#i had to use all of my remaining brain cells for the idea

[soupetiedee]

Can’t even have faith in Connecticut smh 💀

Bonus

#artwork #digital art #digital illustration #art #fandom #fanart #faith the unholy trinity #faith the game #john ward #john thomas ward #gary miller #faith airdorf #airdorf games #horror games #please notice the purple fade detail #i had to use all of my remaining brain cells for the idea

[nataliasquote]

Tattoos for troubled minds | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha struggles to trust anyone when it comes to touching her body. But that becomes rather difficult when a tattoo idea comes into her mind that she just can’t shake

Warnings: mentions of scars, tattoo needles, slight internalised homophobia

wc: 3.6k

note: I don’t actually have tattoos (despite wanting one so badly) so this is probably really inaccurate. I do apologise if this doesn’t make sense. also, I hate this so much but the guilt of not posting is eating me alive so I’m sorry

-⧗-

Natasha was a quiet soul. She kept to herself, usually sitting at her own table in the Shield cafeteria, eyes focused on her plate of food as she ate quickly, just wanting to get out of there. None of the other agents dared make conversation with her, too spooked by her fighting skills to approach. But that didn’t bother her. Her hyper independence made her hesitant to trust people.

Clint was the only one she spoke to outside of working hours. They weren’t exactly friends, but she tolerated him enough to flash a small smile if she saw him in the hallways or feel slightly relaxed if they were paired for missions together.

And he liked her too, especially since her first words had been a jab at his choice of weapon.

“Bow and arrow? What did you do, get your training in a forest?”

But he didn’t take offense to it. After all, he’d made the call to save her and she owed him her life. Which is how, two years later, she was sprawled on his couch, chewing on take out pizza for the second time that week with a scowl.

“I think I want a tattoo.”

Clint frowned at her, wondering where her brain cells had disappeared to. “What?”

“You know, the permanent drawing-“

“Yes I know what a tattoo is Tasha,” he rolled his eyes at her teasing smirk, already over her sarcasm. “But you know it’s a bad idea for spies to have unique markings like that.”

Natasha shrugged, tugging up her sleeve to reveal a strange shaped scar across her bicep. “I’d say I’ve got enough of those naturally. And it would be hidden on my ribs or something.”

Clint just shook his head and turned back to his food. He was used to Natasha’s odd comments and her tattoo phase probably wouldn’t last in his eyes. Just like her ‘wanting to be blonde’ phase didn’t.

But it didn’t end. A month later and Natasha had fallen down the rabbit hole that was tattoo designs on pinterest, courtesy of a fellow agent who introduced her to the app. She didn’t understand it at first, but now it was 3am and her tablet screen was still glaring bright in her face, a plethora of images scattered across her screen.

She saved a couple to a board, now set on design and placement, before placing it to one side with a grin on her face. Natasha climbed out of bed and padded over to her mirror, pulling up her shirt and smiling softly to herself. But the dim lamplight made her scars glisten and she caught herself, a sudden feeling of repulsion shuddering through her body. She looked like a freak and no tattoo artist would want to go near that. Her scars weren’t normal and she wasn’t ready for the questions yet.

Tears glazed her eyes over and her arms snaked across her stomach, her reflection in the mirror now blurry. Even as the salty tears dripped down her cheeks and soaked the collar of her shirt, she didn’t step away, too engrossed with how disgusting she felt in her body.

That stubborn hope that the redroom failed to squash out had ignited inside her once more, except this time she just wanted to laugh at it. Natasha would never be normal. She was what they’d made her into, and a tattoo was never going to change that.

Clint noticed the change in her demeanor when she sat down at breakfast. Natasha barely engaged in her usual small talk, more focused on her food in front of her.

“Did you do anymore tattoo research yesterday?” He asked, knowing that would catch her attention. But instead of the usual spark, she remained dejected, stirring her yogurt half heartedly.

“Yeah,” came her response, albeit rather forced.

“There’s probably a lot of places in DC that would kill to tattoo a shield agent.” Nat shot him a look. “Just saying!”

“Sure. But I don’t think I can anymore.”

Clint looked at her with a frown. “Why not?”

Natasha just looked down and tugged at her sleeve, suddenly feeling exposed in her tight fitting suit. The image in the mirror from last night came into her mind and she pushed her food away, no longer hoodie. And beside that, she didn’t trust people she worked with, so how would she trust a complete stranger to add something permanent on her body? Getting a tattoo would be nothing but a dream for her, she knew that, but it still crushed her.

Clint studied his best friend for a moment in thought, before he placed his hand gently on her arm. “I might know someone who can help.” Natasha looked up, now interested. Her face was still stony but Clint knew she was excited. “A friend of Laura’s, we helped her out even before you came here.”

“An agent?” Clint hadn’t mentioned anyone like that before and it confused Natasha.

But Clint shook his head. “No, nothing like that. She came to Laura and I when she was a teenager and had nowhere else to go. And you know my wife-“

“Can’t let anyone suffer,” Natasha finished for him, warmth spreading in her stomach at the thought of the soft woman she’d grown to adore. Laura really did have the biggest heart out of everyone.

“Exactly that. Y/n was fourteen, I think, parents kicked her out of the house. How she got to ours, I’ll never know, but she just appeared on the doorstep one night and Laura melted at the sight of her.” Clint’s expression softened at the memory. “But anyway, what I’m saying is that she’s a tattoo artist. She’s got trust issues just like you and I think she’ll help.”

Natasha scowled at the last part, wanting to protest his comment. But she knew he was right; her trust issues were what got her into this mess in the first place.

“But she’s a kid?”

“No, almost the same age as you,” Clint said with a laugh. “You’ll like her, but she can be a little scary.”

“Scarier than me?”

Clint smirked. “Oh, you’d be surprised. That glare of hers rivals yours.” This vague description intrigued Natasha and Clint could see the cogs turning in her mind. “She knows what we do and she’s seen my scars. Trust me, they won’t put her off.”

