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#on another note i don’t do art i’m terrible at it (but this is a silly little coffee cup i wanted to share anyways)

roseghoul26 · 13 days

Text

Cooper Howard | The Ghoul x fem!Reader

Tags: Title From A Fall Out Boy, Fame < Infamy by Fall Out Boy, Takes Place Before The Destruction of NCR, Jealousy, Someone Else Flirts With You, Derogatory Language Towards Women, Bisexual The Ghoul, Because Walton Goggins Said So, Arguments, Confessions, First Kiss, Sub Ghoul, Poor Man Is Desperate, Teasing, Edging, Oral Sex, Blowjobs, Cowgirl Position, You Wear His Hat, Light Dom/Sub, Cuddles Synopsis: After two weeks out on the job, you and The Ghoul are spending the night at a bar in Shady Shands relaxing. The Ghoul has always flirted with you, but he never meant anything by it, never did anything more, leaving you frustrated and desperately wanting the man. So when you meet someone who acts on his words, you nearly agree to spend the night with him, hoping to fill your lonely nights with another person instead of thoughts of The Ghoul. But any prospect of enjoying his company is destroyed when The Ghoul beats the man for even looking in your direction. Rightfully angry, an argument between the two of you ensues, leading to things that you only imagined would happen in your thoughts during your lonely nights. Author’s Note: alright so normally i’m like meh about my own smut writing but i will admit i am a bit proud of this one :D Taglist: @ancientbeing10 @alex-does-art-things

The bar you were currently sitting in was dingy, seedy, and smelled like old food and piss. You didn’t even remember the name of it, too excited for the prospect of a cold drink to care, and you let The Ghoul drag you in. You were sourly disappointed when the Mr. Handy behind the counter handed you a lukewarm beer, not even a single drop of condensation on the brown bottle.

So here you were, leaning back against a moth-eaten and weathered couch tucked in the corner, nursing a drink that just made you thirstier. He sat next to you, his legs lounged up on the low table in front of you two like he hadn’t a care in the world. You supposed that being alive for over two hundred years would do that to someone.

The Ghoul had his own drink, a glass of whiskey, more specifically. It used to have ice in it, about ten minutes ago, but it had quickly melted, no doubt watering down the drink. Still, he continued to sip at it, his eyes roaming the crowds in the bar. Your eyes were shut, head resting against the back of the couch, catching up on some much-needed rest.

The Ghoul and you had just come back from a two-week-long excursion of the Wasteland, hunting down a group of escaped convicts from the jail in Shady Sands. Most of the time had been spent walking, searching for clues in the ending sea of sand. It had almost been impossible, but you were able to pick up a trail. It had led you to a long-since abandoned town near the shoreline of California, and after an intense firefight the two of you managed to slay them all; there was no way in hell you were escorting alive prisoners all the way back to Filly. Carrying the heads would be easier.

And it was, except for the plethora of animals and insects it attracted, but you’d take that over the prisoners fighting you the entire time. Eventually, you and The Ghoul had made it back to Shady Sands, sweaty and covered in blood and exhausted, and dumped the heads onto the desk of the deputy. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man pale so fast.

After The Ghoul received the cap reward, he paid for two rooms for the both of you and some sleazy hotel, and after getting washed up he had dragged you to the bar further down the street. You hadn’t had the energy to fight him, but you almost wish you had now. You were barely staying awake, head bobbing as you forced yourself to concentrate on the chatter of patrons to keep you conscious.

Bringing the drink up to your lips, your muscles cried out in protest, but you just ignored them. The drink itself wasn’t terrible, the flavor was almost citrusy, but it felt like sandpaper as it went down your throat. Wincing, you cleared your throat, garnering the attention of the man beside you. “Surly it ain’t that bad,” he chuckled, and you cracked an eye open at him.

You didn’t respond, just holding out the drink for him to grab. You were sure to hold it by the neck so he had plenty of space to grab it below, but you felt him grab it in a way that made his gloved finger bush over yours. You kept your face neutral, but you certainly felt your heart react, ticking up in rhythm.

After taking a sip, a similar grimace crossed his face. If he had brows, you’re sure they would be furrowed, his lips curled up in disgust. “Even I can tell that tastes like shit,” he shook his head, forcing the drink back into your hands. There was only an inch of liquid left at the bottom, and so choosing to ignore the fact that his lips had just been on the bottle, you finished it off.

Setting it on the table, you wiped the back of your mouth with your hand. “It’s not good, sure, but it’s better than anythin’ else I’ve had in the past weeks. “So, I,” you stood with a slight groan, “am gonna get another one.”

You didn’t get too far attempting to step around the table, his legs blocking the easiest way out. A hand grabbed your wrist, tugging you back down on the couch, very nearly toppling into him. You tried to break free, but his grip was unyielding. Not enough to hurt, no, but you were stuck. “Now, what kinda man would I be if I made a pretty thing like you get their own drink?” His words made you still, and you were grateful for the shitty lighting that hid your blush.

Little did you know that he could see you clearly, an amused smile now on his lips. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, and you were now able to yank your hand away, glaring harshly at him. “Now,” he lightly patted your thigh, making you jump, “stay here, sweetheart. I’ll be back before you know it.”

You were unable to resist the urge to flip him off as he walked towards the bar, before flopping against the couch with a huff. It wasn’t that you hated that he flirted with you. No, it was quite the opposite. You loved the comments and light touches, making your heart race and less-than-decent thoughts pour into your brain. But from the time the two of you had started working together, so roughly a year ago, that’s all it had been. Soft touches, empty promises, saccharine words and petnames that made you melt, but nothing more. He would always stop before it became more, his touch receding like you’d burned him, a witty remark that quelled the fire he stoked, an I’m just teasin’ ya, sweetheart. God, you hated those words specifically.

You wanted more, but it terrified you because you couldn’t tell if he actually meant something by his flirtations, or if he just enjoyed tormenting you. Friends were a rarity in the Wastleland, and you were screwed if you somehow managed to ruin things between you two. You’d be out of income, protection, and a genuine friend who (sometimes) had your best interest in mind.

So you bit your tongue, pretending like his words weren’t making you dizzy, that you wanted nothing more than to feel his body beneath you, to be able to feel his lips against yours. So many late-night fantasies that left you even more lonely in the morning, your knuckles bruised from where you had to bite them to keep quiet. Even though it hurt, you kept your desires close to your heart, treasuring the small things he did give you. Which, you’d come to realize, made it worse, but he had made you addicted to it.

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t even detect someone approaching. You expected to see the familiar face of The Ghoul beside you, but you were startled to find someone else. He was a ghoul, and even though it was hard to tell you could see that he was younger, late twenties, or early thirties if you had to guess. He wore a simple blue shirt and some jeans, way too neat and hole-less than what you were used to.

He had a beer in hand, and he used it to gesture to the spot beside you. “This spot taken?” He was the usual rasp of a ghoul, albeit a bit higher pitched than The Ghoul’s. God, you couldn’t stop yourself from comparing him to the other man.

Speaking of him, you were able to subtly glance behind him to the bar, and you found the other man in conversation with some others. It didn’t look to be a confrontation, luckily, and you heard laughter from the group. You focused your attention on the stranger in front of you, smiling warmly at him. “Not at all,” you patted the space beside you, only barely warm still.

As he sat beside you, setting his drink on the table, you let yourself take him in. He wasn’t unattractive, far from it. There was almost a playfulness to his features, his fully black eyes glimmering with mirth. His arm went around the couch, and you could feel the heat from it. Even though he wasn’t the man that had plagued your thoughts, you couldn’t help the way your body reacted to the stranger, breathing growing short, your cheeks darkening slightly. You were only human after all.

“Can’t say I’ve seen you around here before, gorgeous.” He flashed his teeth, and you were pleasantly surprised to find pretty much all of them intact, and still in good condition. Another rarity of the Wastleland.

“I’m just passing through. Just finished up some… work.” You turned yourself to face him more.

“Work, you say? Whattya do?”

“Oh, just some odd jobs here and there. Whatever makes me money.”

He chucked at that. “Can’t blame you for that. I’m Daniel, by the way.” He held a hand out for you, ungloved and bare. You shook it, giving him your name, and he repeated it back to you. It wasn’t the drawl of The Ghoul’s voice, but it was pleasant enough.

You expect him to drop your hand, but something about them must’ve intrigued him, and you watched, quite confused, as he filled it over. His eyes ran over your fingers, especially your forefinger and thumb, before flicking back up to yours. He still didn’t drop your hand. “You use a gun a lot?” He smirked when you nodded, bewildered. “I can tell by the callouses here,” he dragged a finger along them, tickling you slightly.

“Well, look at you,” you laughed. “What’re you, a detective?”

“Nah, nothin’ like that. Just… observant.” He flashed you another smile, completely confident in his actions. “So, you’re a bounty hunter then?”

You didn’t bother to deny his claim, knowing the expression on your face just gave you away. Thank goodness you weren’t a con artist. “Is it gonna be a problem if I say yes?” You asked cautiously, slowly retracting your hand, ready for this interaction to go bad. You let your eyes flick to The Ghoul, locating him in case you need help. He was still at the bar, talking with someone new this time, and you felt a pang of something as the man he was talking to brushed his shoulder, nothing innocent in the touch.

“Not a problem at all,” he answered completely honestly. “Nasty business, though.”

You glanced back at Daniel, relief flooding you. You did not have the energy for a barfight tonight. “You don’t know the half of it,” you groaned. “It’s ruthless, but I enjoy it, weirdly enough. And I’m pretty good at it.”

The hand resting on the back of the couch shifted, and you felt his fingers brush over your shoulders, making you shiver slightly. I like a girl that can handle herself,” he admitted. “Strong,” he gently squeezed the muscles in your biceps. “Confident. Powerful.” His voice turned into a whisper at the end, mouth pressed close to your ear.

You were quite flustered now. “Well, you’re in luck then.”

“It seems I am. So, what say you, bounty hunter? Do you wanna get out of here in a bit, have some fun tonight before you head off?”

It had been a long time since you’d had someone in your bed. Since about when you started working with The Ghoul, to be exact. You’re not sure why you hadn’t in so long; it wasn’t for a lack of options. You just… couldn’t bring yourself to take someone to bed that wasn’t The Ghoul. Still, you hated waking up alone each morning, loneliness clawing at your heart. And when you’d see men and women stumble from his room, it felt like someone shot you, making you irritable with him for days to come. Maybe for once you’d have someone leaving your room, your heart content, if for a moment. Maybe you could imagine that it wasn’t Daniel, picture the other man’s features instead.

Maybe he would feel the same way you felt as he watched Daniel sneak from your room. That idea made you grin, and any hesitance about taking him to bed vanished.

You didn’t get a chance to respond, though, before two familiar gloved hands rested on Daniel’s shoulders, making the man tense. He was forcibly pulled back from you, the force of the pull nearly making him fall off the couch. He caught himself, and you watched as he stood and faced The Ghoul.

The shade from his hat hid most of his face, but even then you could see the hatred in his eyes as he stared down Daniel. The Ghoul was a formidable opponent, but you have to give some credit to Daniel as he squared up against him. “The hell’s your problem, man?” If the way The Ghoul had yanked Daniel hadn’t gotten the attention of the crowd, Daniel’s words surely did. Behind them, you watched a small crowd begin to form, and you wished to just let the shadows consume you.

“She’s… off-limits,” he titled his head to the side. The action would make any sane person falter, and you watched as Daniel’s posture went rigid, fear hitting him.

Still, Daniel didn’t let up, male pride and all that. “Maybe you should let her know, then,” he gestured angrily to you, and you shrank lower into the seat. “By the way she was lettin’ me talk to her, I can imagine the whole town’s probably had their way-”

His words, which had been so sweet moments ago, were cut off when The Ghoul grabbed him by the throat, slamming him onto the table in front of you. You jumped off the couch as splinters of wood and glass sprayed everywhere, narrowly avoiding you. Mortified, you could do nothing but watch as The Ghoul began to beat the man, blood joining in with the debris. If Daniel had a nose left, you were sure it would be pulverized.

The Ghoul’s lips had curled up into a snarl, his eyes blazing as he leered down at the man, stopping his assault. Daniel tried to pry the other man’s hand from his throat, a choked gasp leaving him, yet that seemed to just make his grip tighter. “Gimme one reason why I shouldn’t just kill ya?” He growled, shoving Daniel’s head into the ground. He could barely garble out a reply, the words indistinguishable.

Glass shattered on the floor as The Ghoul tossed the man into another table, another piece of furniture destroyed. As he stalked towards the downed man, he rolled over onto his hands and knees, rubbing at his throat. He was coughing and sputtering, genuine fear in his eyes as he looked up at the bounty hunter. Crouching before him, The Ghoul regarded him slowly, nothing but disgust on his features.

“Fuck… she all yours,” Daniel managed to pant out between coughs. “Just… God, don’t kill me!”

Satisfied with his answer, The Ghoul kicked him one last time for good measure, sending him sprawling back. It was dead silent in the bar, and patrons gawked and shuffled away as The Ghoul walked to where you had been standing, only to find you gone.

You had slipped out when he had thrown him, unable to continue watching. The streets were busy, and you kept your head down as you wove between people, heading to the hotel as quickly as you could. Too many emotions overwhelmed you, and you took a deep breath and began to collect your thoughts.

First, you were embarrassed.

You were embarrassed that they had been fighting over you. When you weren’t on a job, you hated creating conflict, not wanting to be the center of attention. You had plenty of that doing bounty hunting. This was supposed to be a night where you relaxed, to forget all about the horrors of the world you lived in, with or without The Ghoul, but that plan was tossed aside.

Secondly, you were angry.

Fuming would be a better word for it, and if you looked hard enough you could probably see the steam pouring from your ears. You were pissed that he had ruined a possibly enjoyable night with another person, ending your celibate streak. You were pissed that he felt like he could just take control of your choices like that. And you were pissed that you never got that next drink, although that was the least of your concerns at this point.

Finally, you were confused.

Why had he reacted the way he did? It wasn’t like there was anything between you two, as much as it pained you to come to terms with it. Why did he care who you took to bed? He had taken plenty of people to bed during the time you’d worked together, and you’d never made a complaint about it. Why were you weirdly attracted to his display of… jealousy? Was it jealousy? You couldn’t even imagine what that could mean if it was.

The sound of your name being shouted behind you forcefully tore you from your thoughts. You immediately recognized it, and you refrained from looking over at him. Ducking your head, you hoped that you blended in well with the others on the street, and you continued to briskly walk towards the hotel.

You heard your name being called again, this time closer, and so you picked up the pace, nearly jogging at this point. You heard the sound of people crying out in alarm, and you knew that he was getting closer to you, barreling through the crowds without any thought.

You could see the neon sign of the hotel, now lit, and you breathed out a sigh of relief. That feeling was short-lived, panic making your stomach drop when you heard The Ghoul right behind you. “Don’t make me fuckin’ tackle ya,” you heard him threaten. For a moment, you debated just ignoring him, but you knew that he didn’t make empty threats. Besides, the ground was dusty, and you’d rather not spend the rest of the night covered in sand.

Groaning, you finally halted, turning to face him with a scowl. You didn’t respond, just raising a brow and gesturing for him to ‘get on with it’. Your jaw was clenched so hard, and you could feel the headache that threatened to torment you later because of it.

“The fuck was that about?”

God, was he joking with you? “I should be the one asking you that! In what world was that a rational response?”

People stared as they passed, but you both just ignored them. “He was touchin’ ya.”

“And did I look even remotely disinterested? Was there any part of my body language that read that I was even the tiniest bit uncomfortable?” You laughed bitterly at the lack of response from him; you both knew what the answer was. “Why the hell do you even care if he was touching me or not?”

He was silent again, and you just scoffed, taking a few steps back. “Whatever,” you sighed in defeat, before turning and walking the remaining way to the hotel. You were almost disappointed when you didn’t hear him following behind you.

The person behind the desk recognized you, and you were able to quickly make your way up to the second floor where your room was. You made sure to not let your eyes wander to the door where he was staying that night, a few feet down from yours on the other side of the hallway.

When you were finally alone in your room, you resisted the urge to just scream angrily. Instead, you kicked off your shoes, which hit the walls with a loud noise, and you flopped onto your bed. Laying on your back with your arms spread, you stared at the surprisingly intact ceiling, frustrated tears stinging your eyes. Disagreements always upset you, but there was something about this one that made you feel ill, a sense of dread that you’d never felt before filled your body.

You’re not sure how long you just lay there, calming your racing heart and your heightened emotions. It must’ve been a while, because you dozed off, the exhaustion in your body now taking control.

A light knock at the door woke you, and for a second you thought you had just imagined it. When it came again, more forceful, you sighed, knowing exactly who was on the other side of the door. Like before, you debated just ignoring him, but you didn’t want to be charged for the destruction of more property. “What?” You snapped out, still not in the mood to talk to him yet.

“We need to talk.” The Ghoul responded, sounding less irritated than you.

“Yeah, no shit.” I gave you plenty of time to explain yourself downstairs.

You could hear him sigh through the thin wood door. “Sweetheart.” You hated that he knew how to get you to do whatever you wanted. You couldn’t even stop yourself as you sat up and made your way to the door. With no hesitation you opened it, his endearment almost putting you under a spell.

It was dissipated when you saw him, those emotions flooding your mind instead. The door was only open a crack, your body filling it as you glared at the other man. “Yes?

“Let me talk to ya,” he sighed in frustration.

“You are.” You couldn’t care less that you were being stubborn and difficult. He deserved it.

His jaw clenched. “Inside.”

You didn’t respond, mulling over his words as you stared at him, fire never once leaving your eyes. Finally, you relented, against your better judgment. Stepping back, you left the door open, leaning up against one of the dressers with your arms crossed. You watched as he entered, the door clicking shut in finality, looking like he expected to be attacked by you at any second. You were almost proud to instill that level of fear in him.

He kept a respectful distance away from you, loitering near the foot of the bed. “Look, I’m… sorry.” He said the words like they were brand new.

He left it at that, and you scoffed. You knew that you should just accept his apology and move on. You knew that you shouldn’t instigate something, to purposely start an argument with your traveling partner. But you were still too damn angry to care. You needed him to know what you felt.

“‘Sorry’? I get nothing more than that?”

