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okkotsui · 1 year

Text

haitani rindou ⇄ not to worry about.

synopsis : when you start to feel insecure and start overthinking, he reassures you the best like no one did.

warnings / tags : writing this with fem!reader in mind but no pronouns used, self indulgent, light angst to pure fluff, bonten!rindou, overthinking, ooc rindou, rindou best boyfriend canon, will edit if i feel like it.

rindou is always surrounded by girls. it is normal to feel jealous and uneasy whenever he does, it is his work after all, managing bars and entertainment, underground meetings and all.

today was like no other, you heard from your own boyfriend that there would be someone that would be his secretary for the whole week, just to record and to arrange his schedule— then you heard the phrase that makes each relationship shatter.

“i know baby, you shouldn’t worry about it, okay?”

you feel like he was getting irritated by you when you asked that question that has been bothering you. as he did his best to assure you. sometimes you’re scared that he is getting tired of you, making you shiver in thought.

currently laying down in bed, pouting, it was the second day that rindou was busy for the whole week but of course, he’s still coming home from a long day to be by your side — his home.

you’re worried about him— not that he would cheat on you but the girl that he is with would definitely pick on him without hesitation, i mean, did you even see your man?

despite overthinking, you did not hear rindou entering your home as you keep snuggling in your comfy bed until you sense his arms wrapped around you.

“baby? what’s the problem?” he asked and that is the time that small tears escaped your eye line.

note that he didn’t have the chance to change, he still needs to prioritize you over himself, always.

“i don’t know.” you breathed out, his eyes softened at your answer, and he caressed your back to bring more solace to you.

“it’s okay baby, take your time, i’m not rushing you,” he whispered

and you did what he said, taking your time on opening up to him, he understands that, he knows you struggle on those and not a bit of patience can be taken away from him.

“are you getting tired of me? reassuring me every time you go home? i trust you enough but—”

“you’re always thinking about me cheating on you?” he removed the blanket that has been covering your head to toe.

he wiped your dried tears, listening to you eagerly.

rindou ever believed that communication is key in a relationship, not only that, both of the parties should know what they felt in a current situation, like today but he realizes something.

“oh no, ‘m sorry baby, i shouldn’t say that phrase to you.” he assisted you in sitting up from the bed, hugging him.

he pecked the back of your hand softly, you sighed as if there were other problems as well.

“i cannot explain how i will always choose you over any other girl. if you’re thinking that you’re not beautiful, you will always be gorgeous in my eyes.”

“i swore to the heavens to protect you and love you— forever. i will never leave you no matter what” he said, his voice sounding so genuine as he spoke to you. you felt that he was as genuine as the sun is bright compared to the stars.

this was not the first time hearing his tone, that just means that he is genuine in everything he does.

“even if i look like a fly?” you blurted out, making him laugh.

“yeah, even if you look like a fly” he answered, picking out something from his pockets.

your head still laying on his shoulders as you felt something slip on your ring finger. you looked at your hand, seeing a stunning promise ring.

“i hope this assures you, i promise my life to you, not an engagement ring at the moment but i can replace that soon.” he kissed it, looking at you with his glimmering eyes.

“you don’t have to worry about everything, i’m always here, promising you to be true in any way.” he kisses your forehead towards your lips, kissing him back tenderly.

“rin, why...” you sniffled, looking at him with still teary eyes, chuckling at you.

“because i love you” he answered reasonably, carrying you to his lap, facing him.

“now, do you want to know what happened at work today?” he wrapped his arms around your waist, recalling what happened at his work. he won’t forget about telling you about what the girl does to him at his office.

at the end of the night, you’re still flustered at the promise ring he got you even though you already have a lot of jewelry, doesn’t matter, you deserve anything.

what was to worry about when rindou does everything to keep this relationship healthy and fair between the two of you? it doesn’t matter if you think you are causing the problems, he won’t get tired of everything for you.

#tokyo rev fluff #tokrev #tokyo rev x reader #tokrev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #rindou haitani #rindou x reader #rindou x you #haitani rindou x reader #haitani rindou x you #rindou haitani x you #rindou haitani x reader #[ rindou ] — ♡

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chrollohearttags · 11 months

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can you pls make a part 2 for containment IM BEGGING I READ IT AND NOW IM DAYDREAM EVERY HOUR

YOOOO! I have been looking for an excuse to revisit this story and I’m so glad you gave me one. 🥹 so thank you so much for reading it.

content warning: time skip, lots of angst, sexual content, engagement and marriage talk, bits of his canonical personality and situation, mentions of violence, s*xual assault and murder, religion, mentions of alcohol abuse :(, happy ending though because I couldn’t write the alternative w/o crying :)))))

📝: also gonna preface and say you aren’t going to agree with all of (y/n)’s decisions and that’s okay. No need to be mad or rude. Let’s keep it cute 🫶🏾 also, minors do not interact! This is really long for this format so I apologize but I got emotional writing it and got carried away. Sorry! 😭

(Y/N) continued working as a guard for Greenville and on the containment unit for another year. In that time, maturing and learning a lot about yourself. As well as your inmates..mainly #104330, Eren Jaeger.

the illustrious affair between you and the convict continued for a while. Sneaking around the prison and hiding in unknown places just to get a taste of one another. Your lust growing stronger as time passed. “I can’t get enough of you, Ms. (L/N)..I know it’s wrong, I know I can get you in a lot of trouble but I can’t help myself.” “You’re the criminal here, not me. If anything, I’m the one that knows better..but I’m not sorry. Not sorry for the way I feel about you.”

that insatiable lust eventually grew into something deeper but even so, neither of you were in the position to confess or put that love on display. It would bring great shame if you did so you had to find a way to conceal those feelings..including some pretty bad habits. Downing a bottle every night to keep from thinking about your actions.

Eren had been sitting behind bars for six years now, only a small dent in his fifty year sentence. And not once had he spoken about trying to get out. Nor did he have any desire to confess his crimes to you or anyone. However, under his sentence, he was granted an automatic appeal that he had no choice but to take.

It was during an audit of prisoner paperwork that you discovered what he was behind bars for and the truth shocked you. He was convicted of second degree murder after the owner of the foster home he was raised in was found dead. Stabbed over ten times. The community was devastated and with the victim being a prominent member in the church, they threw the book at him. There was still a missing piece of the puzzle that didn’t make sense though and he had no interest in clearing it up..

“There’s my dirty little secret, CO. Still wanna keep defending me? I’m just like every other piece of shit here..another monster with a fucked up past. Nothing special. I’m even worse because I killed a pastor.”

(Y/N) was still convinced that there was more to the story and you were right when you just so happened to hear one of his phone calls with his best friend.

“I don’t understand, Eren. If you told the truth, it could change everything. That man was no saint, he abused us for years. If they knew you did it to protect us, they might let you go. This could be your shot at freedom.” “I’ve been free for six years. Free from all of it..I’m finally out of that hellhole, nothing here could ever be worse than that fucking place and you guys are able to live happily without having to worry anymore. You’re in college, doing big things. You’re about to graduate. Mika’s married and having a kid, like she always wanted. She doesn’t have to worry about some creepy old bastard touching her at night. Is that not enough? It is for me..”

your heart was breaking, knowing that his actions were completely selfless and he refused to fight for himself. Missing out on important accolades and milestones that he shouldn’t have to. Meanwhile, he continued his same routine of holing up in his cell..reading, studying and staying to himself. But things were about to take a drastic turn when one of your coworkers confronted you about him.

“He’s being transferred out next week..they’re sending him to Liberio.” “There’s no way!…that place is a hundred times worse.” But your supervisor and warden’s hands were tied and quite frankly, he was one less person to deal with.

“My hands are tied, (L/N). You’ll have to find a new pet..” mocking the fact that the two of you were so close.

you were devastated hearing the news, knowing he’d end up in trouble or dead in a facility like that. Now more than ever, you wanted to fight for him to be free! He was the last person who deserved such a cruel fate. But being relocated was the least of his worries. He was only upset about one thing…

“…I don’t give a damn where they send me. Truthfully, it’s just another cell for me to rot away in…but I don’t wanna lose you, CO. I think you may be the only thing keeping me from checking out. This is the happiest I’ve ever been. Here with you..”

full blown tears coming down the both of your faces, right after another passionate quickie as you holed up in your normal spot. You were hysterical, as was he and it was the first time he’d ever shown emotion, at least from what you’d seen..

