#my little tumblr blog is not going to make the front page

[loveshotzz]

FYI, Joe isn't slutting around. He's just super friendly; fucking fangirls is a boundary he will not cross. He did not take anyone home that night. It's a shame that being really nice keeps getting you called a fuckboy. If you weren't there (I was) please don't make assumptions about his actions. Ty! :)

IT WAS A JOKE PEOPLE!!

#I’m deleting this app #done with ya’ll #my little tumblr blog is not going to make the front page #it’s not that serious #actually I’d die if he ever found this page #delete delete delete

[thatguywhofedme]

Influencer to live piggy

I was browsing tumblr, looking through the same pages I followed, wishing the feeder in those stories and images was feeding ME into a food coma

I mean, I'm already gaining steadily by stuffing myself as much as I could, last time I weighed myself I was 225 lbs and that was a year ago

That's when I got the idea, why not make my own blog showing off my body, this will surely get the attention of a feeder who would like to stuff me silly

I instantly created my profile and decided to call myself deathbylard, thought this would be pretty clear as to what my blog would be about

After a couple of months, everything was going well

Everyone was loving my big belly, thickening thighs and fat juicy ass, I was now 274 lbs and was finally getting noticed, that's when he messaged me

His profile name was feedyoutodeath, little did I know it was literal

We began chatting and the more we talked, the more we discovered we had tons in common and when we decided to ask each other where we live, we surprisingly lived close by

We decided to meet at an all-you-can-eat buffet, I was waiting at a table when I heard the door open and recognized him instantly

He got to my table and told me how beautiful I looked and if I was ready to eat

I told him to fill me up while rubbing my belly

He instantly got to the buffet and came back with four plates full of the greasiest food he could find

He sat in front of me and began feeding them to me

There wasn't a lot of people, but the staff had a full view of someone getting fed mouthful after mouthful, getting messier from each bite

After I had miraculously ate everything, I was so full I couldn't get up from the chair and my big belly was in full view, bright red and hard like a bowling ball

He helped me from my chair, but not before whispering in my ear "I hope you enjoyed this little lunch of yours, because there's only going to be even more each time we see each other my little piggy"

I was so fucking turned on

We kept seeing each other at least twice a week if not more and he had me on a strict diet consisting of the most fattening and unhealthy food he could think of

After a year of this, I had BLOWN UP, I was so fat I needed a cane to walk the few hundred meters I could do without sweating and getting out of breath, my belly was going to my knees and my ass needed two chairs to support it

We decided to put me on the new scale he had bought me, it had a capacity of 750 lbs

When I got on the scale, I could hear it creak under my weight and after a moment, it beeped to signal it had finally weighed me

My feeder got under my belly and gasped, I asked him how much and he got behind me while groping my fat ass and whispered "614.57 lbs, you're officially my prized hog and only going to get bigger you massive pig"

He slapped my ass HARD, grabbed me by my hand and got me to the bedroom where I knew I was going to need another shake and a good fucking

During this time, my tumblr had exploded in popularity, I was getting so much attention from my huge body and they simply couldn't get enough of it

Some would even say that they wanted to be my feeder and would make me even bigger, but I knew they were only words and not actually fattening me up, I already found the one to do this perfectly

I told my feeder and decided it was time for him to take care of me and my blog while I relaxed and let myself go completely

I knew I was in good hand, being able to pig out while gaining as much weight as I wanted and getting fucked anywhere at anytime, what's not to love

I moved in with him and was surprised by the setup he had for me, bariatric bed with every life support machines I could need including a heart monitor, a fridge beside my bed, a 5 gallon jug high up from where my head would be and a trough !?!

I knew I was a pig, but that was a whole new level and I was simply loving it !!!

I was getting so turned on, that's when he got in front of me, put a pair of pig ear and a pig nose, he began force feeding me two boxes of donuts and said

"this will be your world from now on, you'll be in this bed or on all four eating like a true pig, only able to eat, get fatter and be my personal at home piggy

I've put cameras in your room for everyone on your blog to enjoy, they'll be able to see what a real fatty looks like and witness your disgusting diet, you'll be the star like you wanted from the start

I will make you the fattest person on earth and will continue making you fatter until that little heart of yours gives out for good, that's the only moment I will allow you not to stuff yourself until you pass out from eating too much

You better be ready because all of this starts right now"

I answer by putting my walker to the side, struggling to get on all fours and oinking like a real pig

He got into the kitchen and came back with a trolley full of my favorites, took all of them and throw them into the trough no matter what it was

"eat" is all he said

I obliged and began to stuff myself while moaning and grunting

He got behind me and forced my head deeper

"I don't want you to only eat at a normal speed, real pigs finish all of this in not time no matter what, so you better eat more before I force this funnel down your throat again"

I gulped and began eating faster, I didn't care if my mouth was full, I needed to eat faster to satisfy my feeder, that's what I was always best at and I wasn't going to disappoint him, not now or ever

Six years have passed and I was now permanently planted on my bed, hooked up on life support, my blood vessels being clogged up even more by each fattening feast that entered my greedy mouth and needing multiple pills for my diabetes, blood pressure and cholesterol medication just for me to be able to live a little longer each day

I was so fat now my ass was almost reaching the side of the massive California king size bariatric bed, I needed a crane fixed to the ceiling to move me so I could be taken care of

my body was now slick and sweaty all the time from the exertion of being in this massive body, my love handles, rolls of fat, underboobs and my swollen fupa were always sweaty from having lbs after lbs of fat creating a crease of unable to support all the humidity my body was creating, my three massive chins were coated with grease and crumbs from the multiple meals and shakes I needed in a day, it was the same story for my massive chest and enormous belly that now reached my toes all made it hard for me to breath, all my fat was ridden in cellulite all over, especially in my massive juicy ass and my belly was also covered in bright red stretch marks showing my feeder's technique of feeding me the trashiest food with no mercy for my weakened body while crushing my organs and I was really struggling to breath now, even my oxygen mask was barely able to feed me air and if I wasn't huffing I was wheezing like a pig while sweating like I had run a marathon

My feeder as kept his words, he made me the fattest person alive and we couldn't be happier about it, last time we checked my weight via the built in scale it said 1658.93 lbs

And just because I weigh this much doesn't mean we don't have sex, on the contrary

With the help from the crane, he would lift me up just enough to go under me and begin fucking my hearts out until I came again and again

He would also let me know how much he love me and my massive body, he would go on top of me while trying is best to avoid my massive swollen fatty liver that has gotten no rest in my years and unrelentless feeding and kiss me all over, sometimes he would concentrate a little more on my thighs, other times it would be my sagging ass, enormous thighs, my belly of course, he couldn't get enough of it and any other parts of my body really, he truly loves all of me

That doesn't stop him from teasing me by saying something like "look at what we did to your body, you surely are the fattest fuck anyone would have ever seen and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it" or "you know you're going to die on this bed and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it, all you can do is enjoy yourself while it last until your fat coated heart is tired of supporting your body and you get your fourth and final heart attack" he loved to tease me in the meanest way possible and couldn't simply get enough of it

Although, when I was horribly full, feeling like my stomach would explode at any moment, he would get mad and play with my oxygen tube until I agreed to getting stuffed even more

And if I was being an extra good hog, he would up the pressure on my feeding hose so more and more delicious lard shake would go to my stomach and make me even fatter by the second

Oh speaking of which, my viewers also couldn't get enough of me

I now had millions and millions of followers who would log in just to see myself get pumped even more full of lard and get even fatter by the day

I was able to watch all of this happening on the TV my feeder put in front of me

He wanted me to see all the damage we had done to my body and everytime I looked at myself from the live feed, I still couldn't believe I was this impossibly, enormously fat blob who was only good at swallowing lard shakes and letting it all transform into new fat cells that will make me even bigger and unhealthy than I already was

By the way my heart was slooooowly beating, I knew I wouldn't have long until my body gives up

I had reached pretty much all my goals but don't think for a second I don't have any objectives

I still need to get fatter and keep growing for my feeder

I'm always going to be his personal pig and only live to satisfy his need to force feed me the most unhealthy and greasiest food and shakes imaginable

I'll always want more and more and EVEN FUCKING MORE !!!!

Oink Oink !! 🐷

#death feedee #death feederism #death feedist #immobility #immobile feedee #extremely obese #fatter #feederism kink #death feeder #help me get fatter #get me fatter #fatty getting fatter #make me huge

[jessybarnes]

I'll Show You

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Rating: 18+ ONLY! Minors GO AWAY

Tags: NSFW Title Card, Angst, Arguments, Bondage, BDSM, Praise Kink, Fingering (female receiving), Oral (male receiving), Throat-fucking, Unprotected sex (WRAP IT UP KIDS!), Begging (obviously), Fluffy ending, Language, and I think that’s it. HEED THE WARNINGS PLEASE!

Betas: @winecatsandpizza

Word Count: 3.6k

Fic Aesthetic: Yours Truly

Dedicated to: @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

A/N: This is a repost from my old Tumblr blog. I am in the process of moving all of my fics over to this blog. I hope you all enjoy!

From the moment you met Sam and Dean Winchester, you’d known your life was about to change. Be it bad or good was hard to determine, mainly because of what they did for a living, but a little part of it had to do with the fact that the elder of the two brothers didn’t seem to like you.

You couldn’t put your finger on it. Anytime he exchanged words with you, it was always cold and dismissive. Sam assured you that his brother would come around, but you weren’t born yesterday. Dean had something against you, and you, being the stubborn woman you were, aimed to figure it out. 

The three of you were sitting in the library sifting through lore for a case. There had apparently been reports of a Djinn hybrid in the Midwest, and you knew it had to be the work of Michael. Dean had his feet propped up on the table, a rather large dusty book in his hands. Sam was typing away on his laptop, the clicking of the keys being the only audible sound other than the occasional page turn.

You knew that finding a way to kill the latest and greatest monster of the week was what you should be doing, but you couldn’t focus. Not when this whole thing with Dean was eating at you. 

“I can’t do this anymore!”

The book you’d been holding was thrown carelessly onto the table, the sound reverberating off the walls making both brothers jump. 

Dean removed his boot-covered feet off the tabletop and planted them on the floor. You didn’t miss how his eyebrows knitted into a scowl or his signature eye roll.

“Giving up already, Y/N? You know, if the huntin’ life isn’t cut out for you, then you can see yourself out anytime.” 

Sam sighed and gave Dean his best bitch face.

“Dean! Whatever is going on with Y/N, I can assure you that you’re not helping!”

He turned his gaze to you, his hazel eyes looking at you sympathetically. You’d normally just keep your anger bottled up inside, but something inside you snapped. Being a hunter meant everything to you after a demon killed your kid sister, and for Dean to question your loyalty like that had crossed a line. Your anger started to rise within you, like a sea of molten lava until you were no longer in control of your emotions. 

Instead of storming off to your room and slamming the door for good measure like you normally would do, you stood and yanked the book Dean was reading out of his hand. You were gnashing your teeth together in such a snarl that it was a miracle they didn’t break.

“You think you’re so fucking smug, don’t you Winchester? You think you’re this big badass and that nothing can touch you. Well, let me tell you something.”

Your small hand grabbed onto the front of his shirt, bunching it up between your fingers as you got dangerously close to his face.

“You don’t fucking scare me in the least bit!”

The venom in your tone was palpable and with a hard push of your free hand, he and the chair went crashing to the floor. 

Without giving him a chance to fire an insult back, you headed into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. You could hear Dean’s muffled voice as he spat angrily in response to his brother’s laughs. It only made the smirk on your face wider. Maybe now Dean will show you some respect. 

The rest of the night was pretty quiet. You stayed in your room, scouring the internet for a way to kill the monster in question, and munched on some popcorn. The research came easily to you, your eyes scanning effortlessly through article after article. Even though you still hadn’t found a weapon to kill this Djinn on steroids, you knew your efforts would make Sam proud. 

You felt his presence before he knew you did. He loomed in the doorway, leaning against it like it was the only thing keeping him from falling.

“Can I help you, Dean?”

You didn’t even bother to stop reading the article you’d found. He was probably just here to start something with you, and you had neither the time nor the energy to fight. Instead of replying, he pushed off the doorframe and stalked towards you, his shadow spreading across you and your keyboard. 

You knew he was waiting for you to look at him, but you honestly didn’t feel like giving him the satisfaction. Why should you? He’d been nothing but an ass to you since you moved in. So instead of giving him what he wanted, you continued to read. 

Apparently, Dean got tired of not having your attention because the next thing you knew, he’d taken your laptop and tossed it on your pile of dirty laundry in the corner. He crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw clenching as he looked down at you.

“What the hell do you want, Dean? I’m trying to find a way to kill that fucking Djinn. You’re not still pissed about me putting you on your ass, are you? I mean, you kind o-HEY! LET ME GO!” 

In one swift motion, he’d pulled you to your feet and shoved you against the wall. Dean’s chest heaved and his nostrils flared as he towered over you with his full height.

“You don’t fucking get it, do you Y/N?”

His forearm pressed into your chest, not hard enough to hurt you, but firmly enough to hold you in place. 

Even at your disadvantage you still stood your ground. Your eyes narrowed perilously, certain that if looks could kill then Dean would have been done for.

“Oh, you think I don’t get it?! Trust me, Dean. I think I get exactly what you’re doing. Ever since I came here, you’ve been nothing but hostile to me! It’s because I’m a woman, isn’t it? You think just because I’m a woman that I can’t hold my own. Well, I’ve got news for you, Dean Winchester. I can do the job just as good as you any day of the fucking year!” 