“What’dya want from me then, sweetheart?” He growled, your anger rubbing off on him. “You want me to get down on my fuckin’ knees, plead for your forgiveness? You want me to promise I ain’t ever gonna do it again, even though it’ll be a damn lie? What the fuck do you want from me?” He spat the last sentence out, emphasizing each word.

The image of him on his knees before you flashed in your mind, and you had to admit it did seem appealing. But not now.

He was getting closer to you now. Slow, methodical steps, but he was closer, and continuing. “I want an explanation.”

You might’ve as well just slapped him, the way he halted in his tracks, stunned. Words seemed to evade him, and the anger that had just been rolling off him in waves subsided, still there yet not as strong. It should’ve had the opposite effect, but your rage was growing, threatening to burst. “Oh, so now you can’t talk? It’s a simple request!”

“It’s really fuckin’ not.”

“Why?” Silence. “You’ve got two options here. You either suck it up and tell me, or you get the hell out of here. It’s your choice.”

You could tell that he hated the choice you gave him, but you didn’t care. You expected to watch him turn and storm out the door, leaving your relationship in tatters on the dirty hotel floor. So you were surprised when he took a deep breath and remained where he was. “I hated that he was touchin’ you."

“So you were jealous?” You ignored the way you were elated when he nodded, albeit with some hesitancy. The anger subsided, and you felt pure want take its place. “You wanted to be him,” you whispered, taking a step towards him. Your confidence grew at how hungrily he watched you.

“You wanted to be the one whispering those words, to be running their fingers on my body.” Another step. “You wanted to be the one to take me to bed, to feel me, to fuck me.” You were finally close enough to him that you could touch him if you wish, but you kept your hands by your sides.

The Ghoul groaned at your words, and you couldn’t help the small smirk on your face at his reaction. “Do you want that?” You asked, needed to hear confirmation.

It came almost immediately. “Fuck, yes.” His own hands reached out to touch you, but you swatted them away. That snapped him out of his semi-trance, his eyes flashing with confusion.

“You don’t get to touch me yet.”

Something new flashed in his eyes instead, something you couldn’t quite name. “Sweetheart-”

“Sit down.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you just shot him a look, silencing him instantly. The bed groaned as he sat on the edge of it, eyes never leaving yours. It made him stand a head lower than you now, and he had to look up to continue holding your gaze. “How does it feel? To watch someone else get the things you want?”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond. “It hurts, doesn’t it? It feels like someone’s stabbed you in the heart, no? So,” you moved between his legs, “how do you think I felt? After you flirt with me, then take someone else to bed. After you touch me, toy with me, but then act like my body disgusts you, and you recoil away. After you say those things that leave me shaking and wanting, but then never act of them.”

Your hands grabbed the lapels of his jacket, and you brought your face close to his. “I’ve seen you take countless lovers to bed during the time we’ve worked together, and I never said a peep. Even though it fucking killed me to see. That man in the bar, the one you beat senseless? That was gonna be the first person that’d occupied my bed in almost a year. And no, I didn’t really want him that badly, but maybe I could finally go to bed for one night and not have my thoughts be entirely of you.”

Shoving his back lightly, you stumbled back a few steps, the confession that had just spilled from your lips making you breathless. “I have to know; did you mean it? All the flirting, the touches, everything. Did you mean it?”

For once, The Ghoul kept any remarks to himself, and sheer honesty was written across his face. There before you, you saw a vulnerable man, gazing up at you like you hung the stars. “I did. I do.”

“Do you want me?” Cautiously, you began to move back towards him.

“Every fuckin’ minute.”

When you were back between his legs, you let your hands rest on the lapels, no longer strangling the poor material. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

A hopeful smile graced his lips, his eyes flicking down to your lips which hovered above him. After nodding lightly, you let yourself move closer until your lips just brushed over his, barely making contact. “A shame, then.” You pulled away before they could fully connect, a victorious smile on your face as you looked down at the confused man.

“Oh, you thought you’d be getting what you wanted tonight? You ran your hands up, resting on the sides of his neck now. You could feel his heart hammering. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not. No, tonight you’re gonna feel as desperate as I’ve felt for the past year. And,” you made sure that he was especially paying attention to your words now, “if you think that at any point tonight you’re gonna have control, you’re wrong. Any objections?”

His eyes had blown out during your little speech, small pants leaving his lips as he stared up at you. He was already so eager, and you’d barely done anything yet. Even still, you saw a flicker of uncertainty, and you realized he’d probably never given up control in the bedroom. You let the facade drop for a moment. “I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. Not ever. You just gotta let me know, and we’ll stop immediately.”

Any uncertainty left him, and something warmed in your chest at the fact that he trusted you enough to do something like this. “You ready?”

He nodded, and you shook your head. “I need to hear you say it, baby.”

You watched his throat bob as he swallowed, not expecting the name from you. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” You rewarded him with a soft kiss on the cheek before grabbing his hat off his head. “Go get comfortable on the bed.”

Stepping away from him, you set his hat on the nightstand as he got situated, his now bare head resting on the pillows. Making sure he had returned his attention to you, you heard his gasp when you grabbed the hem of your shirt, turning into an appreciative groan when you tore it off your head. You wore a simple black bra beneath, but you might as well have been wearing the most beautiful piece of lingerie with the way his eyes widened, a smile on his face again. You made quick work of your jeans, and you refrained from shivering as the air hit your now-exposed skin, clad in only your undergarments. But how could you be cold when he was looking at you with such heat in his eyes?

The bed creaked again when you got on it, and you adjusted until you straddled his abdomen. His clothing dug into your skin, but you could hardly feel it. Planting your hands on his chest, you leaned forward until your face was only an inch from his. He watched you with hooded eyes, which fluttered close when your lips pressed against his jaw, moving up until you stopped right below his ear.

Gloved hands rested on your bare waist, and as much as you enjoyed feeling his hands on your body, you couldn’t let up that easily. “Did I say you could touch me yet?” You whispered, and you felt him slowly rescind his touch, now resting on the bedsheets beside him. “Good job,” you praised, and you felt him shudder slightly. Interesting. “If you behave, I might just let you touch me,” you offered, like dangling a piece of food in front of a starving animal.

“Yeah?”

You just smiled against his skin.

Continuing your exploration, you moved inward, barely feeling the ridges of the indents of his skin. Moving up his cheek, to across where his nose would be, then to the other cheek, you littered his face with kisses, purposely avoiding his lips. His eyes continued to flutter open and close, and at this proximity, you were able to see short, brown eyelashes. How… peculiar. And cute.

You didn’t make any comment on them, choosing to move back down again. But you went past his jaw this time, down to his neck, and you felt his head roll back to allow you more room. You felt him jump when you sunk your teeth into the skin before moaning beautifully, and you ran over the hurt with your tongue. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as his hands instinctively went up to touch you, then resting back down on the bed, grabbing at the bedsheets instead.

There wasn’t much exposed skin left when you reached where his neck and shoulders met, his shirt now covering it. Leaning back, you gestured for him to sit up, helping ease the jacket off his shoulders when he did. He pulled his arms out, and it pooled around his waist, still sitting on most of it. You didn’t care, as long as you could get his get his shirt off.

You hesitated a second before beginning to fiddle with the buttons, glancing up into his eyes. “Alright?”

“You don’t gotta keep askin’, sweetheart,” he responded breathlessly. “I’ll let you know if I don’t want somethin’.”

You grinned at him, before quickly getting to work and taking off his button-up shirt. With every inch of his body that was revealed to you, you felt your heart accelerate, excitement bubbling in you. He had just gotten his arms out of the garment and had tossed it to the floor before you were forcing him back down on the bed with hands on his chest, loving how easily he complied.

You let your fingers drag down the front of his chest, nails scratching lightly. Even with the thick scarring covering his body, he was still able to feel it, and he shivered. Your breath caught when you finally looked for yourself, instead of letting your touch see for you. To say he was gorgeous would be an understatement. All lean muscle, you could feel them flex and jump when you touched him, and for a moment you remembered how strong this man was. And here he was, submitting to your every request. You really did try to not let it go to your head.

“You’re so beautiful, Cooper.” You hadn’t even realized you’d let his real name slip until he went deathly still beneath you. Glancing up at him, you couldn’t read the expression on his face, and you thought you went too far. Still, he had yet to say anything, and so you kept your mouth shut. You trusted that he would stop you.

Continuing to touch him, you barely heard the soft plea that he uttered. “Say it again.”

The expression clicked now, and you smiled gently at him. You felt truly happy, knowing there was another thing he trusted you with. “Cooper,” you sighed, and you were startled when you felt his hands grasp at you, desperately trying to pull you towards him. You braced on his chest, stopping him, and you glanced at where his hands now rested until he tore them away. You made a disapproving noise as you leaned back down, teasing him by brushing your lips against his. But with the way you were sitting and the way you pressed down on his chest, he couldn’t meet you, and you heard him make a frustrated noise.

“Do I gotta tie your hands up, Cooper?” You semi-joked, gauging his reaction. When his eyes somehow darkened even more, you knew he was down.

You both knew that he could easily “break free” from the restraints you’d placed on him; he had ghoul strength, and you were just a human. But he continued to play into your game, and you were grateful for it. You were having too much fun.

“If ya keep sayin’ my name like that, then ya might have to.”

“Oh, you’re too good to me, baby,” you praised, hands retracting so you could reach behind you. You smirked at his reaction when you tugged at his belt, being sure to purposely graze over the evident strain in his pants. You gave him the most innocent look you could when he glared at you, returning your touch to his belt. It took a bit of maneuvering, and with some help from him raising his hips, you were able to free it.

The headboard was made from metal bars, so you were easily able to secure his wrists to it. The restraint wasn’t tight, tight enough to keep him in place, but if he severely needed to leave then he could easily escape. When you sat back, you admired the sight before you. Your wildest dreams were playing out right in front of you, and you couldn’t be more excited.t

Starting at the base of his throat, you began to move down his body, pressing your lips against the skin as you descended. When you reached his nipples, you let your tongue flick over it, eliciting a whine from him. Your fingers toyed with the other one, making him squirm. You couldn’t deny that the noises he was making were making you dizzy, a familiar tension building in you. But you kept an amused and unaffected expression on your face, not wanting to break yet.

You didn’t stay there for long, continuing your descent downwards. You scratched lightly over his abs when you reached them, and you figured goosebumps would be covering his body by now.

“I could just leave you like this, you know,” you commented as you moved backward. “Hands bound, aching, wanting.” Your hands trailed down his thighs.

“You wouldn’t,” he groaned, and you just flashed a smile at him.

“Oh, but I could.” You now rested just below his thighs, your own straddling them. “I could just sit here and make you watch as I touch myself, make myself cum, screaming your name.” You heard the belt rattle against the bedframe when you let one of your hands trail down your stomach, a gasp leaving you when you reached the band of your underwear. “Then leave you alone with just your thoughts, imagining all the things you could’ve done to me. Just how I spent every night this past year. Revenge is a bitch, isn’t it?”

“Sweetheart, please.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard something so wonderful, arousal spiking in your body. His eyes bore into you as you reached behind you, unclasping your bra. You let it slide off your body before setting it gently on the floor. Squeezing your breasts in your hands, you let your head roll back, his name tumbling from you. You debated moaning the other man’s name, the one in the bar, but you couldn’t remember it. Besides, you were torturing the man enough, and you assumed that he would tear through his bindings if you did.

Eventually, you took pity on him, and your desire was starting to get in the way of your need to draw this out. He jumped when you rested your hands on his thighs, expecting you to do what you said, and you could feel the relief it brought him.

It didn’t take long for you to unbutton his pants, even less to unzip them. You tugged both them and his boxers down enough to free him. He was already rock hard, almost painfully so, and a strangled groan left him. The noise shot straight to your core, and you sighed in appreciation at him. He was long, not overwhelmingly so, but you knew you’d be feeling him for days to come.

Keeping your eyes on him, you leaned forward and lapped at the tip, licking the bead of moisture there. You watched as he tried to move to touch you, and you grinned at him when the restraint stopped him. You could see the plea in his eyes, and you just shook your head at him. Not yet.

Another run of your tongue made him curse, and you cooed at him. “Want me to take care of this, baby?”

“Please,” he gasped out.

“Well, when you ask that nicely.”

He didn’t get a chance to prepare before you were running your tongue along his entire length, base to tip, before taking as much of him as you could in your mouth. You took what you couldn’t fit in your hand, moving in tandem with your mouth as you sucked him. It was nearly unintelligible, but you heard your name being moaned by him.

Bobbing your head up and down, you were unrelenting in the pleasure you were giving him, and you could feel his hips begin to buck and twist, and you moved your mouth off him before he could hit the back of your throat.

Glancing up at him, he looked absolutely wrecked, and the fact made you smile cruelly. You could tell that he was close, by the way he pulsed and throbbed in your hand as you continued to stroke him. Your name was just streaming from him freely, straining and pressing against the belt. The bedpost made an awful noise, but it was covered by his noises. “You close, Cooper?”

His head had been thrown back against the pillows as pleasure coursed through him, but you watched as he flicked his gaze down to you. “Fuck, sweetheart, yes.” You hadn’t meant to, but you let it slip through in your expression what you were planning, and dread washed over his face. He groaned you name, almost in warning, but you ignored him.

To his very evident displeasure, you let go of him, his incoming release ebbing away as you sat up. A string of curses left him, and a drop of sweat rolled down his face. His eyes were blazing with lust and anger, but they melted a bit when regarding you. At least the anger did. The lust seemed to just flare up, especially when he as you stood to slip off your underwear. “You only get to cum when I do, got it?”

He was able to see the evidence of your arousal on them as you discarded them, and even in the position he was in a cocky smile grew on his face. “Perfectly.” That cocky smile was wiped off when he saw you reach for his hat, putting it on your head as you climbed back onto the bed. As you straddled his lap, realization flashed on his features. “Are you tryin’ to fuckin’ kill me?” He wheezed, a mix of laughter and a groan.

“I’m surprised I haven’t already,” you teased back, your hands bracing on his chest. Just like you thought, his heart pounded against your fingertips. Rocking your hips slowly, you began to rut against him, coating him in your arousal.

You heard the tell-tale clink of his belt rattling against the bedframe. “Can I touch ya now, sweetheart?” He gasped out.

You seriously considered it for a moment, but you decided against it. “When you make me cum, you can. But if you finish before me…” You let the words trail off, the threat evident enough.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he held his tongue, knowing that it would get him further away from what he wanted. You grinned at his compliance, rewarding him by getting on your knees and lining him up with your entrance. Sinking onto him, a gasp tore from you as he pressed into you. It had been so long since you’d been stretched like this, and it felt even better than you remembered. Or maybe it was because it was with him.

His grip was vice-like against the metal bars as you slowly sank down on his cock, almost painful-sounding grunts and moans leaving him. It was a slow process, but eventually, you felt your hips go flush with his. “Oh, Cooper, baby,” you groaned, and you felt him twitch inside of you.

“You… you can’t say shit like that and then expect me to last,” he whined, and you laughed gently.

“You need a moment?” You refrained from adding ‘baby’ to the end, knowing he was about to snap.

A shaky exhale left him. “Just… just a moment.”

You hummed in response, letting yourself sit there for a moment. It felt like torture, wanting nothing more than to ride him, but you held back. You tried to not move too much, either, and you eventually felt his breathing calm some. It was still sporadic, but not as much as before.

“Go ‘head now.” You didn’t have to be told twice.

Starting with a slow roll of your hips, you began to move up and down. One hand was planted on his chest, the other on his hat to keep in on your head as it rolled back. It only took a few moments for you to fall into a rhythm, the slow movements gradually building to something faster.

“Cooper, fuck, you feel so good,” you moaned, and you heard him make some noise in agreeance. Another roll of your hips made you see stars, and you could feel that familiar tension begin to build, slowly but surely.

“What a sight you are,” he murmured between breaths, and you looked down to see him staring at you, almost mesmerized. “Wearin’ my hat while ya fuck yourself on my cock. Fuck, a man could die happy like this.”

You tried to grin down at him, but the pleasure became too much as you continued to rock, and you felt yourself falter. Instead, you just moaned out fragments of his name. He was all you could feel, pressing into spots that made you cry out, hitting them with each roll. “Baby.”

God, you loved the way he reacted whenever you uttered that name. His hips jumped, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. The hand planted on his chest dug into the toughened skin, nails no doubt leaving indents, but he didn’t seem to mind. Even though your legs were beginning to shake, you didn’t let up, moving up and down, your breathing becoming labored. You could feel yourself getting closer; you just needed a little more.

After angling your body to keep it steady, you let go of his hat, moving your hands to between your legs. It made you groan, feeling the way his cock moved in and out of you as you began to rub at your clit. The extra stimulation made you cry his name out loudly, and you knew there would be complaints from the other patrons of the hotel.

Your walls tightened around him, making him bite down harshly on his bottom lip to keep from cumming right there. His eyes flicked downward, his mouth going slack as he watched you touch yourself. He forced himself to look away, blown-out eyes staring into yours. You could see the tendons in his neck strain as he concentrated on controlling his release.

The extra pleasure was what you needed, and you could feel your impending release inch closer. “You close, sweetheart?” His voice was hoarse, and you nodded furiously. “You gonna cum on my cock? Fuck, yeah you are.”

“Cooper, you can…” Your words were cut off with a whine.

He seemed to get what you were saying, and he groaned in relief. “Can I finish in ya, sweetheart? Fill up that perfect cunt?”

“Please.” For the first time during the night, you pleaded for something. You were on the verge of release, your movements growing frantic as you chased your release.

“C’mon, sweetheart, lemme feel ya.”

As you cried out his name again, you came, your body going slack as pleasure made you boneless. It wasn’t your first orgasm in a year, far from it, but it felt so much better when it came from another person. Your nerves hummed and you felt weightless, soft whines and pants leaving you.

You barely managed to catch yourself before you fell on top of him, and the clench of you around him was all he needed for his own release, having staved it off for a long time now. He was even louder than you were, your name coming out like a sharp bark as he came, and you could feel his release seep into you, coating you.

The room felt awfully quiet now, even though it was filled with the sound of both of you catching your breaths. With unstable legs, you lifted yourself up and off of him, and you watched as his spend dripped out of you and onto his abdomen. Groans both left you at this sight.