“Eren, you have to file that appeal. You shouldn’t be here..you don’t belong with these fucked up animals. Please, you have to fight. Let me testify at that hearing.” “So they can put your pretty ass in a jumpsuit too? It’s fine, miss (L/N). I’ll just take whatever they give me. I’ve been doing that my entire life, it’s nothing new.”

he refused to put you in that situation though..knowing that someone must’ve noticed your little rendezvous by now and would surely use it against the both of you. You’d end up fired or worse and he’d have his sentence lengthened. So you’d have to trust that he’d be okay. That they wouldn’t tear him apart.

some months passed and Eren had been longed transferred to Liberio. Nicknamed ‘the underworld’..known for its seedy dealings, organized fight clubs with the prisoners and countless inmate deaths. It was awful and all you could do was hope that he’d be alright. While at work, you’d even visit the prison chapel and pray for him. His safety, well being and all..meanwhile, you were falling apart. Laying up with a man you knew nothing about nor did you love just to fill the void but it wasn’t the same. He wasn’t him…

It was one day when you were sitting at home after getting some much needed time off; as they had made that job much worse..that you received a letter in the mail and it was from a name that you’d heard quite often..Armin Artlert. After a while, Eren began to loosen up and tell you all about the two people on the outside that made his life tolerable and he was one. His very best and only friend for a long time.

upon reading it, he’d proceed to introduce himself; saying that you’d never want but Eren wrote about you constantly. He said that you had helped him so much. He then went on to tell you how Eren was adjusting at the new facility. Told you that he had been in a pretty bad attack that left him with a stab wound but he was fine now. “He’s so brave, I wish I had half of his courage. I owe him everything. It’s because of him, we got to live.” He wrote that not only had Eren gotten saved but that he was finally letting him and their other friend Mikasa have visits, even bringing his ‘nephew’ to see him. With a picture of all of them together.

But that wasn’t even the best part..not only had Eren passed his exam for the law certificate but he put it to use and went through with the parole hearing and you couldn’t believe what was said next.

“He’s being released…he’s coming home.”

collapsing to your knees right there in the living room, you’d sob and clutch the letter. Overcome with joy that he’d be out of there. And of course, there was one more thing that Armin needed you to know: “he still loves you..very much. I believe he fought this hard for you.”

Eren, who’s released a month later on parole, calls you from outside the bus station, telling you that he’s finally free and that he wants to see his beloved CO. And you don’t hesitate to come running..

Eren, who makes love to you better than any man is overcome with emotion as he’s inside of you. Going deeper and deeper as if he never wants to pull out. Doing all the nasty things he’d written about prior. Fucking you all over the entirety of your house for all the time that you two had been apart. From the kitchen counter that he placed you on top of to the shower, where he pulled your hair and fed you back shots. Even eating you out as he hoisted you against the wall; those days of lifting weights on the rec yard coming in handy. Losing his mind when you called him ‘daddy.’

“I missed you so much..so tight for me..feels so fucking good. I swear, I thought about you every night, baby..” Making you come more times in one night than your ex ever could…

Eren, who left his cock buried deep inside of you, long after you were finished, laid on top and stared at your pretty face. Confessing how much he loved you and you’d do the same. Knowing that this would change everything with him being here but neither of you cared.

Eren, who wanted a second chance at life, so as long as you were by his side.

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thenightfolknetwork · 7 months

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Shortly after my 7th untimely demise, I came into a bit of money, and decided to spend it on a small 19th-century estate. It’s a gorgeous house, complete with turrets and everything. The turrets were, ah, fully collapsed when I first arrived, and the rest of the house wasn’t in much better shape, but I knew it was a fixer-upper and was confident I could handle it. And I was right! There were certainly some surprises along the way, but a few months ago, I was finally able to start moving in.

As often happens with these sorts of properties, there were some pre-existing tenants that weren’t listed on the contract. My bedroom has an enchanted mirror permanently bound to the wall, the stables house twin 11-year-old ghosts, the kitchen has a automatically-refilling bowl of perpetually fresh apples, and the library fireplace foretells visions of doom—not to mention Stain, the black cat (…I’m pretty sure she’s just a regular cat, but she’s still very much a figure of the property).

It’s. So. Much fun. I was worried I’d get lonely! But now, I can get ready for the day while having a lovely chat with the mirror, snag an apple from the kitchen, go read a book in the library and tell the fireplace that they’re looking particularly unnerving this afternoon, and then chop vegetables for dinner while supervising the kids’ potion-making—I usually don’t care for children, but these two are delightfully precocious, and it’s been a while since I’ve had apprentices. And Stain—she’s wrapped around my shoulders while I write this—she looks like she got hit by a car! She’s adorable.

We all have our spats, but the estate is big enough for us to have our own spaces, and we’re all doing our best to ~communicate~, as you like to say. It’s going swimmingly. Except.

Like most old properties, the house has collected a fair amount of dust over time. In this case, though, all those dust bunnies turned… sentient. Overall, they’re perfectly pleasant to the rest of us, but like to be left to their own devices and aren’t keen on doing what others want. I certainly won’t be judging them for it.

However, while the estate was left to fall into disrepair, the rifts that developed were—are—oh, how do I say this. Well. I probably shouldn’t beat around the bush. I’m having, er, dust bunny gang wars? In my house? And I am fed up with it! The mirror needs cleaning twice a day, the apples have to be washed before eating, Stain’s getting frankly concerning hairballs, and the twins—! Actually, they seem to be rather well-adjusted. I think they may be betting on the fights with the fireplace.

Anyway. As for me, in most of the house, the turf allotments are pretty stable. Not so for the room directly under my bedroom. Practically every other day in there’s a dust bath, and I just can’t sleep with all of the snapping and coordinated dancing and bloodcurdling screams going on.

I’d like to be able to finish moving in to my home. I was even hoping to set up my spinning wheel in that room, but I can’t expose all of those loose fibers to the dust. I am very literally losing sleep over this. What should I do?

Oh, reader. What a frustrating situation! I would like to commend you for your commitment to sharing your home with its previous occupants, and in your success at building a home together you can all enjoy. At least, most of the time.

I understand that the dust bunny population prefer to keep to themselves and enjoy their own autonomy. And I think you're right to respect that preference, to a degree. But their behaviour is now infringing unacceptably on the peace and comfort of your home's other residence. Enough is enough.

Your first step it to try and open lines of communication between yourself and the bunnies. A simple communication ritual should suffice. Set yourself up with a talking board and few candles, and see if you can encourage the bunnies to speak to you directly.

If you're thinking this sounds rather similar to methods used to contact the more antisocial members of the spirit community, you'd be correct. You are trying to speak to sentient dust, and statistically speaking, household dust is largely composed of dead skin cells. A little light necromancy should see you well on your way to negotiating a lasting peace.

As with any peace negotiation, there will be compromises. Before you start this process, think carefully about what you are and aren't willing to give up – and what it is, precisely, you're asking for.

Are you trying to claim the spare room as your own territory, or declaring it a no man's land? Do you intend to act as an intermediary between dust bunny factions, mediating for a broader peace, or are you simply trying to put limits on how these factions behave in the shared spaces of your home?

With clarity of purpose and a commitment to communication and compromise, I think you'll be able to find your way to a solution that works for everyone. If no solution is forthcoming, you might consider a small show of force to encourage co-operation. A new vacuum cleaner, featured in a prominent position in the contested territory, for example.

#answered #the nightfolk network #monstrous agonies #this one was a lot of fun lmao #i love the idea of dust bunny gang warfare including musical numbers

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echo-goes-mmm · 26 days

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Moonflower #18

Masterpost

Warnings: domestic abuse

Kit escorted David inside.

“I shouldn’t be here,” David mumbled. “I should go home.”

“Hush,” soothed Kit. “You’ll feel better after some food.”

The servant’s entrance was less crowded, but the hall where the staff ate was full of people. Eyes landed on him and David, and he tried not to make contact with any of them.

David sniffed as they sidestepped the crowd, and Kit grabbed a napkin for his tears. He grabbed two plates of food for them as they sat in a corner.

“I don’t know what to do,” David whispered, picking at his meal.

Kit took a sip of his water. He was already finished; and his stomach yearned to ask if David was going to eat the rest of his food. He should probably eat another nighttime meal later if he didn’t want to wake up hungry.

“Why not stay in the castle? There’s servants quarters. Surely there’s space.”

“I can’t just abandon him.” David put his fork down, hanging his head. “What would Mom say?”

Kit didn’t know much about mothers and fathers. He was a proximity child, raised communally, but he knew this was wrong.

“I don’t think your mother would want you to stay with someone who hurts you.”

“He’s my father,” David weakly protested.

“What does it matter? He hits you. He takes your money. Family isn’t always good for you.”

“He’s sick!”

Kit hesitated. He didn’t know if humans died of grief like fae could, and perhaps David’s father was afflicted. “Sick with what?”

David shook his head. “He drinks, and loses his temper. It’s not his fault.”

“It isn’t your fault either.”

David worried his lip. “It isn’t your fault,” Kit repeated.

“I- If I were a better son-”

“Don’t say that,” Kit said, firm. “You are a good son. You love your father. You’ve been taking care of him.” He reached for David’s hand, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles over his hand. “He hasn’t been a good father to you.”

David sobbed, his hand coming up to hide his face. “He’s going to be so mad at me,” he wept. “He’ll hurt me.”

Kit hummed low and soft. “I won’t let him,” he said. “Mistress won’t let him.”

“As if you could stop him,” David muttered bitterly.

“What?”

“You- I mean,” he stuttered. “I’m sorry. I was going to say something rude. I didn’t mean it.”

Kit’s gut twisted. He knew what David was thinking.