Natasha’s head shot up, staring at her best friend with confusion. Was she that easy to read? Or did he just know her too well?

~~~

With the news of her favourite girls coming back home, Laura had been in a frenzy of cleaning and preparing. Clint had texted to say he was only minutes away so she left the dishes to soak and headed to the porch, anxiously staring at the track beside their house as she waited.

Anyone would have thought she was married to Natasha over Clint by the difference in reactions she gave them. Sure, Clint got a kiss and a hug, but Natasha truly got the special treatment, with Laura scanning her to make sure she wasn’t injured and quizzing her about how she was. Poor Clint was left to grab their bags as the women disappeared into the farmhouse.

Tea was poured and snacks were eaten in the cosy kitchen before the doorbell rang and Laura excused herself, leaving an anxious Natasha on her own for a moment. Muffled voices could be heard but she tried to go against her instincts of listening in and instead busied herself with a loose thread on the tablecloth. She heard footsteps approaching and turned in her chair, ignoring the way her heart thumped loudly in her chest.

The woman who walked in the kitchen doorway was stunning, Natasha couldn’t deny it, and her eyes darted to the patchwork of tattoos that littered her exposed arms. Their eyes met, and Natasha swore she could see the walls up in the other woman’s mind. But it didn’t scare her off. No. It brought her a weird sense of comfort and her body started to relax.

Clad in a black cropped tank and black cargo pants, Y/n hesitated in the doorway, duffle bag slung over her shoulder hitting the wall gently. Laura appeared behind her, gentle hands falling to her shoulders.

“Y/n, this is Natasha, the one I told you about.” The y/h/c girl made no effort to move. “She’s Clint’s partner.” Clearly not much of a talker, Y/n just nodded, not hiding the fact she was scanning Natasha from head to toe. She didn’t trust strangers, but she trusted Laura and Clint who seemed to love Natasha. So maybe she wasn’t a threat.

“Hi, you can call me Nat if you want.” No one called her Nat except Laura, but it was a feeble attempt to make the atmosphere more comfortable. Another nod came but Laura smiled.

“Do you want to go set up? All of your stuff is still exactly where you left it,” Laura addressed Y/n who adjusted the grip on her bag and disappeared down the hall without a word. Natasha’s eyebrows raised at Laura who watched her go, a fond look in her eyes. “She does speak, I promise.”

Natasha shook her head, brushing her off. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I can tell you care about her a lot.”

“She’s like a daughter to me, kind of like you are.” Natasha’s cheeks flushed at that. “She doesn’t have anyone except us, so I worry. She’s a real sweetheart though, she’s just been through a lot. Kind of like someone else I know.”

“I’ll be kind, don’t worry.”

Laura couldn’t help but smile as she stirred her tea. “Oh I know. She already likes you, you don’t need to worry about that.”

Natasha let out a sigh and started to play with the hem of her zip up jacket. It suddenly felt real, the whole tattoo thing. And whilst she weirdly trusted Y/n, it didn’t help ease her nerves any less.

The redhead sensed a new presence before she spotted her, standing in the doorway just like she was before.

“Ready when you are, Nat.” Her voice was slightly raspy from lack of use and she spoke quietly, almost as if she was scared she’d get into trouble. Natasha smiled softly at the sound of her nickname and squeezed Laura’s hand before she followed the y/h/c girl down the hallway of the house she considered her second home.

Clint’s office had been turned into a makeshift tattoo studio with all new equipment and furniture decorating the small space. The tattoo bed had a fresh paper layer on top and Y/n gestured for Natasha to take a seat.

“Ok, do you have an idea of what you want? And where?” Y/n sat down at a small table and picked up her pen before looking at Natasha expectantly.

“I’ve got a couple of reference pictures on my phone.” The small device was handed over and Y/n swiped between them, nodding in approval before setting it down. “The last one is just for placement ideas.”

“I’ll work up a sketch and you can tell me what needs changing.” Luckily Natasha’s design was incredibly simple and it didn’t take long for Y/n to hold up her page.

Natasha slid off the bed and slowly walked over, not wanting to startle the skittish girl. But Y/n just moved over, clearly welcoming the redhead into her space.

“I love that a lot,” Natasha praised, studying the simple lines. “But maybe it could be a bit smaller.”

“I can scale it down when I make the stencil, no problem. But is the design alright? Remember, it is permanent so I want you to be completely happy with it.”

Natasha studied it for a moment, a smile tugging at her lips as she imagined it on her body. Y/n had talent, anyone could see that even from such a simple drawing, and Natasha nodded before she slid the notebook back to her.

“I love it, I really do.”

Y/n nodded, grabbing her stencil paper from a drawer by her leg. She wordlessly began making the stencil and Natasha took this as her cue to return to her seat. She peered around the room, admiring a few pictures that were on the walls. Incredibly complicated tattoos which she guessed Y/n had done.

The young girl sketching away in the corner thoroughly interested her and something inside Natasha was drawn in. She wanted to get to know her because aside from the shy and hesitant exterior she was effortlessly cool and seemed sweet. Maybe Y/n could be the start of Natasha’s project to make friends.

“If you lie back on the seat and lift your shirt, we can make sure this is exactly how you want it before I start.”

Natasha took a deep breath and slowly lifted her shirt and lowered the waistband of her sweatpants so her hip bone was exposed. She shivered despite the room being warm, fully aware that her nastiest scar was on full display on her lower stomach.

But Y/n didn’t care. Or at least she didn’t make it obvious if it bothered her. “Is it ok if I touch your hip?” She asked, looking Natasha straight in the eyes. The redhead almost melted at her words, not used to ever being asked that question.

“Of course, do what you need.” Y/n’s fingers were soft and delicate as she placed the stencil on Natasha’s skin. She didn’t touch anywhere she didn’t need to and worked quickly, making sure it was fully stuck down before stepping back to allow Natasha to step over to the mirror.

Although it wasn’t permanent, Natasha’s heart was racing as she saw the way the black ink stood out against her pale skin. The symbol was small but perfect in her eyes, and she turned back to Y/n with a grin.

“It’s perfect!”

“Then I’ll get started.”

Due to the design being so small, it took no more than fifteen minutes for Y/n to complete. Her hand was incredibly steady and Natasha’s pain tolerance was so high she barely felt it. The room was silent aside from the faint buzzing, no conversation stemming from either woman. Questions spiralled around Natasha’s head but she knew this wasn’t the place to ask them.

Completely lost in her head, Natasha failed to notice the silence or the fact that her hip bone was no longer burning. Y/n kept working, wiping away the excess ink and making sure she hadn’t missed a spot. But it was perfect, as usual, and she gently tapped Nat on the thigh to snap her out of her head.

“You’re now free to look.”

Natasha grinned and hopped off the bed, holding up her shirt again as she looked in the mirror. Tears almost sprung to her eyes as she admired the finished product, and they probably would have tumbled down her cheeks if she had been alone.

A small spider sat on the front of her hip, legs slightly bent. It looked so delicate on her skin and for the first time in her entire life, Natasha actually liked looking at herself in the mirror.

“It’s so beautiful,” she began to ramble, unable to tear her eyes away. “You’ve got real talent Y/n, I can’t thank you enough. It’s so perfect.”

Y/n blushed and couldn’t stop the smile that graced her lips, catching Natasha’s eyes in the mirror and making the redhead freeze.

Her smile.

The young woman hadn’t smiled the entire time she’d arrived, but seeing her now was like a breath of fresh air. Smiling looked so good on her and Natash couldn’t get enough.

“If you want to show Laura, you can, but you’ll need to come back so I can wrap it safely.” Natasha glanced at her new addition and nodded, but hesitated once she was by the door.

“I think you should come too. The artist and her artwork.” Natasha spoke with a smirk and Y/n couldn’t ever imagine saying no to that woman. So she nodded again, her usual response, and meekly followed her back down the hall, pulling off her gloves as she walked.

Laura was already waiting for them in the kitchen and she placed her reading glasses in her hair to get a good look at Natasha who still hadn’t dropped her shirt down. She’d never seen the Russian with such a wide grin before, her usual collected expression completely out of the window.

“It looks beautiful, Nat, truly. You did such a good job Y/n.”

“You never told me how talented she is!” Natasha stepped to the side to allow Y/n to come forward, but the humble woman stayed where she was, already hating the attention. She didn’t see her art as talent, more like a form of escapism. But it made people happy and that was all she wanted.

“I wanted you to see for yourself,” Laura replied. “And besides, she never believes me when I tell her how good she is.”

“You’re really easy to tattoo. You don’t squirm or cry like other people do, so really I should be thanking you.” Laura was taken aback by Y/n’s comment, not used to more than three words coming out of the girl’s mouth. But the more she observed her, the more she saw her change. The darkness she’d noticed since Y/n was a teenager had lifted a little and she seemed a lot less guarded, looking over at Natasha with a soft expression.

And Natasha looked back at her just the same, purely in awe of how gentle she was. As Y/n gestured for them to return to the office and offered to hold Nat’s shirt, Laura felt like squealing like a child.

Two of her favourite people in the world had found each other and, despite both being so broken and fragile, fit together so perfectly it was like they were made for each other.

Natasha was strong enough and sure of herself enough for the both of them, and Y/n treated her with such delicacy and care that it slowly broke away Natasha’s trust issues and allowed her to open up. And Natasha’s protective nature came out around the other woman, wanting to keep her safe from the world.

With a quick word about going to show Clint, Natasha disappeared into the front yard with her newly wrapped hip, leaving Y/n to find Laura again. The older woman welcomed her with a hug and pulled a chair close to her own.

“You like her, don’t you?”

Y/n kept her gaze on the crossword Laura was doing, not wanting her eyes to give her away if she looked up. “She’s nice.”

“Hey,” Laura said softly, carefully taking Y/n’s hand in her own. She didn’t miss the way she flinched but unfortunately she was used to that by now. “You’re not back there. You’re allowed to like her if that’s what you want and feel. She’s a good person, but so are you, you don’t need to be scared.”

Y/n’s eyes followed where their hands were clasped up to Laura’s face, trying to find any hints that showed she was lying. But all that came back was the soft and caring face she’d grown to love, one that didn’t lie to her and didn’t hate her for who she was.

“I don’t like her like that.” Call her a hypocrite for lying, but Y/n had her reasons. Loving a woman was still unnatural in her eyes, despite her contrasting feelings that longed for it.

“Y/n…” Laura’s ‘mom’ tone was one she was used to and she knew she was caught out. “I’m not asking you to tell me now, but you deserve happiness, as does she. And I haven’t seen either of you that relaxed in a really long time. So please don’t push her away.”

Y/n didn’t know what to think. How could she? Her whole life had centred around hating who she was, so how could anyone ever like her like that? It messed with her head and Laura could see that.

But what was Natasha if not a life saver. She came strolling into the kitchen, her tshirt now tucked up into the band of her sports bra to allow her tattoo to be on full display. Y/n smiled slightly at the sight.

Sinking down into the chair beside her, Natasha noticed the clasped hands of the women and wondered what she’d interrupted. But that wasn’t her place to ask, so she turned to Y/n.

“How can I pay you? How much do you charge?”

Y/n shook her head frantically, pulling her hand away from Laura. “Nothing, honestly. You’re a friend, it’s no big deal.”

“Absolutely not. If you won’t take money, at least let me repay you another way.”

“Nat-“

“Dinner? How about you let me take you to dinner next week. You’re from the city, right?” Y/n nodded, her brows creasing. She turned to Laura for help but the older woman just smiled widely and nodded, giving her as much non verbal encouragement as she could. “Please, Y/n?”

She’d said yes before she could even process what was going on. After all, they were just friends going to dinner. People in the movies that she’d seen did it, so she could too.

What was so wrong with that?

#natasha romanoff #fanfic #marvel #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff fluff #tattoos #clint barton

[uyuartik]

bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader)

tags: slightly sith coded obi wan, no use of y/n, my unhinged take on regency era, (blaming bridgerton and pride and prejudice), probably historical inaccuracies, SMUT, mentions of oral sex (fem and male receiving), mentions of fingering, piv sex, dom!obi?, i really don't know what to write here it is just filth and it is gonna get filthier

a/n: HII! so i became haunted by historical!obi au's and spent six months writing a short series... this is the first chapter out of three, so i hope you stay tuned for the upcoming one (it is FILTHIER than this and about 19k words)

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can't wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

enjoy!!!

word count: 5.4K

chapter one: see you tonight?

“…Fuck, just like that-“

That voice. Yes, that’s how you ended up here, you think, as you roll your hips, feeling the exquisite contours of Obi Wan’s cock stretching your walls and pulling pleasure out of every cell in your body, and possibly from your soul too.

Ehem. Lord Kenobi.

And truth be told, that’s not exactly how things led here. Of course, his rich voice and the manner in which he used it were notable factors. The way he camouflaged his remarks under sweet quips never failed to make you giggle into the next day, and regardless of the topic (ashamedly, it was mostly about the other people in the room, and their rather obscene behaviors), the comments he made always reflected the intelligence behind it. He played the serious bit perfectly too, even though his reverent sentences carried some poetry, never pompous, yet deep enough to convey its origin and the realness of his sincerity… That’s why you started spending hours with him at balls in the first place. Ten minutes alone with him, undoing all the prejudice you had against the man. All the rumors about him were proven wrong, or at least, half true. And you liked that remaining part of the truth.

Only after that, came the subject of his charms. Not quite surprising, considering that there was no lack of handsome faces around, but a lack of brains in them. Or a true heart. You hated the hypocrisy of it all, and it was a blessing to find someone who shared that sentiment. Not to mention the benefit of him deflecting any unwanted company.

Likewise, he must've thought the same about you, thus your current position. It was obvious that both of you two had similar standards, even in these lewd matters. People didn’t call him a heartbreaker because he pursued a lot of women, but when he did and it came to an inevitable end, they were the shell of whom they used to be, like a person could be mummified by the absence of the joy he charmed people with it. And you, you weren’t the type to have somebody just because you could. No, you looked for a special connection, a click, and when you got lucky and found one among the countless candidates, you treasured it. Now, even the word click sounded wanting, there were sparks present between the two of you, a considerable, good dynamic you two had built, and that made everything just better.

You were almost sad thinking this was a one-time event, already knowing this is a moment you'll remember your entire life. (You weren't gonna push your luck on getting caught.) If there were such deals, two of you keeping it to each other forever in this aspect of life, you’d have signed that contract in a blink.

“Thought you said you were tired.” He breathes out, clearly an effort, yet the smug grin on his face leaves no room for doubt or pity.

“I’ve been sitting all day.” That’s how travel works in carriages, after all. “I think stretching my legs, is what I need.” You emphasize by raising yourself higher and slowly sink back down a few times, a motion that pulls moans from both of your mouths.

Travel. It took you half a day to reach your aunt’s estate, and you were fairly certain you wouldn’t attend the ball that is currently taking place. Then, you realized there was no way your gracious hostesses would see you tonight, you were forced to enter the saloon. It would be a quick in and out, maybe greeting a few more people, no dance, with the very valid excuse of I’ve been on the road all day and I am quite exhausted ready on your lips at any interaction. This was why you didn’t even bother to put much effort into your looks, opting for a change of dress, and nothing more. No jewelry, no retouches to your hair. After all, it would just add to your part if you seemed slightly off.

Somehow, it turned out to be a regrettable decision, when numerous eyes turned to you as you took a step into the room, and even longer after that. Maybe not every head turned or the music came to an abrupt stop, the sprouting silence broken by collective whispers, but it happened, subtle yet enough to make itself known. You were given the same treatment for years at this point, but there was no getting used to it. Color that had been settling in your cheeks seemed to be permanent, at least for the night, not leaving your side as you took your place among your relatives. The expensive fan you were gifted by- God knows who, you were in no mood to remember it now, did nothing to relieve your suffering. 

And, countless other greetings don't help either. You fastened the movement of your hand, curling your lips into a forced smile. You could truly get tired from all these repeated words and gestures.

"I'm afraid I forgot to bring my dance card." You said again, to the third man who came with the same offer, Duke Caldo, all true except the part "forgot". You left it, willingly, just in front of your vanity mirror. The mirror which you desperately wanted to see yourself in right now, away from the ball. 

"A great pity." The exclamation didn't come from him, though. 

Your fan dropped from your hand and closed itself when it hit your wrist, dangling from the loop around your forearm as you heard that voice, no introduction ever needed. Perhaps, not even his voice was required, for there was always that unexplainable change in the quality of air in the rooms he occupied, like he was casting a spell on those around him, trickling magic dust with every step, a rare perfume. You wouldn’t use such metaphors if it wasn’t for the simple fact that your body always figured out his presence before your mind, catching a sense of that hypnotic essence. You often realized all the hairs on your arm standing up, or a tingling sensation in the back of your neck, breathing getting a bit harder, only to quickly locate him in your eyesight. 

"Lord Kenobi." It is said in a contemptful respect, a greeting and a goodbye. “Goodnight, my Lady.”

You didn’t even bother to mutter a proper response, and frankly, the Duke didn’t wait for one either. So, all your focus can be reserved on the man in front of you. 

You raised your arm as if intending to extend it so he could complete his small tradition of placing a kiss on the back of your hand, like he has done every time your paths crossed, even multiple times a day (that’s exactly how you noticed it was more than a simple salutation), (honestly, you liked it, his daring movement revealing a lot about his nature), only to flick it to reopen your fan. The gentlest gust of it licking your skin was more than enough now, making it all too pleasing to watch him save himself with a deep bow of his head, the annoyance quickly turning into a satisfied grin, like he didn’t expect anything less from you. 

“That looks even more beautiful in your hand.” He pointed at it, but his eyes wandered all over your body. You did the same, though there was little notice, his usual beige suit far too familiar. Your focus was always on the fact that he looked so good in it, taking in the broadness of his shoulders, or his defined arms exquisitely pronounced over the fabric.

Right. So it was his gift. Why did you ever entertain other possibilities?

You weren’t going to disappoint him by mentioning it is only here because your panicked maid accidentally packed the first item she saw, for you never took anonymous gifts. You didn’t need the attention they brought.

"And I couldn't thank you enough for it. I can practically name it my savior tonight." You answered, making a show of lavishing yourself in the stream it creates.

"My only source of pride is the fact that it perfectly blends with the rest of your attire. Now, I can proudly say I know your taste."

