.

“And that’s with a y?” She looks up at him with doe eyes.

“Yea,” he falls for it. He was cute, and she worked a lot I didn’t blame her for taking who she could get. His accent also helped. “What’re you doin’ now?”

“Well,” her eyes slide to me. “Hanging with my girlfriend here.”

He nods at me and I smile, holding up the almost empty glass. “We were just about done for the night though.”

“We were?” Winnie checks in with me.

“Mhm,” I give her an encouraging nod.

Both Winnie and I were employed by musician-turned-actor Oretta Smith. Winnie was her nanny—or childcare companion as she called it, and I worked as Oretta’s executive assistant. It was full-time and demanding as hell but ever since Oretta had her first child a couple months back I’d gotten a lot more breathing room as she minimized her public life and stayed close to home.

This long weekend Oretta was staying with her in-laws and asked us to take it off. I’d already requested the weekend off knowing we were in London but being off at the same time as Winnie was impossible so we’d gone out to celebrate and let loose—9pm and only 2 drinks in, both of us had already started talking about the comfort of our beds. Until flirty dude came up to Winnie.

“What do you say?” Winnie’s new date asks her.

“Aw shucks alright,” Winnie flashes her beautiful smile and hops off the stool. I don’t even see her drop the bills onto the table as she hugs me goodbye and leaves until it’s too late. She’d covered for both of us. Well I’d get her back next time.

I finish the rest of my drink, eyes flicking to the reruns of tonight’s soccer game. This wasn’t the fanciest bar—it was quite homely compared to the ones Winnie and I often found ourselves at. But it was one I used to go to when I worked in London just over a year ago. Being back in the city, despite all the awful memories, pulled me towards the nostalgic comfort of it.

I remember the many dates with my now-ex, the random nights I’d actually get off, and drown myself in drink to forget about my awful employer. Or the birthday and milestone celebrations—especially the ones I started to miss near the end.

I consider walking the few streets over to my old flat. Coincidentally the job I’d gotten wasn’t far from home. The upside was that it made dealing with “emergency” texts from my employer a lot quicker but the downside was it grouped all the traumas I experienced in this beautiful city to a few blocks. I didn’t miss it.

I cut my memory lane rabbit-hole short and decide it was time to order an Uber and get out of here; I had an early train to catch tomorrow.

The bars on my phone flicker up and down as I open the app and continue to refresh it over and over. But my signal remains unstable.

“Stupid phone,” I mutter. I had to update my provider while I was here asap.

“‘Scuse me?” I wave down someone serving drinks. “Have you got wifi here?”

“Yep we do!” She smiles. “Name’s The Violinist and the password’s capital p….”

Her voice grows far away as my blood runs cold and I stare at the list of available wifi networks. I feel myself nod a thank you when she stops talking and she leaves taking the password with her while I’m stuck staring.

My networks:

🔗H’s iPhone

I want to duck down and run away, not spend another second around anything to do with that era of my life. But I also want to hunt him down and show him how much better I was doing after him, despite.

The second instinct wins. Kind of.

I don’t hide away. I scan the dimly lit room and try to spot the familiar head of hair but it’s on the third try that I spot him. And it’s probably because his hair is barely an inch long.

He must’ve cut it recently, I’m surprised. Him without his hair was like Harry Potter without his scar.

The feelings are instantaneous though. The loathing and the need to cry. My heart continues to race as I burn a hole into the side of his head.

He was the devil incarnate and I had thought about him for a second too long just now. And now here he was. What the fuck was a guy like him doing here?

I remember the awful times; the casually cruelty and the late nights he would make me work. His constant criticism. The way my life fell apart because of him. The way I could wring his neck with very little incentive at any given moment.

He had turned my whole life upside down. He ruined me.

Harry Styles wasn’t the sweetheart everyone painted him out to be.

And yet, a flash of a feeling, a fleeting memory I try to keep locked away pushes to the front of my mind.

“Fuck no,” I tell myself. There was no room for fondness when it came to the devil.

About 2 years ago:

I straighten out the blazer, wondering if I should be chic and roll the sleeves up a bit or just keep them down. My reflection shows a nervous mousy girl that’s trying too hard. I throw my hair into a ponytail instead and feel a more like myself. Just as the elevator doors ding open.

I’m in the penthouse suite I would be working out of for the next however long; it was my first day on the job and I was still sorting out my nervous to excited ratio.

After looking for months, I’d landed a PA gig for up-and-coming rockstar Harry Styles. It was a dream come true and everyone was ecstatic for me, most of all my boyfriend who’d helped me land the role.

My boyfriend, Grayson, was a personal trainer to a lot of big names and he’d been keeping his ear to the ground for me. We met a few years ago at the gym of course, I’d still been a student and he worked part-time at the student gym. Back then he was still working to get a better client list.

We’d clicked pretty quickly and Grayson, who was anything but shy, asked me out. Soon after he was telling me he had feelings for me and I’d felt them echo back the same. He was my biggest supporter and when I told him I wanted to take this career path seriously he’d been the first to show me what steps to take to get there.

My true dream was to become a publicist and work with celebrities, but fresh out of post-grad everyone told me I’d need to dive head first and get my hands dirty. And I’d have to do that by finding a PA role for a publicist or an industry person.

“Y/n?” My name interrupts my thoughts. It comes from a disembodied head peeking out from a doorway. “You are y/n right?”

“Yes!” I hurry over. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yes. I’m Mr. Styles’ exec assistant, I’m only here for the next,” he looks down at his watch. “Half hour perhaps? So let’s get you sorted before I head out.”

“Oh okay. Sure,” my ears ring, I was going to be alone on my first day. I didn’t even know he had an executive assistant. What was the difference between him and me? What if I screw up and this guy was part of the fallout plan? Shit. “Is Mr. Styles in?”

“Not at the moment, he’ll be in before noon. He has a few appointments this morning. Typically you’d be going with him but he left before you arrived so…next time. Make sure you get any paperwork he received from the appointments and file them in here-“ he points to a room with a filing cabinet. Like an actual cabinet. This was a tight ship. “You sound American. Are you American?”

“Yep,” I debate whether to tell him I stayed after doing my degree here but decide to keep the yapping to a minimum.

I continue following the EA—who I should get the name of, as he points out rooms and overlaps it with info about Mr. Styles’ schedule and routines. A lot of info. My brain felt like it was barely holding on.

I think about the man I was now working for, the one who came into the interview for a brief 10 minutes. Surely that laid-back guy wasn’t the anal mystery man I was getting all these instructions for.

The interview itself had gone pretty smoothly apart from the fact that I nervous-laughed a few times too many. I had gone silent when The Harry Styles had walked into the office. He’d sat beside me at the round table, slouching slightly and flashing me a reassuring smile—I had felt my shoulders dip down immediately.

“So it’s y/n right? I’m pronouncing that correctly?” He’d said in his perfectly charming accent.

“Yes, it’s so nice to meet you officially.” I had to tamp down every urge to gush over him. I was a professional. I was zen.

“So y/n,” he says my name so casually and yet I feel myself lean closer to hear him say it again. “I’ve seen a couple of you come in here for the PA role. What makes you different then?”

Think think, just be calm and think!

“Well I’m a very passionate person so I put my all into everything I do. That would include this job, and in turn you’d benefit by getting peace of mind knowing I’m tackling whatever behind the scenes items that need to get done to get you where you need to go.”

“Well said,” he says with a smile that says he knew he was very good looking. “Now trust is a big factor in this relationship.”

As he talks I forget his manager is even in this room. I’m swept up in the hazy green of his eyes.

“We’ve done the background checks and all that—right?” He looks to his manager who was interviewing me and gets a nod. “But how can you reassure me. My staff gets approached by the media daily for any info on me. What’s to say you don’t sell out.”

“I would never,” I didn’t even think of that being an option. “Confidentiality and trust is the biggest pillar of this role and I take it very seriously. You’re like, the biggest celeb of the last year but I know you’re also a person and I wouldn’t betray that. On a person level.”

“So even if you had a really bad day, say I had gotten you to do some impossible tasks. And you’re heading out head full of steam and you get approached by a reporter. £5k for an exclusive.”