You were so caught up in getting your point across that you hadn’t noticed the amused look on his face. His laugh filled the small room as he let go of you. Tears streamed down his face as he hunched over, and it pissed you off that he thought this was amusing. 

Finally, he swiped his sleeve over his eyes and took a few deep breaths to regain his composure.

“Is that what you think? You really think I’m a dick to you because you’re a woman? Oh my God… I thought you of all people would at least get it.”

He sighed and ran a hand across his face.

“Look, Y/N, It’s not because you’re a woman. Hell, some of the greatest hunters I know are women. I’m trying to protect you! I don’t want you to go through what Sammy and I have gone through. You’ve already lost one family member, and I’ll be damned if you lose your life, too. Just… Let Sammy and I handle the hunts okay? You can hold down the fort here in the Bunker and be our research guru. That I know you can handle.” 

It was your turn to laugh.

“What do you know about handling anything? You could barely handle that case with the nest of nearly invincible vampires. What makes you think you can just walk in here and tell me what I can and can’t deal with? I mean, as long as we are on the topic, Let’s just be honest with ourselves, shall we?"

"You couldn’t handle me if I came with a user manual!”

The look on Dean’s face darkened. It sent heat straight to your core, something that you could almost always control when it came to the elder brother. Normally, his asshole demeanor outweighed him being the sexiest man you’d ever laid eyes on. You swallowed thickly as he invaded your space again. His once sparkling green eyes were now clouded with something new, something you’d only seen him offer to the occasional stripper or hooker that he brought back to the hotel.

“Are you challenging me, Y/N?” 

You tried to hide the fact that he was having an effect on you, but your flushed skin and rapid heartbeat betrayed you. Your answer came easily, and the submissive part of you that lay dormant for so long surfaced like a rekindled flame.

“Yes.” 

Dean brought one of his hands up to your face and cradled your cheek in it, the touch alone sent sparks through your veins. His freckles were so easy to see this close. Constellations mapped the entirety of his cheeks, and you briefly wondered if he had them elsewhere. Your eyes flicked from his intense gaze down to his lips, silently willing him to close the small gap between you and devour your mouth.

“Now now, Y/N, is that any way to talk to me? I think you know better. Yes what, sweetheart?” 

You looked down at your bare feet, Y/E/C eyes focusing on the remnants of the chipped polish on some of your toenails. Your mind contemplated what was about to happen. You could still back out of this, push him out of the way, and run. That wouldn’t solve anything though. Running from your deepest desires, from Dean, was what you’d essentially been doing for months. It was now or never and quite frankly you wanted to give in. You wanted him to have full control over you, and you’d dreamed about it more than you’d like to admit.

“Y-Yes, Sir.” 

Two of his fingers rested underneath your chin, raising it so you were looking up at him.

“Good girl.”

His praise was the first nice thing he’d ever said to you, and you’d be lying if it didn’t make your heart sing. His lips closed the distance and pressed against your own hungrily. His tongue slid into your awaiting mouth and you moaned sinfully. He tasted of cinnamon and whiskey, just like you’d always imagined.

Dean broke the kiss and touched his forehead against yours, his hands coming to rest on the curvature of your waist.

“Go to my room, Y/N. I want you to be stripped and kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed before I get back. Do you understand?”

Your response was immediate. Almost like a reflex, as it left your lips in a whisper.

“Yes, Sir.”

He watched you leave the confines of your room before heading the opposite way. Your feet padded down the hallway and came to a stop outside the closed door of Dean’s room. It had been years since you’d had a dom, and even then they hadn’t exuded as much dominance as Dean had just moments ago. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you entered his room and closed the door behind you. The smell of his cologne wrapped itself around you like a hug. The familiar scent calmed your nerves instantly and soon you found yourself naked and kneeling at the foot of the bed just as you had been told to do. 

Dean came in a few minutes later and set what sounded like something heavy on top of his dresser. You didn’t dare look up though. He hadn’t given you permission, and you wanted to show him that you could be good and obey him.

“Look at you, doing what you’re told like a good, little girl. See? I knew you could do this. I bet you’re soaking wet already, and I haven’t even touched you yet.” 

Once again his fingers came to rest under your chin, tilting your head so you were looking up at him through your lashes.

“Get on the bed.”

He wasn’t mean about it, but his tone was firm and laced with an underlying warning of consequence if you disobeyed. Swifty and quietly you climbed onto the comforter and resumed your kneeling position. Dean walked around to the other side of you and sat down. He was still fully clothed, but you could clearly see his erection tenting his jeans.

“Alright, sweetheart, let’s talk about the rules. You are to address me as sir, and only sir. Don’t cum until I tell you to, and if you ever feel uncomfortable with something that I am doing, then please use the safeword ‘cake’. Do you understand? 

Hearing that your safeword was cake confused you at first, but when you thought about it for a moment it made sense. Dean was a pie fanatic. Especially if it was pecan pie, but you’d never seen him eat cake. Let alone mention it. So you could see how he’d come up with it in the end.

“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.”

Dean seemed convinced by your response so you stayed still and waited for his next command. You could hear him pick whatever he had brought with him off the dresser, and your pulse quickened at the thought of what he was about to do to you. 

The bed dipped behind you, and his hot breath fanned across the back of your neck making you shiver.

“Clasp your hands behind your back for me, baby. I’m going to restrain you now so you stay still for me.”

You brought your hands behind your back, interlacing your fingers together so your wrists rested against your tailbone. The feeling of the nylon rope being looped around your wrists made you impossibly wetter. The thought of being restrained and letting none other than Dean Winchester worship your body was enough to make you cum, but you couldn’t do that. Not when he’d specifically told you not to. 

Dean made quick work of the black rope. He maneuvered around your torso, wrapping it around each elbow and tying a knot in the middle to lock your arms in place. The rest of it was placed expertly around your chest and tied off, the final knot resting along your shoulder blades. He let you fall head first into the mattress, your head turning to the side so you could breathe. He stepped back to admire his work.

“A damn good job if I do say so myself. It’s not too tight, is it, darlin’? 

You took a moment to tug at your binds and unclasp and reclasp your fingers. Everything still had circulation, but you still couldn’t break free if you tried.

“No, everything feels fine, sir.”

You heard him walk behind you, no doubt enjoying the view of you on display to him.

“God, you look so fucking beautiful like this. Look at you… showing me that perfect, round ass and that tight, little pussy of yours.”

He ran one of his fingers through your folds, and it took everything in you not to moan. Your teeth clamped down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from making any noise.

“Mmmm just as I thought, soaking wet just for me.”

The thick digit left you and you looked into his lust-blown eyes as his lips closed around it.

“So good, Y/N. Now, are you ready for me to test you? Gonna show me what a good girl you are?”

You shook your ass at him for good measure and replied without hesitation. “I’m ready, sir.” 

Dean grabbed onto your hips and pulled you to the edge of the bed, his clothed erection applying slight friction to your needy cunt. He ran his middle and index fingers through your juices a few times before sliding them into you.

“Be as loud as you want, princess. Sam isn’t here to hear you. It’s just you and me.”

Ever so slowly, he moved his fingers in and out of you, making you moan loudly.

“F-Fuck!” 

His pace increased, and you felt the coil of heat tighten. You were so close already and he’d barely gotten started. You felt your walls tighten slightly and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to maintain control. Dean knew how hard you were trying and you also knew he was competing with you. Using his skills to his advantage to see how much you could take.

“Oh shit… shit shit shit… I don’t know if I can…. FUCK!”

Dean curled his fingers so they hit that spot inside you with each thrust. Soon you couldn’t hold back any longer. With a cry of his name, you came hard, squirting all over his hand and the bed. 

The white-hot orgasm nearly made you pass out, and by the time your climax was over you knew you were in trouble. You couldn't see his face, but you were sure Dean wasn’t happy.

“Tsk tsk tsk … Y/N, you knew the rules. I seem to remember you agreeing to them and look at what you’ve done. You’ve made a mess, sweetheart.”

Just as you were about to apologize, he picked you up and set you gracefully on your knees.

“Are you ready to show me how sorry you are?” 

Balancing on your knees while you were tied up like this was difficult, but being this close to Dean’s cock made your mouth water.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry for disobeying you, sir. May I make it up to you by having you fuck my throat?”

The groan that left his lips was downright the most sinful thing you’d ever heard, and you definitely wanted to hear him make that noise again.

“Fuck… you read my mind, sweetheart.”

Dean began to circle you, watching you like a hawk would its prey. His tie was the first thing to go. Seeing him reach his right hand up and rip it off shouldn’t be as sexy as it was, but at this moment anything Dean did was sexy. He stopped in front of you and undid his belt and the top button on his pants, letting them pool carelessly at his ankles.

Finally, he freed his cock and you watched as he pumped it a few times. A bead of precum wept from the tip, and you leaned forward to catch it on your tongue. Your mouth closed around the head and Dean let you set the pace at first, more praises flying from his mouth as you took him in as deep as you could. 

“That’s it, princess… suck my cock. Mmmmm, you’re so fucking good at that. Taking it so well.” 

His hand fisted in your hair and you let him take over. You relaxed your throat as he took what he wanted from you, your eyes watering more and more every time he hit the back of your throat.

“Jesus… you have one helluva mouth, Y/N.”

He began to pant and his thrusts began to falter. His grip loosened on your hair and you whined as he pulled himself from your mouth.

“Now, baby, don’t you want me to cum in that pretty pussy of yours?”

As much as you wanted to make him come apart with your mouth, having him buried inside you was more appealing at the moment.

“Please, sir. Please fuck me.” 

Once again he picked you up, moving you back onto the bed with ease. Dean crawled behind you again, placing a hand on each of your hips. Without warning, he sheathed himself all the way to hilt, both of you crying out in pleasure. Dean set a harsh pace, his fingertips surely leaving bruises on your skin. You knew you would be sore. He was not, by any means, lacking in size. Not to mention the fact that he didn’t allow you to adjust to him. 

His thrusts began to falter again, and you felt that familiar feeling come back. You tightened yourself around him, and he growled, fucking you harder into the bed.

“S-Sir!... please, sir! Please, may I cum? … F-Fuck!”

You were so close to the peak of pure bliss that you could almost taste it. You just needed a little more. Dean grabbed onto the knotted rope in the middle of your back and pulled you so your back was to his chest. His other hand snaked around your body and circled your clit vigorously.

“Fuck, Y/N… C’mon, princess… Cum all over my cock. Let go, baby.” 

A few more seconds of him fucking up into you and you fell over the edge taking him with you. Your walls milking Dean for all he was worth. He held you there for a few minutes, your heavy breathing in sync as you both came down from your high.

Dean placed a chaste kiss on your back and pulled out of you. He took his time untying you, being careful not to irritate your skin further. Once you were free you stretched your arms and popped your knuckles. 

Dean sat with his back to the headboard and pulled you into his lap, his hands rubbing your back gingerly.

“You did so well, Y/N. I’m so proud of you. You’re amazing.”

He kissed you sweetly and you melted against his chest, your eyes fluttering shut from exhaustion. 

You listened to the steady beat of his heart and somehow made your brain form a coherent thought.

“I’m glad we were able to settle things, Dean. I was beginning to think you really did hate me. I understand everything now.”

He kissed the top of your head and held you protectively. “I could never hate you, Y/N. Not when you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I love you, princess.”

His words shocked you, but you were too tired to respond. Sleep came easy for you in Dean’s arms, and you couldn’t wait to wake up tomorrow to see what this new life with Dean would bring you.

#j snow writes #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester smut #dean smut #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fan fic #supernatural fic #spn fanfiction #spn fan fic #spn fanfic #spn fic #supernatural smut #spn smut

[manicrouge]

Champagne Problems

[ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴍᴀᴄᴛᴀᴠɪꜱʜ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

[ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ]: 07/02/24

[ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ]: Reminiscing about the past always leaves a bitter taste in Johnny's mouth. Especially when those memories include you.

[ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ]: 5,814

[ᴛᴡ]: hurt and absolutely ZERO COMFORT!!! Mentions/ implications of alcoholism, angst, implied family issues, suggestive content.

[ᴀ/ɴ]: Pain, suffering and agony. You are welcome.

THIS IS A REPOST !! I've had few issues with shadowbans and have moved accounts a few times (tumblr thought I was a bot). Also I would like to have all my work in one place rather than spread across other blogs to avoid confusion !!

ENJOY !!

Please do not post my work to any other platforms, thank you.

He finds it difficult to stomach as he looks out of the window on a train. 

The return from deployment is always bittersweet. In particular, knowing he can return back to his hometown for a short while before having to eventually go back to the base.

But, all of that disappears as he’s sitting on the train, looking out the window as rain bats against it. His eyes can hardly make anything out, it’s far too dark for his eyes to make it much further than the outline of a mountain in the distance. His arms aching and he’s unsure how long he’s been looking out of it. He’s quite sure the sleeve of his jacket is completely soaked from the condensation dripping down the window, pooling on the window sill his elbow is resting on. Still, nothing changes his position, not even the shifts of the cart as it storms along the tracks. 

In his chest, he feels his heart murmur at the thought of getting closer to home.

It’s been a while. 