You had been so caught up in the sight that it nearly startled you when you heard the clinking noise again. Glancing up at him, he gave you an expectant look, an almost teasing smirk on his face as he rattled the belt again. “You gonna release me? I’ve been good.” You scoffed at the way he pouted at you.

“You have been,” you agreed. “My good boy,” you added as you reached for the belt. His eyes widened, sucking in a gasp, and if could, he would be blushing.

You just smirked down at him as you released him, but that victory was short-lived when you felt his hands immediately shoot to your body. He practically yanked you down to his mouth, desperately claiming your lips in a messy kiss. His hands roamed over every part of your body, the rough skin making you whine in pleasure, and you could feel his responding smile.

As much as you were loving his attention, you had to admit you were incredibly exhausted, especially now. A yawn tore through you, interrupting the kiss, and you pulled back. “Am I borin’ you, sweetheart?” He asked, amused.

“You could never. But I don’t think I can do all that again,” you laughed breathlessly.

“There’s always tomorrow,” he smirked. “And the next day. And the next.”

You slapped lightly at his chest, chuckling. “Eager, are we?”

“Desperately,” he growled lightly before pulling you back to his lips. This kiss was gentler, although no less passionate. He laughed boisterously when you pulled away to yawn again, fingers halting their exploration.

When you tried to pull away, though, he didn’t let go, keeping your body close. “Baby, I need to get us cleaned up,” you laughed, trying and failing to escape his hold. “I’m not going to bed covered in…” You trailed off, too embarrassed to finish the sentence. You tried to wiggle free, and you sighed in defeat when he didn’t let go.

“You’re blushin’,” he teased, making your ears burn more. “You were spewin’ those filthy things earlier without a second thought, but now you’re actin’ all shy?”

“I hate you,” you grumbled.

“Sure ya do, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “How ‘bout this? You finish what you were ‘bout to say, and I’ll let ya go. For a minute or two, that is.”

You sighed again. “I was saying that I’m not going to bed covered in your cum,” you said with major hesitancy, your ears on fire.

“Why not?”

You slapped his chest again. “I did what you asked. Let me go, Cooper.”

He debated it for a moment. “Fine,” you felt his hand let up its hold, “but if you ain’t back in a minute, I’m draggin’ ya back to the bed.”

Now on a timer, you quickly got off his lap, not before pressing one last kiss to his cheek. On shaky legs, you made your way to the bathroom, flipping him off when he laughed at your inability to walk in a straight line. After using the bathroom, you used one of the provided washrags, dampening it before running it between your legs, and cleaning you up. Grabbing a new one, you dampened it as well before heading back to the bathroom.

He was now sitting on the edge of the bed, the rest of his clothing discarded on the floor, and he looked up when he saw you enter. “Thought I was ‘bout to drag you back,” he commented as you approached him, grinning when he saw your unabashed staring. “Like what ya see?”

You wiped that proud expression off when the cold washcloth made contact with his skin, and you quickly wiped him down. He hissed when it ran over his cock, and you muttered a small apology. You tried to move back to the bathroom to discard the cloth, but you felt him wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you back towards him. You felt him kiss the back of your neck, and you felt him yank the cloth from your hand, tossing it vaguely in the direction of the bathroom.

He pulled you back onto the bed, adjusting the covers so that they covered you both, the one arm never leaving your waist, his face burrowed into your neck. Out of all the things you expected him to be, a cuddler was not one of them. But you certainly weren’t complaining.

Because of the heat of him behind you, and the exertion of the day's activities, you felt exhaustion take over you again, and your eyes fluttered close. “You still owe me anther drink,” you heard yourself mutter.

The rumble of his chest from his laughter was the last thing you remembered before you fell asleep.

Author’s Note: i stole the hat thing from one of my other fics, but i love it so much that i needed to use it again. also might write a continuation/pt.2 to this, idk yet.

also thank you @kinatanhi yet again for the comment that helped inspire all this <3

#the ghoul x reader #the ghoul #fallout tv series #fallout prime #fallout show #fallout #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard #the ghoul x you #the ghoul smut #cooper howard x you

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pandoraslxna · 9 months

Note

hello! i’m literally terrible at requesting things lol, but i thought i would ask if you would be doing another part to Stepbrother AU? i absolutely love the way you write neteyam. maybe some sweet and soft smut?

Sweet dreams

adult stepbro Neteyam x female omatikaya reader

Words: 2.5k

Summary: It’s date night, the marui is quiet and Neteyam has you all to himself.

Warnings: explicit smut, stepcest (= they’re not related by blood), fluff, praise kink, p in v, soft sex, semi-public, biting

Notes: adult Neteyam art was made by @cinetrix 🩵

Translation:

syulang = flower

It’s date night.

Date night means, his parents will be away for the night. And that means, all responsibilities fall to him.

So Neteyam makes sure everyone’s fed, goes to hunt, skins the yerik with Lo‘ak and let’s Kiri help prepare the meat, while you’re out to give Tuk a much needed bath after playing in the dirt all day.

They all eat together, while mum and dad are out somewhere flying on their ikrans or swimming in a river, spending some much needed time away from their kids, even though half of them are grown already and can take care of themselves. These days, date night is more than a ritual that they decided to keep from the early years of their mating, than a day spent away from the rest of the family. The kids aren’t really kids anymore, they don’t fight like they used to, they don’t ask too many questions that make Jakes hairline thin out and they don’t stick to Neytiri like leeches anymore.

Except for little Tuk of course, because Tuk will most likely forever keep the status of the Sully’s baby, probably even when she has kids on her own.

Lo‘ak has grown too, but he’s still Lo‘ak. Has always been him and will never change the way he is. Unless Tsireya comes over– great mother help him, suddenly he’s someone Neteyam has never seen before and it makes him physically cringe. But who is he to judge and apparently the chiefs daughter seems to be into that 'oh my voice is naturally low and raspy and I definitely don’t deepen it just to impress you' type of thing.

Kiri is, well, she’s never been one to talk much, but since she’s reached the end of her what dad calls puberty and mother calls "a test to her mental strength" her head seems to be even more up in the clouds than it was before.

Neteyam himself has long reached that age where he would like to experience these domestic moments with his own little family, living in his own marui. But he can’t seem to peel himself away from here, from home. Not when everything he yearns for is right here.

Which brings us to you.

His pretty little syulang, the flower of his life, that grew roots so deep in his heart that they took up all the space and left no room for anything or anyone else, since the day his parents had decided to take you in.

Admittedly, it took Neteyam longer than he thought it would, to realize that the way he looked at you was different from the way he looked at his other siblings. He’s always been protective by nature, takes care of those who are dear to him. But not once had he felt the same kind of jealousy when Spider or Rotxo or whoever talked to his sister Kiri, than when boys came to talk to you. When it came to you, things were different.

Neteyam himself had started fooling around with girls his age relatively young. Kissing and touching, before he turned eighteen and realized how easy it is to get them on their hands and knees just for being the next olo’eyktan.

But when you came along, things took a sharp turn. Suddenly, those girls made him feel icky. Suddenly, he had never wanted to touch anybody as much as he wanted to touch you. But he knew that such a thing was out of the question, though, so he never tried to act upon his forbidden desires.

It was you, surprisingly, who came to him first. Crossing all lines of what Neteyam thought was considered right or wrong, just for you to confess a love that goes beyond what step siblings should feel for each other.

Anyways.

Date night means, all responsibilities fall to him. And while it’s usually dad that has trouble sleeping, that stays up until eywa know when, sitting in the space that’s reserved for crafting and such things to clean his assault rifle, it’s Neteyam who sits in this place tonight. Like being away for a night ultimately means that not being able to sleep is now his burden too.

Neteyam doesn’t know the reason to his. His stomach is full and he’s happy and content, should probably sleep like a baby. But he just can’t bring himself to rest.

He hears Lo’aks snoring pick up in the other room, and it makes him chuckle lightheartedly. He‘ll keep Tsireya in his prayers, once the two of them have finally mated and will share their own marui. Eywa help her find some sleep, once this snoring palulukan lays under her roof.

Neteyam smiles to himself. His fingers slowly grow tired as they move a woven thread back and forth, then through a pearl, tying a knot and repeat. At least some part of him feels the need to rest.

While his parents date night generally means that there will be more duties than usual in his daily routine, it also means that there is no one up in the middle of the night or in the early morning hours, giving him time and peace to be lost in his thoughts. And those thoughts roam around a certain someone, more than usual even.

Because date night also means, spending time with his precious syulang is now less risky than it is on any other day or any other night.

Quietly, Neteyam tips his head back to glance into the other room. He can vaguely make out your sleeping silhouette in the dark, laying in your hammock. Like a magnet to metal, he feels himself drawn to you, so he allows his body to move without his brain having much say in this.

Everyone‘s asleep and his parents aren’t there and it just feels good to act upon his desires without double questioning everything, wondering what fleeting touches he could allow himself without being looked at weird or having to find excuses to go to the forest together for at least some alone time.

The hammock dips, and then a warm body settles to lay behind you, curling around your smaller frame like you’re two fitting pieces of the same puzzle.

A soft sigh leaves your parted lips and Neteyam can’t help but press a kiss to the nape of your neck. His breath tickles your skin, and then you stir awake with a yawn.

"Teyam?", you murmur sleepily, glancing over your shoulder to be met with two half lidded, golden orbs staring back at you.

"M‘sorry, syulang", he whispers against the shell of your ear before pressing another kiss to your cheek. "Didn’t mean to wake you."

You mumble something incoherent that he can’t quite pick up, but then you’re stretching and your tail instinctively curls around his, and Neteyam knows you probably didn’t mean to– but your back arches into him, ass pressing against his crotch, and suddenly you’re not the one only stirring awake.

"Hmm, but since you’re already up, we could…", the words are muffled into the crook of your neck, followed by more, open mouthed kisses against your skin.

"Teyam", you giggle quietly, squirming when he nips at the lobe of your ear, "stop it."

Instead of listening, his arms close tighter around your middle, pulling your back closer to his chest. His hands skim over the bare skin of your stomach, over your thighs, your waist.

"You’re so warm", he mumbles, with both of his hands now sandwiched between your soft thighs. It makes you dizzy, the way he presses himself against you, how his hands can’t seem to stay still for even a second, roaming your body to caress and squeeze and grab whatever they can reach. Your breath hitches in your throat once you feel his fingertips brush the outline of your loincloth, following the cords between your thighs, hands cupping your cunt.

"T-The others", you finally find your voice again. Swallowing thickly, you whisper, "Lo’ak and Kiri, they will–"

But Neteyam is quick to cut you off, "The others are sleeping…" Another open mouthed kiss to your throat, tongue licking along your pulse point. "And I missed you. A lot."

It doesn’t seem like he was leaving you much room to argue, especially not, because his hands then dip past the waistband of your loincloth.

"I was with you the whole day", a smile pulls at your lips, eyes fluttering closed as you let yourself enjoy the feeling of his teasing fingers.

"Hmh, and I still missed my baby sister", he hums, "Missed kissing you… touching you…"

A gasp tumbles from your parted lips when one of his digits slides into you with ease, curling up where he knows it feels best for you.

"Always so wet for me", Neteyam whispers, "My perfect girl."

His breath is hot and damp against the skin of your neck, and he nudges his now fully hard cock against the small of your back and waits for the sign that tells him you feel the same want he does.

Neteyam can’t help but nuzzle up against the crook of your neck again, trace the edge of your ear with nose and lips, because he can never get enough of the way that sends a shiver through your body. Through his own body too, and then he presses the smallest, quietest kisses to your ear until you shivers again.

Neteyam is so close to you, that he can sense and know he caused the tremble in your limbs and breath.

Those small, trembling movements are what does it for him, the way you nudge your sleep-warm body against him, the arch of your back against his chest and crotch, the scrabble of delicate fingers as they fumble against his arm, looking for purchase, the brush of your soft hair against his cheek and the taste of your skin at the flick of his tongue against your throat, neck and shoulder.

"Teyaaam", you whine quietly, two of his slick fingers now scissoring you open and you writhe and squirm, pushing back harder against his cock in need.

This time, the shiver runs through him first and you gasp once, the sound quiet and sharp.

Neteyam knows that sound. Knows that means he could fit your bodies together even better, press himself inside you now. So naturally, that’s what he does.

It’s a clumsy mess of tangled limps, soft giggles and fleeting kisses before he manages to wriggle you and then himself free from any clothes. He keeps you flush against him, back pressed against his chest, angles your leg up and holds you open with a hand to the backside of your knee.

Neteyam slides into you easily. The stretch is familiar, good and pleasant, and you moan once he’s filled you entirely.

"Shh, I know", he coos softly, "but you have to be quiet for me, yes? Don’t want to wake the others, don’t you?"

You nod, then his hips move almost on instinct, back and then pushing forwards, thrusting into you. It’s slow and languid, with muffled groans pressed against your skin.

Neteyam wants it to last. Wants to stay like this forever, soft touches and warmth and the fond familiarity of your skin under his fingertips. But he can't resist that voice. Can't resist that desperate, pleading tone.

"P-Please Neteyam", you whimper softly, pushing back against him, "more, please. More, I want to come!"

He pushes forward, just that little bit harder, then shifts to clamp a hand over your mouth, shushing you when you’re unable to contain those little noises of pleasure.

"You feel so good, syulang, so good."

The slow drag of his shaft against your warm, wet and velvety-like walls makes Neteyams tail curl in enjoyment, and his eyes flutter close as he lets himself drown in the feeling of you. His teeth are clenched shut, biting down on his lower lip, because he was just as close to moaning out loud as you were.

But then you’re clamping down, hard, when his tip nudges against that special spot inside you and– just a little faster, his thrusts become just a tad harder, deeper.

There’s drool covering the inside of his hand, where he’s trying to keep your mouth shut, tongue lapping at his palm so he switches position, sticks two of his fingers into your mouth instead for you to suck on.

You’re so wet around him, wet around his fingers too now, sucking as eager as you would on his cock and the low groan that bubbles up his throat is almost too loud. Almost.

But Neteyam catches his breath quickly, busying his mouth with your throat instead, sucking and kissing and biting, never hard enough to leave any marks, but enough to keep himself from making too much noise.

Meanwhile your tongue swirls around his digits and he pushes them further in whenever he slides his cock out of you, then out when he thrusts forwards. It’s a constant rhythm, leaving you moaning around his fingers and squeezing around his cock.

Slow and steady, he repeats the words like a mantra, trying to calm himself. But his thrusts become deeper, harder as well. They knock the breath out of your lungs, little whimpers reaching his ears, until Neteyam has to cover you mouth again with a warning grunt.

All it would take was for Lo‘ak to wake and get water, and then he would hear the obvious, he would hear the faint squelching noises coming from the other room, would hear your little whimpers and pleas.

Neteyam wanted this to last, he really did. But the thrill of getting caught was a dangerous mix to the absolute heavenly feeling of your pussy convulsing around his length as you came. The soft squeak that you gave, the way that your legs trembled and your eyes rolled back, it was all that was needed to push him over the edge.

"Fuck, fuck, syulang, baby. I‘m– I‘m gonna come", he forces out, as quietly as possible. The hand over your mouth clamped down harder, like a warning before he started to thrust into you faster, barely able to contain himself anymore.

Just a few especially deep strokes were needed, and Neteyam felt his body and every last nerve in it fill with pleasure, before he came with a grunt, biting his tongue and pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

Taking his time, Neteyam lets his body come down slowly. He’s still pressing himself into you gently, continues to move a little, thrusting, and enjoys the slippery sensations this engenders. Traces kisses over your skin and tastes salt and sweetness on his tongue while he listens to the way your breathing slowly evens out.

A tender, "I love you", is whispered against the shell of your ear. Your response comes a little slurred, voice laced with sleep and barely incoherent, but it doesn’t really matter to him. There’s a smile on your lips as you fall back asleep, satisfied and content.

And finally, sleep tugs on his tired eyelids.

Neteyam suspects, as he drifts of to sleep, that in an hour or so, for the second time that day, he'll be the first to wake. He’ll have to get up and move to his own hammock, fall back asleep there, or not. And he’ll miss you again, from afar. Until date night comes around again.

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onyourhyuck · 1 year

Text

Trigger The Fever. | Huang Renjun (M)

↳ prologue: “You don’t have to act so tough. It’s ok to let other people care for you sometimes.” + “You can call me a mom all you want, but I’ll will get you better soon.”

↳ summary: You have a fever and your roommate who you have deep feelings for decides to take a day off to take care of you.

↳ the warnings: Roommate crush!renjun. domestic Renjun taking care of you while you’re ill. Crack and wholesome. Little hint of flirting. Fem reader.

↳ the notes: I have a fever and I’m starting to become sick so, I made this fanfic as inspiration. Fml I’m on holiday I’m not supposed to be sick ;-;

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You hate being sick the most. You hate having the smallest cold, you hate feeling terrible to the point it ruins your entire day. One slip of a cough and you’re praying to lord above it’s not a cold.

The last time you have gotten sick badly was around high school, a few years back now. Unlike other children, you never wanted to take a day off from school. You disliked being home alone, bed ridden with a fever like you are right now.

Being an Uni student doesn’t make you afford to take illness lightly, you have exams soon. You have places to be, you have a schedule to follow, a routine people can call it. Now that you’re stuck with a high fever, red cheeks and sore head, you stayed home. You couldn’t get up in the morning and on the other side your roommate was another problem.

Huang Renjun is your roommate. He’s a great guy, very laid back, relaxed and compassionate. But he is far too compassionate. He took a day off because he was worried sick about you, all it took was seeing your unpleasant expression and he immediately knew you were sick, it’s like that mother effect he has on him; he just knows when you’re feeling low on energy. He knows when you’re struggling just by staring into your eyes, and he knows when you are down the weather. He’s motherly with you, people often say you are lucky to have such a kind roommate who’s willing to take care of you. But you’d disagree. You don’t want to appear weak to anyone. You can take care of yourself you tell people but you run on two hour sleep, you overwork yourself and you tend to overthink absolutely everything.

The lifestyle you lead is not that healthy that you claim it to be and Renjun knows all too well. At some point he saw you never come out of your room for like a whole week because you were busy doing the art exam project that was coming on deadline but you were far behind. Luckily you made it but the outcome was Renjun scolding you and running a warm bath for you immediately. He told you to never leave yourself become like that again.

