#like i don’t think i’m in a good space to write that particular novel right now. and i know she’d be horrified if she knew that

[theblueflower05]

The Sweetest Sylaung

A/N: So I def didn’t mean to write a novel long Neteyam smut story but here we are. Debating on making this a mini series. Also the anon that requested a “curvy” reader insert- here ya go!(she’s also an Augustine- buttttt you can only see that if you squint lol)

Word Count: 6k+

Warnings: This is smut. Pure smut. Please don’t read if it is not your jam. You are in charge of cultivating your own online experience, you’ve been warned!

Pairing: Aged Up! Neteyam x Human!Curvy!Reader

Summary: After an “accidental” romp in the forest, you do your best to avoid Neteyam. It’s for everyone’s good, or so you’ve convinced yourself.

“I’m begging for you to take my hand, wreck my plans. That’s my man”- Willow, Taylor Swift

The kaleidoscope of colors explode under your eyes in endless patterns and shapes as you look over the sample of Pandora flora under the heavy duty microscope. This particular piece of the Moons terra had never been discovered before, only blooming at what you estimated to be every ten or so years, under the right monsoon like conditions

At least that’s what you had discovered so far.

The flower, which sprouted into a berry, and then dissipated into a moss like cluster of microorganisms all within its short life cycle had turned into your passion project. You we’re doing your thesis on it, the last step in getting your Masters.

You’d gone through schooling on a computer screen, guided by the greatest minds on Earth that had relocated to Pandora. Scientists of all fields who you’d grown up around. None of them had been surprised when you’d picked up botany. Xenobotany to be exact.

It was in your blood.

The desk your at shakes violently- disturbing your precision like focus. Breaking you straight out of your zone.

“Ugh” you groan, frustrated, raising your head, eyes narrowing at the culprits.

Spider, Lo’ak and Kiri freeze like deers in the headlights of your fury. Spiders arm raised, a wad of paper balled up in his hand, aimed to shoot. He lowers it slowly as the weight of your your heavy gaze zero’s in.

“Sorry, cu-”

“I told you guys, if you cant behave to get the fuck out” You seethe. Your nerves are paper thin anyway. Too much screen time frying your brain something fierce as you focused in on your studies. “Is that not what I said, verbatim?”

“You need to chill. You’ve been so high strung lately. Come hang out with us” Lo’ak suggests smooth and unhelpful. As usual. “When was the last time you left the lab?”

You roll your eyes and bite your tongue, trying not to say anything to scalding to the surprisingly sensitive Sully brother. “No thanks. I’ve gotta focus”

“Maybe Lo’aks right” Kiri starts, her face screwing up as she speaks “Eywa that sounds wrong. Nevermind, My brother is never right- but you should come hang out with us. Let’s go swimming- the watering hole is over flowing from the storms”

The deep sigh through your nose isn't calming, even though you pretend it is. You know they mean well, in the most annoying way. That you’d been buried in books and paperwork in the lab for the past couple months.

Hiding from the outside world within the thick walls of Hell’s Gate.

“Can’t. This is important, Kir- but why don’t you guys head down there? Its closer to Home Tree and its almost curfew anyway” two birds, one stone. Its a smart suggestion- but Kiri’s face falls, shoulders sagging and ears lowing. That look had always gotten you-

“I cant today, but maybe tomorrow? The samples are too fresh and I don't want to put them on ice…But I think Max made those Yovo cookie things” That’s only half of the truth, but luckily Kiri’s always been understanding.

She grabs your elbow in her long fingers and tugs you along.

The mess hall had seen better days, but the large open space still tends to be the meeting ground for the humans that were allowed to stay and inhabit the moon. With twelve foot tall ceilings and airtight exits and windows that lead out to the Avatar Program training yards. Its a common room of sorts, a place where everyone gathers. For meals, for mismatched Holidays. But mostly for gossip.

I mean, what else is there to do?

Like currently, you’re deeply engrossed in the story that Doctor Martinez’s, Xeno-Zoologist is recounting. All dramatics and dirty intimate details “It’s true, they’re gonna bring it before Mo’at and everything”

He’s talking about Trevino and Eital’i.

Everyone had heard the whispers, seen the not so subtle signs. The main Radio Tower operator had turned during the resistance, had fought beside Jake and had been allowed to stay on Pandora- better stuck on a foreign planet then thrown in a familiar jail cell. Trevino’s a cool guy, really.

A cool guy who had been sleeping with a Na’vi woman, apparently. The two had kept it under wraps, really private. No one could pin down how or when it happened,,,but to go to the clan’s Tsahik seeking a mating blessing? That’s major.

“You’re lying” you accuse in a gasp as the table breaks into whispers, all wide eyes and shaking heads. “They’re going to mate?...How?”

“It’s not like it hasn't happened before” Another scientist chimes in casually. Like it’s a known thing.

Which it kind of is.

Taboo, yes. But not unheard of, more like untalked about.

Humans and the Na’vi of the forest had lived in close quarters since the overthrow of the RDA. Jake, the standing Olo’eyktan, just had a little too much homosapien in him. Yeah, he’d survived the soul transfer and fully inhabited his blue body- but he never quite grew out of his human roots.

It had been hard, lots of politicking and good grace shown on both parts, but somehow, like all biomes in the vast perma green forest, all had learned to live in harmony. Most Omitikaya kept their distance. Very hesitant about the human presence. They had every right to be scared, hostile. Scarred by man and its weapons and its destruction.

Others had been raised in close proximity to Grace’s school. Had become accustomed to the nearly two decade long human presence on Pandora. Curious and accepting.

You’d heard about interspecies hookups.

Locker room talks that left your ears burning and your heart racing. It usually came from members of the Avatar Program- It tends to set a precedent, when the quote on quote “royal family” of the Omiticaya is a Jarhead and a native woman.

Na’vi are gorgeous, tall and lean but humanoid enough to be familiar…you’re not exactly sure what they see in humans but you know damn well what you guys see in them.

“How do you think that works? The…physicality of it all I mean. Trevino doesn't have an Avatar. How do they fuck-”

You’re not the only one zoning out from the conversation and it’s lewd turn.

You watch Kiri watch Spider and your heart aches for her. What they have is secret, delicate and forbidden. As a woman with high standing in the clan, you knew that her feelings for the boy wouldn't go anywhere. Couldn't.

When they we’re kids, it was cute. Now that they 're both technically adults, it was just plain stupid.

You tell her of the fact, often.

Kiri tells you to stop projecting.

———

The Sully Kid’s are always late. It’s like no matter how hard they try, they cant make curfew. You throw on an Exopack, hurrying them to the fence.

“Yeah, yeah okay mom. Take it easy” Lo’ak shrugs huffily as you yank hard on his arm. “I’m going, Y/N!”

“Not fast enough you strumbeast’s ass! You’re gonna get me into trouble, who do you think your dad’s gonna blame when you guys end up back at Home Tree super late again? Norm chewed me out for that shit last time!” You man handle the much taller than you alien.

Kiri and Spider a few leagues in front of you, already at the mouth of the giant fence. They’re awkward, not in their usual synched steps. You wonder how much of that conversation earlier had gone to their heads?

You’re bickering with Lo’ak, an extremely normal occurrence. He can be a real douche. and had been kind of insufferable lately. You think its nerves about his impending Iknamaya.

So engrossed with getting them on their way home that you don't even notice him until it’s too late.

Neteyam is a skilled hunter, through and through. The youngest in the clan to ever make a kill. Swift and quiet. Beloved.

But around you he feels out of his element. Clunky and awkward, no matter how hard he tries to play it off its like you can see right through him. Its scary and thrilling, sets his stomach alive with butterflies everytime. This is no different.

Showing up to Hell’s Gate to retrieve his siblings was something he had done since he was a child.

He’d used to bleed hours away playing with them at the scientists fortress, but as he had gotten older and his responsibilities had grown heavier- he had little time for it. Still, when ever his parents would send him out on a one man search party to bring them home, he’d jump at the chance.

At the hope of seeing you.

You’re arguing with his little brother, trying not to laugh at something he said and Neteyam knows. He knows he shouldn't feel jealous but he just cant help it. Cant help the acidic twist of his insides.

Especially when he chirps out his family's familiar call, letting his presence be known.

And watches that pretty smile fall right off of your face.

“You’re late, as usual” His voice has a stern edge. It’s annoying, the role he has to play. Kiri is a woman grown, Lo’ak just weeks away from being the same. He doesnt blame them for the way their feathers bristle, almost viscerally.

“Ah, big brother you didn't have to come all this way to get us” Kiri reassures, patting Neteyam on the chest good naturedly. “We we’re just about to be on our way”

Neteyam notices the way you try to look anywhere else but him. It stings because he cant stop looking at you, cant pry his eyes away from your form.

“You all should start heading back before dad notices” Neteyam starts. His father had been busy as of late, harvest season abundant and fruitful this year because of the heavy rain season “I’ll catch up, I need to speak with Norm”

“What? Dad cant use the coms now, he has to send his messenger” Lo’ak’s nose scrunches a little, always questioning. On a normal day it wouldn't affect Neteyam so much, just a normal jab from his snot nosed little brother.

Not today. Not when he’s stretched so thin. Not when you refuse to look at him but are staring at the side of Lo’ak fat head. It feels wrong, makes his skin heat up to the point that it feels itchy and tight.

“That's none of your concern. Head back to Home Tree. Now” He doesn't normally throw his weight around. But he feels the need to puff up big in front of you “Those are orders. Get out of here”

Lo’ak’s less offended and more surprised. One of his oh so human eyebrows cocks, a sly remark in his throat before he scoffs. “Aye, Aye Captain Kiss Ass. C’mon Kiri let's go. See you later Spider, Y/N”

He deuces up Spider, gives Y/N a pat on her small shoulder and glares harshly at his brother before he disappears into the thick brush of the jungle.

Kiri wraps her arms around you in a strong hug, muttering about ‘swimming’ and ‘promises’. The small impish smile she shoots Spider gives YOU butterflies so you don't blame the way he swoons, before she’s off behind her younger brother.

“I can go find Norm for you, bro. I think he’s still out in his Avv, but Max can radio him back in” Spider is none the wiser. Doesn't notice the heavy tension that simmers on a low bubble. Oblivious, as usual.

“Yeah, sure” Neteyam replies, barely sparing the human boy a glance. He’d feel bad for it later, when he could form coherent thought. When his brain wasn't on Y/N issued override.

Spider chatters, good natured. He never got to see the Olo’eyktan in training anymore. He missed his homie.

“Well, I should be heading back. You guys have a good rest of your night-” You’re already turning on your heels when you make the announcement, eager to get back inside. Back behind the safe walls of the lab- far away from Neteyam.

“No”

Neteyam who stares at you with all too knowing eyes. He looks straight through you like he can see through your clothes, through your thinly veiled escapism attempts. He reaches out, wraps his long fingers around the top of your arm and tugs you back to him. Gentle, but very firm.

He doesn't have to say it- it’s written all over his face. Not this time. He’s not going to let you run away from him.

“Netey-” You start in a whine, tugging on his hold. He doesnt relent, if anything his fingers tighten as his eyes narrow. Dangerous, desperate.

“Just talk to me” it’s a barely concealed plea, his tail twitches anxiously behind him “I'm just asking for five minutes. Please Y/N”

Spiders oblivious, yes. Stupid? No. He doesnt know exactly what's going on between the two of you but has clued into the fact that it’s heavy and he wants no part of it.

The excuse he makes is shit- he’ll just go find Norm. Yeah… he’s so out of there.

“What is wrong with you?” You hiss as you watch Spiders awkward, quick retreating form. Eyes flickering over the empty for now training yards “So much for keeping it lowkey, huh? Could you be anymore obvious?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Neteyam is almost shaking with disbelief “What the fuck is wrong with you? You havent talked to me in over a month. Everytime I make any kind of attempt you bolt. I dont-” He sighs, pinching the wide bridge of his nose with the hand that isnt holding onto you.

He looks tortured. Tired. Run a little ragged.

Beautiful.

“I don't know what I did? If this is about that day in the forest-”

You sigh at his words, once again pulling on his hold. Shaking your head desperately because you can't.

You can't talk about it. Fuck, you’ve been trying not to even think about it.

And failing as you replay the event over and over again the darkness of your bunk. Hyper fixating on the way that his lips had felt against yours. Oh the way that his big hands had worked your body over

“Don’t” you whisper “Please don’t”

You’d never been one to beg for pity, for mercy but that’s what you do now. Beg him to let you out of his tight clutches. Metaphorically and physically.

“You’re all I can think about” It's a gutted admittance, but Neteyam makes it all the same “That night- I can’t sleep. I can barely eat- I’m falling behind on my duties because I keep coming back here. Standing outside this fence and waiting for you. I know you could hear me over the coms, right?”

And you could, a few weeks or so ago.

When he’d begged you to come out. To come speak to him. His voice so appealing that you’d almost caved. You’d had to turn off your receiver. Had sat with your head in your hands for hours as you fought the urge to crawl to him, knees raw and your bloody heart on a platter only he could divulge in.

He shuffles closer, all lean strong muscle. Firm, unmovable. “You heard me”

“Of course I did”

“And you still left me out here” He scoffs, head shaking slightly as his adams apple bobs, his ears are pinned to the sides of his head in obvious distress “I could never do that shit to you.”

“One of us needs to be the adult in this situation” Your voice is as strong as you can make it. Trying to speak reason on to both of you “We can pretend it never happened and go back to the way that things were before. You’re my friend, Tey”

You reach up, stroking at his wrist. Trying to soften him enough for him to let this go. Let you go.

He’s trying to control his breathing, all that training for all of those years for what? One fragile human girl to make him completely unspool? To lose any and all composure he’d worked so hard to gain.

He was always the adult, in all situations. Had been born with a neck cramping crown on his head. Shrouded in pressurized glory.

“If this is me being childish, so be it. Where has pretending gotten you, huh? Look at you, yawntutsyìp. you look so tired. When was the last time you slept? Kiri says you spend days in the lab without resting”

His hands, both of them, come up to cup your face. Huge and calloused. Yet he holds you like you're something precious. A small animal, a rare gem. His whole entire world since he was just a boy.

Neteyam thumbs at the cool glass of your mask, tenderly. The bags under your eyes are sunken and bruised. “Don’t shut me out”

Your body, in its entirety, clenches at his words. Velvet and sincere. He’s a fucking dream. Your head leans into his hands, neck sagging of its own accord as any and all words of protest leave your weak mind.

He makes you so easy.

“Let me in…I dont want there to be this distance between us anymore” He hisses around the word distance. Hating even having to say it “I want to be inside of you again”

Your plump lower lip gets skewered between your teeth, eyes screwed shut as you remember the last time. Your first ever time being full…you’d dreamt of it every night since it had happened.

If it wasn't for the blasted mask and your need for Earth’s oxygen he’d kiss you. Right here right now. He didn't really give a shit who saw or what they had to say.

Instead pulls you into his chest, lets you wind your arms around his lean middle and bury your chest in his diaphragm. Its as close as he can get you, for now. Makes you cling to him the way that he’d clung to every thought of you for the last weeks.

You wish it was lungfuls of his skin that you were taking as you try to bring yourself down from this abrupt shaky high. You dont get it, how your relationship couldve flipped this hard in such a short time.

He had always just been Neteyam. A shameless flirt yes- but that’s all it was.

“Would you like that?” He questions, hands working through your hair. Fingers light and soothing on your scalp. Massaging the thoughts right out of your head.

“Hmm?”

“If I was inside you again?” He presses on. You can feel the tickle of his long, thin, tail as it wraps around the back of your calf and you groan, digging your nails into his back.

“You’re such an asshole. Stoppppp it” You’re embarrassed and turned on and already feel stupid enough, he doesn't need to rub it in. His chest shakes as he chuckles.

“I’m serious. Tell me you want it-”

“Neteyam! Hey!”

The two of you break apart in an instant. You jump away from him as though struck by lightning. Instantly putting enough distance between you and the Na’vi that maybe, just maybe an onlooker might think that the embrace was friendly.

It’s Norm, having heard that the eldest Sully was looking for him he’d come eagerly.

The smile you plaster on is forced and honestly, Neteyam doesnt fair any better. He’s obviously flustered, just glad that his erection isn't tenting his tweng.

“Spider told me you and your dad are looking for me. I’m not intruding on uh anything, am I?” Norm looks between the two of you.

Your arms are folded tightly over your chest and Neteyam is rubbing at the back of his neck, strong jaw flexing as his teeth grind.

Oh yeah, Norm had definitely interrupted something.

Knows for sure as you scurry away. As Neteyam, always so level headed, has to string together words. Stumbling a little bit as he tries to remember the message that Jake had relayed.

It’s not any of his business, he thinks at the time. He sure didnt want to be the one to shine the light on whatever the hell was going on here. Turning a blind eye to the mysteries of Pandora is the only way to survive the harshest terrain known to man.