The silence on the train is unnerving as he turns his eyes away from the window for a moment. Across the aisle from him, there’s another traveller. His head is pressed firmly against the back of the chair as quiet snores escape his open mouth. As he focuses on him, he notes a glistening trail on his chin and grimaces, turning his eyes away from the man, directing his gaze back to the window.

Trains during the night-time are always strange, he was familiar with them when he first joined the army. Travelling to and from always seemed worse during the day, so, he'd opted to stay at the base for an extra day, leaving in the dead of night to catch the last train available home. There was no reason to leave during the day because at night, he knew he could sleep away all the worries, arriving home well rested. 

But then something changed.

After another op, he returned to his schedule of sitting on the train at night, looking down at the sketchbook resting against the table in front of him. Holding a pencil in his hand, he busied himself with a sketch of a familiar face. There were the remains of a mistake engraved into the paper, odd rolls of the rubber sitting on the bend of his notepad as he readied the eraser in his hand in preparation for another.

His tired eyes were heavy as he observed the features of the man on the page, a small grin forming on his face as he thought about the reaction from the man when he saw him again. He’d probably only nod his head at his attempts of drawing him, noting that the details of his mask were a little janky, but that wouldn’t matter; the eyes were perfect. But Johnny knew he would still lie to him because being sincere was not one of his lieutenants specialities. 

‘Do you mind if I sit here?’ 

Setting the pencil down, he raised his head to see you standing in front of him. You smiled at him with a small glass in your hand, holding the seat opposite to him to keep yourself steady. ‘It’s just cause there’s no one else here and my phone died,’ you explained, ‘I won’t make a peep, I promise,’ you added. 

With a short nod, he motions towards the chair opposite to him, moving the pencil tin above his notepad so you had some space to place down your belongings. ‘Aye,’ he says, ‘be my guest, bonnie.’ 

So, you took a seat, placing your backpack on the chair beside you, setting your glass down. He observed the colour of the liquid, the colours faint as the bubbles raise from the bottom of the small glass, dispersing at the top. He recalled how odd he thought it was when he had first seen the funny little drink on the table, only knowing the train-line to serve water and the occasional cup of tea.

‘Champagne,’ you answered, following his eyes to the glass, ‘thought I’d treat myself.' 

‘What’s the special occasion?’ he asked with a raised eyebrow, picking his pencil back up, resuming his portrait of the moody lieutenant. The train creaked at the cart turned slightly, and he caught your hand steading the drink. ‘Ye get a promotion?’ 

Looking at you again, he noted how you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip. Your eyes fell to the aisle and your chest rose as you took a deep breath. There was something about your apprehension that troubled him, the way your flushed cheeks paled left him wounded for a short while before he realised that he had no clue why he was thinking in such a manner.

It was her eyes, he reminisces while keeping his eyes trained on the window beyond the cart.

It's a bitter pill to swallow, the memories of you still wrapping around his mind as a kids train set does a families Christmas tree during the holidays. Looping round and round and round until it's put into a box. The season in his mind has lasted longer than the measly length of the month of December, spanning years (it seemed). It's torture, yet, despite it being so cruel, he dreads the arrival of the day where he finally has the courage to box you up and shove you to the back of his mind because that would be when he could begin to forget you.

Even after all the years that have passed, he finds his mouth moves as he recalls your response to his question when you had sat opposite to him on the train.

‘Moving out, actually.'

It was just as well everything happened for you on that day, you moved out the day he got the train home. Had anything been different, neither of you would have crossed paths and while agonising, he looks at the stars in the nights sky with an air of gratitude.

You admitted after a while, your eyes falling back onto him as you heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Been stuck in a shitty situation for a while, been sitting around waiting for a chance to get out of it and tonight just so happens to be the night that everything fell back into place.’

Your words haunted him during the night, appearing like a phantom in his dreams, calling out to him. The glint of gratitude in his eyes wavers.

Your words are soft as you spoke and he likened the look you gave him to one of the valleys he had witnessed when he had taken the day train home after his first deployment. A valley with a river right below it in the midst of shrubbery and trees. The water was blue, he could see it when he looked at her. The reflection of the sun reflecting off of the surface, mirroring the rocky trails of the mountains. The sight of such had left him breathless, just as you did when you took a deep breath, reaching out for her glass, bringing it to you mouth. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be telling a stranger my problems,’ you mumbled. 

‘It’s nae an issue, lass,’ he responded, ‘happy to hear y’ got outta whatever was making ye so miserable,’ he confessed, ‘and Scotland, eh? Pretty place if y’ ask me,’ he said with a short laugh. You laughed with him before taking another sip from your drink.

He watched as you did so, noting the glint in her eyes as you moved your eyes away from him to his notebook. Pulling the glass away from your mouth, you placed it down with a hum, swallowing the last of the drink in your mouth, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. It's a charming sight, clumsy and amusing.

‘You’re good at drawing,’ you noted, pointing at the drawing, ‘is he a character of yours?’ you asked, motioning to the drawing of the man with the skull face. A short chuckle passed his lips as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. 

‘Guess ye could call him that,’ he said, 'someone I know, actually ,' he confessed.

Your brows furrowed, wrinkles forming on your forehead as your eyes grew wide. Your hand ghosted the glass, wetting your fingers with the condensation dripping down the outside as you looked at him with glossy eyes. Fingerprints marked the glass as you forced your hand away.

'I'm so so sorry- I didn't mean it as an insult it's just-'

'Keep the heid, lass,' laughed the man.

You stared at him.

'Relax,' he said, noting the confusion on your face. Your tensed muscles softened as your picked up the glass off of the table, taking a big gulp, finishing the last of the contents in it. He frowns when he notices you shaking. You thought you had done so much wrong with a single observation. 'you weren't to know.'

'Does he really wear that mask?' you whispered as though Simon was right behind you, and had he been, Johnny could say with his heart that he wouldn't have been surprised; the damn man appeared out of nowhere all the time.

'Yeah,' he said.

'Is it part of his job?'

Your intrigue was adorable.

'No, he just prefers to hide his face,' he explained, 'suppose it makes work easier,' he said, nodding to himself. Despite his time knowing Simon, he never did know why he covered his face. Of course, it kept the human version of the man from the man who committed countless atrocities in the name of justice, yet, the point you brought up left him thinking for a short moment.

'You work together?' you asked, 'what do you do for work?'

'Part of the military,' he told you frankly, 'he's my lieutenant,' he added, although, he didn't care to tell you much more as he looked at the you with a furrowed brow, not wanting to leave you with enough time to respond to his confession, 'what about you, lass?'

'I write,' you said, 'I got a remote position at a publishing company, that's whats given me the money to move out.'

'I enjoy writin' from time to time,' he responded, 'not that good at it though, prefer drawing,' he uttered.

You were though, he didn't even bothers to think of your response because, truthfully, your humbleness in terms of your own talent was wounding to his own love for writing. As he would with advertisements, inwardly, he skips by all the small talk in his mind. It's cruel the way the mind works; memory was a burden to hold, yet as entertaining as a late night TV show which was to only be watched in secrecy.

'What's your name?' you asked, picking up another cup of champagne. He watched as you did so, lifting his own cup that you had gotten for him when you had excused yourself to the bathroom.

He kept his distaste of the beverage to himself, besides, it was free.

'Johnny,' he answered, ' and y'urself, bonnie?'

You answer accordingly, stating your name with a smile. Repeating your name, he finds it rolls off his tongue well and the longer he observes you, the more a conclusion dawned upon him.

'Suits ye well,' he complimented with a wink.

Rubbing his face with his hand, his breath fogs against the window of the train and he turns his head away, absentmindedly wiping down the window with the sleeve of his puffer jacket. In the meantime, he busies himself looking at the empty seat opposite to him.

In the blink of an eye, you're there, sitting across from him.

'When do you get off?' he asked.

'Last stop,' you answered, 'staying at a hotel for a few days before my place is ready... was eager to leave,' you said. As soon as the words passed your lips, he felt compelled to be a gentleman. That, alongside taking into account the trouble that could have occurred if you did walk to the hotel alone, besides, the least he could have done for you buying him a drink and keeping him company was help you find you way to your hotel.

'We can share a cab if ye want,' he offered, 'put my mind at ease, wanna make sure you get there safe, besides, far too cold for ye to be walkin', bonnie,' he said, biting the inside of his mouth as he awaited your refusal, only, you nodded your head and smiled.

'I'd appreciate that, Johnny.'

His memories blur for a while after that, and his cheeks flushed red as he recalls how you looked at him before you got out of the cab. Glancing at the same hand that paid the fare only far enough to go to your hotel he curses as he watches the memory of him getting out of the taxi to chase after you.

You waited for him at the entrance in hope he'd have a change of heart, and he recalls how delighted you were when he walked through the door and caught you standing there, waiting for him.

Truthfully, he knew he was in deep shit when he felt the way you wrapped around him, the way you called his name, and how pretty you looked underneath him. Even after years, it was difficult to escape the thought of your first night together. Perhaps it was the entire being strangers thing that made the sex much more enthralling than any other one night stand he had had, or maybe it was just you.

Shoulda never let her have me number, he thought to himself.

It was difficult to deny that there were only ever terrible times. Resentment bubbles and it turns the fondest of moments to the worse; there was something there for him to miss when he thinks fondly of you. Fondness makes forgetting a hell of a lot harder, at least it does for him, anyway.

He hardly even thinks about Graves anymore and he resents him.

He resents you too.

But whenever he thinks of you, he thinks of your laughter. And then the guilt seeps in and he curses himself for ever thinking so lowly of you in the first place. How fucking dare he do something so terrible. You deserve it, though, for all the shit you put him through: the bruised heart thats still bandaged up, the sleepless nights as he waited for you to come home, the drunken phone calls he would get while on an op.

All of it.

Then there was everything else: the moments you shared together, the sound of your laughter which would seemingly travel down the halls of your apartment and wake him whenever you spent the night together, the sight of you in his shirt while cooking breakfast in the morning and your excitement when you finally persuaded him to dance with you.

The last one was particularly difficult to forget. His fondness will never let him let it go, he's convinced.

In the depths of the night, you danced together. He acknowledged the look on your face as he held you in your arms, the laughter as he spun you around in a circle, pulling you away just for you to end right back in his arms. He'd never let you wonder too far, scared that if he lost grip of your hand, you would have disappeared forever.

It became a routine and he recalls all the times he had held you in his arms while dancing to a song by Sinatra or Aretha Franklin and all the times he saw you smile. All of those happy moments moulded into one, while only a few stuck out.

During that night in particular, he couldn't look away from your eyes.

Whenever he looked at you, he was started by the glint of colours in your eyes, reflective of the colourful lights you had decorated your Christmas tree with. Rather, instead of decorating the tree, the lights in your eyes worked well in decorating the brambles you called eyelashes as you looked up at him. Every time you blinked, he found the same glossy sheen he had seen that night on the train. Every blink seemed to edge you closer to tears, as though your eyelashes were antagonising your poor eyes constantly.

Then he smelt the liquor on you breath and was reminded of the underlining truth of everything.

You were always emotional whenever you had something to drink. It couldn't have been helped, it was simply who you were, and he was going to resent you for something you couldn't have helped.

'Yer oot yer face,' he mumbled, speaking softly to you as you swayed with one another to the low hum of music from your vinyl player. Neither of you noticed how the song skipped, far too busy with one another to notice such a flaw.

'English, MacTavish,' you answered, your tone gruff as you recalled the story he had told you about the man with the skull mask and the city soaked in blood. He chuckled, pulling you closer, resting his head against your shoulder, looking at you. You turned your head to the side to look at him too.

'You're drunk,' he said quietly.

'I only had a glass,' you answered abruptly. You tensed in his arms when you responded to him and he felt his head sink further down until it sat, burning in the acid of his stomach. 'I had it while I was making dinner; the sauce had some of it in,' you explained, turning in his arms so your chests were pressed against each others. placing your hand against his face. You looked worried in that moment, observing his features. 'You're not mad at me, are you?'

Placing his hand over yours, he sighed, 'nae, bonnie, just don't want ye to hurt y'urself,' he explained, pulling your hand from off of his face, planting a kiss atop of it, moving his other hand from the small of your back to hold your waist. 'Love you too much for ye to do that,' he said, letting go of your hand to place his fingers beneath your chin, forcing your head up so you were looking at him. 'Y'know that.'

'I do,' you weakly answered.

The only bastard 'I do' he ever got from your lips. It was laughable really as he looks back on that night, how the pair of you had been so close in your home, dancing together as though you were an elderly couple celebrating your 40th wedding anniversary together.

Think I'll live that long?

Probably not.

Had anyone from 141 been there to witness how he fell to pieces with you in his arms, they very well would have laughed until they were blue in the face. And the longer he looks out the window out on the Scottish countryside, he concludes he too would laugh at that man dancing with you for being such a smitten fool.

'Good,' he hummed, pressing a kiss against your lips. The were chapped, dry, but he didn't care. Instead, he deepened the kiss as the pair of you stumbled backwards, muffled laughter escaping you as you loosely wrapped your arms around his neck while he kept the pair of you from falling.

Moments of happiness seemed so common in the beginning.

The night trains shifted to day trains again.

He'd hit the ground running after returning from an op, only showering because he didn't want you to smell the remnants of war which stained him and his skin. Nothing kept him from seeing you, not even his distaste for the day train.

All of it meant that he could get home sooner; he recalled the sinking feeling in his chest whenever the trains were delayed by a measly twenty minutes. Love made him a different man, he realised, a man who enjoyed the day train and the man who loathed the night train.