You had to promise him you wouldn’t and you really never let work consume you like that ever again. Though you still are a workaholic.

He barged into your room with a cold glass of water and a pill for you to take, it will make the fever go down. He then sits on your bed as you sit up with a scowl at his presence. “Renjun i said I’m fine.” You huff out like a child. The boy didn’t believe you, god you’re such a bad liar, just one look at the state you are in and he knows it’s lies coming out of your mouth.

“You don’t have to act so tough. It’s ok to let other people care for you sometimes.” Renjun tells you with a scolding look,bringing the pill in your hands. You glare at him before slipping the pill on your tongue and taking a quick gulp of the cold water running down your dry throat. It stings you and you exclaim loudly with a heavy breathe, pushing the water on the bed stand table.

You reply lowly. “I can’t.”

He looks at you raising an eyebrow up, once laying his eyes at you they start to go softer. The sight of your frown, curved eyebrows and watery eyes ponder his sight of you. Your loose grey shirt revealing the dainty collarbones and the clear skin of your freckles invade his thoughts of worry. It’s hard for you to open up to someone, it’s hard for anyone if they grew up being independent for so long by themselves. Renjun can understand it, he can, he might never of been independent like you have, but he can be sympathetic of your situation. He leans closer as you whisper to your roommate. “I’m not used to all this being taken care of.”

“I understand. Trust me, I do. But it’s not bad if it’s me, okay?” He slowly encourages you and you could only nod. It’s fair, you live together. Splitting the rent together 50/50. Might as well let him take care of you. “Fine Mother.” You quote and he grins a little at your words. God you’re so sassy, if it was anyone else he wouldn’t let it slide but it’s you. He lets you get away with things that he wouldn’t with others. You don’t know that though.

He hums out a soft laugh. “You can call me a mom all you want, but I’ll will get you better soon.” He said determined and you lay back, groaning out suddenly. The incoming migraine really you doing laps, it was striking your eyes too. Your ears hurt and your throat was burning intensely. The flu was going to get worse over the days but hopefully you get rid of it soon. You cannot miss more of University.

Renjun alarmed, touched your forehead for a moment. He let out a slight gasp at how you are burning so much, you can’t help but with your feverish cheeks look at him with wide eyes. The closeness between you has you curling in your bedsheets and pulling up the blanket to your chest and your lips. You had bitten your lip nervously at how close he actually was, you could feel his teeth clatter in worry, his breathing was slapping your forehead and you felt the way his hands were pressing on your mattress on the side to keep maintaining his sit up posture so he wouldn’t fall on top of you. You never noticed it until now how pretty he was. How perfect he was. It’s honestly such a surprise he has no girlfriend. He’s talented at art too. You both met each other on the same course at University in first year, spoke a few times. It wasn’t until last year you decided to live with someone and Renjun offered his place, ever since then you and Renjun lived together in the apartment.

Remaining close, he curses silently. “God you’re burning up so much. Hopefully that medicine you had will work soon.” He taunts at you and you stammer. “Stop worrying so much…it’s just a flu.” You tell him going on your side avoiding his eyes. The kindness he shows to you, it melts your tough act away. You can’t pretend to be strong around him and you have no idea why. He sees through you as if you were the most obvious being in the entire world. He can read you instantly. Others can’t.

He chuckles out. “Being sick, you’re almost more as transparent at lying than normally.”

You glare. “I’m not lying. Trust me you’re being dramatic.” You tell him again and Renjun hums, not believing you, you knew that he doesn’t believe you. You turn around about to go and kick him with your feet because the teasing he’s doing was enough but he caught your ankle and smiles. He’s smiling because he took your mind off of the pain for just a little moment. Even if it was a second or two, you were glad he was there even if you’re insufferable at times. He leans closer pushing your ankle back down. “Committing violence on your roommate?” He questions with an eyebrow raise.

You sit up leaning closer. “I’m starting to regret not locking the door.”

His hands reaches the hair strands covering your face. You had your hair a completely mess because it was the bed hair from the morning but even so, Renjun and you were comfortable enough to show each other your morning faces, your tired faces, your hangover selves. You saw each other at the darkest and at the happiest. Now he saw you at your sickness self and he can’t help but still think you are as beautiful as when you are healthy. Pushing the strands from your eyes you flinch a little but lean closer again, he tuck the hairs behind your ears and observed your round and big eyes; he always thought you represent bambi really well, because you had such an angelic face, round doe-like eyes. But your personality was fiery, strong, patient and hard working. You care a lot than people can imagine. Your breathe comes out as a hitch.

“You should get some sleep, Y/n.” Renjun slowly tells you and you bite your dry lips anxiously. The moment he stood up about to leave, you rush out of your bed and grab him by the shoulders making him turn around. However you got up too quickly for your body to comprehend such sudden movement and your dizziness got the better of you, you fell right in his chest and thankfully, Renjun was quick enough to hold your weight and gasps. “Y/n, you should stay in bed!” Renjun exclaims at your impulsiveness. You look up with beads of sweat rushing down your forehead. You want to tell him you hate being alone when you are sick. You want to tell him to stay with you until you get better. But you’re scared it might come off as demanding, as too selfish because he has done so much for you already.

He looks at you with confused and bafflement. Seriously what’s got you this riled up? “Y/n please go back to bed, a nap will fix everything okay?” He tells you and you clench on the side of his arms, shaking your head in silence frantically.

“No! Please, don’t go.” You tell him. You are begging him, for the first time he heard you say no and pleading almost as if you’re terrified to be alone. He follows you to the edge of your bed, tucking you back in as he sighs a little. “Okay. I’m here. I’ll stay.”

You aren’t letting go off his arm. Clenching his loose hoodie by the arms tighter, your eyes close and you whisper. “You won’t stay. I cant sleep.” You state back and he lets out a soft smile.

He can tell you want him to stay here, until you’re better. Renjun suddenly goes on the other side of your bed getting in. Lifting the duvet and the blanket he pours it over his body and holds you close, wrapping arms around your body. You felt your cheeks become warmer, and he saw the way your blush intensely increased. You didn’t complain. You only brush yourself deep on his bed and rest on his chest. Closing your eyes again. He trigger’s your fever, but you felt yourself loving this one.

“If you wanted me to sleep with you, you could’ve said.” Renjun whispers and you lowly murmur. “Isn’t it weird to ask you to sleep on the same bed as your roommate?”

“No. Not if it’s you.” Renjun reassures you. If it’s you anything is okay. “Come on, I’ll take a much-needed nap with you. Then we’ll both feel alright.”

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@onyourhyuck please refer from translating copyrighting and plagiarising my work thank youu! REBLOG THIS FANFIC AND FOLLOW ME FOR MORE IF YOU ENJOYED <3

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boizandgurlzinthehouse · 11 months

Text

𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐁*𝐓𝐂𝐇 ; 𝐆𝐔𝐍-𝐖𝐎𝐎 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈. 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋? 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋.

summary: getting to y/n, the hard part is coming only now. how much can the new girl fit into the trio?

wordcount: 3.209k (seems too short idk)

tw: swearing, y/n is a little bit bitchy (but only if it's needed, we aren't pick mes don't worry girlies), woo-jin is a tease, terrible written chat messages, gun-woo is still a cutie and i love him sooo much.

author's note: i made a spotify playlist for this fanfic, like it and listen to it if you want babies

part 1 playlist link!!

gun-woo tossed and turned after he got into bed, kissing his mother goodnight. turn after turn, sigh after sigh, his eyes constantly returned to the paper that y/n gave him. he wanted to talk to her, to continue their conversation about boxing, martial arts and other things like her job. she seemed so cool with her tattoos, and could absolutely imagine her as she poured drink after drink, mixing cocktails and counting money with that fast, bill-flipping technique, collecting receipts from the counter, shouting at rude customers as the neon lights changed on her skin. she also guessed that he wasn’t a drinker –he wasn’t as cool as woo-jin, yeah… and he also wasn't a man of words. as gun-woo thought these things, he realized that he weighed his chances for y/n. no, he can’t do that! y/n surely has a boyfriend, or many guys who want to be her boyfriend, who can tell jokes… and tell their thoughts about things… damn, again.

turning on his side, grabbing his phone and the paper, he typed in the number. gun-woo hoped that the girl wasn’t giving them a faux number, as they upset her at the beginning. but the words she wrote, that they’re gonna figure out these things… maybe he should just trust his luck. but what to write to y/n?

are you awake?

no, that’s so oblivious that he wants to talk to her.

did you get home safe?

another no… too emotional. looking at y/n, she sure doesn't like guys who drool over her and looking for her safety and needs. gun-woo thought about calling woo-jin to ask him about this, woo-jin seemed like a guy who was experienced, but after the first fiasco in the restaurant, gun-woo came to the decision that woo-jin can’t know about this. and after that, he would scold him for waking him up at midnight.

gun-woo

are you sure about this? that you’re in? it’s gunwoo.

maybe this will do it. gun-woo didn’t think much, he just sent. after seeing the delivered bubble, he instantly knew that this was a bad idea, y/n was surely asleep. and after that, it’s rude to question someone after they made a decision or a promise so heavy like in this situation. gun-woo wanted to delete the message, but before unlocking the phone, he saw that y/n sent him a message. his heartbeat got a little faster, and his pupils narrowed –maybe from her, maybe from the sudden light.

y/n

are you doubting me now, gun-woo?

gun-woo

no, of course not! it’s just dangerous.

y/n

you think i don't know danger? i meet danger every night when i don’t serve the customers who are drunk as skunks.

gun-woo smiled. on the screen he saw that the girl began to type again, but she stopped, and waited when he began to write the answer.

gun-woo

aren’t you tired? working and training all day is surely exhausting.

y/n

only a little. but why aren't you sleeping? i thought i’m the only one who was awake.

he sighed.

gun-woo

just thinking about what’s gonna happen tomorrow.

y/n

be cool, i’m not gonna fight if hyeon-ju is okay.

gun-woo

no, not about that! about catching those men who are behind smile capital. but that’s nice from you.

y/n

oh, yeah. well, don’t worry. i saw your friend on the tv, he’s good, and you’re good too. and not to brag, but i’m good too. really good.

smiling, gun-woo turned on his back. it was more comfortable to type this way. he imagined as y/n laid in bed the same as him. maybe she was smiling too, at least he hoped.

gun-woo

i believe that. otherwise, hyeon-ju wouldn't want to talk to you.

he typed again.

gun-woo

don’t tell this back to woo-jin, but when you went out, he said he felt himself in life danger when you grabbed his wrist.

y/n

hahaha

this one is funny.

i just wanted to be ready for possible harassment. a couple weeks ago, some creep was walking on those streets, a girl who i know called the police but they weren't catched.

gun-woo

i would never hurt people who are weaker than me.

y/n

i don’t even talk about you, dummy. but that’s good to know. i can protect myself if needed.

gun-woo

i know, just in case. you can never know.

y/n

you are nice, gun-woo.

watch out for yourself, people these days are using this for no good.

gun-woo

i’m going to, thanks y/n. my diligence and good heart are my two mainstays.

y/n

it was good talking to you, gun-woo, but now i’m going to sleep. it’s nearly two am.

gun-woo checked the time. damn, it really was that late? he needs to sleep, too. but it was so nice to talk to her. maybe tomorrow, they could talk about it further. he really inquired himself about who y/n was, and what she did, even if they just met today.

gun-woo

you are right, i’m going too.

goodnight, y/n!

y/n

good night to you too, gun-woo.

don’t be late tomorrow!

locking his phone, gun-woo looked out of the window that was beside his bed, and after a couple of moments, he let the idiot smile spread on his lips, just as the warmth under his skin. he didn’t know why it caused him so much giddiness to talk with her. but he sure gotta hide it tomorrow. anyway, yang jae-myeong was still on the streets, stealing IDs and making more and more money to smile capital, and the director of smile capital was still beating off little people with his toy-soldiers, tying roguish loans. they're gonna catch him, and then move onto the next step.

with y/n.

[ 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐏 ]

tomorrow noon, gun-woo walked to the place they came to an agreement. he didn’t write to y/n, he had to help his mother and didn't want to seem clingy, but he hoped that the girl would be there. seeing woo-jin on the corner, the other also looked across the crossway, but there was no one who seemed like y/n.

“i hope she comes, otherwise we can’t go to hyeon-ju. it would be terrible” woo-jin said instead of saying hello, but gun-woo had to agree with him. on the other hand, she wouldn't chat with her if she wasn’t gonna meet them, would she?

“she sure gonna come, she said to me yesterday that this is a personal business to her.” at his words, woo-jin began to smirk, nudging his shoulder.

“really? and where did she say this? between the bedsheets?” gun-woo rolled his eyes.

“woo-jin, give me a break! there’s nothing between us, why would there be any? we only met yesterday, she’s nice, that’s it.”

“well, you wasn't the one who almost broke your wrist and got beaten up.”

“stop dramatizing, woo. she’s just afraid because there were some creeps on the streets a couple weeks ago.” he replied, looking constantly in every direction.

“yeah, yeah… wait, what? how do you know this?” he asked, and gun-woo suddenly felt exposed.

“it was… it was in the news, you didn’t read it? or… social media, instagram?” gun-woo tried to cover the truth, but woo-jin totally saw through his façade.

“you have her phone number, don’t you? you got it, and used it for yourself too!” he spoke up, louder this time, gun-woo didn't want other people to look at them, like in the restaurant when woo-jin got to know that he is an ex-marine just like the other, and was afraid that y/n accidentally gonna hear it, too.

“no, not! i have her number, but only for hyeon-ju! after all, this was our task too!”

and in the worst possible moment, gun-woo’s phone pinged.

“who is it?” woo-jin asked, tilting his head. warmth began to spread on gun-woo’s neck, as always when he was nervous and flustered. somehow, he knew that woo-jin knew who it was.

“i don't know, maybe hyeon-ju? how would i know?” he responded, searching for his phone in his pocket. his heartbeat increased a little bit. a little bit? i’m not gonna be a liar, gun-woo’s heartbeat increased from sea level to the tokyo tower in one second.

y/n

gonna be there in minutes. my boss is a literal asshole.

gun-woo’s brain had to figure out the last word, because in the next moment woo-jin took away his phone. trying to get it, gun-woo leant for it, but he couldn’t get the phone from his friend as he turned his back. gun-woo got around him to take his phone back.

“you not only seduce the new girl, but you are a liar too!” woo-jin 'tsked with his teeth and slapped his shoulder. gun-woo locked the phone.

“no, i’m not! seriously, woo-jin, just get off from the topic, and–” before he could continue, his friend pointed in front of them. there she was, y/n. wearing baggy jeans and a sweater, she bidded with her hand before she crossed the crosswalk. in the last moments, gun-woo turned to woo-jin, trying to mutter.

“don’t say any word to her about this, okay?”

“about what?” y/n asked, tucking away her earphones. gun-woo looked at him, and then looked at woo-jin.

“about… that we are going to hyeon-ju. so the two of you can talk. is that okay?” he asked, y/n nodded, and waited for them to show the way. woo-jin wiggled his eyebrows, gun-woo rolled his eyes. this is gonna be a long day.

arriving at the library, they rarely talked, but on the threshold of the gates, y/n stopped them. taking off the mask, she looked at the two.

“seriously, before i go in… does hyeon-ju have any obsession or craze?”

“why?” woo-jin asked. y/n sighed, and began to talk.

“because i don’t work with crazy people! my boss is crazy enough, and i won’t gonna die or get seriously injured because somebody gets itchy in its mind!”

“don’t worry, y/n, hyeon-ju doesn’t have any obsession. maybe she’s grumpy, but… only a little bit.”

“not so little bit”, woo-jin murmured, but before y/n could make reservations, gun-woo shook his head.

“i think… you’re gonna get along with her. it’s gonna be fine. please, trust us enough to have a talk with her.”

y/n looked in his eyes, then looked away. breathing in and out, she shrugged her shoulders.

“whatever, i have to see her with my own eyes to make a decision. please, lead me in.”

with much pleasure, gun-woo opened the door.

[ 𝐘/𝐍'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ]

strangely, gun-woo’s personality was calming to her. she just got done with her work –listing the drinks they need to drink as she was the so-called little boss of the bar she worked in– when gun-woo wrote to her, but it lit up her night. y/n thought about it, about him at night, from the second she got home, as she underdressed, showered, washed her teeth, removed her makeup, cleaned her face, creamed her tattoos, and got into her pajamas, to the second she got into bed. she had many experiences with guys, and although on the outside, her co-workers always saw her with another guy, in reality, she never did anything with anyone. everybody wanted to be much better than their usual selves on the internet, or for a little while she served them drinks, bragging about cars, chicks and parties, but in the meantime, y/n knew that all of this is a monstrous humbug. for a while, she stopped meeting or dating anyone because of this –disappointed about the people she was working with, but also sad because which good, handsome and good-hearted guy would want a girl who has tattoos, fights in gyms and works in a bar? the guys she wanted to date could never introduce her to their families, and the ones she knew could easily give her away to human traffickers in exchange for some drugs. but, maybe these things were called consequences, isn't it?

she also didn’t know why she told gun-woo about her job and stuff. maybe, it was just good to talk to somebody without bad intentions, with someone who didn’t want to seem more than he already was. when she told him she thought he’s not a drinker, he wasn’t beating the table and calling her out to drink, and when she suggested that he wanted to protect her, he also didn’t want to be a macho man. maybe it was the whole guy’s simplicity that got her –or maybe his cute eyes and the way his eyes scrunched when he smiled.

following the guys, she took off her jacket and mask, looking around. a simple bookstore, nothing else –but at the same time, it was everything that her father told her about. she was interested in hyeon-ju, she worked with girls constantly in the bar, but in a life-danger situation… it’s gonna be different.

“are you two here?” it was surely the other girl, and then y/n saw her: they were almost the same height, showing off two entirely different worlds. hyeon-ju’s hair was cool, actually, but y/n could never imagine herself with a hair short like this; she liked to twirl and style it. hyeon-ju seemed to be clear and determined – y/n liked it.

“yeah, and we brought y/n with ourselves!” woo-jin sang, hyeon-ju sat down, and pointed to the chair across the short table. y/n looked at the guys behind her, then looked at the girl.

“you want me to sit there?” she asked, scratching behind her ear.