———

You dont know that though-

No, you’re spiraling more a little bit as you prepare yourself for bed. Brushing through your thick hair and staring out into space as your mind assaults you with all of the gnarly ‘What If’s’

Norm had seen and he had to know right? Oh god, what if he told Jake?

You balk. Lowering the brush as your eyes bulge out of your head.

What if he told Neytiri?

That's actually a super horrific thought. Like nightmarish. You have a lot of respect for the future Tsahik...

…And a very healthy does of fear. She didnt like humans and made it known. She tolerated them only for her husband's benefit. What if she found out that her eldest son, her golden boy, had fucked one?

You’re freak out is interrupted by static, by the beeping of your com receiver on your night stand.

“Y/N?” its Neteyams muffled voice through the device. You’d ignored it once. You should ignore it again…

“Yeah?” you wonder if he picks up on how shaky you sound through the receiver.

“Tomorrow night meet me at the East Gate. Like when we we’re kids” he’s not really asking. Not demanding either. You could ignore him again, but he has to try.

The line goes silent, quiet for minutes on end.

“Y/N?”

You’re so stupid. “What time?”

You can hear the grin he’s sporting as he replies “0100”

“Got it, over. Good night, Neteyam. Go to sleep”

———

The East Bay is on the other side of the large fortress-like building. It's not that it's forbidden, or anything. but it is deserted. It’s where the military personnel had inhabited, and since most if not all of them had gotten the hard boot off Pandora it was empty as a ghost town in these maze like halls.

When you we’re younger; you’d caught Spider sneaking Kiri and Lo’ak in through the rarely used entrance. You’d demanded the know how, if he didnt want you to rat on him for it. It was a rare occurrence, but the Sully children had all been snuck into Hell’s Gate this way over the years.

You type in the codes, disabling the alarm system in order to usher Neteyam into the pressurized, air lock. You’d toted one of the Avatar Exopacks along for him, they’re heavier then hell but he’d need it.

“Hi” you smile, suddenly shy as the tall Na’vi man stands before you.

That's what he was now. A man, not only in the eyes of his people but as a whole. Broad and muscular, strong. Verile. The next leader of his people. You know that he’s highly desired in his clan. Women fawn over him. Vie for his attention.

It doesnt feel real that he wants to give it to you.

You’re nothing special. Not tall and stunning like the Omaticaya women. Even by Earth’s standards you're short, curvy. Not particularly pretty. Insecurity gnaws at you, as it so often does.

“C’mere” Neteyam urges, boldly yanking you by your waist. Pulling you flush against his body. Grabby and insistent, he wants to feel your bare skin. All plush and soft, hes been dying to taste it since the last time.

Kicking himself over and over for not savoring every bit of your body that you gave to him. He won't make the same mistake again.

He’s not gonna lie, the concrete and metal of the walls inside of Hell’s Gate have always made him a little claustrophobic. But he can't do this outside-

His lips capture yours, demanding and needy from the jump. Big, over powering, he swallows your little chirp of surprise. Devours any and all breath from your lungs. Its messy and so good. You hadn't gotten to kiss him last time.

His mouth tastes amazing, his tongue rough in texture just like you remembered. It grates your lips as you suck on it-

“Hey, slow down a little bit” You giggle as Neteyam paws at your ass, lifting you off the ground until you squirm hard, making him release you “Not here, we can't do this here there’s cameras everywhere”

“I don't care” Neteyam pecks all over your face, trying to recapture your mouth as you avoid him “Let them watch, most of those pervs would like it”

And they would know that you’re his. The thought is beyond heady.

You gasp as his sharp canines ghost over the delicate skin of your neck, nibbling on your pulse point “Please- Neteyam”

You firmly push him away, hand on his chest and maybe if you hadn't cut him off cold turkey he would've given you space. Could've pulled away for a moment to let you say your piece. Instead the idea of letting you pull away even an inch is unbearable to him.

No. instead he tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He hauls loads heavier then you every day, your protests mean little to him. With his free hand he scoops up the Avv Exo Tank,

“Where to, yawntutsyìp?”

Where too is an old conference room. Its as good as any, and Neteyam yanks a couple cushions off the old couch to act as a brace for your head as he lowers you to the floor, flat on your back.

You’re so pretty like this, he tells you of the fact.

With your hair a mess behind you, your face free of that damned mask. Grinning up at him as you rub your thighs together. He wishes he had that camera that his dad liked to take pictures on. He wants this moment of you framed, immortalized.

“I hate sky people clothes” He mutters as he tugs on the hem of your t-shirt. It hides you, hides all that skin he craves.

“You want me to take it off?” You offer eagerly, raising up enough to start peeling the piece of clothing off. You’re bare underneath, completely. Your breasts jiggle as they’re freed, nipples peaked in the cool air-conditioned air.

“Don’t ever put it on again” He demands, taking it from your hands and tossing it across the room. He’s dead serious, but by the way you're giggling you obviously think its a joke.

He can’t help it, he dives in face first. Rubbing against your soft breasts, obsessed with the way they feel. Heavy, pillowy. He drags his tongue across all of your bare skin. From your clavicle to your nipple. You always smell so pretty, but its got nothing on the way you taste. It explodes bright and savory on his tastebuds.

You let him explore, until your spit soaked and shaking. Your panties sticky as your hips search for any kind of friction. “I need you”

“You have me, my love. All of me” your eyes water at his words. At the sincerity. At how much you want them to be true.

You grab one of his hands and drag it down your chest. Past your soft, rounded belly and into your shorts. He grunts as you guide him to where you’re wet and pulsing. Rythmetically clenching around nothing.

He circles your clit, feather light. More of a tease then anything and you want to sob. You’d thought of nothing but this, touched yourself imagining him. “Tey-”

He smiles around a mouthful of nipple,tugging on with his teeth. “I missed you so much”

“Then be nice to me” you plead, trying to shove yourself down on his fingers.

“We’re being nice now? Were you nice to me when you ignored me?” he can't help it, hurt bleeds into his voice. It had been so fucking painful, knowing that you hadnt wanted to see him. To be with him.

“I’m sorry” you whine, grabbing his face, pulling it from your bosom. “I’m so sorry. I was so scared- I’m still scared but I need you”

He lets you cup his cheeks, lets you plant kisses all over him. The bridge of his nose, his eyelids, his cheekbones. You dote on him, gentle and caring and he gorges himself on your love.

“You cant ever do that again, okay?” He shivers as you kiss his ear, running your tongue along the hyper sensitive flesh “If you’re scared you come to me, not run from me. Do you understand?”

You nod, eager. “I promise, Neteyam”

It’s all he needs to hear, that you’re his. That you won't deprive him of your presence ever again. He doesn't know what he’ll do. He’s a little scared of the man he becomes when it comes to you, you’re not the only one frightened by the gravity of your feelings.

“You asked if I wanted you inside me again? Yes. So much. I never knew I could be that full” it’s like you know just what to say. You light him up from the inside. His fingers begin circling your sopping clit again, this time with intent.

It’s blurry, the fact that your lightheaded making it hard to think. To track what he’s doing to you because somehow Neteyam seems to be everywhere at once. His big body all encompassing as he takes you.

“No-no marks, baby” You try to remind him and his blazing eyes zero in on you in a glare “you know we cant…not where they can see”

You’re right, and he hates it. He’ll just have to mark you where only you can see. Where you can look at your self and be reminded that you belong to someone. That you belong to him.

He doesn't have the patience, cant stop his hands from shaking- the tear of your shorts and panties echos around the room as he removes any barriers between him and the heat at the apex of your thighs.

You cant help the thrill it sends down your spine. He’d…ripped your panties off. You thought shit like this only existed in bad Earth made Porn that you’d found on one of the labs computers.

“Sorry, sorry” his apology is far from sincere though and you can't help but giggle, patting his braids fondly.

The fingerfucking is rough, your wines and moans spilling from you as he hits spots inside of you that make you want to curl up. It’s too good. Too much-

You screech, back bowing as he bends to kiss you, loud and sloppy, right on your wet clit. His big head burrows between your thigs as he delves on your cunt, his long rough textured tongue lapping at the fat puffy lips. The texture difference has both of you groaning.

It’s heartbreakingly good, the kind of good that you’ll never be able to forget. That you’ll crave and need for the rest of your life. Addictive, as he dedicates himself to making you feel pleasure.

Neteyam eats pussy the same way he does everything else in his life, exceeding any expectations. His instincts sharp as he hones in on how to make you lose your mind.

He keeps telling you how good you taste, breaking away for heaving breaths before he reburries himself. The only sounds in the room are the beyond wet sloshing of his tongue lashing and the pathetic noises your making.

He’s eating you alive, you don’t know how you’re supposed to survive this.

His fingers, two and then three fuck in and out of you. Corkscrewing as he loosens your tightness up for him.

“O-ooh” you whine high and reedy as you feel your tummy tightening, the pressure building in a way that makes you feel like you cant breathe. You cant your hips, shoving them down at that perfect angle “Oh, sh-shhhhit. I’m gonna, I’m-”

He doubles down and you’re a goner.

The orgasm is devastating. Sofuckinggood you think you might see stars for a minute there. You can't even scream, you keep letting out these little cries that are more like wheezes. A desprate attempt to get some kind of air back in your lungs-

Which reminds you.

Even though you’re in a daze you wiggle away from him, he hisses at you about it but you swat the top of his head as you reach for the Exo Pack.

You shove the mask in his face, between your legs.

”Breathe, Neteyam” you demand him to gulp down the Pandoran air. Yeah, he could go longer in your environment than you in his but still. Death by giving head isn’t the way you’d like him to go out.

He takes long breaths and you try not to be embarrassed by how soaked his chin is.

When he pulls away his eyes are a little more focused “Thank you, sweet girl. Always thinking about me, huh?”

You nod, dropping the mask. Closer this time for easier access. His eyes quickly zero back in on your swollen pussy, on how wet he got you. On how pretty it looks. His mouth is watering all over again-

When you try to close your thighs, the burning of your cheeks getting to be too much he hisses again. It’s not a sound he often makes and it’s a revelation, he’s so sexy. Almost feral.

“Who said I’m done?”

You’re never going to be able to get over this man “I already came?...”

“Yes? So?” he rolls his eyes, lowering his head, nuzzling at the damp juncture of your inner thigh “You’re still so tight, here feel”

His fingers slip back in you and you mewl, baring down as he scissors the long digits.

“We have to get you loose enough to take me, I don’t want to hurt you” He explains it like you need convincing. Like he has to convince you to let him eat you out. You just re-spread your thighs, relaxing back onto the cool floor as you let him do as he pleases.

It takes two more orgasms that you scream and shake through until he deems that you’re ready. By the time that he begins to slide his cock into you you’re a blubbering, oversensitive mess. You’re crying rivers of tears as you cling to him.

“Hold my hand? Please ” You request and he smiles, kissing your tear streaked cheek as he interlaces his longer fingers with yours.

Humans and Na’vi can fuck, but we’rnt designed to. His dick is overwhelimgly big and will really injure you if the two of you aren't careful about this.

You both gasp sharply as his tip breaches you.

It hurts, it’s agonizing. It’s the kind of pleasure pain that you didnt even know could exist. Everytime you think you can adjust, he pushes in another inch. But oh, how you missed it. Being so full it feels like you’re going to burst. You’re pussy flutters as it fights to take him and you focus in on his face.

It’s all scrunched up in heavy concentration. His lips speared between his sharp teeth in a way that has them almost bleeding.

You can't have that. You tug him into a kiss, soothing the abused flesh with your tongue.

“I-I dont want to hurt you” He whimpers as his forehead rests against yours.

“It’s okay, you’re okay” You hum to him, grasping at his hand even tighter “I love what you do to me. I love how you feel”

When he bottoms out you think he must be in your ribs. Hes still, letting your body get used to him. Trying to be kind. You want to tell him that there’s no getting used to his size. That he could fuck you every day for the rest of your lives and he would still feel just as massive.

“Please” you wail instead “please”

The first gentle snap of his pelvis has you both reeling. Your thighs lock around his thin hips, urging him. You can take it. It only takes a little urging for him to lose himself. The harsh stretch of it has you shaking as your over sensitive pussy tightens. You’re coming again, less intense the the previous orgasms, thankfully.

Neteyam had been so focused on making you feel good that he’d neglected his hard, weeping cock. His balls are so full that he knows he’s not going to be able to draw this out.

You know you have to look stupid, mouth hanging open as you raggedly gasp for breath, letting out punched out sounds as Neteyam pounds into you. You cant look away from his face though.

It’s mesmerizing, all of it. The sounds he lets out. The way that his braids sway with the rhythm of his pleasure seeking body. His broad shoulders, bulging biceps and forearms- you are so fucked.

You’re so in love.

“Please Y/N” He wheezes as you squeeze around him, letting go of your hand so he can wrap both of his arms around your lower back “I can’t hold it. W-where should I?”

Oh. Oh, he’s the sweetest man. He always has been.

You peck his lips, not minding that he’s too lost in his own pleasure to really kiss you back

“Come inside me. Come inside me. Come inside me” it’s a heated chant, broken and breathy by the erratic rhythm of his hips and he buries his head in your neck, wailing in the skin there.

Just for a moment, lost in the haze of sex, you can tell he forgets his own strength. Thrusts into you so hard that you scream out in pain, the mushroom tip of his long cock batters your cervix relentlessly. Its a sharp, startling sensation that you’ve never known but you ride it out for him. Desperately trying to keep your whimpers of discomfort at bay.

When he comes, his whole body goes still and ram rod straight. He hugs you tightly to him. You wish you could see his face. Next time, hopefully.

He’s Neteyam, the mighty warrior. The dutiful son. The next clan leader but as he shakes and twitches and basks in the afterglow you can't help but want to baby him. But stroke his back softly, rubbing the residual tension out of his tired muscles.

He’s your big ol’ pussy cat, you’d always teased. He purrs like one every time you’re affectionate with him.

You can’t help but run your hands along his sensitive spine. Let the length of his tail run through the loop of your fingers. He grins and flicks it from side to side. He’d always thought your fascination with it was amusing.

“Are you okay?” he mutters, still hidden in your hair as he starts to come back to himself and you hum, moving up to pat his braids.

“Mmhmm” you’re maybe not as capable of making words as you though you were. He chuckles and hugs you. Holds you in his big arms in a way that makes you feel untouchable.

The two of you lie in that room for as long as you can, until he has to start heading back to Home Tree, it’s almost morning and his parents are early risers. They’ll look for him if hes not in his tent…

It's hard. Letting him go. Even though you know he’ll be back. You keep pulling him back in for kisses, holding onto his muscular arms until he laughs and peels you off of him.

“I’ll be back my love. I’ll always return for you”

You frown but agree, pushing him away to get re-dressed- “How am I supposed to go back like this! Neteyam I don't have any pants!”

He’d shredded your shorts and panties. Literal tatters of cloth are all that’s left.

Neteyam cracks up, almost keeling over. Thinking he’s oh so funny. It lightens the situation and makes letting him go- watching him disappear back in the forest a little easier.

You end up having to pull your fortunately oversized t-shirt down as far as it can go as you make a mad dash across the facility, back to your dorm. You fall asleep grinning, thinking about how the panties had been a necessary sacrifice.

———

Norms on late night watch, keeping a bored, admittedly not sharp enough eye on the security camera’s feeds. With the rainy season, came an influx of Slinths’. It made sense to have a lookout, and somehow he’d gotten saddled with an overnight shift.

He’d definitely fallen asleep for a few hours. Not that he’d tell anyone of that fact.

There is nothing that could prepare him for what he see’s on the screen, over in the desolate East Bay. First, he thinks that he’s hallucinating, his sleep bogged eyes playing tricks on him.

He rubs them hard with his knuckles, not believing the image that is large and clear on the security footage.

It’s Neteyam. Inside the facility which almost never happened. And he’s bending down, his lips locked with Y/N’s . Kissing her hard and long before she punch’s in the code, and opens the air locked door to let him back out into the shadowy eclipse.

Norm’s learned a lot living on this strange moon- Pandora was mysterious. Full of things his brilliant mind would never understand. So he does what he does’ most of the time.

Minds his own business.

So I’ve had this idea cooking for months, but didn’t have the bandwidth to get it written down. The ideas wouldn’t translate to page and I still kind of feel like they didn’t butttttt whatever. This is pure self indulgence. I am so much more in love with Neteyam now. He is SUCH a good guy. Ugh.

Also, please remember that my requests are OPEN! Send in all that good shit. Come blue alien brain rot with me!

#neteyam x reader #neteyam smut #avatar neteyam #aged up neteyam #neteyam x you #avatar smut

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Names A Plenty (Bad Samaritan Drabble)

Cale Erendreich x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: Cale wants to know why you have a book of baby names

CW: It's Cale

Bad Samaritan Tag List: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

“What is this?” 