I shake my head. “As tempting as it would be, professional ethics reign over any of that.”

“I believe you y/n,” his eyes flicker down to my file. “Good references. We’ll be in touch.”

Now my eyes roam around the small room I’m meant to work out of. It’s the size of 1.5 supply closets with half the walls filled with shelves and cabinets. There’s a small desk but I wasn’t sure how often I’d be sitting at it. All the PAs I’d ever connected with always complained about the amount of time you spend on your feet. That’s why I’d opted to buy myself runners when I got the job.

“Any questions—mind you I have 1 minute for them before I’m off? There’s a suit I have to sort out.” The EA turns to me when we circle back to my office/supply closet.

“Oh,” a million race through my mind. Nothing that would fit in a minute. “I um, I guess I didn’t catch your name?”

He seems surprised at that, and then he laughs. “Oh you’re a doll. This place is gonna eat you alive. I’m Riley and tip for you—don’t be so eager to please. Do your job. Do it well. But you’re not here to be liked or make friends alright?”

He laughs again when he looks at my face. He hands me an iphone and tells me it’s programmed with everything and everyone I needed, then waves goodbye leaving me in a confused spot.

I wasn’t naïve, I knew what working in this industry was like but I was could swear I’d landed a good gig with Harry Styles. And meeting the man himself in the interview had confirmed it.

Maybe Riley was just jaded by too many long hours.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. A text from Grayson: good luck on your first day babe. let me know how it goes.

I only have time to heart it when I hear the elevator open in the foyer. I rush out just for Harry to brush past me and his manager following, chattering away about something.

I follow from behind and watch as he heads to the kitchen. Riley had shown me what he laid out on the island and how I should do it going forward. And like two magnets Harry reaches for the exact bottle Riley mentioned. He downs the smoothie and then collapses onto the barstool.

“But don’t forget what she was saying about the single needing to be global. Sure your fanbase would love it but would the people who hate you have to admit it’s good.”

“I make it for my fans not for the wankers that hate me,” Harry says and his voice is rich like caramel.

“You know what we mean.” His manager suddenly turns directly to me. “Can you contact the studio and let them know to push Harry’s 1pm to 3?”

“Oh,” I didn’t even know they knew I was here. They gave no acknowledgement until now. “Of course. Um, could I just get the paperwork from this morning too? The appoint-“

“Yep,” his manager unhauls the items in his hands. The whole time Harry stares out the window. I’m handed a stack of papers and I carry them to the office.

My hands are shaking when I put them down and I feel a lump in my throat. What was wrong with me? Why was I reacting this way?

I find the studio contact in the phone Riley gave me and let them know. They’re suspicious at first but accept the reschedule. I leave the paperwork for later, figuring I might be needed now.

But the rest of the morning I’m unacknowledged save by a few requests from Harry’s manager. I spend some time looking through the calender in the phone that’s pre-programmed with Harry’s entire life. It’s packed except for this Sunday. I wonder if it was actually free or just hidden from me since it was my one day off.

“You’ve got a passport haven’t you…?” It’s the first time Harry’s spoken to me. He’s changed into a hoodie and shorts, his manager is nowhere to be seen, and I’ve just bitten into a granola bar—the first thing I’d had since my morning coffee.

“Y/n.” I try to swallow the bite whole but at the last minute push it to the side to try to answer. “Erm yeah. I haven’t got it on me though.”

“Right. Y/n. Start carrying it. I’ll need you with me on Thursday I have a morning meeting in Léon and since Riley’s going to be sorting out something for my New York trip in a couple weeks he can’t make it.”

“Yes. I will. Do you need me to prepare anything else for the trip? I’m not sure if you’ve packed or-“

“It’s just a meeting.” He cuts me off. He pulls out his phone, dismissing me.

I swallow the knot in my throat once more.

I go with Harry to the studio since his manager is meeting us there. Alone in the car with him, the silence feels stuffy.

“I never got the opportunity to say thank you by the way,” I try to open up a conversation. All he was doing was looking out the window surely I wasn’t interrupting anything.

“What?” He stares right through me.

“Um, I’m just saying thank you. For the job.”

He nods.

I stay silent for the rest of the ride.

The studio is quiet, which makes sense when I think about it but upon entering an actual room I change my mind. The noise assaults my ears and I nearly jump at the volume but my hand gripping the doorknob keeps me in place.

People swarm around Harry.

“I need my tablet and my notebook,” Harry says amidst the small chaos.

What the fucks was he talking about. “Sorry?”

“My tablet and notebook,” His face darkens and so does my mood. Nobody told me! But maybe I should’ve asked oh my god.

“I don’t have it,” I say lamely.

“Any time I’m in the studio I need those two things. You need to get me my tablet and my notebook.” He speaks like a robot.

“I-I’ll head back,” I get my bag again. “Tablet and notebook, is there anything else?”

He looks angrier than I thought. He sticks his hands in his pocket, shuffles something in his hand before handing it over. “You may as well get lunch. Keep that card on you for business costs.”

I open my mouth to ask what he might want but he turns away as soon as I take the card and I’ve already fucked up royally so I decide to wing it.

In the car I consider googling what Harry Styles ate for lunch and instead will the ever living shit out of myself not to cry.

I scroll through the phone, debating if calling Riley for help would be a mistake. Going through every app for help I realize the countless notes in the app.

Morning Routines, says one. It lists things I should do when the mornings were spent at home, in studio, abroad, in a hotel, or if I walk into a “morning-after” morning. Jeez.

Another has checklists for what to do when travelling, how-to for routine appointments I should be booking, routine people I should be calling.

Why didn’t I look at this before. Right there is one called Studio Days and in bold it says what to bring.

I was an idiot. A big fat idiot.

I try my luck and search lunch. Sure enough a note with possible lunch places in cities across the world pops up.

It was a How-to guide for Mr. Styles.

Whoever put this shit together was an angel. I owed them my life.

I decide to be proactive, sorting lunch out to be delivered to the studio while the car drops me off. I run to the room Riley had said was the home studio. Sure enough I spot the tablet and a few notebooks, I grab all 3. I also grab the charger and ignore the bag of weed chilling on the arm of the chair.

What to do when he’s too drunk / What to do for Interview Days / What to do when he won’t answer the door or the phone / Day-off checklist / Social media checklist.

The dos and don’ts go on and on as I scroll through on the ride back. This was going to be my homework and by the end of the week I was gonna be a genius.

I swipe away and check if I had missed any folders containing precious info. Just the trash.

Out of curiosity I open it and there’s only 1 sitting inside: the donts of working for Harry Styles

I open it:

-don’t let one nice day fool you into forgetting he’s an arse and your employer

-don’t expect any gratitude from a narcissist

-don’t fall for his charm

-don’t shit where you sleep. no matter how tempting

-when he pisses you off which he will, don’t mouth off. what happens next is worse than being fired. which he won’t do because he’s the devil and he will want to keep you around after treating you like shite

-don’t think he’s chill. he’s anything but. follow the checklists and the rules.

-don’t have a life. actually this is a CAN’T. YOU CAN’T HAVE A LIFE WORKING FOR THE DEVIL. LEAVE AS QUICKLY AS YOU CAN UNLESS YOU HATE YOURSELF

I close the phone immediately, my heart thumping in my chest like a steady bass in the background of a song. What the hell did I get myself into.

***

It’s 8pm by the time I head back with Harry. The car is once again silent.

I had spent the day reviewing emails and the checklists, fielding calls and texts. His personal chef had texted to tell me dinner was prepared and in the oven to be re-heated so I figure that’s the last thing I’d do before I head home.

I’d eaten lunch standing while watching Harry sing background vocals to the album he was working on. It was hard to deny how intoxicating it was to see such a talented man work his magic. And it really was magical seeing how a song got put together.

That is until he’d sent me to get tea for the room and I’d nearly spilled half of it on myself getting enough back to the room. I was getting an electric kettle next.

I made a new note then: Reminders to do so you don’t get fired

The notes were my saving grace.

“My head is killing me,” Harry groans.