If you couldn’t protect yourself, how could you protect him?

“It’s o-” Kit choked on the lie squeezing his throat. He took a sip of water to wash it out.

“I forgive you,” he said instead, the pain settling down to a dull throb.

David took one of the napkins to wipe his face, gingerly avoiding his black eye. “Her- her majesty knows?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I told her someone was hurting you. I didn’t tell her anything else.”

“Okay.”

They sat in silence, the roar of the room filling in the lapse.

“Would you like to come to my room?” asked Kit. “You might relax more there.”

“Okay.”

___________________

The hallways were mostly clear, as everyone was at lunch. Only a few guards were posted, and a bad feeling weighed in his mind like a stone when he realized how few of them they had passed.

His intuition was rarely wrong.

They rounded a corner, and in the hall was a lone man. A stranger.

David stopped up short behind him. David’s breath caught in his throat, and Kit knew this was his father.

He was almost the same height as Kit, with a head of graying hair and a thin build. Kit could smell the alcohol coming off of him in waves, mixed with stale sweat.

He must have come in from a side entrance. Perhaps a guard had recognized him as David’s dad, and thought he was harmless enough.

David whimpered behind him, and the man turned. He was sober, guessed Kit, based on his eyes and posture. A rare occurrence from what David had told him.

“David!” he said, a smile on his face. “There you are. I was so worried when you weren’t at the house.”

“Dad? Are you… okay?” David stepped out from behind Kit, tremble gone.

“Of course, bud.” The man’s eyes wandered to the small sack in David’s hands. “Are you okay? Some of your things are missing.”

Kit narrowed his eyes. He didn’t believe the man’s concern was based in worry for his son, but rather for himself.

“Uh- yeah-”

David’s father advanced on them, his stride controlled underneath the relaxed veneer.

“Are you… moving out, son?” his voice was tight and unnerving.

“W-well,” David stuttered. “I just thought- I mean, I’m an adult now, and-”

The man kept coming, and Kit stepped forward.

The stranger drew up short. “Excuse me,” he said. “Step aside.”

“No.”

The man stared at him. “I’m only trying to talk to my kid.”

“I don’t think you are.”

“What the hell do you know?” snapped the man, his temper flaring.

“Dad, please,” David pleaded.

The man turned on David. “Did this faerie try and convince you to leave? Huh?!”

David stepped back. He shook his head. “No-”

David’s father stepped forward, raised a hand-

Kit dove in front of David, shoving the boy behind him.

The blow landed across his face.

David gasped, and Kit felt himself leave his own body, as if watching from far away.

David’s father started shouting at him, but a high-pitched buzzing in his head drowned out the words.

He could feel the sting on his cheek, and he could barely make out David clutching at the back of his shirt.

Tears ran down Kit’s face, but no sound left his throat. He could hardly breathe.

“Answer me!” screamed the man in his face, and spit landed on his shirt. He couldn’t move.

“What the hell?” said a guard from the end of the hall, and sensation rushed back into Kit’s body. He stumbled back, sucking in air.

David’s father started making excuses, and Kit couldn’t be bothered to listen. The guard’s eyes flicked between the three of them. Her gaze landed on David’s black eye, Kit’s burning cheek, and David’s father’s furious expression.

She drew up tall. “You need to leave,” she informed him. “Or you’re under arrest for assault and trespassing.”

“Assault?” he sputtered. “I was disciplining my son! It’s not my fault this creature got in the way!”

“Leave,” the guard pressed. “I’ve warned you once; you won’t get another.”

The man turned on David. “Your mother would be disgusted with you,” he spat. “I hope you’re happy. Don’t bother coming home.”

He turned and stalked away, the guard escorting him out.

David broke down, his hands on his knees, hunched over and his breath quick and shallow.

Kit watched helplessly, his own breathing irregular.

“I- oh god-” David clutched his chest. “I’m dying.”

“No,” Kit said, his tongue thick and clumsy in his mouth. “You’re panicking.”

“Oh,” laughed David hysterically. “Is that all?”

Kit pulled at his arms, helping him stand. “Come one. You can sit on the couch in my room.”

David nodded, and shakily followed him deeper into the castle.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @cupcakes-and-pain @loserwithsyle @cepheusgalaxy @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

@hellodecisionparalysis @bitchaknso @starfields08000 @honeycollectswhump

@why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @currentlyinthesprial

#this chapter was brought to you by: an adderall refill!#whump #my writing #slavery whump #domestic whump #moonflower series #fae whumpee #royal caretaker

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p-taryn-dactyl · 2 years

Text

grades don’t define you

a/n: hiii! Ik this isn’t a requested fic but it’s something based on recent events in my life and i wish i had this experience to help me through it (don’t worry, it’s not that deep - i just crave comfort)

word count: 725

warning(s): none really; the feeling of being a failure - first fic with daughter!reader dynamic; does my severe love for tony count as a warning?

pairing(s): tony stark x daughter!reader

prompt: you get an exam score back and bad feelings arise (ik what you’re thinking “wow taryn, what a detailed prompt” thank you, thank you very much)

Your eyes were glued to your paper as you covered your mouth with your hand. Shock rippled throughout your body as you stared at your score. The giant red ‘F’ glared back at you, making your eyes water. You felt a cautious hand be placed on your shoulder.

“Y/N? You alright?”

Peter’s concerned voice made you smile up appreciatively at your friend, your palms aching as you held back your tears.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. It happens ya know?”

Peter nodded, understanding you wanted to drop the topic.

“Uh, well, Ned, MJ, and I were going to go over to Kamala’s house for dinner, wanna join?”

You shook your head, uncomfortable thoughts making your mind murky. Peter scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, you never skipped out on Mrs. Khan’s cooking. But before he could mention it, the bell had rung and you were out the door.

The walk home was torture. Anxiety creeped under your skin, pulling every insecurity to the surface. You were the daughter of a freaking genius, dammit. You shouldn’t be failing tests. Starks don’t fail.

You went over every question as you walked, your mind scolding you for missing the points when the answers were obvious.

Another fear shot through your mind as you approached the Tower. How would your dad react? Your breath picked up and you anticipated just not going home. Deciding against running away, you walked into the Tower, avoiding eye contact with everyone. As you made your way up the elevator, guilt appeared.

Tony had always been a great dad, providing you with many resources in your studies, making sure you had a great support system, something he didn’t have. But would your F make him feel like he wasn’t doing enough?

You stepped out of the elevator, prepared to just throw away the test and never speak of it again, when your dad’s voice rang out.

“Y/N! Honey, how was your day? I had a great time explaining to Dummy that lighter fluid doesn’t go in smoothies-” he paused his sentence when he heard you sniffling. He turned the corner into the communal area, where you stood in front of the elevator, a defeated look on your face and a crumpled test in your hand.

“Y/N? what’s wrong?”

Your lower lip trembled as panic gripped your chest. It was almost ironic, the genius finding out his daughter was a failure. Tony stood in front of you, his hands rubbing up and down your arms patiently as tears fell from your eyes. You leaned forward, your head against his chest, your tears staining his oil-stained shirt. It took you a few moments to answer.

“You know that test I spent hours studying for each night this week?”

You felt Tony place his chin on top of your head.

“Yeah?”

You sniffed, pulling back and bringing the crumpled paper up to hand to your dad.

“I, I didn’t do so well, I’m sorry.”

Tony took the paper and looked over it, a surprised look on his face. You thought he was surprised because you failed, because you were stupid.

“This is outrageous!” Tony said, his eyes incredulous. Your eyes filled up with tears and you let out a small sob, apologizing. Tony realized his mistake, his eyes widening. He quickly wrapped his arms around you for a quick hug before bringing you over to the couch, where you sat.

“Oh honey, I didn’t mean it like that,” he waved your test paper in the air, “none of this bullshit was on your study guide! Or in your books!” Realization took over you and you grabbed your paper back, scanning over the questions, realizing your dad was right.

“But, Y/N,” Tony’s soft voice made you look up from your test, “even if you had failed with questions straight out of a study guide, I wouldn’t be mad. Your scores, your grades, don’t define you. You won’t pass every test and that’s okay!”

You smiled and laid your head on your dad’s shoulder.

“Thanks, dad.”

Both of you sat in silence at Tony crumbled up your test and shot it into the trash bin. He tightened his arms around you in a typical dad fashion, making you laugh.

“Wanna go get ice cream?”

You nodded furiously, making Tony laugh.

“Alright let’s go.”

“Oo can we fly in a suit?”

“No.”

a/n: okay ik that was bad but thank you for reading!! I love tony so this was nice to write! <3 <3

#tony stark #tony stark x reader #tony antis please dni #my writing #tony stark x daughter!reader #daughter!reader #tony stark fluff #fem!reader

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burnwater13 · 7 months

Text

Concept art by Anton Grandert

The next morning, Grogu actually felt good. He did some tests while his dad was in the privy and couldn’t hear him. Grogu’s giggle was just a giggle and it didn’t turn into a cackle. He had no desire to rub his hands together and best yet, his eyes were a nice clear brown. Yippee! He’s wasn’t feeling Sithy at all.