You’re engrossed in a particularly harrowing part of the novel you’re reading and don’t really notice the question at first. An idiot is pointing a gun at a beloved fan favourite character, and Jesus Christ- this cannot be happening- 

The book is ripped from your hands before you have time to read how that particular scenario was going to end (and maybe that was a good thing). You look up at Cale, eyes wide in surprise, though the frustration creeps into your expression the longer you look at him and not your novel. 

Cale doesn’t blink at your expression, and instead, deposits another book into your hand. You grunt, hoping Cale doesn’t lose your spot. He won’t though, of course. You don’t see his thumb stuck between the pages to keep your placement. He wants you focused on the book he’s given you, not the one you were reading. 

The book he has deposited in your hands is a baby name book. An old thing that you used to go through quite a lot, actually. Cale gestures to the book exasperatedly. 

“I said- what is that?” 

You look between him and the baby on the cover.

 

“It’s a book of baby names…” You know he knows this. How could he not? It’s right there in hideous font with the most generic-looking white baby you’ve ever seen. 

“I can see that,” he growls back dangerously. He leans over, crowding into your space and arcing a brow. “Why the fuck do you have it? Why is it in your apartment?” 

Oh. That made more sense, though it wasn’t like it was any of his business anyway. 

“Uh,” you reply dumbly, flicking through a couple of pages. “I have it because I bought it. It’s in my apartment because I paid money for it.” 

Cale breathes in deeply, and your brain flickers for a moment, wondering if this is how you go- hiding the reason why you have a baby names book. A well-read baby names book, too. To him, you supposed, it might have looked a little suspicious. 

“I’m not going to ask again,” he warns. You swallow thickly, and Cale’s eyes dart to the muscles of your throat. You can see clear as day painted on his face he’s thinking something dark. It makes you shiver. 

“I- look, don’t judge me-” you sigh, setting the book down. “I used it for my writing. You know- I used to write those stories and fanfictions and things.” You still did, but Cale didn’t necessarily need to know that. 

“I would need names, so I’d look them up in the book. I like that they have the meanings, origins and the flower that corresponds and shit. Okay? Happy?” 

Cale doesn’t move for another ten, or fifteen seconds. He must find he’s happy with the answer, though, because he plucks it from your fingers and puts the book you were actually reading back into your grasp. Open on the right page. You smile at the thoughtfulness of the action. 

You beckon Cale down so you can press a kiss to his lips, and he softens. But only slightly. To the untrained eye, you wouldn’t have been able to notice it. 

“That’s alright then,” he acquiesces. 

“Glad you approve, dearest,” you reply as he wanders off to do whatever it was he was doing before. 

And with that, you’re back and engrossed in your novel, though you may soon come to regret it if someone doesn’t take that gun off that moron…

#A/N: bonus points to anyone who knows what novel reader is reading #cale erendreich x reader #cale erendreich x you #bad samaritan fic #bad samaritan fanfiction #cale erendreich fic #cale erendreich fanfiction #david tennant #cale #cale erendreich fanfic #bad samaritan fanfic #cale erendreich x y/n #x reader #bad samaritan

[duhragonball]

All right, let me put this under a cut, because this doesn’t come up often, but I think I’d like a single post I can refer people to when this topic gets brought up.

Short version: I read all seven books and hated them, and now the author is an unapologetic transphobe, which is something I have no patience for.  In recent years, critics have begun to connect the author’s neoliberal politics with a lot of the flaws in the writing, and this video by Shaun is a pretty good exploration of what was so frustrating about the books and the characters.  

Long version: I “liveblogged” all seven Harry Potter novels between 2005 and 2012.  I use the quote marks because back in those days I’m not sure “liveblog” was a term, but I certainly hadn’t heard of it.  I called it a “review”, but I basically would read each chapter and recap the whole thing with my smartass commentary.  In hindsight, this was probably more like me trying to do Nostalgia Critic’s bit in prose format, but I wasn’t very familiar with him at the time either. 

Soon afterward, I moved my online presence to tumblr, which was sort of a fresh start for me.  It sounds like I’m implying there was some sort of bad experience that came out of the whole thing, but there wasn’t.  I was proud of the work I did at the time, and while I’m not sure if it holds up in the 2020′s, I got a lot of satisfaction out of finishing a multiyear project like that.  But by the end, I was ready to move on, and so I have moved on, which is why I don’t speak of it much in this space. 

The point I’m making here is that I read all the books and I examined them pretty thoroughly, and my conclusion was that they all sucked.  Yes, even your favorite one.  No, it didn’t start out good and jump the shark later on.  They all sucked.  That’s what I had against Harry Potter.

I say “had”, because even though I’ve moved on to other pursuits, J.K. Rowling continues to maintain a public presence, selling her video games and spin-off movies and so on.  She’s also gone full-on TERF, spouting transphobic rhetoric and using her platform as a billionaire best-seller to bully people who are much less fortunate than herself. 

I’ll embed that video I linked to up top.

I think Shaun does a really excellent job explaining just what bugged me so much about the Harry Potter books.  I found the main characters extremely unlikeable, and I could never quite put my finger on the reason.  And the villains were pretty weak too, despite all their terrible crimes and talk of conquest.  Superficially, the whole thing feels like a classic good vs. evil struggle, with good wizards fighting bad wizards, kind of like how the Transformers are about good alien robots fighting a war against bad alien robots.  But it never seemed to work in the Harry Potter books.

Shaun explains why: Despite the “good versus evil” premise, a lot of the good guys just act like thoughtless, selfish pricks sometimes, and it’s justified because they’re on the good guy team.  Sometimes a character will do something terrible to another character, and it’s deemed acceptable because they’re nominally a “good guy”, and the person they’re being a jerk to is a “bad guy”, so they’re fair game.  It’s less about “good vs. evil” and more about “us vs. them”.  

Shaun doesn’t spent a lot of time getting into Rowling’s transphobia, but he does talk about a lot of the other problematic stuff in the books, like the lack of thought she put into Cho Chang’s name.  He also points out the hypocrisy in having all the other characters act irritated with Hermione’s anti-slavery campaign.  The whole thing with the house elves was half-baked from the start, and Rowling kept stumbling through each book trying to correct course, ultimately settling on having one character stand up for the Right Thing, only to have all the other characters ignore or dismiss her concerns.  Harry himself seems to have no particular opinion on house-elf slavery, which sums up the character very succinctly.   He’s the protagonist and the viewpoint character, but he doesn’t stand for anything in particular.

Now that I think about it, I suppose this was why I kept working anime characters and Transformers and professional wrestlers into my liveblog of the books.  At the time, I would have told you I was just doing it to keep myself entertained as I trudged through the series, but in hindsight, I think I was just starved for characters who actually believed in something bigger than themselves.   Harry can barely be arsed to do his own homework, meanwhile, I’ve known what passions fuel Omega Supreme since I was nine years old. 

“Diction: Straighforward.  Personality: Complex. (*snif*)”

I don’t know what sort of person you are, @endmylife69​ . You strike me as a reply guy, contrarian for its own sake.  I see feminist and antifeminist posts in your likes, and one of the three posts on your blog is about how much you hate Chi-Chi, so I don’t know why you even show up to my blog, where I think Chi-Chi is awesome.  The point is if your agenda here is to sea-lion me into “proving” that Rowling is a TERF and that TERFs are bad, I’m not interested in playing that game.  There’s plenty of critics out there who will walk you through that discussion step by step.  You asked what my problem is with her, and I’m telling you.

There are fans of hers who have to struggle with the moral implications of liking her work while distancing themselves from her hateful beliefs.  I respect the fans who have to figure that out.  I don’t respect the fans who just pretend like the dilemma doesn’t exist, because they care more about playing that new Hogwarts vidya game than anything else. 

For my own part, I can’t relate to the fans’ dilemma, because I always thought Rowling’s book series sucked shit.  What’s frustrating for me is that I spent about seven years roasting her books on the internet, and the whole time I was going “Ha ha these books suck shit!”, and it all just feels so dated now, because she’s going to go down in history as this rich, hateful bigot.  Her lousy writing is going to be a footnote to her career.  It’s like writing an “epic takedown” of Mel Gibson movies without ever getting into all the antisemitic stuff he’s done.  In retrospect, I feel kind of disgusted for engaging with her work at all, even to insult it. 

I’m sick of talking about Harry Potter, so let me make this about Chi-Chi, since that seems to be the only thing I know you have strong opinions about.  Part of the reason I like Chi-Chi so much is because she’s basically right.  She objects to a lot of the things that happen in Dragon Ball, which makes her seem like a killjoy, but her motives are sensible and important.  She grounds the other characters, keeping them with one foot in the real world. 

This is because Chi-Chi understands that there’s more to life than fighting gonzo anime battles.  Yes, she lives in a world where laser karate is real and quite prevalent.  Yes, her sons are insanely powerful warriors who are sometimes the only thing standing in the way of world annihilation.  But at the same time? Gohan and Goten really do need to study and get good jobs.  Protecting the world is important, but so is family, and home life, and the work you do.  Also, maybe it’s important to stop breaking the furniture all the time.  Its expensive, dammit. 

These are messages that a lot of DB fans don’t care for, because they tuned in for gonzo anime battles, and this loud woman is scolding everyone for wanting that.  But the point of the character is that there’s a bigger world in the lore.  There’s places to live and people to meet and things to do besides fighting Frieza all the time, and she wants her loved ones to thrive in that world, which is why she keeps reminding them of it. 

And that’s a metaphor for our own world, where there’s more to our own lives than the shows we watch and the books we read, and the internet arguments we get into.  We each have to ask ourselves what we stand for, what we’re trying to be on this planet.  My problem with the Harry Potter franchise is that it doesn’t seem to stand for much of anything.  The characters only seem to care about stopping big league threats, but have no interest in reforming their broken society.  The protagonist spends much of his time just passively experiencing the story like he’s sitting in a theme park ride.  The author only seems to feel strongly about punching down, attacking trans people and surrounding herself with anyone willing to congratulate her for this despicable attitude.  Her supporters only seem to care about being on her side, no matter how morally bankrupt it is. 

Like, okay, that video game came out a few months ago, and I saw people on Twitter trying to angrily justify their decision to buy it, even though a lot of people have pointed out that it directly supports a woman who uses her wealth to justify her bigotry platform.  They’d go “It’s just a game!” and someone made a really snotty TikTok about it or something, and I’m like “Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?”  If it was just a game, then they’d just play it and not say anything.  But they know it’s not just about the game, and that’s why they’re so defensive about it.  They want to be on both sides of this thing, and that doesn’t surprise me much, since their favorite book series taught them that they can be a real selfish dickbag and still be a good guy as long as you oppose the main villain. 

Chi-Chi would see right through that.  It’s not enough to just oppose the final boss.  It’s the life you live before and after those kinds of battles that defines you as a person. 

Anyway, Harry Potter sucks rotten eggs, and the author is a giant toolshed.  Also, that funeral they did for the giant spider was a fucking ordeal to read.  0/10 would not recommend. 

#ask duhragonball #index

[x0401x]

Finally done with volume 3!

So I have finished reading Tsurune’s latest release and boy, what a ride. Both in a good and bad sense. If I were to discuss what I think of it without exposing any details of the contents, I’d say it feels pretty different from the other two volumes in pacing. It rushes at the speed of light with literally everything. “Show, don’t tell” is right out the window in this one. Every time a new character was introduced, it’s like I was reading a character profile. Daily life scenes are described choppily and without much space for the reader to digest the information. The depictions read more like drafts. There’s also hardly any connection between the chapter sections. It all just gets thrown at the readers’ faces.

Other than the writing being kind of a mess, there are parts of the story where it just feels like the author was on drugs. Some really nonsensical stuff happens in this volume, on top of Shinto being further infused with the parts of the plot that involve archery. And I don’t mean the Zen type of nonsensical; I mean the usual touches of supernatural that have been added to the story before, but like, maybe triple the amount of before. I won’t say that I don’t understand where Ayano-sensei wanted to go with all of this, but that’s only because I have background knowledge of what she’s trying to convey. A lot of what happens in this book bears a deep need for explanation. And by “a lot” I mean, like, 90% of it, at the very least. Japanese or not, I’m sure most of the readers won’t be able to follow this trainwreck. There’s just too much going on at the same time without enough clarification, too many things happening one after another out of the blue and a shitload of unprompted, expository dialogue that always seems very out of place.

Now, it might seem contradictory of me, but I’m not criticizing the author, specifically, when I say any of this. This volume feels rushed because it most likely was rushed. It was written in a desperate, overwhelming hurry and it shows. I’m pretty sure a third volume was never supposed to be a thing when the second one came out, but after the movie was green-lit, the publisher probably decided to ride on the hype and asked Ayano-sensei to write more. I mean, I can’t find any other explanation for this. Reading volume 3 was like reading a proofread pilot for what was actually supposed to be two books. It’s been the strangest experience I’ve ever had with a light novel thus far (which is a big deal considering that I’ve tried the likes of “Tate no Yuusha” and “Kumo Desu ga”).

Another fact that makes me believe this volume was a last-minute request instead of having been planned since the beginning (other than the aforementioned stuff and the huge time gap between the publications of volumes 2 and 3) is that some things have been modified in accordance to the anime. Suddenly Nanao isn’t doing archery because of his own reasons anymore, but rather in order to stay close to Kaito, and Seiya is acting prickly with Masaki for no reason, making the other club members uncomfortable during practice. An evitable mistake, in my opinion, but make of that what y’all will.

So yeah, I totally get why this volume in particular is leaving so many readers at a loss. I assume there will be more of the novel coming along with the second season of the anime, and I hope it turns out a little better than this one.

#tsurune #tsurune kazemai koukou kyuudoubu #tsurune hajimari no issha #tsurune tsunagari no issha #kyoani #kyoto animation #ayano kotoko

[youngpettyqueen]

Also since I didn't send one last time, anything about it's not chicken soup, but it's good for the soul!

YES I love a double ask I love it so much and I love to think about this particular fic

ok I wanna ramble about a particular sequence in relation to my particular writing style-

"“If you don’t kiss my forehead before you leave,” Hawkeye says, seriously, “Then I’m going to have a fit.”

Trapper snorts, raising a brow at him. “That right?” He asks. Hawkeye nods, still with that oh-so-serious look on his face, so he just smiles and pushes his hair aside again, “Alright, c’mere…”

He leans down and drops the requested kiss onto Hawkeye’s forehead. Then, for good measure, he also drops one on the bridge of his nose. He pulls away and hovers for a moment, savouring the sight of Hawkeye’s giddy little smile.

Cute. He thinks, again.

“Alright, I really gotta go,” Trapper says, even though he takes a quick second to press one last kiss in the space between Hawkeye’s brows. When he pulls back this time he gets up, collects the bowl, and turns to Hawkeye to tell him, “Send Radar my way if ya need anything. I’ll be back with your lunch in a few hours.”"

so a fun fact about me is that I am a romance writer (I am actively working on a romance novel which is on its third draft) and this fic was a fun exercise in writing domestic fluffy romance which is not my usual type of romance writing! I usually only write domestic fluffy romance with like, DND and writing stuff with mine and my friend's characters, so doing this in fanfic is overall fairly new to me. this particular exchange between these two was one of the main points of writing this fic- as ive said with this one it was written to make me feel better while I was absolutely miserable with covid, and few things cheer me up quite like straight up FLUFF

Hawkeye and Trapper really suit this fluffy domesticity for me because I dont read either of them as being particularly repressed. Hawkeye cant hide his feelings to save his life and Trapper really doesnt seem to ever try to hide how he feels. as a result these two are easy to write being fairly open (as open as the time and place will allow, at least) and very domestic and, well, cute. of course Trapper's gonna give him a kiss on the forehead, and then, even though he doesnt have to, he's gonna give him a couple more. and of course Hawkeye's not gonna hesitate to ask! theyre open with each other, theyre comfortable with each other- this is all canon, its just easy and convenient for me to use that in my Piercentyre agenda ksdjskjdha

speaking as someone who doesnt write straight up fluff very often, this was a very fun exercise in it. it flowed really naturally, it makes me want to write more of it, and it let me practice a style I admittedly dont practice as often. I definitely want to write more things like this, things that are sickly sweet and fluffy, and im definitely hoping to do more of it with Piercentyre specifically. writing them has reallyyyyyyy grown on me, I always liked them as a pairing but after rewatching the early seasons ive fallen even more in love with them

all this said the WIP I have for them currently is very much not all sweet domestic fluff and does in fact involve quite a bit of angst but honestly I might shove some sweet tooth-rotting fluff in there cause its just so damn fun to write. who knows, not me, I dont even have an outline for the damn thing fskjdfhskj

#fic bitching #mash #tyyyyyy I love to go on and on about this fic #listen im just shocked its a coherent fic at all #I was. very very sick when I wrote it #the last time I wrote a sickfic while sick it was MUCH angstier fun fact #I was miserable for three weeks and decided to inflict pain rather than comfort #but this time I was so fuckin upset and sick I was like #Hawkeye its time for you to be held #and kissed #as I desire to be

[pinguinosentado]

1 4 26 30

1. First OC? I never know what OC actually means so by my own definition I’d have to say Talia. She’s the first character who had no place in Skyrim and, in her first draft, was no one special. Just some normal thief who survived some crazy stuff. She changed a lot for Nightfall and ended up taking on a much more central role in the story at the very end. I still think about what that story would look like and the idea of Eira, Serana, and Talia wandering around together is very fun and chaotic.