What to carry at all times: #4 paracetamol and #2 water

Checkmarked after going to the pharmacy while he was in the studio. I’d created an emergency makeup bag with essentials I could throw in my tote. I considered it a win today.

I hand the painkillers to him and he seems surprised. He replaces them with his phone.

“I don’t want to look at a screen for the rest of the night.”

“Okay.” I leave his phone beside me and try not to think of everything on it.

It vibrates a few minutes later and I leave it, not wanting to invade his privacy but he glances at me.

“Well?”

“Oh!” I lift it but it’s locked.

“1021.”

I type it in. “Um, Jeff wants to know if you’re still at the studio-“

“Reply to him.”

I do as I’m told.

“Um Mitch wants to know if you’re-“

“If it’s scheduling questions you can probably answer them without bothering me about it.”

I look up and he’s tipped his head back, eyes closed. Right. Of course I could.

I go through his schedule and find his studio time on Friday and relay it to Mitch. I respond to another text from someone asking if he was going to a gala in a couple months—his schedule said he was in LA so no. I wondered if I would also be in LA in a couple months. I wonder what Grayson would think.

Grayson, I’d had a short call with him a few hours ago and tried not to cry hearing his voice. It felt like home when the whole day felt so foreign.

I stare at the final text. The contact photo is the side profile of a gorgeous woman.

“Kimberly wants to know if you want um,” I feel my cheeks burn. “If you’re inviting her in tonight because she has a party she really wants you to go to.”

“I can’t be arsed for a party I feel like shite.” Harry says, eyes still closed. “Tell her to be at mine after 10.”

“Ok.” I type the words with a racing heart. I remember the morning-after checklist for this exact scenario. It wasn’t going to be weird soon I guess.

I heat up dinner for Harry while he showers and leave letting him know what time I’d be in tomorrow. He doesn’t even say goodbye.

I get home around the time I reckon Kimberly gets to Harry’s. The first thing I do when I see Grayson is shed a waterfall and he holds my exhausted body tight against him.

“Are you sure you want to keep doing this?” He whispers to me in bed after a shower and sandwich—I couldn’t stomach anything more.

“I need this job Gray. It’s gotta get better.”

“I reckon but it’s a steep learning curve,” he says as he traces the curve of my nose.

“I know,” I snuggle closer to him and yawn. I don’t know what he says next as I tip into sleep.

***

If the notes app manual with the dos and donts of being Harry Styles’ PA was a physical thing, imagine me swallowing it.

Every spare second I had—which I didn’t get a lot of, I was reading that thing. My fingers searched tirelessly before every scheduled and unscheduled event. And yet, I’d fucked up so many times.

It was Saturday and I was looking forward to my day off.

He had been hot and cold all week but ever since getting back from Léon he’d been nicer and I’d actually been getting home before 8.

Maybe things were going well, despite the fact that the learning curve was like climbing mount everest.

“What’s my morning look like?” Harry asks. I was sitting at his kitchen table trying to book a dinner for him next week with a friend that was in town. A friend who also happened to be big back where I was from—I hoped to catch a glimpse of her myself.

I glance up and look back down just as quickly. After a week of seeing Harry in all sorts of undress I should be used to it, but my face still flushes. Today he stands at the table in running shorts.

“Pulling it up,” I say and scan his schedule even though I had it memorized. “You’ve got a meeting at the bank in about 40 minutes and lunch with Michael.”

“Can’t my accountant take the bank meeting?”

“She’ll be there. She’s meeting you downstairs to discuss the meeting on the ride over. You need to sign off on some stuff.”

“Stuff,” Harry repeats.

I look at him, careful to train my eyes on his face. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed at my lack of elaboration or just teasing me.

“Documents.” I correct, still unable to tell.

He look amused. “Great. Documents. I thought I’d be signing body parts.”

Was he joking? He was joking…I think.

“Right. No, we’re saving that for the tattoo shop booked for 6.”

He raises his brows, a slow smile spreading across his face and like the sun coasting over the horizon he looks brighter and prettier.

“That’s mad, that people would get a random man’s signature tattooed on them isn’t it?”

It’s inevitable really, my eyes skim over his torso brimming with tattoos. He notices and laughs. It’s a wonderful laugh.

“I meant they don’t really know me.”

“They admire you and it’s a piece of you,” I shrug. “At least it’s not a portrait of your face.”

“I’ve seen that floating around the internet actually.”

“Really?!” Now that was mad. I pull it up on the laptop and cover my mouth.

“I know.” He hangs his head and we laugh. God, things were finally getting better. This was the kind of relationship I thought Harry would have with his PA.

I scroll through comments and it’s impossible to wipe the smile off my face. I’ve considered myself a fan for a lot of artists but tattooing their face…that was another level of commitment I couldn’t do.

I look back to Harry who has grown quiet. His eyes are on me.

“What happened to your blazers?”

I’d decided to wear a skirt today, it was my lucky skirt—the one I had been wearing when I got the call that the job was mine. It being the last work day of the week I thought it might make me feel good.

I’d paired it with a tank top and a comfy cardigan. I’d finally felt like myself compared to all the button ups and blazers I’d been parading in. But apparently Harry had noticed the wardrobe difference. Shocker because he barely acknowledged me this week.

“I thought I’d dress for a Saturday?” It comes out meeker than I’d hoped. Ugh. “I hope that’s alright. If you want me more professional-“

“That’s alright,” his eyes roam down my body and I feel hot all over. Oh god, I shouldn’t have worn this. “It looks good.”

“Thanks,” I cross my cardigan over my body and try to get back to work but he doesn’t let it end there.

“Did you make that yourself?”

He continues to surprise me, “I did actually, is it obvious?”

“Yeah there’s a big hole down the back,” he teases. I know he is because his eyes are smiling, light.

“Damnit,” I relax a little. He was only interested in the sweater. “I’d finished it late it looked okay in the dark.”

“I have a friend, she made one of those for me. With the patches. Very comfortable.” He’s weirdly intense while looking at me and I feel like squirming again.

“It is. Very stretchy.” My vocabulary seems to shrink.

He leans over to touch the fabric and I feel like a cactus has been stabbed into my neck, I feel hot and prickly. Jeez, I had to chill out. My employer was just interested in my sweater. Super interested. Maybe I should just give him the damn thing. It would definitely fit him.

“Wool,” he smiles. He’s basically perched above me and I think I’m going to have a heart attack. I went from complaining about the fact that he acted like I wasn’t in any room he was in to not even being able to hold a conversation when he did.

I’m caught looking up into his unfairly gorgeous eyes and he looks at me like I’m the only person in the room. Which I was in this instance, but still.

I’m saved by a loud voice coming out of the elevator.

“Harry you car is waiting downstairs.”

Like a book slammed shut, his expression retreats until all that’s left is the cover page with no summary. The friendly Harry from before is gone.

“Oi Harry! I had to come all the way upstairs because I’ve been sitting in that stupid car waiting! Do you not pick up your phone?”

“Lee,” Harry says as he walks across his living room. “If you can’t reach me you call my PA I’ve told you a million times.”

“And I’ve told you a million times not to keep me waiting. We have a lot to cover before we get to this meeting and I need every minute. God why are you shirtless go put on something appropriate!”

Harry miraculously does as he’s told—given I had already laid out an outfit for him. He’s ready in no time. His accountant, Lee? Simply smiles at me and goes back to typing on her phone while we wait.

“Why is that so wrinkled?” Lee judges Harry who walks out in a completely different outfit.

“I don’t have time to change again do I?” Harry bristles.

Lee looks over at me and I’m not sure if she’s accusing me of something or looking for support.

“Mr. Styles I did leave an outfit out for the m-“

“I don’t wear silk.” He cuts me off and walks out ahead. Lee shrugs my way and follows him. I trail behind, feeling worse than ever.

For a miserable hour and a half I sit in one of the most uncomfortable chairs of my life, organizing Harry’s life while I wait for his meeting to end. As hard as I try to concentrate, I keep agonizing over what I might have done wrong to flick his switch. I swear things were going better. And I know I’ve seen him in silk before. Why the hell else would it be in his closet? Why couldn’t I go a single day without screwing up?