Classic Obi Wan. Even his compliments, far from usual, borderline scandalous. He's been peppering you with them ever since the start of your friendship and you were never immune to them. You outright enjoyed them. Especially now, they didn’t help the simmering tingles forming at the depths of your belly, amplified by weeks of solitude. “Only a part of it I’m afraid, but you’ll learn the rest in no time, don’t worry.”

“Can’t wait.” He grinned and scanned the room for prying eyes. Finding none, he made himself more comfortable by your side, hoping to spend the rest of his night with you. 

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” You admitted, somehow managing not to sound like you’re overly joyous of that not happening.

“I could say the same about you.” Was that excitement, or disappointment in his voice? Was he planning of politely ravishing other women, when you were not present to entertain him? Something told you those were not among his intentions, the smile on his face too honest, his twinkling gaze focused solely on you. 

You tilted your head and curled your lips. Touché. “It is nice to attend the ball your acquaintances are throwing, even if you arrive late. But for you, sir, I'm afraid people will actually think you're looking for a wife."

He rolled his eyes. There was a hint of offense in them just at the mentioning of the subject, but the playful type, not the exasperated type he uses for others. 

"Curious. The diamond of the season is also here. Isn't it strange that she still hasn't found someone, it's nearly the end of the season?" You inhaled sharply, dramatizing further. "Do you have something to do with it, Lord Kenobi?"

He scoffed, the impossibility of it reflected in his voice. "The diamond of the season?-"

"I thought you deserve nothing less." You explained, but he interjected.

"I'm only interested in one diamond." He said, initiating intense eye contact.

It was your turn to scoff, and run away from his gaze. "I was never the diamond."

"Only because you saw how better you were than the rest, and fled just before the start of the season." His eyebrows were raised, begging for a denial.

"I had planned that trip months ago." You simply stated. "And I came back halfway through summer, didn't I?"

"Just like now."

"Do I need to remind you who you have been spending time with since June?" 

"And where were you coming from tonight, ending your visit of- how long was it?"

"I am fond of traveling. Balls and banquets can entertain someone so far. " You shrugged, "Lord Kenobi, are you trying to say that you missed me?" 

"I could never claim otherwise." 

That was true from your perspective as well. All these years of constant traveling, and this year was the first time you missed what you left behind at home, even during the buzzing, pretense-filled months. None of it seemed that intolerable, and somewhat fun, if you dare to admit. You knew this impression was his doing, and now after your while spent apart, the feeling came back tenfold, almost making you squirm over such loose confessions.

That was it. That was the turning point of the night.

“Truth be told, the night is going much better than I dreamed of, and I almost regret forgetting my dance card.” You raised your chin, and sent him a look. “Would you be so kind to help me find it?” 

You could basically see the gears turning, a fire behind his eyes, fueling the desire growing in the depths of your belly. His gaze was piercing, even after he’d long decided, the truth known to both of you. Your heartbeats must’ve been visible, you imagined, and felt it skip a beat as he licked his lip. “Lead the way.”

Now that’s, how you ended up here.

However, as you look down at his face, the story gets blurry, perhaps outright loses its importance, abandoning your mind. His hair is tousled, a rebel strand in front of his eyes, and moves with every bounce. Your hands are too busy to hold onto his sweaty chest, slightly tugging on the auburn fuzz. You wanted to do that ever since he took his shirt off.

(Then again, you’re not sorry for the amount of time you couldn’t, drowning in him. The moment you felt his expert lips on yours, all your will to protest anything had died. Later, as his fingers joined the show, you quickly realized you were fine with what he gave, but he, ever the gentleman, let you prevail.)

It is a sight. And the moans that fall from his lips surpass the delicate melody the musicians are playing downstairs in every way, which can still faintly be heard. (You never thought an orchestra would accompany you during this, but here you were. It is a detail you’ll remember with a smile while looking back at it, but now, you couldn’t care any less.)

“You’re taking me so well.”  He starts to thrust his hips up slightly, meeting your rhythm, but never overtaking it.

“I know.” You giggle, but the reaction he’s taken notice of is your fingertips digging in further, and your walls fluttering around his cock.

When you start to falter a bit, perhaps due to the fatigue settling on your muscles embarrassingly not long after his words, or his mere presence clouding your brain, his fingers that have been resting on your thighs slowly ascend to your hips. The fingers drenched in your juices, another element that has the coil in your belly tighter. The next few strokes, with his guiding hand, touch something deep inside you, and your jaw hangs open.

“Fuck…” is the only word you can mutter, and he chuckles at it.

“Is that so?” He mocks, but brushes your loose ringlets with a single hand, and caresses your nipple on its way down. The latter shows his true disposition, and that drives you to be more vocal, if you weren’t already.

“You feel… so… good.” You can hardly say, as your puffy clit drag against his skin all so deliciously like this.

He twitches inside you at the compliment, and you throw your head back with a whine. Despite the fact that he would kill to see your face, he doesn’t push, enjoying the state he’s putting you in with his voice. Every praise that falls from his lips earns him a melodic moan, along with the feeling of you tensing and relaxing, always responding to his call in one way or another.

You’re one step away from being a doll at his bend, though you couldn’t care any less, not when you are this close.

He likes it, very very much. Yet, not enough to silence his wishes of how to ruin you, in the best way.

In a blink, you find yourself on your back, and him on top of you. That’s not the first thing you see, though. It is his hand, lifted from wherever it fell, catching your chin to turn your head to him. Sounds of panting are all there is, no movement, no words, not even your rapid heartbeats drumming in your ears seconds ago as if the world stopped for a second.  

His thumb caresses your lower lip, and you let it slip in. God, you can still taste yourself. The revelation has your objections at the change dead, your face twisting, yet he tsks thrice, capturing your attention.

“Let me see those eyes.” Obi Wan commands, and you have no choice but to oblige. “You look so good beneath me.” 

Somehow, his words have you flushing and squirming as if that was the most inappropriate thing happening in this room. Funny, how he breaks your will, and you let it. Against all the talk of your friendship, until an hour ago, you’d have lashed out at an equivalent demeanor, even said in affectionate terms. (Any other way is simply impossible, anyway.)  But, that hour proved itself to be much precious, and now with that glossy gaze, snatched right from the brink of climax, you focus on the doting aspect, how he cannot get enough of the image of you.

You start to writhe, the new emptiness inside you unbearable. “Touch me, Obi Wan…”

He's not proud of the way your begging has his cock leaking, though that hardly stops him. He lives for mutual pleasure, even just yours at the moment, yet you look so pretty like this, grasping the sheets. 

"Like this?" He slides his thumb further into your mouth, relishing the feeling of your tongue swirling around it immediately. Or course he wasn't expecting you to suck him off if you didn't want to, nor would he ever ask for it, he can't help but imagine the feeling, his hips rolling in seek of stimulation.

You shake your head, and his finger is freed with a pop. You frown as the sole contact you have with him is lost. It is a warning sign for him, the fragility of your dream-like state, a reminder of how he has to do better, if he wants to take control. As a gentleman, he wanted to give you everything you desired, but since it was your first time together, a terra incognita, he had to be sure of your limits, so he followed your wishes gladly. The wishes which were masterfully balanced versions of both of your needs. The same problem troubled you too of course, but you were a quick learner, a connoisseur of his taste in no time. The fact that it was very similar to yours was an exciting discovery, certainly a pleasant one, and was a great help, so great that it almost felt like cheating. While he took no issue with your tricks; the urge to take you on his terms, the compulsion to show you how he wants to cherish you couldn’t be suppressed any longer. He had to let you know.

He leans in closer, his arms bend as yours find his shoulders like a habit, “Like this?” He murmurs, right before brushing his lips against yours, effectively swallowing your whine. Though it was a sound of protest, all complementary sentiments die when he nips at your lower lip, and you open your mouth, lost in the sensation of his tongue licking yours, and his sweet essence. In contrast to his other needs taken good care of, he hadn’t taken enough of the feeling of our mouths joining. God, he spent hours imagining your mouth, curling into every shape as smart words spilled from it, enhancing his fascination with you. It fires the flames of haze further, even if he’s not actually properly touching you. Your hand roams his neck, then etches itself into his silky hair. You’ve done that a few times now (and found his response most addicting), but it is hardly satisfactory compared to the amounts you dreamed of doing during these last couple of months. You saw him prim and proper mostly, not a strand out of place, making you marvel at its excellence, and the itch to mess it up growing stronger each instance, a stark contrast to your surroundings. Also, there were times the infamous piece fell in front of his eyes, and sometimes even more disheveled than that, riding a horse, enjoying sports with his friends, and once after a bath, when your family visit started a little earlier than planned. You were always admiring the way it reflected light, creating almost a halo around his head, especially in sunlight. It is the first thing your eye is drawn to whenever you’re in the same place, a beacon of sorts. You never thought you’d be this amazed by hair, yet the moans he produces when you tug on it, add to your astonishment, and you’re not sure if you can look at it again, without being reminded of this moment.

He breaks the kiss as for you to catch your breath, for he has long kept you away from it. Still, he continues to pepper you with tons of them, scattered all across your jaw and neck, in search of that sweet spot that has you cursing. It is not a serious journey, in fact, he does more than press his lips against your skin properly, tease you with his open mouth, drag his tongue along the taut muscle, nip and outright bite, once.

“No marks-“ You protest. Futile. You should’ve warned before he started to nibble, way before he sank his teeth, but it has happened after all, and you can already feel blood settling on the sites of his attack. “What I am going to tell my maid now?”

“The truth.” He retorts. “Of how you led Lord Kenobi into our bed, and did dirty, unspeakable things with him.”

That earns him a harsh pull at his scalp, and a pat on his shoulder. He meets with your glaring gaze, and cheeks redder than a minute ago. So, he’s still on your good side. Barely.

“Apologies, my dear.” He takes the hand that smacked him, and places a peck onto your palm before placing it back. You can’t break the eye contact as he does so, something about his appearance, perhaps his position, or the charming contours of his face, or the way he deals with your anger keeps you from kicking him out. Caressing your open legs, he massages them ‘til they relax afresh, squeezing at the soft flesh. You hiss when his movement nears your inner thighs, thanks to his beard, and the climax it brought you. The gesture hints, still, there’s the matter of fire burning in your belly. “Couldn’t resist, you know me. Let me make it up to you.”

He wastes one more second to carve this image inside his head, then fulfills his promise. He likes the way you tremble while you wait, a whimper leaving your mouth at him taking his cock into his hand and stroking it a few times. God, how you wish that was your hand. Damn your stubbornness, and demand for compensation. You put extreme effort into staying still, releasing a shaky breath when he places the tip at your entrance.

Remember when he said “ruin”?

He doesn’t push it in, instead letting it slide up your slick folds, and tap against your clit. You nearly jolt at the touch, yet again tasting bliss, even if it is in mere drops. He repeats the action, and you sob, digging your nails into his shoulders. Maybe you’re the one leaving marks now, but you don’t care. Eye for an eye you can say, in retrospect.

“You’re so wet.” He can’t stop looking into your glistening core. He also can hear it, the squelching sounds echoing at his every movement. He knows you can too, that it calms your nerves, though they act up for different reasons. “All this for me?”

Unfortunately, you are late to realize he doesn’t take your moans for an answer. You can’t help it, you are unable to form words. Even if you gather the strength, they die out at your throat, especially under his piercing look. Fuck, he loves how cockdumb you’ve become for him.

He takes pity on you then, dropping his cock to briefly rest on your opening, and forces his fat tip in.

Your back arches, a throaty sound filling the room. He shushes right next to your ear, in an effort to calm you down as he slips the rest in. It is as if you’re taking him the first time, like you weren’t riding him moments ago.

“Fuck-“ That’s the only reaction, the only answer he needs. You fall back into the sheets, the first time he rolls his hips, and sets a new rhythm, a slow one to kindle the flame once more. Your hair probably getting tangled from the way it’s rubbing against the sheets, and your legs are split wide open. You feel every vein and ridge moving against your walls, the slight resistance disappearing in no time. His chest brushes against yours, and combined with the warmth of his breath, so close to yours, it’s easy to let go of your worries.

This is why you ended up here.

“Faster!” While he already feels great, it’s not the exact pattern to provide that sweet release, not in the timeframe you hoped.

“I want this to last, dear.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. A part of it due to irritation. Being subjected to that response before, he snickers to see you’re still you, even when you’re literally fucked out of your mind. As he does so, his lips skim yours. You take it, greedily, one hand first on his neck to ensure he stays, then to his unruly tress, aspiring to compel him into the middle ground. That earns you a few groans, yes, but his will doesn’t seem to falter even a little bit.

Perseverance, is a mutual quality, as you already know.

You slowly release the grip you have on his head, emphasis on slowly. It goes unnoticed, thanks to your timely bite, the same assault he once carried out. You don’t waste the access to his tongue, sucking on it. You’re not sure if his moans are increased in number, or if it feels more because you swallow every single one of them, but the fact that his beard starts to prick your cheeks harder gives you an idea.

Your free hand falls into sheets and slithers across the length of your body. Just a little more- you’re almost about to touch your –

His fingers wrap around your wrist instantly, dragging it up, a little further away from your face. You twist your neck, a wail coming out as you reject his kiss.

Only to be met by the sight of that said fingers running up your palm, and interlock themselves among yours.

Your breath hitches, for reasons unknown to you.

“Ah- ah -ah.” He tuts, though there’s not a hint of disappointment in his voice. “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I let you do all the work?”

You can’t believe one physical contact, and his words, are enough to carry you to that previous peak. Your pussy contracts around him, beyond your control, an indication of your closeness, nothing compared to before.

“Ngh- that’s it.” He encourages, “Just relax and take it.” That’s more sincerity than you’ve ever heard from him.

It goes on and on for a while, him doing exactly what he promised to do, and fulfilling his wishes in the process. He already knows this could go on ‘til morning, and he still wouldn’t be completely satisfied, longing for your presence the second he leaves the bed. Still, he continues, pushing himself to his limit, and that’s getting quite harder when you clamp on him that hard. He feels his cock leaking, begging for that sweet end.

When his arm that’s not supporting his weight travels down, caressing your hip before pressing his thumb to your clit, finally, you reward it with a whisper of his name, a sound he won’t dare to forget. Your back arches impossibly higher, and he has to lean back, abandoning his other hold.

Your limb stays in the spot he left it.

He curses at the realization, perhaps its effect mirroring yours when he first initiated the contact. Fuck, how are you so perfect? He snaps his hips harder, and circles his thumb, feeling it throb.

“Obi Wan-I’m c-“

He loves how your words are cut with the need to scream that you gulp down, only resigned to breathing as your face contorts with pleasure. “Cum for me, love.”

Your moans blend into each other, as he cannot stay still at the feeling of your walls squeezing him so tight. He holds your trembling thigh, fondling the soft flesh, adoring the way it spills from his grip. He doesn’t stop ‘til they settle again once more, and even a little longer than that, pulling out in the last minute to cover your belly with his spend. 

That act keeps you from turning to your side, and feeds the desire to hug the sheets, a soft but firm ground for your senses to return. You're not complainant of it anyways, you have a far better view in front of you, defined muscles undulating with each heavy breath, glistening due to the light coat of sweat covering them, lips puffy and slightly flushed with blood, as well as his cheeks. You always thought he was devilishly handsome, but this, this is something else. The world should consider itself lucky, or it would bend to his will just from his looks. Or unlucky, for the honor is bestowed upon a handful of people. 

He believes he's blessed with the sight upon him, too. Still holding onto your thigh, he delights in spontaneous tremors that possess it. If he looks closely, he's sure he can see the faint mark he left. Your hair is sprawled around, much in contrast to the delicate up-dos you and every noblewoman fashioned, its most natural form, and the intimacy of it definitely causes a small breakdown. You belong in a painting, depicting goddesses and nymphs, a grace outside the limits of time and culture. Your droopy lids and tired pull at the corners of your mouth fill his chest with pride and more adoration, like after his every successful attempt to elicit a reaction from you. It happens often, thanks to the understanding that grows between the two of you, but every example is still treasured in in his mind.

“Well, I don’t know any better way to spend the night.”

You giggle. “I agree.”

“We should’ve done this before.”

Your lifted brows are the perfect answer. Like it’s that easy.

But he has a point, too.

In the comfortable silence, he gets up from bed, a sigh at the roar coming from downstairs, drowning the music. That’s still going, huh? You watch as he wets the nearest towel, and returns, cleaning the mess with unexpected gentleness that it almost tickles. There’s no aim to steal one more touch at his movements, no personal gain except an easy conscience, and even that is a stretch because it’s most natural to him, his understanding of tenderness.

“Well, thank you, sir.” You sit up, with a yawn, and scooch backward to your pillows as he retreats to give himself the same treatment. “And my nightgown, please.” You point to it, and amusingly follow his subtle headshake, and efforts to hand it over. He hesitates for a second at the last minute, considering rebellion, a last joke. You see it, and snatch the fabric from his grip before he can tighten it. He can feel it sliding over his skin, the light material flying. You slip it on, aware of his voyeur. with a victorious smile cut too short as exhaustion creeps into your bones. You’re no different, in any case, settling into the fluffy pillows, curiously examining each piece of clothing he puts on from afar, the unwritten rule of his habits, his hidden glances at your mirror in a feeble pursuit to tame his messy hair. You’re willing to be charged guilty for that.

He stalls, though, you can feel it after a while, around the time sleep clouds your vision. How could anyone blame him for not wanting to leave, carve your picture to his mind, and calm his yet again straining cock at it?

“You should be going. Servants are going to be wandering these corridors for orders, soon.” Your heart winces at the warning, because he's not the type to need it, or disregard you to put you at any risk. But your cognation runs thin, and he needs to know the dangers he might face. 

"True. Right. You're correct." Is that a stutter? "Good night, my lady."

"Good night, Lord Kenobi.

"Glad to be of help in stretching your legs." 

The cushion falls short to exactly hit him, but the sentiment is clear. 