4. For the Fallout OCs, Nora very much listens to the classics of the era, loves Pistol Packin Mama and all the other stuff DCR plays. Olivia listens to more modern stuff and is always digging through the local market hoping to find a holotape of some underground indie band she listened to in college. Her taste in music is awful and Piper lets her know it every day once they’re living together.

Skyrim OCs, Eira wants her bards to play not sing. Most of Skyrims tavern songs don’t really do it for her. Unlike Alanna who is all about Ragnar the Red and pretty much anything else she can belt out the lyrics for. Sayena loves anything that isn’t about her but of course prefers music from Hammerfell, something very hard to find in Skyrim. She makes fast friends with the redguard hiding in Whiterun over music from home and complaining about how Skyrim wasn’t ready for any instrument more complicated than the lute.

26. Favorite books right now are definitely the Discworld novels, in particular I’d recommend the Night Watch series and the Tiffany Aching books, although Going Postal holds a special place in my heart for being so fantastically unhinged.

Also This is How You Lose the Time War. Don’t wait for someone on Twitter with a funny name to recommend it. It’s very short and very good. Give it a try.

30. How am I doing? I’m tired but honestly very excited. I really want to get back to writing and now that Starfield is out I have a feeling I’ll be writing a lot of stories about space adventures very soon.

#pinguino answers #thanks for the ask!

[yukidragon]

Our Life Snippet - Lazy Morning Intimacy

So, who’s ready for an extra long serving of shameless fluff from the first draft of my fan novelization of Our Life: Beginnings & Always? My philosophy in writing this is if I can add some more fluffy cuddly moments, I absolutely will, and the Step 3 moment Reflection offers one such opportunity right at the very start before, well, those of you who have played this moment know what happens later.

Spoilers for those who have not played the Step 3 DLC! If you don’t want to be spoiled, don’t read any further! If you don’t mind spoilery stuff, well, don’t let me stop you, but I highly, highly encourage you to play through the game before reading any of this.

As always, thanks go to @gb-patch for their wonderful game and their lovely feedback for my work, as well as everyone who likes, reblogs, and comments on these clips I’m posting here. You are all awesome.  💖

...

It wasn’t often that Jamie had the chance to enjoy breakfast at the Holden house. Ever since their parents decreed that they were ‘too old’ for sleepovers, she and Cove didn’t have many opportunities to enjoy that particular meal together, which made today a rare treat. It wasn’t especially fancy fare, but it was lovely to be able to spend time with her boyfriend almost as soon as she woke up. She was glad she impulsively asked if he wanted to have breakfast with her when they exchanged their usual good morning texts.

After a pleasant meal filled with light conversation and tasty food, Cove invited Jamie to retreat to his room to relax and let the lazy morning linger before any big activities began. That was, if they didn’t just decide to take it easy for the rest of the day. Neither of them had any plans in particular, with no prior commitments with friends, family, or work to distract them from just spending the day together. It wasn’t officially a date day, per say, or at least neither of them called it that yet. So far, they just decided to do whatever came to mind while enjoying each other’s company.

Of course, the first thing that came to Jamie’s mind was to cuddle with her boyfriend. When Cove sat down onto the bed, she didn’t hesitate to take a seat beside him, leaning into him. He hummed happily in approval and looped an arm around her to pull her in even closer.

A mischievous smile tugged at her lips as a new thought came to mind, and Jamie leaned in even closer. Cove raised an eyebrow at expression, only to yelp when she unexpectedly pushed her weight into him and tipped him back onto the bed. She fell along with him, giggling as they tumbled onto the mattress

Cove let out a chuckle of his own once he recovered from his surprise. “When I said we could relax, I didn’t mean going back to bed,” he said with a wry smile. Even still, he allowed her to nudge him gently back to the headboard so that they could both lounge comfortably on the bed properly with their heads resting on the pillows side by side. 

Jamie flashed Cove a satisfied grin before she snuggled up against his side, nuzzling her cheek against his as she basked in his gentle warmth. “You also said to make myself comfortable,” she teased, her eyes sparkling playfully as she rested her arm across his chest. “I’m very comfortable like this.”

Cove felt his heartbeat quicken, and he smiled back fondly at Jamie, nuzzling her cheek in return. “Me too,” he said softly.

Though maybe he was a little too comfortable.

Cove couldn’t help but be aware of the fact that they were both lying in his bed together. A prickling of nerves rose up that he quickly did his best to tamp down to not ruin the intimate moment they were sharing. It was fine, no big deal, he told himself. They were both fully dressed, on top of the sheets, and it was broad daylight. They cuddled plenty of times like this before on sofas and the ground. Heck, this was nothing compared to when they shared a bed when they were younger.

The flickering of nervousness didn’t escape Jamie’s notice. She softened her expression and reached up to gently run her fingers through her shy boyfriend’s hair. She had intended to steal a kiss or two and see where that would take them, but she decided that could wait until later. Just enjoying this moment with Cove was enough for her.

The touch was soothing, and Cove slowly started to relax as he leaned into Jamie. The anxious air that had threatened to pull him out of the moment gradually dissipated as her comforting warmth slowly settled in. Soon, he felt at ease enough to slip his arm back around her, which she happily used as her new pillow. He couldn’t help but smile at seeing the content expression on his partner’s face as she smiled softly back at him.

A comfortable silence washed over the pair as they simply enjoyed the quiet moment of intimacy. At some point, Jamie went from stroking Cove’s hair to toying with it. His ponytail limited her in how much she could card her fingers through his hair, but there were plenty of long locks to ripple between her fingers.

It wasn’t the first time Jamie got the impulse to play with her boyfriend’s hair. Even before he was officially - or even unofficially - her boyfriend, she couldn’t help but want to run her fingers through those pretty pale green strands. When they were younger, Cove would jokingly try to avoid her hands, but always ‘failed’ to escape in the end, allowing her to have her way. Sometimes she teased him back by pretending to give up, and he would always pout adorably, which she would immediately chase away with a satisfying ruffle of his hair.

Occasionally, Jamie would go beyond playing to actual styling. She was no professional, but it was fun to wind her boyfriend’s hair into a braid or two sometimes. Cove never minded, even if the braids rarely lasted that long after she was finished making them. It also didn’t escape her notice that he would sometimes shiver or let out an adorable pleasured little mumble when she raked her fingers along his scalp. It was an enjoyable experience for both of them, and sometimes she suspected that was one of the reasons why he let his hair grow as long as he did.

Jamie had no such grand designs now. Today she simply basked in the freedom to enjoy the feeling of his soft hair sliding between her fingers as she listened to the happy noises her partner occasionally let slip.

Although much more at ease, Cove couldn’t help the small traces of nervous energy that left him with the need to do something with his hands. He ran his thumb across her shoulder with the hand that was limited by Jamie resting on the upper part of his arm. With his freer hand, he decided to return the favor she paid to him and ran his fingers through her long deep blue hair, starting with stroking back her bangs before sliding his hand down along the entire length of her hair until he reached the ends at her hips. The feeling was soft and silky, and she sighed softly at the attention.

On impulse, Cove poked one of the small buns on top of his girlfriend’s head. Space buns were her preferred hairstyle of choice nowadays, and there was something satisfying about poking them that he couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was the feel of them, or the way the bunched up hair bounced when poked that did it, but most likely it was because of the amused looks Jamie gave him whenever he did. She wore one such expression now, and he couldn’t help but chuckle a bit before giving her bun another playful poke.

Entertained, Jamie let Cove have her way with her buns, poking and prodding them as he pleased. The potential for innuendo wasn’t lost on her, but she let it go unsaid. As fun as it would be to make him flustered by suggesting that he might enjoy playing with a different set of buns she had even more, she didn’t want to interrupt the light, playful moment.

Jamie would just save that little bit of wordplay for later, preferably when the mood was good enough that Cove might take her up on the invitation.

Despite the steamy thoughts that skirted through her mind, Jamie did her best to focus on enjoying the lazy moment between them. It was lovely to just share such casual intimacy with Cove.

Jamie wasn’t alone in trying to ignore her more hormonal urges. As much as Cove enjoyed playing with her hair, focusing on touching her as he did made it impossible for him to stop thinking about the fact that they were both lying on his bed together. He was keenly aware of the gentle warmth of her body pressed against him, how soft and inviting her pink lips looked as she smiled at him.

Eventually, Cove realized he needed something else to occupy his hands if he didn’t want to risk disrupting the peaceful moment. Shifting about a bit, he fished his cell phone out of his pocket. Although Jamie raised an eyebrow at that and at being displaced from her cozy spot when he moved around, she held no objections as he turned his phone on and busied himself with it. Instead, she simply readjusted her position to get comfortable once he was settled again.

Sifting through missed texts and emails, Cove soon managed to distract himself from the urges that ruffled his nerves and relaxed back into the moment. He spotted a number of texts he missed from his dad, and for a moment he wondered if everything was okay until he realized Cliff just sent him a bunch of images last night.

A warm smile graced his face as Cove slowly scrolled his way through the photographs, nostalgia washing over him. Each photo brought him back to the moment it was taken, allowing him to lose himself in the priceless memories he shared with his friends, family, and especially the special person he held so comfortably close at that very moment.

Some photos brought back sweet memories, others a little more on the bitter side of sweet, and then there were the funnier ones. One such silly photo seized Cove’s attention, and he couldn’t help the burst of laughter that escaped him.

The sound immediately snapped Jamie out of her relaxed stupor and brought her back to the present. She raised an eyebrow at Cove, but he failed to notice her questioning look, too preoccupied by whatever was on his phone’s screen.

“What’s so funny?” Jamie asked as she propped herself up on her arm to get a better look at his face and catch a glimpse of the phone’s screen.

Cove finally turned to look at Jamie, his eyes crinkled with mirth and a smirk playing on his lips. “Dad scanned some old photos,” he chuckled. “You know…”

Now that Jamie was no longer using his arm as a pillow, Cove was free to use it to draw a rectangle in the air. “Printed out ones,” he explained, “back from when I was little.” He waved his phone a bit with his other hand. “He texted it all to me last night, I guess. I’ve been checking them out.”

Jamie sat up completely, her dark blue eyes flying open wide. “You were looking at your kiddie photos and didn’t tell me?!” she gasped, almost scandalized at missing out on something so priceless.

Cove barely resisted the urge to chuckle, offering Jamie a bent smile as his eyes narrowed playfully. “I was gonna show you.” His gaze then slid away to his phone as his expression turned a little more hesitant. “I just wanted to look at it first to make sure there was nothing super embarrassing. You never know with my dad.”

His mouth pulled into a grimace as Cove could easily imagine all sorts of horrors his dad might have captured on film to unintentionally humiliate him until the end of time. “I mean… what if there’s a photo of me getting potty trained or something?”

Although Jamie empathized with his worries, she couldn’t help but giggle at the fraught expression Cove wore. “Yeah, that sounds like something your dad would do.”

Cove could only respond by clearing his throat nervously, his eyes skirting away from Jamie as he sat up as well. While he hadn’t come across any particularly humiliating photo of himself, he couldn’t quite shake the fear of what his dad’s well-meaning actions might have left for him to deal with this time.

Jamie offered her boyfriend a sympathetic smile before adding a slight bent to it. “Hey, how about this - if you let me look at your embarrassing baby photos, I’ll show you just as many of mine. My moms have plenty of them.”

The offer was tempting. Cove couldn’t help but wonder what sort of photos Jamie had in mind, but the price was just too steep. He merely chuckled awkwardly and shook his head as he pointedly kept his phone tilted away from her. She huffed and puffed out her cheeks in a mock pout at him for holding out on her, which elicited a genuine bout of laughter from him.

Once Cove got his mirth under control, he smiled at Jamie. “Anyway, before we forget, I was laughing ‘cause I came across a Halloween one from when I was eight. The year I was a zombie, remember?”

Jamie dropped her faux pout and nodded, her eyes lighting up eagerly. Cove shook his head at her excitement, a wry grin gracing his face as he finally offered the phone to her.

As Cove watched Jamie eagerly turn to his phone, he couldn’t help but shake his head again, this time at his kid self. “I never even liked zombies!” he said, a little baffled that he ever was so enthusiastic for such a costume. “All I wanted was to show off my new scar. And I needed to be something scary. I couldn’t be a normal person who had a scar, according to my eight-year-old mind.”

The photo displayed on the screen showed Cove from ten years in the past, and a pleasant wave of nostalgia washed over Jamie as she saw him the way he looked when they first met, minus the pink cast and plus a fair amount of makeup and fake blood. Little Cove posed for the camera with his fingers hooked like claws, his mouth open as though letting out what was probably supposed to be a fierce roar. She could easily remember the noises he made that night as he pretended to be a zombie on the hunt for brains. His hair looked even more wild and disheveled than it did after the most energetic day of play, going well with the tattered and ‘blood’ stained button up shirt he wore. His face was painted in gray down to his neck, marred with an array of fake scars that couldn’t compare to the real one on his arm.

Cove looked from Jamie to the phone and chuckled softly at the face his younger self pulled for the camera. “I was a little dork.”

Jamie eyed Cove at such self-depreciation before poking him on the nose. “You were a little cutie,” she insisted. “And now you’re a big cutie.”

Cove blinked at the playful action before blushing at the compliment. He had no words to reply to it except for a quiet, flustered chuckle as he rubbed his nose.

Jamie grinned at that reaction before turning back to the photo. As much as she enjoyed how adorable Cove looked while pretending to be a fierce monster, it was impossible to ignore the scar displayed so predominantly on his arm at that time. Her smile softened at the edges at the sight of such a large, jagged line of fresh skin that was such a deep and angry shade of red. The scar was a pale memory in the present, but back then it looked so painful, and at the time she found it hard not to worry about him and his comfort after his cast came off.

Still, Jamie refused to let that put a damper on the story and focused instead on just how much fun little Cove was having posing for the camera and remembering the way they played around with their costumes that night. She could vividly recall how she pretended to run away from him when he playfully growled that he wanted to eat her brains, and the memory made her smile grow stronger.

“Dad really wanted to be useful, as usual,” Cove said, bringing Jamie’s attention back to him in the present. Though he noticed the flicker of sadness that crossed her face and realized the reason for it, he was glad to see her perk up again just as quickly. “He came up with the idea of being an undead person. It was pretty good, huh?”

Jamie chuckled softly and nodded. “You had the best Halloween costume that year, hands down,” she said playfully. “I remember you getting lots of extra candy when adults realized the scar was real.” Her smile widened as she remembered just how jealous Lizzie had been at how much candy Cove got that year, especially since he only offered to share some of that extra candy with Jamie. “It must have been your greatest Halloween haul ever.”

Cove couldn’t help but chuckle as well as he thought back to that legendary candy haul as well. It took him a month to finish it all even with Jamie’s help.

Still, the topic of his scar brought his gaze back to the picture. Cove couldn’t help but compare the way it looked in the photo to its current appearance on his left arm. “I can’t believe how much larger my scar used to be,” he said quietly.

Jamie watched as Cove turned his focus to his arm with a soft smile on his face. He traced his fingers along the jagged line of pale flesh that remained with him even ten years on. It was an action that she had seen him do countless times, but it felt more significant in that moment.

A soft sigh escaped Cove, but his eyes and tone were playful. “Look at how tiny it is now.” He gave Jamie a look with big, pathetic eyes. “How am I gonna pretend to be tough without a big scar?”

It was a struggle for Jamie not to laugh at the expression Cove wore. “You better not do anything stupid to get a new scar,” she joked with a faux disapproving frown as she wagged a finger at him. “No matter how much you like them!”

Cove grinned back at Jamie. “I won’t.”

“Good,” Jamie said with a satisfied nod. “You’ve already got the coolest scar, no matter how small it gets.”

Cove felt his cheeks grow warm and his smile turned bashful. “Thanks.” He ducked his head away from Jamie, pleased with their joking exchange. Once again, his eyes drifted down to his scar as he continued to trace it.

“I really do like having this,” he admitted in a soft, shy voice. “Even if it is kind of little these days.”

Jamie’s expression softened as well, feeling as though Cove was sharing a big secret with her. She couldn’t help but feel happy to hear that he liked his scar despite whatever pain it must have caused him to get it. It was always wonderful whenever he opened up to her like this.

Cove glanced up at Jamie, a gentle smile gracing his lips. “I like yours, too.”

The unexpected compliment caught Jamie off guard, and heat rose in her cheeks, turning them pink. She couldn’t help but smile as she felt her chest flutter with butterflies. He never failed to think of her as well, especially since he knew that she was self-conscious of her own scars.