I finally spot Harry walking out of the office and gather my things quickly to meet him. I trail behind as we walk down the hall into the lobby, Lee is nowhere to be seen.

A gasp catches my attention and suddenly a girl younger than me rushes up to Harry.

“Oh my…Harry Styles?”

Harry’s face morphs briefly into annoyance, his gaze flicking my way, before pasting on a smile for the girl.

What to do when a fan approaches H (in the wrong moment): be the bad guy, divert, get Harry to wherever he needs to go to and do it quick.

“Hi,” Harry smiles sweetly at her and the friendliness throws me off guard. But this was unexpected and I should get him away…I think.

“Oh my god could I get a picture? My mate is never going to believe this. She loves you so much, so do I-“

“We really have to be going.” I say and the girl looks at me, surprised to find me there. I look around and spot and older woman watching us. Must be her mum.

“Could I just get a picture?” She glances between us.

“I don’t think Mr-“

“It’s fine,” Harry hands me her phone. “Get a photo of us.”

Just another layer of humiliation to add to the rest of the day. The rest of the week. God was I just awful at reading cues?

I snap a couple and then we’re walking free.

He doesn’t say anything. The car ride to his lunch date is spent in awkward fucking silence and I hate myself more with every second I spend in it.

When the car stops at his destination he holds his hand up when I go to open the door for him.

“Listen -what's your name again?" He asks.

Shame and humiliation drip over me like blood on Carrie’s prom night. I repeat it for him. Just like I had daily since I was hired.

“Right. Y/n. You came highly recommended from a friend so I trust you know how to do this job. This job, is to keep my life organized and keep me on track. Make sure I'm not distracted or side tracked by anyone. Including you. It’s not to be my publicist or my fashion advisor or my personal security. Let's stick to the job description okay?"

His words land bitterly to my ears. Not personal. Just a job. Just a job. Just a fucking job. And yet it was starting to feel like my whole life.

“Yes of course.” I hear myself mumble. And like the big clown I had to be, I push open the door and get out so he can too. He walks to the restaurant without a goodbye and I crawl into the car, heading back to his place. Tears burn my eyes but I refuse to let them out. Refuse to admit just how badly this job hurt.

***

“I’m not doing this on purpose,” I hiss into the phone. “You know I’d be there right now if I could!”

“Babe I get it’s your job but you haven’t come to anything in over a month since you started your job!”

“That’s unfair,” I cup my hand over my mouth. “Gray c’mon I’m going to be there just late.”

“That’s what you said last weekend.”

Last weekend, one of our good friends invited a few friends for dinner in their new place and Greyson had had to go alone. Everyone had messaged me to say I was missed but Gray had been stony, pretended to be asleep when I got home and then given me the silent treatment until I wore him down the next day. It was exhausting begging for affection.

“It’s my job Grey I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Me neither, you know my parents want us over for weekend roast some time but I’ve been avoiding giving them a date because I don’t want you to stand them up.”

“I-“ a shadow shifts in the corner of my eyes and I look up. Harry stands in the doorway. “I have to go we’ll talk later.”

“Whatever y/n,” Grey hangs up and my chest squeezes with all the hurt I was causing. But he saw the state I’d been in since I started this job a month ago and he knows this is just my life right now. Why was he suddenly acting like it was brand new information?

“Are you done your personal call?” Harry asks. He hovers in the doorway, I’d never actually seen him in this little office space. Then again, if he did step in there wouldn’t be much room for either of us to walk around each other.

“Sorry,” I hate myself for apologizing. Here and everywhere else in my life. But I have no other choice. “Can I do anything for you?”

“When are you heading out tonight?” He asks. His eyes glued to my face. I know my eyes are teary and I try to blink it away.

“Um, soon. In an hour or so,” blink blink blink. “Did you need anything from me before then?”

“Yes, I have a friend coming over tonight. Can you order us something for dinner. Something light. And get a bottle to chill for us—champagne. And can you push Monday’s cleaning service to tomorrow afternoon?”

“Consider it done.” I tell him, hoping he would just leave me alone in the dark here.

“Do you have evening plans?” He continues. Why did he never ignore me when I wanted him to!?

“Kind of yeah,” I try to keep it short. “A birthday.”

It was Grayson’s sister’s birthday. She had invited us to a local fave called The Violinist and of course I would only make it to the dessert course if I was lucky. These days, making it to dinner at all was a luxury. I lived off of sparkling water, leftovers, and coffee.

“Well best to finish up what you’re doing so you can head out.”

He leaves and I’m annoyed. Why couldn’t he be nice and just tell me to leave after doing what he asked. But here I sit folding fucking pamphlets for some idiotic pledge he had signed on for. Fuck me.

I’m miserable by the time I leave. I’d managed to finish everything in a half hour so I’d touched up my makeup and changed into a simple dress I had kept in the office closet on Riley’s suggestion.

“A simple black number that could be used for any last minute event.” He’d said. Unfortunately that now counted for personal events too.

“G’night Mr. Styles.” I call out as I walk to the foyer, just so he knows I was going out earlier than I said.

“G’night,” he answers surprisingly. He always ignored me but tonight he sits on the couch. He rises to see me off but I notice him pause and take in my outfit. “Fun night?”

“I hope so.” I unfold the blazer in my hand, suddenly wanting to disappear with his gaze on me.

His long legs walk to me and he takes the blazer I’m fidgeting with from my hands. He actually holds it open and if I wasn’t this exhausted my jaw would definitely be on the floor.

“Oh. Thank you,” I slip it on and turn to face him. As if helping me put it on wasn’t surprising enough, he proceeds to untuck my hair from the blazer.

“That’s alright,” he says in a low seductive tone. “You look nice. Are you dressed up for someone?”

The question is dangerous, toeing a line I’m not sure I want to erase. I try to ease things with a joke. “The birthday girl I guess.”

“A friend?”

“My fiancé’s younger sister.”

Was it just me, or does he bristle when I mentioned my fiancé?

“I didn’t know you were engaged,” he mumbles, glancing down at my hand. I wore a number of rings and I guess the small diamond Grayson had proposed with back when it was the most he could afford, blended in.

“Yeah, nearly a year now.”

“Wow,” he crosses his arms. “Have a date set?”

“Not exactly,” I smooth my hair behind my ears. “We’re thinking next year but we’ve just been so busy with out schedules-“

“What does he do?”

“He’s a personal trainer,” I say proudly.

“Oh,” Harry tilts his head back. “Oh. Now I understand. Now I get the connection. My mate Liam put in a good word for you when I needed a new PA, he said he knew you through his personal trainer. He never mentioned how.”

“I see,” I’d have to thank Liam next time I saw him. He’d been one of Grayson’s first big clients and had become a close friend to us. I’d have to thank him with dinner. If I got any nights off, that is.

“That’s who you were talking to on your personal call?” He asks, his hand tracing my shoulder seam down to my elbow. My heart races from the ghost of his touch.

“Erm yeah, sorry again. I had to take it since it was time sensitive.”

“Best to get going then.”

I take a step backwards and then rush to the elevator all at once. Once I’m on and the doors start to close I turn and catch a glimpse of his handsome face watching me go.

I let out a breath. That was weirdly heavy. And kind of intimate. But weird. That was weird.

I wonder briefly who he was having over tonight. If it was Kimberly, who I’d had the misfortune of meeting in her panties one morning. Or his other “friend” some brunette named Maya or Amaya something. I’d had the misfortune of meeting her when I dropped off a late package to Harry one evening. All were awkward encounters.

I shake away the thoughts and am grateful when Harry’s driver waves me down on the sidewalk. I guess Harry had told him to take me to where I needed to go. My heart is warmed ever so slightly, although I do accidentally nap on the 15 minute drive over.

I make it for the end of dinner and Gray looks relieved to see me even though his eyes hold a hint of something unspoken. I try to ignore it tonight.

“Oh you look beautiful!” I hug the birthday girl, and we sway from side to side. I used to see her a lot before she moved away for uni. “When did you stop being a baby, Josie Duran let me get a look at you.”