He made his own breakfast, did his chores, and began to evaluate his list of things to do when his dad joined him at their breakfast/lunch/dinner table and smiled at him. Grogu ‘coo’d’ a quick Good Morning and went back to his list.

“I guess you’re feeling better? That’s good. I took a look at all the stuff we have for the festival and uh, buddy, it’s a lot. You’re probably going to have to pick just a few pieces to display here. I don’t think we have room for it all.”

Grogu was puzzled by that. He knew that they had done a lot of work on the flats and other set dressings, but he hadn’t thought that there were too many…

Before he could worry about it or even check what his dad said against his list, they heard a brief knock at the door.

His dad walked over and checked to see who it was. Then he opened the door and ushered High Magistrate Greef Karga into the small cabin.

“Mando! Good to see you. I came over to talk to you and your boy about the Clan Mudhorn festival. You know I love the idea of it, but it’s a little bit of short notice to set it all up in the Nevarro Civic Offices. We’ll need to get working on it today to have it all set for the festival. I’m surprised at you Mando. Usually you keep me up to date on things like this.”

Grogu wondered what the heck the high magistrate was talking about and it was pretty clear that his dad felt the same way.

“What request did you get from me?” Din Djarin asked with a tone of voice that Grogu knew meant that his dad was already in full bounty hunter mode. Uh oh.

“Well, not from you. From the little one. I suppose if he does the ‘magic hand thing’ we’ll be fine, but see, here’s the note he sent me. He’s pretty positive that we can get this all done in time. I don’t doubt that we can if we put enough resources on it, but I have to say I was a little taken a back by the ‘do it’ in all capital letters. Should I be worried that the little one wants to be High Magistrate?”

What?! Oh no! How could that have happened? Grogu didn’t remember sending that note to the high magistrate, but he could tell that Greef Karga wasn’t lying. He wasn’t even exaggerating.

“Grogu. You shouldn’t bother the High Magistrate with things like this. You know that.”

His dad’s voice was very stern and he’s used Grogu’s proper name. Not just Buddy or Kid or Kiddo, or Pal. Uff! This was awful.

He was about to coo and chirp a heart felt apology to the high magistrate but Greef interrupted him before he could do more than drop his ears low and look sorrowful.

“Awe, Mando, don’t be so hard on the kid. He’s just showing some confidence and the fine entrepreneurial spirit that’s made Nevarro what it is today! It’s fine. This is just the kind of civic engagement we should encourage all the fine citizens of our planet to participate in. We might have to call it the Nevarro Harvest Festival, sponsored by Clan Mudhorn, but other than that I think a community story telling event is just the sort of thing to move us away from our culture of piracy and into the finer arts. I bet they do something like this on Chandrila every year. You don’t want to take that away from the fine people of Nevarro, do you?”

Before Grogu could wonder if Greef Karga got his start as a used Bantha trader, he heard his dad quietly agree with the High Magistrate. Sure, he actually said, ‘If that’s what you want’, but Grogu knew that if his dad really thought it was a bad idea, he’d just say so.

“Excellent. Excellent my friends. Well, I just wanted to verify the facts before I got the office staff all excited about the project. I’ll send some folks over to pick up the set decorations and anything else you think is necessary. We should meet later to decide where all the pieces go and where we should set up the bon fire. I think the specifications in the note probably need to be adjusted. We don’t actually want to set the city hall on fire after all. I’ll talk to you both later. We have a lot to accomplish and not a lot time. Be peace!”

With that, High Magistrate Greef Karga was out of the cabin and striding over to his land speeder. Grogu and the Mandalorian simply waved at him as they watched him head back toward Nevarro City proper.

“Grogu. Let me see your eyes again. That was a long, detailed set of orders you sent the High Magistrate. Are you sure you’re feeling better?” His’s tone of voice was kind and kind of worried.

Grogu sighed. Maybe that’s why his datapad had a dead battery. He must have stayed up all night writing those orders out and he didn’t remember it at all. Dank Farrik.

He turned his face up so his dad could see that his eyes were their normal shade of brown, no red at all, except on his cheeks because he was so embarrassed by what had happened. This was definitely not the Way, even if he was getting exactly what he wanted. Bwah, ha, ha!

Full picture, concept art by Anton Grandert, The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 4, The Siege

#calendar prompt a day #the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin

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walker-extended-universe · 3 months

Text

Just Leave Me Be

Relationship(s): Trey Barnett/Geri Broussard

Tags/Warnings: Pregnancy, Difficult Pregnancy, Medical Conditions, Insecurity, Stubborn Geri, Communication, Healthy Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Geri's pregnant and having a hard time adjusting to being on bedrest. Trey tries to help.

Written for @febuwhump alt prompt 2: "I love you."

Taglist: @theladywyn, @ihavepointysticks, @klaatu51, @itsjessiegirl1, @neptunium134

-----

“Do you need anything before I go?” Trey asked, hovering nervously in the doorway to the bedroom.

Geri smiled and shook her head. “I’m fine. If I need anything else I’ll just-”

“You’ll call me.”

Geri rolled her eyes. “I don’t need to call you to get an extra water bottle or pack of goldfish.” Not that Trey hadn’t already packed a small army’s worth of food into the bedroom, including a new mini-fridge for his prepped meals.

“Babe, being on bedrest is no joke. James will understand-”

“For God’s sake Trey! I’m pregnant, not paralyzed!” Geri snapped. “I don’t need all this- This coddling and babying. I can take care of myself while you’re at your very important job.”

“I know that,” Trey said softly. “I just…. I worry about you. And the baby. You know what the doctor said….”

She knew. Of course she knew. She knew her pregnancy was risky, not only because of her age but because of her heart condition. On top of that, she was having a difficult pregnancy with intense morning sickness and scary abdominal pains. That was why her doctor put her on bedrest despite only being in the second trimester of her pregnancy.

She knew Trey worried. She worried too. And normally she was happy to have Trey fuss over her.

Maybe it was her hormones or maybe she was lashing out because of her own worries, but lately his fussing had started feeling stifling. Anytime she left the room for more than two seconds, he was looking for her. He was always asking her if she needed anything or if she wanted a foot rub and she knew he didn't mean anything bad by it but-

But she knew he’d been using up his days off to look after her and she felt bad enough asking Colton to look after the Side Step (with Liam and Stella’s help).

She needed some space. She needed some time alone. She needed to not feel like such a burden.

“Hey, come on, don’t shut me out like that.” Suddenly, Trey was at her side on the bed, wiping away tears she hadn’t realized were spilling. “What’s going on, Geri? Talk to me.”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing. You should go; you’re gonna be late and-”

“And James will understand. Talk to me; I’m not leaving until you do.”

Geri sighed. “It’s not- I’m not- I can take care of myself.”

“I know that.”

“I-I’ve always been able to take care of myself. I’ve never really needed someone else before. And…. I don’t know, I’ve always been proud of that. Whenever Hoyt would leave me high and dry, I’d just move on. Whenever Cordi didn’t have time for me, it wasn’t a big deal. I was always just… I could deal with it.”

“But now you feel like you can’t just deal with it and that scares you?”

Geri nodded silently. She swore Trey could read her mind sometimes. “A little. But, it’s also…. I don’t want to…. I don’t want to burden you.”

“Hey, don’t talk like that.” Trey pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “You’re not a burden. I mean, maybe you are in the technical ‘dictionary definition’ sense of the word but you- and our baby- are a burden I’m more than happy to carry. And you shouldn’t be ashamed of needing help from your future husband.”

“I know that. Logically, I know that. Emotionally….” She sighed. “I’m just…. I’m scared.”

“And that’s okay. That’s what I’m here for. And so are Walker and Cassie and James and Abby- we’re all here for you. And there’s nothing wrong with needing a little help or reassurance.”

“I know. I’m just- Still getting used to all this.”

“And that’s okay too.” Trey kissed her softly. “Do you want me to stay home today?”

She shook her head. “No. You need to go to work. I’ll be okay on my own for a few hours. And if I really need anything…. I’ll call you.”

Trey smiled. “That’s my girl. I’ll come by for lunch, okay?”

She smiled. “Yeah, okay.”

He kissed her again and got up to leave. “Oh, and one more thing,” he said as he was putting on his hat. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#febuwhump #walker #walker fic #walker fanfic #geri/trey #pregnancy tw #my writing #my fic

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dragonologist-phd · 2 months

Note

⭐ for Chapter 2 of Love & War!

thank you!! this fic is always a fun one to talk about!

Director's Cut: Love & War, Chapter 2:

This is Cleo's first POV chapter in the fic, so I wanted to set a good tone for her! Starting off with her in wolf form was a good way to do that, since I got to show how her beastkin barbarian class works on a character level, and I got to show her thought process as Knight-Commander, with her running patrols and guarding the camp. I also got to drop some backstory hints!

It was funny, how quickly she’d grown fond of her new companions. She’d been wandering on her own for so long, she’d almost forgotten what that felt like. In the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but wonder what her own tribe was up to now. They were far enough north that this shitshow with Deskari shouldn’t affect them, but… But it was no use worrying about them either way, Cleo told herself. Besides, they had Alder and her mother for protection. Worrying about the safety of the tribe was their job, not hers.