'I thought you weren't going to be home for another couple of days,' you said, opening the door to see Johnny standing there with a bag on his arm. Dropping it, he pulled you into a tight hug, resting his hand against the back of your head as he swayed you from side to side. 'Did you get the day train for me?' you asked.

Pulling away, he caught sight of the smile creeping onto you face as he nodded his head slowly, 'didn't wanna wait longer than I had to,' he answered, 'saw a photo of ye in me wallet an' knew I needed to be here with you sooner,' he added, pressing a kiss onto your lips as your cheeks flushed red.

'You have a picture of me in your wallet?' you quietly asked when he pulled away for you. He smiled.

'Of course I do, bonnie,' he responded as though such was an obvious fact, 'need to see that face of yours every day, ye like medicine to me.'

'Really?'

'Aye, lass.'

Everything moved so quickly and it wasn't long before you were well acquainted with his mam.

Meeting his mother was the confirmation he needed to say that he wanted to marry you. No one else in the world mattered when he saw how you and his sisters bonded, and while sitting alone on the train, he clenched a his fist at the emptiness of the palm of his hand while imagining the light weight of the ring his mother had placed in the palm of his hand while he stood in the kitchen helping her prepare the Christmas dinner. It had been over two years since the pair of you had started dating when she did so, working well to convince him that the timing meant that something else in the universe had willed it to happen.

'Mam?' he asked, looking down at the ring in his hand.

The band was quaint, golden as an green gem stared him in the eyes as he squinted, holding it up to the yellow light of the kitchen. The elderly woman in front of him chuckled, patting his shoulder as she walked past him to open the oven.

'Well, she's the one, ain't she?' she said, speaking into the heat of the oven as she grabbed the tray of duck-fat potatoes with a stained tea towel.

'Ye think?'

'Gonnae no’ dae that!' exclaimed his mother.

'Don't do what?' he scoffed.

'Act surprised,' she scolded, 'it's in ye eyes, son,' she chuckled. 'Yer nana told me to give ye the ring when I thought ye'd found the right one,' she confessed, 'and with your father gone, 'ave got no reason to wear it, but she has,' she uttered, looking from out of the kitchen into the living room.

His eyes followed hers and he watched as you sat with his youngest sister. The pair of you chatted away, though his stomach twisted at the sight of you holding a glass in your hand.

'She's a good girl, Johnny.'

'Aye, mam, I know.'

'So, marry her.'

With his mam's words echoing in his mind, the memories always came to the one that caused all the air in his lungs to escape.

Nothing wants to stay whenever he thinks of that, and he's sure if he was wounded, all his blood would leave him in a second in order to stay out of the cycle in his head that always brings him back to this one thought.

He supposes, in hindsight, it was terribly foolish what he had done. His ignorance to pressing issues was immature and irresponsible, only, they were easy to ignore when he had his mothers ring in his pocket. But he noticed, years down the line, how you had dropped his hand when the pair of you had been dancing, all to go and get another drink because the glass in your hand was running dry.

The party was one you both had planned, only, you had done so to celebrate a win himself and the boys had had during their time away, and he had invited everyone with the intent of proposing to the love of his life.

In the moment, he had been so crushed. He recalls how his mouth was dry, the dull ache in his cut knee as he awkwardly remained kneeled as you stood and stared. The speech he had prepared disappeared when you turned your back on him and rushed away, leaving his ego bleeding as everyone looked at him in horror.

'I just... I don't know why you would do it,' you mumbled when you heard him walk through the door into the kitchen away from the guests.

He was silent as he looked at you, traces of a storm in his eyes as he fought off the urge to cry. His chest hurt as he looked at you with a glass in your hand, and he couldn't do anything but stand there and watch as you drank from it. 'I told you, Johnny, I fucking warned you and-'

'I thought ye would've had a change of heart, love-'

'Well I haven't!' you angrily snapped, slamming your glass down onto the counter, glaring at him. 'What, did you think just because I'd have a ring on my finger all of our fuckin' issues are going to disappear? You're a smart man, Johnny, stop trying to play the role of the fool. It doesn't suit you and it never will.'

You were just as embarrassed as he was. He curses himself while sitting on the train, thinking back to your flushed cheeks and teary eyes. It wasn't only because of the booze that time, it was because of him too.

'I- I'm trying, John, can't you see that?' you croaked, 'I'm trying but I can't be everything you want. I don't wanna get married... at least not yet.'

'Ye don't love me,' he blurted.

You snapped your head up, furrowing your brows as you looked at him with wide eyes. 'Is that serious what you think?' you shakily asked, disbelief etched into your features. 'So what? You think all the fuckin' nights I've spent worried that you're not gonna come home when you're away working were for-'

'All the fuckin' nights you spent with a bottle in your hand too, eh?' he quickly cut you off, retorting in a manner that had left you breathless, draining all the colour out of your face. 'Don't pull that card on me, bonnie, don't you fuckin' dare do it 'cause I worry more about you and your drinkin' habit than I do my own life when I'm out on the field- tell me how you think that's fair!'

You stared at him, your eyes drifting to the empty glass abandoned on the counter. It was unfair for him to pull that card, he was aware enough in the moment to understand it, but he was so utterly devastated that he chose to stand his ground. An apology wouldn't have mean anything even if he had said it.

'If ye loved me... you'd stop goin' to the bottle every time ye have an issue,' he bleakly said, 'but am not even sure if you would pick me over the drink anymore, bonnie.'

'How would me saying yes to you fix any of that?'

He stayed silent.

Reflection allows him to find that he only ever proposed out of love. He was aware of your issues, noting it was never always smooth sailing from either of you, but he supposes he just wanted to have proof that at least once, you would pick him rather than the liquor.

But he was stupid for ever thinking you were more than your champagne problems.

'Getting married would only complicate things between us, John. You know that,' you said after a while of silence, 'and clearly, we don't listen to each other... I'm sorry I embarrassed you today, and I'm sorry I keep causing you to worry- I'm sorry for being such a burden to you but you don't make it easy for me,' you uttered, rubbing your face with your hands, wiping away the tears that fell down your scarlet cheeks.

There was nothing else for him to say to you, and he's ashamed at the very fact that, in the moment you needed him the most, he walked out of that room and left you there crying, alone.

As the train turns on the tracks again, he ponders what would have been different if he had stayed there with you, only, he finds his mind drifting to the words on a page which confirms exactly why he was thinking.

He was only prolonging the inevitable.

As he turns to the final page in his notebook, he finds it difficult to breath as he retrieves the piece of paper he had pushed to the back of it, unfolding it. Pressing his hand against it, he leaves it to sit on top of the page marked with splashes of the drink you had spilled, unable to find the strength as he stares down at the words scrawled on the page.

A crude reminder of what became of his engagement.

'Johnny,

In time, I hope you'll forget about all my problems and find someone who you deserve. I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused and I'm sorry for not being ready for you.

Give your mums ring to someone who deserves it and put the special ladies picture in your wallet instead of mine. For the sake of yourself and me.

I love you, Johnny, nearly too much, and while you will see my absence as cruel, know I see it as necessary and that's the issue; we never have seen eye to eye on a lot of things.

We're not ready for each other, I know you think it but you're too scared to say it, so I'll bite the bullet and say it for you. We're not ready for each other, Johnny.

Love shouldn't be a tug-of-war, and I grow tired for you watching as you always try and pull me to you. Besides, I heard your mother after you left the room, she said I was fucked in the head for not agreeing to your proposal and it leaves me wondering what type of person you've made your family believe I am.

I'm sorry I couldn't be everything you wanted, but know that everything I'm doing: leaving, writing this letter, not saying goodbye to you in person, is for you. You always said you hated goodbyes; they were the hardest part of your career, and I can't promise that I wouldn't run back into your arms the second you'd open your mouth and beg me not to go.

But I'm prolonging the inevitable by staying with you.

I'm making you miserable with my problems and that is not what I want you to do. You have a life, and you had a life before we met on that train.

All I ever did was make you worry and I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want you to worry about me, I just want you to move on and love and be loved. I'm going to work on myself and I'm going to get better because I know that that is what you want, and in truth, it's what I want too.

I love you and I fear I always will, but I can't have you, and I'm punishing you and myself by staying here.'

He turns his head away from the letter, looking back to the window at the small dots through the foggy water as he utters the last part of the letter under his breath. 'One day, we may meet again, perhaps the stars will align and you'll see me on a nighttime train back to your home town. And maybe then, I'll be ready.'

A breathy laugh escapes him, repeating 'And maybe then, I'll be ready.'

How appalling it would be when you realised that you leaving only resulted in the reversal of roles. At least, he likes to think he would have the strength to refuse you if he's to ever see you again.

When he turns away from the window, relieving himself of the pain of remembering all that has gone wrong in his life, he takes the letter from off of his notepad, folding it along the worn edges, pushing it back in a small slip at the back of the notepad.

Shrugging off his jacket, he put it on the seat beside him with a hard sigh, turning his attention back to the notepad in front of him. The nights long and his journey proceeds to drag his feet and he's unsure if he even wants to be back home or if he should have just stayed in the base until Price needed him next. But it's Christmas and he couldn't have left his family because of his own sorrow about something that happened years ago.

He just misses you more in the holidays, but he supposes that's okay as long as he doesn't let the phantom you left him with ruin everything. So, he picks up the pencil and pursues what he was doing the night you two met, only this time, there's a ghost sitting opposite to him, not the living thing that greeted him many moons ago.

His ignorance to the world around him keeps him from hearing the footsteps storming up the aisle after the train stops at a station. Even when the voice of a woman announcing the last stop enters his ears, he doesn't lift his head. All the noise culminates into a twisting storm, similar to how he imagines the billowing smoke exuding from a chimney on a winter night swirls in the wind. It's deplorable and he grunts as he attempts to chase the flurry of emotions away.

His efforts result in even more tension at the front of his mind as he looks into the eyes of the drawing he's sketching, realising just whose eyes he had depicted in the midst of his worry. Even after all the time has passed, he's impressed by the fact that he still remembers your features so well.

Always so difficult to forget, he supposes his contemplation proves such.

Then he hears it.

The very thing that works to break him free.

A quaint shaky breath.

A shadow covers his bulky frame, light peering from either side of the mass standing on the aisle holding onto the seat opposite him. Lifting his head, his lungs rattle in his chest as he realises the eyes he had been sketching in his notepad are right before him in human form, staring right back at him.

'Johnny?'

#cod #call of duty #soap x y/n #soap x you #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap mw2 #soap x reader #angst #cod x reader #cod x you #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish

[laughingbrand]

Looking for art buddies/Introduction

Hello, my name is Brandy, and welcome to my blog! I'm a 20+ art major who has fallen outta my passion for art over the last few years and wants an excuse to get back into it. So, I figured I might as well give Tumblr a try again and see where it goes! My main account is @brandywyne so if you get a follow from that it's me lol I dunno how to follow from side blogs. I'd love to make some friends on here again and just have a good time and maybe get some art practice here and there. I'm probably going to mainly post fanfiction/fanart for a while as I get back into the swing of things. Might have art requests open too? Haven't decided yet. Though if you like/do any of the following, please leave a note/reblog/like so we can chat! Biggest interests to smallest: ☠ World Building (!!!) ☠ OCS (I love making fanart of OCs, please let me know if you aren't okay with that!) ☠ One Piece (Big Kid Pirates fan) ☠ Creepypasta (I was an OG back in 2012 era Pasta community) ☠ Sketching/drawing/art (any medium is cool!) ☠ Summoner's War Sky Arena ☠ Markiplier fan (Been a fan for about 10 years now) ☠ Music ☠ Headcanons ☠ Horror (games/movies/stories/etc) ☠ Fanfiction/stories ☠ Monsters/teratophillia ☠ Journaling ☠ I used to be in a lot of older fandoms like Homestuck, MLP, Ninjago, SVTFOE, OFF, RPG games, Villainous, New Vegas, Skyrim, DC Comics, Outlast, Evil Within, Samurai Jack, MHA, Hazbin Hotel, and a few others too. Not as big these days but some I still have a mild interest in. Feel free to ask! NSFW Stuff: I'm fine with general NSFW stuff for writing and art, but because of that I do want to mention the following:

Please do NOT interact if you're a/into: Underage/minor (18+ only please. I'm a little too old to be friends with kids.), pedophile, bestiality, lolicon/shota, incest, age regression, pet play, feeder/vore/inflation, basically anything you'd find on the front page of Deviantart if you catch my drift. (Edited post to include more info)

#creepypasta #artists on tumblr #one piece #summoners war #horror #worldbuilding #strangled red #fanart #looking for friends #looking for mutuals #kid pirates #mha #villainous #off game #hazbin hotel #writeblr

[th3-0bjectivist]

Springin' Chip with a 24' page update!

Greetings, dear follower! th3-0bjectivist has appointed me, Chipper the Springer Spaniel, as the official page mascot and acting spokescanine of this blog moving forward. It sure is great to be here! And might I say, the range of my vernacular as a mere canine has increased something like 28000% in just the last few weeks thanks to the hard lessons I’ve endured so far. Late nights in front of an English dictionary, lots of treats, and tons of sleepless nights have transformed me into perhaps the only English-literate puppy that has ever existed on planet Earth. From this point forward, I plan to operate as an empathetic, humorous, and nurturing presence to all of those on Tumblr into 2024 and beyond!