Unthinkingly, Jamie brought her hand up to her upper arm and traced some of the countless jagged little white lines that marred her pale skin. There were matching scars in the same place on her other arm, as well as her thighs and her chest. Unlike Cove, these scars were not the result of an accident, but her skin not being able to keep up with her sudden growth during puberty.

Back during her early teenage years when the stretch marks were fresh and an angry purplish-red, Jamie always kept them hidden. Puberty had been rough on her, dealing a blow to her self-esteem as well as her body, and being covered in so many scars left her feeling ugly even though she never once thought of Cove’s scar like that.

It took time for Jamie to accept her scars, and she knew that Cove was a big part of why. Seeing the way he took such quiet pride in his scar always made her question how she thought of hers. More than that, he always made her feel beautiful, and he was always the first to remind her  whenever she needed it. That was why she was no longer afraid to wear clothes that exposed her scars like she did now.

Jamie scooted in closer to Cove as she smiled adoringly at him, placing her hand on top of his. “Thank you, Cove.”

Cove turned back to face Jamie fully. He finally let go of his scar so that he could take her hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. He felt at peace with his scar and was happy to see the same reflected on her face as well. Their scars held such meaning to them despite coming from unhappy sources.

Jamie squeezed his hand back as she drifted even closer. “Could I touch your scar?”

Cove blinked, taken aback by the request. Usually, Jamie wasn’t shy about touching him without asking first, particularly someplace as innocent as his arm. Still, he quickly realized why she might hesitate to do that now and smiled gently at her as he nodded easily. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

Jamie gave Cove’s hand one more squeeze before letting go of it. Lightly, she pressed her fingertips against the edges of his scar. With great care, she slowly ran her thumb along the entire length of it, following the jagged angles the old wound took. The pale flesh was rough when compared to the rest of his skin, which was soft, but with goosebumps rising quickly along his arm as she stroked his scar.

The touch, so delicate and gentle, left Cove feeling a bit lightheaded. Jamie’s touch always felt wonderful and often left him feeling butterflies, but somehow the feel of her paying such careful attention to his scar was particularly powerful. A choked breath escaped him and a wobbly smile played across his face as he lost himself in the feeling.

The dizzied smile Cove wore along with the light pink of his cheeks drew Jamie in with the urge to do more. She locked eyes with him, staring deep into his aquamarine eyes as she took a hold of his arm and raised it up towards her.

A quiet gasp escaped Cove when she realized what Jamie had in mind. He couldn’t look away from her dark blue eyes as she stared so intently into him even as she placed a soft kiss on the old wound that marked him. The feeling of her lips, warm and soft, pressed so tenderly against that particular place sent shivers up his spine, and he let out a tiny squeak.

Jamie smiled against Cove’s skin as she appreciated his adorable reaction, as well as the way he looked at her with overwhelming adoration. She kissed him again and again, tracing the entire length of his scar with her lips like she did with her fingers before.

It was impossible for Cove to stay still when Jamie was showing him such affection. He reached up with his free hand to touch her arm. With his thumb, he brushed aside the edge of her open sleeve, giving him better access to the countless little white lines marking her pale skin. The texture was interesting, feeling so similar yet so different from his own scar. Because of their size and number, he found his fingers constantly alternating between soft skin and rougher tissue. It was difficult to trace any one scar from start to finish like she did for him, so instead he sought out to touch every single one.

The touch was electric, and Jamie could feel her heartbeat speed up as Cove caressed her so lovingly. “Cove…”

Cove shivered again as Jamie murmured his name against his skin, setting off sparks that made his body burn pleasantly. It urged him to lean forward, his eyes gleaming with the fire she set ablaze inside him.

Jamie raised her head and instinctively matched his movement, drawing nearer to Cove as her eyes drifted closed. She felt his lips gently meet hers, and she melted into the tender kiss. She held a little more firmly onto his arm as she fell deeper into him, feeling like she might drown in the depths of her feelings for him.

Cove all too quickly lost himself in the moment and in Jamie. It felt so wonderful, so right to be her like this, to touch and kiss her. He loved her so much that it was almost overwhelming, but knowing that she loved him as well kept him grounded.

Eventually they finally drifted apart, breathless and dazed from the kiss, their faces flushed with heat. When Jamie opened her eyes, she saw Cove gazing back at her with his mesmerizing ocean blue eyes. The look he gave her was spellbinding, filled with so much love and adoration that made her heart hammer hard against her ribcage. It told her without words that the feelings he had for her were just as immense as hers were for him.

Cove leaned in again, this time resting his forehead gently against Jamie’s. With heavy lidded eyes, he simply enjoyed gazing deeply into her blue eyes that always reminded him of the night sky. No matter how many times he saw them, they always captivated him. He could lose himself in those beautiful eyes of hers.

The feeling of his warm breath tickling her skin made Jamie shiver a little, especially the way it brushed against her lips like the ghost of a kiss. With their heads touching, his hand on her arm and hers on his, she felt entirely entwined with Cove. It felt so right.

Time ceased to have any meaning in that moment as they gazed deeply into their partner’s eyes and drank in the closeness and warmth they shared. Seconds or minutes might have passed, but neither of them cared as they lost themselves in each other.

#Our Life Beginnings & Always #Our Life #ourlifeba #Cove Holden #Jamie Last #Jamie Leimomi #My Writing

[hunxi-after-hours]

struggling to get into heaven offical blessing, mdzs and mxtx fans and the untamned fans are really toxic. they compare every danmei to mdzs and the untamed. i don't want to been seen as a fujoshi (cause i'm not). xiao and wang still get shipped still and it's everywhere. i like to read danmei because i always did find the male/male chemistry unique before i even read a danmei novel. it's different from girl/male. any advice???

also there are people who proudly call themselves fujoshi's which is a japanese term for rotten women. like that's nothing to be a proud of. (2/2)

oh, oh dear anon, I think I’m going to have to break some things to you that you might not want to hear, but then again, such are the dangers of coming into my askbox with anything remotely hate-baity, I did put “the gloves are off” on the literal header of this blog for a reason

first of all, re: fandom spaces, the reality of it is simply that you have to curate your own fandom experience. it is both impractical and unreasonable to expect fandom to conform to your personal tastes and preferences, so it’s up to you to unfollow and block people on tumblr, or twitter, or whatever fandom platform you use. Likewise with tags on content you don’t want to see--tumblr has a tag filtering system that works pretty damn well. Use it.

At the end of the day, it is up to you to shape the fandom experience that you want. There is a reason (well, there are many reasons) I’m not on twitter; I do not vibe with the platform, and I do not vibe with the form of fandom engagement that happens on it--thus, I do not use it. In an example closer to home, there are reasons why I’ve been transitioning from my more well-known blog to this one, even if that means losing the vast majority of my followers in the process. Am I sad to retire that blog and no longer receive the same amount of attention, notes, and interaction? Of course. But more importantly, I truly did not vibe with the fandom experience I was getting from running that blog, and so I made the decision to extricate myself from it.

You have to curate your own fandom experience, and sometimes that means leaving things you once loved behind.

Sometimes, fandom is following fifty blogs on tumblr that all post about this one show. Sometimes, it’s a discord server where people chat and offer recommendations for fics, books, other media. Sometimes, it’s your DM’s with the one friend you trust to have the right takes on this particular story. And sometimes, it’s just yourself.

I wonder if sometimes, in all of our declarations that “fandom should be fun!!!” we forget that fandom is not ideal, or unproblematic, or perfectly catered to your tastes. Fandom is like any other extracurricular activity--if you enjoy it, keep doing it. If you don’t, no one’s stopping you from leaving.

That being said, breaking up with fandom (a fandom in particular, or fandom in general) can really suck, because... well, the term ‘break-up’ is apt, right? You used to have so much fun together. It used to be so good. But now, this relationship is no longer working, at which point, you end it, because dragging this out longer will just hurt you.

It is valid to feel upset. It is perfectly reasonable to mourn. But it is on you to recognize that, and take actions to improve your own fandom experience (or nonexperience, as it may be).

second of all, I guess we’re going to get into fujoshi discourse on this blog now, and honestly it’s surprising that it hasn’t happened earlier considering that I now have a tag specifically for thoughts on gender in danmei, but I’ve been side-stepping it deliberately because it’s messy for a lot of the same reasons that I brought up in this post, which I spent much more time, labor, and emotional effort writing

because many of the same dynamics are at play:

stigmatization of sex and desire, this time specifically female desire

censorship and queer representation, whether the censorship is based in government legislation or societal shaming

imposing privileged and/or patronizing perspectives across cultures, this time specifically Western/non-Chinese/non-Japanese fans attempting to regulate and police content produced by Chinese and Japanese creators

(only talking about Chinese and Japanese BL/danmei/tanbi because that has been the extent of my research)

yes, 腐女子 fujoshi in Japanese means “rotten woman,” but if you look further into the background and usage of the term, its origin as an insult comes from stigmatizing female readers/consumers of BL media. For what? What makes them rotten?

the implication was that women who enjoyed BL were, by extension, perverse in their desires and ruined for marriage

There it is. That’s it. These women were deemed ‘rotten’ by society because they have kinks they should apparently be shamed for, and are no longer fit for marriage to proper men

as for the former point, kinktomato; as for the latter, I hope we’re seeing that for the misogynistic and hegemonically masculine and heterosexist perspective that it is

reclamation work has been done on the term ‘fujoshi’ in East Asia, to the point where people are perfectly happy self-identifying with it, and I’ve definitely seen an ad or two go by on the Mao’erFM site (i.e. the site that produces, hosts, and distributes audiodramas of your favorite BL novels) that utilizes the term as well--this time as a marketing ploy, implying that ‘fujoshi’ is not just an identity that is out, proud, and loud about it, but also has a considerable amount of market sway

but ‘fujoshi’ is still primarily derogatory in Anglophone circles, because of white moralization, because internalized demonization of queer sex and female desire, because no one is actually taking forty-five seconds to google the origin, history, and current usage of the term (but here is a good tumblr post to use as a springboard, with links to further discussions and sources)

I’m not going to get into fetishization discourse because I, as a person, am uniquely unqualified to weigh in on this discourse, but I also think that’s an issue that can only be resolved through conversations between members of the Chinese/Japanese LGBTQ community and BL creators (while taking time to realize that 1. these communities are not even mutually exclusive, and 2. this conversation has been already been happening for literal decades). It is truly not our place to police content creation and consumption in a culture that is not our own, especially not if we also enjoy said content

tl;dr please

take the time to curate your own fandom experience in a way that benefits your own happiness

stop using ‘fujoshi’ as an insult

take a moment to read Jin Feng’s research paper on danmei as a genre

reflect on why you might like this genre, without the specters of societal stigmatization pressuring you to absolve yourself of quote-unquote “perverse desires or tastes”

#tagging for folks who want to avoid #fujoshi discourse #BL discourse #look I personally do not vibe with bjyx either #which is why I have every variation of the ship tag blocked to hell and back on tumblr #and I've actively unfollowed people for that kind of content as well #I can't stop people from shipping them but it's not my place to police the content they enjoy #and that's literally fine #it's fandom #it's tumblr #we can all stand to chill out a little more #psa for folks who want to get in a fight with me over this: I am equipped with a delete button and quite trigger-happy about it

[maxwell-grant]

Jumping off from my previous question/suggestion, might I please ask if there are any superheroes you think would make fine Pulp Villains and any Supervillains you think would make convincing Pulp Heroes?

I'm gonna go ahead and remark that I'd personally suggest to anyone who's trying to create pulp characters inspired by superheroes (which would be probably about 90% of you who may want to do that sort of thing) to flip the script around a little. As in, don't try to create pulp analogues to the Justice League/Avengers upfront, but play around with some of the lesser-known icons and filter those through your idea of what “pulp” means (which is gonna be quite different than my own or anyone else’s). 

I’m not gonna really mention characters I’ve already talked about before like Vandal Savage or Namor, instead I’ll pick new ones and see what can be highlighted about them.

Regarding “Superheroes who could make fine/convincing Pulp Villains”, even though he’s a character I've read basically nothing on, Martian Manhunter definitely leaped out to me as an obvious option. He’s a Sci-Fi Superman who takes the first half of the name to an extreme that borders on comical, except he’s not a square-jawed white man, he’s a 1.000 year old green alien from Mars with shapeshifting powers who can look as monstrous as the artist desires. He’s the product of an advanced civilization and genetic modification, and on top of the Flying Brick powerset and shapeshifting, he also has incredibly powerful and extensive telepathic abilities, he can become invisible, phaze through matter, use telekinesis and other weird abilities. A lot of pulp stories closer to sci-fi were based around the idea of taking one of these abilities and extrapolating horrific consequences for them, and J’onn has those by the dozens. He also has an extremely mundane weakness that would allow him to be beaten by Macready with a blowtorch if that’s where the story ended.

He was also a law enforcement officer from Mars who became a police detective and it’s even right there in his name, and again, I have never read anything he’s in (I should probably pick the Orlando mini), I know he’s for all intents and purposes a generally nice man who tends to job a lot in crossovers and cartoons, but the idea of taking all those great vast and horrifying alien powers, combining all of them into a single character who also happens to be the last survivor of a doomed planet (and one who actually lived through it’s collapse), and then making that character a former cop trying to resume his work on Earth? 

That is a Pulp Supervillain begging to happen, and a particularly horrifying one at that. And hey, speaking of The Thing-

Now, Plastic Man’s potential for horror has already been explored quite a bit in some of the darker DC continuities like Injustice and DCeased, and it’s quite funny seeing a lot of these turn Plastic Man into The Thing because there were quite a handful of Wold Newton pages that ran with the idea that Macready from the original story was Doc Savage, and that the secret chemicals that Eel O’Brian was hit by that gave him his powers were actually samples of The Thing contained in one of Savage’s labs. Regardless, the idea of a former street crook suddenly gaining bizarre shapeshifting abilities that allow him to reign terror on his gangster associates could make for a great premise as a pulp crime story that veers into horror as the gangsters gradually figure out what is Eel O’Brian’s deal, and then the story can take a more tragic turn.

The thing about Jack Cole’s Plastic Man that modern takes on the character neglect is that, while Plas was a lively roguish anti-hero (arguably the first of it’s kind in comics), he’s still for intents and purposes “the straight man” (HA, right, Plastic Man being “straight”). He’s the relatively sane hero who plays off Woozy’s wackier misadventures and the imaginative madness that Jack Cole paints his adventures with, and it makes for an interesting contrast considering Plastic Man is already a weird character, having to ramp up the strangeness of the world around him so that he still remains the sane man. There are ways to twist this into something quite horrifying, even tragic for Plastic Man as he either struggles to maintain coherency, or embraces the shifting chaos the world’s spiraling into for better or worse (and definitely for the worse towards those on the receiving end of his vengeance, or even his humor).

Now, onto the flipside, regarding Supervillains that could become Pulp Heroes -

Normally I’d not mention the Batman villains here, because I already have a lot to talk about in regards to them as is, they comprise some of my favorite comic characters, but I pretty much have to make an exception for Two-Face in this topic, as not only a pretty obvious option but one with even case studies to prove it, as not only do we have The Black Bat, a 1930s costumed pulp hero with an identical origin story and several other conceptual overlaps with Batman, as well as The Whisperer, a young hotshot police commissioner who dresses up as a disfigured vigilante to kill criminals without consequence (and who’s somehow less of a maniacal asshole in his secret identity than in his regular one), but it turns out that there actually was a 1910s pulp hero called The Two-Faced Man:

Crewe was created by “Varick Vanardy,” the pseudonym of Frederic van Rensselaer Dey (Nick Carter, Doctor Quartz), and appeared in three short stories and two novels and short story collections from 1914 to 1919, beginning with “That Man Crew” (The Cavalier, Jan. 24, 1914). 

Crewe is “The Two-Faced Man.” 

He is in his forties and has gray hair and a “sharply cut and handsome profile—until one caught a view of the other side of his face and saw the almost hideous blemish that nearly covered it, and which graduated in corrugated irregularity from a delicate pink to repulsive purple.” 

Crewe is two-faced in another way. Crewe is a saloon owner in below Washington Square. But he has another identity: Birge Moreau, portraitist and socialite hanger-on. Crewe uses both his identities to solve crimes as an amateur detective.

The only person to know about both of Crewe’s identities is a police inspector who is also Crewe’s friend and who Crewe helps in pressing cases - The Encyclopedia of Pulp Heores by Jess Nevins

And speaking of obvious picks for Supervillains turned Pulp Heroes,

Assuming I even need to make a case for Kraven the Hunter other than just presenting this cropped panel from Squirrel Girl and in particular the art painted on the Kra-Van, or even just telling you to read Squirrel Girl and it’s take on “The Unhuntable Sergei” (I had no idea most of the people saying “Kraven’s arc in Squirrel Girl is as good if not better than Kraven’s Last Hunt” weren’t actually joking in the slightest and I speak as someone who has Kraven among their absolute favorite Marvel characters, it had no right being that good), I’m going to quote the brilliant Rogue’s Review from The Mindless Ones that lays down in painstaking detail why Kraven could make a killer protagonist in that horrifically over-the-top pulp fashion

One thing that strikes me writing this, is how well Kraven could hold his own comic. There’s always room for a book spotlighting a ruthless, hardcore, gentleman bastard, and Kraven’s raison d’etre makes him supremely versatile, so well suited to any genre, any environment. It’s odd that more writers haven’t jumped on the fact that in a universe where off-world travel is possible – indeed, common – a hunter like Kraven would have a field day. 