She expands more on this later, but I like dropping little bits like this throughout the narration, especially since the readers are still getting to know her!

I'm also very fond of these bits of narration regarding Galfrey:

Even without the decorated armor or regal fanfare, it was near unbelievable that nobody had recognized their queen. Whatever false names she concocted for herself, she was still Galfrey, and there was a presence to her that no camouflage could disguise. Probably because no normal soldier could manage to sit with posture so rigid while lounging at a campfire. ... She shook her head, reaching up to push back a few strands of hair that escaped her braid in the process. The style was simpler than the intricate braiding she’d worn for their first meeting, but on Galfrey it was a regal look all the same, clinging to grandeur even after weeks of travel. The straw-yellow color turned golden in the firelight, and Cleo was struck again by how odd it was that others failed to recognize her at a single glance.

Cleo trying to come up with justifications for why she thinks Galfrey has such "grandeur" and a "strong presence"...trying to make it sound like a jab because she's intent on disliking her right now...it makes me laugh ;)

and of course we have the good old-fashioned bickering and banter between the two! this stuff is always fun to write, especially when they're in the "my first impression of you was pretty bad but I'm reluctantly starting to warm up to you" stage.

which of course leads to the sparring match filled with sezual tension. i mean...how i could not include the sparring match filled with sezual tension? it's an A+ trope!!

Galfrey knew how to use that sword of hers after all. She parried and struck with precision and confidence, and she moved with more ease than Cleo would expect from such ancient bones. But her style was still painfully predictable, and Cleo had every intention of using that to her advantage. Cleo swung her greatsword over her head, throwing the momentum into her next charge. She’d knocked plenty of fighters on their ass with the move, so she had to admit- the fact that Galfrey shouldered the impact to her shield without so much as stumbling backwards was actually somewhat impressive.

i also love using this to highlight the differences in Cleo and Galfrey's styles, and really emphasize how they challenge each other! there's also something about showing their skills off to each other that also helps them have a more honest conversation afterwards, and paves the way for them to communicate what they've been able to do so far

plus, i was able to use this moment to drop an early instance of the demon mythic power starting to influence Cleo:

A familiar rush of power surged through Cleo, and in a flash of adrenaline she could feel the rage in her blood calling out to her. Bare your claws, show your teeth. Let this mortal have a taste of true strength.

it's a small moment, but that demon voice is not going away anytime soon.

and then the gargoyles attack! i always view the gargoyle attack as some kind of turning point for my KC's, and for Cleo it's a moment where she has to grapple with consequences to her actions- namely, the fact that Cleo convinced Galfrey to join her on the march and now she's been captured:

Galfrey. The fucking queen was missing on Cleo’s watch, and wasn’t that just fucking perfect? My death would sow chaos across the kingdom, she’d said just a few nights before, and at the time Cleo had rolled her eyes at how damned smug she was about it. But maybe she was right.

because...yeah. video games that deal with rulers and armies can be tricky- it's definitely cool and fun to have your important characters be on the front lines doing the cool and important stuff, but putting your leaders in the most dangerous positions is actually a really bad idea!

stories like this always require a bit of suspension of disbelief, which is fine- it was just fun to acknowledge that while Cleo was a little bit right in her desire for Galfrey to lead in person, Galfrey was also a little bit right about that not being the practical decision

and now that we've got that out of the way, we can move on to Cleo's "rescue" of Galfrey turning into the moment when Galfrey fully earns Cleo's respect:

Cleo reached the queen just as she plunged her sword through the chest of yet another ghoul. This close, Cleo could see that Galfrey’s golden crown of braids was now a ragged mess, and her proud, regal features were streaked with blood and grime. But her eyes were bright and lively as they met Cleo’s, and the corners of her mouth rose in a self-satisfied smile. “Commander. I was wondering when you would finally join me.” She punctuated the statement with a pull of her sword, sliding it out of the ghoul’s chest and letting the monster fall lifeless at her feet. Damn, Cleo thought. For once, however, she found she didn’t have the breath to speak. Her battlerage had blazed out, and now all she could do was take in the sight of Galfrey standing boldly in front of her, covered in the glow of her goddess and the blood of her enemies.

also her "oh no she's hot" moment. i'm still very fond of this scene ;)

thank you again for suggesting this one!! hope you enjoyed my rambling lol

#fanfic #pwotr #ch: cleo #director's cut

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fandom-addict404 · 9 months

Text

I’m baaaaaack!!

Anxiety’s One Hell of a Problem III

It’s Thanksgiving and Conrad’s coming home for the weekend, along with his brother and the Conklin’s. His father is unable to come, to his own relief and though he has school work to do during that time, he knows it’ll be one of the better thanksgiving he’s had.

He’s riding with Jeremiah—suggested by Steven to have some “one-on-one sibling bonding time”—to the beach house. The ride isn’t long but being that long in a car with his brother who’s now dating the love of his life is going to be…difficult, to say the least.

[_—_]

The sun is shining, just bright enough to bring warmth to the car’s seats and Jeremiah’s arm which is rested on the bottom of the car’s window sill.

The silence is deafening. And incredibly awkward for both of them. Jeremiah notices out of the corner of his eye, Conrad’s speedy yet consistent tapping on the steering wheel.

Conrad has found that if he keeps his body moving—some way somehow—the thoughts move to a more manageable speed and his the vibrations throughout his body are less stinging and more calming.

Ever since he started seeing his therapist, Dr. Han at Stanford, his anxiety has been more manageable. From breathing techniques to body stimulating, he’s doing much better. Besides a few slip ups that have occasionally turned to attacks, he’s okay.

“So…how’s school going? Good?” Jeremiah says, awkwardly. Jeremiah isn’t awkward. But somehow, he’s awkward right now.

“It’s good. The workload isn’t too bad. Oh, by the way, I might have to do some homework this weekend but it won’t be anything too bad.”

“Homework? During Thanksgiving?”

Conrad pauses. He’s already thinking. If he were to not to homework this weekend like Jeremiah will soon suggest, he won’t get his assignment in on time. Of course, he had last night to it, he was out with a friend of his he met at group therapy. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that. Oh, God…

“Yeah. My classes are fucking crazy right now. It won’t be too much, promise.”

Jeremiah sighs, frustratedly.

Conrad’s tapping speeds up, his other hand tensing on the steering wheel.

“Can you stop that fucking tapping? It’s driving me insane!”

He stops and begins squeezing a loosing his hand to match his heartbeat.

Conrad takes a couple deep breaths before he says, “Jeremiah, I know sometimes I don’t communicate stuff but I’m doing it—or I’m trying to—protect you.”

“Like how you didn’t tell me about mom’s fucking cancer?”

“No, I—“ Conrad feels his eyes welling up with tears. “I’m sorry about that. I really am.”

“I know you are.”

“I..uh..” Conrad pauses, focusing on the beating of his heartbeat. “About two years ago, something changed. About me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I started getting these, uh, breathing problems.” He clears his throat. “And things just got harder. After I found out about mom’s cancer.”

“Breathing problems? What are you talking about?”

“Panic attacks, Jere.”

Jeremiah didn’t say anything. He just paused and looked at Conrad’s eyes that were glued to the road.

“After my first one, I thought that maybe it would be over, y’know? Like it was this one time event but it wasn’t and they just kept happening and as mom got worse, they just got worse and I didn’t know what to do and—“

“Conrad.”

“If I wasn’t actively having a panic attack, I was always overthinking something or worried that it would happen again.”

“Are you still having…them?”

“Not as much.”

“How often were they happening?”

“Few times a week. Maybe 4 of 5.” Jeremiah winces at that. To think that he blamed Conrad, calling him an asshole, weak when this entire time he was hurting like this.

“When was the last time?”

“Not for a few weeks.”

“God, Conrad. Wait can you pull over?”

Though confused, he listens and directs the car to the side of the road, near a small forest area nearby.

“What is it—“

And before Conrad could finish his thought, Jeremiah wraps his arms around him into a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry, Connie. I wish I knew that you were hurting like this. I would’ve tried to help you. I really would’ve. I’m sorry.” He let’s go and looks him in the eyes. “You know that, right?”

“I know.” Conrad nods and gives him a reassuring smile. A real one.

And with that, they were back on the road.