“Josefina tell her what you did for your 21st.” Gray says.

“Can you let it go!?” Josie scowls.

“What?” I whisper.

“Mom will kill you,” Gray warns.

“That’s why she doesn’t have to know,” Josie bites.

“Hey,” I put my hands up between the two. “No fighting with the birthday girl. Anyway. Josie, you look beautiful, I’m so sorry I’m late but it’s so good to be here.”

“Aw no don’t worry about it,” she goes in for another quick hug. “I’m just happy you got to come. Gray said the bloke you work for is a nightmare. Tell us do we know him?”

“Ah,” I wasn’t really supposed to talk about him according to my nda. “I dunno if you would. Anyway I’m going to try to steal some of Gray’s leftovers until dessert comes.”

I sit beside Gray where the seat had been left empty and smile up at him, hoping for forgiveness. He sighs and kisses my forehead, pushing his plate towards me.

“Go ahead, have you eaten?”

I had a banana and a yoghurt for lunch but I don’t tell him, just making a vague answer for yes and scarfing down what’s left.

“She got a tattoo,” he says in my ear later as the restaurant finishes singing happy birthday and a cake with sparklers is set down. He’d gotten tipsy and I can tell because he wants to talk about his upsets.

“She’s a grown woman Gray,” I know he was protective and a little traditional—that’s where half of their sibling fights originated, but I always told him he had to let loose a little. “She’s allowed to get it. If I remember you have some tattoos of your own.”

“It’s different y/n.”

“She’s getting older faster than we can keep up with huh?” I lean my head against Gray’s shoulder and let out a big sigh. It feels good, sitting with him here surrounded by friends. It had been a while.

Gray leans his head against mine and doesn’t answer. We watch her friends take pictures like proud parents, watching her cut and then distribute the cake. I should help, but I just could not lift a finger.

“Hey y/n, is that your phone going off?” Josie’s friend beside me points to my facedown phone.

“Is it?” I sit up, my heart doing a number in my chest.

I pick it up, 2 missed calls from Harry and 3 texts. Fuck.

“Leave it,” Gray must be looking over my shoulder. “You’ve gone home now just screw him.”

“I can’t,” I didn’t want Gray getting mad—I know he was kinda drunk and he could make a scene like this. I didn’t want to ruin Josie’s celebration. But I couldn’t ignore this. This is the first time Harry’s messaged me after I’ve gone home. “I’ll take it outside.”

On my way to the door I open the messages. A picture of a bucket filled with ice. A row of question marks. And then: call me

What? What was so urgent about a bucket of-

Oh.

Fuck.

I thought I did everything but I hadn’t. I’d filled the bucket with ice and meant to ask the Italian restaurant around the corner to deliver a bottle like they usually did for Harry but I hadn’t gotten to that part.

I feel like I’m going to vomit any dinner I just had.

I crouch down. Do I call him? Do I pretend I didn’t see this until too late? No. I had to face up. I fucked up.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

I call with shaking hands but it rings and rings and goes straight to voicemail. I try again.

I had to get back, get him the champagne. Fix my mistake.

“Y/N,” Grayson’s suddenly outside. “Aren’t you coming back in?”

“I can’t. I…” how do I explain this to my fiancé without it sounding minor as hell. “I forgot to mail some important documents and I need to get back-“

“It’s Saturday fucking night.”

“Yeah but-“

“And guess what?! Tomorrow’s Sunday! The mail’s going nowhere! Fuck that wanker and come back in.”

Gray holds out his arms and I want to go back in but I need to fix this mistake.

I grasp his hand and he smiles, misunderstanding why I held it, “Gray I have to go-“

He pulls his hand away, a sneer on his face. It hurts when he looks at me that way, like I betrayed him.

“I showed up! I celebrated, I got here Gray I just have to-“

“You were barely here! Do you know how upset she was when I said you couldn’t make it?”

“Well why did you say that!?” I demand. “I told you I was only going to be late!”

“I can’t trust that!” He shouts and I try to pull his arm so he quiets but he doesn’t seem to care there are people around. “Your time is all his, every single fucking second! And when you’re not there your brain is going a million bajillion times over about him and his life. Even when you’re with me! What the fuck! What’s up with that!?”

“Gray I’m sorry look I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. I swear. I’ll make it up to your sister I-“

“I don’t care y/n,” Gray slips his arm out of my grasp. “Do whatever you want. Nothing I say matters anymore anyway right?”

“Gray,” tears streak my face as I watch the man I love go back inside without another look my way.

Fuck Harry.

I try to call him again but voicemail. Again. Fuck!

What to do when you make a mistake: admit to it—Harry appreciates accountability. FIX IT! As much as you can. FIX YOUR MISTAKES OR FACE CONSEQUENCES.

An alert that my uber was here pings my phone—I take the ride to the restaurant and grab an already chilled bottle. I book it to Harry’s building and ride the elevator up, every floor causing a further dip in my stomach.

The doors open to a dimly lit space. There’s music playing, something jazzy, and it smells like…vanilla? Vanilla roses?

“Hol-hold on,” I hear Harry chuckle. A head pops up from the other side of the sofa.

“Y/n?” He looks as confused as I am.

Oh my god, I realize as a giggle comes from the floor. They were on the fucking floor of the living room? They were on the floor of the living room f…what the fuck did I walk into?

“Just back with this,” I squeak, holding up the bottle.

“Harry did you invite someone else?” The voice asks from below with another laugh. He sighs, disappearing again. I hear a very distinct wet noise before he pops back up again, I look at the doors of the elevator trying even harder not to give in to the panic attack that was looking more and more tempting.

“What are you doing here?” Harry approaches me with a softened voice. Wearing a robe. A silk robe. I knew he wore silk.

“You called—the bottle I’m sorry it totally slipped my mind I-“

“I told you to call me?”

“I did, you didn’t pick up! I thought I should swing by-“

“I thought you had a party?” His forehead scrunches.

“I…” the pieces come together. Did I take this too seriously because Harry didn’t even look angry? Great. I was an idiot and proving to Harry I had no life. “It ended. Early. I…I wanted to fix my mistake and bring the bottle.”

He takes it from my hand, still confused. “Y/N.”

I wait for him to continue but he doesn’t. And lord, in this climate with him in just a robe hearing my name on his lips is not okay. I was going to pass out.

“I’ll leave.” I go back to the elevator but he starts talking again.

“I asked you to call me so I could ask-“ he stops when I turn back around to listen. He closes the gap between us again with a sigh, and I don’t realize my face was still streaked with tears. It was probably more noticeable in the elevator light. He takes his finger and swipes across my cheek, his brows furrowing.

“Sorry,” I swipe my cheek to remove the remaining evidence. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He clears his throat and takes a step back. “Thank you for coming back.”

I nod.

“If you’re going to leave early next time, make sure you finish everything I’ve asked you to do. Don’t skip out like this again.”

“Yes yeah of course,” I stutter, relieved to fit back into our usual roles. For a second there, I thought Harry was going to be kind. And that would have been way worse.

“Good night Y/N. See you Monday.”

“Good night Mr. Styles.”

Gray’s not home by the time I get back. I wake the next morning to his side untouched.

So I do the only thing that felt good these days, I curl up into a ball and cry.