I can just imagine the opening scene – herds of weird cthuloid bat creatures grazing in the gloomy green nitrogen fields, bathed in lethal, bone splintering fog, when, suddenly, LIGHT! from above and an unholy bellowing: “CTHGRGN fthgrgnARAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHGN!”

They look up in fear and then they start to run – ploughing into and over each other, tentacles flailing, as from the space-ship’s docking bay Kraven silently plummets, barely dressed for the cold, a glowing knife smothered in elder signs jammed between his teeth. 

You should have seen him one night previous, sipping alien tokay around the Captain’s table with the other guests, discussing the morning’s hunt; and the way he insulted the Skrull dignitary by forgetting himself and accidentally sporting his favourite piece of formal wear: his boiling unstable dinner-jacket of many colours, fashioned from the hide of one of the Ambassador’s super kinsmen.

Whoops!

Midway through Kraven explaining how the best way to irreparably damage a symbiote is to wait until its bonded with you and then seriously maim yourself, the Skrull decided it might be a good idea to simmer down, while his beautiful Inhuman lover hung on every word.

The deeper I get into this the more convinced I am that the MU’s hunter-killer extraordinaire wouldn’t limit himself to bloody planet Earth. And neither would he limit himself to this dimension, or universe or timeline. The guy’d be just as at home leaping, sword raised, onto the back of a T-Rex in the Savage Land, as he would be ploughing through werewolves in the graveyards of Arkham or tracking a howling Demon across Mephistopheles’ realm. 

He’d work perfectly in all these environments because he has a damn good reason to be casting a bloody swathe through them: wherever there’s big game, you’ll find Kraven.

The next choice I guess is an oddball, but not that much of an oddball if you know already what is my main frame of reference towards Marvel

I don’t think people appreciate enough that the main reason Shuma-Gorath has anything resembling a fanbase has nothing whatsoever to do with the comics he was in, but entirely because, when Capcom designers had a list of Marvel characters to pick from to work on Marvel Super Heroes, they took a look at the diet Cthulhu and went “gimme THAT one”, and then went all-in in giving the alien squid monster a funky personality along with a great stage and music and animations and all that great fighting game character stuff, and now he’s maybe the most popular Dr Strange villain along with Dormammu and Mordo, despite having ZERO film appearences or major showings in comic sagas.

Capcom's designers redefined Shuma-Gorath from a nebulous cosmic evil into a comically smug cartoon bastard who can rant about devouring all dimensions and souls horrifically while also cracking poses and zingers like “How do you expect to win a fight with only two arms?” and having dinners with Dhalsim or hosting Japanese game shows in his endings, and it kills me that none of this ever made it’s way into any depictions of the character outside of MvC. 

So that’s kinda what I’d go with. I’d take Capcom’s Shuma-Gorath, depower him a bit obviously from his canonical power, and run with the premise of his MvC3 ending where he decides that, well, if he's the unlikely savior of this pathetic planet and these wretched human dogs like him so much, and he’s clearly having a much better time here among them than he ever had drifting among the stars cealessly consuming life, then maybe he can take a break from all that eldritch business and keep up hosting the Super Monster Awesome Hour and maybe fight whatever PITIFUL villains think can take HIS planet. I mean, he’ll probably still end up destroying the planet by the end, but why not give this hero business a try?

Just until he gets his full powers back of course. 

I mean you can’t deny he DOES look pretty good in that bowtie, surely The Great Shuma-Gorath wouldn’t be so unmerciful as to deny these vile wastes of flesh something good to look at in their brief and miserable lives.

#replies tag #marvel comics #marvel #dc comics #dc #pulp heroes #pulp villains #martian manhunter #plastic man #kraven the hunter #two-face #shuma-gorath #marvel vs capcom

[fox-bright]

A note for all the people who started writing in 2020, and are submitting stories now:

I’m a submissions editor (that is, I read slush) for a fairly well-known SF magazine, and in this read period I am noticing a considerably higher-than-usual percentage of manuscripts that are rejected for severe grammatical errors.  When I mentioned this on a writing forum, I received a number of comments and PMs from writers who were surprised that I don’t “just fix the errors.” I’ve realized that it’s likely a lot of people don’t really know what a submissions editor does, or what happens to their short story after it’s submitted.

I’m not the magazine editor. I don’t get to send you the fun email that says “We’d like to buy your story!” and at no point do I have any place tinkering with your story at all. It’s not my place to correct errors.

I’m a filter. It is my job to take twenty stories and find one good one out of them to send on to the magazine editors. The other nineteen get rejected. I take stories, one after the other, from the submissions pile and I read through them until I hit a place where I say “No, this one doesn’t work” and I send a rejection letter. If the writer is skilled, I get to the end of the story without hitting that point, and I go “Huh!” and I set it aside for a day. I sleep on it. I go back and read it again, and if I get to the end and go “This is pretty great!” I send it on to the magazine editors, who do the next round of the process. If I am myself very lucky, I start reading a story and immediately forget that I’m looking for reasons to reject it. I am consumed by the drive to finish it, and I immediately send it on.

The second-to-last category is, as I said, composed of about one in twenty stories. The last category? That’s rare. One in a hundred, maybe. Maybe one in twice that many.

It is a lot more likely that I pull a story, open it up, get two or three double-spaced pages in, sigh, tab back to the submissions page and hit the “send rejection” button.

There are a lot of reasons that a story might not make it past me. There’s the basic stuff (does it meet submission guidelines? Is the format correct? Is there a cover letter with the necessary information about the writer? Is it in English? Is it a short story, not a novella, a novel, song lyrics, poetry, or a picture book?) and then we move on through grammar, readability, originality of concept (is it a fiftieth story about sex robots?), genre fit (we don’t publish non-fantastic westerns, or noir, or gonzo horror slasher stories, for instance, even if they’re very well-written), and increasingly arcane, specific things that any particular magazine is looking for. Those specific things differ, from publication to publication; there are good markets that want that gonzo horror robot porn western, for instance.

But the thing is, I can’t even get to looking at all of that top-level stuff if trying to get through your grammar and spelling is like stubbing my toe on concrete every other step.

There’s a tag on Archive Of Our Own that sees pretty common use, variations of “No Beta, We Die Like Men!” meaning that the chapter went up without ever getting a second set of eyes on it. Nobody checked it over for grammar, spelling, cultural accuracy, et cetera.  And for fanfic, that’s often fine. You are (by law) not trying to sell your fic, and you’re giving it to readers who generally already know the setting, the characters, the premise of the original work that the fic is based on. Other writers have done all of that trailblazing for the fic author. So if a fic has bad grammar, or weak characterization, or any of the other flaws common to new, casual writers, it’s not such a big deal; we already have a strong construct in our heads that we’re projecting the fic onto. We want to read good fic, but even mediocre fic can have something satisfying about it.

With original fiction, all the work is being done by the writer right then. There aren’t thirty TV episodes, a hundred hours of video games, forty volumes of manga sitting in the reader’s head already waiting for your story to join them. This means that every little thing, every word, is important. Every piece of grammar. Every clue about characterization. You’re building it all in front of us and if it’s nothing but dialogue then we can’t understand your setting, and if it’s nothing but ponderous worldbuilding, we’ll never come to be interested in your characters. And if there are fifteen grammatical errors on a page, it’s too distracting to immerse ourselves in any of it.

I don’t think that most submissions editors like rejecting stories. I think that all of us, who love reading and the craft of storytelling, would much prefer that when we pull your story from the submission pile, it grabs us by the throat. But we have to reject the ones that still need work.

You don’t want to submit a story that needs more work. You want to submit the absolute best thing that you can write. 

So if you’re new to submitting stories, particularly to professional markets, I highly recommend that you get a second set of eyes on it before sending it on to me or any other slush reader who will have to bounce it for the sixth dangling participle in two pages. Have a hyperfluent, passionate reader friend go over it for you in exchange for a pizza. Get in with a writing group (there are a lot online!). 

And if you don’t  have access to anyone else who can help, I suggest that you take the story and you put it in a box for a month or three. Come back to it with fresh eyes after leaving it entirely alone for a few weeks, and read it out loud. Record what you read, and then listen to it! A lot of the mistakes should pop out into sharp visibility.

#writing #fiction #publishing #my actual life

[amendments]

Pro vs Anti-shipping opinions from someone who is Neutral...and will get canceled on both sides anyway

It’s fair and 100% ok to deem ships that are problematic, “problematic”, and be uncomfortable with them...and maybe even try to discourage people from shipping them, but you absolutely do not have the right to act like an authoritarian little sh!t and dictate what people can and can’t do. Block and move on.

Proshippers can effectively draw/write/create whatever they want. This is the internet and no matter how much you whine and complain, the internet isn’t going to adopt a pro-censorship stance. However, if you create content for an obviously disgusting pair, you’re going to get criticism, and people are going to find you creepy. You will be judged, even if you’re using your ship as a coping mechanism. No one is free from it.

Criticism, suggestions, and expression of discomfort are NOT BULLYING. If someone doesn’t like your ship, too bad. However, if you’re blatantly telling someone to kay why ess, hurt themselves, giving them some type of violent threat, or are doxxing them, you’re a disgusting person and no better than the people who commit said actions you’re against.

If you’re a proshipper and bullying kids, you’re also apart of the problem. Be the bigger person and block/report.

No, not all proshippers are creeps, some are just people who are anti-censorship, sick of PC culture and ship said ships out of spite, and/or don’t actually like anything bad themselves.

No, not all antis are annoying harassers, stalkers, or minors, some are people who are genuinely concerned about the questionable work you put out or may expose to minors/victims. Also, the lack of restrictions of minors in NSFW spaces is...sus -_-

Yes, there are predators in proship spaces, but there are also predators in antiship spaces, and literally everywhere else on the internet. This isn’t a ship problem, it’s a fandom problem.

Antis who claim that neutral people are just as bad as proshippers, actually push us away. You aren’t making us want to side with you. In fact, you’re doing the opposite. Most people who are neutral/position-less are actually people who really don’t care. Why? Because ships and fandoms don’t engulf our lives, and we actually have more important things to worry about than bullsh!t that strangers online are fighting about.

No, not saying anything or having a position on a topic is not inherently condoning it, it’s just not involving yourself in the problem. -_- It’s hard to really speak about something that’s not on your radar.

No, literally nobody in real life cares, or will care, about this debate. Most people (surprise, surprise) don’t really care about fandoms in general. (Amazing I know). Frankly, I’ve seen people on both sides that are waaaay to invested in this discourse and need to go outside. If you are super passionate about literal internet discourse, go to the park and touch grass.

Antis who are minors, I can genuinely tell you, that no, bosses in the real world really don’t care about what their employees do as hobbies outside of work. If you actually tried to contact employers about NSFW art (of fictional characters) that an employee drew on their own free time, unless you give them actual evidence of them acting inappropriately towards real people, they will ignore you. It is only a concern if that person has actually expressed illegal behavior which could put actual people in danger. (BDSM art of All Might and Deku isn’t going to get someone fired).

Antis, yeah, people will find problematic ships gross, if you tell someone about them. But, unless they are actively involved in internet fandom culture, which the vast majority of people aren’t, they’ll completely forget about it 5 mins later.

Proshippers, no, people in real life don’t care about what you ship in your private life, but if you make your whole identity about your ship, or proshipping, people will think you’re a creep. You’re chronically online. Get a hobby outside of internet discourse.

I will unfollow problematic people, and people who have caused harm, but if you tag me because I’m following a proshipper, simply because they are a proshipper, and have not actually been a perve to real children, I’m not unfollowing them. And if you pester me about it, I will unfollow, block, and report YOU. Who I follow is my business, and I will not tolerate being harassed over Twitter drama. Buzz off.

I will also not unfollow someone who identifies as an anti, or simply criticized your ship if you do not give me evidence of them actually harassing people. I am allowed to have an opinion and engage with people who have similar disapproving opinions. Who I choose to interact with is my business alone.

I’m not un-tweeting a tweet just because a self proclaimed “proshipper” or “anti” tweeted it. Good art is good art, and good takes are good takes.

Some of you overuse the word “p£do” in references to ships. I don’t care how you view it, a ship between an adult and a minor that has a 2-3 year age gap is not p€dop1llic. This age gap is completely common among teenagers in real life, and you’re honestly sheltered if you think that’s automatically predatory. A 16 year old dating an 18 year old is a LOT less worse than a 20 year old dating a 30 year old, and the latter isn’t any less predatory or weird just because they’re both adults.

No, ships between two adults with a very large age gap, are technically not p€doph1llic, either. They may be predatory in nature, and you may perceive them as wrong and gross, but if it ain’t already illegal in real life, then it definitely ain’t on paper.

It doesn’t matter if she’s 1000 years old, we all know what the underlying intention of that character design is, buddy.

Speaking of underlying intentions, there’s a lot of unspoken racism and xenophobia rampant in anti-spaces...like more so than in pro-ship spaces. Racism is everywhere in fandoms, but white, western antishippers are...a particular breed...oozing with arrogance and ethnocentrism.

Thanks for reading my rambling novel if you made it to the end, this is just a venting post. I hate discourse.

#pro ship #anti ship #pro shipping #anti shipping #ship discourse #pro shippers #anti shippers #fandom disk horse #haha #I don't care if i anger you #stay mad #don't like block #fandom #pro shippers aren't oppressed #but neither are antis #this is such a white debate lol #minors aren't oppressed either #boo hoo #oh pooor me

[happyreid187]

Privilege - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.1 K

A/N: Sad Spencer post nightmare comfort. Discovering and sharing feelings about each other. Mild angst then fluff. I wrote this after my season 8 rewatch but it’s not explicitly situated in any particular season. 

Warnings: Brief mentions of Spence’s various trauma; case issues, mom issues, drug use, generalized dark and twistiness. Insecurity. Swearing. Single sentence implying reader grew up religious. References to sex but not actual smut. 

____

With both of us working insane hours, we agreed early on to be casual, and then completely and entirely ignored that agreement in every way except verbiage. Avoiding labels and verbal expressions of affection, I pretended that it wasn’t emotional self destruction to spend every waking hour with this man who was notably not my boyfriend. With the amount of affection between us, it was easy to pretend it was something more. When we weren’t working, I essentially lived in his bed.

____

I was deep asleep when I heard him whimpering, waking to find him tossing and turning, breathing quickly. It took me a second to get my bearings, but when I did, I woke him as gently as I could

“Spencer! Spence.” His eyes shot open, and he immediately jumped, looked to me with his eyes welling up, and started shaking.

“Hey,” my voice was desperate as I wrapped my arms around him, “Baby, what’s the matter?” The pet name was generally reserved for other activities in this bed, but it felt appropriate now. I ran my fingers through his hair, trying to calm him. “Was it about a case?”

“It was about...” he started. “No, I don’t want to freak you out!” He sort of tossed and turned again, now in my lap. “This isn’t your job, you shouldn’t have to deal with this.” He sounded angry; with himself, and the situation. I tried to ignore the feeling that’s he might be angry with me.

“Why would it freak me out? Your job is depressing as shit, Spence. This is kind of predictable. Talking through it with you? None of this is work for me. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but you can.” I said, waiting for him to decide how to proceed.

He fiddled with his hands in that nervous way of his. “It was about you. First, you were breaking? Like glass on a windshield? Cracking but not falling apart. And everything around us was breaking; the phones and then the walls and then your face,” his voice broke then, “and then my own chest.”

Where the tears were only threatening to overflow before, he was really crying now, in a way I’d never seen him do before. In a way grown men rarely do in our terrible society if they can avoid it. In a way that made it hard for either of us to breathe. “But then it sort of mixed with work, and there was an unsub and he had you, and I couldn’t get to you. I tried, but I couldn’t get to you, and then...” he paused there, and I inferred the rest by his pained silence.

“You don’t have to keep going, I get it. And I’m not freaked out. I’m right here, Spencer. You’ve got me, and I’ve got you too. You are okay. You’re okay.” he didn’t say anything for a minute, and I rethought my words. “I’m not trying to belittle or silence you. I know you don’t feel okay. But you’re here with me, and no one’s broken, and you’re breathing, and I’m breathing, and you’re okay.”

“I’m not worried about me...” he grumbled, like it was obvious. Like I was wasting our time, worrying about him.

“Well I’m fine. I’m good. I’m happy to be here for you.”

He looked up at me doubtfully. “How can you be happy to be woken up at 4:02 am?”