It wasn’t exactly like how it used to be but maybe it was better.

i hope y’all enjoy. i wrote this last minute so there might be some spelling and grammatical errors but i’m pretty proud of this. please please please comment any ideas for the next chapter, constructive criticism, etc. i looooooveee the feedback

#the summer i turned pretty #tsitp #conrad fisher #mental health #tsitpedit #conrad fisher anxiety #conrad fisher has anxiety #therapy #standford university #anxiety disorder #panic attacks #panic attack #tw panic attacks #tw anxiety #tsitp season 2

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firelightfoxes · 1 year

Text

lichen update

general/appearance:

she turned 5 months about a week ago now. i still feel like she’s very tiny so maybe she’ll hit a growthspurt soon. her coat is definitely coming in though! she is one of the (few?) mudi who didn’t lose her coat in toddlerhood. but she has some really beautiful curls coming in and she’s definitely losing more of her baby fuzz. her coat is so shiny and i love the way it feels, still super soft too.

i still really like her structure. i hadn’t stacked her in a while and honestly i was kinda scared because she’s in the age where puppies start looking real awkward and wonky - but i think she looks nice still. i have high hopes for her structure when she’s grown. i know there isn’t really a guarantee of structure until they’re fully developed but she’s had consistently pretty nice structure since she was like 11wks. show dog show dog

the good:

i absolutely love her. we’ve bonded a lot. she’s so good. when i hang out with her i feel like i’m hanging out with a friend. she really doesn’t make a whole lot of noise. she whines (peeps) sometimes but usually only for the first few minutes that she’s crated and then she settles down. i’ve been sick for the last week-ish and she’s spent a lot more time in her crate than usual and she’s been a CHAMP about it.

she’s so playful, she loves toys, she doesn’t bite my hands or anything she shouldn’t. we just play play play and i love it. she’s so silly too. we don’t play a whole lot of fetch but she basically learned how to fetch naturally (Ava still doesn’t really get it lol). she loves training, she still works happily for kibble but outdoors i usually use actual treats anyway.

she seriously doesn’t have a naughty bone in her body. she learned very early on how to discriminate between her toys and other things that aren’t for her. we just moved so there’s been random shit all over the floor that would be pretty understandable if she confused something on the floor for something she could play with. but she literally hasn’t! her toys even got tangled in some lantern lights we were hanging up and she went and inspected it and pulled her toys out and left it alone lol. i curiously waited to let her inspect it to see what she would do and she impressed me. she’s just so happy and a total people-pleaser so as long as i can communicate what i want she will do that 90% of the time. again, impressive for such a young puppy and i feel really lucky.

she likes other dogs and likes to play with them. she takes a bit to warm up to strangers (human or dog) but once she does she’s silly and happy like always. she’s also had some good play sessions with dogs significantly larger than her so i’m happy about that, since she’s so small.

overall, she’s just so cute and happy and silly. she makes me laugh all the time. we haven’t known each other for that long but i feel like we’ve learned to communicate quite well already.

the we’re-working-on-it:

still kind of working on potty-training. we moved about 3 weeks ago and she’s had a few accidents since then - super understandable because i know it takes a bit for dogs to generalize and especially a puppy who is still getting the hang of potty training. overall i think she’s got a decent grasp of the concept but i think she doesn’t spend enough time in certain parts of the new place to know that they are no-potty-zones. like, i can basically trust her to be out in my office without worrying about an accident, which is nice.

reactivity! she got through her first fear period without too much issue (aside from me fretting over everything constantly) but i think i might’ve mentioned it before - at the beginning of the fear period, she got charged by 2 chihuahua-things who were barking. it really freaked her out and i think some of the (mild) reactivity she still has is kinda from that incident. maybe. idk. but either way, she definitely isn’t really fearful anymore. in certain situations she’ll quietly boof at strangers/strange dogs but sometimes she doesn’t mind them; i’m not really sure what changes between those situations but the fact that it’s not consistent makes me feel better. we got approached by a little dog dragging a child over to us and Lichen was NOT having it, she growled like crazy and postured at the other dog and i told the kid to please stay back. he managed to redirect the dog to the side of us so they stopped approaching. she didn’t seem scared like i’ve seen her before, so i don’t think it’s a super problematic instance especially bc she could’ve been remembering when she got charged when she was a bit younger too. or maybe now she just doesn’t like little dogs approaching her. idk. either way, something to work on but not super alarming and hopefully we will work past it.

i think those are really the only two things we’re working on. other than that she is really lovely. i definitely got the perfect puppy for me and i’m so excited i get to watch her grow <3 also if you read this far i love you

#long post #very... long post #lichen training #5 months

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r1999-transcript · 6 months

Text

A Nightmare At Green Lake 12 - Rush of Passion

The young staff of the Foundation are making deductions from the current situation. The city girl and the town girl lie in the sofa, snuggled up against each other, and fiddle with the clutter piled up on the table.

Blonney: Look, they are trying to solve the problem, yet we can do nothing but fiddle around. Maybe I should have worked harder in college, so that I can at least understand a thing or two from the conversation.

Anne: Don’t worry, Jennifer! I don’t understand any of what they said either! You are not alone. I’m here with you.

Blonney: I’m not like you. You literally don’t know anything. I remember when we first met, you asked of everything I had on me. You grew up here, in a small town in the middle of nowhere. It is only normal that you don’t know anything about the outside world. But I’m different. I’ve been to big cities, I’ve gone to college, I’ve read books, I pretended to be well-adapted to this lifestyle. But in fact, I’m still ignorant, knowing nothing but empty pleasures. My hair colour gives away who I am. I’m a silly blondie.

Anne: Don’t speak of yourself like this, Jennifer.

Anne sits up, frowning with anxiety. She raises her voice.

Anne: You’re not silky. You are smart! You make your own movie with a script you wrote by yourself! You’re pretty and kind, and you’re the best person I’ve ever known. Please don’t hate yourself.

Blonney: Fine, I get it, but can you let go of my hand first? You’re hurting me a bit.

Anne: Oh! Sorry! Are you going to be okay? Shall I get you some ointment for these red areas on your hand?

Blonney: Haha! You’re funny. I’m not some glass doll that breaks from being held too tightly. Heh heh. Oh, I can barely breathe. You are great fun!

Anne: You’re smiling. Did I make you happy? This is good.

Blonney: Heh heh. Don’t you find me weird? My attitude changes so rapidly. I’ve been mean to you for a long time. And all of a sudden, I started to follow you around and try to use you to survive from this.

Anne: Weird? What’s so bad about that? Even if you’re weird, it’s a good kind of weird. I like you … staying by my side.

Blonney: Even if I’m a benefit-driven fence-sitter who immediately embrace arcanists after being ditched by my human friends?

Anne: Jason and Michael shouldn’t hate you, if they knew you better.

Blonney: Hah …

The laughter makes her tired. She lets her body fall on the sofa, her head leaning on the shoulder of that small-town girl.

Blonney: You seem to really like me.

Anne: …!

Blonney: You would jump off the car to rescue me, you protect me, praise me. You would even be happy because I was happy.

Anne: Because I’ve never seen anyone as pretty as you are. You’re special. You’re different to the rest of us.

Blonney: Oh, stop. I will not be embarrassed for these nice things you said about me. I’ve heard enough of them throughout my entire life. Listen, I’m very sorry for mistreating you, and I’m grateful that you came to save me. I will reward you with a secret, my secret. Do you wanna hear it?

Anne: Absolutely!

Anne’s green eyes are filled with sincerity, shining like a puppy’s.

Anne: I’d love to!

Blonney: In fact, I don’t hate horror movies.

Tooth Fairy: This is the diary I found in the attic. There were many other things, like a full warehouse.

Blonney: I actually liked them a lot when I was a kid. I spent most of my time here, in Green Lake Campsite, writing my own horror movie scripts on paper.

Tooth Fairy: The handwriting is pretty childish, so the writer might be around 8 to 13 years old. Some of the narratives are straightforward, but the story itself is very creative.

Blonney: But later, we moved to another town. Huh, hah! My parents earned great success in business, and we moved into a high-profile community where only humans are allowed. We were also given privileges that arcanists cannot enjoy. It was then I realised—nobody wants me to be an arcanist.

Tooth Fairy: It was since that day, the diary stopped updating. It might be forgotten or taken away. The story ended there.

Blonney: That’s why I decided to break off my connections with arcanists and stop showing interests in emotive things like horror movies in order to hide the arcanist side of me. Huh! I took out my energy on other things which may ease my mind, like soap operas, new clothes, fashions … People like me this way. They said this is what I’m supposed to do. They believe that I’m a dumb bimbo, believe that I hate books. I led a life they want me to have, till I graduated from high school.

Anne: I don’t like these people. You shouldn’t have been out through this. You are the smartest person I’ve ever known.

Anne reaches out a hand and clenches a fist.

Anne: If one day I run into them, I will pull their noses and mouths off, like this!

Blonney: A wonderful idea. I wish I was as creative as you are.

…

Blonney: So, in the end, I attacked one of the jerks who didn’t watch his mouth at the prom. I slapped him in the face and smashed four sandwiches and a salad on his head. Then, feeling resentful for what had happened, I applied for a degree in filmmaking, a course which was considered to be “ill-fitted” to me. And next, I started shooting horror movies for an assignment “I have to finish.” Huh! Deep down inside, I think I have never really given them up. I’ve probably never stopped loving them.

Horropedia: Keep on shooting. I will buy you a new camera.

Blonney: Hello! Have you been eavesdropping? Where is your manners?

Vertin: Actually, I heard them all as well.

Tooth Fairy: So did I.

Horropedia: We are in the same room. You can talk, we can hear, and the air helps. That’s it.