***

Taglist - leave me a message if you’d like to join it :)

#harry styles fic #writingsfromhome #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #asks #harry styles angst #harry styles series #musician!harry #dos and donts #ahhh #i didn’t edit this too much it all kind of came out at once #so ignore any errors #hope this is fun to read #it was fun to write

[txttletale]

Your discussions on AI art have been really interesting and changed my mind on it quite a bit, so thank you for that! I don’t think I’m interested in using it, but I feel much less threatened by it in the same way. That being said, I was wondering, how you felt about AI generated creative writing: not, like AI writing in the context of garbage listicles or academic essays, but like, people who generate short stories and then submit them to contests. Do you think it’s the same sort of situation as AI art? Do you think there’s a difference in ChatGPT vs mid journey? Legitimate curiosity here! I don’t quite have an opinion on this in the same way, and I’ve seen v little from folks about creative writing in particular vs generated academic essays/articles

i think that ai generated writing is also indisputably writing but it is mostly really really fucking awful writing for the same reason that most ai art is not good art -- that the large training sets and low 'temperature' of commercially available/mass market models mean that anything produced will be the most generic version of itself. i also think that narrative writing is very very poorly suited to LLM generation because it generally requires very basic internal logic which LLMs are famously bad at (i imagine you'd have similar problems trying to create something visual like a comic that requires consistent character or location design rather than the singular images that AI art is mostly used for). i think it's going to be a very long time before we see anything good long-form from an LLM, especially because it's just not a priority for the people making them.

ultimately though i think you could absolutely do some really cool stuff with AI generated text if you had a tighter training set and let it get a bit wild with it. i've really enjoyed a lot of AI writing for being funny, especially when it was being done with tools like botnik that involve more human curation but still have the ability to completely blindside you with choices -- i unironically think the botnik collegehumour sketch is funnier than anything human-written on the channel. & i think that means it could reliably be used, with similar levels of curation, to make some stuff that feels alien, or unsettling, or etheral, or horrifying, because those are somewhat adjacent to the surreal humour i think it excels at. i could absolutely see it being used in workflows -- one of my friends told me recently, essentially, "if i'm stuck with writer's block, i ask chatgpt what should happen next, it gives me a horrible idea, and i immediately think 'that's shit, and i can do much better' and start writing again" -- which is both very funny but i think presents a great use case as a 'rubber duck'.

but yea i think that if there's anything good to be found in AI-written fiction or poetry it's not going to come from chatGPT specifically, it's going to come from some locally hosted GPT model trained on a curated set of influences -- and will have to either be kind of incoherent or heavily curated into coherence.

that said the submission of AI-written stories to short story mags & such fucking blows -- not because it's "not writing" but because it's just bad writing that's very very easy to produce (as in, 'just tell chatGPT 'write a short story'-easy) -- which ofc isn't bad in and of itself but means that the already existing phenomenon of people cynically submitting awful garbage to literary mags that doesn't even meet the submission guidelines has been magnified immensely and editors are finding it hard to keep up. i think part of believing that generative writing and art are legitimate mediums is also believing they are and should be treated as though they are separate mediums -- i don't think that there's no skill in these disciplines (like, if someone managed to make writing with chatGPT that wasnt unreadably bad, i would be very fucking impressed!) but they're deeply different skills to the traditional artforms and so imo should be in general judged, presented, published etc. separately.

#ask #ai art

[grave-z-boy]

Arthur Morgan x Male!Reader

A/n: Tumblr straight up deleted the original ask :/ also the ending is kinda rushed cuz Ive been working on this for too long.

Request: if ur taking requests, can i request a arthur morgan x male reader where the reader gets kidnapped by o’driscolls, gets injured a lot, and arthur comes, pissed asf, screaming, “where is he” and shit, basically rescues reader, and comforts him later after they set up camp and basically start making out which the leads to sex, but arthur is super gentle, and very careful and isn’t sure if they should because of readers injuries but they do and he’s super sweet and, making sure reader is ok and stuff. (already were in a relationship prior to kidnapping) if this is way too much i get it lmfao. i like your writing a lot!! ~anonymous

Summary: Arthur rescues reader after he's been kiddnapped

Word count: 3,442

Warning: torture, murder, reader gets shot, bruises and scars, guns in general, passing out, smut, bottom!reader, top!Arthur Morgan, hurt/comfort, short smut.

A stray bullet flew so close to your ear that you could hear it cutting the air. The oozing hole in your leg only spit out more blood as you crouched down behind a tree, your shoulder pressed hard against the bark as you tried to keep your head from spinning. You whistled for your horse, only to hear a sudden pained whiny from her somewhere across the O’Driscolls camp, you swore under your labored breath. Another bullet flew past you.

Using the tree you pushed yourself up, the old, sharp bark tearing the skin on your palms. Breathing in, you tried to block out the searing pain in your leg. It worked just enough for you to peek around the tree and aim your pistol at the O’Driscoll. Squeezing the trigger, the man fell back, you hit him square in the chest.

He wasn’t the only one though- this camp was chock-full of O’Driscolls, and they were all looking for you. You spotted another man, hunting rifle in hand, slowly creeping into the tree line, you aimed, but he was faster, shooting you in the shoulder. It hurt like hell, you yelled as you hit the ground. He crept closer- he was fast, but he wasn’t a good shot, you could tell as he nervously reloaded his gun. The shot wasn’t enough to kill you, even if you let it sit and fester. Before he could aim again you raised your pistol and shot him, once in the chest, and when he didn’t go down you shot him between the eyes.

Letting out another breath, you pushed yourself onto your knees. Only to feel warm metal against your neck, before you could even swear, you were hit with the butt end of the gun, your vision blurring to nothing in a matter of seconds.

~~~~~~~~~

“He should of been back by now..” Arthur said for about the fourth time this hour.

“Y/n’s a strong man, he’ll be fine. Probably just…camping out again.” Karen, who’d had to listen to him complain about four times this hour, muttered, her hands and mind more focused on mending a pair of Sean’s pants.

Sitting with Karen tended to comfort Arthur more than it should have, but right now her presence only made it worse. Her husband was out there with you and yet she wasn’t worried. She sat idly sewing like death couldn’t come to her man at any time. Arthur knew all too well how death could sneak up on a person. Especially you, who have had at least a dozen near-death experiences this year alone, and dozens more in the years before that, and that's with Arthur around to try and keep you breathing, he doesn't like to think about the shit you’d gotten yourself into before you met. Some of your little stories, stories you told so casually, made him sick at best and unbearable angry at most. You were everything to him and to think of what people had done to you made his blood boil beneath his skin.

“Look there, it's Sean, Y/n shouldn't be too far behind.”

Looking up, Arthur watched Sean nearly fall off his horse, leaving his lead untied, then bolting straight towards Arthur.

“They got him!” Sean shouted as he ran through camp, “Those fuckers got Y/n!”

Arthur was on his feet faster than he could process, grabbing Sean by the collar, forcing the frantic, fidgety man to stay still- at least a little so he could explain himself.

“Who has him?” he asked through clenched teeth, he knew he shouldn't be mad at Sean but he was. Whatever happened, they were supposed to be watching each other.

He felt Karen's hand on his shoulder but paid it no mind.

“We were just riding around, found some O’driscal camp out North. I swear I didn't mean to leave him, but we were surrounded and I thought he’d get out on his own-”

“You left him?!”

“I heard a horse bolt and I thought he was on it-”

“Bullshit, you're a goddamn coward, Sean-”

“Arthur!” Karen shouted from behind him.

Arthur's grip on Sean loosed enough for Karen to drag him away, muttering comforting words to him.

Arthur was out of camp in less than a minute, pushing his horse to the limit, blowing past trees, towns, and other riders until he came across your horse, standing in the middle of the road, dried blood covering its left side.

He breathed out slowly, hopping off his horse, taking slow, careful steps towards the spooked thing, hesitating for a moment before petting him.

“That's it..” he muttered, listening to the horse whiny, “I know, I know. I'll find him..”

Arthur caught a glimpse of something moving out of the corner of his eye, just beyond the tree line. He took the lead of your horse and guided him off the road, carefully watching the barely hidden man. The only thing keeping Arthur from seeing him was the shadow cast by the trees and the rapidly falling sun.

With his hand hovering over his pistol, he gave your horse one last look before a sudden shiny glint caught his attention. He didn't think, whipping his pistol from its leather holder and firing, watching the glint disappear and the shadowy figure falls back.

Letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding, he walked forward into the treeline, glancing down at the body, and the gun in its hand, then stepping over it.

~~~~~~~~~

Your own senseless muttering was the only thing keeping you awake, pain searing across every part of your body, blood pooling beneath you, dripping from your wounds, down to your feet, and into the waiting puddle below. The quiet dripping of your blood had become too soothing, too rhythmic- in your exhausted form it had begun lulling you to sleep.

You knew you couldn’t, you weren’t stupid enough to let that happen. You’ve seen guys twice your size with wounds yards milder than yours take little naps and never wake up. You weren’t going to risk it.