In the morning, you uncover the reasons behind his diversion. 

Bastard signed every slot in your dance card.

#obi wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan smut #star wars fanfiction #my pen #smut #fluff #fanfiction #fics #obi wan kenobi imagine #star wars imagine #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan smut

[starshipsofstarlord]

Bing Bong Bing;

So I’ve seen a bunch of friends fics being written and I thought I’d give it a go so voila enjoy x

Summary - awaking in the middle of the night draws a fear to you, only for your best friend to find out your well kept secret

Pairing - Chandler Bing x Monica’s roommate!Reader

Warnings - dangerous use of frying pans, secret relationships

A racket reverberated from the kitchen, echoing through the hall and there was no doubt someone outside. You couldn’t help but walk out of your room which was next to Monica’s and plod through the living space through the dead of night, all to witness your roommate holding a frying pan suspiciously and Chandler cradling the crown of his head.

“What is going on here?” You groggily asked, screwing your eyebrows up at the situation, not knowing all too well how to intake the scene given the fact that you were still half asleep and wishing to god that all things remained sealed by any lips present. “Don’t tell me you hit Chandler with the pan Mon!”

“No I’m just holding my head for an entirely different reason and Monica hit somebody else on the head with it.” Monica had her arms crossed as she looked between the pair of you, her senses picking up on evidence of panic that was slowly growing from you as you awoke to an understanding state.

“Anything you wanna tell me y/n?” She asked, tucking her weapon of choice behind her elbow as she quirked a brow at you and crossed her arms. You could only imagine how her cooks responded to her but you weren’t ready to give in so easily, she’d have to cook you a little longer.

“I mean if it were Joey at least he wouldn’t be able to lose any more brain cells.” You offered with a sly smile, earning a eye roll from the younger Geller sibling. Chandler huffed, asking if anybody was going to fetch him something to ice his injury with before he walked to the freezer himself.

“About why Chandler was sneaking in at this time y/n? Got any ideas on that?” You bit your bottom lip for a second as you thought before the perfect excuse rang through your brain that hadn’t been rattled by a metal utensil or at least yet. You’d have to remember to leave your key at home if you went over to Chandler and Joeys otherwise you’d be caught red handed all again.

“Um I reckon he snuck in to steal food like he always does.” You shrugged causing Monica to silently turn to your male friend in question to see if that was really the reason.

“I’ve stolen food now to ice the lump that is gonna expand from my scalp.” He gestured to the bag of peas that he was holding to his head. “But yes I came here to get food because I love food, food is beautiful and I never want to spend a second away from food. I can’t sleep without food beside me because I worry about food and if I were in the same apartment as food I’d do the same thing to protect food if someone was trying to break in as Monica just did!” He exasperated breathing heavy from the metaphorical rant that he had just spoken.

“Food loves you too Chan.” You spoke, understanding all that he was putting across and as you had said that a weight was lifted from his very chest. “And food is sorry that Monica hit you with the frying pan.”

“Something tells me we’re not talking about food. I’m a chef and even I’m not this attached to it, I get it. You love him you love her, and you didn’t want anyone to know about this little affair behind closed doors, not even me…”

“Mon come on, it’s not like I didn’t want you to know, your my best friend of course I wanted you to. But-“

“Enjoy your food, I’ll see you guys in the morning.” She put the frying pan on the side and walked to her room leaving you and Chandler alone after the two of you had confessed your love for each other.

“Maybe next time I’ll get a takeaway at my place.” He suggested causing you to laugh as he walked closed and as he did so you grabbed the bag of peas and held them in place for him. “You know she’ll forgive you she’s just mad you didn’t tell her, all with pass and you’ll be as tight as magnets again.”

“Or as close as that frying pan was on your head.”

#chandler bing x reader #chandler x reader #friends x reader #friends imagine #friends fic #chandler Bing fic

[beanghostprincess]

it wouldn't surprise me that, despite sanji being the literal cook of the crew, he had an eating disorder (ofc trigger warning here for eds, child abuse, starvation and, y'know, sanji's background in general).

he experienced the most traumatic years of his life trapped inside a fucking cell, with a metal helmet around his head and only eating when his father let him. which was 'only when the kid needs it', probably. which leads to judge saying 'i couldn't even kill my son' and it can translate to 'at least i kept you alive'. and not to turn this into irl trauma, but abusive parents constantly use the 'keeping you alive and giving you food' excuse (the bare fucking minimum) to guilt trip you into thinking that they're good and that you're exaggerating how bad they treated you because, well, at least they kept you alive, didn't they?

so here, sanji sees food as a form of loving but in the sense of 'at least my dad didn't kill me. that's something'. so his vision towards food remains positive but only because of his mom. only because his love language is acts of service and his mom took everything he gave her, even if it was horrific, as a way of saying 'i love all of you. you're perfect because you tried and the fact that you brought me your food is enough to make me feel loved. you're not a mistake' despite his brothers and his father saying that he was, indeed, a mistake and weak for wanting to give food to others instead of just taking it for himself.

both ideas of 'someone who loves you wouldn't let you starve' and 'offering food to others is opening up your heart' coexist inside little sanji's brain.

so it wouldn't be crazy to think that, although sanji loves cooking and his best early memories of it are that book that kept him dreaming while he was locked up, and his mom's words, has a hard time eating food.

besides, sanji is used to giving, not taking. he's not selfish, but actually extremely generous to the point of forgetting about his own well-being. i don't think he actually thinks about how hungry he is until it hurts. until he needs it. he only ate whenever his father let him so he wouldn't starve, and the only thing that made him feel well about food was the fact that he could give it to the one he loved and needed it.

sanji doesn't have good experiences eating food, but only cooking it. it's a great representation of his personality as a whole, to be honest.

then the whole zeff thing happens, and he actually almost starves to death and learns what hunger feels like. but once again, zeff saves him and he's the one to be hungry for not letting the kid starve. which might seem similar to what judge did, but 'not letting you starve because i couldn't kill you' isn't the same as 'not letting you starve because i don't want you to die'. sanji learns the difference that day.

he didn't know somebody could be that kind. especially to him, someone who doesn't deserve it (he thinks he doesn't) because, in his house, love only came when you earned it.

and, you know, sanji's like that. sanji's selfless. sanji does everything for others. and so the guilt eats him up first. what zeff did is beautiful and amazing and we love him for it, but we don't know about how that affected sanji at a young age. which only makes him even more selfless and more of a better, kinder, generous person. and that might be bad, considering how little he thinks about himself already-

he learns that throwing away food is awful, and that you have to be grateful for being able to eat. grateful for living. so his don't-waste-food policy is obviously a big part of his personality due to almost dying of starvation and also owing his life to his dad (zeff, the real one, of course. fuck judge).

but that can almost be dangerous because refusing to waste food leads to forcing yourself to eat only because of his concept of what food means.

and then we have luffy in wci saying the whole 'i won't eat anything that you haven't cooked' which is precious and something very beautiful to say to your cook, but that only brings sanji back to 'starving is a form of loving' and 'you can't let someone you love starve'. and no matter how much he wants to force himself to push luffy away, he gives him food because he knows his captain will keep his promise.

sanji feels guilty, once again, but he ends up fixing it.

the thing is, after everything i've said, i don't think it would be weird to think about sanji viewing food as something external. something that isn't for himself. something that he only has control over because it's for others and not for himself, and it's a concept, a form of love, and not a need. because he does not feel hungry. when it comes to food, he feels responsibility and guilt and love... but never hunger.

hunger is, by all means, a form of selfishness sanji isn't used to unless his body is about to give up completely. he can eat out of pleasure and satisfaction and love for food, but he does it to train a selfless skill that may or may not also be selfish in the sense of 'wanting to be loved and useful'.

so here we have:

seeing food as a form of love because at least his dad wouldn't let him die, but he probably learned to push away the concept of hunger

seeing cooking as the most beautiful way of showing your feelings and efforts and taking care of people

not knowing the concept of hunger due to his own selflessness

scratch the first one, actually starving for others is a form of loving. he will never let the people he loves starve even if it means he dies in the process.

he can't waste food because that would be insulting and disrespectful. no matter the context.

and i'm just saying (and this whole thing is extremely self-indulgent and me projecting again and again) that it wouldn't be surprising to me if he had some issues when it comes to eating and making food for himself.

it's not that he thinks he doesn't deserve food, it's just the thought that he doesn't need it. going back to his past it could be seeing hunger as a form of weakness (not when it comes to others. never when it comes to others), both because of what his family taught him men should be like, and the fact that the manliest man he knows used starvation as a form of love.

so it's seeing hunger as something that makes you weak, but only when it comes to himself because of course, he wouldn't apply the same rules for him as for everyone else. he's just like that.

he thinks about others first, and himself second. always second. and the thought of eating and needing it only comes when it's too much. and when that time comes, the voices in his head tell him that he's weak. and again, i don't think he sees himself as undeserving of food because he has this whole thing about everybody deserving to eat. but he has never played with the same rules as the rest, always a few steps behind, so if he can't fight the thoughts in his head contradicting his morals, that's just how he is.

not to mention the 'don't waste food' part which also would make him feel guilty about not being able to eat if the thoughts of not deserving food and being weak for needing to eat become too much. he can't eat because he doesn't deserve it and because he's weak. and he can't starve, because that would mean wasting food.

so, you know, sanji is out of options here.

if some days sanji just casually decides not to eat- forgets to prepare himself a meal while his crew enjoys his food... that's just the way he is, isn't it? and if he lies about it, it's just another form of love, keeping them away from his problems.

besides, controlling hunger and controlling food is the only way he has to take control of his messy life. when something is out of reach, the unstoppable thing called life he has never been able to control, at least he can choose not to eat. he can choose to starve, this time, with the comfort of knowing he won't. he can choose not to eat this time, not like all of those times when food was controlling him instead.

at least the strawhats will never, ever, starve if he's around. but of course, nobody thinks about asking the cook if he wants to eat. that would be absurd. and it's impossible to think sanji would have some sort of issue with it! sanji, the cook, who keeps telling them not to waste food, not eating? that would be absurd and too selfless to make sense.

that's just the way he is.

#this headcanon is literally just me projecting my shit onto sanji ngl #*holds sanji gently* you've changed my life darling i love you so much please take care of yourself #why's he such a good person and why do people always treat him like shit i am violent #i swear all of this makes sense in my head #like he's a person who's always taking control of the situation only bc he feels like he can't control what he's feeling #and yknow feeling is for the weak and men aren't weak and yadda yadda yadda fuck the vinsmokes #his eating disorder is also heavily connected to his views in gender but that's for another day #tw eating disorder #sanji #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #<- i hate this tag btw only using so it gets to more people bc i spent my time writing this ngl #red leg zeff #one piece #op

[jamespotterthefirst]

You & I (3/3)

Book: Open Heart, beyond Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende-Ramsey) Word count: 1.7K Rating/ Warning: Teen/ Language

Series: You & I | Part 1 | Part 2

Premise: Her husband’s colleague seems a bit too interested in him. Things take a turn for the worse when she finds her in his hotel room during a work trip.

Note: Thank you so much to everyone who read and supported Part 1 & 2! This is based on a really old anon who asked: “has anyone every come between Ethan and Lilac?”

The two women looked at one another in stunned silence. The seconds stretched into eternities until Heather recovered first, schooling her pretty face into an unreadable mask.

“Dr. Allende.”

“Dr. Allende-Ramsey.”

The correction went ignored.

“I didn't realize you had been invited to the conference,” Heather said in a casual voice, as though she wasn't standing in a married man's hotel room semi-naked. “I thought only the most senior physicians at any given hospital got to attend.”

Lilac, for her part, barely caught the jabbing words with the deafening pitch ringing in her ears. Pulse pounding against her ribcage at an alarming speed, she urged her senses to focus.

“What are you doing in my husband's room?”

Her voice was surprisingly cool and collected.

“The hotel mixed up our reservations. They accidentally put us in the same room.”

Lilac almost laughed in her face at the feeble excuse.

“Bullshit,” she returned.

“It happens more often than you’d think. You would know.”

Heather's eyes sunk into Lilac's, sharp with implied meaning. With an icy twist of her stomach, she caught on. Somehow, Heather was referencing Miami and the mishap that had forced her, Lilac, to share a room with Ethan.

Lilac's legs were shaking at this point, but she held herself with dignity. “You can drop the act. The hotel got a request to accommodate an extra person. That was you, wasn't it?”

The blonde's face remained unreadable.

“What are you suggesting, Dr. Allende? That I willingly wanted to room with a married man?”

“Yes.”

From her peripheral vision, she saw someone approaching them. It wasn't until the figure was a few feet away that Lilac recognized it as her sister.

“I forgot to pack perfume! You think you could—” Laurel stopped dead, eyes falling on Heather. Surprise melted into confusion which finally gave way to anger. “What the fuck?”

Lilac ignored this, eyes boring into Heather.

“Tell me, did you pretend to be me when you changed the reservation? His wife? Because that must've been humiliating.”

“You have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Really? You think I don't see the way you look at my husband? And all your petty little jabs at me? Which I'm not even upset over, by the way. You can hate me and insult me all you want, but the minute you disrespect my husband's privacy like this, then we have a problem.”

“You're being a paranoid b—”

“Finish the sentence,” Laurel challenged, filling the space between Lilac and Heather. “I fucking dare you.”

Heather's composed features flickered slightly when she stared down at the feisty brunette. Anyone with working brain cells would see that Laurel meant business when it came to defending her sister. And Heather, it appeared, was a smart woman. She backed a few steps, pressing her mouth shut despite looking as though she wanted to say more.

Lilac, meanwhile, remained stoic and composed behind her sister. Her eyes sunk into Heather, as though she was a puzzle that had been too easy to decipher up until the last, missing piece.

“What were you hoping for, exactly? An affair?” she asked, her voice cool and level.

Heather's eyes moved from Laurel back up at Lilac. Instantly, her pretty features lit up with amusement. And Lilac could see the exact moment all pretense crumbled.

“That's not uncommon for a man like Ethan.” The blonde replied with surprising confidence. “Powerful men like him have many affairs and no one bats an eye. I wouldn't be the first nor the last. You're naïve if you think otherwise.”

Laurel scoffed, outraged. She advanced, ready to pounce but Lilac stopped her with a hand to her shoulder.

“I'm sorry you don't trust anyone in your life unconditionally,” Lilac started, “but my husband would never be unfaithful.”

The blonde laughed derisively but Lilac ignored her.

“And I think you know that, too. Otherwise, you wouldn't have snuck into his bedroom.”

“Pathetic,” Laurel spat.

Heather spluttered, aware that the sisters were right. For the first time since she opened the door, she looked embarrassed. The sheer humiliation of this fact made her angrier.

“It's just sex!” she shrieked. “You two act like I wanted him divorced and remarried by next week.”

“Listen to yourself,” Lilac returned quietly. “Do you have any self respect?”

“Ha! Don't talk to me about self respect when everyone knows how you snatched him up. Sleeping with your boss? That's not any better.”

This time, Laurel closed the small gap and went straight for Heather's damp hair. Both women screeched, one in rage and the other in surprise. Lilac, for her part, pulled her sister back, doing a commendable job of restraining her.

“Laurel, no!”

“You're lucky I don't press charges!” Heather bellowed, disheveled and on the verge of tears.

Laurel opened her mouth to reply but another voice intervened.

“Lilac?”

It was the deep, rich voice of her husband, strained with surprise. His blue eyes moved over the scene, expression tensing with increasing shock as he took it all in. Finally, his gaze fell on a sobbing Heather and then immediately darted to Lilac.

The shocked, tense silence was only broken as another figure joined the fray. A breathless Tobias came to a stop beside Ethan, looking equally as surprised by the chaos before him.

“Baby?” Tobias said, spotting Laurel. “What's going on here?”

“This little homewrecker here snuck into Ethan's hotel room hoping he'd fuck her.” Laurel replied, no longer fighting against her sister's restraints.

Ethan flinched at the last few words. The shock on his handsome face had diminished to its usual neutrality, but Lilac could see the gears of his mind working. It was as though he was trying to solve a complicated case without having all the facts yet. Once again, his piercing blue eyes rested on Lilac, as though asking her for an explanation.

“Heather, what the fuck?” Tobias asked, shell-shocked.

The blonde's response was more uncontrollable sobbing. As both men surpassed the initial shock and regained their senses, the hallway erupted with noise.

So much noise.

Questions, accusations, and more sobbing— all of it echoed in Lilac's ears, drilling into her skull, pinching every last nerve. Someone said her name but it sounded distant. Someone else threw a jacket over Heather’s shoulders. Laurel cried out in indignation.

It was all too much. Lilac’s head throbbed, threatening to explode…

And then her feet were carrying her away.

“Lilac!”

Several voices called her name but she didn't stop until a gust of fresh air hit her face like a welcomed caress. The blare of New York City echoed from somewhere below the canopy of the purple sky. Despite the faint bustle, she found an odd sense of peace in the abandoned hotel rooftop. Her eyes roamed over the spectacular skyline, taking in the glistening lights that appeared as the last rays of the sun sank behind the horizon. Peace settled over her, easing her body from the stress of the day’s events.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there.

The creaking of the door behind her, followed by a set of footsteps, broke her out of her lull. Seconds later, someone settled next to her. She didn't have to look up to know who it was.

“I had a feeling you'd be up here,” Ethan commented softly.

She didn’t reply. The soft fabric of his jacket swept her skip and he draped it over her shoulders. His scent enveloped her, bringing more warmth to her body than any coat ever could.

“I just got off the phone with the HR department at Mass Kenmore. I explained what happened with Heather today. They'll be opening an investigation.”

Without tearing her eyes from the horizon, she nodded. The sun was fully gone by now, casting the city into an inky blue haze.

“I hope something comes of it,” Lilac said at last. “What she did today was unacceptable.”