“yes, please.” y/n nodded. she won’t do anything without a ‘please’, especially not in the beginning. giving the respect for each part of the deal was the most important deal.

“okay… so, i heard from these two that you are working on dragging smile capital down. i’ll answer everything you ask, but i have questions too.” she began. hyeon-ju nodded.

“i heard about you from my granddad’s phone calls. do you or your family know my grandfather?”

y/n shaked a little bit. that night’s memories were sharp, like she was there again.

“yes, my father. he… knows sir choi. and his friends too.”

“how did your father get into connection with my grandfather?”

“sorry, but i don’t answer personal questions. but i can tell you, that my father is not an enemy, and it isn't about the loans.”

“what is that you can’t tell? did something happen to your father?” y/n furrowed her eyebrows at this question. it made her a little bit uncomfortable.

“why, what did happen to your father if you live with your granddad now?”

hyeon-ju looked at the guys. a pregnant silence fell on the atmosphere of the bookstore.

“i should have asked my granddad about you. maybe he would tell me that you are mocking and taunting people.”

y/n scoffed. brushing the tattoos on her fingers, she looked into the girl’s eyes again. she felt that the guys beside them were nervous, but she didn’t care. gun-woo was fine, woo-jin was okay, but this girl… this girl was bitter.

“i taunt you because i feel cornered. anyway, why does my personal intentions matter if i want to help? my purpose is to kill that fucker who’s behind all of that smile capital shit. if our purposes match, i think we should work together.” y/n leaned forward.

she didn’t want to sell her every secret. why would she need it? it was much deeper than she could just tell it in the beginning. and maybe, if being a little bitch because she doesn’t tell her deepest, darkest memories, then so be it. maybe, another time she’s gonna tell them… if they survive, or if they can make a deal.

hyeon-ju sat in silence, looking at the guys, then looking at y/n. furrowing her brows, the girl sighed.

“if i say that we are going to stalk a man from smile capital tonight, would you come?” she asked. y/n thinked a little bit, scratching her chin with her nails.

“i think so. my tuesdays are always free.”

“okay then, i have to make sure that you’re in, and you're not gonna back out if things get serious.”

“wait, wait, wait, what is the plan? because, i guess the three of you already talked about it. if it’s just stalking and some sneaking, then i’m in. but if it’s some dead-beating or weapon kinda shit, then i’m out.”

“what difference does it make?” woo-jin asked, getting a glare from hyeon-ju. the three looked at y/n, who picked at her nails, shrugging her shoulders again.

“i guess, in the beginning, maybe we couldn’t work out together. and if we get into life-threatening danger immediately, we die right then and there.”

hyeon-ju nodded. maybe they finally agreed on something.

“okay, then it’s just sneaking and following around. there’s a man, yang jae-myeong, who took a loan from my grandfather. i got to follow him, but i want the three of you to go after him. watch what and how they do things, how many they are, if they use weapons, or anything. that’s all. if you’re as good as my grandfather said on the phone, then we can talk about more things later. deal?”

hyeon-ju offered her hand to y/n to shake it. y/n thought about the risks: if they get caught by this yang jae-myeong, then, possibly this girl’s further plans’ gonna unravel. because a girl like this, with dark clothes and leather jacket, she sure has a bigger plan than these hide and seek and tag-games. swallowing, y/n looked at gun-woo. he hadn’t had a mask on, his lips were full, and a massive band aid was on the left side of his face. his eyes had faith and determination.

nevermind. if she can’t avenge what happened to her family, what happened in the past, then at least she’s going to work on a better future.

reaching for hyeon-ju’s hand, she shook it with a little, devilish smile.

“deal.”

[ 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐏 ]

after the ‘meeting’, woo-jin, gun-woo and y/n went to eat somewhere. woo-jin talked on his phone with someone, while gun-woo and y/n got into a conversation.

“do you think i’m always gonna have a shitty relationship with hyeon-ju ?” y/n asked, lamenting about the conversation. gun-woo looked at her.

“no, hyeon-ju’s just a little bit… harsh. but don’t be angry at her, please.”

the girl shook her head,

“i’m not angry at her, don’t worry. just became a little bit pissed about her questions. you know, the personal ones.”

“is it… really that bad? that bad that sometimes… you don't even want to think about it?” gun-woo asked. y/n looked away, pulling the hem of her sweater on the back of her hands. pulling up her eyebrows, then letting them fall, the right corner of her lips twitched.

“yeah. but… if we get along well together… maybe i’m gonna tell you. but for now, i gotta make it right with hyeon-ju. it wouldn’t be good if we get into a fight in the middle of a fight, isn't it?”

gun-woo laughed. deep inside, he wanted to know what happened to y/n, and wanted to comfort her better than anything. but that’s for later.

“no, that wouldn't be good. remember, no claws, okay?”

now y/n was the one who laughed, as they turned down on the street.

"yeah, i know. only strokes."

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐄𝐃.

author's note: thanks for the likes on the first part girlies, here's the second part. if work lets me, i'm gonna post every 2-3 days, i think that's okay. and like the spotify playlist!! i often gonna add new songs. bye babes

taglist: @fairyhani @castleninja

(ask for tag in taglist in comment or here)

#bloodhounds kdrama #bloodhounds netflix #bloodhounds imagines #bloodhounds x reader #bloodhounds #gun woo x reader #gun woo imagines #woo jin x reader #woo do hwan #netflix korea

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hollycircling · 11 months

Note

would you consider dropping some tips on how you color? your art always has such a nice feeling to it

Thank you so much, and yes, absolutely!

So... I have been agonizing over how to answer this question for over a week because I tend to make a lot of my major decisions based on what looks and feels good to me in the moment. It’s sort of hard to explain. Then I started getting philosophical with it (“how does one color? How do I explain aesthetic?”), and I started rambling, and had to cut the answer way, way, way down lol.

But here’s what I can help with right now. I think the most important part of how I color is my tools and what they allow me to do. These are currently my favorite brushes to use:

From top to bottom, I use Kyle T’s Gouache for just about everything. A lot of my recent pieces are done entirely in that– I love the chunky texture and how the pressure mimics traditional gouache. It’s great for children’s book illustrations, and filling linework, and realistic portraits. She is my soft wife and I love her.

I practically never use the default hard round. Ignore that.

The roller brush is another one I use for painting. It was my go-to before KT’s gouache, so you’ll find it a lot in my older work (and as a big texture thing in my current works). The “Sampled Tip” below that one I usually use for children’s book styled illustrations. It’s like a really dense, waxy crayon, so it’s fun for textured lines and details.

I always paint in my own shadows and highlights, but I like to use the soft round if I want to blow the shadow or highlight out. It’s for extra large areas.

And finally my pencil. I use it for sketching as well as linework, if I plan on doing a linework-centric piece. I don’t think there’s much of a difference between the two there… one is probably smoother than the other.

______________

The reason why I like textured, pressure-sensitive brushes so much is because they’re important to how I paint. When I blend, I don’t use a blender brush or a smudge tool. What I do is layer two colors– lightly– then use the eyedropper to select the color between them and continue painting with it. That’s probably the key to most of my work. I’ve gotten pretty fast at it, so I’m constantly selecting colors from the painting and reusing it throughout my painting.

I still use the color-wheel to hand-pick what I think will look best, though. This is probably going to be a really frustrating answer, but I choose color palettes based on basic color/lighting theory combined with personal aesthetic preference. It can take some studying (of both theory and other artists’ work). If you’re ever looking for a really great reference on the former subjects, I highly recommend Color and Light by James Gurny. Even if you’re not into watercolor or dinosaurs or realism, the guy is a master at explaining all that different stuff in depth.

Shape and negative space are also pretty important to me, but that's a whole other thing. And as a side-note, I recommend following more children’s book illustrators. Their work may look simple, but a lot of intention goes into how they use color, shape, space, and texture.

Also, on texture, I hand-draw most of mine. I love to add little scratches and drops and splashes when the painting is almost over. It's one of my favorite things to do :')

____

Now, the other most important tip:

Once I’m happy with the sketch/linework, and once I’ve laid down the basic colors of my piece, I do a Really Terrible Thing. I become a graphic designer’s worst nightmare and collapse everything onto one layer.

Then I paint directly on top of it, linework and all.

I do this for a lot of reasons, but mostly because 1) my tiny brain is overwhelmed by the clutter of too many layers, and 2) it forces me to approach a piece as if it was traditional media– a process which I find a lot more comfortable and rewarding. I paint right on top of the base colors, and right on top of the linework, effectively redoing and cleaning up what I already have there. Even if I'm working with a blank background, I'll paint a new blank one on top because it gives the feeling of a more unified piece, if that makes sense.

Basically, I approach my drawings as if I’m using traditional media. I like chunky brushes, utilizing (what I personally think are) interesting color combinations and textures, and smashing everything down onto one page so I can just paint.

Anyway, please let me know if there’s anything specific you’d like me to go into detail on, any pieces of mine you’d like to know how exactly I went about it, etc etc etc. I’m happy to answer ^^

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peonierose · 2 months

Text

Round Robin: Chapter 5 - Don’t call me Angel

Book: OH & TRR crossover

Characters mentioned: Luna Auclair (F!OC - OH), Bryce Lahela (M!MC - OH), Tobias Carrick (M!MC - OH, Maxwell Beaumont (M!MC - TRR) and Bertrand Beaumont (M!MC - TRR)

Words in total: 3,373k

A/N: Masterlist for Round Robin @choicesprompts I’m participating for Round Robin for the 1st time and I really hope I could do the characters justice 🥰

Side note: Thank you so much for helping me with this story and helping me get inspired @aallotarenunelma & @annieruok94 🩷🩷🩷🩷

A few weeks ago…

Luna

The phone rang somewhere in the house while I was in the middle of an art project.

A few seconds later I heard footsteps and when I turned around I saw Bryce appear in the doorway, handing me my phone.

”Who is it?“ I asked and turned to my canvas again.

”No idea some fancy talking guy said he wanted to talk to you.“

”Is he sure he got the right person?“ ”Beats me.“

I furrowed my brow and pushed my dark blonde hair out of my face and accidentally got some teal paint in my hair. Good thing it’ll wash out.

”Hello?“ I wiped my paint covered fingers on a cloth I kept handy when I painted.

”Am I speaking to Ms. Luna Auclair?“ A deep voice with a slight accent can be heard from the other end.

”Yes. And who is this?“ I put the phone on speaker and got up slowly as I took my brushes to the sink to wash them.

”My name is Bertrand Beaumont from House Beaumont in Cordonia. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.“

”Hmm. Sorry doesn’t ring a bell.“ I say not able to resist teasing him. Bryce snickered next to me.

”You’re so mean.“ He mouthed, and I kissed his stubbled cheek, making him smile.

I turned back to the conversation, putting Bertrand out of his misery. Poor guy must’ve thought the worst of me.

”I’m just kidding Mr. Beaumont I know who you are. So what can I do for you?“ I turned off the faucet and put my paint brushes upside down so they could dry.

”I could use your help.“ He sounded hesitant, which made me instantly curious.

”Help with what?“

”We have our PR firm that we founded, and we’re trying to give some people a better public image.“ I took my phone into my hand.

”What does that have to do with me? I’m not a PR person. I have a bachelor's degree in fine arts, and I’m currently teaching art at the University of Hawaii.“

I took a look at my half-finished painting sitting on the easel, and decided to let the painting dry for now. I’ll keep working on it later.

When I closed the door Bryce and I walked towards the backyard, where we sat down in our beach chairs, while Bertrand’s voice kept coming out of the speaker.

”I’m very well aware. But I know you’re someone who’s skilled as an artist. And I know you think outside the box, and that’s exactly what we need.“

”I will need more information than that if you want my help.“ I could hear some commotion before another voice replaced Bertrand's.

”Luna right? Hi I’m Maxwell, Bertrand’s brother. Look, my brother's social skills suck sometimes. I have the cliff notes version if you want it?“

”Um…sure fire away.“

”Alright. A few weeks ago there was a bit of an…let’s call it an incident. Tobias Carrick was caught making out with the daughter of one of the hospital directors of Mass Kenmore. Someone apparently posted it online. Of course, it’s gone viral. The damage is done and he could get fired. Because apparently it’s unethical.“

”Poor Tobias. He’s a good friend of me and my fiancé Bryce so he has our sympathies especially since this a massive violation of their privacy to put the video online. I’m really sorry he’s going through that.“

I looked at Bryce who was as surprised as me to hear about this.

”Both Bertrand and I feel terrible, because Tobias seems like such a great guy and then for someone to swoop in and destroy his image like that. This is actually where you come into play. Let’s just say we’ve tried other people to fix his image, but it didn’t work.“

”Like I told your brother, I’m not a PR person. I have zero experience.“

”That’s not what we’re looking for. I’m talking about your other accolades. You’re not only one of the youngest people to finish your bachelor degree, but one where all your professors had only glowing compliments for you. You also published your own book, called Kala Kala - Overcoming anxiety with the help of art. Very nice read. I loved it, it’s also super colorful by the way. Not only do you teach art at the senior center, you’re an active member at arts on the fence, a non-profit organization in Honolulu, Hawaii. You love malasdas and are allergic to ginger. Should I continue? I’ve got more.“

”I…no…that’s fine. But how did you find out that much about me? Not everything is available online.“ I was wondering how the hell they got my phone number, and all the things in my bio Maxwell just mentioned. Why would they even be interested in seeking out my help?

”Let’s say a mutual, redhead found out about it. She bought some of your art, and she said you could be a good fit. I think the phrase »ovaries of steel« was mentioned.“

I gasped in awe.

”You don’t mean Olivia Nevrakis do you? Because then I’m so in. I’d love to meet her. And of course help out in any way I can.“

I heard a whoop and a sigh.

”Is that a yes?“ Maxwell asked unsure.

”Hold on a sec.“ I muted the conversation.

”What do you think B?“ I asked Bryce and I could see his beautiful face, that I could sketch every single day and not get tired of looking at.

”I mean I’m sorry Tobias is going through this. He’s our friend, but are you sure you’re up for it?“ His brown eyes were filled with worry as he gently caressed my stomach.

”I’ll be fine. Women have gotten pregnant before and have worked until they’ve given birth.“ I said with more conviction than I felt right now.

”I know you’re trying to be strong but okay. If you’re really sure, then I’m okay with it, but the smallest hitch, and we’re going back home. And don’t think of going alone. I don’t care who they are. You’re my fiancé and the mother of my kids. So they better believe I’ll be going with you.“

”I love your protective mode.“

”Out of all the things I’ve said, that’s what you focused on?“

I grinned and then I unmuted the conversation.

”Maxwell? I’m in.“

”Thanks Luna. I promise you won’t regret it.“

”I better don’t. Otherwise, you’ll hear me yell at you.“

Maxwell chuckled.

”You got it. There’ll be a private jet to pick you up. I’ll send you the arrival date. Can’t wait to meet you. From the pictures I’ve seen, you're really beautiful.“

”Careful there Casanova.“ Bryce chimed in, and I grinned as I pushed my hand through his soft brown hair, making him relax.

”No worries, I know she’s taken. We’ll see you soon in Cordonia, bye.“

Before I could say anything else the phone call ended. Bryce and I just stared at the phone and then laughed at how surreal the situation was.

Who would’ve thought I’d meet members of House Beaumont?

Though it looked as if a new adventure was coming our way.

5 days later

So here I was on day five not making any kind of improvement whatsoever.

I’ve tried talking to Tobias, but nothing worked to get through to him.

He acted as if nothing was wrong and there’s no part where he could lose his job. He’s been painted as the bad guy but doesn’t seem to care.

I got up this morning, let Bryce sleep in a little, as I went down to the pool to figure out a new strategy for how to fix this mess.

That’s when I saw Tobias flirting with a woman by the pool.

You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m trying to repair his image, and he’s out here flirting? Oh, hell no!

”Having fun?“ I asked when I stood next to him. Tobias turned his light green eyes to me, focusing on me rather than the woman he was just talking to a minute ago.

As if he wasn’t already good-looking enough, the smile he threw my way made his face even more beautiful.

”Good morning to you too, gorgeous.“

”Sorry buddy but that charm is wasted on me. I’m engaged and I’m expecting.“

”Does that mean I can’t flirt with you?“ Tobias smirked.

”You can. But it won’t have any effect.“ I said and took a towel from the rack and threw it at him.

”Get dressed.“ I said, and he took the towel, but didn't move. He threw an apologetic smile at the woman who was sitting next to him. She slipped him a small piece of paper and left. He watched her walk away and nodded his head in appreciation.

I cleared my throat, and he turned his gaze on me.

”Let me guess you have another glorious idea how to restore my image?“

”You can call it that. You have 10 minutes to get dressed and be back.“

”Let’s make it 15 alright?“ Tobias laughed.

”Now it’s 10 minutes.��

”Does that tone ever work on Bryce?“

”I’m not going to repeat myself.“

”Now you sound like a school teacher.“ He replied but got up. That’s progress I guess.

”Look, I was assigned to give you some sort of glowing makeover for your reputation. If you don’t want it? Fine. I have better things to do.“

Tobias stared back at me, his charm gone.

”Like what? Be all sunshiny? No offense, but don’t you ever have a bad day or get angry? In all the time you’ve been here you’re always smiling and never losing your cool. You’re more like a robot.“

His comment hit me more than I thought it would, so I got up in his face. Which is hard since he’s taller than me, but I made it work.

”Don’t mistake my bubbly personality for being just that. There’s a lot more to my character and my personality than being happy and positive. You don’t know me that well if your words are any indication.“

His eyes widened for a fraction.

”My bad.“

”And that was lesson number 12.“

Tobias rolled his eyes.

”What I don’t get is why they even assigned you to me? We’re polar opposites.“

”You know what’s interesting? In our whole convos, you’ve avoided talking about this whole incident that led up to this moment right now. You keep acting as if you don’t care, and it’s no concern of yours. But you avoid talking about the core problem.“

Tobias crossed his arm.

”Please enlighten me.“

”You’re not a bad guy. But you’d rather have people believe you’re a dick then let them think you have a heart. That’s interesting.“

”Are you done psychoanalyzing me?“ His voice sounded more and more irritated.