If you wanna know a little more about me to start, so far in life, I enjoy 1. Voraciously sniffing all manner of ass and crotch (if you approach me, please just spread fully eagle for one full minute, it lets me know who you are without you saying a word) and getting my own ass/crotch sniffed! 2. Pissing indoors (preferably on carpets to create an overpowering urine-miasma that permeates the entire room) 3. Attempting to playfully bite th3-0bjectvist directly in the balls with my nasty, bacteria-laden, inverted Spaniel teeth on a weekly basis!!

My pal, th3-0 and I, have long discussed my potential nickname on this blog. It has run the gamut from… Chip the Dip, to Chipper the Dick, to Chip the Prick, to Chipper the Testicle-Destroyer. In particular, the phrases ‘Stop biting me’, and ‘Hey, A-hole, cut that biting shit out’, and ‘Hey, dickhead, stop trying to bite my fuckin’ balls!!’ have strongly resonated with me as a puppy. I’ve realized very early on; it is essential that I improve my behavior otherwise I’m going to be hard-up on quality treats. And that’s what this blog will be all about moving forward… gradual improvement! Luckily, I have the good fortune of being cute as all hell. So, we graciously settled on the tentative title Springin’ Chip to instead highlight the positive aspects of our collective spirits and aspirations moving forward. New year, new positive goals! Folks, just look at my pics! Check out my feathered-ears and adorable face! Do I not have the perfect mug to represent a proper renewal of this blog?? And mug I will! If you continue to follow th3-0bjectivist, you’re going to see me grow up slowly over the next few months and years! Anyways, onto a bit of business…

My new friend, th3-0, has instructed me to give you an official page announcement! He will be back soon (end of March) with new art and drawings, music and commentary, goofy-ass memes, and more! This year (2024) th3-0 will be putting an artistic focus on dimensionality and expression by doing lots of drawings of expressions on human faces! He will also attempt to make some paintings with a little more -- POP -- than in previous years by incorporating a liquid background behind a solid mass of brushwork. If you like music, and who doesn't (??), this year will be the year of the musical double-feature! That means every time you see music on this page moving forward, there will be TWO SONGS by the featured musician(s) to highlight the range of said musician(s). Also, it’s election year! Now, I don’t have the vote myself, but you’ll have me around as your comical, politically neutral, and stalwart companion while everybody else on Tumblr is being just about as polarizing as they can be without directly and openly supporting terrorist organizations on the left or right side of the political spectrum! It’s gonna be a great year with this dog n' this blog!

Alright, gettin’ sleepy over here… you guys can fuck off for now. MORE 0bjectivist! END OF MARCH! NEW ART!!! DOUBLE-FEATURE MUSIC SHOWCASES EVERY OTHER WEEK!!! MEMES AND GIFs!!! SNARKY-ASS COMMENTARY!!! AND MORE OF MY BALL-BITING ADORABLE ASS!!!

Best, Springin’ Chip

#th3-0bjectivist #page update #2024 #this year #new art #new music #new gifs #my new page mascot #GOOD BOY #learned English within 8 weeks #true story... #new content end of month #trying to improve my craft #despite no inspiration what-so-ever #chipper the spinger spaniel #springin' chip #back soon...

[angelicglib]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Champagne Problems ˚୨୧⋆｡˚⋆

[ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴍᴀᴄᴛᴀᴠɪꜱʜ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

[ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ]: 27/12/23

[ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ]: Reminiscing about the past always leaves a bitter taste in Johnny's mouth. Especially when those memories include you.

[ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ]: 5,814

[ᴛᴡ]: hurt and absolutely ZERO COMFORT!!! Mentions/ implications of alcoholism, angst, implied family issues, suggestive content.

[ᴀ/ɴ]: Pain, suffering and agony. You are welcome.

THIS IS A REPOST !! I've had few issues with shadowbans and have moved accounts a few times (tumblr thought I was a bot) so, if you would like more stories from me, my new blog is @manicrouge !!

ENJOY !!

Please do not post my work to any other platforms, thank you.

────────── ⋆⋅🚂⋅⋆ ──────────

He finds it difficult to stomach as he looks out of the window on a train. 

The return from deployment is always bittersweet. In particular, knowing he can return back to his hometown for a short while before having to eventually go back to the base.

But, all of that disappears as he’s sitting on the train, looking out the window as rain bats against it. His eyes can hardly make anything out, it’s far too dark for his eyes to make it much further than the outline of a mountain in the distance. His arms aching and he’s unsure how long he’s been looking out of it. He’s quite sure the sleeve of his jacket is completely soaked from the condensation dripping down the window, pooling on the window sill his elbow is resting on. Still, nothing changes his position, not even the shifts of the cart as it storms along the tracks. 

In his chest, he feels his heart murmur at the thought of getting closer to home.

It’s been a while. 

The silence on the train is unnerving as he turns his eyes away from the window for a moment. Across the aisle from him, there’s another traveller. His head is pressed firmly against the back of the chair as quiet snores escape his open mouth. As he focuses on him, he notes a glistening trail on his chin and grimaces, turning his eyes away from the man, directing his gaze back to the window.

Trains during the night-time are always strange, he was familiar with them when he first joined the army. Travelling to and from always seemed worse during the day, so, he'd opted to stay at the base for an extra day, leaving in the dead of night to catch the last train available home. There was no reason to leave during the day because at night, he knew he could sleep away all the worries, arriving home well rested. 

But then something changed.

After another op, he returned to his schedule of sitting on the train at night, looking down at the sketchbook resting against the table in front of him. Holding a pencil in his hand, he busied himself with a sketch of a familiar face. There were the remains of a mistake engraved into the paper, odd rolls of the rubber sitting on the bend of his notepad as he readied the eraser in his hand in preparation for another.

His tired eyes were heavy as he observed the features of the man on the page, a small grin forming on his face as he thought about the reaction from the man when he saw him again. He’d probably only nod his head at his attempts of drawing him, noting that the details of his mask were a little janky, but that wouldn’t matter; the eyes were perfect. But Johnny knew he would still lie to him because being sincere was not one of his lieutenants specialities. 

‘Do you mind if I sit here?’ 

Setting the pencil down, he raised his head to see you standing in front of him. You smiled at him with a small glass in your hand, holding the seat opposite to him to keep yourself steady. ‘It’s just cause there’s no one else here and my phone died,’ you explained, ‘I won’t make a peep, I promise,’ you added. 

With a short nod, he motions towards the chair opposite to him, moving the pencil tin above his notepad so you had some space to place down your belongings. ‘Aye,’ he says, ‘be my guest, bonnie.’ 

So, you took a seat, placing your backpack on the chair beside you, setting your glass down. He observed the colour of the liquid, the colours faint as the bubbles raise from the bottom of the small glass, dispersing at the top. He recalled how odd he thought it was when he had first seen the funny little drink on the table, only knowing the train-line to serve water and the occasional cup of tea.

‘Champagne,’ you answered, following his eyes to the glass, ‘thought I’d treat myself.' 

‘What’s the special occasion?’ he asked with a raised eyebrow, picking his pencil back up, resuming his portrait of the moody lieutenant. The train creaked at the cart turned slightly, and he caught your hand steading the drink. ‘Ye get a promotion?’ 

Looking at you again, he noted how you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip. Your eyes fell to the aisle and your chest rose as you took a deep breath. There was something about your apprehension that troubled him, the way your flushed cheeks paled left him wounded for a short while before he realised that he had no clue why he was thinking in such a manner.

It was her eyes, he reminisces while keeping his eyes trained on the window beyond the cart.

It's a bitter pill to swallow, the memories of you still wrapping around his mind as a kids train set does a families Christmas tree during the holidays. Looping round and round and round until it's put into a box. The season in his mind has lasted longer than the measly length of the month of December, spanning years (it seemed). It's torture, yet, despite it being so cruel, he dreads the arrival of the day where he finally has the courage to box you up and shove you to the back of his mind because that would be when he could begin to forget you.

Even after all the years that have passed, he finds his mouth moves as he recalls your response to his question when you had sat opposite to him on the train.

‘Moving out, actually.'

It was just as well everything happened for you on that day, you moved out the day he got the train home. Had anything been different, neither of you would have crossed paths and while agonising, he looks at the stars in the nights sky with an air of gratitude.

You admitted after a while, your eyes falling back onto him as you heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Been stuck in a shitty situation for a while, been sitting around waiting for a chance to get out of it and tonight just so happens to be the night that everything fell back into place.’

Your words haunted him during the night, appearing like a phantom in his dreams, calling out to him. The glint of gratitude in his eyes wavers.

Your words are soft as you spoke and he likened the look you gave him to one of the valleys he had witnessed when he had taken the day train home after his first deployment. A valley with a river right below it in the midst of shrubbery and trees. The water was blue, he could see it when he looked at her. The reflection of the sun reflecting off of the surface, mirroring the rocky trails of the mountains. The sight of such had left him breathless, just as you did when you took a deep breath, reaching out for her glass, bringing it to you mouth. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be telling a stranger my problems,’ you mumbled. 

‘It’s nae an issue, lass,’ he responded, ‘happy to hear y’ got outta whatever was making ye so miserable,’ he confessed, ‘and Scotland, eh? Pretty place if y’ ask me,’ he said with a short laugh. You laughed with him before taking another sip from your drink.

He watched as you did so, noting the glint in her eyes as you moved your eyes away from him to his notebook. Pulling the glass away from your mouth, you placed it down with a hum, swallowing the last of the drink in your mouth, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. It's a charming sight, clumsy and amusing.

‘You’re good at drawing,’ you noted, pointing at the drawing, ‘is he a character of yours?’ you asked, motioning to the drawing of the man with the skull face. A short chuckle passed his lips as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. 

‘Guess ye could call him that,’ he said, 'someone I know, actually ,' he confessed.

Your brows furrowed, wrinkles forming on your forehead as your eyes grew wide. Your hand ghosted the glass, wetting your fingers with the condensation dripping down the outside as you looked at him with glossy eyes. Fingerprints marked the glass as you forced your hand away.

'I'm so so sorry- I didn't mean it as an insult it's just-'

'Keep the heid, lass,' laughed the man.

You stared at him.

'Relax,' he said, noting the confusion on your face. Your tensed muscles softened as your picked up the glass off of the table, taking a big gulp, finishing the last of the contents in it. He frowns when he notices you shaking. You thought you had done so much wrong with a single observation. 'you weren't to know.'

'Does he really wear that mask?' you whispered as though Simon was right behind you, and had he been, Johnny could say with his heart that he wouldn't have been surprised; the damn man appeared out of nowhere all the time.

'Yeah,' he said.

'Is it part of his job?'

Your intrigue was adorable.

'No, he just prefers to hide his face,' he explained, 'suppose it makes work easier,' he said, nodding to himself. Despite his time knowing Simon, he never did know why he covered his face. Of course, it kept the human version of the man from the man who committed countless atrocities in the name of justice, yet, the point you brought up left him thinking for a short moment.

'You work together?' you asked, 'what do you do for work?'

'Part of the military,' he told you frankly, 'he's my lieutenant,' he added, although, he didn't care to tell you much more as he looked at the you with a furrowed brow, not wanting to leave you with enough time to respond to his confession, 'what about you, lass?'

'I write,' you said, 'I got a remote position at a publishing company, that's whats given me the money to move out.'

'I enjoy writin' from time to time,' he responded, 'not that good at it though, prefer drawing,' he uttered.

You were though, he didn't even bothers to think of your response because, truthfully, your humbleness in terms of your own talent was wounding to his own love for writing. As he would with advertisements, inwardly, he skips by all the small talk in his mind. It's cruel the way the mind works; memory was a burden to hold, yet as entertaining as a late night TV show which was to only be watched in secrecy.

'What's your name?' you asked, picking up another cup of champagne. He watched as you did so, lifting his own cup that you had gotten for him when you had excused yourself to the bathroom.

He kept his distaste of the beverage to himself, besides, it was free.

'Johnny,' he answered, ' and y'urself, bonnie?'

You answer accordingly, stating your name with a smile. Repeating your name, he finds it rolls off his tongue well and the longer he observes you, the more a conclusion dawned upon him.

'Suits ye well,' he complimented with a wink.

Rubbing his face with his hand, his breath fogs against the window of the train and he turns his head away, absentmindedly wiping down the window with the sleeve of his puffer jacket. In the meantime, he busies himself looking at the empty seat opposite to him.

In the blink of an eye, you're there, sitting across from him.

'When do you get off?' he asked.

'Last stop,' you answered, 'staying at a hotel for a few days before my place is ready... was eager to leave,' you said. As soon as the words passed your lips, he felt compelled to be a gentleman. That, alongside taking into account the trouble that could have occurred if you did walk to the hotel alone, besides, the least he could have done for you buying him a drink and keeping him company was help you find you way to your hotel.

'We can share a cab if ye want,' he offered, 'put my mind at ease, wanna make sure you get there safe, besides, far too cold for ye to be walkin', bonnie,' he said, biting the inside of his mouth as he awaited your refusal, only, you nodded your head and smiled.

'I'd appreciate that, Johnny.'

His memories blur for a while after that, and his cheeks flushed red as he recalls how you looked at him before you got out of the cab. Glancing at the same hand that paid the fare only far enough to go to your hotel he curses as he watches the memory of him getting out of the taxi to chase after you.