More silence followed. As the night breeze picked up, she stole a sideways glance at her husband. He, too, watched the glittering skyline, his jaw tight. He looked almost serene, but she knew him better.

“I'm sorry about all of this, Lilac,” he said quietly, finally looking at her. He opened his mouth to say more but she shook her head.

“There's nothing for you to be sorry about.”

“I should've listened to you,” he pressed on. “You told me your hunch before I boarded and I ignored it.”

“Even if you did take my word for it, there was no way for you to know she'd do this.”

“I know that, love,” he assured her. “I should've still listened.”

Tentatively, he closed the miniscule distance separating them. Even more gently, his hands fell at her sides, his blue eyes carried hesitation, as though he was afraid she’d pull away. When Lilac’s hand moved up to sweep his cheek, he closed his eyes against her touch, relaxing with relief. They stood like that, basking in the peaceful silence for a few minutes.

“What happened to Heather?” she asked after a while.

“Hotel security escorted her to her room. She is to leave the premises tomorrow morning. It's lucky for her since it places distance between her and your sister.”

That made her smile, but only briefly. Ethan was watching her with a quiet, pensive look.

“Did you ever doubt me?”

“Never. Not for a second, Ethan.”

He nodded once.

“Good,” he said before bringing her hand to his lips. “There will never be anyone but you, Lilac.”

The words made her feel weightless. Unaware of the way her heart stammered for him, he leaned in and kissed her softly. It was a short and gentle kiss, a perfect summary of their sweet moment on that rooftop.

A biting breeze made her shiver. Wordlessly, Ethan readjusted his coat on her shoulders. Then, his arms pulled her close for good measure.

“Ready to go inside? The hotel manager was so embarrassed about changing the reservation for Heather that he upgraded us to a suite.”

“That sounds heavenly,” she sighed, finally realizing just how exhausted she truly was. “Can we also get dinner? Your baby wants food.”

An incandescent smile was her reward at the mention of their child. His hands moved from her sides to the barely visible bump of her stomach.

“I meant me,” she joked with a laugh.

Ethan rolled his eyes but chuckled softly.

“How does room service sound? I don’t know about you but I don’t want to be around people.”

“Even better. Just you and I.”

He lifted her hand to his lips again, pressing the softest of kisses there.

“As it should be.”

Note: As I was getting ready to post this, YT Music decided to play:

It could’ve been because I’m playing a Harry Styles radio station but I’m going to interpret it as serendipity!

In all seriousness, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart if you read three parts. Your support means the world to me! I really hope you liked this mini-series.

I will be back soon with more mini-series, YBF, and one-shots this summer! Love you all,

Bree 

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices

[princesspastel8]

Chapter 13

Third POV

Jeff was sent to kill some random guy who so happened to be a few blocks away from Eboni's home. Of course, the killer took the chance to sneak into her room. To his surpise, she wasn't home. So he waited until he grew bored and began snooping through her things.

Everything seemed ordinary besides her odd obsession with kawaii shit. That was until he opened her closet door after picking the lock on it. He figured whatever she's hiding had to be embarrassing, and man, was he right.

This bitch has two boxes filled with BDSM crap that it actually surprises the killer. Jeff lets out a loud laugh as he dumps the contents of each box onto the middle of her floor. This would be the perfect payback. Humiliating her like he did him.

In the meantime, he looks through each item, confused as to why all of the sex toys were still in their official packaging as well as her many sets of lingerie. He snickers when he comes across BDSM magazines. The smiling killer had no idea they made crap like this.

When picking up one of the magazines, a piece of paper slips through the pages. He picks it up, standing back to his feet. As he read the slip of paper, he grins his grin, growing wider at the presence of who he waited patiently for.

"Been awhile, huh princess?"

Her face is absolutely priceless. The utter embarrassment lacing her features as she realizes the contents on the floor. Her grip on her knife seems to weaken. Eboni opens her mouth to speak but is still acting like a deer in headlights.

"You know... I knew something was off about you- but I had no clue you were this much of a....freak." The smiling killer teases, holding the slip of paper in front of him. "Rules of a princess..."

Eboni felt dizzy. She never wanted anyone to know of her obsession. Especially not - "I-I..." she stutters, still at a loss of words.

"You what? Never used any of this shit? Yet you collect them like fucking trophies. Wanna say why?"

Eboni quickly shakes her head, lowering it in shame - the tips of her ears and cheeks covered in blush. Jeff moves closer, glancing at the paper again before dropping it to the ground. He leans over her, closing her bedroom door, and locks it. Through all of this, Eboni felt as if her feet were super glued to the ground.

"Did you not hear me the first fucking time? Answer my question." The Cheshire smiling killer said, whispering into the teen's ear.

Eboni could feel his body heat, his breath fanning her ear- making her whimper. She opens her mouth to answers but pauses. Oddly enough, a playful smirk takes her lips even though her mask is still on. Jeff seemed to not have noticed that Eboni is not only inexperienced but also a brat at heart.

"Make. Me." She said daringly, still remaining in her spot.

His movements were too quick for her to process. One second, she's standing a feet or two away from the bedroom door - The next her back is slammed against it, the killer snatching her knife and uses it to slice off her mask. He throws the knife so harshly that it lodges into the wall. Jeff flushes their bodies together, grabbing both wrist with one hand, and pins them above her head- his knee spreading her legs apart.

The killer stares into her shock, filled honey brown eyes before speaking, "Oh...so this is how you wanna play?"

"Jeff I-"

His free hand moves to grip her throat as his knee moves upward to press firmly against her core. He grins, leaning down to her lips. "Princesses only speak when told to, you bitch."

Eboni is silenced by his lips slamming into her own. She tenses, her brain cells frying by every movement of his lips against her own. More seem to burn at the feeling of his knee rubbing against her.

His rough actions cause Eboni to slowly give in. Why bother to fight it any longer? He found out everything, every single secret. She doesn't care if he uses them all against her. Eboni would embrace it all with open arms and lustful eyes.

Eboni whimpers, trying to keep up with Jeff's sensual kisses- but he's so earnest in this moment. He licks Eboni's lips, groaning at the feeling before forcing his tongue through. The smiling killer removes the hand around her throat to her hip, gripping it so tightly that it'll bruise. The gesture makes Eboni wetter than she is now.

Lips still tongue tied, Jeff guides Eboni's hips to grind against his knee at an opposite pace. Eboni, at this point, has completely melted into Jeff, waiting for him to fulfill her darkest desires. He pulls away from their kiss, a string of salvia stretching from the bottom of their lips. Noticing her Dialated pupils and lided eyes, he smirks- grabbing her hips to stop. He finally has her where he wants.

Jeff nods his head towards her bed, pulling away. "On your back, hands above your head."

Without hesitation, Eboni does as instructed - whining impatiently. Jeff watches, placing a hand over his mouth to hide how wide his Cheshire smile stretched. Just a few minutes ago, this bitch was back talking and now...she's puddy In his hands.

The killer moves on top of her, swiftly snatching his hoodie off over his head but keeping his jeans on. He places his middle and ring finger against Eboni's lips, "Suck."

She listens, moaning every time he forces his fingers further down her throats. He grins, yanking her sweatpants off. Jeff licks his lips at the sight of her pink patterned panties, completely soaked.

He groans, pulling his fingers out of Eboni's mouth. He yanks off her t shirt, taking in the sight below him. "Fuck..."

Her harden nipples poke through the fabric of her bra, her breast perky and curves in all the right places. But if the killer has to pick his favorite part, it'll be her thighs - and of course that ass. He likes a girl with meat on her bones. He needs to grab a handful of something after all.

Jeff rips her panties off, rubbing slow circles against Eboni's clit. The unknown feeling causes her body to jolt then tense. The killer laughs, taking in every second of this.

"You like that...huh? Answer me."

"Y-Yes...good..hn~" she moans, squirming underneath him.

He slides his middle finger inside, thrusting it slowly- the wetness of her cunt coating it. "Then why not do this to yourself?" Jeff asked, honestly a bit curious.

Eboni shakes her head, to embarrassed to say and overwhelmed by the pleasure and slight discomfort of Jeff's fingers after having him add his ring finger. The killer stops his motion, glaring darkly at Eboni.

"Answer." He demands, voice gruff with lust.

Eboni whines, pouting her lips. "W-Waiting for....daddy to treat h-his princess.." she responds, completely lost into her fantasy.

Jeff raised a brow, moving his fingers faster and quicker. "I'll ask more later... Anyways.."

The killer looks at his fingers, marveled at how coated they are with her juices. He licks his fingers, groaning shamelessly at the taste.

"You taste...." he whispers, lifting her legs and places both on his shoulders. He moves both hands to her hips, gripping them as his tongue takes a quick lick of her cunt. "....so fucking good."

Eboni grips the sheets above her head, little mewls escaping her at the foreign feeling of Jeff's tongue licking her slit and tongue fucking her. He could feel her walls tightening around his tongue, singling just how close she is. The fanning of his hot breath and rough rapid tongue flicks on her clit becomes her undoing.

"Aahh! Uhhhnnn~"

Jeff let's her ride out her high on his tongue before dropping her legs back onto the mattress. He licks his lips, savoring her taste as he unzips his pants - his raging boner springing out.

"Look at me."

Still in her blissful state, she looks at the killer hovering over her, finally noticing how oddly attractive he is. His skin is ghostly white, body lean, yet muscles chiseled. As her eyes travel further, they lock onto his cock. She feels her mouth begin to salivate at the sight. His length is long, girth wide and veins visible.

Jeff uses one hand to push his hair out of his face and the other to stroke himself. "Aren't I... beautiful?" He questions randomly.

Eboni whines, nodding her head as she spreads her legs- wanting him inside. Jeff laughs mockingly at her, his cock grinding against her clit- leaking pre.

"Is the little princess this desperate for my dick?" He asked, removing her bra to begin pinching her nipples painfully.

Eboni's back arches slightly off the bed as she nods her head, ready to do whatever it takes for him to shove it inside her.

"Beg then."

"Jeff....please.."

He bites his lower lips, suppressing a Cackle. To think his mind wasn't playing tricks, but preparing him for this excat moment. Without an ounce of hesitation, Jeff shoves himself into her. The sudden rough intrusion causes Eboni to cry out loudly, her eyes welling with tears as Jeff closes his eyes- groaning from the tightness.

They both stay motionless for a while, waiting for the moment of entrance to pass. The killer opens his eyes, and the sight of Eboni's pained expression gives him a newfound excitement. Jeff would slowly pull out of Eboni, leaving his tip in before slamming back into her.

"Look at you, on the verge of tears.." he laughs, letting a moan slip afterward.

Feeling herself getting stretched so slowly is a feeling she's struggling to comprehend. Pain. This is her first time having sex, and it's being handled so poorly. The moment is supposed to be sweet, gentle, and even loving. However, that isn't what Eboni wanted at all.

Hurts...hurts so good

Faster, deeper...rougher

Don't stop...never fucking stop

Jeff's eyes widen in shock until it's quickly masked by his sadistic urges hurling to the surface, scratching at his skin, poking at his mind. No holding back. He has no reason to hold back.

Though heavy tears are flowing from Eboni's eyes, a deranged smile would not leave her face. Jeff's demented tendencies take full swing after seeing that smile. His thrust became rougher, animalistic.

"So good! F-Feels so- aah!"

Eboni's back arches off the bed, pressing against Jeff's chest as she came- her vision clouded by stars. Jeff didn't give her time to recover. He lifts the girl, forcing her on her knees.

"Grip the headboard. I'm not done, not even close." He said, slapping his dick against her swollen slit.

"Daddyyy..." Eboni whines, rubbing her ass shamelessly against him to get the killer to hurry.

Jeff leans over, gripping the headboard as well. "Your pussy is so fucking red....and your begging? You bitch-"

He slames into her without warning once again. His thrust seems to be diving deeper into her from this new position. Eboni cries, feeling him slame so harshly against her cervix.

"Fuck...holy shit you're taking me so...so damn, uhnn~" Jeff groans into her ear before beginning to leave trails of bites and kisses along her neck.

"G-Gonna..mmhh!"

The killer wraps his hand around her throat, forcing her head to lean back and look at him. "Hold. It." He orders through clenched teeth.

At this point, Eboni feels like she's being torn in two, but Jeff doesn't care. The only thing on his mind is reaching his high and using this girl to do that. The two lock lips, the kiss sloppy yet full of passion.

"That's it. Keep sucking me in just like that, oh fuck!"

The two never broke eye contact, and that inhuman look in Eboni's eyes and smile are what sends Jeff over the edge and shifts something within his heart - unbeknownst to him. They cum, Eboni squirting all over his cock and Jeff emptying his load deep within her.

"Don't move. Keep it all in you cumsucking bitch." Jeff orders, still dealing with the high of his orgasm.

Eboni could only nod, feeling the mixture of themselves running down her leg. With her smile gone and tongue hanging out while panting, Jeff spits onto it.

"Swallow."

Eboni gulps with zero hesitation, whining for another kiss from Jeff. The two hold another sloppy kiss, Eboni still feeling his length pulsating inside her. Jeff breaks the kiss, licking Eboni's lips.

With their faces itches apart he speaks, "Be ready to get fucked like this from now on. I'm just getting started, princess."

#Spotify #jeff the killer #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer x you #ben drowned #eyeless jack #laughing jack #sally williams #bloody painter #yandere #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #bdsmplay #bdsmkink #bdsmlife #bwwm love #bwwmromance #dark romance #horror #cw: gore #triggers #slenderman #ticci toby #tim masky #hoodie #zalgo #zalgo creepypasta #creepypasta smut #smut

[raindrop-on-a-spiderweb]

Sending love to one of the best writers on ao3 😘💕 I check your page frequently and wanted to ask about the things that you enjoy doing or aspire to do

Hi Anon, it's so sweet of you to send this ask to ask after me. Rest assured your words are appreciated on this end; thank you from the bottom of my heart and top of my soul 🫂 I'm very glad you think highly of my work even after so long, and I'm so so sorry I haven't had any new content in such a long time. But I am hard at work on a oneshot that will definitely be published before the next chapter of Samarra, so the well won't stay dry for long! The summary is “A jaded prison nurse must come to rely on a man she hates and fears in the midst of a deadly prison riot.” I started writing it in the ward; it's based off of the Moundsville Penitentiary which is an especially spooky place I've been to–an old 19th century prison made of towering stone turrets, eerie high ceilings, and rusted iron cells packed together like pigsties. I'm hoping to get that atmosphere across; it's about ⅔ of the way finished so good progress is being made!

Well I enjoy writing, most of all, but I've already talked about that in detail a thousand times so I'll spare you. I love reading, of course (I just finished “The Five”, about the victims of Jack the Ripper, and it's a fascinating bit of history and an incredible and horrifying look at Victorian-era industrial Britain). I love exploring the mountains with my cats trotting along beside me and photographing what I find. In all honesty I'm a bit of a trappist–I rarely see people except hunters and cashiers, and most of my time is spent alone with myself or my dad. But each day is an adventure when you're in nature and each season brings primordial and beautiful changes– I collected watercress the other day and found the downy remains of a fawn. 

I love watching old movies. My dad and I were watching Laurel and Hardy last night and I swear it holds up a century later. Before that we watched King Rat, which is one of his–and my–favorite movie; about two men stuck in a Japanese prison camp and the Machiavellian and underhanded ways they survive there. The book is particularly good too, and the epilogue about rats devouring each other has haunted my dreams for a long time. 

On the same subject, a series that I highly recommend is called Tenko, which is very similar to King Rat, except the prisoners are women. It's so grueling, realistic and enrapturing; I've never seen anything that so squarely focuses on women's experiences, relationships with each other, the hardships they face, and how they struggle to survive together in a thankless, deprived environment. The backstabbing and despair that comes in their darkest moments, the love and support in which they uplift each other with, their mistrustful and uneven relationships with their captors that occasionally erupt in friendships and affairs–and all the episodes are on dailymotion, too!

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x74u4fi

I like dreaming most of all. So many of my story ideas come from my dreams. The worst thing in the world is waking up and trying to catch the stray strands of the dream slipping through your fingers. It's amazing to live so many lives–good or bad–inside your head. Sometimes when I wake up, I feel a sweeping, palpable sense of relief that I don't live in the world I conjured last night, and sometimes I wish I could just claw myself back into my brain and live in that little pocket world for the rest of my life.

I do not aspire to much. I don't really have any base wishes but to keep writing and live til 70. We all have our hopeful fantasies, of course, and when I finally do get Ragnatela on Amazon Kindle (Microsoft Word is trying to swindle me out of one hundred and fifty American dollars to use their dogshit platform, and since the manuscript is half-edited, I'm afraid to lose my formatting if I switched to a free program like Libreoffice) maybe it will get some attention. 

I still intend on writing on Ao3 until the day I die, though. Even with its unsavory content I have such a soft spot for its unrestricted freedom of speech and prose. Plus I don't want to give up talking to you guys and goofing off in the comments ☹️ I also aspire to stop drinking. I'm sure I've already shaved a few years off my lifespan with my tippling habit. But when one day is much like the other, is there much point in extending it?

I aspire to travel around the United States more. I took a trip through the Deep South to visit Savannah and it was enrapturing; something I will remember for the rest of my life. Rusted-out cars felted in green moss, skinny, grazing horses in windswept fields, peeling roadside signs advertising tent revivals, clownish golliwogs behind still windows of cafes, forgotten tugboats half-sunken into lagoons, highway strip hotels where craggy hookers peered at you suspiciously from their fold-up chairs, and derelict cemeteries separated between Union and Confederate. It was just post-Irma and we were often the only tourists at any of these places. The effects of the hurricane were stark and obvious, with the land in a state of shock before any official agencies came to clean them up. I remember boats crashed into the harbor and grandfather trees felled in front of opulent antebellum homes, and the sea churned brown and murky when we trekked to the beach. The sense of desolation, and not only from the hurricane, was chilling–but I loved being there and loved being swathed by the kudzu and history. My mother is very ill and before she dies we might make up briefly and take a trip to New Orleans together and explore rural Louisiana; I'd always wanted to write a story set in New Orleans. Louisiana is a fascinating state with its mixture of Napoleonic and Creole influences; and I've always been drawn to the grand, decaying tombs of New Orleans as much as I have been to the odd Francophone swamps and their hidden dialects and traditions. And one day I would like to go way, way out west and explore the Gold Rush ghost towns. All the mines where I am are filled-in, so I would like to venture underneath the earth just once. 

Most of all, I aspire to be alone, and live by myself for the rest of my life, far away from town, somewhere in the mountains like where I am now. I wish I didn't have to see another person for the rest of my life. Being alone with myself is bad enough, being with others is intolerable.

Anyways, I apologize for my undue pleonasm, you caught me in a chatty mood 😀 Here's an excerpt from the newest prison one-shot:

Rhoda had met Jesse Fitzner her first day on the job. It was midway through her shift, and she was taking a lunch break and grading her sister Sherise's homework in her office. The day had started with a white-knuckle ride in early morning mist so thick she couldn't see the taillights of the car in front of her. Midway through her preliminary tour of the prison, an inmate had stuffed his toilet full of socks, which promptly overflowed and leaked sewage out of the cell onto her high heels. The hoots and jeers had made her speed up, trying to avoid the leering eyes of her future patients. And her introduction to the mental ward, by a younger but just as pessimistic Fawna, had not lifted her mood any either.

So there she sat in her office, snatching a moment of calmness and frantically scribbling corrections over Sherise's homework before her sister turned it in tomorrow. And then the door swung open.

A blond man poked his head in and briefly raised his eyebrows. He was wearing the omnipresent, drab gray prison uniform, pants and a sweatshirt rolled up to his elbows. "What are you up to?"

She flipped the cover of the notebook over.

"Going over my sister's homework. Is there something you need?"

"Passing on a message to Nurse Judson. One of the inmates wants to switch his blood pressure medication."

"Oh, she'll be back soon. I think she's–doing something with the prisoners. Just give her a few minutes."

"No hurry." He pulled the chair opposite her and sat down in it. "So you're grading your kid sister's homework? Shouldn't she be doing that herself?"

The man had thick blond hair that stuck up in back like a duck's tail, and very rosy cheeks. He looked like he had just shaven, by the nicks on his neck. 

"It's a long story. I should be–"

"I've got time. If this is your first day, you need to take some time to yourself to relax--else you'll end up in the infirmary."

Rhoda laughed. He had a nice smile and a nice manner about him–very jovial and friendly. It was refreshing to see a man who didn't stare at her like she was a piece of meat. "Well, my parents died when my brother and I were still young. Seth was seventeen, I was fifteen. He went to work so we didn't have to break up the family, and I stayed home to care for my little siblings, all three of them. It wasn't fun. I always wanted to do more for them than what I was stuck with, so I'm making sure they get good grades and go to good colleges. That's why I got this job in the first place, to put some back for their college funds."

"That's real decent of you. I don't know a single woman who would go so far for their family. You'd best be proud of yourself. Where's your brother now?"

"He's working out of state in Pennsylvania. He found a good woman and has a concrete contracting business now."

"You got yourself a man?"

"Never saw the need. Someday, maybe, when I'm lonelier."

"Working here for a few years will train that loneliness for a man right outta of you." 

They both laughed at that, and Rhoda felt her tensed muscles begin to relax. "I didn't catch your name."

"Jesse Lee Fitzner." He reached across the desk to grip her hand. For being such a small-built man, he had a crushing handshake.

"Rhoda Ames. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"I knew a few Ameses when I was on the outside. Where your folks from?"

"Beckworth, west of here."

"Oh, you're bullshitting me. I have folks from there too. You don't know a Harry Fitzner, do you?"

"Harry who used to run the car repair shop?"

"That's him! My uncle. He retired a few years ago. His lungs got to him. Too much time in the mines."

The door slammed open again. An elderly prison guard, who had greeted her rather abruptly upon her hiring and who had a hard and wrinkled face, was standing in the doorway. When he saw Jesse, his face grew harder. "What are you doing here, inmate?"

Jesse raised his hands, still not moving from where he was leaning back on the chair. "Just dropping off a message for Nurse Judson."

"Next time, leave the message with Nurse Ames and promptly return to your cell. There's no reason for you to be here actin' so friendly."

To Rhoda's mild disappointment, the guard grabbed Jesse by his arm and yanked him out, harder than he needed to. Before he was escorted out, Jesse tossed a glance over her shoulder and winked at her. "Rhoda, you're a young lady, and I'm a bit of a spring chicken myself. I think we would get along real well outside these walls."

Rhoda couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up from her throat. She felt lightheaded. She was a rangy and abrupt woman with a working tan, and hadn't much experience with men flirting with her.

When Jesse was marched out, Rhoda stood up and grabbed her peaked nurse's cap, girding her loins for the next shift on the ward. While she was counting medications, the elderly guard–Miles–came in again and shut the door behind him. She flinched, expecting a dressing-down on her first day of work. I wasn't fraternizing with the prisoner, was I? Am I… am I gonna lose my job?

He sat down opposite her. "You ever hear that tale 'bout the lady and the snake?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to–"

"Old story; old, old story. One of them Aesop stories they wrote when people was still in togas and carved words in stone. A woman was walking home one day when she saw a frozen snake lying on the side of the road. It begged her to save its poor little self, this little creature of God. So taking pity on it, the woman brought it home and warmed it by the fire between her breasts. And as it thawed, it bit her breast. 'Oh, why would you do such a thing? Your poison will kill me,’ she wailed. And the snake smiled and said, 'You knew I was a snake before you brought me into your house.'"

Rhoda stared at him, puzzled. "I don't understand."

"You know what that fellow did to get in here? Fitzner was top dog in a motorcycle gang outside of prison. A real nasty one. He ordered a contract killing on a rival gang member. They snatched the poor fellow when he was leaving a bar. Hung him from a tree, broke his legs with doublejack hammers, used him as target practice with their sawed-offs, cut his dick off and shoved it in his mouth, then left and let him choke on it and bleed to death for the rest of the night. He was out, too, far out in the mountains, and they only found him weeks later when a hunter stumbled on him. One of the killers snitched on Fitzner in exchange for dropping a drug felony sentence he was staring at. That snitch went into hiding and changed his name. Two days after Fitzner was taken to this good penitentiary, he was found with his head beaten in, in a dry creek bed."

Rhoda's head began to spin in slow whirls. Her hand where Jesse had shaken it grew very clammy. She remembered his bright smile across the desk, his dark eyes, and felt bile and vomit churn in her throat.

"You both were talking for a while, I noticed. He's good at prising information out of people, Fitzner is. A boyish smile and a few good words and he can make both men and women melt like butter on yer tongue. See? Now he knows who you are, and where your folks live. Now he can get to you."

Rhoda tried to talk, but her tongue was paralyzed. She looked down and wiped her sweaty hands on her knees.

Miles got up and went over to the door. He looked out of the window set on top, and his hard face relaxed. He seemed much older in that moment, more wrinkled and exhausted.

"You'd best be careful of him, Nurse Ames. He's a bad 'un. I'll be glad to see the back of him."

As it turned out, Miles retired later that year and it was Jesse who saw the back of him. 

And Rhoda became very wary of him from then on. Whenever he saw her in the hall, in the chow line, in the infirmary, he smiled at her and tried to make small talk. She ignored him, or was curt with him.

Unfortunately, he seemed to take that as an invitation.

#personal #asks #writing

[jennay]

Play Pretend

A/N: I don’t know what I’m doing with this. Let me know if you’d like a part two it’s kinda left on a hanger but, I have some ideas if you guys want more.

Master List

“You fucking suck, Jamie.” You push yourself into the corner of the couch, grabbing a throw pillow and holding it close to your chest. You gently rest your head against the fluffy plush pillow.

Jamie sits next to you, hands folded in his lap.

“Darling, you knew this wasn’t real.” He tries to find the best way to let you down but knows there is never a good way to break someone’s heart. “It was pretend. We needed the publicity. We weren’t supposed to be more than that.”

You lift your face from the pillow just enough for him to see your teary eyes. He instantly feels guilty. Maybe he led you on more than he would have liked, but he never expected you to feel this strongly about him.

“If it was pretending, why did it continue through close doors?” You set the pillow beside you; unfolding your legs and standing up, you look out the large windows of your apartment, gazing across the city. You wipe your teary eyes. Jamie didn’t deserve your tears.

He stands beside you, and through the reflection of the glass, you can see him staring at you.

“I thought you were playing along.” He admits.

Rolling your eyes, you let out a huff. Jamie acted like you didn’t know him well enough to know when he was lying.

“There was something there, and you can lie all you want. That’s fine, but I need you to leave if you can’t be honest with me, and hopefully, at some point, you can look in the mirror and convince yourself that after four months of us being together, there weren’t any real feelings.” You walk to your front door and hold it open, and wait for Jamie to exit. He somberly starts toward you, knowing after he left you, this was it. You weren’t going to take him back as a friend; it stung knowing that he was throwing his friendship away, and more than likely, your mutual friend Joseph would give him the lecture of his life.

“(Y/n), I-“

“No.” You cut him off before he can speak. “There’s the door.” You pause to regain your composer. “I wish Joseph never introduced me to you.”

Jamie’s lips part like he can’t believe what you said. You weren’t just dismissing the “relationship” you two carried for four months but the friendship you held for the last three years.

You feel salty tears pricking at your eyes. You tap your foot to focus on something other than your emotions. How could you be this blind?

“I’m sorry.” He walks away from your apartment with his shoulders slumped, and head hung low.

You don’t hesitate to slam the door shut. Nobody teaches you how to break up with a friend. It shouldn’t have hurt this much, but it hurt worse than breaking up with your ex-boyfriend. You couldn’t ever lay eyes on Jamie without feeling some sort of pain again.

You text Joseph and explain what happened, knowing he would likely take Jamie’s side. This was pretending, after all. When he receives the text, he instantly calls. You two weren’t supposed to break up for another few months the promotions for your and Jamie’s latest movie had barely begun.

“You weren’t supposed to catch actual feelings, princess.” He lightly chuckles, which makes you even madder.

“We had sex… and it changed the chemistry in my brain, Joseph.” You sit on your bed and curl under the blankets. “We shouldn’t have. I know, but I thought maybe he was starting to have feelings for me, and boom. My clothes are on the ground.” The other line remains silent, you have to pull your cell phone away to check if he’s still there. “Joseph?”

“You both are such idiots. I knew this would happen. I’ve never been able to have two best friends get along.” He pauses, and his eyes drift to the knocking on the front door. He casually walks to the door listening to you continue to rant about how dumb you are. He looks through the peephole and his eyes land on a distraught Jamie. “(Y/N.) I need to call you back.”

“Joseph!”

“I’ll call you back!” Joseph turns his phone off and opens his door. His brows raise and he stares at Jamie in disbelief. “You had sex with her!?”

Number 2

#jamie campbell bower #jamie campbell x reader #jamie bower #jamie fanfic #jamie bower x reader #jamie bower x you #jamie bower x y/n #jamie campbell bower x you #jamie campbell bower fanfic #jamie campbell bower x reader #jamie campbell bower x y/n

[swords-of-a-soilder]

The Healing Process

Chapter 1

Confession and Bonfires

This is my first qsmp fic be nice to me; also this is some what outdated but everyone insisted I finish it anyways so here it is!

Cellbit eyes fell half lid as he phased into place, overlooking phill and Misa's home. He hadn't the proper chance to caught up since the events of purgatory, the exhaustion for the damage his body took put him out for weeks at least and the horrid vision of mind are ones he'd rather forget.

He slowly walked over to the front door of the home where he knocked for a whole 3 second, before then looking through the window.

The double bed remained empty amongst the wall of pictures, his eyes gazed back and forth as he search for any life, then sighed when he found none.

Cellbit was about to leave when he heard an iron door push open, he walked over to where he heard the sound watching Phill crawl from an underground base.

"Oi, Philza." Cellbit started

"Sup mate!" Phill greeted, he crawl his way out the hole completely, shutting the door behind him.

"I hope I'm not interrupting you, seem you were bu-" before Cellbit finished his sentence he experience a strong embrace from Phill, sending the younger gentleman into shock.

Finally Phill pulled away meeting Cellbit gaze, "I'm glad you're alright, I was worried you wouldn't make it back." He confessed

Cellbit blink momentarily before his brain flowed again, "I'm glad to see you too."

"oh, are you good on cookies by the way?" Phill starting, "I don't know if you heard but the eggs need to take 8 cookies a week. I started collecting as many as I could so you're good for the week."

"Jesus, it's purgatory all over again." Cellbit joked

"Ah, sorry." Phill respond

Cellbit immediately noticed the tint of regret in Phil's eyes, he seemed to be defaulting to the purgatory mind set, Cell might of said it was concerning if he had found himself doing the same.

It wasn't suprising he was still in survival mode, especially when they didn't get the opportunity to have a proper set off, there was a huge difference between running to the boat to save your life and a proper bon fire goodbye.

"Um, speaking of purgatory, I just wanted to stop by and say maybe, if you're not busy we have a proper send off." Cellbit began.

"An send off?"

"A finally good bye to purgatory, I mean obviously we aren't gonna forgot it entirely but this will help us to move on."

Phill stared at him in disbelief before speaking again, "this was Roier's idea, wasn't it?"

Cellbit release a defeated sigh as he lost his confidence, "yes, it's not the best idea but it's a idea."

"I mean I like the idea, It just didn't seem like you."

Cellbit chuckled at Phill's respond, "no I'd like to ignore it all together, but Roier's seems convince, so I have to at least try."

"sure thing mate, when is it gonna be?"

"Midnight, why then?" Jaiden asked as she pet one of her many parrot birds.

"Purgatory had long nights, it'll fit the vibe." Cellbit explain

"Hmm, I don't see why not, where's not drinking tea right?" Jaiden inquired

"why you don't like tea anymore?" Cellbit asked

"God no, I hate tea now!" Foolish insisted.

charlie noted his head in agreement, "yeah no more tea, I will puke my guts out."

"great, it would help if you brought some food, but no pressure." Cellbit suggested

"ah, I'm not the best cook you know?" Etoiles warned

"I can make a mean milkshake!" Mouse added

"milkshake isn't a good night drink is it?" Etoiles asked

"doesn't matter, it's good."mouse double down

Cellbit chuckled at their ridiculous behavior, "well anyways, I'll see you guys tonight then."

It would be untrue to say Cellbit wasn't anxious about the upcoming event,but he was insistence on keeping a bold face for Roier whom saw through it rather easily."

"Pendjo, eres tan fácil de leer; you can just admit to be nervous?" Roier began

"What do I have to be nervous about?" Cellbit detour suddenly paying his attention to the food Roier brought with them.

"Hey come on now, this is supposed to be a night of openness!" Roier rebutted, "ya deberías saberlo mejor, ¡no te voy a juzgar!"

"Cellbit!" A voice called from his left, Cellbit would soon observe Etoiles approaching with Mouse by his side, Both holding milk products respectfully.

"I tired to stop her, but she instead on it." Etoiles inform as he passed off a large jug filled to the brim with a cold milkshake.

Cellbit released a nervous chuckle as he place the jug down, "well, the others aren't here but, feel free to chill by the fire."

"Hey, you got any music?" Mouse inquired

"I didn't prepare for..I think I might have a record in my backpack.." Cellbit pulled his backpack from under the table fumbling through it.

He eventually pulled a dic out that he handed off to mouse, whom immediately set it to play on her own backpack. The familiar tunes of pig step filled the air, as mouse dance her way over to fire.

It didn't take long for the others to show up, Charlie, jadien and foolish all in that order. Phil of course was the last one to show up, carry a dispenser jug of Ice Tea.

And with that his promise was broken, "Ah Phil, did you really have to bring tea?" Cellbit started

"Why not, its good!"

"Yes, but Foolish and Charlie, really didn't want to drink any-"

"Oh really?" Phil interrupted, "its a god damn send off they can drink the Tea, Foolish come drink this!" Phil demand as he poured foolish a cup.

"No, get that shit away from me!" Foolish begged

Cellbit chuckled at Phil's ridiculous behavior, then blended into the group forcing himself to socially per Roier's orders.

For the majority of the night it was mostly chill, in a not so suprising turn of events Cellbit found his desire to communicate to run dry in the first hour.

You could only do so much small talk before it becomes a drag, so he stayed by his partner, not necessarily saying anything but kept seated next to Him with his head rested on his shoulders, just Observering the other.

Therefore he couldn't help but notice that Phil of all people was acting rather strange and thus tuned into him and his conversations a lot more; which actually weren't that many since Phil spent most his time chugging tea at the dispenser.

The troubling part was, the driver was absolutely alcoholic, Cellbit certainly smelt the Vodka from here; granted he was fully aware Phil wasn't the one who spiked it but he surely figured out by now what was in it.

"Phil, come on stick fight?" Etoiles pleaded

Phil could feel his head spinning at the thought, but having turn him down the past few days he felt obligated to play along. He place the cup on the table, "yeah.. Ok." He agreed fetching a stick from his inventory

Etoiles was basically bouncing of the non existence walls in excitement, soon taking his stance in preparation as Phil did the same.

Cellbit would say he felt bad for watching, he knew without a shadow of a doubt Phil was about to eat shit, but lot like a car crash he just couldn't look away.

And eat shit Phil did, getting knocked down in less than ten seconds by the dullest part of Eotiles stick, but credit where credit was due, Phil clearly wasn't focus.

In fact Cell quickly track his vision to the others dancing, specifically Mouse, whom held a Goat's skull on her head. Phil would soon thank Etoiles for the fight then quickly made his way to mouse, stealing the skull then engaging in small talk.

"Where did you find this, I never see skulls this small just about." Phil was Cleary lying through his teeth, it seemed more like he just wanted an excuse not to give the item back.

Why not just ask to keep it?

"Phil, come on man, dance it's a party!" Charlie was obviously already drunk and while Phil was tispy enough to eat shit in under 10 seconds, Charlie was 'not gonna be able to piss straight' drunk.

So it made sense that he would just casually take the skull and start dancing about, however watching the way Phil's fingers curled in and his lips quiver, it pulled Cellbit to intervene.

He stole the skull from Charlie quickly hiding it in his inventory, satisfied to see a sense of peace wash over Phil. "You're going to poke someone's eye out." Cellbit warned.

"Ah man you're no fun." Charlie complained as he rejoin the group.

After everyone tired themselves out, Roier being the only one who brought actual food, started handing them out; as everyone was forced to sit and discuss by the fire it made the task a little easier.

"Phil, I noticed you don't tend to eat at these events." Cellbit inquiried

"Ah, I normally full up on toast before hand and so I usually just bring some back for Chayanne." Phil informed

"Please at least eat this time." Cellbit request as he past off the dish, "Roier might take it as an insult over wise."

"Yeah, sure mate."

After handing out everything Cell seated himself by the camp fire awaiting Roier's presence, though he find himself slightly annoyed by his husband's statements when he finally sat down.

"So guys, I was thinking right now would be a good opportunity to talk about how we've been feeling."

"Oh boy, here we go." Charlie started, "I don't have a problem ok?!"

"That's not at all what I was talking about." Roier corrected, "look I'm sure purgatory messed with our understanding of trust in our friendship! You don't have to say it, but its a known fact. "

"So?" Foolish asked, rather annoyed by the topic.

"So trust excuses come on, no seas una perra; you talk about your feelings I talk about mine, look I'll even go first!" Roier began, "When Cellbit stayed behind, I felt hurt that my feelings weren't concerned."

"Stop don't." Cellbit pleaded, his face already buried in his hands, "No es que no haya considerado tus sentimientos, solo hice lo que pensé que era mejor para ti."