Too sleepy to veil my feelings entirely, with words like adoration and devotion drifting through my head, I settled on saying, “It’s a privilege to have the chance to be here for you, and support you, and help you feel better. I have you, and you have me; okay? I’m here.”

“I’ve got you...” he softly echoed my words from earlier.

“You’ve got me.” I answered easily. It was a simple, honest fact to share.

There was a shift in him then. He pushed himself up with one arm, leaning back and staring at me, looking exasperated and vaguely frantic, like he just realized something was wrong. He looked almost angry as he asked “What the fuck are we doing?

I didn’t even know how to begin to answer that question. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m having nightmares about losing you, you’re like, taking over my subconscious, and renting all this space in my head, and then I wake up to find you here, in my bed, drying my tears and calling it a privilege! Like do you have to be so... I don’t know. Warm?” Well, that was a new one. I had never known that to be a bad thing, particularly with him. He flocked to my sentimentality like a moth to a flame.

He wasn’t done though. “I never intended to care about someone this much. It’s confusing for me. I know you have your catholic guilt, but you don’t have to martyr yourself for me. Dealing with my shit is emphatically not a blessing.” He took a deep breath and braced himself. He half smiled, half sobbed, and to be frank, he was freaking me the fuck out. “Unless you..” he trailed off. IQ of 187; an epic communicator, this one. I gave him a look that begged him to continue, holding my tongue as if he would break, like the dream, if I spoke. He sighed heavily, trying to catch his breath. I reached over hesitantly, unsure if he wanted to be touched, terrified of making it worse. Slowly, I wiped away the tears on both cheeks, willing him to look at me. He didn’t, choosing his lap instead.

I waited for him to continue. “I don’t have a lot of experience with fuck buddies,” he spit the last two words like they repulsed him, like they didn’t fit right on his tongue. Foreign words with uncertain and unsettling definitions. “...but I don’t think it’s supposed to feel like this.”

“Feel like what?” Despite the tears and the heavy air that threatened to suffocate me, I felt a new feeling. Like I would maybe feel better soon. I silently begged him to speak faster, hoping he could somehow telepathically pick up on my anxiety as I hung on every word.

“A privilege. That’s just...” he paused again, shaking his head. I could feel my anxiety coursing through my veins in a bizarrely literal sense. I wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with this, and I waited in suspense as he chose every word carefully. He then looked with me with the warmth I’d come to know, to expect, and to crave. “I know you’re a really tender person but why would you do this if we're just sleeping together?”

IQ of 187, this one.

After his lengthy monologue with its intensely painful pauses I cut straight to the point. “Are we?”

The sadness vanished from his face, leaving nothing in its place but wheels turning. No more damned pauses; I have to be brave now. “I’m not.”

“What?” I couldn’t figure out what to make of his expression. It wasn’t relief. Concern, maybe? Or disbelief? “Just sleeping with you that is. Does that make you upset?”

“No, no, y/n/n, it doesn’t make me upset.” his eyes meeting my face. I could feel that he was about to ramble, finally, and I was intensely grateful. “It depends on what you really want. It’s hard for me to believe that you actually want this.” he points at himself, like that explained his insecure thinking. Honestly, how dare he speak about my person in such a way, but now wasn’t the time to critique his criticism.

“You want to be woken up by nightmares after cases? To sleep alone while I’m gone? and when I’m around deal with my neurosis and awkwardness and rambling? and family drama? and drug cravings?” He dropped his eyes and his voice, “You could do so much better.”

We didn’t have time to even begin to unpack all of that. Not in the middle of the night, on the edge of everything we both want. I could write a novel explaining how he is in fact the very best I can imagine, but that would take time to convince him of. Time like years. Time like marriage.

Again trying to move this conversation to the conclusion I ached for just a bit faster, I answered directly, “Yes. I want that. I want you.” Like it was the simplest thing in the world.

I searched his face for some sort of happiness or disgust but received a blank stare and a look of bewilderment.

“I just want you. I’ve wanted you this whole time. I thought you would figure it out.” I laughed, and he smiled, a real smile that touched his hazel eyes that somehow sparkled in the dimly lit room, finally. “With fuck buddies, I don’t typically snuggle and go on museum dates or stop seeing other people or stick around for months.”

“You want me?” he smiled, but doubt loomed, and his smile fell as his long fingers traced my jaw.

“You say that now, but I think you’re going to find that I am a difficult person to love.” He said, as if I didn’t already know him. As if I didn’t already see him in all of his brilliance and darkness, all of his complexity and baggage. As if knowing him hadn’t been a precursor to loving him.

“Spencer, everyone thinks that about themselves.” I replied, greeted with still more disbelief. I continued in spite of him. “Besides,” I shrugged with a small smile, like my conclusion was entirely self evident, “It’s too late now.”

“What, you think that about yourself? First of all, you are unbelievably easy to love. The easiest in the whole world, probably. I know that that sounds hyperbolic, but I really mean it - I sincerely think that you are the single most lovable woman on the planet.” he rambled, talking with his hands and earning a tearful chuckle from me. “In my world at least. You are in fact, despite my best efforts, impossible not to...” he paused to physically shove the thought away, moving forward with a grimace.

“Second of all, what do you mean too late? I have a feeling I might know what you’re going to say. Please say it, y/n,” he whispered like that would make it less scary. “Or do you want me to say it? I don’t want to spook you but... it’s too late for what?”

“Too late to stop myself from loving you.”

 Finally, finally a look of understanding graced his face. A look like he believed me. He smiled that stunning, whole face smile of his that was reserved for special occasions.

 “Can you say the whole thing?”

“I love you, Spencer.”

“I love you, too.”

He was only half sitting up anyways, so when I kissed him he fell to the bed, and protested immediately. “No! I’m so gross and snotty, stop.” I settled on peppering kisses on his neck and damp cheeks instead.

I laid my head on his chest, murmuring, “You can go back to sleep, and when you wake up, I’ll still be loving you, and I won’t be broken because of it, and I certainly won’t be gone.”

“Okay,” he responded, voice still broken, but no matter. He’ll heal. He’ll believe me more with time. Eyes heavy and stinging, my adrenaline eventually waned, and I was about to fall back asleep, when his voice pulled me back.

“Just to be completely clear, this is no longer a fuck buddy situation. Like, I'm your boyfriend. Right?”

“Was it ever really a fuck buddy situation?” I laughed “But if it was, it’s over. You are mine, Spencer Reid. If that wasn’t obvious.”

I could hear his smile in his voice “Sorry, it’s so late, and my brain isn’t really working and I just wanted to make absolutely sure.”

He paused for a few minutes.

“I’ll check back again in the morning.”