”If you think that we’re done? Then you don’t know me at all. We’re just getting started. Get dressed. And don’t be late. If you’re not down in 5 minutes I’m leaving. So dealers choice.“

”Fine, I'll go get dressed. Doesn’t mean this conversation is over.“

”Now it’s 9 minutes.“ I said and watched him quicken his steps while I sat down and enjoyed the nice view of the ocean.

10 minutes later…

”What is this place?“ He asked without really seeming to pay attention.

”It’s called a room. With walls and windows. And sometimes there’s even a door.“

He snickered.

”I know what a room is. I meant what are we doing in this room?“ He looked at all the cans of paint I had people assemble for this exercise.

”That’s the fun part. Team building exercise. It’s also pregnancy safe, which is a plus.“ I grinned, but he just looked at me and didn't reply.

”The point of this exercise is to let go of past hurts. Look at it this way, you can just let all your anger out. I like to call it angry painting.“

I take a can of paint, open it and see the color coral crush. I took it and threw some at the wall.

Tobias regarded me and I handed him another can, he took but stared at it as if it’s been touched by Medusa herself.

”Do you even know how to get angry?“ He looked at me skeptically as he kept holding the pint can in his hands.

”Excuse me?“

He opened the can of paint and a soft canary yellow joined the coral crush tone on the wall.

”Look, all you’ve said is how I have a heart and I don’t let others see it. But you don’t even know me. How do you expect me to trust you?“

”Is this finally the heart-to-heart you’re giving me? One that the others failed to get?“

”Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to partner up.“ He set the can down and was about to walk away.

”Giving up so soon? That’s a shame.“

”What?“ He stopped and slowly turned my way.

”I know you’re the type of guy who likes to do things rather than sit around and talk.“

”You’ve been paying attention? I’m shocked. Everybody knows I’m competitive, that's not a secret.“

”Of course I’ve been paying attention. You know I have bad days and angry moments too. I’m not just some blonde bimbo, who can’t count to three. I notice a lot more than people think.“

”Such as?“ He raised his eyebrows daringly as he leaned against the door frame.

”When you get nervous you bite your lip and clench your left fist. Which would lead me to believe you are left-handed.“

I kept going.

”Whenever I ask you a personal question or try to tackle the issue, you laugh it off, meaning you’re not ready to talk to me or improve your image. You think it’s fine and it doesn't need any polishing. If people don’t like you or think you’re a dick that’s on them.“

Tobias doesn’t say anything.

”I’d wager you’re someone who likes to do things his way or the highway. You don’t play well with others because you like to be in control. It’s hard for you to give anyone even an ounce of your trust because you believe trust is earned. You said it yourself I don’t know much about you, so why should you trust me? So did I get any of that right?“

Tobias didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move a muscle.

”Your silence indicates I got something right.“

”Even if you did get it right, it doesn’t mean I need your help.“

”So what you’d let your image get destroyed and let others decide on the narrative rather than trying to fix it? That doesn’t sound like the Tobias I got to know.“

”I can’t control what people think.“

”Maybe not. But you can let them see that there’s more to you. Do you know what I see right now?“

”What?“

”Someone who’s been hurt in the past, and now you’re hurt again. But you’re trying so hard to bury those feelings that you’re drowning in them.“

”Sounds like a therapy session.“ He mumbled.

”Art is therapy. Did you know I basically got bullied out of the art gallery I worked at in Boston?“

He shook his head. By the look in his eyes I could tell I got his attention.

”I had no idea, but I’m sorry to hear that. Why did you get fired?“

”I quit. I’ve been struggling with anxiety for years. And they’ve seen me as someone they can demean and push around. My voice was snuffed out. I’ve always seen art as freedom, choosing to make art work for you. Art has helped me find an outlet, find my voice. Let me be creative and put paint on a canvas when I can’t name my own feelings.“

He rubbed his neck as if uncomfortable by my word vomit.

”I had no idea. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a dick. I just…“

”You needed to vent so you let it out on me. I get it. We all lash out when we’re angry. Usually at the people we’re close to.“

”But you seem so calm and composed. You and Bryce never even fight. You’re so perfect.“

I threw my head back and let out a laugh. Making it echo from the walls.

I turned back to Tobias who was looking at me as if I grew another head.

”Do you really believe that? Of course Bryce and I fight. We have disagreements all the time. But we’ve learned how to handle them. Even if we don’t speak to each other for days, it doesn't mean we hate each other. But it means hey I need space I’ll talk when I’ve cooled off. We found our rhythm. We love and understand each other.“

He sighed and sat down, leaning on the wall that was just covered with paint, he winced when he realized it, but he didn’t sit down somewhere else.

”What a mess I’ve created, but maybe you’re right.“

”I must have a fever, or did you just say I’m right?“ I grinned and he smiled back.

”No you heard me correctly. You’re right. I’m scared to end up alone. So that’s why I pushed Chloe away. The woman from the video. We’ve gotten pretty close, and I don't know I panicked. I mean whoever took the video had no right to do that, but I guess people judge me and say how I’m sleeping with her because I’d like to get to the top. But that’s not true. I like the job I have. I have no desire to work in an office. I love working with patients. Hearing them tell me what’s wrong and finding a way to make things better for them.“

”Could it be that you’re scared you won’t measure up? Wanting to prove others wrong? You’d rather be the one who ends a relationship rather than the one who gets his heart broken?“

”Yes to all of the above.“ He nodded.

”Alright. That’s something we can work on.“ I said with renewed energy.

”How? We can’t just fix this mess in a matter of days.“

I smiled softly at him.

”No. But we can slowly build towards improving. You know there is a Hawaiian proverb my grandma always uses: A’ Ohe Pu’u Ki’eki’e Ke Ho’a’o ‘Ia e Pi’i.“

”Uhh…meaning?“ He asked.

”No cliff is so tall it cannot be climbed.“

”I kinda like that phrase.“ He said thoughtfully.

”Yeah it’s beautiful. You know what else? You’re not broken. It just means you haven’t figured out the right formula. I don’t want to turn you into someone you’re not. I just want you to realize that if you keep pushing people away who’d like to be in your life you’ll end up all alone. And that’s not what I want for you. You’re smart, funny and good-looking. Don’t let it go to waste.“

Tobias shook his head as grinned at me.

”You know? Now I understand why Bryce fell for you.“

I grinned at him.

”I told you so. There’s more to me than you might think.“

”I can see that. Also, please tell me I’m not the only one you boss around. At least tell me you do that to Bryce too.“

”Oh trust me I do.“ I laughed again because it felt as if we reached a good point. And I’m glad I could get him to open up.

I can see a big grin forming on Tobias face and I already knew there’s something snarky coming.

”Also I did get something right on the first try.“ He grinned.

”Let me guess how to do sex right.“ I sighed.

”No. It was actually how to pick friends. Maybe after we solve this mess I can try and restore some of my friendships.“

”You got this Carrick.“ I slapped his arm.

”Now you sound like Lahela.“

I winked at him.

”Now what?“ He asked after getting up.

”Now we slowly improve your image. With me by your side things can only get better.“ He laughed out loud and we continued to throw paint at the wall. We might’ve not solved everything, but we’re getting there.

#choicesprompts #roundrobin #TRR & OH #Luna Auclair (F!OC)#Bryce Lahela (M!MC)#Tobias Carrick (M!MC)#Maxwell Beaumont #Bertrand Beaumont

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orchidyoonkook · 3 months

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Do you have any tips for new writers/accounts to get popular???

Hello!!!!!

SO:

I was a shit writer for a very long time cuz I never wrote. But one day I wanted to change that so at 19 I made up a story and wrote down all my plot points and then did a DEEP DIVE on Pinterest of all things collecting every bit of advice I could. I’m talking ideas, how to do this, how to not use the word said, how to start sentences. How sentences should flow and their lengths, big uncommon words. EVERYTHING.

Anything and everything I could get my hands on.

And on top of that I’ve been a reader for forever. I have so many books I don’t even know how many I have. And so I use that knowledge when editing. I don’t read it from a writing POV after I write it. I turn into a reader and think about how I would feel about it from a readers POV and if something doesn’t work. I fix it.

I have a small background in script writing from my college days which definitely helped a bit. But if you’ve ever studied script writing you know it doesn’t really help creative writing outside of structure.

And when I write I’m someone who writes until I think the story is done. Not the arc. Not the characters. But the overall story of what I’m trying to portray. I don’t actively think about putting the climax of the story here or some foreshadowing there. I write intuitively if that makes sense. I try to sense out what feels right. And some of that comes naturally, some of it doesn’t and I have to work on it.

Me and @violetsiren90 were actually talking roughly about this last night. Our differences in how we write and how my advice from her last fic that I edited had already helped her with her new one cuz she can now see all of the little things that I pick up on from my style of writing versus the times where she tells me why she writes in that specific way and why she will be keeping it as is. Vi if you wanna add anything in the comments I’m forgetting, by all means feel free.

Most writers will tell you to practice. To tell you to write something even if it’s just a sentence everyday. But that didn’t help me. The stuff on my blog are the very first things I’ve written for myself ever. I didn’t write in highschool or college outside of what I was forced to write and my one story that the Pinterest board was initially for.

For me it was about researching style and reading posts like these from other writers, being confident in your style and learning what rules to break and when to break them. It was about reading over your work a hundred times and to be impartial when you read so you can fix the mistakes that won’t work.

The benefit of writing is you can go over something you’ve written a hundred times until you think it’s ready. A thousand times. I can go back and rewrite that first story if I want too. Nothing can stop me.

But don’t get me wrong. I go back and read all my works on here from time to time and I still constantly find things I would change now. Word changes. Phrasing changes. Everything. But that’s just another sign of improvement. Writing is a constantly improving art form. There is no limit. Only growth.

And the last thing I do is write down everything. I have a TERRIBLE memory. So I write down every single idea. On a scrap piece of paper. In my phone. On a computer. In a notebook. Cuz you never know when you’ll use it.

My most recent story, The Devil Wears Valentino, I got the idea for that name sometime in the immediate aftermath of Valentino Yoongi. I was in the shower after watching the devil wears Prada and my mind just connected the two. And then it sat unused in my notes all until the week before Halloween 2023. I would’ve forgotten had I not written it down. But there it was right when I needed it, a gift from past me. And here we are.

As for popularity, dude I have no goddamn idea. I don’t even think I count as a popular/big blog. I utilize the HELL out of aesthetics, formatting and tags and I’m nice. That’s my spiel on that. Aesthetic. Format. Tag. Kindness. Talent, sure. I guess. But writing is one of those things, ESPECIALLY in fic, where it doesn’t have to be the best cuz folks just wanna read their comfort character or person in the same scenarios over and over again. Source: I do that. And I’ve read stories that don’t have the best writing. But the story was good, or vice versa. People are way more forgiving on here.

I didn’t come on here(tumblr) with the intention of writing let alone giving writing and popularity advice. I just wanted to read and support people and then the community I’ve built for myself has just grown and grown and I’ve been so incredibly fortunate, which is where kindness comes in.

Leave reviews and like and reblog stuff. Tell people how much you love their work. Let them know you write too. Create friendships with people who wanna support you. And people who you wanna support. Community is the base of everything.

#this was WAAAAAAAAYYYYY to long but I hope it helps #I’m not a very conventional writer so idk how much it will help #Yoon on writing #asks #anon #ms.mailbox 📬#writing #writing advice

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warrioreowynofrohan · 4 months

Text

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall - “Further Warnings”

Further warnings indeed! Let’s tally them up.

First one: Mr. Grimsby, a friend of his, but a man I very greatly disliked: there was a sinister cast in his countenance, and a mixture of lurking ferocity and fulsome insincerity in his demeanour, that I could not away with. That a man like this is Huntingdon’s friend is a warning sign.

The second one is seen in both Huntingon’s treatment of Millecent’s arts, and his reaction when Helen is actually interested in the Van Dyke painting he shows her, and tries to discuss it with him. He’s not interested in any of her interests or thoughts, or in any kind of thoughtful conversation. On top of it, he’s very disrespectful and unkind to Millicent, and Helen is aware of it though she doesn’t outright admit it to herself; the abrupt transition in I don’t know what Milicent Hargrave thought of such conduct, but I found his conversation extremely interesting, as though she’d rather switch to talking about his conversation rather than give her opinion of his bad treatment of Millicent. And immediately after that, she admits that if his mockery of the rest of the people in the room was written down, it wouldn’t look as entertaining as it felt at the time.

Third warning: he’s actively toying with her by flirting with another woman and then using that to try to get her to say she’s in love with him without having made any committment to her himself. That was not done at the time, and is a power play on his part.

Fourth, which is a bit subtler: in Helen’s conversation with her aunt, she says, “sometimes he says that if he had me always by his side he should never do or say a wicked thing, and that a little daily talk with me would make him quite a saint.” (It’s reinforced a bit by him calling her an angel in the conversation where he’s trying to get her to confess her feelings, right before her aunt cuts them off.) Helen may be, as she says, more thoughtful than the average 18-year-old of her acquaintance, but she’s still a fairly normal young woman, not an angel or a saint, and by treating her like one Huntingdon’s not only putting her on a pedestal, he’s moving the goalposts. If he holds up her relatively normal conduct as angelic, then that means he, a mere mortal, couldn’t reasonably be held to such lofty standards. Which has some implications for what his usual behaviour is like.

Helen’s conversation with her aunt also gives a good display of how she’s rationalized down her previously expressed standards, from needing a man to be actively good for her to love him, to “well, he hasn’t done anything actively wrong,” and from there down to “well, you can’t definitely prove he’s done anything wrong, and if he did it was other people’s fault”. (I want to say ‘she’s treating him like her blorbo’, but that’s trivializing.)

“I know nothing positive respecting his character. I only know that I have heard nothing definite against it—nothing that could be proved, at least”

And from that point, she rationalizes it down even further to, “well, if he’s bad then it’s especially virtuous for me to marry and fix him, it would be downright selfish and self-indulgent for me to marry a good man!”

Minor vocabulary note - Helen’s aunt describes Huntingdon as a “profligate” in relation to his supposed affair with a married woman. I’d always though profligate meant “spendthrift,” so this is a different usage than I’m used to.

I feel awful for Helen - she’s so young and inexperienced, and she’s being ruthlessly played by a man who’s about ten years older than her. It really goes to show where her first conversation with Gilbert near the start of the book - about young women needing to know more about what the world is like before they’re thrown into it headfirst - is coming from. Her aunt is doing her best, but social norms and propriety limit how frankly and openly, and in how mich detail, she can talk to Helen about the dangers.

And I do also feel terrible for her aunt, especially after extrapolating that she’s trying to save Helen from the kind of marriage she herself experiences! We see more of the “friend” of Helen’s uncle whom he wants her to marry, Mr. Wilmot, in this chapter, and he’s old enough to have a 25-year-old niece and is perving on an 18-year-old while drunk. That Helen’s uncle thinks that could be a good match for her says a lot about him! Helen’s aunt is in her worst nightmare here seeing Helen be entrapped; she’s trying her best to fight it, but she’s losing.

#the tenant of wildfell hall #anne bronte #wildfell weekly #helen graham

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nomazee · 1 year

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take me home

march 7th x reader

word count: 1.3k

summary: it’s late at night, and your hands are stained with the harsh charcoal of your artwork—which means, naturally, that march’s hands are softening just to take care of you.

content: COLLEGE AU, roommates, comfort (without any hurt really), pining, reader is an art major (I AM PROJECTING), sickeningly sweet, unspoken love

notes: a request has been sitting in my inbox for months now. this is not that request. i am so sorry. every time i add another wip to my in-progress page suddenly i lose all motivation to work on ANYTHING on that list and instead i do this. i vomit on a google doc. ok. anyways... ENJOY

<><><><><>

at midnight, you come back to the ground after working on autopilot for two hours. now that you’re present, grounded, in this world, you can feel the tremble of your hands and the ache in your stomach from only drinking lukewarm plain tea for half the day.

it’s an awful, awful habit, and you know that. you just don’t have the space to work on fixing it in the throes of three midterm projects and an exam. you look down at your hands, stained with a mix of white and black charcoal. it’s caked under your fingers, too, and eraser shreds cling to your skin. in the dim light of your desk lamp, they kind of look like tiny worms, and the thought makes you shiver.

march comes into your room, the only indicator being the clicks of your door opening and closing and the gentle shuffle of her slippers against your carpet. you don’t turn—you never need to, with her, because she’s already putting a gentle hand on your shoulder and leaning down to whisper something in your ear, something like “come eat, i made you dinner,” or maybe “take a shower, i’ll clean your room.” whatever it is, the specifics don’t matter, because these nights always end the same.

it’s a gentle routine. something you don’t get often, which is good, because at least that means you don’t overwork yourself near the point of sickness too often. but it’s also terrible, because that means the uncharacteristic softness of march’s hands against your shoulders and voice against your cheek and weight against your back will always be that—uncharacteristic. like an astrological event that only comes once every million years, except you get it maybe once every month, which still isn’t enough for your yearning, empty hands.

you’re in the kitchen, suddenly, led by march’s arm gently wrapped around your shoulders as she walks in tandem with you. her mouth presses against your cheek, you’re pretty sure, as she sits you down in your cramped, tiny kitchen and slides a hot bowl of something in front of you.

“i’m gonna tidy your room. is there anything you don’t want me to touch?” and there’s a twitch in your face now, because you were right about the cleaning-your-room part, and march always asks this. if there’s anything she shouldn’t touch, because there’s something about the late hours of the night that makes her suddenly so considerate about little things like that.

“just the drawing,” you tell her, because the drawing is thirty-six by forty-eight inches and took you two weeks and a lot of stress to finish, and if something happened to it then you’d burn the entire campus down, “but everything else is fine. thank— thank you.”

and it’s hard getting that out, and you feel ridiculous for it. like you’re some spoiled kid who was never raised to say thank you in your life, but this is hard. this is different, because you’re twenty and your roommate has taken care of you more times than you’re willing to admit and yet she never expects anything of you. and it hurts because she’s the type of person who you think might hold it against you—in a joking, lighthearted way, like you have to get me one of those expensive coffee’ from the campus cafe before class tomorrow, or next time we order food you’re paying, but instead she just never mentions it and it makes you want to throw up, maybe.

but you don’t—throw up, that is, because there’s a steaming bowl of rice and vegetables in front of you and the sound of shuffling and pencils being put away echoes from your room down the hall and everything is so domestic and it’s so late at night that you just sink into it. happy and content and warm, deep in your gut where the emptiness was sitting.

march pulls you away, again, once your bowl is empty and you finish the cup of water she gave you. you close your eyes blearily and feel a wet wipe on your face, one of those cleansing wipes that you buy for times like this when you’re too tired to actually wash your face. of course, you didn’t expect them to be used like this when you first started buying them—with your roommate rubbing firm circles into your skin, close enough that you can hear the whistle of her nose every time she exhales. you don’t complain. not with march. never with march.