"Exacto, lo hiciste sabiendo que me haría daño, simplemente porque querías hacer lo mejor para mí, lo entiendo."

"Stop this."

"Pero prefiero ser feliz a lo que es mejor para mí cualquier día, no seas idiota egoísta, te amo."

There was a long silence between the two, and though Cellbit looked ashamed, he also seemed partly content; Therefore it motivated others.

"Um, I'm actually really afraid all the time." Etoiles started

"Wait what?" Phil interrupted, "but you're Etoiles, you're always looking for a fight, being a hero."

"Well its more that I'm afraid of messing up, of not being enough; so of course I do a as many fights to prove to myself I'm strong but.. After it ends I feel pretty empty again."

once more a silence fell among the bon fire, it was clear tonight was expected to be an emotional one.

"sometimes I lose track of my motives." Jaiden began "of why I do the things I do and I've found myself asking, is motive a justification for the wrong I've done?"

Cellbit weight her words in his head, hateful of how strongly he agree with them, "I myself have done, regrettable things.. I knew my motive behind them but, I do wonder if the motive really is a justification.. I.. I don't know anymore."

Then the silence rare her uglyy face once more, the only sound the crackles of the fire. confession spoken would obviously be casted into the fire to burn but to leave their host and avoid becoming poison.

"I've been seeing things," Phil finally admit, "things I'm not sure are real anymore, and others can never seem to see it but.. I feel like I'm going crazy. I saw it, I lived thought it, it all feels real but.."

After the few who felt fit spoke their confession, there was an honor thirty minutes of silence to allow those confession to burn.

Freed from their host, freed from their minds. Once the event came to an end most participates rush their way home, and Phil was not above them

It was Cellbit, whom actually grabbed onto to Phil's shelve holding him back. "Um Phil, about those visions you've been seeing?"

"oh, no I mean, I was worried because I thought it was just because the kids were gone, but then it kept happening so..but it's fine it's probably all in my head." Phil dismissed

"in my experience, it never is." Cell warned, "at least reach out if it happens again."

".... Cellbit have you spelt?"

"wow.." Cellbit let his hands fall off Phil's shelve, "you're gonna turn on me like that!?"

"sleep deprivation is a terrible thing," Phil warned, "get some rest, for your own sake." Phil warned before turning away.

Momentarily Cellbit watch the older man walk away, keeping notice to check on Phil later.

#qsmp fanfiction #qsmp #q!philza #q!etoiles #q!charlie #q!jaiden #q!roier #q!mouse #q! Cellbit #The Healing Process #outdated fanfiction lol #but people wanted me to finish it #except more chapters #on Tumblr im not giving yall my a03 fuck that #also the Spanish bit are google translate im sorry #my first language isn't even English i don't know Spanish well

[vernalseason]

Here's why I'm so goddamn feral about The Bear.

I ran an ice cream store for about five years. No, it wasn’t fine dining, it wasn’t even a restaurant, but it was still food service. We were in a vacation town, and our place was the only ice cream store in the area, and the ice cream was GOOD. Customers used to ask me all the time if I got sick of eating it and I’d say no, and I meant it. It was reasonably fancy as ice cream goes, with some pretty out-there flavors, but mostly it was just GOOD. Super flavorful, dense but not chewy the way that some ice creams get where it feels like it’s stretching unnaturally when you pull your spoon away…

Point is, it was an ice cream shop in a tourist town, and in the summer we got killed during service every single night. Nonstop lines from 7 til 12 or 1 in the morning, no breaks. We got after-dinner crowds, after-show crowds, hordes of camp kids a busload at a time, and it might not have been fine dining but we worked HARD. We had 8, 9, 10 people on peak days all scooping, cleaning, making milkshakes (which is The Worst, in case you were curious), restocking by running down rickety definitely-not-to-code stairs to our tiny walk-in and hauling ice cream up 4 boxes at a time—because goddamn it, time was valuable and running up and down the stairs sucked and no one was going to go down multiple times when you could just grab 4 at a time and grit your teeth and shove them onto the counter upstairs feeling like you’d just benched your own body weight.

At the start of the summer, Memorial Day weekend, we were at our absolute peak. Following a truly herculean hiring effort aided by the promise of unlimited free ice cream, we had a crew of 20-odd overcaffeinated teenagers and twentysomethings who were working a truly awe-inspiring pace to kill the line. My favorite moments were, variously:

Being so busy I had to run two registers simultaneously, waiting for Square to process a transaction on one (chip card readers were murderously slow in the early days) while taking cash on the other;

Absolutely shattering every store record on a Saturday night with a skeleton crew and getting approval to order 12AM pizza on the company card, and taking a long, long hour to eat before we finally had to get around to scrubbing the calcified ice cream off the floors;

Gearing up to call for a restock on spoons, napkins, and other such necessities only to find that my assistant manager was behind me with a milk crate of those very things;

And so on.

There was about a month and a half of beautiful, well-staffed, smooth-running time before things frayed at the edges. Suddenly the factory couldn't get enough ingredients, since the company was chronically broke (turns out wholesale ice cream is a bad idea, folks; retail is where it's at), or the store walk-in broke down and we had to resort to chest freezers for storage for a month, or, most commonly, we started losing staff. I was always after the owner of the company to hire more year-round full-time staff, but there was always something more urgent for him to spend money on, like rent. So inevitably our staff would start leaving for college, and we'd be left with about half to a third of the staff we really needed to run. Which is when things started getting bad.

There are only so many doubles you can work before you start losing your grip on reality. I recall one day in August when I was somehow, improbably, the only person available to fill an entire day of shifts, and worked from 9AM pre-open to 11PM at night. The only thing that I remember is that the tips were phenomenal. But by Labor Day weekend we were down to our last seasonal staff and the entire core crew had worked at least two doubles that week and we limped into the off season with about two remaining brain cells between us.

Anyway. This post was supposed to be about The Bear.

I've never seen a show—or at least, never seen a FICTIONAL show—that so deeply understands what it means to be in food service. I watched the first episode in absolute awe of how they captured the intensity—just GOING until you get a moment to yourself in the bathroom, in the walk-in, in the office. And when you slow down, you think about how tired you are. How burnt out. How much all you really want is just to sit, maybe eat a slice of pizza, and stare into space for an hour. But then you go back out, and you get back to work.

I've also never seen a show that so accurately captures what it looks like and feels like to be a manager. Carmy losing his temper, giving in to that righteous anger in 'Review'—how DARE you not cover your station, how DARE you leave me with this mess that you created—I've been there. I'm not proud of it. I didn't punch a ticket printer, or scream in anyone's face, but I lost my cool, and that sticks with me. You don't get to take it back. You apologize (even if you were right), you patch things up, but no one ever really forgets.

But the show also does justice to one of the great joys of the service industry: getting to see people improve. One of my favorite subplots is Tina going from sabotaging Sydney to respecting her, trusting her, defending her. But mostly, it's my favorite because we see her get BETTER. She goes from just holding down her station to being a pro, from throwing things together to being careful, and thoughtful, and focused. And that moment when Tina says 'thank you, chef', and means it, really MEANS it, that's the kind of thing that gets me all teary. Because it's so much more than just 'thank you', but you'd have spend a hell of a lot longer to get it all out.

I guess if I was going to trace my rabid and, so far undiminished love of the show to a single thing, it would be the fact that it makes me feel seen. I haven't done that much reading on the people who made the show, but enough of them clearly lived this life or got close enough to it that they understand what it does to people, and what it requires of them. I loved working in food service, and sometimes I even miss it. I loved getting to make people's days, to give kids their first-ever ice cream, to feel like people were leaving in a better mood than they came in. And I met my partners through this life, all three of them, which is as exactly as wild and improbable as it sounds. But every time I look back on it fondly, I make myself remember that it was miserable too. The late nights, the early mornings, the days off cut short by delivering emergency stock or jumping in to cover a shift or just ending back up at the shop out of habit. The crushed toes and ragged wrist tendons and hoarse throats, the constant phone calls or checking sales to try and anticipate if we needed more staff. The sensation that after service, the rest of the world was dim in comparison.

I sank so much time and energy into that life, and I think the last thing I love about The Bear, the other thing that makes me tear up a little bit, is that for them it turns out alright in the end. They work through the problems, they make things run smooth, and they get the chance to build the place they dreamed about. That was always what I wanted, what I was working toward—the chance to make things better. And even in fiction, it makes me happy to see that come true.

#the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #carmen berzatto #sydney adamu #jeremy allen white #ayo edebiri #retail #service #service industry #in service #my work #writing #I should talk more about this part of my life actually #and if you want to know more #just ask

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

Safe

A/N- I just want to let everyone know before they read this that it can be very triggering for some people. This is a personal experience of mine that i wanted to share just in case others that have similar experiences can feel safer with how they deal with their own trauma. As an assault survivor, this is something very personal to me, not everyone’s responses are the same so all i ask is that you remain respectful after reading this 🖤 i got the idea for writing this after the ‘anniversary’ of my experience came up, and i want everyone to know that if you ever need someone to reach out to or talk to in always here to talk or listen if you need it 🖤 i’ve only got three more years until all the cells from that time are replaced :)

Summary- Eddie accidentally triggers you and helps to calm you down as best as he can.

Genre- Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Warnings- ⚠️Major TW⚠️ Mentions of sexual assault (not directly describing anything) descriptions of a panic attack, crying, hyperventilating, use of the 54321 method

Tag List- @imagine-all-the-imagines @ladyapplejackdnd @tayhar811 @wistfulwisteriawitch @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @zoeyquinn94 @eddiethesexy (crossed out names wouldn’t let me tag)

Words- 1.9k

“Alright, we’re done, it’s ok.”

Eddie quickly got off of you the moment he heard you say ‘Stop’ with no hesitation.

You didn’t know what it was, you didn’t know what set it off or if Eddie had accidentally touched you a certain way, but in the middle of sex the memory came flooding back into your brain and you needed it to stop.

It was just a sudden reaction, the tears, the shaking, the hyperventilating, and Eddie immediately went to comfort you and cover you up to help in any way that he could.

You were laid on his bed in the fetal position, still naked, cold, your hands balled up into fists over your head as the tears flowed down from your cheeks into the pillow.

Eddie already knew of what had happened to you in the past, and he never held it against you. He knew it wasn’t your fault, and god help him if he ever ran into the person to give you this kind of trauma. He loved you, he cared for you, and he always made sure that whenever the two of you were intimate he looked for every possible sign of your consent just to make sure that you were ok with every single thing he was doing. But he knew there were some times when your body would react like it did in that moment and he would stop and care for you with no hesitation.

He quickly covered you up with his comforter, searching around the floor of his room for your clothes to get ready for you to put them back on as soon as you were able to. He slid his legs back into a pair of dirty sweatpants to cover himself up before kneeling onto the floor next to the bed, gently placing his hand over your wrist, making sure not to grab too hard and make your reaction any worse than it already was,

“Sweetheart, it’s alright, we’re done.” He whispered to you, his fingers slowly tracing over your arm as your hyperventilating started to slow down, “You’re ok, it’s just us here, i promise. Do you remember what to do when this happens? It’s alright if you don’t.”

Your eyes were still shut tightly as your body started to relax itself upon hearing Eddie’s voice. You shook your head, the only thoughts clouding your mind were bits and pieces of those few moments that were drilled into your brain, but you tried your best to put any other thoughts in to get rid of the awful feeling of having to remember.

“That’s ok, i remember, do you want talk right now sweetheart?”

You shook your head once more and Eddie moved his hand off of your arm, hovering it just over your head,

“It’s alright if i pet you? Do you want to be touched?” You slowly nodded and carefully unclenched your eyes, still sore and bloodshot from the tears, but your vision was clear enough to see Eddie’s big brown eyes so full of worry for you. He gently placed his hand on top of your head and slowly started to pet you.

“You don’t have to talk, i’ll do all the talking ok? I want you to open your eyes a little more for me sweetheart, can you do that?”

Your breathing started to slow, Eddie’s voice soothing you back into your relaxed state, but your body was still tense under the blanket. You moved your hands up to your eyes and cleared away the last few tears that slipped out before looking back into Eddie’s eyes, seeing the sweet smile he had on his face,

“Good! You’re doing good. Can you see me ok?”

You slowly nodded once again and his hand carefully moved down to your forehead, brushing a few stray hairs away from your field of vision,

“Good. Can you see my hair ok? Is it all messy like it normally is?”

The corners of your lips turned into a gentle smile as you nodded, the trembling in your arms and legs slowly starting to cease.

“What about my nightstand?” He reached a hand over and placed it on top of the nightstand, turning his head to point at the wall behind him, “And the Metallica poster? You can see those?”

Your vision came back to normal, the blurring from the tears fading away as you tried to focus your eyes onto the poster behind Eddie, nodding again as soon your eyes were able to focus onto it,

“Good! Good, what about my tattoos,” he turned himself back to you and leaned himself back, giving you a bit of space to look at the tattoos on his chest, “you see them? These two right here?” He moved his hand up and motioned to them for you and you nodded once more, “Good! Can you show me that you can see them, can you show me where they are on me?”

Your breathing was back to normal and one hand reached out, the tips of your fingers moving gently over the ink over his heart, slowly tracing over the lines.

“Perfect! What about that blanket, how does it feel?”

Your hand retracted from his chest and you moved it under the comforter, covering yourself up just a bit more as you brought the edge of the blanket up to your cheek and felt the fabric move against it.

“Soft? How about the sheets and the pillowcase?”

You focused your attention onto the loose sheets under your body, moving your legs and head against the fabric to feel how they moved against your skin. Eddie smiled bigger as he saw the outline of your legs start to relax and move under the blanket,

“Good! You hear how they sound against you? All those little sounds they make when your legs move?”

You nodded as you listened to the way the fabric shifted under the movement of your legs.

“And my voice,” Eddie leaned in a little closer to whisper to you, “You can still hear it if i whisper right?”

Eddie saw the smile at the corners of your lips getting just a bit bigger and he knew that you were starting to focus more on your surroundings rather than your thoughts.

“Good. How about this sweetheart,” he moved his hand back up to the nightstand and started to tap his nails onto it, the slow taps soothing you even further and your body was completely relaxed into the bed, “you can hear those little taps on the nightstand?”

Your hand reached up to rub your eyes once more, taking a deep breath as you nodded. You knew you were almost finished doing your routine for when you had gotten into a bad state and you were so grateful that Eddie was doing all he could to help you feel better.

“Perfect!” He was still whispering to you and moved himself a bit closer to you, his face a few inches away from yours, “You know i made sure to wash all my blankets and sheets this morning sweetheart, can you still smell the fabric softener on them?”

You slowly closed your eyes and gently pressed your face into the soft pillow against your head, taking a deep breath. You could smell the fresh fabric softener Eddie had used on his sheets, the sweet floral scent mixed in with his natural pheromones were soothing and calming you fully back to normal.

Eddie slowly stood up as you settled back into bed and kept his eyes on you as he wandered around his room. He folded your clothes up and set them at the end of the bed for you, flipping his light switch on and pressing play on the stereo, making sure to keep the volume low as the Def Leppard cassette inside the tape deck started.

He made his way back over to you and kneeled back into his place before,

“Sweetheart, i’m going to go get you a glass of water ok? I want you to change back into your clothes while i’m gone, and i won’t come back in until you open the door again, ok?”

Your eyes opened up once more and you smiled as you looked into Eddies sweet gaze, nodding again to show him that you understood.

He leaned down and placed a soft kiss onto your head before exiting his room and shutting the door behind him.

You took one last deep breath before sitting up in Eddie’s bed, slowly lifting the comforter off of you and placing your feet onto the hardwood floor. You reached your arms over your head and stretched before leaning over and grabbing the pile of your clothes that Eddie had left folded up for you. You slipped your underwear back on and stepped into your pajama pants before lastly putting one of Eddie’s shirts to cover yourself once more. With one last deep breath, you stood up and walked over to Eddie’s bedroom door, reaching your hand out to the handle and turning the knob to open it so Eddie knew it was alright to come back in.

He was already waiting outside the door with a smile, a glass of water and a little plate with some cut up strawberries and a few small orange slices on it for you.

“Hey angel, why don’t you go back and sit on the bed ok?”

You nodded and walked back over to the bed, sitting on the edge and watching as Eddie shut his door once again to give you two complete privacy. Though the trailer had already been empty beforehand, he knew you wanted complete isolation just in case. He knew you wanted to keep these things private no matter what.

He set the plate onto the nightstand and handed you the glass of water as he sat next to you,

“Drink sweetheart, you need to rehydrate.”

You lifted the glass to your lips and took a few slow gulps before setting it onto the nightstand.

“Good! And you’re gonna finish that before we go to bed right?”

You smiled and nodded to him, making him smile back and press another kiss to your forehead,

“Perfect. I grabbed you a little snack too sweetheart, why don’t you eat a little bit?”

He reached over and grabbed a strawberry, popping it into his mouth before reaching over and handing one to you. You bit into it and the sweet taste of the fruit was the final step in making sure that you were back to normal.

“Sweet?” Eddie said as he reached over to grab another.

You smiled and grabbed one of the orange slices, popping it into your mouth and swallowing the sweet juice that was squeezed from it as you bit into it,

“Sweet.”

Eddie slowly moved his arm around your waist and brought you into him for a hug, your body relaxing into him as your head hit his shoulder.

He knew that there would come a time where things like this would end. He wouldn’t have to constantly worry about wether or not he was doing a good job comforting and consoling you, calming you down from your panic attacks and making sure you knew that you were safe. That everything was alright.

But all he knew for now was that you were ok. You were safe in his arms where you belonged.

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson hurt/comfort

[justacynicalromantic]

So, I am new to The Sandman fandom but I already see I am not the only one to think about the idea of Hob being the personification of Hope.