Tooth Fairy: Well, we are all here, paying attention to your voices. We heard everything you just said.

Tooth Fairy walks up, gently putting a pink diary on Blonney’s knees.

Tooth Fairy: I think this is yours. Now I should hand it back to you.

Blonney: Where did you find it? I haven’t seen this for a really long time.

A reunion after a long separation. Blonney opens the diary carefully.

Blonney: I used to do some arcanist tricks with it, but I have lost control over my power since I threw it into the la- … lak- … Aaah-choo!

Blonney suddenly gives a shiver, perhaps because she is touched by the diary, or perhaps because of something else. She raises her head and looks around.

Blonney: Aren’t you guys cold? How come it’s so chilly?

A gust of cold wind, along with a bit of rain, swirls into the cabin. Outside the opened door, a wedding ring lies in a puddle, reflecting light ominously.

Blonney: That ring? Wasn’t it on my finger a minute ago?

Vertin: Watch out. Something is approaching.

…

Blonney: How many more dead men were buried here? I’ve had enough! Can’t we just get rid of that dead woman?

Ghost Bride: Boohoo …

Blonney: She’s approaching! This is a good chance …

Ghost Bride: Aaahhh!

Blonney: Ugh! She smells like a skunk in the sewer!

Sonetto: Blonney! The ghost bride took her down. We need to help her!

Critter Crowd: Chirp …

Sonetto: Not good. The critters are coming around again!

The ghost bride murmurs something and crawls over Blonney, who has fallen to the ground.

Ghost Bride: I do … do … I do … ah …

Horropedia: Hey! Blondie! If you wanna survive, leave that ring alone!

Blonney: Hell, you think I wanted this?! This crazy woman ghost put it on me! Get off! Get lost!

The ghost bride’s oozy body is kicked back several feet.

Ghost Bride: Uuuhh …!

Blonney quickly struggles to her feet and runs toward the back of the cabin.

Ghost Bride: Hmm, boohoo … uuuhh …

Horropedia: Damn! Her whimper can summon more critters. They are going out from the ground!

Tooth Fairy: Shh.

Shaking her head, Tooth Fairy walks to the centre of the monsters. She is surrounded by sparkling powder.

Tooth Fairy: What they need is a song.

…

Sonetto: This is Ms. Tooth Fairy’s singing! Ms. Tooth Fairy, behind you!

Horropedia: Jeez! What on earth is that!

Blonney: Ahahaha! What is it, do you think? Of course, a good surpriiiiiiiiise! Ha! I didn’t know I was a talented driver! Once we get out of here, I’m gonna get myself a driver’s license!

Horropedia: Within 30 seconds, you crashed over every critter in our sight. I don’t think you are qualified to be a driver. No, no. That’s not the point. Where did you get the car?

Tooth Fairy: Pink lines. This is drawn with an oil paint pen. This is her arcane skill. Your arcane skill restored pretty fast. Seems like you’ve accepted your identity.

Blonney: May be that, or may be because I retrieved this diary. I feel something has changed inside me, making me a bit hyped.

Tooth Fairy: A good try. Please keep up with the feeling.

Blonney: That song you just sang—can I take it as a gift?

Tooth Fairy: You mean …?

Blonney: Well, you still owe me a song. Please, I wanna song from you.

Tooth Fairy: Sure, take it as a gift. For making progress in life and for your courage to embrace who you truly are.

Blonney: Thanks. This is my handkerchief. Take it. Wipe your face. Ah!

The Hummer woven with pink graffiti horns melts in the rain. Blonney stumbles backward. It’s a misjudgement of her own arcane ability—a mistake commonly made by rookie arcanists.

Horropedia: Did you just get a bit woozy from putting up a big scene to the rescue?

Blonney: I didn’t.

Horropedia: Okay … uh-huh … yeah … uh-hum …

Blonney: What are you doing?

Horropedia: I know the rules of social courtesy. You just saved my life, so I won’t embarrass you by telling others you just overestimated your ability.

Horropedia shakes his head, a grin spreading across his face.

Horropedia: If you are willing to take advice from me, I would say don’t overburden yourself.

#reverse 1999 #events #a nightmare at green lake #1.2

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ofmermaidstories · 1 year

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Ooh im so glad you enjoy any type of comments because im so so so obsessed with something (just like this) but felt the comments i left on ao3 weren’t showing how much i really really liked it! [which is a lot, i live react to my little fanfic gc about it whenever i read/reread 😭 shout out to them for listening☝️]

NO, listen—I’m the same way!!! Writing big, analytical comments doesn’t come naturally to me (which means I appreciate the ones I get even more, because i know exactly how much time and thought they take 😭), so I understand the knee-jerk worry of, oh no, is this enough? But I do think that it’s a disservice to each other to like, have expectations of how to comment on something. 🥺 I don’t believe in rigidly policing how we aught to interact with each other’s art (beyond not being dicks). It’s—disheartening! Disheartening and fucking rude, actually, because it does two things: it treats those beautifully detailed, loving comments that people write of their own excitement as the only valid form of expressing love and it also makes reading fanfiction and interacting with each other a chore! And it shouldn’t be! It’s not! I dunno how many times I need to say this, but fanfiction isn’t homework—and that goes two ways!! You, as a writer, are not enslaved to it. You don’t need to finish to a deadline (unless you want to!). And you as a reader are not obligated to provide an itinerary of the time you spend with someone’s work!!!

It’s not the only way to love something. Like you saying that you live react it to the group chat—I don’t even know how to articulate what that means to me, to hear??? Lmfao. Because it’s so cute and it’s so fun!!! And it’s relatable, because I do the exact same thing with fics I love, to the friends that I love. 🥺 If anything, I find it easier to like, lay out what I love in a fic to a chat, if that makes sense? Because I’m not worried about the author! Like—I’m not worried about impressing them, LOL. Or accidentally hurting their feelings if I’m maybe a little confused about something, or am just extra opinionated that day. I can just say, “OH MY GOD [insert writer here] UPDATED [insert fic here] IM LOSING MYS HIT OH MY GOD ITS SO GOOD OH MY GOD!!!! [insert plot twist here]!!!!!! NOOOOOOO OMG WHY WOULD THEY DO THIS TO ME IM TOO DELICATE FOR THIS I HATE IT HERE” etc etc.

We forget that fanfiction communities are built, in large part, because of readers—readers silently reading things, or privately sharing them. Readers making tiktoks about their favourite fic (and then it blowing up and the fic getting deleted because people are mean to other fics in that same community that share the same tropes LMFAO go on, ask me about attackonfic). There’s one user on AO3 that I adore, literally, they are so precious because I see them so often in the comments of the fics I’m reading and every time it’s the same, short and sweet sentiment of how much they love whatever it is they’ve been reading, and sometimes they’ll add emojis and sometimes it’s capitalised but it gets the point across so well. They’ve commented on surrender before; it now lives in my folder for comments, on my phone, because it made me laugh when I first got it.

I promise you, Anon, if you have commented on SJLT then not only have I read it—I’ve screenshot it and saved it to that folder. Because for all I write, I don’t think I can ever adequately express what any comment means to me. 🥺 The sense of relief and—safety, almost? In being seen. It’s just—it’s there for all of them! Every comment!

If anything, I owe you an apology—I’m not good at replying to things in any timely manner 🥺 It’s never malicious, it just—it takes energy, no matter how big or small the comment (or tumblr ask!), because I want each reply to mean something, to return that sensation of hi, i see you too! It’s not an excuse. But I promise, Anon—I see you, too. And I want you (and everyone!) to know, no matter what you’ve said to me on AO3—whether it was an emoji, one word, a couple of sentences or paragraphs that took half an hour to write—it found me just when I needed it. And it meant so, so much. 🥺 Thank-you for reading, Anon. Thank-you for being here. I hope I can give you a finish story that makes those comments worth it. 🥺🌷📖✨💕

#ofmermaidstories-asks #i hope you’re having a good weekend anon—filled with stories you love 😌#shoutout to the groupchat! hi!!!!

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electricbluebutterflies · 8 months

Note

Chris/Melissa + “you look like an accident.”

Vaguely post-6B, PG-ish, also on ao3.

To be fair, Melissa has gotten used to not knowing what will be waiting on her porch when she gets home.

Lately it’s rarer when there isn’t something, either injured or just needing a little attention. She understands how she ended up as a safe adult presence for the local supernaturals, and at least most of them understand the boundaries she tries to keep between work and personal life, and-

Tonight’s surprise is neither underage nor, as far as she knows anyways, inhuman. This is going to be fun.

“You could’ve texted me,” she says, deciding that based on current posture her almost love interest probably isn’t hiding a life-threatening injury from her again. “You could’ve-“

“Not that much of an emergency.”

“You’re on my porch at one in the morning and you’re not clutching a bouquet, and… you look like an accident. I feel like-“

What he actually looks like, what she will not say out loud because she’s really trying to be good at the first relationship her kids have let her have in over ten years, is like he hasn’t slept in multiple days and at some point a bottle of whiskey or something got added to the mix but not recently enough that she’d taste it if she kissed him and-

“Too much in my head,” he murmurs. “Needed… you.”