You waited for him at the entrance in hope he'd have a change of heart, and he recalls how delighted you were when he walked through the door and caught you standing there, waiting for him.

Truthfully, he knew he was in deep shit when he felt the way you wrapped around him, the way you called his name, and how pretty you looked underneath him. Even after years, it was difficult to escape the thought of your first night together. Perhaps it was the entire being strangers thing that made the sex much more enthralling than any other one night stand he had had, or maybe it was just you.

Shoulda never let her have me number, he thought to himself.

It was difficult to deny that there were only ever terrible times. Resentment bubbles and it turns the fondest of moments to the worse; there was something there for him to miss when he thinks fondly of you. Fondness makes forgetting a hell of a lot harder, at least it does for him, anyway.

He hardly even thinks about Graves anymore and he resents him.

He resents you too.

But whenever he thinks of you, he thinks of your laughter. And then the guilt seeps in and he curses himself for ever thinking so lowly of you in the first place. How fucking dare he do something so terrible. You deserve it, though, for all the shit you put him through: the bruised heart thats still bandaged up, the sleepless nights as he waited for you to come home, the drunken phone calls he would get while on an op.

All of it.

Then there was everything else: the moments you shared together, the sound of your laughter which would seemingly travel down the halls of your apartment and wake him whenever you spent the night together, the sight of you in his shirt while cooking breakfast in the morning and your excitement when you finally persuaded him to dance with you.

The last one was particularly difficult to forget. His fondness will never let him let it go, he's convinced.

In the depths of the night, you danced together. He acknowledged the look on your face as he held you in your arms, the laughter as he spun you around in a circle, pulling you away just for you to end right back in his arms. He'd never let you wonder too far, scared that if he lost grip of your hand, you would have disappeared forever.

It became a routine and he recalls all the times he had held you in his arms while dancing to a song by Sinatra or Aretha Franklin and all the times he saw you smile. All of those happy moments moulded into one, while only a few stuck out.

During that night in particular, he couldn't look away from your eyes.

Whenever he looked at you, he was started by the glint of colours in your eyes, reflective of the colourful lights you had decorated your Christmas tree with. Rather, instead of decorating the tree, the lights in your eyes worked well in decorating the brambles you called eyelashes as you looked up at him. Every time you blinked, he found the same glossy sheen he had seen that night on the train. Every blink seemed to edge you closer to tears, as though your eyelashes were antagonising your poor eyes constantly.

Then he smelt the liquor on you breath and was reminded of the underlining truth of everything.

You were always emotional whenever you had something to drink. It couldn't have been helped, it was simply who you were, and he was going to resent you for something you couldn't have helped.

'Yer oot yer face,' he mumbled, speaking softly to you as you swayed with one another to the low hum of music from your vinyl player. Neither of you noticed how the song skipped, far too busy with one another to notice such a flaw.

'English, MacTavish,' you answered, your tone gruff as you recalled the story he had told you about the man with the skull mask and the city soaked in blood. He chuckled, pulling you closer, resting his head against your shoulder, looking at you. You turned your head to the side to look at him too.

'You're drunk,' he said quietly.

'I only had a glass,' you answered abruptly. You tensed in his arms when you responded to him and he felt his head sink further down until it sat, burning in the acid of his stomach. 'I had it while I was making dinner; the sauce had some of it in,' you explained, turning in his arms so your chests were pressed against each others. placing your hand against his face. You looked worried in that moment, observing his features. 'You're not mad at me, are you?'

Placing his hand over yours, he sighed, 'nae, bonnie, just don't want ye to hurt y'urself,' he explained, pulling your hand from off of his face, planting a kiss atop of it, moving his other hand from the small of your back to hold your waist. 'Love you too much for ye to do that,' he said, letting go of your hand to place his fingers beneath your chin, forcing your head up so you were looking at him. 'Y'know that.'

'I do,' you weakly answered.

The only bastard 'I do' he ever got from your lips. It was laughable really as he looks back on that night, how the pair of you had been so close in your home, dancing together as though you were an elderly couple celebrating your 40th wedding anniversary together.

Think I'll live that long?

Probably not.

Had anyone from 141 been there to witness how he fell to pieces with you in his arms, they very well would have laughed until they were blue in the face. And the longer he looks out the window out on the Scottish countryside, he concludes he too would laugh at that man dancing with you for being such a smitten fool.

'Good,' he hummed, pressing a kiss against your lips. The were chapped, dry, but he didn't care. Instead, he deepened the kiss as the pair of you stumbled backwards, muffled laughter escaping you as you loosely wrapped your arms around his neck while he kept the pair of you from falling.

Moments of happiness seemed so common in the beginning.

The night trains shifted to day trains again.

He'd hit the ground running after returning from an op, only showering because he didn't want you to smell the remnants of war which stained him and his skin. Nothing kept him from seeing you, not even his distaste for the day train.

All of it meant that he could get home sooner; he recalled the sinking feeling in his chest whenever the trains were delayed by a measly twenty minutes. Love made him a different man, he realised, a man who enjoyed the day train and the man who loathed the night train.

'I thought you weren't going to be home for another couple of days,' you said, opening the door to see Johnny standing there with a bag on his arm. Dropping it, he pulled you into a tight hug, resting his hand against the back of your head as he swayed you from side to side. 'Did you get the day train for me?' you asked.

Pulling away, he caught sight of the smile creeping onto you face as he nodded his head slowly, 'didn't wanna wait longer than I had to,' he answered, 'saw a photo of ye in me wallet an' knew I needed to be here with you sooner,' he added, pressing a kiss onto your lips as your cheeks flushed red.

'You have a picture of me in your wallet?' you quietly asked when he pulled away for you. He smiled.

'Of course I do, bonnie,' he responded as though such was an obvious fact, 'need to see that face of yours every day, ye like medicine to me.'

'Really?'

'Aye, lass.'

Everything moved so quickly and it wasn't long before you were well acquainted with his mam.

Meeting his mother was the confirmation he needed to say that he wanted to marry you. No one else in the world mattered when he saw how you and his sisters bonded, and while sitting alone on the train, he clenched a his fist at the emptiness of the palm of his hand while imagining the light weight of the ring his mother had placed in the palm of his hand while he stood in the kitchen helping her prepare the Christmas dinner. It had been over two years since the pair of you had started dating when she did so, working well to convince him that the timing meant that something else in the universe had willed it to happen.

'Mam?' he asked, looking down at the ring in his hand.

The band was quaint, golden as an green gem stared him in the eyes as he squinted, holding it up to the yellow light of the kitchen. The elderly woman in front of him chuckled, patting his shoulder as she walked past him to open the oven.

'Well, she's the one, ain't she?' she said, speaking into the heat of the oven as she grabbed the tray of duck-fat potatoes with a stained tea towel.

'Ye think?'

'Gonnae no’ dae that!' exclaimed his mother.

'Don't do what?' he scoffed.

'Act surprised,' she scolded, 'it's in ye eyes, son,' she chuckled. 'Yer nana told me to give ye the ring when I thought ye'd found the right one,' she confessed, 'and with your father gone, 'ave got no reason to wear it, but she has,' she uttered, looking from out of the kitchen into the living room.

His eyes followed hers and he watched as you sat with his youngest sister. The pair of you chatted away, though his stomach twisted at the sight of you holding a glass in your hand.

'She's a good girl, Johnny.'

'Aye, mam, I know.'

'So, marry her.'

With his mam's words echoing in his mind, the memories always came to the one that caused all the air in his lungs to escape.

Nothing wants to stay whenever he thinks of that, and he's sure if he was wounded, all his blood would leave him in a second in order to stay out of the cycle in his head that always brings him back to this one thought.

He supposes, in hindsight, it was terribly foolish what he had done. His ignorance to pressing issues was immature and irresponsible, only, they were easy to ignore when he had his mothers ring in his pocket. But he noticed, years down the line, how you had dropped his hand when the pair of you had been dancing, all to go and get another drink because the glass in your hand was running dry.

The party was one you both had planned, only, you had done so to celebrate a win himself and the boys had had during their time away, and he had invited everyone with the intent of proposing to the love of his life.

In the moment, he had been so crushed. He recalls how his mouth was dry, the dull ache in his cut knee as he awkwardly remained kneeled as you stood and stared. The speech he had prepared disappeared when you turned your back on him and rushed away, leaving his ego bleeding as everyone looked at him in horror.

'I just... I don't know why you would do it,' you mumbled when you heard him walk through the door into the kitchen away from the guests.

He was silent as he looked at you, traces of a storm in his eyes as he fought off the urge to cry. His chest hurt as he looked at you with a glass in your hand, and he couldn't do anything but stand there and watch as you drank from it. 'I told you, Johnny, I fucking warned you and-'

'I thought ye would've had a change of heart, love-'

'Well I haven't!' you angrily snapped, slamming your glass down onto the counter, glaring at him. 'What, did you think just because I'd have a ring on my finger all of our fuckin' issues are going to disappear? You're a smart man, Johnny, stop trying to play the role of the fool. It doesn't suit you and it never will.'

You were just as embarrassed as he was. He curses himself while sitting on the train, thinking back to your flushed cheeks and teary eyes. It wasn't only because of the booze that time, it was because of him too.

'I- I'm trying, John, can't you see that?' you croaked, 'I'm trying but I can't be everything you want. I don't wanna get married... at least not yet.'

'Ye don't love me,' he blurted.

You snapped your head up, furrowing your brows as you looked at him with wide eyes. 'Is that serious what you think?' you shakily asked, disbelief etched into your features. 'So what? You think all the fuckin' nights I've spent worried that you're not gonna come home when you're away working were for-'

'All the fuckin' nights you spent with a bottle in your hand too, eh?' he quickly cut you off, retorting in a manner that had left you breathless, draining all the colour out of your face. 'Don't pull that card on me, bonnie, don't you fuckin' dare do it 'cause I worry more about you and your drinkin' habit than I do my own life when I'm out on the field- tell me how you think that's fair!'

You stared at him, your eyes drifting to the empty glass abandoned on the counter. It was unfair for him to pull that card, he was aware enough in the moment to understand it, but he was so utterly devastated that he chose to stand his ground. An apology wouldn't have mean anything even if he had said it.

'If ye loved me... you'd stop goin' to the bottle every time ye have an issue,' he bleakly said, 'but am not even sure if you would pick me over the drink anymore, bonnie.'

'How would me saying yes to you fix any of that?'

He stayed silent.

Reflection allows him to find that he only ever proposed out of love. He was aware of your issues, noting it was never always smooth sailing from either of you, but he supposes he just wanted to have proof that at least once, you would pick him rather than the liquor.

But he was stupid for ever thinking you were more than your champagne problems.

'Getting married would only complicate things between us, John. You know that,' you said after a while of silence, 'and clearly, we don't listen to each other... I'm sorry I embarrassed you today, and I'm sorry I keep causing you to worry- I'm sorry for being such a burden to you but you don't make it easy for me,' you uttered, rubbing your face with your hands, wiping away the tears that fell down your scarlet cheeks.

There was nothing else for him to say to you, and he's ashamed at the very fact that, in the moment you needed him the most, he walked out of that room and left you there crying, alone.

As the train turns on the tracks again, he ponders what would have been different if he had stayed there with you, only, he finds his mind drifting to the words on a page which confirms exactly why he was thinking.

He was only prolonging the inevitable.

As he turns to the final page in his notebook, he finds it difficult to breath as he retrieves the piece of paper he had pushed to the back of it, unfolding it. Pressing his hand against it, he leaves it to sit on top of the page marked with splashes of the drink you had spilled, unable to find the strength as he stares down at the words scrawled on the page.

A crude reminder of what became of his engagement.

'Johnny,

In time, I hope you'll forget about all my problems and find someone who you deserve. I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused and I'm sorry for not being ready for you.

Give your mums ring to someone who deserves it and put the special ladies picture in your wallet instead of mine. For the sake of yourself and me.

I love you, Johnny, nearly too much, and while you will see my absence as cruel, know I see it as necessary and that's the issue; we never have seen eye to eye on a lot of things.

We're not ready for each other, I know you think it but you're too scared to say it, so I'll bite the bullet and say it for you. We're not ready for each other, Johnny.

Love shouldn't be a tug-of-war, and I grow tired for you watching as you always try and pull me to you. Besides, I heard your mother after you left the room, she said I was fucked in the head for not agreeing to your proposal and it leaves me wondering what type of person you've made your family believe I am.

I'm sorry I couldn't be everything you wanted, but know that everything I'm doing: leaving, writing this letter, not saying goodbye to you in person, is for you. You always said you hated goodbyes; they were the hardest part of your career, and I can't promise that I wouldn't run back into your arms the second you'd open your mouth and beg me not to go.

But I'm prolonging the inevitable by staying with you.

I'm making you miserable with my problems and that is not what I want you to do. You have a life, and you had a life before we met on that train.

All I ever did was make you worry and I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want you to worry about me, I just want you to move on and love and be loved. I'm going to work on myself and I'm going to get better because I know that that is what you want, and in truth, it's what I want too.

I love you and I fear I always will, but I can't have you, and I'm punishing you and myself by staying here.'

He turns his head away from the letter, looking back to the window at the small dots through the foggy water as he utters the last part of the letter under his breath. 'One day, we may meet again, perhaps the stars will align and you'll see me on a nighttime train back to your home town. And maybe then, I'll be ready.'

A breathy laugh escapes him, repeating 'And maybe then, I'll be ready.'