This was literally the first theory that popped inside my mind after I had finished watching the season, before I even opened any fandom platform lol. Either it's a very obvious logic leap to make, or we all share one single brain cell, despite living half a world apart and not knowing each other😂

But I haven't seen anyone actually connecting it to the Pandora's Box myth.

For those who do not know, the myth tells about the creation of humankind - that men were modelled from clay by Prometheus (which angered Zeus), then Prometheus gave them fire (which was the final nail in the coffin and Zeus decided to exact punishment), Zeus created the first woman Pandora, gave her a jar/box containing all bad things - suffering, illness, pain, sorrow, etc. - thus when she opened it, she ended the Paradise on Earth. But Zeus didn't know that Prometheus also snuck Hope (who Greeks called Elpis - she was depicted as a young woman usually carrying cornucopia flowers) into the box. When Pandora opened the box and released trouble and woe into the world, hope was there to help people survive.

Hesiod (the storyteller of the myth) does not say why Hope (Elpis) remained in the jar. The implications of Elpis remaining in the jar were the subject of intense debate even in antiquity.

Now, consider this: Dream and Hope actually knowing each other from before humankind on Earth, being dual aspects of each other - in Hades/Persephone fashion - they fell in love and Dream courted Hope; when Pandora's story happens and Prometheus comes for Hope's help (or Hope overhears Zeus' plans and comes to Prometheus proposing the plan herself), Dream is away for work/some other businesses somewhere. The events happen without Dream's knowing.

In the end we know Zeus exacts his revenge on Prometheus by binding him to a rock and having an eagle feed on him, but what if Zeus also decided to punish Hope? I know he would be a tier below Hope, because he was just a god, while Hope - a personified concept like Dream, but he could have done it sneakily, capturing her with magic, like it happened to Dream much later. What if Zeus, seeing the effect Hope had on humans thought it was useful and decided to kill two birds with one stone?

So he bound Hope to a human form - so Hope is always there for humans in their world, but also as her punishment, she is diminished to a mortal body, her human mind no longer able to contain her memories of her existence as a spirit/concept, bound to live a human lifespan, die, then be reborn again into a new human.

Dream returns and Hope is nowhere to be found, no one knows anything (no one was there when Zeus captured Hope), centuries pass of fruitless searching but humans are able to hope - and that must mean she is there somewhere and she is fine, so in the end Dream has no choice but to conclude that she decided to leave him and now hides from him out of her own volition.

And so, humans get hope, but Dream loses Hope.

All until many millenia later by pure coincidence he strikes a deal with a human called Hob Gadling - who has no idea he is the current reincarnation of Hope.

(I can't get rid of the mental image: after the struggles are over and Hob/Hope remembers everything, he pops up, feeling nervous and guilty and sorry, into the Dreaming, and Dream greets him with "You are late" said with a trembling smile).

#the sandman #dreamling #Dream being the cranky depressed sad bastard because of the work burnout is so relatable #basically having to juggle both Dreaming and Hoping lol #cause dreams and hopes are so entwined and he was supposed to have a partner doing all the work #because dreams enable hopes and how can dreams exist without hopes?

[adachimoe]

Yukiko's "Yasogami Highschool Visualnet - H" Profile (and Kanji and Naoto's)

The Persona Club P4 book includes sections dedicated to each party member, and one of the things all of them have is a Yasogami High Facebook-esque page called the "Visualnet" with their profile, friends list, communities they've joined, etc. "Yasogami Highschool Visualnet - H" is definitely a "Someone wanted the initials to be YHVH" acronym.

To recap what the Persona Club P4 book is, it's a book made for fans by Atlus that was released back in 2009. It showcases fanart that was sent to Atlus, and provides additional character info and world building info. There is also an interview in the back of the book with Katsura Hashino about the development of the game.

I am god awful at reading handwritten Japanese, and every single character profile is written in a different Japanese font that's stylized after handwriting. I assume it's to emulate what kind of handwriting the characters would have, but... urk...

Yukiko's YHVH

Profile

Amagi Yukiko

Message: Hello! Chie invited me here.

Icon: Golden bird

Nicknames: Yukiko, Lady of the House (Ugh...)

Sex: F

Birthday: December 8, 1994

Zodiac: A heart-piercing Sagittarius. Be struck by my arrow.

Height: 164cm. Ah, the folded part of my kimono... (sweatdrop)

Weight: Secret

Blood Type: I'm a Type O who really puts the "O" in O-bvious. Betcha didn't expect that!

Celebrity Lookalike: Ami Koshimizu

Favorite Food: Japanese food! Don't call me old.

Favorite Things: Dogs. One day when I was a child, I had a fateful encounter on the Samegawa... (rest omitted)

Dislike: I don't particularly dislike anything, but... dirty talk is a bit... Uhm...

Special Skills: I'm quite confident in my kimono dressing and table manners

Brief Comment: Nice to meet you!

My YHVH (Friends)

Protagonist

Chie

Teddie

Kanji

Naoto

Ko

(See All)

Clubs

Japanese Clothing Lovers! - 6 members

The "Go Home" Club - 15 members

Showa Era Music Fans - 3 people

Let's go see the dam! - 7 people

(See All)

Messages

From Yosuke: "Let me get in the onsen again!"

(See All)

The bit about Yukiko's blood type joke is "the 'oo' in 'oozappa'"; with oozappa meaning like... roughly, generally, broadly speaking, etc. For the sake of my last remaining brain cells that haven't been Adachipilled yet, and also because I am uncreative as fuck, I just used a different word instead of trying to translate oozappa into English with a word that starts with a O lmao. The Ami Koshimizu mention is cause that's Yukiko's Japanese voice actress. All of the Investigation Team have their JP voice actors as their Celebrity Lookalikes. Also, I have no idea what the dam thing is about lol. Is there a dam if you follow the Samegawa?

Kanji and Naoto's Profiles

I've learned that Kanji and Naoto's profiles were translated back in 2009. Behold, Naoto being a member of the Linux club at school lol. The only thing I have to add-on to these existing translations is that:

Naoto's DM is from Rise, asking to go to get a "bucket parfait" - those comically large ice cream and fruit parfaits you might have seen photos of before. (I don't think they always come served in a pail / bucket, though they certainly can lol.) Not sure if Naoto secretly likes sweets (she did save the Christmas Cake...) or if Naoto gets bullied into going to this stuff by Rise all the time.

Can confirm from the Japanese version of the game that this translator's speculation about Kanji searching for the rare submarine is accurate. Kanji's Ototo and Homerun Bars are something I've written about on this blog before too.

When the mood strikes, I'll do more of these. (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

#persona 4 #yukiko amagi #naoto shirogane #kanji tatsumi #persona club p4

[putschki1969]

hey puts, the captain of kalafina fandom XD i came across this instagram post which i think its talking about backstage stuff about wakana circulating in 2-chan. this is the post https://www.instagram.com/p/Bvy3CuchT-D/ can you share your thoughts about it ? or maybe you can help us what are they actually talking about since we can only use google translate.

Hello there, anon!

Ugh, you are throwing me a curve-ball here, I did not expect to get a question like this. Already feeling exhausted just thinking about writing my reply T_T

That Instagram post is from spring 2019, a - what I consider to be - particularly dark period in the Kalafina fandom. Wakana was in the midst of preparing for her first grand-scale solo tour after her official solo debut and Space Craft finally put their act together by releasing an official statement regarding Kalafina's state of limbo. In an attempt to put an end to a lot of uncertainty/speculation and to create a clear distinction between Kalafina and Wakana's solo activities, they declared a definitive disbandment. As you can imagine, everyone and their mother had something to say about that. Even Yuki Kajiura, Hikaru and Keiko made statements in response. All of this caused a lot of backlash against Space Craft and particularly towards Wakana herself. The fact that Wakana was still with Space Craft and dared to not address the announcement of Kalafina's disbandment with a statement of her own made many so-called fans very angry and disappointed - totally unwarranted of course.

Suddenly, there was an influx of certain internet trolls who got a real kick out of blaming and villainising Wakana, they made her into the bad guy and came up with a bunch of wild theories that mainly served the purpose of dragging Wakana's name and image through the mud. Needless to say, none of those claims were in any way, shape or form substantiated but as is the case with all negative content on the internet, it drew quite a bit of attention and some people even started buying into that bullshit. The Instagram user you linked to in your ask is a textbook example of one such troll. At that time, a handful of sock puppet accounts were created to feed into the smear campaign against Wakana. Those accounts regularly left nasty comments under Wakana's Instagram posts, pretending to be devastated fans and referring to all sorts of horrible things that Wakana had allegedly done. Most of those posts and accounts got rightfully flagged and suspended but some apparently managed to stay around for a while. They tried to continue their toxic behaviour but once they realised that Wakana's loyal fans would not stand for such horrible defamation tactics, most of them just disappeared again.

As for the information supposedly circulating on 2chan, I honestly give little to no credence to anything that is being said on anonymous text-boards like 2chan or its successor 5chan. As much as the Japanese are known for being overly polite and reserved, they can be incredibly nasty when they are allowed to act anonymously. I reckon about 10% of users who frequently post on these types of text-boards are actually decent human beings. 60% of them are either mentally handicapped, bored out of their minds or simply frustrated with their lives. The remaining 30% are scum of the earth sociopaths as far as I am concerned.

In order to do some research for this post, I went through a few old threads about Wakana containing hundreds upon hundreds of messages. I literally felt my brain cells dying with every new message I read. No idea how others manage to subject themselves to this level of stupidity but I really struggle to tolerate it. Out of curiosity, I would have liked to find a "source" for the specific accusations in that Instagram post but alas, I wasn't able to. There's just no way I can go through everything, sorry. Also, I will not dignify any of these messages or that Instagram post with a proper translation.

Believe me when I say that there is no incriminating material on Wakana out there, these people have zero authentic evidence (photo or otherwise) of her being a "stuck-up bitch", of her "mistreating staff members", of her "bashing Hi/Kei" etc. It's all just a ton of made-up gossip and rubbish. Everyone, please do yourself a favour and just ignore content like this when you come across it. Knowing what those people have to say does not add any value to your life, quite the contrary, it will only poison your brain.

That's honestly all I have to say about this topic.

#kalafina #reply #wakana #spacecraft #space craft

[imminentinertia]

(I added an image description to the gif)

Now that everyone's forgotten about it it's a great time to word vomit about Last Twilight, yes? But it was only recently I finally managed to finish the last episode of Last Twilight and I have Thoughts and I needed to digest.

I also have A Very Personal Frame of Reference for how I judge media dealing with blindness. What I have read about Last Twilight has been a lot of delight, a lot of disappointment with how the story went, analysis of colours and outfits and dialogue and narrative elements, but I haven't yet seen much about the depiction of vision loss. Soooo *cracks knuckles*

(I bet I've missed some posts about it, though. I'd like to be pointed to such posts)

As for me:

I had an older relative with severe vision loss thanks to untreated glaucoma (get your eyes checked regularly once you hit 40! Glaucoma is treatable).

I grew up with two friends who had lost an eye as small children - one also had severe vision loss in the remaining eye, the other had a well functioning eye. Actually I know more people my age who have lost an eye and I did then too, but I was close with these two and I guided the near blind one often.

I have a younger relative, someone very close to me, who gradually went from perfect vision to near blind. That's the most important person from everyone with visual impairment I've known, in this context.

Let's just say I had a beady eye (sorry) on Last Twilight when I first heard of it, since I have a fair bit of experience as friend, relative, guide and activist when it comes to visual impairment. I've tried moving about with a white cane and I've learned braille (I don't remember much, though). I've provided the audio commentary when watching films with blind people, more times than I can count (and I've explained several times, with various degrees of impatience, to seeing strangers that yes, blind people can enjoy the cinema). I know a fair bit about this, I believe.

Which means I'm rarely terribly impressed with media depictions of visual impairment and it's something I tend to focus on.

As for Last Twilight:

HOLY SHIT SEA'S AMAZING ACTING

(I added an image description to the gif)

If anyone tries to claim he's not doing a fantastic job, they're objectively wrong. One may argue that artistic quality is subjective as it's invariably judged against a set of agreed upon conventions rather than true objective measures, but if you hold Sea's acting up against any agreed upon good acting and find it lacking, you need to look again.

I noticed him slipping (eyes focusing when they shouldn't) twice. Slightly. In the gif above, if a seeing character was delivering that line, the actor would focus on Jimmy when he turns his head. It's natural, there's movement and seeing people's attention is drawn to that, especially when it's this close to us.

Sea doesn't. He fucking doesn't. He looks like Day is concentrating and listening and feeling and he fucking doesn't even glance Jimmy's way even though that's what every cell in his human body wants him to. And that's just one of a million examples of how instruction, coaching and Sea's talent and effort offers up a Day that seriously seems visually impaired.

Sometimes, when a seeing actor is playing a blind character, they get instructed to - or choose - to go so unfocused that they look empty-brained. Some plaster on a vapid smile and/or Stevie Wonder head movements (you should know that Stevie Wonder turned blind very quickly after his premature birth, and he has no idea of how seeing people move. Adults who go blind are unlikely to move like him). Sea, however, looks like his brain is focusing but his eyes do not.

Day is intelligent and goofy and angry and bitter and worried and snarky-funny and sad and delighted and all of it shows on Sea's face, while his eyes look the part. It's so well done, I'm in awe.

Sea also moves exactly like my near blind younger relative and it's fucking uncanny. It's like seeing them. The often hesitant steps, the slight lean forward, the way Day uses his hands and fingers to figure out where he is and what is close to him, it gave me goosebumps. The way Day uses the remains of his sight to look at things is so like seeing my relative that I literally gasped the first time I saw it.

All the awards for Sea, please. And quite a few for Aof Noppharnach and the visually impaired acting coach. By the way, I never caught the coach's name, so if someone knows it I'd love to know.

HOLY SHIT A NEAR BLIND CHARACTER GETS TO BE COMPLEX

(I added an image description to the gif)

That doesn't happen as often as one should think. When the story is about being/going blind, the blind character is often either a super brave little ray of sunshine, or terribly tragic. Day is neither. He is all of it. He is human. He's so well written it makes me need to chew on my fists, he has all the dimensions.

Mork is arguably a bit less rounded, but Mork wears quite a few masks, and he is absolutely a human being, not a pretty cardboard cutout.

HOLY SHIT A NEAR BLIND CHARACTER GETS TO DO REAL NEAR BLIND PEOPLE STUFF

(I added an image description to the gif)

It doesn't happen as often as one might think. Fumbling somewhat, using a white cane (often in a completely meaningless way), wearing dark glasses all the fucking time - those are the staples of token blind characters, all too often. One of my favourite scenes in Last Twilight is actually when Day reads Morks contract, because it showcases a visually impaired person using his phone as a reading tool, perfectly real-looking. Well done! Kudos! Standing ovations! Now stop him there and don't let him do the stupid unnecessary breakup

Running with a seeing guide and using a phone for lots of text to speech/speech to text purposes. Going to events, libraries, bookshops, markets, parties. Going out to eat, watching a film. Day does all this with a caretaker's help for some, but not all of it. Blind people do things like this. They're not special little miracles for it, they're just people who hopefully have access to decent assistive products. Entirely too often main blind characters don't get to do many of these things. Entirely too often they're just vehicles for some inane moral of the "stay positive" variety, unless they're in a tragedy.

For the record, in the scene where Mork uses a white cane inexpertly, to put it mildly, it's quite obvious to me that Aof was aiming to show us Mork's sheer desperation. Mork's personality has extremes, and trying to put himself in a blind person's shoes and making it a lot of people's problem seems like something a distressed Mork could in fact do. The result is that he looks like a Bad Blind Character, but that's fine, just like the actors portraying those characters Mork doesn't know shit about what he's doing.

HOLY SHIT THEY DIDN'T MAKE DAY PERMANENTLY BLIND. WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT

(At this point it's probably no surprise that I added an image description to the gif)

Yes. Well. Day gets his vision back in order to live properly happily ever after. I was mad as fuck about that for a while, and about the incredibly stupid breakup and time skip. I'm still mad about the most useless breakup plot fuckery ever and the time skip, and the general clunkiness of the final episode, but I'm not mad anymore about Last Twilight not showing that blind people can have true happiness.

It's about the audience, eh. To an audience of almost exclusively seeing people (I assume), losing one's sight is a frightful thing and doesn't make for the happiest of happy endings, and Day's condition is actually treatable. So production gave him his sight back. It would have been a notch braver to not do that, but a sweet romance isn't necessarily here to be all that brave. They did a lot of good work with showing how Day could manage many things on his own, with the right aids, and when the vast majority of the audience can be assumed to be seeing, showing how near blindness isn't crippling may be good enough.

After all, people are ignorant about blindness and will offer to help only to grab hold of the blind person's arm and drag them along, which is BAD, but if you've seen that guy on Last Twilight do guiding right maybe you'll do that yourself, if your assistance is needed some day. Maybe you'll listen to what the blind person is saying instead of assuming they lost their brain along with their vision.

And it's always a hell of a lot more convenient to see than to be blind, so when you have a condition that can be fixed, go ahead.

Except for that one fucking doctor making it sound like Day had three months left to live while it was just another few months until his vision would go completely, and everyone in the room (Day, mum, Night, Mork) just accepting that, I think Last Twilight did a really good job of showing that while there are great inconveniences to losing one's vision it's not being sentenced to sitting at home and feeling helpless, like Day starts out. It did a great job of dealing with an overprotective mother and a terribly guilty-feeling brother, too.

I would have liked Day to stay blind and end extremely happy, and I think it's bit of a waste of a character to heal him from the very premise of the story, but I'm not angry. Not anymore.

Although I greatly disliked the happyhappyhappy seeing ending, I was annoyed with most of the dad arc and the speedrun Night/Porjai romance, I loathed the breakup part and I hated how Day never took responsibility for his own actions leading to the accident where he got the cornea damage (although I will grudgingly admit that it's actually something that lends a whole lot of realism to Last Twilight and to Day), all in all, I honestly loved this show. No show is flawless, and Sea's gorgeous acting alone is enough to make up for a lot.

I recommend this blogger on how to write blind or visually impaired characters, if you'd like to know (a lot) more.

#last twilight the series #last twilight meta #visually impaired characters in fiction #immy mutters about things