Melissa ought to be immune to such statements from pretty men, but she knows how hard it is for this one to get vulnerable like that – a year ago, she reminds herself, this would’ve been unthinkable. Then again, a year ago they weren’t…

“Still could’ve texted,” she replies. “Still could’ve warned me.”

To be fair, more often than not when he turns up at her door with no advance explanation it is something emotional, but… it isn’t always. Sometimes it’s still his field-medic skills are a little more questionable when applied to his own body, sometimes it’s still-

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

She gives him the sharpest look she can manage. “Too late now.”

“Just shouldn’t be alone. Is that enough to-“

Some part of her really wants to turn this into the defining talk about communication that she’s been waiting to have since it became apparent they were destined for a lot of co-parenting, but… it’s too late, and she’s tired, and-

“I would be much less annoyed if you’d stop talking and hold me.”

It’s not like she takes advantage of his submissive programming, she reminds herself. It’s not like she uses that any further than any other respectable woman would. It’s just… very nice to have a partner who’s that combination of cautious and capable and-

It’s been a long day. Feeling small in someone’s arms makes it better. She needed this too.

“So you’re staying?” she asks, even though it isn’t really a question, even though-

“Couch is still decent enough proximity to another living being. Better than-“

“You could just move in.”

She’s thought about the idea before, planned out how to say it so much better, and… somehow this is right, much more quiet and impulsive and-

“You… want that?”

“It would make sense. Easier to find you when something happens.”

“Easier to protect you,” he corrects.

“Protect both of us. You need me too. And at least I have bathroom tile I can get blood off of and-“

“It’s… not a bad idea.”

They’ll figure it out later, she thinks, tucking herself against his body that much closer. No need to do anything too impulsive, but…

“I’d worry less if I saw you more,” she murmurs.

“Understood.”

#ebf writes fic #chris x melissa #melissa mccall #chris argent #mcargent #queue

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notetosunshine · 5 months

Text

Every day I go through the same inescapable situation of coming across some varied degree of fat phobia. Both direct and indirect but disheartening regardless. I just sigh again. Scroll past. Maybe block if I get upset enough. And I’m just tired. Luckily I can scroll past and never see it again but that doesn’t stop the negative thoughts from lingering. And when those lingering thoughts decide to stick around I go through the same old cycle of how I shouldn’t exist, how life would be easier had I just starved myself or ran away or died. Everything would just be easy if I was more attractive.

And I always feel bad for thinking that because I know that attractive people do face a lot of issues, some more serious and at a higher frequency. But of course attractiveness doesn’t determine who does and doesn’t get assaulted or bullied or whatever. At least not all the time.

But how much easier would my life be if I was just skinny. Or mid size even! I could get clothes from almost anywhere without worrying if they offer my size. I could explore all the different styles I’d want to try. I could probably find the love of my life by now even! I’d take millions of pictures instead of frowning at my reflection. Maybe I wouldn’t have pcos? Maybe. Maybe I’d have even more friends and maybe a bigger following? But that’s not important to me. I love my friends and too many followers seem scary. But life would just be so drastically different if I was smaller.

But life wouldn’t be better just because I’m small, it would be better because people would respect me for not being fat. And this realization is part 2 of the cycle. Anger. Why do people villainize fat people, why do people harass fat people the way they do, why can’t a fat person exist the same way everyone else does without hearing insane comments. Why can’t I just live in peace?

I shouldn’t have to give people a reason as to why fat people deserve respect. I shouldn’t have to point out hypocritical comments. I shouldn’t have to defend fat people’s rights to exist the same way everyone else gets to. And above all else I shouldn’t feel anxious about speaking about it.

The way society is black people are probably the most marginalized race. However I know all skin folk ain’t kin folk. Because when we look into the black “community” itself, we unleash this mass of sexism, homophobia, transphobia, and fat phobia. Not unique to just black folk, but just reallly notable. I’m not gonna argue which is worse because they’re all terrible. But… it is crazy to see how the marginalized, marginalize other groups. And I understand bitterness and resentment leading you towards wanting to be on top for once. But not at the expense of others. And so for me, the most mind boggling nonsensical thing to see is when so many individuals, from the marginalized of the marginalized of the marginalized… ARE FATPHOBIC?!!! IT DOESNT MAKES SENSE! And it makes me SO angry because HOW can you understand what it’s like to exist in yourself and someone hate you for it, AND YOU GO ON TO DO THE SAME?!!!?

That’s where stage 3 comes in of hopelessness. Seeing the girls, gays, and theys, shamelessly being fat phobic. Hearing the debate of would you rather be xyz or fat. And fat rarely being chosen. People would rather die than be fat and it’s just so insane to me. You would rather die than be me? What even is me? What do you see me as? Am I a person or am I just a fat? As soon as you add fat in front of a person it shifts the tone a bit. It feels like instant objectification. Human or fat?

My all time favorite kicker is formerly fat people becoming raving fatphobes. That’s when I realize there will never be a day in my fat life where I will be completely free. I guess that applies to almost everyone but it’s not like this is on my mind 24/7. I go through this cycle like every month lol.

And then I just continue on with life. Seeing the same comments, feeling the same emotions, hating the same reflection.

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xenofact · 1 year

Text

“Where’s the community,” is a question I hear a lot, sometimes from me. As I write this in early 2023 we’ve been devastated by covid, are questioning social media, and are coping with late-stage Capitalism. People want connection, but it’s a challenge, there are obstacles in the way, and the last few years have really been a pain in the ass.

Reaching out and connecting is a pain in the ass too. I’ve been networking on my interests - - occultism, meditation, creativity, and writing - and I find the same worries! A complaint I see many times is how “Practitioner” communities (people who DO something, from magick to writing to art) end up being all about “buy my book/game/series.” Capitalism overtaking even tiny, weird groups to be about "making the sale" and "building the brand."

Since I’ve found community connecting frustrating, I brainstormed an idea to help build communities of specific practice. As I’m a Project Manager, let’s follow good organization practice and ask what our problem statement is. And yes, I belong to a PM community - anyway on to the statement:

It’s hard to build a community of communication. People work at different paces, with different tools, and we’re dodging the pathologies of social media. Many communities are “production oriented” and sometimes Capitalism takes priority over Community.

So with this problem statement, what goals would satisfy practitioners?

People want smart, respectful communication that builds community. People want community that persists and evolves. People are focused on these goals and directed to these goals, which protects from commercial interest taking over.

With those problem statements and goals, let’s get to my proposal. If you wonder where this comes from it’s a mix of psychology, project management, my own publishing experience, and some readings on older Taoist communities (who networked via inns and passing on books). I’ve had an interesting life.

So here’s the idea I’d love to try.

Gather five to ten people with an interest in corresponding and communicating ideas and creating/doing something specific. Try to keep it around seven. This is the “Crew.”

One of these people acts as the “Collector” - and the position may rotate.

People send essays and works to the Collector. In time the Crew can (and should) include respectful commentary on the work of others. Note this work doesn’t have to be exclusive (see below).

The Collector puts out these works as a zine on a regular schedule. For sanity’s sake it shouldn’t be less than two weeks or more than a month. “When I got enough” may be acceptable and reasonable in some cases.

The zine SHOULD be in print. Each member of the Crew gets two copies. More may be printed to share elsewhere. The print files should be available.

An e-zine is also possible, but there should be a print copy to start. The e-zine should be archived, easily available, and maybe even (freely) available on other sites if approved. It’s 100% fine if the e-zine JUST being an ODT or PDF file of the print zine.

After the Crew puts out a few zines, members are encouraged to join or start OTHER Crews to share and correspond. Perhaps they also act as Collectors. Eventually every person belongs to at least two other Crews, but runs maybe one or two at most.

As other Crews are created, THEIR members create zines, ezines, etc. Work may be shared among Crews - you can publish the same essay in multiple zines.

Once this is running, different Crews and individuals can see what suits them. Do several Crews do a compendium? What about small press books shared among Crews? Are there different arrangements they can try? Public or private activism? Who knows?

The idea is to have a project (zine) a small Crews rallies around. That focus on publishing and correspondence encourages thoughtfulness, provides physical results, and builds communications. The networking of people on multiple Crews shares ideas and spreads the idea of “zine teams.”. Larger community can be enhanced or evolved among multiple teams, exchanges of information, and shared effort.

(A friend helped me realize this is a form of Amateur Press Association with a focus on networking and a specific community. I didn't mention that in the first draft as I haven't dealt with APAs in ages . . .)

Why add a physical zine? I hope/think/expect it would slow things down, require people to think about communications and leaving records. It also inspires new ways to think about creating lasting records (because as we know the internet isn’t as reliable as we’d like). The idea comes from many sources, but A.J. Roach’s Small Things Manifesto solidified the ideas for me.

Will it work? I have no idea - but it might be fun to try. Write me at Rev + My Name + @gmail.com if you want to chat. (I've got to set up that contact form and post the email easier)

-Xenofact

#community #networking #zines

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