“I’ll still be here.”

~~~

In my half asleep state, his soft words barely registered. “Good morning, sweet girl. I’m so lucky to get to love you.”

“I love you too.” I mumbled, smiling without opening my eyes. There’s his confirmation. He’s always been one for collecting good data, I suppose.

“Please keep doing that.”

#spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid reader insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst to comfort #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #bau #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid self insert #dr spencer reid #fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #reid x reader #my fics #spencer reid blurb #mgg imagine #matthew gray gubler #mgg

[dickwheelie]

I dont know if you're still doing requests but.., space pirates or just pirates au jmart 👉👈 i lov ur writing i think i might melt every time i read you

ohhh this was a fun prompt! it ended up being a little more space than pirates, but at least the jmart is there! thank you for the kind words and I hope you enjoy :))

___________

Jon didn't consider himself much of a hero. He had none of the necessary prerequisites, such as physical prowess, quick thinking under pressure, bravery, or a charming personality. He didn't even have the functionally useless but favorable bonus of dashing good looks. He may have been the captain on board a stolen spaceship, but that didn't mean he was particularly pirate-like himself. He entrusted the majority of the pirating to his small crew, who he privately considered much more capable than he was.

Tim and Sasha, he thought, now those two were hero types. They had the charisma, the skill, the bravery--they even had the good looks. Jon was perfectly fine with letting them take the wheel, as it were, in a crisis situation.

Such as the situation they were in right now.

The SS Magnus had been tearing across space, scanning for large, cushy vessels to pillage, when the mayday alert had sounded. Sasha, who worked communications, said that the mayday had come from an even smaller ship that was hurtling, out of control, through open space. The Magnus was the nearest vessel.

Tim took the pilot's seat and rushed to follow the downed ship's signal, but by the time he'd reached it, the ship had broken itself apart, leaving nothing but shredded metal in its wake. There were no signs of survivors in the wreckage.

Jon, Tim and Sasha shared a collective sigh of regret. They all knew the risks of space travel when they'd decided to become pirates, but it was never pleasant to be reminded of what could happen if a certain combination of things went wrong. Jon stared bleakly out of the cockpit window, then told Tim and Sasha that they might as well start scanning the wreckage for what they could find.

And then something bounced off the cockpit window.

"Was that--?" Jon said, dumbfounded.

"I think so," said Tim.

"Someone in a suit," Sasha said. "From the crash!"

And suddenly, Jon was the captain of a rescue mission.

Jon rushed towards the airlock at the aft of the ship, Tim and Sasha close behind him. When he reached it he could see outside the window the lone survivor, in their spacesuit, clinging for dear life to a handle on the side of the ship's hull.

Jon didn't pause to think. By the time Tim and Sasha arrived at the airlock, Jon was already suited up, and was about to open the innermost door.

"Jon!" Sasha called. "What are you doing?"

"They can't hold on forever," Jon said, "I have to grab them now!"

Once more he looked out the window at the survivor, trying to see beyond their blacked out visor, and caught a glimpse of a pair of wide, frightened eyes.

"It's okay!" Jon said, knowing the survivor couldn't hear him, but hoping they could read his lips. "I'm coming to rescue you! Don't, er, go anywhere!"

Jon put on his helmet and stepped into the airlock, hooking a long tether to his spacesuit. He let the airlock depressurize before opening the outermost door, floating out into the vacuum of space. Holding fast to the tether, he dragged himself out onto the hull, and found himself practically visor-to-visor with the lone astronaut.

Jon reached out his hand, and hoping they could see through his visor, said, "Take my hand! It'll be okay, I'm tethered to the ship!"

He couldn't be sure if the survivor had understood, but they did reach out their free hand, and for a moment their gloves strained towards one another until finally Jon caught hold of theirs, gripping it securely across the palm and wrist. He used the tether to pull them both backwards, towards the open airlock, and after a moment the survivor let go of the hull and clasped their other hand onto Jon's, letting him guide them safely back into the ship.

As soon as they were both inside and the airlock had pressurized again, Jon removed his helmet, breathing heavily with adrenaline, and watched as the survivor did the same.

Their hands moved shakily to detach their helmet, revealing dark curls and a brown face, covered in freckles and with a flushed, elated expression. The survivor looked to be a man, and a handsome one at that, though Jon refused to linger on that particular thought. At once he was at the survivor's side, checking for injuries, though with his suit on there wasn't much to see.

"Are you alright?" Jon asked him, though the question seemed silly considering how the man's day had been going so far.

"You . . . you saved me," the lone survivor said breathlessly, his eyes landing on Jon's. He had a nice voice, Jon thought absentmindedly.

"Yes," Jon said, not knowing what else to say.

The survivor gave Jon a beaming smile. "My hero."

"Um," said Jon. His stomach did something weird, and fluttery.

"I thought for sure I was dead. I'm pretty strong, but I wasn't sure how long I'd be able to hold on before spinning off into empty space. But you rescued me. Just like you said you would."

"I . . . try to keep my promises, yes," Jon said, hoping he wasn't blushing. "Who are you? What happened to your ship? Could there be anyone else alive out there?"

"Oh, right, of course. Sorry, my manners are a little rusty," said the survivor, with an awkward little laugh. "My name's Martin. Martin K Blackwood. It was just me on the ship. I was on a solo delivery run. The company I work for, Solus, they've been cutting down on personnel lately, so most shipping runs are solo now. Which means twenty-four-hour shifts at the wheel, minimum. It sucks, but it pays the bills. Or . . . it did." The survivor--Martin--stared out the window at the remains of his ship. "I'm still not sure what caused the engine to overheat and blow like that. I wouldn't be surprised if Solus weren't up to date on their safety checks. I managed to get my suit on and eject just in time, but then I was sure I was just gonna drift through space forever and die alone anyway."

Martin looked back at Jon, gratitude in his eyes. "But then you rescued me."

Jon wasn't going to be able to keep withstanding Martin's adoring looks if he kept this up. "I'm Jon," he said, trying to change the subject. "Captain of the SS Magnus. Illicit captain, rather. We're pirates."

"Pirates?" Martin's eyebrows shot up, and he looked Jon up and down. "You don't . . . seem like a pirate to me."

"We're basically only pirates by a technicality," Jon said. "We pillage the ships of the rich to give to those in need. Food, medical supplies, power sources, anything useful, really. Occasionally we'll steal a vessel, like this one, but that doesn't happen very often. There's only three of us, at the moment, so we make do however we can."

"Wow," Martin said. "So you're telling me--"

"I know," said Jon, "it's not all that impressive when you--"

"--I was rescued by actual pirates? And their swashbuckling captain is my hero?"

"O-Oh, well, um, that's not--" Jon was definitely blushing now.

Martin laughed. "Do you know how many romance novels I've read the back covers of that I'm putting to shame right now? Twenty-year-old me would be so jealous."

"I--I am not swashbuckling," Jon said, at a loss for anything else to say.

"Of course not." Martin grinned at him before his expression grew more somber. "Seriously, though, thank you. For saving me. I really had given up hope, for a moment there."

Jon nodded. "Of course. You're, ah, very welcome."

They shook hands, and Jon turned to the inner airlock door. "My crew are in there, waiting for us. Tim and Sasha. They're very good. We wouldn't have even found you and your ship without them."

"Then I'd better thank them, too," said Martin. "And--you said it was just the three of you right now, yeah?"

Jon tilted his head at him, unsure where Martin was going with this. "Yes, it is. But I assure you, we're a good team, we'll get you back to your home, or anywhere you'd like to go, safe and sound."

"That's sort of the problem," Martin said. "I . . . don't really have anywhere to go back to. If I go back to the company, they'll find out their ship was destroyed, and my insurance definitely doesn't cover that. If I go home, they'll find me just as easily and chase me down until I've paid. So . . ." Martin gave Jon a meaningful look. "Right about now would be a pretty good time for a career change."

Something clicked in Jon's head. He smiled at Martin, nodding sagely. "Yes, I see. I think we may be able to help you out with that, Martin." He thought for a moment. "You said you flew deliveries for Solus . . . how are you as a pilot?"

Martin grinned at him. "Good. Very good."

"Any moral qualms about stealing from the rich and giving to the poor?"

"None whatsoever."

"Then I don't see why we shouldn't bring you on board," Jon said, returning Martin's smile. "The SS Magnus has been looking for a new pirate to join her crew, and I think you'd fit right in."

Jon might not have been much of a hero, but he had managed to pull a man out of the way of certain death that day, and then bring him onto his crew, which had to count for something. At the very least, Jon thought as he introduced Tim and Sasha to their new pilot, the way Martin looked at him made him feel like the sort of person who really had done something extraordinary.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #gwyneth writes

[cheesyficwriter]

Hi, I love the way you write Ron and Hermione. Would you please write Romione on prompt no.

18. You give me a reason.... better?

Waiting eagerly for grant of my request!

Hi there @maggotsstuff 😀 thanks for the lovely request! The quote in the prompt has the potential for some angst, but I hope you don't mind me flipping the script and providing you with some fluff for this Friday afternoon! Here is Ron learning about "pick-up" lines 💜

Thank you to @accio-broom for her magical beta-ing skills!

I take zero credit for the puns used in this chapter, they were all contrived from this brilliant article

A Certain Kind of Magic

In Hermione’s world, an ideal bookshop would not just simply have a selection of books fitting for a variety of different genres. It would be a place that made her feel like she was at home, curled up in a comfy lounge chair with a publication on her lap. A place where she would want to spend hours and hours browsing the novels that adorned the dusty shelves. It needed to hold a certain kind of magic.

Ron knew this about his girlfriend, of course. He was baffled that it was even possible for Hermione to still have room in her brain to absorb even more knowledge than she already had. Yet, he continuously found himself in her oasis, deliriously bored from watching her rummage through the same sections over and over again.

At least, until he came across a particular title that piqued his interest:

"85 Lines to Pick-Up Your Witch or Wizard."

Hermione’s head shot up, alarmed. "Oh no, Ron, don't…"

Ignoring her protests, Ron flipped open the book to the first page. "Are you a snitch? ‘Cause, you're the finest catch here. Ha! That's brilliant!"

Hermione groaned outwardly, letting her face fall on the book open in front of her. She felt a light tap on her temple, and she grunted.

"You're just like me, love. You're a Keeper!" Ron grinned cheekily.

Hermione lifted her head and blinked. "Are these all going to be Quidditch references?"

“Is this the Hogwarts Express? ‘Cause it feels like you and I are headed somewhere magical.” She attempted to quell the burning desire that was starting to coarse through her as Ron flashed her his signature smirk.

Hermione huffed loudly, offering him a slight eye roll before unceremoniously slapping her book shut. If he was trying to get her to leave, it was working.

Ron followed her closely as she weaved her way through the shop, noticeably dodging other readers in the vicinity. “Did you just use the stupefy charm, or are you a natural stunner?”

Hermione whirled around and clamped a hand over his mouth fiercely. Ron's steely gaze traveled the length of her body.

"Natural, it is," he mumbled, just before puckering his lips to give her a soft kiss on the inside of her hand.

She quickly removed it at lightning speed, feeling the shockwaves roll through her body. Did he honestly feel like now was the time and place to get her all hot and bothered?

"No way! Harry and Dumbledore are in here!" He roared with laughter, his finger tracing the text on a new page, "Do you like Harry Potter? Because I a-Dumbledore you!"

Hermione attempted to hold in her smile but failed miserably. "Okay, that one was clever."

“Like that one, do you? Check these out.” Ron thrust the book into her space, forcing her to take a look, just before sliding against the wall next to her. He wrapped his hand around the curve of her back, resting firmly on her hip.

Exhaling loudly, Hermione decided that the faster she humored him, the faster she could safely feel embarrassed in the confines of their own home. After briefly scanning the lines on the page, she gasped. "Ron! Some of these are...are…"

"Yeah?" Ron egged her on while wiggling his eyebrows.

Hermione pursed her lips and hissed, "Not appropriate to use in modest environments!"

"And y'know, I could've been saying one like that," he pointed to the words on the page that made Hermione's eyes bulge out, "and made you blush as you are now." He smirked at the heat that crept onto her cheeks, "But, I was a good boy."

The look Ron gave her, that he tried to pass off as innocent, was anything but.

“You can have the portkey to my heart,” Ron crooned, reaching out to grasp one of her hands in his, giving it a tight squeeze.

"You know, I think it'd be best if we head out now. It's almost supper time…" Hermione tugged on Ron's hand and pulled him towards the exit.

“I can make up my own pickety lines-”

“It’s pick-up lines.”

“Sure, that.” He cleared his throat in exaggeration and looked her squarely in the eye. “Hermione Granger…” His voice was incredibly husky, making her shiver outwardly. He grinned, pleased by her reaction. “You give me a reason to be better...to do better.”

His ocean blue eyes sparkled down at her, and it took everything she had not to reach up and snog him senseless.

“I’m not sure that was a line…”

Ron tilted his head, still grinning cheekily. “No? Well, it was sexy as hell, though, right?”

"Cheesy as hell is more like it," she muttered under her breath. Ron chuckled loudly, indicating that he still heard her.

“Hermione…" Without realizing it, Ron had managed to pin her into a small, secluded corner near the front of the shop. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone. "I may not be the boy who lived. But...I can still be your chosen one.”

Hermione whacked him on the arm. "Ow, woman! I'm just joking, y'know! Well...mostly." He sent her a wink that made her weak in the knees.

"Now...can we get out of here?" He leaned over, dropping his voice to a low whisper at her ear, "I'm very interested in exploring your Chamber of Secrets."

"RON!"

"Maybe I should...slytherin…"

"Oh, honestly!"

#romione #romione fanfic #romione drabble #ron x hermione #ask response #cheesy pick up lines

[fantastic-nonsense]

Hi, sorry same person who asked where you got your Batman info. I should have been more clear. What I meant was where do you get your comics? Do you buy them at a brick and mortar store, or a place online? I’m asking because you have singlehanded gotten me invested in Batman, and I have no idea where to find comic books.

Ohhhhh okay, it's all clear to me now! Sorry for misunderstanding, lmao.

First of all, welcome to the fandom, and I am both thrilled and distraught that I've dragged you into this nonsense: good luck, honestly, and I'm happy to help answer any questions you might have as you start learning and reading more.

Second, some helpful terminology and discussion before I actually answer your question, since you're (probably???) new to reading comics altogether:

Superhero comics are traditionally written in what's known as runs; an author gets to have an extended period on an ongoing (or limited) title where they (traditionally) write in 4-8 issue story arcs; think of these arcs as chapters in a potentially never-ending book. These individual issues are colloquially known as floppies. Every so often, titles end, the principal author on the titles switch up, or they'll have "guest/interim authors" come in to do single issues or a single story arc.

These story arcs are then collected in what are known as 'trade paperbacks' (generally referred to as trades, occasionally TPBs), which collects the entire story arc in a single paperback/hardback book. Trades are super useful if you want to read an entire story at one time, want to be economical about your comics spending, and/or want to read things in order. Occasionally, if a writer has a particularly long run on a title or a big company event happens, you get published omnibuses that collect an entire event or run (or part of it, if the event is big enough).

So when I talk about "Tom Taylor's run" on the Nightwing title, for example, I'm talking about the current writer, who's been the main author on the Nightwing title since March and just finished his first story arc ('Leaping into the Light', which starts at Nightwing #78 and just concluded last Tuesday with Nightwing #83).

A pull list is a list of comic books that, traditionally, are set aside each week for you at your local comic book store. It's basically like having a subscription/membership to a particular comic book.

Obviously, traditionally this is a very literal 'pull list' that the shop employees literally pull from the shelves for you, but it's become a more unofficial term in recent years as people buy more and more digital comics. For a lot of people, when they refer to their pull list they really just mean "these are the comics I'm actively reading and consciously keeping up with right now" (my current literal pull list is Nightwing, Batman: Urban Legends, and Wonder Girl, but I keep up with a few others-Robin and Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow, for example-via occasional buys, social media, and online reading; mostly, I'm waiting for trades to come out).

So that being said, when I buy comics, I get them from a variety of places:

I do, in fact, have a local brick & mortar comic book store that I get floppies and trades from; I don't usually buy floppies, but when I do, I normally get it from them. LCS's are unfortunately dwindling in number, but if you have one in your area, I highly recommend supporting them!

There's also this huge used bookstore run out of an old warehouse where I used to live (and where my parents still live, so I still get to visit it occasionally) that has a large comics/graphic novel section; I've gotten quite a few of my comics for dirt cheap from them.

Amazon and Ebay are super convenient and awesome places to buy trades; I've bought the majority of the comics I own via this route, tbh.

If you're more into digital comics (space issues, you prefer reading digitally, etc), I get mine from Comixology.

And if you’re dirt poor and can’t afford anything, getcomics.info is a safe site where you can download comics for free.

You can also read them for free (without downloading) at https://readcomiconline.li/, otherwise known as ReadComicOnline. When I do meta or post screenshots, I'm usually grabbing panels from RCO (mostly for convenience's sake).......needless to say, a lot of people read their comics using RCO, lmao.

Like I said, welcome, and let me know if you'd like a few digestable, reader-friendly comics to get started with!

#personal #asks #batman #comics #reference

[yukidragon]

Our Life Snippit - Fish and Flirting

Soooo... who’s ready to read another clip of the first draft for my Our Life: Beginnings & Always fanfic novelization? This time, let’s take a slice of Step 2's moment, Dinner.

I’d like to thank everyone for enjoying my writing. All of your likes, reblogs, and comments are the fuel that drives me to share more of it here. I’m thankful for the feedback my fellow fans of the game and especially its creators @gb-patch! You are all just so sweet. Thank you!

...

The crunch of sand against the mat beneath her sandals was a familiar welcome for Jamie as she entered his bedroom. Cove didn’t care if he brought a little bit of the beach home after every visit there. Cliff never scolded him for it like her moms would if she adopted such a lackadaisical attitude. This left sand to accumulate all over his personal space, but he never minded.

That was just how Cove was - a little bit of a mess.

Cove didn’t waste time getting comfortable, taking a seat on the edge of his extra large bed. “You can sit wherever you want.”

There weren’t actually all that many options. The desk chair was the obvious choice, as it was the only place to sit besides the bed, but Cove rarely used it for that purpose despite claiming her desk chair as his preferred spot whenever they hung out in her room. Jamie knew from experience that his chair was nowhere near as comfortable as hers, and it had a squeak to it that set her teeth on edge. She could deal with a stiff chair, but the noise it made ensured that the first time she sat in it was also the last.

This meant that the only options left were to stand, sit on the sandy floor, or…

Jamie fought to keep the mischief on her mind from showing on her face. Well, Cove did say that she could sit wherever she wanted.

Although Cove had hoped Jamie would take his offer as an invitation to sit on his bed with him, he was shocked that she took a seat right beside him. She was so close he felt her knee briefly brush against his as she made herself comfortable, all the while flashing him a cheerful smile that sent his heart pounding. He had hoped she would sit close to him; he just didn’t expect she would sit this close.

Not that Cove was complaining.

Jamie noticed Cove tense up, his back going stiff as he ducked his head away. It reminded her of how he would react whenever she hugged him, especially when he began to blush and tried to hide the way his lips curled into a trembling smile.

“Oh my God,” Cove whispered under his breath. The words slipped out of him without realizing, spoken so softly that Jamie might not have heard it if she wasn’t sitting right next to him.

The reaction thrilled Jamie, and she couldn’t stop herself from beaming at Cove. He was just too cute!

Cove noticed the shift in Jamie’s expression out of the corner of his eye. With how close they were, it was impossible not to notice each other’s every move. He couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at her, wondering why she seemed so happy all of a sudden.

Jamie noticed the silent question in his eyes. Before she could seriously consider playing coy, her real feelings came bubbling out. “You’re adorable!”

The compliment, delivered with such enthusiasm, seemed to come right out of nowhere for Cove. He stiffened again, his eyes flying open wide as his mouth hung open in shock. “I… what?”

Jamie watched as the blush deepen on Cove’s face before spreading to the tips of his ears and all the way down his neck. He wasn’t the only one blushing, as her cheeks grew rather hot as well, but since she already said it… “You’re adorable,” she repeated, trying to look and sound much more confident than she felt.

That got Cove’s mouth trembling again. It was a wonder how he could still look Jamie in the eye with how much his insides were fluttering. He gripped the blanket underneath him, feeling like he might just fall off the bed with how weak his knees were at that moment. “I’m not. That’s…”

It was almost too much for Cove to take. How could Jamie say stuff like that to him so easily? It wasn’t fair how easy it was for her to send his heart into overdrive and turn his mind into mush.

Cove shifted nervously in place as he scrambled to get his mind working again. Jamie was flirting with him, right? She had to be. Unless he was mistaken. Then again, this happened often enough that it couldn’t be all his imagination, right? Except this was Jamie - she was nice to everyone. Of course, she was nicest to him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t reading too much into things.

Should he flirt back? What would he say? What could he say? Should he call her cute? Jamie was definitely cute, and nice, and thoughtful, and fantastic and…

But what if that made things weird? If Jamie was just being nice and not thinking too much about this stuff, Cove might make things awkward. And if things got uncomfortable between them…

It was all too much for Cove. He did the only thing he could do - he fled the subject of romance completely.

“Did you see my fish?” Cove blurted out, latching onto the first non-romance-related topic to pop into his head. “I’ve got some. In a tank. Right there.” He threw both arms out in front of him in an almost desperate gesture to direct Jamie’s attention away from him to something else far safer with less world-shattering ramifications.

As happy as Jamie was to make Cove so flustered, she could see she had overwhelmed him. She wanted to drop hints about how she felt about him, not make him uncomfortable. Despite how poor the change in topic was, she granted him mercy and allowed it.

Cove bit back a sigh of relief when Jamie directed her gaze away from him. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on getting his rapidly beating heart back under control. At the same time, he couldn’t help but feel just a little disappointed with himself.

The fish in the tank were fairly varied, all of them bright and colorful. The way Cove had so dramatically pointed them out, one might think that Jamie had never seen them before. She knew that Cliff had gifted him the tank and pets not long after the father and son first moved to Sunset Bird.

Fondly, Jamie recalled the excitement that always shone in his eyes whenever Cove proudly introduced her to his newest pet. He always made sure she was the first to know, and it always made her feel special.

Jamie was also always the first one Cove went to whenever a fish unfortunately passed on. Those occasions broke her heart to see him so sad, and she did whatever she could to comfort him. Despite the sad memory, a small smile tugged at her lips as she recalled how she had come up with the idea of giving the fish funerals, and she officiated over them as best as her childish self could without having any real experience with funerals prior. As sad as they were, they did help her best friend heal from the loss.

Returning her focus to the tank, Jamie inspected it and its occupants with increasing interest. Although she had no experience having pets of her own, she had learned what it took to take care of fish from listening to Cove talk about his pets. She helped him out wherever she could as well, be it with checking to make sure the tank’s thermometer was accurate by comparing its reading with one her moms owned or looking up information he struggled to find by himself.

Cove was very serious about the care of his pets, and it showed. The fish were healthy and energetic as they swam through the crystal clear water.

The smaller fish zipping about were interesting, but Jamie found her eye drawn to the especially big one because of its dazzling multicolored scales. A thought suddenly occurred to her, and she felt dumb for never asking a very simple question before. “What are their names?”

Although the question was innocent enough, Cove found himself growing a bit bashful. “I don’t name them,” he admitted. “Well, not really.” At seeing Jamie direct a raised eyebrow at him, he gave her a lopsided smile. “I mean… Mostly, I just call them things based on what they look like. ‘Squirt’ for a small one, ‘Tangerine’ for a really orange one. That sort of thing.” He let out an awkward chuckle. “I’ve had a lot of fish, and I’m not that good at coming up with names…”

The answer tickled Jamie. She hadn’t known about that little weakness of his. It was always such a nice surprise whenever she learned about a new side of Cove that she had never noticed before.

“Oh,” Cove said, as a thought occurred to him. “A couple of them have other types of names.” He pointed towards a small orange-red fish. It was off on its own away from its tankmates. “My dad named her Dreamcatcher.” He paused for a moment before pointing at a more yellowish fish that just darted out of the fake log. “And that other one’s Mark. Mom came up with that one.”

Jamie focused on the two particular fish before turning back to Cove. He was still looking at his pets with a more relaxed smile on his face. For a moment she just admired how the glow from the tank reflected in his eyes before snapping her focus back onto the conversation. “You let other people name your fish?”

“Yeah,” Cove said happily. “It’s nice.” He then turned to Jamie as an idea popped into his head. He tilted his head to the side, considering the thought for a moment before deciding to go ahead with it. “Do you wanna name one?”

Jamie’s eyes lit up at the offer. “Yeah I do!”

Cove’s smile grew a little at her enthusiasm. “Cool. There’s a few who don’t have names right now, the newer ones. You can pick which you wanna name.”

Jamie waited until Cove pointed out each of her options. The first fish was the smallest in the tank. It was orange all over and zipped around the tank so fast that it was lapping the others. The second was red and just slightly bigger, with a tail dotted by black spots almost like freckles. The last fish was the largest one in the tank that had caught her eye earlier. Its multicolored scales practically glittered under the bright light of the large tank as it slowly glided through the water.

It was an easy choice for Jamie to make. “The biggest fish.”

Cove nodded, a little amused, as he waited for Jamie to decide on a name. He had a feeling that would be the one she would pick. She did like rainbows after all, and that particular fish was practically a living rainbow.

Jamie squinted at the tank, hamming up an exaggerated show of taking this sacred duty of naming a pet fish seriously as she stroked her chin and let out a low hum. She was rewarded for her theatrics when Cove noticed and let out a chuckle. She barely kept herself from grinning or doing more than glimpsing at him out of the corner of her eye as she tried her best not to break character.

Eventually, Jamie straightened up and turned to Cove, maintaining her solemn expression the entire time. “Gil.”

Cove couldn’t help but laugh unreservedly at not only her choice, but her antics as well.

Finally, Jamie broke character and allowed herself to smile and enjoy how she made Cove laugh. The affectionate sound was music to her ears.

“I could’ve come up with that,” Cove chuckled.

“Well, it was the second name to pop into my head,” Jamie said almost a little too innocently.

Cove caught on that Jamie wasn’t quite done with the bit yet and raised his eyebrow, playing along. “Oh yeah? What was the first one?”

“Cove,” Jamie announced, grinning.

With that, Cove broke into another round of laughter. “What? You thought about naming it after me?”

Jamie shrugged, doing her best to appear casual. “A little bit, but I couldn’t help it; your name is always the first one to come to my mind.”

Heat bloomed in Cove’s cheeks as his laughter turned bashful and trailed off. He was pretty sure Jamie wasn’t flirting with him this time and was merely joking around, but it still felt a little too good to hear her say something like that. “I-is it? Oh, well… uh…”

Jamie gave Cove a moment, feeling satisfied that her attempt at flirting got such a positive reaction. Those tips from Lee were paying off.

When Cove shook off the flustered feelings, he gave Jamie a bent smile. “Alright, it’s Gil.”

#Our Life Beginnings & Always #Our Life #ourlifeba #Cove Holden #Jamie Last #Jamie Leimomi #My Writing