“i’m tired,” you’re saying, and your eyes are still shut and the ache in your hands has spread through your entire body. you’re well-fed and satiated and your face is damp with diluted tea tree oil instead of the icky sheen of sweat from before, and you’re tired. you whine it out, almost, like a petulant child in the car on a road trip asking are we there yet, and pretending to be asleep when the car engine slows to a stop and the car doors start to open.

march’s hands cradle your face, cleansing wipe discarded somewhere on the counter. and your eyes are still closed, and you’re really considering it—the whole faking-being-asleep thing, because you’d love nothing more than for march to guide you to bed with a hand slung around your waist, tracing the strip of skin under the hem of your shirt and maybe a gentle kiss on your cheek, or maybe even your neck. the night is deep, and your eyelids are weighing down on the rest of your body, and your inhibitions have dwindled with the sun a long time ago. there’s nothing stopping the flood of stupid sappy thoughts rushing through your sleep-addled brain.

“i know,” march mumbles, something like affection in her voice. her words are cut off, like she wants to say something else, like she wants to tag on a pet name and call you my love or baby or sweetheart. you say, “i’m really tired, march,” because if you don’t get to bed soon then you’re going to start saying these things out loud and to her face.

but that just makes it worse, because now it’s like she’s pouring everything she can into you. all her half-reluctant affections and the tenderness of her eyes and the way her thumbs are rubbing circles into your jaw now. she looks at you with furrowed brows and a corner of her mouth presses downward, like she’s worried, and you want to laugh because you never thought your stupid, half-rude, stubborn roommate would be worried for you.

“okay. let’s get you to bed.” she puts an arm around your shoulder and guides you up from the couch that she set you down on when she was cleaning your face, and you want her to pick you up so badly that you can’t stop the way your hand comes up to clutch at her shoulder, too, while she walks patiently next to your weak, sluggish legs. you might cry, or kiss her, or fall asleep slumped against her side, and you don’t know what would be worse.

there’s no more time to contemplate that, anyways, because now you’re in bed and march is tucking you in and you feel childish. “i’m sorry” bubbles up at your throat and you get half of it out before she clicks her tongue, letting out a heavy sigh as she kneels by your nightstand, tidying the scraps of paper and gum wrappers and dusty glasses of water.

“what are you even apologizing for?” she asks rhetorically. it’s almost scolding, but she cares in her own way, and you’ve known her long enough to understand what her tone means. you wish she’d get mad instead of being so kind. you wish she would be as sarcastic as she is in the daytime with you instead of softening at the edges and at the center and at the sides. you wish she’d kiss you, maybe.

“i don’t know.” you’re not even sure if your words are making any sense, if the vowels slur together or if your tongue even hits the roof of your mouth or if you’re already asleep—but you must be asleep, because you can feel a pressure against your cheek and surely that can’t be march kissing you goodnight. of course it wouldn’t be.

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darkhighness · 7 months

Text

Good Omentober 29 - 1947

Prompt by @disaster-dog

Aziraphale reflects on 1947 through a series of diary entries.

January 1st

Dear Diary,

Well, here I am, bringing in yet another earthy year alone in the bookshop but it feels different somehow. I am finding it ever so hard to get through these days, almost as if some of Crowley’s existentialism found its way to me. After learning about the tragedy in Japan I am struggling to see the good in things. The whole last year felt like such a terrible blur, possibly due to it. I didn’t know all that much about the place but the few times I popped in it truly was quite lovely. I’d always meant to ask Crowley if he had been. I think he would’ve quite liked it.

I’m worried Crowley might be more involved than he letting on. I haven’t seen him since the early years of the war and while I don’t want to believe it, I can’t fathom all of this being anything but Hell’s creation. Even if he wasn’t the conceiver, he could've been called down to Hell at any moment.

But surely Crowley wasn’t like that. He wouldn’t have killed those Nazis if that were the case. He certainly wouldn’t have saved my books.

He’s a confusing one, that wily serpent.

I do hope I see him soon.

A.Z Fell.

---

May 4th

Dear Diary,

I found myself rearranging the bookshop again today. While I did enjoy the Dewey system for a while I fear it’s all too convoluted for me these days. I spent a terribly long time trying to organise everything based on how I felt when I read them. It’s a shame that so many books made me feel all manner of things. I do suppose I have some more to learn in that regard. I will finish the rearranging tomorrow, I think. Hopefully with a clearer head too.

I saw an advertisement for a lovely film called A Miracle on 34th Street. It seemed to get good reviews in the paper as well. I might even consider seeing it if time allows.

I still haven’t heard from Crowley. As each day passes I begin to wonder if he still wants to take part in our arrangement. I wonder sometimes if he was called back down to Hell and hasn’t been allowed to return to Earth.

Another part of me, a part that makes me so terribly sad, is wondering if he was discorporated since I saw him last. I try to not linger on that thought for too long. I’m sure the demon will appear as soon as time allows. He always seems to.

A.Z. Fell

---

June 17th

Dear Diary,

It appears as though I am not the only one who has been faced with a sense of impending doom as of late. I’ve had numerous customers asking about a magazine (which I will never carry mind you!) that has some kind of doomsday clock on the cover. It seems as if the state of the world has caused many troubled thoughts amongst the humans as well. I’m still managing to hold on to the faith I have in God that this is all part of the plan.

I do just wish things weren’t so terribly dismal thought.

After doing more investigation into this doomsday phenomena, it seems as if the time of the clock is rather arbitrary. I do suppose that the almighty’s plan is ineffable, after all.

It seems much like the type of thing Crowley would be intrigued by. I purchased a copy of the magazine and I have it stashed away for when he returns.

I even managed to find some of that wine he likes so much.

A.Z Fell

---

June 30th

Dear Diary,

I found a new book for my collection today. It appears to be a diary, much like this one, but from a young girl during the war. I haven’t managed to finish it yet as it seems my Dutch is a little rustier than I anticipated but it’s truly something else. It feels important. I can’t help but listen to this young woman’s words, like she is desperate for someone to hear her.

Note: Order more copies of Het Achterhuis

They do say that tragedy is the greatest catalyst for art and these humans are terribly clever. I find myself wondering what they might come up with next. I just wish it didn’t take a war to do so. I have been praying more often, worried my faith is waning. I know I, a mere principality has no bearing on the ineffable plan but it’s getting harder and harder to see the bright side of all this. I do hope these blues that have overcome me will pass soon.

A.Z Fell

---

November 20th

Dear Diary,

Oh how fabulous it is to have these butterflies in my chest! I got to bless the most fabulous matrimony today of a young royal couple. I bestowed upon them all angelic gifts I could muster. I do hope they live a fabulous and joyous life.

It was simply delightful to have another assignment from Heaven come through. I was getting worried when things fell quiet but it appears things are well and truly returning to normal after all.

Well, as normal as they could be. Unfortunately there has still been no sign of the demon. I haven’t had to thwart any wiles recently. I pray he returns soon. I never thought I would ever miss the antics of a demon but my routine feels rather dull without the usual back and forth.

A.Z Fell

---

December 25th

Dear Diary,

This festive season has been absolutely wondrous. The decorations and traditions the humans have developed are simply beautiful and every year I get a chance to experience it all over again. I truly am the luckiest angel, it seems.

One of the lovely ladies from the shop down the road dropped of the most scrummy treats when she heard I’d be spending the day alone. She truly is a gem. I don’t mind it though. There’s enough joy in the air to please any angel.

I suppose I might have one ask. It may be hopeless but I do hope that wherever Crowley is, he is enjoying himself.

A.Z Fell

---

December 30th

Dear Diary,

I had the most wondrous visitor today. I never thought I would be relieved to see a demon but I’m oh so glad he popped in today. We might be going to the park later to ring in the new year. He tells me there’s something I simply must see. I do hope it’s not another statue of Gabriel.

I am so glad Crowley is home. Maybe 1948 will be the year that things turn around.

A.Z Fell

#good omentober #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ao3 fanfic #aziraphale x crowley #anthony j crowley #good omens 2 #crowley #aziracrow #good omens

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cassidysparacosm · 6 months

Text

(SERIOUS) TW: Stalking, Abuse

My blog is being stalked.

I wish i didn’t have to make this post. The way it should’ve gone, everything should have been moved on now with those who needed to be blocked, blocked. But due to the fact i’m now once a week being reminded of how i’m being stalked, i can’t ignore this situation any longer.

TLDR: @/Disableddeinosaur aka Beanie starting drama within 2 servers and threatening to harass users if they disagreed with their opinions. 1 year after banning them they continue to remind me that they’re stalking me.

Further explained context below.

Context: In late 2021 i joined an amphibia discord server. The people there were nice, and i enjoyed being there. The moderator, Beanie, known as Mossy at the time, was also part of this group. They seemed suprised when i mentioned i was born the year pokemon diamond and pearl came out, but i didn’t think much of it at the time.

It is important to know that Beanie often hid behind a mask of promoting good ideals such as exposing racism and ableism in fandom circles.

I was also in another discord server with many of my now tumblr mutuals, the syrup arc server. This was a roleplay server where we’d make tupperbots for amphibia characters from AUs we’d made and have fun with them. Back to beanie’s server, a channel had been made where we talked about amphibia blogs on tumblr that had… well, questionable art. This ranged from full on implied NSFW to just aus that beanie didn’t like, such as the Moth mAnne au by Missakat. They claimed giving Anne Boonchuy and Marcy Wu from the amphibia series blue and green eyes respectively was racist, and blacklisted artists who did. I internally disagreed with this, but never expressed it. Why? Because Beanie was older than me. I’m not exactly sure how old specifically, but they had a job that looked like it required some experience and their suprise at my age indicated that they were an adult at least. I disgreed with them wanting to call out creators for the wrong eye colors, but i agreed that creators who are actively racist or ableist definitely deserve to be exposed.

Exposing creators we didn’t like was encouraged in Beanie’s server, so here we come to the first event. I found an amphibia artist who drew what is basically vore, but would deny if asked and refuse to tag for people who were uncomfortable. Beanie expressed to me that they already knew of this person, as they’d had a negative interaction in the past so both were aware of each other. I was encouraged to join the nsfw artist’s server, to act as a spy and screenshot and report back any uncomfortable behaviour they made. It’s worth noting i did make the choice to join myself, but why Beanie didn’t try send an alternate account or a different actual adult from their server is unknown.

I soon left that server after getting the screenshots they wanted. And even sooner after, the toll of the almost ever-present negative atmosphere of beanie’s server was too much and my parents intervened and got me to leave.

While most of the time when a friend of yours move on from a server the right thing to do is to respect their wishes and leave them alone, this is not what beanie did, and still refuses to do a year later. Instead they followed me to 2 different amphibia servers, one where they made a tupperbot of themself and guilt-tripped themself publicly “Muffin (the name i went under at the time) only left because you’re a terrible person! You’re a horrible awful person” etc to themself.

Friends of mine on tumblr (that i’ll refer to as ST and SL incase they don’t want to get involved) tried to comfort them, as they were new to the situation and Beanie and just wanted peace on the server.

Meanwhile on the syrup arc server, Beanie had began to regularly make a point to get into dificult situations with 4/5 of the server mods (the fifth being me, who never disagreed with them so i stayed on their good side though mostly because i was afraid of what they might do if i spoke out). They would make rude and unneeded comments towards others opinions such as their favourite pokemon or their art style, and when confronted would make a gigantic deal out of it or privately message me and essentially tell on them to me.

I admit, for at least 4 months i did nothing. The mod chat was chaos because everyone else was saying the things beanie had done, and the fact i could’ve made the final decision and didn’t was driving a wedge between our friendship. Individually the mods tried to speak kindly to beanie, help them understand why people were becoming wary of them or just not talking to them. The most prominent time being when my friend i’ll refer to as S started a conversation in an attempt to explain to them kindly, but Beanie refused to listen to any of their messages, calling them a slut, and repeatedly implied that S was ableist for disagreeing that their behaviour was an issue. The mod of the server, C, who has expressed before that he himself is neurodivergent, eventually stepped in and tried to explain to Beanie again but their imput went completely ignored despite the conversation stopping.

This behaviour in both servers continued to be an issue for at least another month or two, and both servers had gone from active with at least 20 people in each to basically dead beyond Beanie and only like 4 people online at a time.

Finally one day i was sitting down with a close family member of mine who works in security, and he advised me to block Beanie. I was very tired at the time but i do remember what i did.

I went to the mod chat, told the other mods i was sorry for ignoring their concerns for so long, and banned beanie myself. I also advised the second server’s creator aswell who agreed with my choice once I’d explained the context and banned them too.

You’d think that’d have been the end of it, but it wasn’t. For a solid week afterwards it was a constant back and forth with Beanie and some of the server members who’d personally experienced their behaviour. Except for the fact Beanie would entirely ignore whatever the other person was saying and then call them racist of ableist (which, none of us never even knew their race because they never said it??)

Eventually the two servers decided it would help best for us to let it go, and so we stopped talking to them. I blocked them, and as far as i’m aware of all of the others did too. Once again, you’d think this would be the end of it but unfortunately it is not.

It took 2 months for me to feel safe online after that. And then i got a ask in my ask box in this blog. I don’t exactly remember the wording, but i sent it to a groupchat so i could probably find it if i need to compile a evidence document against them. Essentially it was mocking my pinned post, saying it was ironic of me to say no bullying when i ‘bullied’ them.

After that there was nothing, and i actually began to go to a therapist for reasons i’d like to remain private relating to my paranoia. I admit it was partly my fault for not moving to action quicker, though. I shouldve blocked them long, long before that day and i am so, so sorry to the members of the syrup arc server aswell as the animation server for not acting sooner.

Thankfully they’ve left them alone it seems, but last week i recieved a notification, a personal reminder from Beanie that they were not over their ‘mistreatment’. Despite being blocked on my main account, they somehow have managed to bypass that ability for this blog (this is my sideblog) and now are reminding me once a week through a notification that they’re still here.

That they’re still a stalking, self-righteous bully who has nothing better to do than entrust their mental health to a group of 14-19 year olds on the internet and then say they’re horrible people for not being able to handle them anymore. Even if you weren’t part of either of the servers, please, block them. This situation should’ve been done and over a year ago, and blocking and reporting them seems to be the only way to get them to at least quit harassing us.

This is a completely serious post, and i am begging anyone who reads this. Please. Block them. Do not interact with them, just block them.

I have sent them a ask condeming their choice to continue this fight, which i have no doubt they’ll respond to and ignore everything i said.

Ask i sent below: [

]

Mentioning my mutuals for more engagement

@skythealmighty @sluggintub @aces-archon-quest @velvelic @luc1d-dr34m5 @calebthepianist @strawberry-seal77 @breadthefurry @technicolor-abstraction @rainblescake

#serious post #tw stalking #tw verbal abuse #Amphibia #cass speaks #Object shows #Reblog to spread around please.

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 14 days

Text

From David Sedaris via Bari Weiss and Free Press.

>>>>>

The New York apartment building Hugh and I live in isn’t terribly big. I wanted a nice view, so we’re on a high floor, the drawback being that we need to rely on the elevator—not for going down so much, but only my friend Dawn would carry a load of groceries up twenty flights of stairs. The building has doormen, so between me and the street there is definitely one, but more often, two or three occasions for small talk. Nobody likes this kind of thing. That said, there’s a definite art to it.

Not long after we moved in, I was heading to the lobby, and a neighbor I would later get to know as Tommy boarded the elevator one floor below mine. He nodded at me, and as the doors closed I raised a finger. “May I ask you a question?”

“Not if it’s about how much to tip the doormen at Christmas,” he said.

That was exactly what I was going to ask. Quick, I thought, think of a replacement. “Can you recommend a cobbler?” I asked.

Now it is five years later. I’m on my way to the lobby and when a woman boards at 14, I ask, “How long have you known your dentist?”

She thinks for a moment. “Fifteen years. Why?”

“Just curious,” I say. “I knew my old one for almost that long but then we moved to New York and I had to start over.”

“And where did you move here from?” she asks. And then we’re off, pleasantly conversing until we part ways on the ground floor.

How long have you known your dentist is such a good icebreaking question, a real keeper in my opinion. I didn’t make it up, it’s not mine, rather I found it on Duolingo, an app my friend Dave turned me on to. He’d been using it to learn Spanish. Me, I started with Japanese. It offers over forty languages, free with ads, and free of them for a pretty nominal charge.

Each program features the same cast of animated characters: the excitable little boy, the bored teenage girl with hair covering her face. There’s an athletic-looking blond fellow, Vikram, who wears a turban, and Bea, who, according to her profile, is of West African heritage: eleven in all, including a talking bear named Falstaff. Sometimes Duolingo will give me a sentence in English: “How many desks are in the room?” and I have to translate it into Japanese choosing from the menu of words written in hiragana at the bottom of the screen. Other times I have to read a sentence out loud and the characters will either accept or reject me, based upon my pronunciation. My least favorite is when they give me the sentence and I have to write it in whichever language I’m studying. If you’ve only ever learned English you maybe don’t know that in other countries, “I gave her the suitcase,” might go, “I gave to her the suitcase,” or “I had to her the suitcase gave.” You have to grasp a new word order. Then there’s the spelling to worry about.

My friend Mike is learning Yiddish with Duolingo and one of the sentences it taught him is: “My uncle is a broken man.” I used its French program to freshen up before a trip to Paris not long ago, and was both surprised and not by the question, “What is he doing in our bed?”

I’m a dilettante, and always have been. Rather than really buckling down and mastering anything, I flit from one language to the next. Thus I noted how different Duolingo’s Japanese was from Duolingo’s German version. In the latter, the characters have definite opinions. “Your apartment is dark and ugly.” “I don’t like your sweater.”