How appalling it would be when you realised that you leaving only resulted in the reversal of roles. At least, he likes to think he would have the strength to refuse you if he's to ever see you again.

When he turns away from the window, relieving himself of the pain of remembering all that has gone wrong in his life, he takes the letter from off of his notepad, folding it along the worn edges, pushing it back in a small slip at the back of the notepad.

Shrugging off his jacket, he put it on the seat beside him with a hard sigh, turning his attention back to the notepad in front of him. The nights long and his journey proceeds to drag his feet and he's unsure if he even wants to be back home or if he should have just stayed in the base until Price needed him next. But it's Christmas and he couldn't have left his family because of his own sorrow about something that happened years ago.

He just misses you more in the holidays, but he supposes that's okay as long as he doesn't let the phantom you left him with ruin everything. So, he picks up the pencil and pursues what he was doing the night you two met, only this time, there's a ghost sitting opposite to him, not the living thing that greeted him many moons ago.

His ignorance to the world around him keeps him from hearing the footsteps storming up the aisle after the train stops at a station. Even when the voice of a woman announcing the last stop enters his ears, he doesn't lift his head. All the noise culminates into a twisting storm, similar to how he imagines the billowing smoke exuding from a chimney on a winter night swirls in the wind. It's deplorable and he grunts as he attempts to chase the flurry of emotions away.

His efforts result in even more tension at the front of his mind as he looks into the eyes of the drawing he's sketching, realising just whose eyes he had depicted in the midst of his worry. Even after all the time has passed, he's impressed by the fact that he still remembers your features so well.

Always so difficult to forget, he supposes his contemplation proves such.

Then he hears it.

The very thing that works to break him free.

A quaint shaky breath.

A shadow covers his bulky frame, light peering from either side of the mass standing on the aisle holding onto the seat opposite him. Lifting his head, his lungs rattle in his chest as he realises the eyes he had been sketching in his notepad are right before him in human form, staring right back at him.

'Johnny?'

────────── ⋆⋅🚂⋅⋆ ──────────

#call of duty #cod mw2 #cod mwii #mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap mw2 #soap x reader #soap x you #soap call of duty #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #x female y/n #soap x y/n #cod x reader #cod modern warfare

[onlymingyus]

ruin

cw; minghao (the8) x afab reader, shibari, dirty talk - a slight continuation of my piece art posted on @peachybun-bun

imagine minghao's delicate slender fingers running over your skin between intricately tied cords that he has spent nearly an hour looping and tying. the knots all in strategic places, some on pressure points making your body feel like you are floating and also somehow more alive.

your hands were the last thing he tied as he took extra care to make sure you were comfortable before he took a step back to look at you. now you were on your knees on the floor in front of your shared bed as he traced your skin. chill bumps spread over your skin as he lets out small hums of appreciation.

you can see his hard cock twitch as you bite at your bottom lip as he is becoming so aroused by the sight of you, his piece of art. as minghao moves to his knees, his eyes meeting yours, you can't help but you let out a soft whine making him suck in a breath.

"you can't look at me like that and sound like that and expect me to civilized." you smile and bite you lip as he reaches up to push your hair from your eyes shaking his head. you didn't want him to be civilized. he gestures to the floor length mirror in the room as he moves in behind you his hand running along your stomach.

"do you see how pretty you are? the innocent little look on your face even with all this rope on your body?" you whine as his finger runs under a knot making a cord that is running between your legs along side your folds tug. when you lean your head back against his shoulder, minghao smirks and leans to kiss your neck. "i'm going to ruin you."

tag list; @bangchanbabygirlx @just-here-to-read-01 @hoshistar96 @niktwazny303 @strawberri-uyu @yeritheloml @tis-nikii @noraehey @hoohoohope @otterpopchan @xuxibelle @foxdaisy @smileysuh @vern0nsworld @synthetickitsune @enhacolor @pandorashbox @rubyscoups @yeosayang

please note that I am doing my best to tag all of you who have filled out the tag list form but tumblr won’t let me tag some of you. I think that is because either you have tags turned off or possibly a blank tumblr page. consider reblogging some of the fics you like from me or other writers. ♥

© onlymingyus - all rights reserved. Reposting/modifying of any fic, or pieces of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed.  

#minghao smut #seventeen smut #the8 smut #svt smut #minghao imagines #seventeen imagines #the8 imagines #svt imagines #minghao x reader #seventeen x reader #the8 x reader #svt x reader #minghao #seventeen #the8 #svt

[dangaer]

working on my carrd and copying my rules from my shipping section has completely baffled me so i am clearing up some points which i wanted to ensure made sense + just a little extra before i forget ...

as stated, i run my ships on a ship - exclusivity basis in the sense of, for canon muses, i only ship my muse with one version of a canon character, and that you return that notion. for eg, if i was to write muse a and you were to write muse b, i'd only ship with your version with muse b and you would only ship with my version of muse a. to extend this, because it was something that came to my mind, i also do this for if i write the other canon character on my muse roster. so in this example, if i also wrote muse b, i would not write with a different persons muse a because ... it simply wouldn't feel right to me. compared to the first part, it's not something i'd ask for my partners to do, but it's more of just personal preference! these versions of ships i have developed mean a lot to me and are pretty intertwined with my muses outlooks, so i wouldn't feel comfortable exploring the other way around in this instance.

i also do single ship, should you prefer to go down that route, all i need is a notification from you and/or for us to have a discussion about it! in terms of mains / exclusives / single ship muses - you can check them out on each characters pages on my desktop theme, i'll be implementing them into my current carr.d too.

a general thing i wanted to add but, as someone who is literally writing in a romance fronted industry, i am ... very hesitant(?) when it comes to ships. i love the dynamics i have, but with the rules i have above, i think its more than important to let people know that i am a slow replier, not as in just a few months slow, as in i have asks / drafts from 2021 onwards that i keep that i wish to reply to in a time frame, somehow. i also have tumblr open on two devices for both my blogs the majority of the time, so i am awful at having messages open without me even realising it or simply going silent because im focusing on writing; i am aware this doesn't make me the ideal shipping partner, or even writing partner in some instances! but i appreciate everyone who has been willing to explore and is shipping with me currently despite this. you guys rock and i will always try my best to make it up to you by whatever i write in responce - it's why you guys genuinely get the longest replies of all!

i say it time and time again, but you are also more than welcome to tell me if you have had enough or do not see the chemistry anymore, i just ask you do it before you go ahead and explore a romantic dynamic with another duplicate rather than after doing so!

#❛ 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ⧽ — ooc. #psa / #long post / #im also uh ... rather dense when it comes to shipping. but thats bc im dense to romance irl. #and why i play a lot of dense characters .... DFHDJSJFH #i hope these make more sense! gonna think of how to word this in my rules now! #honestly not aimed at anyone but ive reread my paragraph three times and just didnt grasp it in my head! #for example to my points: my tumblr says 0 messages. just opened it up to find messages i havent seen before on read ... this is the #problem with tumblr mobile on internet browsers

[laprimera]

catching up to dash since early morning is wild. but since everyones putting their two cents in lemme throw a bet in from someone who's been in poke rpc for some seven or so odd years ( hell some people have been around longer LMAO ).

I see a lot of posts focused on the individual experience, and thats great and not so great at the same time. It's tumblr, I get it. For the longest time peeps have been putting up with their time and energy being spent on the outside just to get online and want to relax. Let's not forget the mental illnesses that make energy and attention just impossible literally to do things lmao.

I love seeing people taking steps to take care of themselves. The early days didn't have carefully made boundaries and I saw so many peeps get burnt out making this a job more then a hobby, getting abused, a lot of nasty stuff but all that changed when the attitude changed. It's been so much better for everyone that way.

But I also observe the community in this .. or lack of in some ways. There's also been a lot of people leaving because of little interaction or in some cases being shunned from events that are supposedly open. That's a recent movement. I remember dash wide spontaneous events, the rpc sharing and evolving a plot that may have started from one blog before connecting so many others, raid battles with legendary pokemon that went out of control, etc!

Im not saying you can't have a circle of pals. I sure do! I'm saying have instances of being open for others to interact and get involved. I'm sure a lot of peeps wouldn't have even met their pals without having that oppurtunity to participate in something small that became something very big! This hobby is great because there's a community to share and be apart of and to deny or shun new players or even current ones who want to be part of something great is counterintuitive for a community at whole. Whether thats rb'ing memes, letting peeps comment on ic posts or dash posts, having starter calls, making aus that aren't connected to a plot so it's easier to open to new engagement, etc.

Course there's the argument of "its my X so I will say what or who goes into X" and you're right! There's a perfect balance of boundaries understood and being made and maybe opening the narrative to players who genuinely look interested and try to join who listen to said boundaries and participate fairly and with anticipation.

But more then anything make it easy to do so. I also remember the period when people would put cryptic rule passwords in their rules. Like...Im talking they broke them up, scattered them around all around their tiny text, glow up pages and if you get one word wrong theyd tell you try again....lol. We don't need that. Getting the nuisances of society is hard enough least of all for the peeps who have conditions that make this extra hard. I'm talking from someone who has an extreme case of social anxiety (doctors word for it, not mine LAUGHs) and ADHD. I don't communicate or participate like regular players. In fact I only gauge how well I can play with someone by casual one off ic back and forth first and build from there. Maybe by the third or fourth interaction Im brave enough to reach out via DMs. I literally have panic attacks and take a week to answer IMs that come out of the blue asking to participate which is just the regular thing to do in the rpc, but I literally can't do that. Sadly I've been reprimanded for trying to have casual back and forths throughout the years despite how apparent I make it that I have a very hard time going into IMs or asks without knowing you first.

We should make ourselves accessible! We talk about making front pages accessible for those hard of sight, google documents to make things easy, icons and all that but don't really talk about making the important communication between peeps accessible for people with handicaps too.

All in all this is my opinion and observation! The community changes every few years and it's interesting to see how it turns one way or the other. You dont have to listen to me or any of this really! Be as private or as open as ya like. This is after all a hobby and Im literally turning into the old man in the corner on his rocker literally and figurately.

also fuck fetish asks. that has never changed and I hate it.

#ooc. ･ﾟ ✹ #tw long post #probably will delete later theres been too much ooc lately lol

[sucharide]

G'day! I'm Roach. I'm a child of the 20th century and I'm a lover of gothic fiction and gothic romance. Yearning for an era before the algorithm. Profile picture by the talented @missygoesmeow.

Minors, please do not interact with my blog or my work.

If I ever reblog ai generated content, please let me know and link to the post. I will only ever intentionally reblog generative AI if it is a post about identifying generative AI.

I write fic! Please find links to my work under the cut. There are links to the Ao3 page, and also to the original tumblr post I shared them here with.*

Please read the tags in the individual fics -- I write smut that might be upsetting.

Ghost:

A Problem of Mind and Body 5,900 words (explicit) x

The Cardinal creeps into your room at night, intent on teaching you a lesson about the value of obedience, and the joys therein.

Poor Beast in the Catacombs 9646 words (Chapter 2/3) (explicit) x

Hiatus because writing hard but chapter 3 is coming i prommy. i do this for free. im getting there.

Quiet had been the want you bore for the Cardinal. He seemed a man so devout in his studies of the Satanic faith that you had considered him, perhaps, uninterested in that most delicious of Sins - Lust.

It is at Mass one night that you realise perhaps this may not be true, and you can no longer silence those lascivious thoughts and fantasies - but it is on his terms that these passions will be unbound.

Dark are the catacombs - but there are pleasures to be found there, if only you submit to the shadows.

Cover art here by @meowsaidmissy - it is beyond gorgeous!!!

Also, peep this incredible artwork and this gorgeous artwork, both by @meowsaidmissy

What You Deserve 5819 words x

When the terrible inferno consumes you, catharsis comes bloody and destructive.

Perhaps, though, you do not deserve this.

Ritual and Ruination 6911 words (explicit) x

Cardinal Copia has been avoiding you all day, and you do your best to respect his need for space - but when he backs out of Mass with no warning, you're sure something is wrong. When you go to check on him... well, you're not ready for what you find.

Ritual magic can have very strange, very delightful side effects.

A Violent Shower 3979 words (explicit) x

In which the Cardinal makes promises in front of the entire audience - promises that are up to you to fulfil after the show.

Sacrificing Nothing 2761 words x

You thought he knew you better than this - but still, you find out he wants to ask the impossible of you... to be his Prime Mover. But really, what were you thinking was going to happen? He is Papa. This is the way of things, isn't it?

Late Night Worship 4864 words (explicit) x

After watching the Cardinal’s… exertions… on stage, you’re having trouble getting to sleep. There’s something about him that you can’t get out of your head. Perhaps you need a little bit of exertion yourself before bed?

Tumblr only fics/ficlets/headcanons:

Headshot - fic (explicit), inspired by this Ghost chapter: x

Pantysniffing Copia - ficlets (explicit), what it says on the label

Baldur's Gate 3:

Ficlet 16/11/23: Tav x Haarlep in the boudoir bath. Dubious consent. The steam is implied to be a drug-like substance. 324 words. (explicit)

Being able to distinguish fantasy from reality is literally SO sexy.

*NOTE: my fics are exactly where I want them. Do not ever repost. My fic are currently locked to AO3 users only due to data scraping concerns — go get an account! It's worth it, I promise!