You blinked in the darkness, you’re husband will be here soon. Sean rode out like his ass was on fire, camp was only a couple of miles away, Arthur will ride in here, ready to blow the whole damn camp- and every O’Driscoll he sees- sky high. You laughed at the thought, wincing when the slight move aggravated every open wound, as well as the robe burns around your wrist.

The door behind you slammed open, the pitch-black room was suddenly flooded with the warm, mid-day sunlight.

Heavy footsteps thudded behind you, getting louder and louder as they came towards you. Without warning, your hair is pulled back, your scalp flared with pain, but subsides quickly. You locked eyes with the man, tall and pale, yet so strong, as you had learned over the past few hours.

“How many times do I have to tell you to shut up?” he growled, a forced glare on his face.

You opened your mouth to respond, something hurtful and defiant, just as all of your other words had been. But you couldn’t, your throat was dry, and the bruise on your cheek was sweltering. So you just stared at the man.

There was a sudden thud from outside, then another, and another.

You blinked hard, the tall man let go of you, hand on his holster, creeping towards the door. He peaked around the door, glanced at you with that same forced glare, then back out the door. When breathed in deeply, then jumped into the doorway, whipping his gun out as fast as he could. It was in his hand maybe half a second before he was shot at least four times, falling back when the first two hit him square in the face, the other two must have just been for fun, once in the neck, then in the chest.