They give the impression that German people are direct and judgmental, but also outdoorsy, generous, and sure of themselves. Thus such sentences as, “I’m sorry, but your doctor is playing volleyball today,” “I am giving one hundred toilets to my father,” and “Spain needs us.” There’s a lot of talk about witches, but no mention of them dating one another, this as opposed to Duolingo’s Japanese program where seemingly everyone is gay. “Is that your grandmother’s new girlfriend?” is one of the questions I was taught. Suddenly the guy with the headband on had a husband as well as a son. Even the bear was dating another guy.

I often complained about the last Japanese learning program I used, Pimsleur. So much of the talk was, as it is on their German and Polish and Romanian courses, about drinking. “Do you want a beer? Wine? Sake? Whisky? How many bottles? Should we drink at your place or mine? What time should we start drinking? Do you know what Tenaka-san drinks? Does his wife drink too? Have you ever had drinks with his parents?”

Pimsleur taught me a lot of practical things though, like how to make reservations and buy train tickets. “Which track do I leave on? At what time do we arrive? Is it an express train or a super express train?”

When it comes to icebreaker questions though, the type one might ask in an elevator, both Pimsleur and Duolingo pale compared to Teach Yourself Japanese, a book a woman in England sent me a few pages of. It was what her dad used back in the ’50s, and it includes the phrases: “What will become of us if father dies? Grandmother has turned blind. The man with small hands is my friend. I no longer take any pleasure in my work. Shall I kill myself tomorrow?” and “It is only the third bottle from the left which has poison in it.”

What age, I wonder, are these students? If you no longer take pleasure in your work I’m guessing you’ve been at it for a while, yet your grandmother is still alive, and newly blind? And just how small are the friend’s hands? I’m thinking of someone with the equivalent of raccoon paws, trying to open a bottle of pills he can kill himself with.

Depressing phrases or practical ones, you’ll never become fluent through an app or a book, no matter how many hours you devote to it. You have to talk to actual people. My friend Scott has tutors in both Japanese and French and is miles ahead of me in terms of conversing and understanding. He does his lessons once a week on Zoom. I suppose I could do the same, but I’m afraid I won’t like the tutor, and won’t know how to put an end to our relationship. It’s the same reason I don’t see a psychiatrist or hire a trainer.

Most of the doormen in my building are from Ecuador and one, Adrian, has, at my request, started speaking to me exclusively in Spanish. I took it in high school, so we didn’t have to start from scratch. The problem is that, because he essentially works for me, he’s not going to be as strict as, say, the French teacher I had in Paris. Not that I’m not progressing. Recently I learned that Adrian calls his mother Gordita, which means little fatty. It’s a nice bit of information to start your day with, though it leaves me wondering, and phrasing the question to myself in Japanese, French, German, and now, tentatively, in Spanish, “What does he call me?”

Image: Nobody likes small talk. Yet it is an art worth mastering. (Photo by Anthony Rizzuto/Anthony Angel Collection/PhotoQuest/Getty Images)

[A link to David Sedaris reading his essay below]

#David Sedaris #small talk #words and writing #reading and writing #languages #words

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4ragon · 1 year

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Can I convince you to play Octopath Traveler 2?

Hello my lovely followers! I have recently run into a problem where I have fallen in love with another video game and do not have enough people to talk about it with. I have therefore decided I’m going to do what I do best and talk WAY too much about the subject for an unreasonable amount of time.

So! Why should you, dear followers of mine, play this hip new rpg called Octopath Traveler 2?

Well, to put it simply, this game was the most genuine fun I’ve had playing a video game in a very long time!

What is Octopath Traveler 2?

Octopath Traveler 2 is a new turn based action rpg by Square Enix, combining the charm of old school pixel art with modern graphical capabilities to create one of the most beautiful-looking 2D games out there. Like. It’s so pretty! Look at this shit!

It’s so good! Look at that presentation! Great graphics, full voice acting, orchestrated music, just. The presentation, guys!

The Gameplay

Now. Here’s the deal. I am not the most crazy about turn-based rpgs. I like them fine, but they can get very repetitive! Pokemon is a prime example. Rival sends out a Charizard? Well, better go get my Vaporeon and wreck his shit! And yes, I know there’s more strategy behind it, but like. I have never once bothered. At a certain point, the game is just “water beats fire, grind levels until you win” and that’s kind of as much as you need to bother with.

BUT

BUT BUT BUT

Here’s the deal. Octopath (both 1 and 2) is SO much fun. It is the greatest turn based rpg I have ever played. Because it’s no longer about elemental damage and sending out the right Pokemon that a lot of other turn based games use.

In each fight, the enemy has an unknown list of weaknesses, which you can discover as you fight. Each successful attack chips away at their “shield points,” until you can knock the enemy out for one round, weakening their defenses and stopping them from mercilessly beating your ass. (At least until they wake up in the next round and get to attack first.)

There are also boost points which build up each turn, just as long as you don’t use them up. Those either boost the damage on your single attack OR, and here’s the kicker, allows you do use a regular melee attack up to four times.

These two things in tandem open up a HUGE amount of strategizing! Suddenly, it’s not “will my Vaporeon be able to use hydro pump before Charizard uses fly,” it’s “do I use my turn to heal, or do I boost my attacks so I can knock this boss out before he kills me? Do I knock him out now, or do I save my boost points to do one massive attack once he’s weaker? Do I knock all of the enemies out at the same time, or should I stagger it so they don’t all Kick My Teeth In next round?”

It’s about timing! It’s about strategy! It’s like one huge puzzle combined with all of the terror of a normal action rpg! And it’s!!! So fucking fun!!!!

Just. I know most of the people following me are following me for my love of murder mystery visual novels like Ace Attorney, so this may be a bit of a harder sell than if I was trying to convince you all to play Murder By Numbers or Return of the Obra Dinn, but still! It’s not too terribly difficult to get into the game, and hey, it’s turn based! Reaction speed not required.

(Important note: Octopath Traveler OG is also just as fun to play. They added some cool mechanics in 2, and tweaked certain characters’ movesets, but overall, both are just as much fun. Try 8path 1 too! I highly recommend it.)

The Music

I have a running list of games with the greatest soundtracks of all time. We got Zelda of course, we got Kingdom Hearts, Ace Attorney, but Octopath is quickly clobbering its way into my favorites. Every single track in both games slaps so hard. Boss fights? Town music? CHARACTER MUSIC? I mean. Come on.

youtube

Come on.

Every song is gorgeous. Fully orchestrated, incredibly well done. I don't know shit about music theory, but 8-Bit Music Theory did a cool video on game one that I think holds up pretty well.

AND, because this game added a Day/Night cycle, most of the songs have multiple arrangements. Even the character themes have multiple arrangements. And I won’t spoil any of them here, but I swear, when Agnea’s final battle track started playing, I had the biggest, goofiest grin on my face. It’s just. It’s so good you guys.

The Story and Characters

Okay. Alright. Here’s where Octopath Traveler 2 goes from good to great. And here’s also where Octopath 2 edges out the first Octopath game. Now, this is not a dig at the original game. Play the original game! I love it so much! The characters are so much fun! The story is wonderful! But Octopath Traveler 2 does everything I wanted the original Octopath to do and more! More character interactions! More story! An endgame that isn’t deeply anticlimactic and actually involves the characters I care about! It’s so good.

Octopath Traveler 2, of course, stars 8 wildly different characters, each with completely different motivations and completely different skillsets, both in and out of battles. Different weapons, different spells, and different ways to interact with the NPCs around you.

And man, I love every single one of these characters so much. I feel like there’s a character for everybody, I’ve seen so much art of basically all of the main cast because every one of them is so different and interesting.

There's a favorite for everyone! We’ve got the dark, broody character, the pure-of-heart character, the character struggling with a dark curse. We’ve got revenge, chosen ones, amnesia, cowboys, one asshole detective who I am a little bit in love with. (Murder mysteries, guys! Come on! That’s my jam!) Often times, there’s usually one character that falls a little flat to me, but I just find all of them so much fun, even the ones with less going on in their backstories. They're fun! They're charming! I love it!

None of these stories are particularly complicated, of course. It’s no Tales game, where the stories twist and turn and build on each other constantly. In fact, by the very nature of this conceit, where no player character is the true main character, they can’t really build the sort of story other RPGs would usually have. Each character’s story is simple, even if they branch into different routes and do slowly start to tie into each other in subtle ways. Sure, there were surprises (and like holy shit to a few of these surprises) but overall, the stories are simple and straightforward.

And yet, even with 8 relatively simple stories, the characters absolutely shine. Sure, I took one look at the character who secretly did that murder in chapter one and went, “Ah. It was absolutely you.” And sure, we had an evil king who was so cartoonishly evil to the point of becoming farcical. But still, these stories didn’t have to be these huge, sprawling, mindblowing paths. They’re about the leads growing and meeting new people and bettering themselves. Each route has its own eclectic bunch of NPCs that bring so much life and color to the world, from the put-upon knight being dragged around by the world’s shittiest cleric to the happy-go-lucky scrivener looking for her big scoop to whatever the FUCK is happening with the Blacksnakes holy shit jesus christ what the actual fu

These stories made me laugh. They’ve made me cheer. They made me sob like a baby. They made me rage so fucking hard that I had to put down the computer for several hours and lay on the ground, which to be fair was absolutely the intended effect but I’m also still so fucking mad about it I swear to god.

PLUS

PLUS PLUS PLUS

Okay, I always say a jrpg with a huge cast rides or dies on their character interaction. Love is found in the found family y’all. And, again, it’s certainly no Tales game, in part because the game isn’t quite as scripted, but there’s still so much. Each chapter has a set number of side conversations between whoever is in your party (which if you miss them you can go back to that chapter in your menu and watch them anyway thank god). Several pairs of characters get to go on fun little side quests together throughout the story. Characters talk to each other during battles, which doesn’t feel like a ton but it really does add so much charm. They feel like friends, and even if they don’t tend to interact during story cutscenes, it feels like their relationships grow and develop over the course of oh holy shit I played 90 hours? Oops. Well. Whatever. That’s fine.

Anyway. That’s my pitch. Play this game. Join me in hell. Come on. You know you want to.

#octopath #octopath traveler #octopath traveler 2 #whoops why did i spend an hour writing this

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writing-for-life · 9 months

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Sandman Master Post and Intro

Hi, I’m so glad you’re here! I organised the links and tags to all my stuff for you to make it easier to find your way around my blog.

I love getting asks about all of the below, so see this as an encouragement to slide into my inbox…

Sandman Meta-Analysis (general tag. For a slightly less chaotic take, I have also grouped them into literary/conceptual/psychological, musical and art for you, and I definitely recommend perusing both links and the tag)

Sandman Fics (m/f and f/f, both OC and canon pairings) & Poems

Sandman Art (general tag. I have also grouped them into my own and that of others, with a separate tag for official Sandman artists).

Sandman March Mania was an event we specifically ran for the comics art lovers, so check it out

Sparkle Content Curation (a not-quite-serious collection of Dream/Morpheus thirst-trap fan-art and unhinged posts). Please also peruse the tags #contraceptive sparkles, #glitter herpes and #murphy and his cool hat if this hell-site has left you in a state of being desperate for laughs

On that note: I’m also Dream’s Therapist. I think we all agree he needs one.

Sometimes, I get Gaiman’d and it takes me ages to find the way through my notes again. And on that proverbial note: Never any bad intentions if it takes a while to get back to you, or if I even forget (shout at me if I do!). I appreciate everyone who is here and engages, whether we’re mutuals or not.

Personal Intro (who am I, and what am I up to when I don’t waste time on Tumblr) under the cut

Want to know who I am? Read on…

Once there was a girl with so many words, so many images, so many songs in her head that had no place to go. So she decided some of them will just go here…

Well, that sounds a bit contrived, but it’s not entirely untrue. Apart from the “girl”-part, because I’m at the younger end of Gen X. Or the “no place to go”-part, because some of my work actually *did* go places. Just not the stuff I decided to put on here…

Which is mostly Sandman stuff right now, let’s be honest (I fell in love with it when I was 16, and it still has a tight grip on me now). And the fact that it’s a wild mix between my metas, my fanfic and a bit of my doodling already shows the pull in different directions I have experienced for most of my life:

I’ve been a writer since my teenage years, and in another life, I’d maybe have more faith in myself, and writing would be all I’d do. Or maybe not, since I can never just do one thing for too long. Nevertheless, one of my teachers in high school was convinced I needed to tell stories to be happy and warned me about a career in science. Back then, I thought he was overly dramatic. Looking back on it, I sometimes think he had a point.

I’ve worked in science/academia, creative/performing arts and mental health. I guess I’m just a multi-hyphenate who can’t make up her mind what she wants to do with her life, so she tries to do it all and ends up burned out half of the time.

For now, I support people who go through really terrible stuff, and it means the world to me. But it is equally hard and sometimes soul-destroying. Hence, I’ve stopped working for our health service and focus more on my writing these days (both fiction and non-fiction) while still seeing a particular subset of clients privately, but on a much more manageable scale that also takes my own well-being into consideration. You can’t pour from an empty cup…

I’m bilingual and write most of my non-fiction in English and my fiction in my (what I perceive as stronger) other language. But I write fanfic exclusively in English because I want to separate it from my other writing: Somewhere along the way, I managed to publish a few novels under a pen name, and only a select few people know about it. And I intend to keep it that way.

My partner (a graphic artist) thinks I should do more with my art, but I feel everything about it is wrong, and I’m not formally trained. I used to draw much more (mostly pencil and ink), but between working and having a family, something had to give, and if I have to choose, writing always comes first. But I doodle and experiment a lot in Procreate because it’s quicker, and it usually helps me when I procrastinate on my writing. I drop the odd drawing in here (like my avatar), but I don’t see myself as a fine artist, and I’m in perpetual awe of the fanart and talent I see on here.

I also compose and still work as a musician sometimes. As you can tell from the one line devoted to it, performing isn’t really that important to me anymore. However, music is. I have a small adjunct teaching gig at a University that ties in with both performance and psychology. So at this stage of my life, this particular area has become more about giving back.

Nothing I put on here is intended to ever be published in “real” life (maybe that’s odd, because this is still real life, after all). This is just an account for unapologetically being me, unfiltered, with all my hyperfixations—and undoubtedly some pointless shitposts just for fun…

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crookedgrifter · 8 months

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you don't save the world by relaxing, a ficlet set on lofaf.

in which dave would like jade to take a break, and jade would like dave to leave. those frogs are not going to breed themselves, after all.

----

“Hey,” Dave says as he walks into the large room. He glances around, first watching the many, many frogs hopping around the room, and then at the mess that has begun to pile up. In the middle of it all is Jade, who is hunched over the main console, frantically pressing buttons and muttering to herself.

Dave studies her for a moment. Her hair is frizzy and unkempt, and he’s pretty sure she’s wearing the same clothes he saw her in five days ago.

She clearly didn’t hear him. “Hey,” he repeats, a little louder. Jade jumps, letting out a small shriek.

“Hi,” she says tiredly, but doesn’t turn to face him, still pressing buttons. Click, click, click. He moves to stand over her shoulder, watching her press various different buttons that make absolutely no sense to him.

“Are you good,” he asks, knowing the answer. He wishes she would turn to face him.

A slight pause in the button pressing. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” Lie. Her voice is just a little too cheerful-fake. “Just busy, yaknow? Frogs suck. I want to strangle their cute little faces.” Dave knows this song and dance well; deflect with humor in the attempt that he will cease and desist. Dave is not fooled - he invented the fine art of bullshittery. He ignores the silent go away please and says instead: “You look terrible.”

Jade snorts, shoulders stiffening slightly. “Thanks, Dave. It’s not like I’m trying to save the world or anything.” Underneath the sarcasm, he can hear the silent undertone; I’m doing it all alone. What if I can’t do it in time?

“No, yeah, it’s just a normal. Uh. What day is it.” He pauses for a moment. Sure, he could just guess. Maybe his fancy time-player powers could tell him. He’d rather make Jade laugh. “You know what,” he continues, going the funny route, as he always does. “Days don’t exist anymore. I’m declaring today Daveurday.” Jade lets out a small laugh. Strider 1, Harley 0, Dave thinks. “The best day ever,” she agrees.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s a national holiday now. It lasts, uhh. Two daylight cycles, and everyone’s gotta wear shades and praise me.” Jade turns to face him, meeting his eyes for the first time. Bright green like her island used to be. Dave internally winces - there are bags under her eyes, and her glasses are crooked. When was the last time she ate? He’s afraid to find out. “Oh great supreme overlord Dave, please spare me. I am but a mere uncool mortal,” she says, tone worshipful, although he knows she is anything but.

“As your supreme overlord I command you to take a break,” Dave replies imperiously, tilting his chin up and looking down at her. Jade laughs sharply, eyes flicking away from his and back to the console, where the buttons remain unpressed. One is flashing red, almost accusingly - why haven’t you pressed me, it seems to say. She presses a seemingly unrelated one on the other side of the board. It stops flashing. Her back is to him again, he notes, and knows she is trying to hide the fact that she barely has it together. News flash, it’s painfully obvious.

After a moment, she says, “I’ll take a break-” she pauses, “I’ll take a break when I’m dead, I suppose.” And Dave realizes, it’s not just this. She hasn’t taken a true break since, he doesn’t know when? After all, she saw their futures in the clouds of Prospit. Had carried that alone. She’s more of a hero than he will ever be, he thinks.

He decides on the next best thing: “Fine then, let me help you.” “No, I got this,” she says, “I’m the space player, right. This is my job. Yours is to time travel and make more annoying clones of yourself.”

“My job is also to make sure you’re like. Sleeping? And eating? Those are kind of important, Jade,” he argues. “It’s Daveurday. You gotta obey the Dave. And the Dave says to take a break.”

Another long moment, during which Dave watches her intently, knowing she’ll give in. She always does. It’s the Strider charm. Nobody can resist the shades. Strider 2, Harley 0, he thinks, as she sighs, leaning back in her chair. After a moment, she turns halfway to side-eye him. “Fine. But only if you shut up.”

“Me, shut up? Never.” He says, faking offense, and crouches down next to the console. “Now show me what all these buttons do, Miss Harley.”

#dave strider #jade harley #homestuck #homestuck fic #my writing #wrote this for a writing class #i hope its ok with the characterisations and everything

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