[pinned edited 14/07/2023]

#pinned #fics #ghost fic #my fics #Late Night Worship #Sacrificing Nothing #A Violent Shower #Ritual and Ruination #What You Deserve #Poor Beast in the Catacombs #A Problem of Mind and Body

[georgieluz]

Dou you think that Netflix streaming The Band of Brothers and The Pacific expand our little fandom? If it expands what changes happen? Will be the changes in good way or bad way?

i think it depends on if they throw it on the front page or if they just add it and you have to come across it yourself. i do think more people will discover it and enjoy it. i think we may see a few more blogs popping up but i don't know if it'll be on as big a scale as other fandoms, or for newer shows. if they promote it a lot and have it splashed across the main page then i think we'd definitely see a lot of people talking about it (mostly on twitter though, rather than here)

if we do end up with a mass expanding of the fandom, i think it could go either way. it's always nice to have a few more people around and i'm always down for welcoming new people into the fandom. i think it'll be worse over on twitter, rather than here. i find that when netflix adds shows, the new people flock to twitter to talk about it first. but then again, they may go there looking for hbo war fans and find it empty, so they may go looking further and figure that tumblr is their only real option, since it does feel like we're the only place with an interactive hbo war fandom. but maybe all the new fans will congregate over there and there'll be twitter hbo fans and tumblr hbo fans and not much crossover or overlap between us.

i used to be part of the f1 fandom over on the (ex)bird app and all the dudebros kicked off when new fans came after watching drive to survive, but it really wasn't bad. in fact, it was nice to see new people fall in love with different drivers and the sport. like imagine watching someone become obsessed with doc roe for the first time? or become completely unhinged because winnix will NOT stop flirting with each other in every damn episode, or they notice webgott's chemistry and write a massive post screaming about them for the first time. it might just be really fun to see. people seemed to enjoy me liveposting my first watch of the pacific, so maybe it'll just be a lot of fun things like that when new people come? i know that with a huge amount of new people comes the higher chance for drama and bad eggs, but i do think we've got something special here which will be hard to ruin. the f1 fandom on twitter was already a complete mess with drama every single day and just generally being a horrible place to spend your time, so it's really not comparable with our fandom here, but that experience did make me realise that even if there's a lot more new people, they tend to adapt to the specific ways of the fandom they're entering, rather than disrupting it.

maybe i'm just being optimistic and they'll come and burn our fandom to the ground but i'm choosing to look on the bright side.

alternatively, i was also in the tennis fandom and we had a huge influx of new people and it got really really toxic and pretty much ended the original cute little thing we had going on so :)

ultimately, i think it could go either way (good or bad) but whether it'll be a big noticeable change here on tumblr depends on whether netflix gives it all the bells and whistles when it adds it to the site and whether new fans find each other on twitter first or not.

also it's only going to be on us netflix and no where else apparently. obviously the usa is fucking huge so it's still y'know, impactful, but yeah, just a small thing to note?

it'll be interesting when it finally does happen though, maybe we should make a bingo card of predictions lmao

#was this response too long? #did i think too deeply about this? lmao

[aurum-rays]

I'm obsessed with stationery. I love buying different kinds of pens, notepads, cute and colorful erasers (although I'll never use them), sticky notes, and cute little notebooks that I do not have the heart to write in and will lay empty-paged on the shelves for years. I love spending time in stationery shops and grocery stores too. It's therapeutic. I read that most people feel this way because of - one, a colorful environment and two, control over decision making. I don't know how much of it is true, but yeah, I can agree that I love the colors and I love that I can splurge on stuff without usually feeling guilty about it because stationery is cheap and it elevates my mood.

There's just something about neatly stacked shelves filled with books, crayons, craft papers, and those rotating display stands with all the DIY materials that make you want to stay in the store as long as you like. There are different sizes of books, some of them too adorable, colorful sparkly tapes, and interestingly designed bookmarks. And oh, the stickers! I could go on and on about all the mouth-watering (for lack of a better word) and tantalizing displays of all the good things my heart desires, all in a single place.

New stationery can inspire the revival of old hobbies. I find it difficult to pick up a pencil and sketch when I spend all my time in front of the computer. Sometimes, a new marker set compels me (in a good way) to doodle and reminds me how much I love to sketch. Occasionally, a new pen I've never used before entices me to buy it for a trial. Those Sakura Micron pens or those brush pens you can fill with water always catch my attention. I always look forward to discovering things I've never used before because, most of the time, they reignite old habits I've abandoned.

I like to take my time walking in the aisles of the stores like I am taking a walk in the Park. It is in fact like taking a walk at the Park. It's soothing, calm, and satisfying. But my slow pace confuses the store employees and they rush to assist me thinking I might need help. I am too awkward to tell them I'm fine so I just tell them I'm looking for “this thing”. Most times I'm not even “looking for” anything. I'm just taking in the scent of pens and erasers and fresh new papers, enjoying my music and feasting my eyes in the aisles. This employee engagement often cuts my time short at the stores. I immediately have the urge to bill the things and leave the place because I “found” what I needed. So, I do. I leave the store and enter another one.

Like a rabbit, I hop from one store to another hypnotized by the colorful carrots and cabbages. And when I get home from all the dopamine I've feasted on, I place all the things I bought on the bed jump on it, and wave my arms and legs like I'm making snow angels. Just kidding. I don't do that. (Anymore) Now I get ready to rearrange and make space on the shelves for my new buddies and eagerly wait for my next trip to the wonderland.

P.S: never would've imagined these pictures I took 7 years ago would be used in my Tumblr blog today. Just shows how obsessed I was with stationery.

#stationery #cute stationery #Stationery aesthetics #markers #Oil pastels #paint brushes #sticky notes #notepad #stickers #minions #crayon #color pencils #acrylic paints #art #highlighters #crafts #diy craft #craft paper #stationery shop #I love stationery #Buy me stationery

[sarasa-cat]

As for a few other things --- my literal exhaustion regarding the state of the world (things clearly beyond my ability to do anything about it so I'm turning the volume down) --- I'm sticking some vague blogging about political shit behind a cut:

ngl, the current state of international affairs, national politics and political projections/fortune telling about future outcomes, and a major clusterfuck of not-well-publicized local political bullshit has pretty much made my brain turn off at the sound of all of it.

I have no plans on unfollowing anyone on tumblr and no plans on blocking any tags --- honestly, I'm fine seeing political content on occasion on my main dash and my scrolling fingers are fast --- but my level of engagement with those posts (meaning hitting the occasional like-heart) has dropped and will continue to drop precipitously.

Also, my brain has shifted into winter break mode so, lol, even if my butt is planted in a chair in the US right now, my brain has left the continent and, in a few weeks, my body will catch up location-wise.

Re: tumblr:

I really love how well curated some of my "top of tumblr page" tabs are.

My tags feed is super curated with tons of lovely visual imagery (well, minus that recent infestation of porn bots ... which makes it hard for me to interact with my tags feed when in public or in "all ages family friendly spaces").

My Blog Subs tab is becoming a bit more populated as I add more aesthetics(tm) content to it rather than only using it to keep track of my closer mutuals.

And for the most part I want to keep tumblr mainly as my place for chilling and relaxing and being watercooler-social with fannish friends online.

In Summary:

ONE: The international, US, and local-to-me political scene makes me exhausted and there is really nothing I can do anymore. (Also, I'm no longer working on various campaigns or non-for-profit-political-outreach or doing research that affects our understanding of any of the media, etc., so, like, really, I'm just a tax payer and a voter these days and nothing more on that front --- which is very different from who I was from age 18 onward, up through the end of 2022).

TWO: I am not happy with the direction of pretty much anything in the point above and when I look back at the work I have done in the past (see point ONE) and feel like .... what the fuck was it even for? Very little*** but personal experience because none of it amounted to anything beyond a full fledged extra resume attached to my normal/aca-pro resume.

(***I originally typed nothing but then I remembered a bill we managed to pass back in [*cough*] plus the work I did during the worst of the "a horse is loose in a hospital" period of pandemic, what was work that MATTERED)

THREE: I'm reclaiming all of my spare time for other things.

FOUR: Tumblr is for chilling and relaxing. and seeing tons of pretty on my dash is important to me. (preferably without the semi-disembodied butt cheeks, cunts, and boobs... tumblr-- get these bots under control).

(caveat: I am still open to ongoing political discussions that occur in private channels btwn me and a few other mutuals --- but my overall tumblr disengagement with overly political topics is going to continue dropping and may eventually plummet to zero regarding likes, reblogs, and original posts; and yes, yes, the personal is political, etc. there will always be some leak through for those reasons, and how muck leak-through you perceive depends on how personal politics can be. But this caveat is getting academic and meaningless. All of the above paragraphs clearly speak for what they mean.)

[stepfordgoth]

So I was gifted a Hustler subscription at some point last year - I probably haven't mentioned it here out of conflict avoidance, I know a lot of my followers (and a lot of this website in general now) are very anti porn and I can already see the nasty comments to be made about me being a disgusting misogynistic pig who supports the degradation of women - and it's not really my bag but I flip through them occasionally and sometimes there's something interesting (sexy or not) but anyway something that strikes me as super crazy is that every month there are 3-6 pages near the front of the magazine dedicated to current political situation ranting. I'm not even kidding. It feels so....... Brainwashy? Like if you want to control the way a man thinks, going through his dick is THE way to go, you know? And it's always the same boomery stuff: orange man bad, fox news bad, etc. Theres a certain level of irony for me in the "THESE REPUBLICANS ARE BRAINWASHED IDIOTS AND IF YOU DONT AGREE WITH US YOU COULD BE THE ASSHOLE OF THE MONTH NEXT MONTH!" message in those pages, nestled in between pages of photos of naked women, as if that too isn't brainwashing. "Here's what you should think, but don't actually think about it too much bro just look at these tits." It kinda makes my skin crawl. And also it sheds a little bit of light on the Tumblr classic "old man with a porn blog who sometimes goes on political rants with the most braindead boomery opinions ever" kind of guy.... I think men who grew up on porno mags may have learned that it's a totally normal thing to combine politics and porn.

[ineffectualdemon]

Okay...this is my first ask for you (so sorry if it's a little awkward).....I'm just so happy and excited to find an SVSSS lover blog.....I made tumblr acc because I love MXTX works and want to read more metas about them, but most that I found are MDZS and TGCF blogs, of course I also love them, but my all time favorite are SVSSS (and I have not found a blog that love SVSSS the most, until now).....

So can I ask, what makes you love moshang the most from all of MXTX canon couples (I assume your fav will be something like this, moshang > bingqiu > wangxian > hualian)? And what do you love (the ups and down side) about each couple (bingqiu, wangxian, hualian)?

SVSSS is my favourite probably because it's the strangest to explain

And you're correct on the order of my favourite pairings!

So I'll start with Moshang and why I love them the most

1. Moshang: I think they are my favourite because of all the characters they have been together the longest. And what I mean by that I mean they have had a relationship and been involved directly with each other for the longest. They have spent decades tied together. They met when they were (physically) teenagers and get together when they were (presumably) in their late 30s

And yet they still have the pining and miscommunication because of cultural differences that Airplane should have known about!

That's part of what makes them fun. But also there is something beautiful in that Mobei always comes when Shang Qinghua calls and that Shang Qinghua can't actually let harm come to Mobei if he can prevent it. Even when they aren't on the same page the unwavering devotion and care for the other is beautiful

Shang Qinghua wants to be chosen so he makes Mobei run after him for once and let's himself be demanding and honest

And Mobei allows it, even encourages it to a degree for all his apparent grumpiness

I suppose in some ways it feels like the relationship with the most even footing. Because both of them had been pining in their own way for decades before they actually make a move to being together. It feels like they would have the least misunderstandings after getting together

Also as far as I know Airplane is the only one to punch his partner in the face when he just sticks it in and I love that for them. I like think they end up having the best sex eventually though as they do know each other very well

2. Bingqiu: I love Bingqiu because I like pathetic men being stupid and that's essentially their relationship

No seriously though I feel Shen Yuan does have immense internalised homophobia and the story is less him slowly falling in love with Binghe and more him slowly coming to terms that he is allowed to love Binghe and that he already does

He feels immense guilt for having bent the protagonist but he cannot deny either his feelings for Binghe in the end or how his rejection has hurt Binghe. I just think it's really interesting to be inside a main character's head while he wrestles with homophobia even though in the world he's in he's the only one with homophobia

No one else in the world is homophobic. They do not care that Shen Qingqiu is with a man. They are upset he's with a demon

So all the homophobia exists solely on Shen Qingqiu's mind. It's his personal baggage which he has to overcome more than any external barrier to their relationship and that's just really interesting to me

3. Wangxian: it's the first of MXTX's novels I read and I just love the ADHD/Autistic couple dynamic (which we also get with Moshang). I love how great they work together. I love how we are told at the front that they hated each other and then slowly realise that Lan Wangji has been in desperate pining love since the beginning and that Wei Wuxian was probably in love just as long but didn't understand that because he had so much else going on

And I love the slow slow burn as Wei Wuxian finally starts to understand his feelings

It's just a beautiful story

4. Hualian: honestly? They are only 4th because I have not finished their story. I really really like them but having read only the first two printed volumes I don't know them enough to comment a lot.

I do know that of all the Love Interests Hua Cheng is the smoothest and I respect that but I do have a preference for idiot men in my fiction

#i got an ask #mxtx #svsss #moshang #bingqiu #mdzs #wangxian #tcgf #hualian