Unnecessary, rageful- more thuds came from outside, shouting, screaming, gunshot. You closed your eyes, letting your head hang low, finally relaxing your strained neck. You were being rescued.

~~~~~~~~~

The O’Driscoll camp wasn't hard to find, from afar, it looked normal, a couple of guys sat in an unhorsed wagon, drinking, and laughing, a couple more were cooking around a fire. Two were standing guard outside the door of a shack, the only permanent building in the camp, all holding guns. Every last member of the O’Driscoll camp.

Arthur breathed out, he wanted to think this out, he wanted to be reasonable, he wanted to sneak you out the back, a quiet escape. But it was too peaceful here, they were having too nice of a day and you were somewhere, hurt- or…worse- and they didn't care or better yet they were happy about it. About your pain.

Arthur checked his gun, then his knife, it's all he needed.

Then, he charged.

The first man to notice him didn't even get to get a word out before being met with a bullet, the next four followed the same fate. The last man from around the fire made a perfect hostage. Young, the whole crew jumped when he was grabbed. Arthur held a gun to his head, one arm around his throat, glaring at the others as they closed in around him.

“Let ‘im go!” one of the men shouted, gun trained on Arthur.

He wouldn't shoot, it was too close of a shot.

“I'm only gonna ask once,” Arthur yelled, the man shrunk away from him, “Where is y/n!”

Silence.

Arthur pulled the hammer of his gun back.

“We don't know no ‘y/n’, whoever the hell he is, he ain't here!” the same man as before shouted.

Arthur blinked, then pulled the trigger. The man hung limply in his grip for a second before he let him crumble to the floor. A bullet flew past Arthur's ear a second later.

Somebody here is fast- a shame he can't aim.

Arthur shot the five men down before anymore could pull their guns.

The camp erupted into a mix of shouting orders, and screams of pain as Arthur made his way through the camp. His gun was holstered in exchange for a knife and his bare fist.

Another man, also young with dark hair, watched with wide horrified eyes as Arthur practically tore a man open with his knife, then set his sights on him. Running didn't work, he didn't get very far. Jerked back by the back of his collar, turned around with so much force his legs gave up on coordination and ended up in a heap. Arthur held him by his rumpled, red shirt.

“Where is he?!” Arthur said through gritted teeth, his voice deep and guttural, panting from the force he'd used on every man in this camp who stood in very similar positions to the man he was holding right now.

“The shack-” the man nearly cried, choking on his own breath, “it’s-it’s where we keep our meat.”

Arthur shoved the man to the floor, his back hitting the ground with enough force to crack it.

In the short moment he had- he could hear more members of the camp coming- he reloaded his gun.

Two O’Driscolls came from behind a large tent. Arthur got them in one shot, straight through both mens chests, they collapsed on top of each other in a soon-to-be rotting heap.

The rush of O’Driscoll’s was brought to a quick and brutal end. The last line of defense for the meat shack- for you- was a tall, pale man.

With bullets to spare, Arthur emptied the barrel of his gun into the man, storming into the shack. It was dark, the soft light the sun provided wasn't enough, old wood creaking beneath his boots as he took slow, careful steps inside. Vague figures, six, hanging from the ceiling.

Even in the dark, he recognized you immediately. His heart sank as you hung there, unmoving.

A sudden deep breath broke the silence, then a groan. You shifted slightly against the rope around your wrist, muttering something as you did.

Holstering his gun, he sped over to you, putting both hands on your face, and even in the impossibly low light he could still see your eyes staring straight into his.

Cutting you down and carrying you out was a blur, he didn't look at you, your body, he didn't think he could, not with how he was now. He knew you were hurt, you'd hissed painfully when he picked you up, and despite his attempts to keep his eyes off of you, he could see that your shirt, at the very least, was torn and stained with blood.

He felt like he was burning, even with the camp extirpated and you safe in his arms. He still felt a furor building in his chest as he searched for your horses.

Your head rested against his chest, eyes just barely open, vision entirely blurred.

Unaware of your surroundings, you let Arthur’s familiar presence take you over. Listening to his ragged breath and pounding heart.

You don't remember being brought to camp or dozing off, but you felt better, your arms felt lighter and your head had stopped spinning, you could feel bandages on your shoulder, stomach, and leg. You blinked, looking down at yourself, your clothes had been changed, they were mismatched but comfortable. Resting your head back against the cot, glancing around the little camp Arthur had set up.

Kneeling by the fire, swearing under his breath as he stared into the hanging pot.

Pushing yourself up, you realized how sore your wrists still were, but you pushed passed it. Finding your barrings, you walked over to him, feeling dirt and twigs crunch under your boots. Arthur, staring so deeply into the pot, so frustrated with everything and everyone, did not hear you coming.

You sat behind him, wrapping your arms around him, squeezing him tight, feeling his warmth envelope your aching body.

“Hey, Hon..” you muttered into his neck, your throat was a little sore, you realized.

His hand found yours quickly, but they lingered on your wrist, over what would soon be scars. You breathed deeply, setting your head on his shoulder.

“Rope burn ‘s no joke”

You heard him breathe out.

“I was so…” he started, trying to find the word.

Enraged, pissed, livid, angry-

“..scared. With Sean riding into camp the way he did I couldn't help but think the worst.”

Sighing, you moved carefully to sit next to him. Your bruises ached, your cuts and gashed burned, and the bullet wound in your shoulder felt like hell, but you smiled.

“You know I'm not going anywhere, not without you. If I'm going to hell you bet your ass I'm taking you with me.”

Hd smiled softly, “I know, I know,”

Stirring the pot a bit, he said “Food’s not gonna be done for a while.”

“How long?”

“‘Bout an hour.”

You hummed, leaning your head on his shoulder, a moment passed, you pressed a kiss into the leather of his coat, another moment passed, you kissed his neck, right under his jaw. You felt him shift his head to the side.

A few more moments and a few more kisses later he pulled away. He was already hesitant to reciprocate, he'd seen the extent of your injuries when he was cleaning you up, it was a hard sight to see. So many cuts and bruises that no matter how hard he tried he couldn't keep track of them all.

The second he reciprocated, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him, kissing you slowly, his hand curling around your hip- he pulled away when a small, pained noise left your throat.

Guilt immediately flooded Arthur, his heart clenching, then dropping into his stomach when you moved your pants down to reveal a deep purple bruise. Still fresh and no doubt painful.

He mumbled your name as you checked out the bruise, then fixed your pants, looking back up at Arthur like nothing had happened.

“I’m okay,” you said, your mood clearly not phased the way Arthur’s was.

“I’m sorry..”

You hummed, getting close and leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Don’t be.”

“You know I can't help it..”

You pressed a short kiss into the crook of his neck.

“Then make it up to me.”

It was a well known fact that Arthur was wrapped around your finger, you knew it, he knew it, and all your friends at camp knew it. So it didn't take much begging, despite his better judgment.

His brain was screaming at him- you were hurt, covered in bruises. Sex would not make you better, it would actually make you worse.

Yet here he was, kneeling on the cot with you laying in front of him, a relaxed smile on your face as he popped each button on you pants open. You spread your legs, hanging them over Arthur’s hips. He hesitated.

Your hands found his in a moment, pulling them up to your lips and kissing from his wrist all the way up to the tips of his fingers. He sat there silently admiring you, every touch of your lips stinging him with a feeling of both guilt and need.

You stopped with a bite, taking the tip of his thumb in your mouth, biting with just a little bit of pressure. Then you kissed it like you had done all the others. It brought to mind a rougher memory, with you at his mercy, with him doing nothing while watching you writhe, pleas falling from your lips rapidly.

He blinked and the memory was gone.

Arthur let out a slow, unsteady breath. Then leaned down, burying his face in your neck, listening to your breath, feeling your pulse, kissing your exposed skin. Hearing the relieved sigh you let out, he began to grasp just how much you wanted him.

With practices ease, he blindly unbuttoned your shirt, moving from marking your neck to marking your exposed chest.

As gently as he could muster, he ran his hands down your sides, feeling the hard, hot bruises that littered your body.

You breathed out as he went farther and farther down, from your neck, to your chest, all the way down to your barely exposed hip. His fingers in two belt loops, slowly tugging your pants lower and lower. He kissed every inch of your skin, and every time he exposed more, he devoured it.

Pulling back to take your pants all the way off, nearly disturbing the now healing cut that went across your thigh. Your already hard cock rested against your stomach. Balling up your pants and setting them to the side. Resisting the urge to run his hands across each scab that had formed on your skin. A deep-seated urge to soothe and comfort, but he knew he couldn't do much more than he already had.

He pressed into you slowly, holding your hip steady in his hands, your thighs flinching several times, bitting down on to your lip as the pain of being stretched open lit every nerve in you body. Letting out a rigid, stuttered breath as he slowly pulled out after a moment of waiting- your hand squeezing his arm, giving him permission to move.

He did, holding your body close to his, reveling in every little whimper and moan, no matter how small. His praise boundless and constant as he thrust into you. You could feel him holding back, you’ve been with Arthur far too long to no know- he’s doing it for your well-being- you probably couldn’t handle more that what he’s giving you now.

Your body clung to Arthur’s as you came, your own shattered breath was the only sound you could hear for a long moment. Slowly releasing Arthur from your crushing grip, you blinked as your vision - which you hardly even realized was skewed- became clear again, and the mildly worried face of your lover came into view.

You couldn't help but smile- not that you wanted to let help it- especially as relief flooded his rigid figure.

“‘You okay?”

You nodded, shutting your eyes for a moment, finding that opening them became harder with every second that passed. You could hear Arthur talking, small mutters to you or to himself, your words only came out as a quiet, incoherent noise. You were exhausted, but quite happy. Even as your body settled and new pains set in with the old ones. You were happy.

#male reader #male!reader #x male reader #male y/n #arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan x male!reader #red dead redemption 2 x male reader #red dead redemption 2 x male!reader #red dead redemption 2 #✮ — z boy

[chamiryokuroi]

My thoughts on Tim Drake: Robin #10 heavy spoilers under the cut

First of all got to say it wasn’t a bad ending if we consider they had to wrap up this arc in such a short amount of time, gotta give it to Meghan she managed to figure out a way to answer as many questions as possible and give us a relatively good ending for a series that I feel was canceled with no reason.

You can definitely feel that the story was planned to be done in more issues, the building blocks are all there for an amazing arc and it is sad we had to condense it all in one issue.

Now into a more in depth analysis of the comic of my favorite parts.

The Labyrinth was such and interesting point I wish we could have seen more of, specially with the fact this is the cult if Dionysus.

I absolutely adore the fact that Bernard is fully aware of Tim’s identiry because we get such funny interactions like this where Pie honestly thinks Tim is cheating on Bernard with Robin, and that panel of Bernard laughing because of that is one of my favorites for sure, boy is having so much fun, as he should.

Now in a more serious tone, this two panels tells us so much of how Tim feels, how insecure he is of his own place, not only on his family, but in the world as a whole. That second panel specifically where we see Bernard having fun while Tim is just on the bg, knowing how hard it must be for Tim to wrap his head around his sexuality even now, a year after coming out and starting dating Bernard, this feels realistic, sometimes when you come out later in life it feels as if you do not fit exactly with the community, and it can be hard to find your place.

If I had a nickel for every time a creepy cult tried to recruit Tim into their ranks I would have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it is weird that it keeps happening.

This is honestly another point that feels like it was meant to be explored for longer before the cancelation notice came. At least it gives us an explanation of why Kate was acting the way she was, it took me a while to get it but basically after Tim saved Bernard from the cult back in Urban Legends Kate went around hunting down those that managed to escape, one of them being the son of this man that appears to be the leader of the cult, the son then took his own life and Kate was taken into the labyrinth, were we know Tim was being pumped with some hallucinogen gas of some sort, depending on how long she was on the labyrinth before managing to escape that might explain her memory loss, again this is all theorizing with what we are given since there wasn’t much space for it to be explain as it should.

And now we go back to Bernard who is looking around for Tim, going to all the people that knew him as Robin, and then those words “Tim takes care of everyone… but sometimes he needs someone to take care of him” hits me straight on the feels, Bernard is such a supportive boyfriend, he is definitely what Tim needs, someone that is there for him, not only for Tim, but also Robin.

Also the fact that Bernard is making his own homemade bat-signal with his hands is just adorable to me. Boy could had probably drove to Bruce’s house, but he doesn’t need Bruce’s help right now, he needs Batman.

And of course Batman responds. Bruce why were you following Bernard? Anyways, yet another great speech from Bernard “I thought you might be a ghost. Or you weren’t real. But the truth is you look sort of normal. Like regular-people normal.” Leave it to Bernard to understand exactly what Batman is, just a normal man trying to help as best as he can.

And then he says Tim needs help, not Robin, Tim. This is just Bernard out right telling Bruce “I know, and I don’t care, because Tim is in problem and you got to find him”

And then we get the best thing, Bernard, and Tim’s friends and family, rushing in to save him, just as he was losing hope of managing to leave the labyrinth alive. Absolutely in love with Bernard’s long ass coat.

And then we get to my favorite page. The uncertainty if it is really him or another hallucination, the confirmation that it is him, it is Bernard, here to save Tim. The hug, the way Tim is holding Bernard’s face, the only thing that would had made this better would had been a kiss.

And then we get to the ending, not much to say here, I just love these two pages, Tim just finally realizing he doesn’t need to be anyone else, that he can be himself and that he is right where he belong, and that he can be happy with that. The best ending we could have hope for with what we were allowed to have.

There are obviously many questions left unanswered.

What was exactly the Cult of Dionysus? Where did it came from?

What’s going on with Bernard’s parents?

What’s up with Moriarty? Who was his boss? What was his deal with Robin/Tim??

I am sad TD:R ended the way it did, had it been given the time to develop I feel it would had gotten better. But I am glad we managed to get as much as we did, now we just have to wait and see what will DC do now with Tim, and if Bernard will stay relevant or will they brush him under the rug.

#dc #tim drake #bernard dowd #timbern #this makes no sense but I just had to speak out #td:r spoilers #spoilers

[cringelgbtrep]

i got dox'd!

hello everyone! so basically, long story short, the day after i posted the grelle/bugs/pete poll someone on a burner account dm'd me my home address and IP address. i reported and blocked them and then took a break for mental health reasons and waited for someone to mail a pipe bomb to my house. that didn't happen, but it could.

really not feeling the poll after that. one of you fruits can steal the idea from me if you wanna. hosting a poll where a mentally unwell freak tries to dox me for glee representation or something of the sort...is not my idea of fun!!

cheerio. it was cool while it lasted. steal the bracket ahoy!